Highland Queen

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.

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.