resume amongst the lords of Scotland. We must bring them together if we are to eradicate the threat of England’s suzerainty once and for all. And you have influence with some of our more recalcitrant leaders, I hear. The Earl of Carrick for one.’ He raised his eyebrow suggestively.
Isobel stiffened. ‘You are mistaken, Sir Alexander. I have no influence over Lord Carrick. I have not seen him for a long time.’
She was suddenly very conscious of her husband, still sitting at the table, looking in their direction, and she wondered if he had heard his brother’s comment over the shouting and laughter in the hall behind them. There was a speculative frown on his face. As she watched he stood up and walked over to join them.
‘So, has my wife agreed to talk Lord Carrick round?’
Isobel’s heart sank. ‘I have told Sir Alexander I have no influence over my cousin,’ she said defiantly. ‘I do not see him any more.’
‘While he was fighting on the side of the English,’ Lord Buchan’s voice was silky, ‘it would have been inappropriate for you to have done so, to say the least.’
The colour flared in Isobel’s cheeks. ‘You yourself swore allegiance to King Edward not so long since, my lord!’
‘We have all been guilty at some time of bending before the wind,’ Macduff put in hastily from his position near the fire. ‘What matters is that we should all now put Scotland’s liberty before our personal ambitions and quarrels and free her of the domination of England for good. And to do that we must put our differences behind us. Sir Alexander is right. Bruce and Comyn must fight on the same side.’
Did that mean that she would see Robert again? Later, in the bedchamber, Isobel allowed herself to think about the possibility. For months she had gleaned small pieces of information about his whereabouts and at last heard the devastating news that he had come into King Edward’s peace and fought for the English rather than support the Comyns and John Balliol. It was hard to believe that his hatred of the Comyns was greater than his love for Scotland and however much she tried she found it impossible to justify his actions, but even though he had betrayed Scotland she had still prayed for him, and desperately she had hoped that somehow one day she would see him again. Sometimes she thought it was her dreams of Robert which kept her sane.
With a sigh she glanced around the room. Alice was sitting near her, her spindle lying in her lap. Her attendants were there too, clustered around the fire. Some of the driftwood which had come ashore had been brought up to the tower room and it crackled noisily, sending strange green and blue lights leaping up the huge chimney, a change from the calm glow of peat. Wood was usually far too valuable to burn. Dreamily Isobel allowed Mairi to help her out of her clothes and into the fur-trimmed bed gown in which she habitually slept.
The woman was gently combing out Isobel’s long curling hair when the door opened and Lord Buchan walked in. There was sudden silence amongst the women. Mairi’s hands fell to her sides as she saw the disgust and fear chasing one another across her young mistress’s face, before Isobel concealed her feelings with a look of wary blankness.
Lord Buchan was drunk. ‘Leave us.’ His eyes were fixed on his wife’s, but his command was unmistakably directed at the others in the room. One by one the women hastily gathered up their spinning and sewing and scuttled towards the door. Only Alice stood her ground.
‘It was good of you to come to wish us goodnight, uncle,’ she said firmly. ‘I am going to share Aunt Isobel’s bed tonight. I knew you would want to remain in the hall with my father.’
Isobel’s eyes were fixed on those of her husband. She had gone completely cold.
‘I said out.’ Lord Buchan did not even look at Alice. His brother’s joke had touched a raw nerve and he had spent the last hour, as he drank moodily in the great hall below, allowing it to fester. Alice glanced at Isobel apologetically and edged slowly towards the door in her turn. Her aunt had not moved.
‘So, at last my wife and I are alone.’ Lord Buchan moved slowly towards her. ‘I trust you will make it clear to your clucking attendants that I intend to sleep here in the lord’s bedchamber as long as I remain at Duncairn.’
‘You must not touch me, my lord!’ Isobel found her voice at last. ‘It … it might harm the child.’
‘Nonsense. Women can accommodate a man till their bellies are too big to get near them, and even then there are ways and means!’ He laughed coarsely. ‘It seems to me that you are always trying to keep me from your bed. You have to learn to give pleasure to your husband, my dear. Your body was made to please men. You must learn how to use it. Take off that hideous robe and let me see this belly of yours.’
‘No!’ Isobel stepped back sharply. ‘You musn’t touch me. Please – haven’t I done my duty enough?’
‘Your duty is to please me.’
He cornered her near the high curtained bed. Pulling open her robe he pushed it back off her shoulders and stared down. The slim child’s body had gone. Since he had seen her last she had become a woman indeed. Her breasts were full and heavy, her stomach, boyishly flat before, was rounded, her hips defined. He felt a wave of intense desire shoot through him.
‘So. You think to keep me at arms’ length, till you are delivered of my son!’ He spoke thickly as he pulled her to him. ‘Think again, sweetheart. I find you more beautiful now than ever before.’ He dropped his head to her breast, grabbing for the nipple with his teeth.
Isobel caught her breath with pain. Desperately she pulled at his hair, trying to dislodge him, and, finally managing it, she pushed him violently away from her and dodged out of reach. Her eyes were dark with temper. ‘Curse you, John Comyn! Don’t you touch me again! Don’t you so much as lay a finger on me or I shall kill this child. By the gods I swear I shall kill this child and you will never have a son!’ She could feel the wall behind her, cold beneath its tapestry hanging, and she pressed her hands against it, her eyes fixed on her husband’s face. ‘Leave me! Leave me, now.’
He had gone white. For a moment he stood completely still, staring at her, then he stepped towards her. His voice was very quiet. ‘Sorceress! Witch! Don’t you ever threaten me again!’ He caught her by the shoulders. ‘I knew the devil would claim you for his own one day! Be thankful there was no one here to hear your evil tongue, my lady. Be very thankful indeed.’ He shook her, then quite deliberately he released her and, raising his hand, he hit her across the face. Her head snapped back against the wall and she sagged forward for a moment, stunned, but already he had grabbed her arms and pushed her upright again, his eyes hard. ‘Did you hear me? You are my wife, madam. In the eyes of God and in the eyes of men and at the command of the king, you are my wife, and you will obey me.’
Still stunned, she tried to push her hair out of her eyes. The side of her face was a throbbing mass of pain.
‘At the command of our king!’ She forced herself to stand upright, her voice mocking. ‘Toom Tabard. The king of Nowhere. The king without a country. He is not our king. Our true king would never have given me to you!’
‘Ah, the father of the handsome Earl of Carrick!’ Lord Buchan raised his hand again. ‘How sad that you could not marry Sir Robert, my dear. How sad that you must be forced to love, honour and obey the husband you have.’
She dodged the next blow, trying to push past him, but he caught her easily. Pain exploded in her head as he hit her again. Blind with fury and tears of agony she clawed at his face, trying to free her wrist from his grip, then as she
