stayed at Duncairn for three weeks as he discussed with the Scottish lords their plans for rebellion and made the decision at last to defy King Edward openly by breaking his parole and joining them. By the time he left the castle with them, Isobel knew that she hated him as she had hated no one in her life before; and she also knew that she was pregnant.
As he rode away down the track at the head of his men she called Mairi to her.
‘A bath,’ she commanded. ‘Have them bring a bath up here and fill it for me!’
‘My lady?’ Mairi stared at her. ‘Up here? Now?’
‘Now,’ Isobel was imperious. For once she did not care how much work it made for the servants, or how hard it was to carry water up the high winding stairs. She waited in the chamber she had shared with the earl for the men to drag the heavy wooden tub up the stairs and fill it with bucket after bucket of rapidly cooling water, then, alone save for Mairi she began to remove her clothes.
She heard the woman’s quickly smothered gasp of horror as she saw the bruises on Isobel’s arms and shoulders, and the lacerations where her husband’s brooch and buckles had caught at her bare skin as he took her again and again over the weeks, not even bothering to undress himself, but she ignored the woman’s unspoken sympathy. She gritted her teeth. If she wavered even for an instant in her resolve she would begin to cry, and that she would never do.
Helping Isobel climb into the high-sided tub it was Mairi who found that she was blinking back her tears, but Isobel was uncowed. ‘Fetch me that box, standing on the coffer,’ she commanded as she lowered her aching body into the water.
Mairi did as she was bid, wiping her eyes surreptitiously on her sleeve as she picked up the small carved box.
Isobel held out her hand. ‘Now, leave me alone,’ she commanded.
‘My lady –’
‘Leave me! I’ll call you when I’m ready.’ Her voice wavered for the first time.
She waited for the door to close, then, carefully holding the box clear of the water, she opened it.
The powders were ready; crushed herbs and tree bark, the ash of a burned piece of parchment on which a spell had been written and the charcoal remains of a poor burned frog. With a shudder she tipped the mixture into the water, and throwing the box to the ground she gently stirred it in around her. She had already swallowed some of the powder, dissolved in wine; this ritual cleansing would complete the spell which Mairi had herself told her, long ago, and would rid her of Lord Buchan’s child.
When the water was quite cold and she was shivering violently she called Mairi back.
‘Quick, give me a towel.’ She climbed awkwardly from the bath, and ran, swathed in the towel to stand by the fire. Her teeth were chattering audibly. ‘Throw on more peats, Mairi, I’m so cold.’ Outside, the wind was rising; the polished horn shutters in the windows rattled and the dried heather on the floor stirred uneasily in the draught.
‘I won’t bear his child!’ Isobel cried as Mairi approached with a neatly folded clean shift from one of the coffers. ‘I won’t. I’d die rather!’
Mairi shook her head sadly. ‘It will be as God wills, my lady.’
‘No! It will be as I will!’ Isobel shook out her hair. She snatched off the towel and stood for a moment, naked in the firelight, looking down in distaste at the roughly woven unbleached cloth which was covered in little bits of the herb and bark that had been clinging to her damp skin.
Mairi shrank back. Such blatant nakedness was suddenly shocking. The child she had bathed a thousand times before had become a stranger.
As she watched, Isobel held the towel high and flung it on the fire. It smoked and blackened on the smouldering peats, then it burst into a brilliant flame which leapt crackling up the chimney. Both women stared at it for a moment, then, shaking with fear, Mairi hurried forward and wrapped Isobel’s chilled body in the shift. When she turned away the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Glancing over her shoulder at her mistress, Mairi crossed herself secretly.
‘You’re not afraid of me, Mairi?’ Isobel asked suddenly.
‘Of course not, my lady.’ Still unnerved, Mairi didn’t look at her. She stooped to pick up the box near the bath and closing it reverently she put it down on the table.
‘I meant it, Mairi. I will not carry that man’s baby.’ Isobel spoke with a new authority, no longer a child.
‘I believe you, my lady.’ Mairi shivered again.
‘And now it is over.’ Isobel was staring into the fire. ‘Soon the blood will come, and I shall be free of it!’
‘James Gordon is here, Mr Royland.’ The voice on Paul’s desk rang out suddenly in the silence.
Paul turned from the window and pressed the intercom switch. ‘Thank you, Penny. Could you ask him to come in?’
He smiled wearily as the door opened. ‘I’m sorry about lunch last week.’
James shrugged. ‘No problem. Did you talk to Clare?’
Paul nodded slowly. He threw himself down into a chair, gesturing at his brother-in-law to do the same. ‘We discussed things at some length.’ He hesitated, giving James a quick appraising glance. ‘I want this conversation to be completely confidential. It is to ask you about Clare.’
James sat down slowly. His expression was carefully guarded.
‘As you predicted,’ Paul went on, ‘she is adamant in her refusal to contemplate the sale of Duncairn. Irrationally so.’ He paused again, allowing the words to hang for a moment in the air. ‘It is of course a very difficult time for Clare. The discovery that she can never have children has upset her enormously. It is perfectly understandable that her entire outlook on life is a little disturbed at the moment. The problem is that she is allowing her emotional distress to interfere with her business acumen.’
For the first time James’s face flickered. ‘I never thought my sister had any business acumen at the best of times.’
Paul looked at him sharply. ‘Indeed?’ he said. ‘Well, I assure you she has. Which is why she would be the first to be furious if she found that she had missed out on a massively profitable deal while the balance of her mind was disturbed.’
James let out a soundless whistle. ‘That’s a bit strong, surely.’
Paul stood up restlessly. He walked across to the window and stood looking down into Coleman Street for a moment in silence. When he spoke it was with extreme care. ‘I understand that there have been times, even from her earliest childhood, when Clare has had periods of, shall we say, strangeness?’ He put his hands in his pockets, leaning forward slightly, as if studying something below on the pavement.
‘Hardly strangeness.’ James was staring at Paul’s back. ‘She’s always been highly strung, I suppose. And Aunt Margaret used to call her fey. But I don’t think that means what one thinks it does, does it?’ He gave a forced laugh.
‘It
