Highland Vengeance (The Celtic Blood Series Book 3)

by Melanie Karsak

  I wanted to get lost in the energy of the otherworld. I wanted to think of Ynes Verleath. I wanted to leave all my worries behind, but I could not.

  I was a fool.

  I closed my eyes. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Everything I’d loved had crumbled into ash. Gillacoemgain was gone. He was not the love of my soul, nor some figment of my imagination—which surely that was what my raven-haired man had been. He was just a man. And in that, he’d been a good husband. He’d been faithful and caring and kind. And now, he was dead. I sat waiting on his murderer to come claim me as a war prize. Had Duncan reached me first, Malcolm would have wed me to him and thereby solidified the boy’s hold on the north. I couldn’t let that happen. But to marry the man who’d killed my husband…what kind of woman was I?

  I leaned against the stone and wept.

  My body hurt.

  My daughter had been taken from me.

  My husband was dead.

  Everything had been undone.

  Behind me, I heard the jingling of rigging.

  Thora growled low and mean.

  I heard voices at the alehouse behind us, but I didn’t move. Why bother? It would come, he would come, and then I would make what I could of my future.

  The snow and frozen grass crunched under someone’s feet as they neared. Only one person approached. I listened to the footfalls. It wasn’t Tavis.

  Was it Macbeth, or had he sent a messenger?

  Thora growled again.

  The footsteps stopped.

  “My lord,” the soldier who’d accompanied me said stiffly.

  Someone spoke in a low tone to the solider. I heard my guard retreat.

  Metal armor clicked as the unfamiliar person approached. Thora growled and stepped toward the stranger. “I was told Lady Gruoch came this way. Instead, I found her familiar. Some mean looking teeth, lady,” the man said, his voice filled with playfulness. I was in no mood for jokes.

  “Heel, Thora,” I said, motioning to her. Thora’s reaction to the newcomer had not escaped my notice.

  “Hello, Thora. I am Macbeth.”

  While Thora had stopped growling, she still stood with her hackles raised.

  I stared at Macbeth’s silhouette reflected on the standing stone. It twisted grotesquely.

  “Lady Gruoch. Cousin. Thank you for riding north. I must admit, I’m puzzled by a woman who turns from the chosen successor of Scotland to join her husband’s conqueror.”

  I frowned hard and clenched my hands into fists. Part of me wanted to turn around and bash his face in—well, most of me. I heard the angry beat of my heart. But then I reminded myself that I was the one who’d chosen to ride north. This was a nightmare of my own making. Calming myself, I said, “You avenged your father, as you no doubt thought was your right.”

  “It was my right. The cutthroat Gillacoemgain murdered his own brother, my father, over a square of land.”

  I bit my tongue. It took everything within me to remember my promise to Gillacoemgain and not spit out the truth at this pompous bastard. “You’ve had your blood. Are you satisfied now?”

  “I am. But that explains my motives. What about yours. Don’t you mourn your husband?”

  The question enraged me. “How dare you ask me that! I loved Gillacoemgain. He was a good man,” I replied sharply, turning on him.

  When I finally got a look at him, however, whatever else I had intended to say faltered.

  Him.

  It was him.

  “You,” Macbeth whispered.

  Sunlight shimmered down on Macbeth’s raven-colored tresses. He looked just as I’d seen in my visions. The cut of his chin, the shape of his nose, his soft, blue eyes. It was him, my raven-haired man. He was real.

  And he was…Macbeth?

  “It’s you,” I replied, my voice shaking.

  Macbeth stepped closer to me.

  Thora growled.

  “You’re real. All those visions… I thought I was going mad, or maybe some fey thing had taken a fancy to me, but it’s you,” he said, coming closer. “You’re real.”

  Thora bared her teeth and barked at him.

  The sound woke Lulach from his sleep. He cried out in protest.

  I looked away from Macbeth, turning my attention back to Lulach. “Sh, wee one. It’s all right,” I whispered softly, rocking Lulach.

  “Is that the child of Gillacoemgain?”

  Involuntarily, I clutched him tighter, moving my hands protectively over him. “Yes. This is Lulach. He’s barely a week old.”

  “You rode so soon after bearing a child?”

  It was not really a question. I didn’t answer.

  Macbeth’s face softened, and he looked at me with pity. “I’ll have a wagon arranged for you. My men are on the Spey. We can move slowly.”

  I eyed him closely. Macbeth was my raven-haired man in the flesh. I had run to my husband’s killer to escape a fate worse than death. Against all possibility, I’d run to the very man I’d decided was nothing more than a phantom. Andraste had known it all along. But what manner of man was he? I didn’t know. I’d seen him in my cauldron, no more. Had I run from the wolf to lie down with the bear?

  “My lady,” he said, offering his arm to me.

  I stepped toward him but paused when Thora growled once more.

  “Your dog, my lady,” Macbeth said, eyeing Thora warily.

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. Odd. Thora’s sense of people was always very good. Perhaps she was just responding to my own mixed feelings.

  “Enough, Thora,” I said. I stepped in line beside him. Feeling wary due to Thora’s reaction, I did not take his arm.

  Her ears flat, Thora followed ruefully along behind us.

  “Lady Gruoch, I am astounded to find you with such a small babe so newly born. You must be exhausted. I trust you are unhurt?” Macbeth asked as we walked back toward the alehouse.

  In truth, I was tired to my very core, and my body ached miserably, but I would not have him know it. “I shall manage.”

  “I’m at a loss for words. Please don’t worry. I’ll make the arrangements for your comfort.”

  I felt desperately confused. I eyed Macbeth out of the corner of my eye, noticing that he was doing the same. How many times had I seen him in my cauldron? Now, here he was, in the flesh, with Gillacoemgain’s blood on his hands.

  Part of me hated him.

  The other part of me, however, felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

  Tavis and his men were waiting at the alehouse amongst Macbeth’s men, all of whom were heavily armed. Macbeth ordered his soldiers to get a wagon ready.

  Tavis eyed me nervously. “I should travel with you,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I cannot escape my fate. There is nothing more you can do. Please, ride back to Madelaine. Let her know I’m safe.”

  “But your little one,” Tavis said, eyeing Macbeth warily. “Corbie,” he whispered, searching my face with that same fatherly expression I’d seen there before.

  “I swear I’ll be all right. Macbeth needs me to secure his claim. I won’t come to any harm,” I whispered, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

  Tavis didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and let me go.

  “Make sure Lady Madelaine’s men are provisioned,” Macbeth ordered. His men moved off to follow their commander’s orders.

  Soon, the wagon was ready, and Ute, Thora, Lulach, and I were loaded in. Tavis stayed behind, watching as the cart drove out of sight.

  I waved to him then turned and settled in as we set off north.

  Chapter 4

  Our small party met with Macbeth’s larger force at the River Spey that night. The full moon was high in the sky. It was a cold night. A light dust of snow covered everything. The trees shimmered crystalline in the moonlight. I smelled the sweet scent of the river in the distance.

  While Macbeth had ridden close throughout the day, there were too many ears around us to talk. The ride had been long, cold, and awkward. Ute was clearly
displeased at the turn of events, and Thora watched Macbeth suspiciously. While Lulach mostly slept or rested against my chest, I knew well that my son had no business on the road. The sooner we got to Cawdor, the better.

  When we reached the Spey, Macbeth left us. “I must see to my men, but I’ll return soon. I’ll do my best to have you and the little one back to Cawdor tonight.”

  “Thank you,” I replied then watched him march off. The soldiers nodded or bowed to him as he passed through the row of tents.

  “Why don’t you walk a little, my lady. Your body must ache. Our little lord is sleeping. I’ll watch over him,” Ute, who had been holding Lulach, told me.

  “Are you certain?” More than anything, I wanted to move, to get some air, to get away from all the strange people. But I felt uncertain.

  She nodded. “I don’t want to move. Lulach and I will stay right here.”

  “Stay close to Ute,” I told Thora, who was busy sniffing the ground. She kept nosing the air then the ground again. Something had captured her attention. “No adventures. I don’t care what interesting thing you smell. Stay with the baby.”

  Thora gave me a muffled bark then jumped up into the wagon and settled in next to Ute and Lulach.

  I crawled out slowly, in more pain that I’d expected. Kelpie, who’d been tied to the wagon, nickered at me.

  “Rest, old friend,” I said, patting him lightly on the nose.

  Snatching a torch, I headed away from the party in the direction of the river. I just needed a minute alone. It was all so much to take in. I needed some air. Soon, I would be back at Cawdor. I needed to make my heart ready.

  The sounds of the men drifted into the background as I headed toward the river. I could hear the water tumbling over the rocks. The forest shimmered with silver light. The air felt charged with energy. I stood still under the moonlight. I closed my eyes and breathed in the clean air. In and out. I soaked in the silence. I let nature surround me, comforting me like a blanket. I inhaled the frozen air, my nose and throat burning, then headed toward the river.

  As I worked my way through the trees toward the water, the hair on the back of my neck rose. A strange sensation came over me. There was magic in the air. The snow sparkled liked jewels, the icy branches casting long shadows on the snowy ground. Magic filled the space around me. The tree limbs, covered in ice, twinkled. Moonlight illuminated the forest. I snubbed out the torch then gazed into the woods. I could practically feel the otherside near me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  When I opened my eyes again, I saw movement amongst the trees. I looked closely and discovered a stag working his way toward the river. He exhaled deeply, causing steam to puff out his nose. He was a massive creature with a wide rack of horns. I had never seen such a magnificent beast before. He moved toward the water.

  Wordlessly, I followed him as he trotted over a rise at the river’s bank. It was fortuitous to find the King Stag in a winter forest, and I was in desperate need of guidance. The Stag God, the partner of the Great Mother, was a guide and protector. While he’d never appeared to me before, I knew of his magic. Surely, he would guide a widow with a broken heart, the mother of a fatherless son.

  Moving from tree to tree, I edged toward the riverbank.

  There, along the frozen shoreline, I found not the stag, but a man with his arms uplifted toward the moon. Cernunnos, the Father God. Moonlight shone down on him. He glimmered with silver light.

  I steadied myself and took a step toward him. When I did so, the ice between the stones at the river’s edge cracked.

  The god turned toward me. I expected to see him as he’d often been described: bright silver eyes, a massive beard, and the hint of antlers under a mop of hair. But what I found was quite different.

  I gasped.

  “Banquo?” I whispered, the word coming out of my mouth no heavier than the cloud of warm air that cushioned it.

  He lowered his arms. Moonlight illuminated his face.

  “Cerridwen?” Banquo breathed.

  We stood there, both frozen, staring at one another.

  Had we drifted between the worlds?

  Banquo took a step toward me, the ice breaking under the weight of his footfalls.

  No. We were in the real world.

  This was real.

  He was there.

  He was right there.

  “Banquo?”

  Moving carefully, Banquo came to stand before me. Hands shaking, he reached out and touched my face. “Cerridwen,” he whispered.

  “This way, my lord. The tracks lead toward the river,” a voice called from behind me.

  I looked back. The gaudy orange light of a torch moved our way.

  “Don’t go,” Banquo whispered.

  I realized then that he believed I had walked between the worlds to meet him and that any minute now, I’d disappear back to Ynes Verleath.

  “I…” I began, trying to think how I would explain, but there was not time.

  The firelight and footsteps drew near.

  “Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe,” Banquo whispered.

  “Here, my lord,” a soldier called, his torchlight breaking the otherworldly glow with its blinding light. “Is that you, Lord Banquo?” the soldier called.

  “It is,” Banquo said, and I heard a hard edge on his voice.

  “Here,” the soldier called into the woods behind him.

  Macbeth appeared on the rise. He looked at me and Banquo and then smiled.

  “Banquo,” he called happily. “Well met, friend. Seems you’ve found the Lady of Moray. Lady Gruoch, your maid said you went off for a walk. I followed your footsteps here. I was worried.”

  “Lady of Moray?” Banquo whispered. I realized then that he had wrapped his arms protectively around my waist and had pulled me close to him.

  “I… I just needed to move a bit,” I answered, stepping away from Banquo’s grasp. “By chance, I met the Thane of Lochaber, whom I knew in my youth.”

  Macbeth’s brow furrowed. “That old teacher of yours kept you in wide acquaintance, Banquo. You never mentioned you’d met the daughter of Boite.”

  I turned and faced Banquo who stood staring at me so intensely that his gaze nearly hurt. “The daughter of Boite,” he whispered.

  I felt like my heart was being sliced in half. I searched Banquo’s face, my eyes begging his, screaming out in apology. Understanding, then pain, washed over his face, but he masked it at once. Standing so close to him, I saw the unshed tears that wet his eyes.

  “As the lady said, just a passing meeting in our youth. Nothing more. It was many years ago,” Banquo answered Macbeth in a light voice.

  “My lady,” Macbeth called. “We’ll make for Cawdor. We’ll have you by your own hearth one last time before we go to Inverness.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, my eyes still on Banquo.

  “Come, my lady,” Banquo said, carefully taking my arm. “Let’s get the daughter of Boite to Cawdor.”

  Chapter 5

  We arrived at Cawdor in the dark of night. Banquo had ridden ahead of us along with the army. Apparently, he was chief amongst Macbeth’s commanders. Macbeth stayed close to the little cart that carried me. Part of me suspected that Macbeth feared Duncan would send an ambush to wrestle me away. He was right to worry. Without me, his claim to the north—and even to the throne—was greatly weakened. Finally, I spotted the dark silhouette of Cawdor castle against the starry sky. Home. Home, but not to Gillacoemgain. I closed my eyes and rocked with the little wagon. I could not think of it, not now.

  As we passed through the gates of the keep, Banquo was waiting to meet us.

  “Banquo, will you see Lady Gruoch inside?” Macbeth asked as he dismounted.

  “Of course,” Banquo replied then turned to help me out of the wagon. He placed his hand in mine, and when he did so, a sharp jolt shot through my body. The scars from our handfasting had brushed against one another.

  “Very well. My lady, I must see to th
e men then I’ll join you thereafter,” Macbeth told me, clearly unaware of the suffering agony lingering between Banquo and me.

  Banquo stiffened and kept his face blank, his eyes not meeting mine.

  “Yes. Thank you, Macbeth,” I said.

  “My lady,” Ute said, handing Lulach to me.

  I took my tiny baby into my arms then moved to shelter him inside my cloak.

  “Gruoch?” Banquo whispered aghast, staring down at the tiny bundle. He reached out and touched Lulach’s cheek.

  “This is Lulach, my boy, the son of Gillacoemgain.”

  Banquo’s face went absolutely pale. “Little Lulach,” he finally whispered. “Son of Gillacoemgain.”

  I looked at Banquo. He stared at the child as if in disbelief.

  It was Thora who finally broke the tension between us. Barking excitedly, she jumped on Banquo and attempted to lick his face then wiggled all around his legs.

  “Thora,” he said, kneeling to pet her. Thora licked his cheeks and made happy whining sounds.

  Banquo smiled and laughed lightly.

  “My Lady of Moray!” someone called.

  I looked up to find Tira, the young serving woman I’d once saved from Artos’s clutches.

  “Tira.”

  “Oh, my lady. Come in out of the cold. We were so worried for you,” she said, beckoning me forward.

  I tried to catch Banquo’s eye, but he would not meet my gaze.

  I went to the girl. “Tell me, how are you all? What has happened at Cawdor?”

  “Standish laid down his arms when Macbeth’s forces arrived. We’ve not been harmed,” she told me.

  I entered the castle to find my household waiting. My eyes searched the group for Eochaid. He was not amongst the others gathered there.

  “Lady Gruoch,” they called out upon seeing me.

  “My lady!”

  “Lady! How are you, lady?”

  “Be at ease, my friends. I am well. I have ridden here with Macbeth. Tell me, is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Rhona reassured me.

  “Standish?” I asked, looking around the room for the chief of Cawdor’s sentinels.