Kingdom of Shadows (106 page)

‘Aye, I heard.’ He looked grim. ‘She hung up on me. Come on, if you’re ready.’

It turned out that he knew Airdlie and he knew Archie and Antonia. Clare had roamed a long way across the hill; it was nearly ten miles back, by road. When they arrived there were two police cars in the drive.

‘It looks as though they’ve missed you,’ he commented as he swung his car in next to theirs and climbed out. ‘Mrs Royland is in my car,’ he called out as a young constable approached him. ‘She’s in a bad way.’

The police, exhausted and despondent after two hours of fruitless searching, were having a council of war with Neil in the hall before setting out into the dark again. It was Neil who carried her indoors and up to her bedroom, Neil who peeled off her wet, frozen clothes and put her to bed; then he told her again gently about Paul and about Emma, who was still hanging on to the brittle thread of life in hospital in Aberdeen. He did not tell her that they suspected that Paul had thought he was shooting her.

She cried most for Emma, and for Julia and Peter. For Paul her sorrow was more complicated. There was guilt and anger and regret and last of all relief. The memories of the good times would return later and then maybe she would mourn, but not now. Not yet. It was too soon and too sudden.

When she was at last asleep he went downstairs to the empty drawing room. The doctor had gone; the police were driving the Roylands to Duncairn; he and Clare were alone in the house at last.

Taking a mug of tinned soup and a stiff drink into Archie’s study he picked up the phone and rang Kathleen.

There was no answer from his flat, though he let it ring and ring. On Waverley station Kathleen was waiting for the London train. The cards had predicted a long journey and a promise of change.

In her sleep Clare stirred. She huddled sideways in the bed, and frowned, her arm across her face. Her hands were bandaged and still icy cold, but in her dreams the snows had gone and spring had already arrived.

Isobel walked often on the cliffs that spring, delighting in the sharp salt-sweet air and the flowers, the sea pinks, the campion, the golden honey-rich flowers of the whin, the delicate frail bluebells of Scotland dancing in the grass around her. She was tired all the time now and the least exertion exhausted her, but her happiness was undiminished. The baby had begun to move. She could feel the sharp flutter as it changed position, and each time it moved she felt an upsurge of joy.

Twice Robert sent her messages; twice he promised to visit her again as soon as possible, but he never came. She tried not to mind. He had a kingdom to win. When the English were gone they would have all the time in the world together. She closed her mind to what would happen when Queen Elizabeth, comfortable still in her quasi-captivity in England, was at last returned to Scotland, and to Christian of Carrick and the other ladies who had solaced him over the past years. After all, she was his first love, his longest love, and now she carried his child.

Somewhere in the darkest corner of her mind, the corner where she kept the memory of the nightmare of the cage, there was another fear; the old fear; the sound of her mother’s screams; and with it, inseparably tangled now, the blood, the terror, the pain of labour when she lost Lord Buchan’s child – but the door on those memories was firmly bolted. They could not be allowed to escape. Nothing must spoil the glorious sunshine of this spring and summer.

She had made one friend in her neighbour, Lady Gordon, wife of the young man who years before had tried to persuade his mother to hold Isobel a hostage. Often the two women would talk together, and Isobel was reassured by Lady Gordon’s calm description of her own four easy births. Her youngest son was two, her eldest seven and she could see no reason for fear, even now that she was embarking on her own fifth pregnancy with yet again scarcely a break between them.

Sir Henry Beaumont, titular Earl of Buchan, found out that Alice had taken Isobel back to Duncairn just after Easter. He was speechless with rage.

‘The King was specific! He said she was never to go anywhere near Scotland again. His father had sworn it!’

Quelling her apprehension, Alice shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. ‘He’ll never know, unless you tell him. He’s got other things to think about. Leave her there, Henry. Poor Aunt Isobel. Hasn’t she suffered enough? She can do no harm up there.’

Her spies had told her that Isobel was with child, and she had said myriad prayers for her friend. Half of her was glad for her and hoped Isobel had found even a little happiness at last with the man she loved, the other half prayed fervently that Henry would never find out. That kind of indiscretion he would call treason, and she doubted if he or his king would spare her for arranging it.

To the south the war raged on. Perth had fallen to the Scots, and Dumfries, Roxburgh and Edinburgh. Scotland from the eastern to the western sea was now Robert’s. Only Stirling Castle still lay in English hands, the subject of a truce which was to last until Midsummer’s Day. Then, if the English king had not relieved the garrison, they were pledged to surrender to Robert.

But the English were massing their armies now, determined to win this one last battle and save their pride. Word came to Duncairn of the size of the English army, gathering in the south, determined at last to defeat Robert and his claims once and for all. Huge divisions of men and a fleet of ships to service them were being brought together, the English lords united for once behind Edward II, and vowed to support him in his aim. They had all been summoned to gather at the beginning of June on the banks of the River Tweed.

Isobel, far away in her cliff-top castle, knew of the approaching army. This time there was no place for her on the battlefield. Her king would win or lose without her there.

Time and again she walked restlessly towards the cliffs or on the wall walks of the castle, dragging herself up the steep winding stairs. The baby’s bulk wasn’t large, she was too thin, but her breath was laboured and her heart would pound agonisingly as she climbed.

The women who attended her begged her to rest. They tried to make her eat and drink nourishing things, but her restlessness would not be stilled, nor her feeling of unease, and she became afraid to sleep, sensing the thinness of the curtain which divided her nightmares from reality.

When the messenger came at last on the afternoon of Midsummer’s Eve he was a stranger. He brought a letter and a small package from the King.

In haste, my love. These three days before I must decide where, and indeed, if, I meet with Edward of England. Know that I remember you in my prayers daily, with the child you carry. If anything should happen to me on the field of battle I have left orders that you and your child be cared for. I pray that we meet soon and in a kingdom free and independent and proud. From my camp in the Torwood, this 21st day of June, 1314.

    In the package was a necklace for Isobel and a carved ivory rattle with ribbons and silver bells for the baby to come.

Isobel took them and the letter and kissed them. ‘Go back to him, and give him my love and serve him with your life.’ She smiled at the exhausted messenger. He needed no second bidding. Already he had commanded a fresh horse.

Isobel watched him ride away until his horse was lost from sight, and then she turned sadly back into the castle. She knew in her heart that Robert would come back one day. But she would not be there.

Emma opened her eyes slowly. It still hurt to move; to breathe, but it was easier now. Beside her bed in the small hospital room Peter leaned forward and touched her hand.

‘How is it?’

‘All right.’ She winced. Near by, filled in three separate vases stood the flowers, gaudy and red amongst all the others, that Rex had sent her before he left for Houston.

Seeing Peter’s eyes straying towards them yet again she reached painfully out towards him.

‘He sad he would still buy me a mink of my own,’ she said with an attempt at a laugh. ‘I said no thanks.’

They were silent for a minute, both thinking about Rex. By the time Peter had arrived Rex had already decided to leave. Emma would never love him, he accepted that now. Not the way he loved her, and he knew now, too, that Duncairn didn’t want him. When he went for one last walk amongst the ruins he had felt the chill descending on the place – not the chill of the frost, but something else. A cold, steady hatred, emanating from the stones. Shivering and telling himself not to be over-imaginative he had turned away. Walking back towards the hotel he had found his thoughts dwelling on Mary and the cosy, happy apartment in Houston, and the thought of holidaying somewhere hot and full of people floated into his head.

‘Neil told Jack Grant at the hotel to burn Clare’s mink coat,’ Peter put in thoughtfully. He had been rather impressed by the gesture.

‘Good.’ Emma shuddered. ‘How did the funeral go?’ It was the first time she had mentioned her brother, even obliquently.

‘It was a cremation, Em.’ Peter’s fingers tightened on her hand. ‘David arranged everything with the minimum of publicity – you know him – and Geoffrey took the service, what there was of it. Henry came. That was nice of him.’

They had scattered Paul’s ashes in the sea.

‘Henry’s a nice man.’ Emma nodded. ‘Was Clare there?’

Peter shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t let her go. She wasn’t well enough. She was damn lucky not to lose the baby, getting lost in the snow like that. In fact she was lucky to survive at all.’

Emma was silent for a long time. ‘Is she over the exorcism and everything?’ she asked at last. She hadn’t been able to believe it when Peter had told her the whole story.

He nodded.

‘And you like Neil?’

Again he nodded. ‘He’s the right man for Clare. He’ll take care of her.’

‘
No
, Neil. I don’t want to marry again.’ Clare was lying on the sofa at Airdlie. In the kitchen her mother was preparing tea. Archie had gone off on a private mission of his own.

She tried to soften the words with a smile. ‘I’ve been someone’s property too long. I want to try standing on my own feet.’

He looked away, trying to hide his bitter disappointment. ‘You would never be my property, Clare –’ But it was no use. Her new-found determination was rock solid. He sighed. ‘Where will you live?’

‘Some of the time in Edinburgh with you, if you’ll have me, but most of the time at Duncairn. I’m going to have my own flat there, in the hotel. I’m selling Bucksters and the London house and Sarah is going to come up to work for Mummy full-time.’

‘But what happens if the oil comes?’

She smiled. ‘We’re going to fight the oil, Neil, remember? You and me and Earthwatch. But if it comes, then so be it. We will have to put up with it. Everyone keeps telling me that once the wells are dug so much of it can be hidden.’ She looked at him and gave him a wistful smile. ‘I’m sorry, Neil. Try not to mind too much. We can still be together as much as you like.’

She had had a long talk with Geoffrey before he had left. ‘Are you going to marry Neil?’ he had asked.

She had shrugged. ‘One day perhaps. Not now.’

‘But the baby, Clare.’

‘The baby is mine. Did you know that David wants the world to think it’s Paul’s?’

He frowned. ‘Is that what you want?’

She shook her head. ‘She’s mine. That’s all that matters.’

He frowned again. A little shiver crept up his spine. He left the sentiment unchallenged, however. ‘You’re sure it’s a girl?’

She nodded.

‘One of these scan things, I suppose, like Gillian had – only she told them she didn’t want to know what sex it was.’

‘No, not a scan. Intuition.’ For the first time she smiled at him. ‘Would you marry Neil and me if I asked you?’

He hesitated. ‘Would you really want me to?’

‘No.’

‘Then why ask?’ His tone was gentle.

‘Because I want your approval, I suppose. Your blessing. Your absolution.’

‘You will have that unreservedly, whatever you decide to do.’

‘If I die, I don’t want the Roylands to turn their backs on her.’

He was visibly shocked. ‘Clare, my dear, you’re not going to die!’

‘People do, Geoffrey, in childbirth.’ Just for a second she had let her mask slip and he had seen her fear; Isobel’s fear.

‘Not these days, Clare. Not when you have the best treatment money can buy, which you will have.’ He took her hands. ‘You musn’t be afraid.’

But, like Isobel, she was afraid.

Her mother realised it and so did James. ‘What’s wrong, sis?’ James had come up to see her at Duncairn. He had brought the inevitable news that Sigma had been awarded the segment containing Duncairn, and given their licence. It was what they had all expected, but she could not hide her disappointment, even when he told her the astonishing fact that Sir David Royland had agreed to support their appeal against the planners who had granted provisional permission to test drill.

‘There’s nothing wrong.’

‘Are you sure?’ He had been eyeing her with concern. He had grown much closer to his sister in the last few months.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m just apprehensive, I suppose.’

‘Aren’t you well?’

‘Of course I’m well.’

‘Well then.’ He pulled her down beside him on the window seat. ‘Why aren’t you in Edinburgh with Neil, fighting?’

She shrugged again. ‘I don’t want him to get too fond of me, I suppose. I don’t want him to be hurt. So many people have been hurt.’

‘Clare!’ He was indignant. ‘You are carrying Neil’s child. Your place is with him and his with you! Don’t you love him?’

‘Oh yes, I love him. More than I ever would have thought it possible to love someone.’

‘And does he love you?’

She smiled. ‘He says so.’

‘Then don’t you think he’s more unhappy away from you, worrying about you?’ He stood up. ‘Is this to do with Isobel?’

Clare looked down at her hands.

‘She hasn’t gone, has she? Geoffrey never exorcised her. You still dream about her, just as you always did.’

Clare shook her head. ‘No. There have been no more nightmares.’