‘I shall miss her very much,’ he said. ‘It’s strange. It’s as though I’d lost a best friend. I got on far better with her -’ He left the sentence unfinished, the words ‘than with my father’ unsaid, hanging in the air between them.

‘And you’re the Earl of Carrick now,’ Isabella went on. ‘Does your papa mind very much?’

Robert’s father had been Earl of Carrick only in right of his wife. Now that she had died the title was no longer his. It had passed to her eldest son, leaving her husband, only heir himself to the lordship of Annandale, without a title.

‘I don’t think he minds much,’ Robert replied, ‘and he can go on using it if he wants to. I don’t mind. But my father is totally without ambition.’ He tried to keep the scorn out of his voice. He was fond of his father, but the two found each other mutually incomprehensible. It was with his ambitious, fiery, romantic grandfather, Robert Bruce of Annandale, that Robert identified. Completely.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them, watching her. ‘Aunt Eleyne said I should bring you down to join her and my sister in her solar before you freeze to death,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘I’ll come now.’ Scrambling to her feet, she put her precious book into the coffer by the wall and, turning back to him, she let out a little squeak of surprise. He had risen swiftly and silently to his feet and was standing immediately behind her.

They looked into each other’s eyes, all shyness forgotten as he raised his hands to her shoulders and drew her to him. His kiss was firm and sure and she was taken by surprise by her own reaction to it. Her legs began to grow weak as she found herself sliding her arms around his neck, drawing his face down for a second lingering kiss.

It was a long time before they drew apart and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She was trembling all over.

‘I came up here to ask you something,’ Robert said softly. He reached for her hand. ‘I wanted to know if you thought I was old enough yet to get married.’

She caught the irrepressible amusement in his eyes.

‘I’ve tried so hard to grow up quickly,’ he went on, teasing. He pulled her towards him again and looked down at her. Her head was level with his shoulders. ‘What do you think?’ His voice had dropped to a husky whisper.

Her breath was catching in her throat; her hand was shaking in his; all she wanted in the world was for him to take her once more into his arms.

She frowned, hesitating, seeming to give the matter serious thought, and was grateful to see a moment of uncertainty in his eyes. Trying very hard to hide her eagerness, she reached out her other hand and took his.

‘I think you’re old enough, my lord,’ she said.

XI

KILDRUMMY CASTLE
1293

‘Macduff of Fife has been arrested by King John Balliol and thrown into prison!’ John Keith, still one of the most trusted administrators of the beleaguered earldom of Fife, stood in front of Eleyne, his face white with anger. ‘Is there no end to the iniquities this man is prepared to authorise!’

‘Macduff?’ Eleyne’s embroidery shears fell unnoticed from her fingers. ‘Arrested?’

‘Yes, my lady. He has been pursuing the restoration of his lands – the lands your late husband, his father, left him in Creich and Rires. With the earldom for so long in minority he has been deprived of what was rightfully his. And now Balliol denies him his claim and throws him into a cell for his pains!’

Eleyne’s lips tightened. ‘John Balliol oversteps the mark all too often. He is a weak man, playing the strong.’ She stood up. ‘This is not to be borne. Macduff must be released. Where is he being held?’

Keith shrugged. ‘At first at Kinross. Then he was taken before the king at Stirling. My lady, you should seek help from the Bruces and their friends.’

‘And stir the cauldron?’ Eleyne said softly. ‘Is that what you would like?’

‘I, and many others. Balliol is not the king for Scotland.’

‘He is the chosen king.’

‘Chosen by God or by man?’ Keith paused. ‘What will Lord Mar do, my lady?’

Eleyne looked up, searching his face. ‘That will remain to be seen, my friend, when I have told him about Macduff.’

XII

TURNBERRY CASTLE

Turnberry Castle stood on a promontory, the sea protecting it on three sides. It was an ancient stronghold, the seat of the Earls of Carrick. Standing on the high walls which surrounded the castle, Eleyne looked out to sea, stunned by the overwhelming homesickness which had hit her. This was her sea; the sea which washed the shores of Gwynedd; the sea which had echoed in her ears as a child. She could smell the cold, salt freshness above the warmth of the land, the sea spice vying with the sweetness of thyme and roses and whin, the hint of vast distances lost in the haze, a backdrop to the warmth and greenness of the land.

She stood mesmerised, oblivious of the people around her on the wall walk. Below, the sea lapped the rocks exposed by the low tide, hardly moving, licking at the drifting wood, clear as a mountain stream.

When she turned back, they had brought a chair up to the battlements for old Robert Bruce of Annandale.

She frowned. She had caught herself thinking of him as an old man; his followers obviously thought of him as an old man. No one had volunteered to bring her a chair. Yet they were of an age, she and this robust, cantankerous patriarch of the house of Bruce. She put the thought behind her briskly. ‘So, what are we going to do? What about Macduff?’

The Lord of Annandale leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him with a groan. ‘Calm down, lass. Let your old nephew speak! Macduff is free. Balliol has already ordered his release.’

‘Are you sure? When?’

Eleyne and Donald had set off for John Balliol’s court soon after hearing of Macduff ’s arrest. Then they had changed their minds, and ridden west instead towards the stronghold of opposition to their elected king.

‘He let him go almost at once.’ Robert grinned. He had lost two of his front teeth the previous year and his smile had a piratical wickedness which Donald found fascinating. Even knowing how foolish it was, he felt a shiver run up his spine at the sight of the old man smiling. There was a joyful malevolence there. Robert’s next words confirmed his fears.

‘Macduff is to appeal against Balliol,’ he said quietly. ‘If the appeal doesn’t come out his way, he has threatened to go over his head to King Edward. Balliol is being shown up for his true worth. The man is an ineffectual fool who can’t handle the smallest problem, never mind a kingdom.’

‘And you could,’ Donald said quietly.

‘Of course I could, I was born to it!’ Robert stood up and paced across to lean against one of the wall merlons, his whole body betraying his energy and frustration. He turned abruptly as his son ducked out of the stairwell and on to the roof leads.

The former Lord Carrick greeted Eleyne and Donald warmly. ‘So, what’s the old man plotting now?’ he asked, putting his arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘Not more plans for the royal line of Bruce?’

‘Yes, more plans.’ Robert turned to his son with a flash of impatience. ‘And as usual you’re not here to discuss them. It will be your throne, boy! You’re the one who will inherit it. I’m too old, Goddamn it! Balliol is a broken reed and the other claimants are so much dust in the wind!’ He smacked his hands together in frustration. ‘And I’m stuck with a son who would rather sit about watching the sheep eat grass than buckle on his armour and win himself a kingdom!’

He turned to Eleyne and Donald. ‘I’ve negotiated a match for his daughter,’ he gestured towards his son, ‘that will bring them all up by the ears! Young Isabel, Robert and Kirsty’s sister, is going to marry the King of Norway! What do you think of that?’ He was bursting with pride. ‘King Eric obviously sees the Bruces as a royal family and I shall have a king for a son-in-law.’

Donald raised an eyebrow. ‘Edward of England won’t like that!’

‘No, he won’t.’ The old man chuckled and put his head on one side. ‘My grandson, Rob, is a man now. Shall we fix a date for his wedding too? Your lass, Isabella, must have given up hoping her husband will ever be out of clouts!’ He threw back his head and laughed.

Eleyne shook her head at him reprovingly. ‘I think you’ll find the young people have already decided they are ready,’ she said fondly. ‘The date is all that’s missing.’

Robert Bruce the younger looked at his father and then at the Mars and cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘There’s something I’d like to say. Rob is the Earl of Carrick now. He’s nineteen years old. As you say, he’s a man. And, as you say, I’m not.’ He looked at the ground and they saw the contortion of his throat muscles as he swallowed.

‘No, no, I didn’t say that!’ his father put in testily. ‘You’re overreacting, boy. I didn’t mean anything – ’

‘Yes, you did, father, and you’re right.’ The younger man straightened his shoulders and looked Robert of Annandale in the eye. ‘I would rather be a farmer than a soldier, and I have no stomach for fighting for a throne. It’s best we all recognise the fact. Make Rob your heir, and I will stand back from any claims you make.’

There was silence for a moment. Robert the elder cleared his throat. ‘That is a courageous decision, my son. But I’m not sure it’s possible.’

His son shrugged. ‘Why not? I’ve always supported you. And I’ll support Rob as loyally.’ He smiled. ‘And I think you’ll find the people of Scotland would rather follow Rob than me.’

Donald took his hand and shook it solemnly. ‘That’s a brave thing to say, my friend, and I for one will support Rob as his grandfather’s heir.’