Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“Jealous, is it? A jealous woman?”

“Aye. Jealous. In some things, I fear. In this. In you.”

“So! I must not look at another woman? I am bound hereafter by these fair chains?” He twisted a coil of her yellow hair round his fingers.

“Since you are a man, you will look, yes. Well I know it. You may look. Touch. Play with. Who knows, even lie with. This I could bear. Even laugh at, I think. But-should you ever give your heart to another. Take it from me. Then I would not forgive. Or accept. I would leave you. I might … I might kill you! So beware, Robert de Bruce! Think well.”

“How can I dunk well, woman? With your nakedness filling my arms! Think any way? You bludgeon my poor wits. These-how may a man think with such as these stirring, pushing, be labouring him?”

“Shall I cover them, then? It grows cold, perhaps. It must be cold, though I feel it not…”

“No. Of a mercy-no covering I Not yet. Not yet a long while.

The night is young. And we have waited long. So long. At least, I have. You—can it be that you have loved me also? Wished for me? These years?”

“Witless one, indeed I Think you I would be here now, otherwise? Think you I write such letters to any man in need? Why think you I resisted all the King’s schemes to marry me to others?

Worked on my father to oppose him in this …?”

“And I did not know it I I believed that you might think a little kindly of me, yes. When you wrote so. And when last we met, and parted. But never this …”

“You would not have had me to declare my love, sirrah? Before you did? Bold I maybe, but scarce so brazen. Though, mercy on us, few might agree! If they could see me lying bare as the day I was born, in a man’s arms. On this island. Waiting. Waiting for …”

“Aye, waiting. For the man to become a man again! As he will, my love-I promise you I You aiding him! You know men, I think? How it is with men. That is clear …”

“You mean that I am no shy virgin? Does it trouble you?”

“No. Not so …”

“Few girls grow to womanhood in warrent Ireland and remain virgin. Even de Burgh’s daughter. In especial, de Burgh’s daughter, it may be I For I was not of the shrinking sort, I fear.

And I have managed my father’s household since I was fifteen, played the countess since my mother died. But, if I am less than chaste, Robert, I am no harlot. Many men would have me. But I have known none since I saw you that day on the road to Berwick.

When you unseated me. Overturned me, in more than my litter …!”

“My dear—you shame me. For I have been less-, less constant.

Lacking you. Scarce believing that I should ever have you. I am not so enamoured of virginity. In woman or man. Any mouse, any craven, can be a virgin. You, I would not expect to be. Nor wish. Although, see you, once you are my wife …!”

“Wife? Then you would wed me, my lord?” That came a little more quickly than what had gone before.

“What else, woman? Elizabeth de Burgh lies thus, and asks?”

“Elizabeth de Burgh loves. And gives. And takes. But… marriage.

That is other. That is what King Edward desires. Now.

You may not wish to seem to humour him?”

“Aye. Edward would use us, no doubt. We must see that he does not.

Or only insofar as it serve us.”

“That is why I was cool to you. Before the Queen. I would not have you forced into marrying me! I have that much pride…”

“And a little more, I trunk. But forced into marrying me you will be I By myself I By you. None other. If you will have me?

For not only do I greatly love you, Elizabeth, my heart. But I need

you by my side. Always. Will you wed the ruined Earl of Carrick, Ulster’s daughter?”

She ran her fingers lightly over his face.

“Perhaps I might.

Indeed, I feel wed to you now. This, it may be, is our true marriage.

Yes, Elizabeth de Burgh will wed Robert de Bruce. And hold him fast Till death do them part.” She shivered.

He made to draw the cloaks and clothing closer about them.

“It was not cold.” she said.

“It was a sort of joy.”

“Joy?” Suddenly he was sombre, lying there.

“I fear mat being wife to Robert Bruce will not be all joy. I am scarce the sort of husband to offer you peace and comfort, lass. I was born to trouble, I think. I have lived with it for long. And see scant signs of betterment ahead. Whatever Edward promises…”

“Am I one to shirk trouble, think you? Ulster’s daughter?”

“No. No, I think not.”

“And Ulster’s daughter can bring the Earl of Carrick more than her heart and body. My father is the greatest lord in Ireland.

He can field more gallowglasses than any man in all Scotland. He is rich, with a score of castles, and manors by the hundred. My dowry will not be scanty. And, allied to Ulster, Bruce will not be weakened.”

“Aye. This I have not failed to think on. But … Edward must have thought of it also. And your father is his closest friend.”

“Close, but not servile. He has opposed the King many times.

Is indeed well placed to do so. He is no man’s puppet.”

“Yet I swear Edward believes this match to his benefit.”

“He can make mistakes. He has made many. He misjudges your coming to Linlithgow, does he not?”

“That is my hope. But—who knows? Edward is … Edward.

He is no fool. I am at a loss to know what he plans for me. Not only in this of the marriage. It is strange. He gets me here, offering great things. Many things. To my advantage. And when I am at my lowest. Least danger to him. Apparently forgiving all my rebellion. Why? It is not like him. He would use me against Comyn, of course ..

.”

“Yes. I think that he sees you as the best way of dividing Scotland.

So my father believes. If he is to keep Scotland down, without each year having to come campaigning in war, he must keep the Scots divided against themselves…”

“Always we are that, by the Rude I Without Edward’s aid!”

“Perhaps. But that means that one side must not win in this struggle.

For if it does, the land will be united behind the winner.

At this present, your enemy Comyn grows too strong. Matters have gone his way, while you have suffered and lost ground. So Edward would build you up again. Lest all men nock to Comyn. Who, it is said, would try for the throne. This above all must be stopped. The King would even make you Governor of Scotland, I think. His governor. Or so says the Queen. But, get you too strong, in turn; let Comyn be brought low—and he will bring you down. It is simple. He has come to know the Scots.

How you ever fight amongst yourselves. So he uses you.”

“Aye. It could be . But, offering so much? You, in marriage.

Why so much?”

“He is a strange man. I believe he has a true fondness for you. Of a sort. He would bind you to him if he could. If you would play his game, he would cherish you, I think. But you would wholly have to accept his rule of Scotland.”

“That I will never do. I am Bruce.”

“He still must believe he can win you, bribe you, frighten you, hold you. He will work on you, seek to mould you, as a potter moulds his clay. Use you and mould you.”

“I am no clay to be moulded. I will watch him always. Like a hawk. And seek to use him. Make him win Scotland for me I With your help, my dear.”

“So you stay? Here, with Edward. In what he calls his peace?”

“So long as I may. With profit. And you, my wife. Is that not what you would wish? Why you sent the message I should come? By St. John.”

“It is, yes. But—there are dangers in it. For you. Let the King once suspect you are but waiting to turn against him, and he will be ruthless. Without mercy. However fond he may seem.”

“I know it. And you? What of you? If you are my wife?”