LITMIR.BIZ

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to spend Christmas with us?’

      Eleyne stepped forward and curtseyed low. ‘Papa,’ she said.

      Her father put out his hand and took hers. ‘You are welcome here, daughter,’ he said quietly. But he did not hug her and within seconds he had turned away.

      It was a week later, after the supper tables had been cleared and the prince had retired to a private room with Ednyfed Fychan, the archdeacon of St Asaph’s and several others among his closest companions and advisers, that the household, led by Princess Joan, settled themselves comfortably to hear a new harper from the land of Cornwall far to the south. Joan beckoned Eleyne to the seat next to her and Eleyne, with a look at Isabella who was scowling as usual, took the place with a smile, watching the grave young man before them lovingly tuning his instrument.

      Her eyes wandered over the assembled company, men and women most of whom she had known all her life. There were some strangers, but they were seated in the body of the hall, their faces lost in the light and shadow of the wall sconces with their flaring smoky lights. All were quiet now, replete after their meal and eager to hear the new musician – all loving music, all appreciative, all critical of whatever offering was to come. Her gaze strayed back to the dais where the immediate family sat – all except her father – to Isabella, slumped in her chair, the bloated mound of her belly making it impossible for her to be comfortable. Even as Eleyne watched, she saw the young woman, who had ostentatiously turned her seat away from Eleyne, move awkwardly, obviously in some distress, her hand pressed against her side. Eleyne felt an overwhelming wave of sadness at the sight of her.

      The first warm, enticing chords of the music drew her attention back to the performer and she was lost in the magic arpeggios of sound, her spine straight against the carved wooden chairback, her hands resting loosely on its arms, aware of the subtle change in the attention of the audience around her. The first notes had told them that this man was a master, equal to the best of their own harpers. Reassured, the audience sat back to enjoy the evening.

      Isabella’s scream cut the music short in mid-sweep, and there was total horrified silence in the hall. Then it was repeated, echoing eerily in the smoky rafters as Isabella half slipped, half threw herself from her chair, clutching her belly.

      It took five agonised hours for her to lose the baby, during which time no corner of the palace seemed free of her screams. Rhonwen, her pot of healing salve in her hands, ran at once to help, but Isabella took one look at her and screamed again.

      ‘Murderess! Sorceress! You did this. You! You did it for her. You hag! You witch!’ Words failed her and once more she clutched in agony at the bed rail above her head. Rhonwen stood staring at the suffering girl, then slipped without a word from the room.

      She put the pot of salve on the coffer near Eleyne and regarded it sadly. ‘She is blaming me,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘She claims I did it for you.’

      Eleyne grew cold. ‘For me?’ she echoed. They stared at each other in the shadowy room. The only sound was the moan of the wind. ‘Did you?’ Eleyne’s whisper was barely audible.

      IX

      The snow started in earnest that night: soft, thick, silent snow, whirling in from the north, smothering mountains and valleys alike in deep feathery drifts which, as the grey dawn came, turned from shadow-white to grey and then to blue. The water of the river slowed to a sluggish crawl, held back by icicles and frost-hard tree roots, and in the stables the water in the horses’ buckets was solid ice.

      ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Rhonwen said quietly. Her breath was a cloud in the clean air. The horses too breathed dragon plumes in the silence. ‘What happened to Invictus?’

      Eleyne sighed. ‘I left him at Chester. It would have been wrong to bring him back here. Lord Huntingdon will take care of him. He’s a valuable horse.’ The words sounded as though she had been trying to persuade herself. ‘How is Isabella?’ She hadn’t turned from the door on which she was leaning, watched from a distance by her father’s grooms.

      ‘She’ll live to bear more children, never fear.’ Rhonwen pursed her lips. ‘She’s strong, that one.’

      Eleyne shook her head: ‘There will be no more children, not for Isabella.’

      Rhonwen closed her eyes. ‘So. Then that is the will of the gods. You saw that in the fire, cariad?’

      Eleyne shrugged. ‘No, there are some things I just know.’

      ‘And what do you see for yourself, girl? Or is it just for others you have the Sight?’

      Eleyne rested her chin on her folded arms. ‘I have never seen anything for myself. Perhaps there is no future for me.’

      ‘You mustn’t talk like that.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I am not very cheerful today.’ Straightening, Eleyne looked at her directly and Rhonwen frowned, sensing yet again the new determination there, strengthened by the prince’s lingering coldness. ‘Where is Einion?’

      ‘There was some scandal. The prince heard it and suggested Einion leave his court for a while. If you want to see him I’m sure I can find him –’ Rhonwen looked doubtfully at the whirling whiteness in the courtyard.

      ‘No!’ Eleyne’s voice was sharp. ‘I don’t want to see him!’ She turned her back on the horses and pulled her cloak hood over her veil. ‘Come. I want to speak to Isabella.’

      X

      ‘Keep away from me!’ Isabella huddled beneath her covers, her eyes huge in her white face. ‘You have bewitched me, all of us. You have the evil eye! First papa, then Cousin John, and now me! Everyone you go near dies!’ Her lip trembled and two huge tears welled up in her eyes.

      ‘That is not true.’ Eleyne had stopped near the doorway, conscious of the half-dozen pairs of eyes turned in her direction. At least two of Isabella’s ladies crossed themselves and one, she saw, made the sign against the devil. ‘I wish you no harm; I am your friend – ’

      ‘You are not my friend!’ Isabella’s voice was heavy with bitterness. ‘You’re jealous! Jealous of my marriage; jealous of my happiness; jealous of my baby –’ She started sobbing loudly and was immediately surrounded by her women. One stayed behind and said: ‘Please leave, Lady Chester. You see how upset the princess is.’

      ‘It’s not true.’ Eleyne was still staring at Isabella. ‘I’m not jealous. I wished her no harm – ’

      ‘Of course you didn’t. Please go, my lady, please.’ She ushered Eleyne to the door. ‘Let my princess sleep now. I am sure she will be calmer later.’

      The corridor was dark, lit by a single rush lamp at the corner of the passage, and for a few minutes Eleyne was alone.

      The figure was barely a shadow, a darker place on the darkness of the wall. She looked at it and it was gone.

      ‘Who’s there?’ she asked sharply. There was no reply. From Isabella’s bedchamber behind her, there was no sound. There was nothing to hear but the wind.

      She made her way down the passage to the staircase and peered down. The steps vanished into darkness. ‘Who’s there?’ she called again, her voice steadier now. Almost without realising, she began to descend the stairs, her shoes silent on the wood, the only sound the soft swish of her skirts as they followed her, dragging a little down each steep step, catching now and then on a rough, splintered edge.

      At the bottom she stopped again. The stairs ended in an inner hallway. To her right a curtained archway led into the great hall where the bulk of the household sat or sprawled, listening to a recitation by a poet from Powys. To her left a dark wooden passageway linked the hall with the other scattered buildings of the palace complex. Again without realising why, she turned down it. It was dark; from the far end she caught the unsteady flicker of light from the torch one of the watch

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