Highland Queen

by Melanie Karsak

  “Ah, here is Her Majesty,” Macbeth called from the table. He rose, motioning for me to come sit.

  “Corbie,” Madelaine said, caution in her voice.

  As I approached the table, I couldn’t help but notice a teenage boy sitting at the end of the table near Macbeth and me. The boy looked up at me, his blue eyes wide. When I met his gaze, he looked away.

  A servant pulled out my chair, and I settled in across from the boy, Madelaine beside me.

  “Gruoch,” Macbeth said with a smile, “this is Findelach,” he said, motioning to the boy.

  I looked at the young man. Aside from his eyes, which were a copy of Macbeth’s, he looked much like his mother, Elspeth.

  I inhaled slowly and deeply, well aware that the other lords and ladies present were watching me.

  I turned to Findelach. “It is good to meet you, Findelach,” I said. “How is your mother? Your grandfather?”

  “They are both well, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. He was just a slip of a boy, a thin, nervous thing. His hands shook.

  “Your mother is an excellent horsewoman. Does she still look after beasts?” I asked, my eyes flicking toward Macbeth.

  “She farms now. She and my step-father have a place in the north.”

  “Very good. I’m pleased to learn she’s well,” I said then looked down the table to find everyone staring at me, their eyes wide. “Cousin Bethoc,” I called. “How have you been? Can you believe this cold weather so late in the spring? I worried we would catch fever riding across the countryside in such uncertain weather.”

  Bethoc gasped. “Oh, indeed, Gruoch, indeed,” she said, clapping her hands in excitement. “You know…” she began, and then she let loose.

  The other lords and ladies exhaled. Giving Bethoc partial attention, they turned back to their meals—or one another—once more.

  Exhaling, I sat back in my seat. I glanced sidelong at Madelaine.

  She arched an eyebrow at me.

  I lifted my goblet of wine and took a sip. When I did so, I found Findelach’s eyes on me. In them, I saw a desperate plea for forgiveness.

  Raising my cup, I toasted the boy.

  He exhaled deeply and returned the gesture, his hand trembling.

  I turned to Macbeth who was gawking at the ceiling.

  I followed his gaze. “What do you see?”

  Macbeth tittered then leaned toward me. Having him so close made my skin crawl, but I held steady. “Angels,” he whispered.

  “Ahh,” I replied then drank once more. “Of course.”

  By all the gods, I hated being there, but from what I could see, I had arrived just in time to save everything from madness.

  My son’s only rival sat across from me.

  My husband saw angels.

  And war was about to break out.

  What better place was there for me to be?

  Chapter 38

  Macbeth and Findelach—or Findelach the bastard as I learned he was called behind his back—rode out the next morning for Glamis. I went through all of Macbeth’s papers, trying to make sense of the work he was doing. I could see from the dates on the notes that he had started to decline just after Yule. His bastard had been brought to court not long after. Whatever Macbeth had planned for young Findelach, that now appeared to be forgotten.

  “Everyone is puzzled,” Madelaine told me. “He brought the boy here. Everyone knew he was Macbeth’s bastard, but he never formally acknowledged him. Since the boy arrived, he has ignored the child completely. And Findelach…he is a farmer’s son. He’s a good boy, Corbie. He seems like he’s humiliated about the whole affair.”

  “He’s not ambitious?”

  Madelaine shook her head. “No. He spends most of his time in the barn helping the stablemaster.”

  I shook my head. Macbeth was lost.

  Part of me felt very resentful that it would be left to me to put things right once again.

  When they returned, I would speak to Findelach. From the look he gave me at dinner, he knew I considered him an enemy. Maybe he worried I would murder him. He wasn’t wrong to fear. It had crossed my mind. But given Madelaine’s observations, there was a better way. Perhaps having his own farm in Moray would entice the boy to go home.

  News came that Macbeth had ridden south to engage the army spotted in the southern districts. Part of me hoped he would not return. If Macbeth was dead, Siward might try me, but I was not Suthen. I would be ready to face him. And if I ever saw Crinian again, he would find no mercy in me.

  After the army rode out, we waited.

  The news came from the north. Standish wrote that all was well in Moray. They had not been asked to join the army and go south. Banquo wrote as well. Lochaber was as quiet as I remembered it, and everyone was doing well. One surprise correspondence came from Thorfinn. His message had been addressed to both Macbeth and me. He wrote lamenting that he had failed in Ireland, asking forgiveness that Donaldbane had not been recovered. He also regretted to share that he and Magnus had a falling out, but Thorfinn was working to align himself with King Harald Sigurdsson. I was appalled to read that the alliances Thorfinn had worked so hard to win had crumbled to dust. But Caithness and the north were still well in hand. It was Thorfinn’s dealings with Norway and Denmark that had fallen into disrepair. Despite the bad news in terms of political alliances, Thorfinn was also happy to tell us that Injibjorg had given birth to a son they had named Erlend.

  Weeks passed.

  Riders soon started flowing in. Macbeth’s forces had met Siward’s with success. Macbeth had pursued Siward’s army back into Northumbria, burning and looting as he went. I frowned when I read about the destruction in Macbeth’s wake. Having been on the receiving side of his cruel vengeance, I knew what hatred he would plant in the hearts of the Northumbrian people. When Siward called his forces in the years to come, brothers and sons would remember what the King of Scotland had done.

  When summer returned, so did Macbeth. The king was at Glamis. Servants rushed about preparing a feast and refreshing rooms.

  “I will hate to see Crinian in chains,” Bethoc lamented. “Foolish man. Didn’t he know the tide had turned? He should have made good on the generous offer you gave him, Your Majesty,” she told me.

  “I’m sorry he didn’t.”

  Madelaine stared down the empty road as she waited. Her eyes took on a vacant, faraway look. Here we were waiting for men to return from battle. The last time this had happened, Tavis had died.

  I wrapped my arm around my aunt’s waist and pulled her close.

  “When it is quiet, I will return to my keep—and beyond—for a time,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad to hear you say so. I worry for them all.”

  “Look, look there,” Bethoc said as riders and carts approached.

  I watched.

  Macbeth rode at the front, his man, Wallace, beside him. Behind them were a number of other soldiers and lords. I saw the banners of Fife, Ross, Mar, and others.

  “My Queen!” Macbeth called, jumping off his horse to come to greet me.

  I took a step back.

  Madelaine reached out and gently held me in place.

  “Macbeth, congratulations on your victory,” I told him, eyeing him closely. He was no better. He still had a wild look in his eyes.

  “Lady Madelaine,” Macbeth said, bowing to her. “The men of Fife and Lothian fought well.”

  “That’s good to hear, Your Highness. Fife is on his way here now to celebrate with you.”

  “And where is Crinian, that wicked turncoat?” Bethoc asked, but I heard the catch in her voice. She may have been ashamed of her husband’s actions, but she was also afraid.

  “Lost in battle. I’m sorry, cousin,” he told Bethoc.

  “Lost? Lost how?”

  “Well, I killed him. Traitor that he was.”

  “Macbeth,” I chided.

  Bethoc wailed then turned and rushed toward the castle.

&n
bsp; Madelaine frowned at Macbeth then turned and went after Bethoc.

  “Have you no care for ladies’ sensibilities?” I asked, but then I laughed. “I’m sorry. How absurd. I’d forgotten who I was speaking to.”

  “What?” Macbeth asked, looking confused.

  I scanned the men. “Where is your bastard?”

  “Who?

  “Findelach.”

  “Oh. He died.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I guess he had never been in battle before. Pig farmer and all.”

  “He died?”

  Macbeth nodded. “I need a bath. Wallace,” he said, waving to his man. “I’ll go in.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the man called.

  Before I could step aside, Macbeth clapped me on the shoulder. “Dunsinane,” he said, looking up at the castle. “What a lucky name.”

  He turned and headed inside.

  Still in disbelief, I went to Wallace who, it appeared, had taken over Banquo’s duties as Macbeth’s chief general. He was barking orders when I approached.

  “Sir,” I called to him.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, giving me a quick bow.

  “Is it true that Findelach has perished?”

  Wallace shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, Your Majesty. He was…unready for battle.”

  “His body?”

  “We buried him in the field.”

  “I see. And Crinian?”

  “Also…deceased,” Wallace said, not meeting my eye.

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Some matters regarding war are not suitable for ladies’ ears.”

  “Well, I am not the typical lady.”

  “No, you are not, but the matter is unsuitable for most ears. The abbott was caught in an ambush. His treachery was rewarded with a violent end.”

  “I see.”

  “If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, I must see to the men.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Wallace,” I said and headed inside.

  Shaking my head, I went to the council chamber and sat down. I needed to send dispatches to let the others know the army had returned triumphant.

  And now I—me of all people—was responsible for writing another letter. To Elspeth. To let her know her child was dead.

  Chapter 39

  That night, the lords and ladies feasted, toasting Macbeth’s great success. Bethoc was absent, and no one asked Macbeth what had happened to his bastard. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with the rest of them. As pleased as I was about Macbeth’s success, I couldn’t swallow his complete disregard for his own child. But why did it surprise me? When our child had died, he had thought only of himself. He had most certainly not thought of me. Macbeth only thought of others in relation to himself. If he was not harmed by a loss, then there was no loss. If he was not in pain, there was no pain. There was only him and his desires. And right now, listening to him toast his wins was too much to take.

  After checking on Bethoc, who had cried herself to sleep, I went to my chamber. Madelaine joined me shortly afterward.

  “Fife arrived just after supper,” she told me. “I will ride out with him when he leaves.”

  I nodded. “I’m worried for Epona. She was so frail when I saw her last. And Crearwy… Madelaine, she hates me.”

  Madelaine shook her head. “No. She loves you. She’s just angry. It will pass.”

  “And if it doesn’t?

  “Then you still did right by her, even if neither of us wanted it, and she never sees it.”

  Sighing, I nodded. I rose and went to my bureau. Therein, I found Crearwy’s pin. I handed it to Madelaine. “Please, give this to her for me. Tell her it belonged to her aunt. The flower is the symbol of Gillacoemgain’s mother’s line.

  “It’s lovely. I will give it to her. How is Aelith?” Madelaine asked.

  “She’s doing very well, according to Banquo’s letters.”

  “With the war done, will you return to Lochaber?”

  “Not yet. Not with Macbeth in such a state. But I have an idea. An old idea. Let me see if I can make good on it again.”

  “Corbie, I don’t know how you manage.”

  “I manage poorly, Aunt. My life is like a bucket full of holes. Every time I look, something important slips away from me.”

  Madelaine nodded sadly, that hollow look coming to her eyes once more. “Yes,” she whispered, but it was all she said. She understood well. Sometimes, there was nothing to be done to fix the broken pieces.

  Well, almost nothing.

  Madelaine and Fife left within the week. Shortly after their departure, the bishop arrived at Dunsinane.

  Macbeth was in the chapel praying early one morning. He was muttering to himself and picking at his head. I studied him as I approached only to realize he was pulling out locks of his own hair.

  “Macbeth?”

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Aren’t what beautiful?”

  “The angels,” he said, motioning above him.

  I sat down in the pew closest to him. “Macbeth, I have invited the bishop here.”

  “Why?”

  “To talk to you about taking your pilgrimage.”

  “Oh. Very well.”

  “You will go?”

  “Of course. It’s a good idea, Gruoch. Do you want to come?”

  “No.”

  “All right. I will send word to Thorfinn. He is going to come.”

  “That’s highly unlikely.”

  “No. The angels told me he would come. You see them?” Macbeth said, pointing.

  I followed his gaze. When I shifted my vision and looked with my raven’s eyes, I saw something.

  “Will you send word to Thorfinn for me?” Macbeth asked.

  “Macbeth, Thorfinn is embroiled in his own troubles. And he just had a son.”

  “Ask him.”

  “All right,” I said with a sigh then rose.

  “And Gruoch?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you write to Elspeth?”

  “I already have.”

  “Thank you.”

  Saying nothing more, I left him there. What was there to say? There was no use in arguing with a madman.

  As requested, I sent a rider to Thorfinn. I then asked the bishop to make plans for Macbeth’s pilgrimage. With those tasks done, I went back to work. With the flare-up in the south extinguished, and Siward’s army defeated, Siward withdrew. My spies informed me that he had barely raised enough money and men to ride north again. Rumor was that Crinian had made promises that had come to nothing—just like Crinian himself. I didn’t expect to hear from Siward again any time soon.

  Macbeth stayed as he was. While preparations for his departure to the continent had been made, Macbeth refused to go until we heard from Thorfinn. While I took his words as the raving of a madman, I was surprised when riders approached one day bearing Thorfinn’s standard.

  I went to the yard to discover the jarl there. I could scarcely believe my eyes.

  “Thorfinn?”

  He laughed. “I figured there was no sense in sending a messenger. I would just come myself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to Rome, of course. My ships are ready to take us whenever Macbeth is ready. Where is my king?”

  I sighed.

  “Ah,” Thorfinn said simply.

  I motioned for him to follow me. We wound up the steps of the castle to the third level. “I say, what a grand edifice. Dunsinane is a sturdy old boat,” Thorfinn said.

  “And ancient to its roots.”

  “As is the wood around it. I’d swear I heard sprites whispering to me.”

  “Your guess isn’t far off. But you must tell me, how is Injibjorg and your son?”

  “Both are well. And you—please forgive my wife, but your secrets are safe with me—how is yours and Banquo’s daughter.”

  I nodded. “Aelith. She is with Banquo in Lochaber.”

 
“Macbeth wrote that Banquo was ill.”

  “Ill in spirit. He is unwilling to support Macbeth further.”

  “I’m glad to hear he is well in body. I love Banquo and Macbeth like they were my brothers, but I have eyes. This trip to Rome is well devised. Your idea?”

  “It was an inspired thought.” It was, in fact, Scotia’s idea, but I wasn’t sure she wanted Thorfinn to know that. “And you want to go? Really?”

  “My ambitions are different from Macbeth’s. We will go to Saxony and meet Emperor Henry and then on to Hamburg. I have already made the arrangements.”

  “Then you must speak to the bishop. He, too, has made plans.”

  “Bah,” Thorfinn said, waving his hand dismissively.

  “You do know people make this pilgrimage in honor of the White Christ? You will go to Rome where they will, no doubt, ask you to be baptized.”

  Thorfinn shrugged. “After such a long walk, I will need a bath.”

  “Thorfinn!”

  “I am named after the thunder god. He knows my heart. No pretty words and scented oil will change that.”

  When we reached the uppermost level of the castle, we found Macbeth looking out into the forest.

  “Macbeth,” Thorfinn called.

  Macbeth turned around. He smiled widely.

  “How gaunt he is,” Thorfinn said with a gasp.

  “He is unwell. It is a burden you are taking on. He believes he speaks to angels.”

  Thorfinn gave me a concerned look then crossed the space to meet Macbeth.

  “I told you he would come,” Macbeth shouted at me.

  I nodded to him then turned to go.

  He was right after all.

  I only hoped that maybe his angels could guide him back to sanity.

  Chapter 40

  Macbeth, Thorfinn, and a contingent of guards and monks left Dunsinane within the week. They would ride to the River Tay then take a ship to the continent.

  “Don’t worry,” Thorfinn told me. “I will bring him back the man he was.”

  “A better man, if you please, or not at all.”

  Thorfinn nodded but said nothing more on the matter. “Be safe,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “May Odin, Thor, and Freya guide your steps to the holy city of Rome.”