Kingdom of Shadows
Barbara Erskine's classic bestseller, the successor to Lady of Hay, at last available as a HarperCollins paperback.In a childless and unhappy marriage, Clare Royland is rich and beautiful – but lonely. And fueling her feelings of isolation is a strange, growing fascination with an ancestress from the distant past. Troubled by haunting inexplicable dreams that terrify – but also powerfully compel – her, Clare is forced to look back through the centuries for answers.In 1306, Scotland is at war. Isobel, Countess of Buchan, faces fear and the prospect of untimely death as the fighting surrounds her. But passionate and headstrong, her trials escalate when she is persecuted for her part in crowning Robert the Bruce, her lover.Duncairn, Isobel's home and Clare's beloved heritage, becomes a battleground for passions that span the centuries. As husband Paul's recklessness threatens their security, Clare must fight to save Duncairn, and to save herself from the powers of Isobel…
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BARBARA ERSKINE
Kingdom of Shadows
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
This edition first published by HarperCollins 2004
First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph Ltd 1988
Published by Sphere Books Ltd 1989
Published by Warner Books 1992
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The quotation from ‘I Have a Dream’ composed by Bjorn Uluaeus and Benny Anderson, is copyright © Bow Music Ltd, 1979, 1 Wyndham Yard, London, W1H 1AR, reproduced by kind permission. It is specifically excluded from any blanket photocopying arrangements.
Copyright © Barbara Erskine 1988
Barbara Erskine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN 9780007288663
Ebook edition © JANUARY 2009 ISBN 9780007290673
Version 2017-09-12
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CONTENTS
It came again that night with the silent menace of a cloud sliding across the moon. In her sleep her hands began to clench and unclench, slippery with sweat. Her breathing became short and irregular, her heartbeat increased and she threw herself from side to side, moaning with fear. Then she ceased to move. Beneath her eyelids her eyes began to flick rapidly about.
Panic-stricken she fought to escape, her hands groping in the darkness whilst something held her back, trapping her, holding her immovable. There were bars above her head, behind her back, on every side of her, and, beyond the bars, eyes. Faces staring, mouths moving, teeth glittering with spittle, like the fangs of animals. Only they weren’t animals: they were people and only the bars could save her from them. She cowered back now, on her knees, her arms about her head.
When she looked up, they had gone. All was empty again.
Slowly she stood up. Now in her dream she was a bird. Her wings were stiff with disuse, the feathers dusty and brittle. To spread them hurt the muscles in her breast and shoulders. She tried to beat them, faster and faster, willing them to carry her outwards and upwards towards the sky. But the bars held and the feathers beat against them – beating, beating until her wings were broken and bloody and she was exhausted. Hope died; she knew again she was a woman.
The dream began to lift and with it the immobility which comes with the deepest sleep. Tears filled her eyes and slipped from beneath her closed lids. She moved her head restlessly again, her hands groping in an echo of the dream, seeking the bars, afraid they would still be there when she awoke. She was fighting the dream now, yet still ensnared.
One hand, flailing in the darkness, caught something and held it until her knuckles whitened. It was the chained door of the cage.
As her eyes flew wide she opened her mouth and began to scream.
1970
Margaret Gordon looked down at the two children at her feet and smiled. James, his cheeks pink and shining, his hair neatly brushed and his checked shirt and jeans clean for once, was sitting fidgeting on the footstool, near her chair. At eight, he was already a tall, athletic boy, promising to be as handsome as his father. She shook her head sadly, then she turned her attention to Clare. Four years older than her brother she was a dark-haired, slim child, with the grace and elfin beauty of a fawn. Her short, wavy hair framed a delicate face, dominated by huge grey eyes.
