Highland Queen

by Melanie Karsak

  Banquo inclined his head to me. “I will send spies south to track Malcolm down. There was a rumor that the younger son, Donaldbane, had been sent to Iona.”

  I frowned. “Macbeth didn’t send anyone to retrieve him?”

  Banquo shook his head. “No. I will see to it. We were so worried about Lulach and Fleance…”

  I nodded. He was right. We should have thought of it before. “We’ll do what we can now. Thank you.”

  Banquo nodded then handed the same scroll toward me once more. “Macbeth is victorious.”

  I took the parchment and read over the dispatch. Macbeth had played his part. Very well.

  “And Thorfinn?”

  “He and Magnus have also had their victory.”

  “Thank the Great Mother,” I said with an exhausted sigh then sat down.

  “Are you all right?” Banquo asked.

  “Yes…just weary.”

  Banquo chuckled. “That is battle weariness. When you can, you will sleep for days. But for now…” he said then motioned to the stack of scrolls waiting.

  “Thane,” someone called, waving to Banquo.

  Another messenger had arrived.

  Banquo motioned to the man to stay a moment.

  “Go on,” I said tiredly. “You have much work to do. I’ll be here.”

  “Rest, if you can, Gruoch,” Banquo said, his eyes lingering on mine. I could see there was more he wanted to say, wanted to do, but he could not with everyone’s eyes on us. Already everyone thought we were lovers. But in the presence of all our people, it didn’t do to show our feelings openly.

  Banquo set his hand gently on my shoulder then turned to see to the messenger.

  I lifted the first of the scrolls and began going through the reports. By all accounts, Earl Siward had survived. He’d left Duncan in the field and retreated with a large portion of his army. We had spies on him. In the future, I would have to pay for more eyes and ears at his court and would have to protect my own from such infiltration. But for now, Macbeth and I needed to move toward Scone. Only once we had the kingdom safely in our palms with crowns on our heads could we begin to think about what would happen next.

  I spent the next several hours going through reports and receiving messengers. We’d had our own losses, but they were not as great as we feared. Still, it was too many men. Too much of a price to pay.

  I was staring at yet another scroll, my eyes going misty from exhaustion, when someone called my name.

  “Lady Gruoch?”

  I looked up to find Standish there.

  “Standish? What is it?” I could see from the expression on his face that everything was not well.

  “Can you come with me a moment?”

  I rose. Every muscle in my body protested, and my head swam. No matter the work, I needed to sleep soon.

  I crossed the hall to join Standish. “What’s happened?”

  He motioned for me to follow him. We made our way out of the castle and back across the yard—which was still bustling with people—toward the stables.

  “Thora, your bonnie lass, disappeared out the gate and into the fields right after you returned. She just came back…leading that one,” Standish said, pointing.

  I followed his gaze to see a groom guiding Kelpie, who was limping badly, to the water trough.

  “Kelpie,” I called, rushing to him.

  At the sound of his name, the old stallion turned and nickered at me.

  I rushed to him. But even from a distance, I could see the terrible wound on his leg.

  “He’s taken a bad injury, my lady. Looks like something caught his leg. A sword, maybe. I’m going to clean and dress his wound now. He… There is a lot of damage, my lady.”

  I stroked Kelpie’s ear. “I’m going to have a look now,” I told him.

  Kelpie had lifted his hoof, holding his leg up. There was damage to the ligament. He would recover from the injury, that was evident, but he could never be ridden again.

  The groom caught my eye. The expression on his face told me he’d already come to the same assessment.

  “Treat it as best you can. We must keep the wound clean, let it heal as best it will. Do you need medicines?”

  “No, my lady, we are well stocked to deal with such wounds. But some say that when a horse’s leg is too badly—”

  I raised my hand to stop him. “No. He will be lame, I understand. I’ll not reward him for a lifetime of service and friendship in that manner. Oats and pasture. That will be his future.”

  The groom breathed a sigh of relief. “I hoped you’d say as much.”

  I pressed my head against Kelpie’s neck, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

  Kelpie neighed softly at me.

  I patted Kelpie once more then turned to look at Thora who was sitting nearby. I bent to take her face into my hands, ruffling her ears. “My good girl. What would I ever do without you? Why don’t you head to the kitchen and see what scraps you can win. You’ve earned them.”

  Thora thumped her tail, licked my face, then turned and trotted off to the kitchens.

  Willful, magical, and wonderful dog.

  “Rest and heal, old friend,” I told Kelpie. I patted his neck once more then nodded to the groom who took Kelpie by the lead and coaxed him toward the stable.

  Watching them go, I sighed. I then turned my attention to the yard. A tent had been erected along the east wall. There, the wounded men were receiving care for their injuries. Even from this distance, I could hear their groans.

  We had won, but it had come at a cost.

  Now, we had to make good on everyone’s sacrifice.

  Rather than heading back inside, I climbed the rampart and looked out over the army encamped there. Dusk had come once more. As far as I looked, I saw the light of campfires. Like fireflies in a summer field, the soldiers’ fires illuminated the landscape.

  I closed my eyes.

  Everything the Morrigu predicted had come to pass.

  Duncan was dead.

  Macbeth would become king.

  I would be queen alongside him.

  I should have felt happy, excited.

  Instead, I felt terrible loathing and dread.

  Maybe I had won the day, but I didn’t really want it. I didn’t really want to be queen. I wanted Duncan to die, to pay for what he did. The rest? No. Once upon a time, I’d dreamt of a life that was of my own imagining, a life not willed by the gods, or memories of past lives, or led by anyone or anything but myself. I’d dreamt of a peaceful life at Cawdor. A life with my children and a man who loved me.

  A soft hand settled on my shoulder.

  In that moment, I felt frustrated with Banquo for breaking apart my memory.

  I opened my eyes to see the shade of Gillacoemgain standing there. He was looking down at me, a soft, sad smile on his face. He reached out and touched the bruise on my cheek.

  The caress felt so real.

  I lifted my hand to lay it on his.

  When I did so, the expression on Gillacoemgain’s face changed. A look of terror crossed his features.

  I followed his gaze to my hand, which was dripping with blood.

  Suppressing a scream, I pitched sideways, black dots appearing before my eyes.

  “Lady Gruoch,” one of the watchmen called.

  I reached out to grab the stones before I tumbled.

  A moment later, strong hands steadied me.

  “Get Standish. Lady Gruoch is unwell.”

  “No,” I said, regaining my footing. “No. I’m all right. Just tired,” I said, righting myself.

  My heart pounded in my chest. With terror racing through me, I looked at my hands. The blood stains were still there, but the wet, dripping blood was gone. I scanned around, looking for Gillacoemgain’s shade, but he was gone.

  “My lady, you should go back inside,” the guard told me. “Please, allow someone to accompany you.”

  “I’m all right now. Thank you. You have your wo
rk here. I’m sorry to give you a fright.”

  “Please, my lady, think nothing of it. You must have a care for yourself and take rest,” he said then lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “All warriors must rest after battle.”

  So, the rumor the other men had spoken was a common one.

  I gave the man a soft smile but said nothing. I took a deep breath, righted myself, then headed back into the castle. As I walked, I tried to shake off the image of Gillacoemgain’s expression. But no matter what, it wouldn’t leave me, and his terror from beyond the grave shook me to the core.

  Chapter 3

  In the hours that followed, news came in from all around the country. The north was solidly aligned behind Macbeth and me. The south, however, was another matter. While not all the southern lords had followed Duncan into battle willingly—as was the case with Fife—enough of them had done so that it presented problems. Macbeth and I needed to move quickly. With everything so unsettled, it was a relief when news arrived that Macbeth was at Inverness. He sent a rider, requesting Banquo and me to join him there.

  I read the scroll then handed the dispatch to Banquo.

  Banquo frowned. “Now things become complicated.”

  “One bastard cousin dead. Now I’ll place a crown on the head of the second.”

  Banquo eyed me but said nothing. He never asked why I had sought out Duncan that night. Part of me suspected that Banquo had some feeling, some intuition on the matter. But he hadn’t probed that tender wound. One day, I would tell him the truth.

  “I should go,” Banquo said. “Thorfinn and Magnus are there.”

  I nodded. As one of Macbeth’s chief generals, Banquo’s presence was necessary.

  Was mine?

  “I will not come. When it’s time to go south, I will go. But not yet.”

  Banquo folded his arms across his chest, nodded, but remained silent.

  What was there to say?

  Macbeth could be as angry or disturbed as he pleased, but he would also understand the wall I had built between him and me. After all, he had laid its foundation. What more was there to do? I felt nothing for him but contempt.

  “My lady,” a page called, entering the conference room. “A rider with a message from Echmarcach of the Isles.”

  I took the scroll and read over the dispatch. I felt the blood drain from my face as I considered what I found there.

  “What is it?” Banquo asked.

  “Donaldbane. He has been abducted by Ímar mac Arailt. The Irish king’s troops besieged the monastery on Iona and took him hostage.”

  Banquo frowned. “Bold but wise move.”

  I shook my head. “Echmarcach promises to do what it takes to secure the boy, provided we support him in his moves to retake Dublin.”

  “Too soon. The blood in Scotland has not yet cooled,” Banquo said.

  “I will write to Ímar mac Arailt. Perhaps, for once, my Ui Neill blood will make some difference,” I said then went to grab a piece of parchment.

  “Ui Neill?” Banquo asked, staring at me.

  “Yes. My mother’s line. The blood of two great dynasties runs in my veins. Remind me again why Macbeth will be crowned monarch?” I said, a waspish feeling washing over my heart. I lifted a piece of parchment from the box only to pause. Once more, I was taken aback by the appearance of the red spots on my hands. This time, the blood looked as fresh as the night Duncan had died.

  I closed my eyes.

  It wasn’t really there. I was just overtired.

  I inhaled deeply then let out a slow breath.

  “I never knew,” Banquo said, bringing me back to myself.

  “My mother died young, one of many daughters, and was easily forgotten. But who knows if it will mean anything to the Irish king. Let’s hope it is enough to get him to talk.”

  I willed myself not to pay attention to my hands.

  Banquo sighed, went across the room, and poured himself an ale. He returned to sit beside me, staring in quiet contemplation at the fire.

  I drafted the letter for the Irish king then set it aside. Though I had carefully chosen my words, I would need to consider the matter from all points. Turning to Banquo, I found his eyes had taken on a dreamy, faraway look.

  He was lost to a vision.

  Turning, I stared into the flames, hoping to make out what he saw there.

  I saw only fire.

  The hearth popped, the flames danced, but no visions came to me.

  A few moments later, Banquo shook his head then lifted his tankard.

  “Banquo?” I whispered.

  “All is well,” he said, taking my hand. “All is well. Our boys… They are safe and happy.”

  “Then it is best they remain where they are, for now.”

  “When it is quiet, I will properly cast to Balor.”

  “When it is quiet.”

  Banquo frowned. “I have no wish to see you ride off to Scone.”

  “Nor do I have any wish to go. I will not stay there long.”

  “You do not mean to rule?”

  “I do. But not from Scone. Let Macbeth go south and play politician.”

  Banquo frowned. “Without you there, his position is weakened. He is vulnerable. All we have worked for is put at risk.”

  “My place is in Moray.”

  “Your place was in Moray. Now, you are Queen of Scotland.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Soon. And if Scotland is to be ruled well, she needs you.”

  “But what about you? About us?”

  Banquo looked back toward the fire. “I am a druid,” he said stoically. “I serve the land and the gods before myself. Just like you.”

  I stared at him. All along, I had intended to help Macbeth to his victory but had no intention of staying by his side. Not now. Never again. But Banquo was right. If Macbeth was unsteady, I could not leave him alone. He would inevitably fall victim to deceit, come unglued and act against the good of the country, or be murdered. If Macbeth died, I had the right to rule without him. I could be queen alone, Lulach my royal heir. But if Macbeth was murdered, his enemies would come for Lulach and me next.

  “Are we never meant to have a moment?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Banquo said quietly. “But just moments. We are the tools of the gods,” Banquo said then slugged back his ale. “And this tool must get ready to ride to Inverness.”

  “When?”

  “I should go tonight.”

  “Should. Would it matter much if it waits until morning?” I asked, taking his hand into mine.

  Banquo turned and looked at me. He smiled, his chestnut-colored eyes shimmering softly. “No.”

  “Then go in the morning,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “I’ll go in the morning.”

  I placed the draft of my letter in a chest and locked it. Banquo and I exited the hall, leaving my armed guards at the door, then went to my chamber where we spent the night relishing just one more moment.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Banquo rode to Inverness, and I made plans to go to Scone. I was busy with my preparations when Tavis appeared.

  “Corbie,” he said, smiling nicely at me, but I could see he’d come with something on his mind.

  “Good morning,” I said with a smile. “Now, tell me your news.”

  He chuckled. “I’m anxious to return south, but I didn’t want to leave you alone here. And Lulach…”

  “Lulach is safe.”

  Tavis nodded. “You’ll say no more as to where he is? Not even to me?”

  “I’ll say… Uald would approve of Lulach’s whereabouts.”

  “Ahh,” Tavis mused. “Very well. But what about you, my little raven?”

  I grinned at Tavis. “These days, I am hardly anyone’s little anything.”

  Tavis grinned at me, and in that smile, I saw a proud, fatherly expression on his face. “You will always be Madelaine’s little raven…which makes you mine as well.”

  Rising, I l
eft my work and took Tavis’s hand. “I’m sorry to see you go.”

  Tavis nodded then took me gently by the shoulders and kissed my forehead. “You will be an excellent queen, little raven.”

  Would I? I hoped so. Since the battle, I’d had no visions, no omens. The Otherworld had gone strangely quiet.

  “If it pleases the gods.”

  Tavis nodded. “It does. Don’t you see? I should go make ready.”

  “Stay safe,” I told him. “There may still be mercenaries in the hills.”

  “I will. The hornet nest is stirred up, Little Corbie. You, too, must be watchful.”

  “Always.”

  Tavis smiled at me then let me go.

  Sighing, I sat back down and got to work. All things promised had come to pass. Now, I just had to ride the wave forward toward my destiny.

  Later that day, a rider came from Inverness with word from Macbeth. We would ride south the next morning—him and me—and our army. He instructed me to be ready and to bring Lulach.

  I stared at the letter.

  No.

  I would not bring Lulach. I would keep my boy away, keep him safe until it was all settled. That included keeping him away from Macbeth. If he was as unsteady as Banquo had said, then it would be a very long time before Macbeth would see my boy again. At this point, Lulach had already forgotten Macbeth. Growing up at Cawdor, he knew Gillacoemgain’s shade, knew Gillacoemgain as his father. Macbeth had never taken root in Lulach’s heart. And I was glad.

  Drafting a quick note, I headed out to the yard to deliver it to the rider. There was nothing to say. I would hear no apologies, no pretty words. I neither wanted nor expected any. I wrote only, “Come. I am ready.”

  I sent the rider away and stood in the middle of the yard taking in the sights and sounds of Cawdor.

  Overhead, a falcon called.

  I looked up, the sunlight making me wince. There, high in the sky over the castle, Gillacoemgain’s bird flew. I caught the sound of Standish’s voice. He was on the other side of the yard talking with the grooms. I went to meet him.