Highland Queen

Chapter 37

After Macbeth toured me through the castle, we went to his meeting room on the second floor. He went over all of his plans with me, and from what I could see, he had done well. The troops were rallying at Glamis. He had already called in a contingent of his army, enough men to keep the border secure from any incursion.

“Without Banquo, I will need to go myself,” Macbeth said.

I frowned but said nothing. Unsteady as he was, it wasn’t wise to have him on the field. But despite his nerves being wrought, the stratagem he shared with me was sound.

“If you must,” I said carefully.

“And you’re sure about Banquo? He is ill.”

“Yes,” I said, my tone dark.

Macbeth nodded.

“When will you go south?” I asked.

“Within the week. I was waiting for Ross and Mar. And you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You must be here at Dunsinane to manage things. They must understand we are not to be trifled with. I will leave for Glamis in the morning,” Macbeth told me.

“Then I will begin my work here tomorrow,” I said, fingering through the papers on Macbeth’s desk, disturbed by what I saw.

Macbeth nodded then crossed the room, looking like he was heading somewhere in a hurry.

“Macbeth?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Why don’t you rest? I’ll see you at supper,” he said then headed out. As he passed Killian, who was standing just outside the conference room door, he ruffled the man’s hair then turned and rushed off.

Gaping, Killian stared at Macbeth.

Completely bewildered, I shook my head then motioned for Killian to come inside.

“Your Majesty,” he said, a concerned look on his face.

I nodded. “I know. I think we’ve returned just in time.”

Killian sighed, echoing my thoughts.

Once again, I spent my time working through Macbeth’s mess. I was relieved when a servant came to fetch me for dinner. Feeling weary, I wandered to the massive banquet hall. It was still under construction when I’d come with Kirk all those months ago. Now, the place had been fully restored. Wide timbers lined the ceiling, and colored glass had been set into the windows. Sconces lined the walls, and new tables and chairs filled the space.

“Corbie,” Madelaine said, catching up with me. “You’re still in your riding clothes.”

“Yes,” I said blearily. “I’ll take a bath and rest after supper.”

“Corbie, there’s something you must know,” Madelaine whispered.

“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?