Kingdom of Shadows

by Barbara Erskine

  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 enou
gh. 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.’

  ‘And the others? The visions?’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘She’s still there, but I can’t see her. It’s as if she’s waiting for something. Waiting for the baby. My baby.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘Rubbish! Why should she want your baby?’

  ‘Perhaps her own died.’

  ‘It can’t have. After all, we are descended from it, aren’t we?’ Seeing her rising panic now that the subject had been faced at last, James was crisply practical. ‘Aunt Margaret was so proud of our descent from Robert the Bruce and that was the way it came, wasn’t it, through Isobel’s daughter, so the child can’t have come to a gory end. Listen, why don’t you let me drive you down to Edinburgh in the Porsche? To be with Neil.’

  In spite of herself Clare smiled. ‘A recipe for a very gory end, the way you drive.’

  ‘OK. You drive.’

  ‘James, it’s sweet of you –’

  ‘But –’

  ‘But Neil is coming here.’

  It was the beginning of June when Isobel returned. Clare had spent the morning sketching on the cliffs. Neil was coming to join her that evening and she was looking forward to seeing him. The lengthy legal delays involved with appeal and counter-appeal meant that there had been no sign of any activity at Duncairn from Sigma. Everything was as it always had been.

  The grass around the castle was neatly mown, and the walls hung with rambling roses in full flower. It was a place of peace and happiness. She had never asked anyone where Paul had died and no one had told her. Once, alone, she had brought a rose for him and laid it in the window of the chapel. That was all. A tribute to the years they had been happy before he had become a changed man.

  It was a warm day; beautiful, a slight mist hanging over the sea. Walking back towards the hotel slowly at lunchtime she had paused within the circle of the castle walls and stared around. And suddenly she knew that she was not alone. The atmosphere had changed. The peace and tranquillity had gone. In its place she could feel a charge in the air. In the distance there was a low rumble of thunder.

  Isobel heard the thunder and shivered. It was Midsummer’s Eve. Outside, the air smelt of hay and meadowsweet, was still very shaken of scented thyme and wild roses. Inside the solar, where she sat idly playing with a skein of embroidery silks, the air was heavy and rancid. Her ladies were gossiping quietly by the windows, and already someone had lit candles in the darkening room.

  Abruptly Isobel stood up, throwing her silks to the floor. Silence fell on the room. ‘My lady, you should rest –’ A voice querulous in the heat, came from the window.

  ‘Time enough to rest later.’ Isobel put her hand to her belly as a twinge of pain from the restless baby shot through her. ‘I want to be outside. I want to ride.’

  ‘You mustn’t ride, my lady!’ Cries were raised in horror all around her. ‘You’re not strong enough! Please, rest –’

  But rest was something she could not do. All her thoughts were with Rober
t. Her prayers, her remaining strength, all had gone to him with the departing messenger. Restlessly she left the room, walking slowly down the stairs, her hand on the stone newel post to steady herself, feeling even the drag of her gown on the steps behind her as an intolerable burden. She walked out into the courtyard, and wearily bade the gateward open the postern gate. She was too tired for the wall walk tonight.

  Outside a huge yellow moon was swimming up out of an aquamarine sea. The evening was luminous, scented, completely still. Not even a bird’s cry broke the silence now. The sea itself seemed to be holding its breath. It was as if, if she strained her ears against the silence of the intervening mountains, she would hear the chink of harness and the rasp of weapons eased in the sheath as the armies waited for the day to dawn, after a night without true darkness, like the night so long ago at Methven.

  It was as she stopped and bent to pick a delicate bluebell from the grass near her feet that the pain hit her. Unable to stop herself she let out a cry. At once her attendants, who had been following at a respectful distance, ran towards her and within minutes she was being carried back towards the castle as the first bright blood began to stain her kirtle.

  Her body which had been through so much had no strength left for this last ordeal. The pain lifted her, carried her, till she was floating somewhere beyond its reach. She never saw the attendants who clustered round her; never felt the hands of the midwives as they probed beneath the stained sheets; nor did she hear the indignant wail of her tiny daughter as the baby slipped at last, two months too soon, from her exhausted body.

  As the sun slipped upwards in a crimson haze from the sea, far away on the banks of the Bannock Burn Robert prepared to face the greatest battle of his life. At Duncairn the first red rays of light pierced the narrow windows of the great bedchamber where Isobel was scarcely breathing. The chaplain stooped over the bed; he was admonishing her to confess her sins. Dimly she heard his voice, coming and going from a great distance; she barely felt the man’s finger trace a cross on her forehead. She could no longer see.