Highland Blood

Chapter 17

Though many in Moray wanted to paint Gillacoemgain as a ruthless warlord, each day he rode out to check on cattle, fortify levees, and move his people to higher ground as the floodwaters rolled in. Some warlord. After a few weeks, however, the waters subsided, and Moray returned to a peaceful calm. The harvest season was soon upon us, and the air grew cold, the leaves turning hues of sunset orange, deep red, and vibrant yellow. Despite Andraste’s ominous words, the north, at least, seemed to be at peace. Word came that Malcolm was at odds once more with King Cnut of England and was amassing forces to go march south once more. And Macbeth, Gillacoemgain’s nephew, was at King Malcolm’s side, a virtual prisoner. I had nothing to do with Macbeth. What in the world was Andraste speaking of?

“Will Malcolm call on Moray for support?” I asked Gillacoemgain one night as we rested in front of the fire in the main hall.

“He may,” Gillacoemgain said, sipping his hot apple cider, which I’d spiced with herbs.

Not only was my husband not a murdering warlord, he was neither a drunkard nor a lecher. Occasionally he took a glass of wine, but only occasionally. I never saw his eyes on another woman. He was a quiet, peaceful man. When he wasn’t busy helping the people of Moray, he hunted, fished, and trained his birds, always returning with a woodland flower or wild herb for me. In the evenings, we rested together, Gillacoemgain watching my growing belly with great interest.

“I can see your stomach moving,” he said, setting his hands on my stomach. “Does it hurt?”

I shook my head. “I’m weary, and feel like I can’t breathe at times, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Any ideas for names?” he asked.

I shook my head. I had, in truth, tried to come up with something. But nothing felt just right.

“If one is a boy, perhaps we should name him Boite for your father. Boite…I will never forget him, marching into my father’s hall in Inverness with his men around him. He was like a giant with his long black hair and an enormous sword dangling from his belt. I remember my father falling to his knee before him. I had never seen my father bow to anyone. I’ll never forget it.”

“I spent little time with him, but I adored him,” I said, remembering the last time I saw my father in Madelaine’s hall. I had truly loved him.

“Boite, then?”

I sent my hand on my stomach, lacing my fingers with Gillacoemgain’s. “No. That doesn’t feel right.”

Gillacoemgain kissed the top of my head. “We’ll think of something.”

Despite the heavy summer rains, with autumn came the harvest. Cawdor’s stores were filled to capacity with grains and roots. I moped around for what felt like days, dreaming of the wild strawberries I’d found in the field that summer. Why hadn’t I thought to save it and try to grow my own plants in my garden?

Early one morning, as I was crossing the square to harvest the last of my plants, I met with Eochaid.

“Lady Gruoch,” he called, rushing toward me, carrying a large bucket.

I stopped and waited for him. Since that episode during the flood, the boy and I had always kept an eye out for one another. He was part fey, just as Sid was, and he knew what I was. He might have called me “M’Lady,” but I knew he saw Cerridwen. I hadn’t tried to see the little fairy man again, but I knew he was there. I could feel him.

“Eochaid. Good morning, lad. What do you have there?”

The boy handed me the wooden bucket. Inside, I found a heap of blackberries, raspberries, and strawberries.

I gasped. “How?”

Eochaid smiled at me, that enticing fey glamor emanating from him. “Easy to find, if you know where to look…and if you have a little help.”

I bent over and kissed the boy on the forehead. “Thank you, Eochaid. Why don’t you come into the castle to work? It will turn cold soon. I’ll ask Gillacoemgain to take you on as a page.”

Eochaid shook his head. “I can’t leave his Lordship’s birds. They’d miss me too much. Don’t worry about me, Lady Gruoch. I can find my way around.”

I set the bucket down and knelt to look the boy in the eye. It should have been an easy movement, but the weight of the babies had me off kilter. Laughing, Eochaid reached out to steady me.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” he told me then.

“No, I don’t. But I want to make sure you know that you always have a place in my household. If you need anything, ask me. If anyone mistreats you, tell me. What can I do for you? Would you want to apprentice under the master of horse? Look after Kelpie too?”

He tipped his head as if he were thinking it over. “May I still keep watch on the falcons?”

“Of course.”

“Then I would.”

“I’ll see to it then.”

Eochaid smiled. “Thank you, M’Lady. And enjoy the berries. Hope you don’t mind I had a couple,” he said, showing me the blueberry stains on his hands.

I laughed. “Not at all.”

With a nod, he ran off then, back toward the stables.

As I watched him go, I smiled. Perhaps I would have two boys. What a pair of monsters they would be. But even as the thought crossed my mind, a flicker of memory sprang up, the feel of Duncan’s hands on me, the smell of the wet mud.

I closed my eyes and forced the image away. I would take my vengeance on him. One day he would pay for what he’d done to me. But now, I was in no condition to do anything except carry his seed, all the while telling myself it was Gillacoemgain’s.

Sighing, I picked up the berries and headed back to my garden. Most of my herbs had gone to seed. I wanted to gather the last of them before it was too late, and before I was too big to do so. I sat a little while in the garden, gathering bunches of herbs, my eyes drifting up toward Crearwy’s chamber.

Even though it was just for a moment, I had seen the blood stain on the floor. Even if I’d doubted Gillacoemgain’s story, the proof was in how Crearwy’s room had been left, her clothes and belongings sitting right where she’d left them. I sighed. And there, in that dark space, I’d found my way back to Ynes Verleath.

Andraste had said, Hover through the fog, the snow, the filthy air. There to meet with Macbeth. But typical of Andraste, she’d riddled, always waiting for time to solve the mysteries she set before me.

I cast a glance once more up at Crearwy’s chamber. This time, I spotted light and movement through the slats in the door that led to the terrace overlooking the garden. I watched a moment, hoping I wasn’t seeing fairy globes, when once more I saw golden light shimmer behind the door. Candlelight? Who was in the chamber?

I stashed the herbs in my bucket and rose slowly, then headed up the stairs toward the terrace. It was so silent on this end of the castle. I could just make out the sound of Standish’s voice coming from the yard. Otherwise, there was only the wind. The air smelled of wood smoke and venison. That morning, they’d stoked the great fire high in order to roast the spoils of Gillacoemgain’s early morning hunt. He’d gone out at dawn, returning with a doe. But the fire had another purpose. The nights were becoming very cold. The scent of not-far-off snow filled the air. Carrying a candle with me, I walked down the dark hallway once more to the interior chamber door.

I heard movement inside the room and could see the glow of a candle.

“Not Ynes Verleath,” I whispered, pushing power behind my words. I did not want to fall into the otherworld again.

I set my hand on the handle and quietly opened the door.

Inside, I found someone sitting on the floor. There was a strange scratching sound.

The light of my candle caught his attention. From his position on the floor, Gillacoemgain looked up at me. I realized then what was happening. By the dim light of a single candle, he’d been working with a brush and bucket of water scrubbing the stain on the floor. The old blood, too stubborn to lift off, had marred his hands with an odd orange color.

“Out, damned spot,” he said, looking hopelessly from the spot on the floor to me. “No matter what I do, I cannot make it go away. The blood won’t wash away, from my mind, my heart, or this damned floor,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I cannot bear the memories.” I realized then his cheeks were wet with tears.

I knelt down beside him and wrapped my arms around him.

He stuffed his head into the crook of my neck and wept. “How could he?” he moaned.

I shook my head. “This world is full of evil men. Some men may seek to hide their foul deeds, but such wickedness will rise no matter how they try to hide it. Such as it was for your brother. Such as it will one day be for Malcolm. And for so many others who earn their bloody fates.”

“My sister,” Gillacoemgain said, looking down at the spot on the floor. He shook his head. “Just a wee slip of a girl, about the same age as you. She will never love, nor be a mother. Her candle was snuffed out before she lived.”

“Then we shall live for her. We will live and love and have many children. Through you, she will carry on.”

Gillacoemgain looked around the room. “I should get rid of all these things.”

“No. Let’s see if we have a daughter. If we do, let her enjoy those things your sister held dear.”

Gillacoemgain looked down at his hands, realizing then they were stained. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I shook my head then reached out and wiped the tears off his face. “We all carry secret hurts inside us.”

Gillacoemgain rose. “Let’s go back. I need to wash…”

I nodded, rising slowly, Gillacoemgain reaching out to steady me, then lifted my bucket of berries. “Come inside. I’ll bake you something sweet, and we’ll try to forget our sorrows.”

“Where did you find those?” Gillacoemgain asked.

“Eochaid,” I said, walking back toward the door, beckoning Gillacoemgain to follow me. I knew I had to get him out of there, thinking of something else, away from the blood scene. “And to think, I’ve been craving strawberries all week.”

Gillacoemgain smiled softly. “They are roasting the deer. I wanted you to eat well tonight. And now, a dessert too,” he said, looking at the bucket and smiling. “I wonder where he found them.” Gillacoemgain shook his head in amazement. “I like that boy.”

“As do I,” I replied, walking beside my husband, leading him through the darkness back toward the light.

When we came to the garden once more, Gillacoemgain stopped and looked at what was left of my herbs. “Finished for the season.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve just gathered the last of them to dry.”

He gazed up once more at the chamber, sighed heavily, and then kissed the top of my head. “Love of my life,” he whispered.

I looked up at him. For so long I had thought of Banquo as my soul’s true love. But what if that love I’d felt for Banquo was just an echo of the past, of a life already lived by Boudicca and Prasutagus? What if that love had just been a youthful passion? When I looked at Gillacoemgain, I felt a deep well of gratitude, comradery, and love for the man gazing down at me.

“I love you,” I told him.

He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

“I’ll meet you inside,” he said, motioning that he was going to go to the stables.

I nodded and headed toward the kitchens. This time, I would remember to set berry seeds aside for planting next year but not before preparing Gillacoemgain, and Eochaid, the best tarts I’d ever made.