Highland Blood

Chapter 12

“How many cases of wine this evening, Lady Gruoch?”

“What songs would you like to hear?”

“How many pheasants would you like roasted?”

In the weeks that followed, the “get to work” mandate made by the bloody goddess started to feel like a joke. I was, once more, back to the same dull lifestyle I had lived while growing up. Again, I was bound to the castle and the boring drudgery it wrought. How had Madelaine endured the unending tedium of running a household? But I did as Gillacoemgain asked, not just because he asked it, but because the quickening within me was starting to become more and more obvious. And along with it, I was suddenly taking with vomiting in the morning, dizzy spells, and heavy afternoon tiredness. The first three months, alone in the castle with no one but Ute for company, began to feel a lot like a replay of my time with Madelaine.

“My Lady is with child,” Ute told me.

“Yes,” I replied absently as I sat looking out the window.

“Have you sent word to the Mormaer?”

“No. I don’t want anything to distract Gillacoemgain.”

“But the news is joyful,” Ute said, confused.

“Yes. And when he returns, I’ll tell him. In the meantime, we’ll say nothing. I won’t have him worried about me, or his unborn child, while he’s on the battlefield.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

Word had slowly returned that Gillacoemgain had, in fact, traveled to Lochaber. There he’d brought young Lord Banquo, who’d recently taken over power due to his father’s death, into accord. Banquo, it seemed, was extremely good at deceptive diplomacy. Gillacoemgain, near as I had learned, had not discovered Banquo was in league with Thorfinn. Did I have an obligation to tell him? I wasn’t sure. My emotions tumbled over themselves, and at times my head ached as much as my heart.

Rumors about the Thorfinn, blond-haired Viking, however, were easy to come by. As Jarl of Caithness and Orkney, Thorfinn should have bowed to the will of the Lord of Moray who was overlord of the north. But he held no allegiance to Gillacoemgain. The north was not at peace with the Mormaer of Moray, despite our marriage. In the hall, they whispered that Gillacoemgain was thought a cutthroat and usurper by those in the northern-most provinces. The people of Moray, however, seemed to respect him. Rumors abounded that Gillacoemgain’s elder brother, Findelach, had been the man Thorfinn had rallied behind. For reasons I had not yet discovered, Gillacoemgain had murdered his brother. Findelach’s son, Macbeth, was still held in watchful “fostering” under Malcolm, a condition that was little more than political imprisonment. My marriage to Gillacoemgain was intended to subdue the north, but it had only done so in halves.

One morning, I went to the council chamber where a number of people had gathered to have their complaints heard.

Artos, Gillacoemgain’s advisor, attended to most of the small issues. By the time I arrived, only a few people remained, including a tearful scullery maid whom I found on her knees before Artos.

“My Lady,” he said politely when I entered. While most of Gillacoemgain’s household had welcomed me eagerly, Artos was an exception. Artos had a sharp tongue and an attitude that suggested he believed women had their place…subservient to men. It was an attitude I could not abide. That morning, already feeling out of sorts due to my growing stomach, worry over Gillacoemgain, and frustration with Banquo, I was in no mood for misogyny.

“What is the matter here?” I asked.

“My Lady of Moray,” the girl said, who I recognized as part of our household, pleaded, looking desperate. “Please, will you hear me? Master Artos—”

“We need not bother her ladyship with petty issues. Take her away, and twenty lashes, as I have ordered.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She looked about frantically.

I motioned to the guards to hold.

“I will decide what I hear, Artos. What is it, lass?”

“She’s a thief, My Lady,” Artos injected.

“I didn’t ask you,” the raven snapped at him. “Go on,” I added, turning to the girl.

“My Lady,” the girl said, “please, I beg your forgiveness. My father’s farm burned. My family has had but scraps to eat these many weeks, barely holding on with what I can bring home. My father is too old to hunt, and my husband was wounded in the fire. I…I took some extra food to my family. My boy, he’s but a wee slip of a thing. He’s caught the fever that is spreading amongst the children. If he—”

I raised my hand to stop her then turned to Artos.

“Did she explain the same to you?”

“She did,” Artos said, puffing out his chest.

“And is it true, that their farm burned?”

“I…I don’t know,” Artos answered.

“Of course you don’t,” I told him then turned back to the girl. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

She was. The answer was plain on her face. I turned to Artos once more. “And the fever afflicting the children? Is there a fever in Moray?”

“I…” Artos began, “I’m not—” he began but someone from the crowd spoke up.

“There is, My Lady of Moray,” one of the farmers called. “In Nairn, we’ve lost ten children already, and many more are ill.”

“Do you have learned women in these parts to heal such ailments?” I asked the farmer.

“Not anymore,” he said, flicking an eye at the collection of Christian petitioners waiting to be heard.

I turned to Artos. “We feed the hungry in Moray, sir. And if that was not the custom before my arrival, it is now.”

“But My Lady.”

“Artos, I want you to provide me with a full accounting of Moray’s supplies when I return this evening.”

“Return?”

“Yes,” I said. I crossed the room and lifted the girl by the hand. “Go to the kitchens and take what you need for your family. What’s your name?”

“Tira.”

“Tira, my apologies for how you were treated in my house,” I said then turned on Artos. “You are no longer permitted to hold public hearings on behalf of Moray. Busy yourself with papers and coins but not with people. I’ll let Gillacoemgain decide what to do with you when he returns.”

“My Lady!”

“That is my word. Abide it,” the raven spat.

“But My Lady…”

I turned then and fixed my eyes on him. I could feel my heart beating hard. The raven wanted to rip him to shreds. “Who was my father?”

“You…you are the daughter of Boite.”

“And who is my uncle?”

Artos paled. “King Malcolm.”

“I am no pampered lap dog, Artos. I’m made of the stuff from my father’s line. You will not disobey the blood of MacAlpin.”

“Yes, My Lady,” he said, the blood completely drained from his face. He was shaking. He’d seen the raven and had feared it.

“You, sir,” I said, waving to the farmer. “Has your case been heard?”

“No, My Lady.”

“I shall hear it as we ride.”

“Ride?” he replied.

“To Nairn,” I answered, then looked down at the girl. “My maid shall bring you a tonic for your boy.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” she said, a relieved, and mildly shocked, expression on her face.

“Anyone else seeking the justice of Moray today?” I asked the assembled crowd.

One of the Christians stepped forward. “We’ve come to offer our services to your court, Lady Gruoch. We’ve traveled from the court of King Malcolm ready to serve you and the Mormaer of Moray.”

I smiled as nicely as the raven would allow. “Please give these men supplies so they may travel back to my uncle, the king,” I said, glancing back at Artos. “Their services are not required in Cawdor.”

“But, My Lady, Cawdor doesn’t have anyone from the holy brotherhood providing ministering to your household,” one of the holy men protested.

“Correct,” I replied. “Nor do we need any. Safe travels to you, gentleman,” I replied, then turned to the farmer. “Your name, sir?”

“James, My Lady.”

“Let me assemble my supplies and a guard, and we’ll see what we can do about that fever.”

The man looked stunned. “Many thanks, Lady Gruoch.”

I nodded and headed back upstairs.

It was time to get busy.