Queen Hereafter

by Susan Fraser King

  “She tries her utmost in all things,” Eva said. “She cares so much. Too much. And she has come to love Scotland.”

  “Despite her Saxon ways, she is a better queen than I expected of her. So Malcolm will build her a new church in Dunfermline in honor of the sons she has borne? Good. I always thought that little chapel needed replacing,” she said. “The roof leaked.”

  They paused beside the falls, the water rushing downward, fine spray misting their hair, their faces. The morning, toward noon, grew warm. Eva leaned against her grandmother. “I have missed you,” she said.

  “And we miss your brightness in our household.” Gruadh pushed damp tendrils of hair from Eva’s brow. “I will write to Malcolm once again and tell him it is time to set you free. He has refused every request I have made in your absence—I doubt you were even told, and I did not want to trouble you. And as far as he knows I have behaved myself quite well.”

  “I doubt he believes that. Oh! I brought something for you.” Eva reached into her pocket and drew out the tightly rolled, now dry parchment sheets. “These tell of Macbeth and Lulach—”

  “Let me see!” Gruadh reached for the sheets, hands trembling as she untied the ribbon that held them curled.

  “GONE? SHE MIGHT have waited,” Margaret said. Emerging from the cool interior of the ancient saint’s cave, she felt expansive and peaceful. But she was puzzled to learn that Eva had ridden off on her own. “I would have gone with her to see her kin. I thought it was our plan.”

  “She went toward a waterfall not far from here, a very pretty place indeed. We can find her there. This way,” the guard said, as Margaret turned her horse to follow him, the other housecarls falling into line behind her.

  They followed a path that led west toward a grouping of round-shouldered hills. Soon the track met the bank of a wide, calm river, the way winding over a moorland and curving around the base of one hill after another. The path grew thick with trees clustered along the river’s edge, and water churned over rocks and boulders as the sloping ground climbed. Awed by the rugged landscape, Margaret paced her horse slowly and looked around, fascinated. She had rarely seen this face of Scotland—secretive, dynamic, powerful.

  Ahead, she heard the rush and fury of a waterfall and craned her head to search for it through the trees. So far she had seen only a few homes tucked here and there against the steep hillsides. Roe and white-tailed deer flitted past, sheep grazed placidly, and in places wild goats clung to sheer, steep rock. Pine trees arrowed upward out of the hillsides, and everywhere the air was cool, brisk, and damp.

  One of the guards led the party toward an overhang above the river, where the land sloped sharply downward and water poured over some high boulders in a narrow pass. Dismounting, he reached up to assist Margaret, who was eager to get down to see the falls.

  “Come this way. We may see some salmon here,” he said, guiding her toward the overhang. “Careful, Lady,” he warned.

  Reaching a cluster of boulders, Margaret leaned against a sizable rock to peer down at the turbulent, foaming white falls beneath. After a while, she saw the flash of a salmon as it surged upward, then another and one more, so quickly that she was not sure, at first, what she had seen.

  “Beautiful—oh!” she said, straightening. Below, amid the cover of trees, figures moved about. She glimpsed Eva’s glossy dark braids, her pale skin, and finely shaped profile. “Look! Lady Eva and someone else—likely her relative. Let us meet them down there.” Picking up her skirts, she went carefully down the rocky slope, while the guard, now and then, reached out to assist her.

  Coming closer, she saw that Eva’s companion was a tall woman in a dark cloak. Behind them were a few plaid-draped Highland warriors, clearly an escort keeping their distance. The woman, whose head was draped in a white veil, moved gracefully as she walked with Eva among the trees. They spoke intently, and paused while the older woman gestured.

  Though Margaret called out, Eva did not seem to hear her over the noise of the falls. A moment later she saw Eva hand over to the other woman what looked like a sheaf of parchments. They opened the pages, heads together. Suddenly wary, Margaret slowed, still unseen.

  Close enough now to hear them speak in Gaelic, Margaret saw the taller woman roll the pages up and shove them into a deep pocket in her cloak. Just then, Eva turned to see Margaret standing higher along the slope, and she blanched, grew still. Her companion looked up as well, and tilted her head curiously. She spoke to Eva, who nodded.

  This was Macbeth’s queen. Margaret realized it, heart and soul.

  Slim and elegant despite being two generations older than Eva, Gruadh had an uncommon beauty—timeless, balanced, exquisite. She showed willfulness, too, and daring in the way she stared at Margaret. She resembled Eva in her long-lidded silver-blue eyes, so vibrant that they seemed mystical, capable of seeing into one’s soul.

  Pausing, her confidence wavering under that sure stare, Margaret drew a deep breath and walked toward them, motioning for her guard to stay back. The Highland guards who stood upon the hill also stayed still, though alert and watching.

  “Lady,” Margaret said in English. “Queen Gruadh.”

  The older woman nodded once. “Queen Margaret.” Her English was softly accented.

  “I am glad to have found you together,” Margaret said. “I hoped to meet you one day, Lady Gruadh. I have heard much praise of you.”

  “And much that is not praiseworthy, I imagine,” Gruadh replied. “May I offer my congratulations on your three fine sons, and my compliments on your efforts as queen. You have proven yourself … worthy of the throne.” Her beautiful face was taut, proud.

  “My thanks,” Margaret said, sensing sincerity and grace of character in the remarks. “Sometimes I wish, Lady Gruadh, that I had your wisdom and experience as queen. I wonder what you might have done in some of the situations I have faced.”

  “I would not have set those prisoners free,” Gruadh said bluntly. “I would have wanted the ransom income. But I do not fault you for your kind heart.”

  So Eva must have told her grandmother about that night, and Margaret wondered when. “I have heard, Lady Gruadh,” she went on, “that you have worn armor to lead armies against your husband’s enemies. That is admirable and remarkable.”

  “The enemy was your own husband, Lady,” Gruadh replied. “I was trained to the warrior life as a girl, and so I did what had to be done.”

  “You fought for the welfare of your people, just as I fight for the welfare of their souls.”

  “Then we are alike in some things,” Gruadh said. “I am the last of all the Celtic queens who fought beside their kings. You … are the first of the new queens in Scotland. Queens of the heart and the book, queens who can be strong in their own way. The wider world comes to Scotland,” she said then, “through you.”

  A chill went through her, as if a prophetess had spoken. “Why do you say so?” Margaret asked.

  Gruadh stared at her for a moment. “Your sons and their sons will rule Scotland for generations to come. I feel it is so. The claim of my kin, pure as it is, is only another branch now. Fate is proving a powerful opponent.”

  Margaret felt a surge of sympathy. “Lady, I never intended—”

  “I know that now,” Gruadh said. Then she looked past Margaret and turned quickly. “Eva, help the queen—hurry! It is not safe here!” She pushed Eva toward Margaret, just as an arrow thunked into the ground near where Gruadh’s Highland men had been standing—they had all vanished into the cover of the trees, along with their lady.

  Eva pulled Margaret behind a tree as more arrows suddenly spit downward, slamming into earth, into tree trunks. Margaret saw movement between the trees and rocks as the hidden Highlanders now returned a volley of arrows that sailed well past Margaret and Eva, where they hunkered down together. Some of Margaret’s guards now ran toward them, and even more arrows shattered into the lush leafy canopy of the woodland, arching overhead from opposite directions now.
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br />   Hearing shouts, Margaret turned her head and saw Malcolm striding through the bracken like a great boar, roaring, red-faced. His men loosed a flurry of arrows and a spear went sailing past, too, launched from Malcolm’s own hand to split the earth where one of Gruadh’s men appeared for just a moment. One of the guards pushed Margaret to the ground, shielding her behind him as as arrows soared all around.

  The arrow volleys seemed to last an interminable time—Margaret hated the sounds, the shouts, the shrieks as some were injured. She pushed the guard away and saw Eva stand. Calling for her to get down, Margaret reached out. But Eva ran ahead and bent down to pick up a piece of parchment, which Margaret had seen fall when Lady Gruadh had pushed her granddaughter and the queen toward safety.

  “Ha! So they have run off now, the cowards!” Malcolm shouted as his men rushed past Margaret and Eva to pursue the Highlanders into the trees. “You, Eva! Come here! It was you who led the queen into this ambush, and betrayed us to the rebels of Moray! You aided them!”

  “Husband, she tried to save me—” Margaret began.

  “Are you sure? She would not have expected us to ambush them here—this was a trap to harm you,” Malcolm said. “When I knew you had come this way, I remembered that Gruadh owns lands in this area. I feared she might try some rebellion, and so it was. Eva—you and your grandmother meant for the queen to die this day! This is treason and worse.”

  “I never intended harm to the queen,” Eva said firmly.

  Margaret came closer, her heart still pounding hard. She had never experienced anything like the chaotic fear of the last few moments. Always protected, never witnessing a skirmish or ambush, she had not known how fear and panic could overtake thought. She brushed her skirt clean and clasped her shaking hands.

  “Sire, surely Eva speaks the truth—” she began.

  “Aye? What is this, then?” Malcolm snatched the parchment from Eva’s hand and looked at them. “Here is certain treason! She has stolen pages from the book I commissioned of Brother Tor. These pages are the account of my war with Macbeth. Why do you have these?”

  “I meant to destroy them,” Eva said. “That history is wrong, deceitfully and cruelly so.”

  “This is part of her grandmother’s plot!” Malcolm grabbed Eva’s arm with such fury that Margaret winced just watching. “Hostage you are,” he told Eva, “and hostage you shall remain. You will be tried for treason and witchcraft, for consorting with the witch of the north and endangering the queen’s life. Take her!”

  Guards came forward then and took Eva between them, walking her up the slope toward the waiting horses. She went quietly. Malcolm turned toward Margaret.

  “Woman,” he said, “your friend has betrayed you.”

  His words struck her to the heart. Stunned, Margaret allowed him to escort her up the slope. She had never imagined such betrayal could exist in her own household from a friend she had come to love. Her prayers and meditations, not even heaven itself, had warned her of this.

  “Malcolm, that cannot be?”

  “Trust my judgment in this,” he replied. “I know too well what a viper Lady Gruadh can be—and now we see her granddaughter is the same. I should have known,” he went on. “I should have suspected when Eva sang of her father. I only blame myself. You might have been lost to me this day.” He took her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Bring to me the harp of my king

  That on it I may shed my grief

  —IRISH, THIRTEENTH CENTURY

  Having betrayed her two queens, one to the other, herself to each, she was a hostage in earnest now. Malcolm had ordered her brought to the sole dungeon at Dunfermline, a dingy place deep in the stone foundation of the tower, where no noble prisoner had been held but for those who lingered a day or two during the king’s annual moot courts. She was reminded of the dungeon she had visited in Dun Edin with Margaret, where Malcolm and Tor had threatened to leave them—that had been teasing, then. This was grim and real, and she was alone.

  Margaret came to see her once and went away angry and haughty, the gentle face of the friend gone. Eva mourned the relationship she had never expected to find or to value so much. Lady Gruadh had warned her that no one in Malcolm’s court would wish her well. That was proving true now, with even Margaret turned against her.

  The guards told her that her trial would be within the week, and had hinted that her execution might well follow. Another said the king alone would decide what was just. But Eva knew that they all believed she had committed treason by deliberately leading Margaret into danger. That she had not known, had not intended any of it, did not seem to matter.

  The queen’s ladies visited her briefly with little to say, though they left linens and food. Lady Juliana lingered, though she, too, looked at Eva with a questioning gaze. “I know your loyalty to your kin was stronger than your loyalty to the queen,” Juliana said. “If my father, Cospatric, had needed my help, though it harmed another, I think I might have chosen him.”

  Eva had been grateful for her attempt to understand, but Juliana had left and had not returned. At night, Eva dreamed of Edgar, and then wished she had explored more of her heart with him—she did care about him, and thought him her friend. But if he heard of her plight, he, too, might no longer trust her.

  Most surprising to her was Tor’s visit one evening, when he sat with her and took her hands, spoke to her of redemption and priestly matters, and then questioned her closely on her reasons for taking the loose pages from his manuscript.

  “The account is wrong,” she said. “I tried to tell you before. My step-grandfather was a just and fair king, my grandmother a good queen.”

  “Tell me more,” he said, and she did. He listened in silence as she recounted the tale of her grandparents’ reign and the bitter conflicts between Malcolm and Macbeth, and later Malcolm and Gruadh. When she was done, Tor made little comment, only knelt with her and prayed, absolved her sins, and left.

  Her trial came on a bitter cold autumn day, when she was brought across the bailey to the tower, the familiar hall that had felt like home to her once, yet no longer. She stood before Malcolm, faced him with as much bravery as she could muster, and heard the list of her crimes read aloud by De Lauder, another friend turned cold. He sat with Malcolm, Brother Tor, Ranald mac Niall, and others, all of them stone solemn, after the litany of her betrayals had been read.

  She had intended no harm beyond taking the manuscript pages, and she had been unwise in some of it. Perhaps she should admit to foolishness, she thought, and to loyalties that ripped her in two. She wondered what a fair penalty would be for that.

  “We will have done with this quickly,” Malcolm said then. The hall was crowded, the silence dense with a noise of its own—a hum of anticipation, of curiosity, accusation. “I welcomed you here in my household, in agreement with your kinswoman. You once showed your defiance by singing praises of your father in my presence. Treason then, and I let it go. But now you have committed the worst sort of betrayal, that of the snake in the nest of those who have loved you.”

  “I have shared my music and befriended your queen, as you yourself asked of me,” Eva said. She saw Margaret cross the dais, having entered the hall after the king had begun proceedings. Eva wondered if Margaret’s hesitation to watch this came from sympathy or bitterness. Now she sat in a chair a little apart from the king, observing rather than judging. She wore pale blue and cream, her long braids golden as the crown set upon her veil, her face pure. She looked angelic—but her eyes held anger and hurt. Eva knew that the queen might berate herself for being uncharitable and unforgiving, but she knew her temper, too. Loyalty was all to Margaret, and that trust had been broken.

  Yet Eva, too, felt abandoned and hurt. Margaret had betrayed her by believing Eva capable of such heartlessness. Margaret followed rules, loved discipline and strict routine and the lessons of her faith. So perhaps it was not surprising that she had accepted what the king, as authority, had said of Eva.
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  So be it, Eva thought. She would endure on her own whatever came.

  Malcolm conferred with the mormaers gathered near him, along with Brother Tor, Father Otto, and Brother Micheil. Margaret sat calmly and silently, waiting, as did Eva.

  “Aeife inghean Lulach,” Malcolm said when he turned back. “The decision to be made here is not of your guilt, as that wrongdoing is clear. The question is what to do now. Given the charges, your crimes might merit a burning.”

  Eva felt suddenly faint. Margaret, too, had hinted at that when she had visited Eva in the dungeon. Yet witches were not burned in Scotland as they might be in England, as Eva had pointed out to the queen.

  “It is unworthy of you, King of Scots,” Eva said, “to apply Saxon law in Scotland.”

  “We learn from Saxon law, and it behooves us to adopt some of that wisdom in our laws. You may have done more than treason. It is possible that magic may be involved.”

  “Magic!” She nearly laughed. “I have no knowledge of that.”

  “They do say of Eva the bard,” Father Otto said, “that her harp music is magical in itself.”

  “And you believe that means witchcraft?” she asked, incredulous.

  “You have been defiant and devious, exerting influence over the queen,” Malcolm said. “In your company, she was involved in thievery and deceit. Now I believe it was you who stole gold from my treasury while the queen stood by. You released prisoners to deprive me of income, and let her be blamed. And you took the pages that Brother Tor created for my book.”

  Whatever they thought of her, she would not give up Margaret. “I never intended harm to the queen, nor would I commit treason or witchcraft. I think kindly of Queen Margaret.”

  “Few in Moray support the queen. It was a mistake to welcome you into our household.”

  Eva lifted her chin at that added blow; she cared that much for Margaret, the children, most of the others. And she felt Margaret’s continued silence keenly. The queen could have spoken in her defense and did not. Hurting, Eva could not, just then, look at her.