Highland Queen

Chapter 3

In the hours that followed, news came in from all around the country. The north was solidly aligned behind Macbeth and me. The south, however, was another matter. While not all the southern lords had followed Duncan into battle willingly—as was the case with Fife—enough of them had done so that it presented problems. Macbeth and I needed to move quickly. With everything so unsettled, it was a relief when news arrived that Macbeth was at Inverness. He sent a rider, requesting Banquo and me to join him there.

I read the scroll then handed the dispatch to Banquo.

Banquo frowned. “Now things become complicated.”

“One bastard cousin dead. Now I’ll place a crown on the head of the second.”

Banquo eyed me but said nothing. He never asked why I had sought out Duncan that night. Part of me suspected that Banquo had some feeling, some intuition on the matter. But he hadn’t probed that tender wound. One day, I would tell him the truth.

“I should go,” Banquo said. “Thorfinn and Magnus are there.”

I nodded. As one of Macbeth’s chief generals, Banquo’s presence was necessary.

Was mine?

“I will not come. When it’s time to go south, I will go. But not yet.”

Banquo folded his arms across his chest, nodded, but remained silent.

What was there to say?

Macbeth could be as angry or disturbed as he pleased, but he would also understand the wall I had built between him and me. After all, he had laid its foundation. What more was there to do? I felt nothing for him but contempt.

“My lady,” a page called, entering the conference room. “A rider with a message from Echmarcach of the Isles.”

I took the scroll and read over the dispatch. I felt the blood drain from my face as I considered what I found there.

“What is it?” Banquo asked.

“Donaldbane. He has been abducted by Ímar mac Arailt. The Irish king’s troops besieged the monastery on Iona and took him hostage.”

Banquo frowned. “Bold but wise move.”

I shook my head. “Echmarcach promises to do what it takes to secure the boy, provided we support him in his moves to retake Dublin.”

“Too soon. The blood in Scotland has not yet cooled,” Banquo said.

“I will write to Ímar mac Arailt. Perhaps, for once, my Ui Neill blood will make some difference,” I said then went to grab a piece of parchment.

“Ui Neill?” Banquo asked, staring at me.

“Yes. My mother’s line. The blood of two great dynasties runs in my veins. Remind me again why Macbeth will be crowned monarch?” I said, a waspish feeling washing over my heart. I lifted a piece of parchment from the box only to pause. Once more, I was taken aback by the appearance of the red spots on my hands. This time, the blood looked as fresh as the night Duncan had died.

I closed my eyes.

It wasn’t really there. I was just overtired.

I inhaled deeply then let out a slow breath.

“I never knew,” Banquo said, bringing me back to myself.

“My mother died young, one of many daughters, and was easily forgotten. But who knows if it will mean anything to the Irish king. Let’s hope it is enough to get him to talk.”

I willed myself not to pay attention to my hands.

Banquo sighed, went across the room, and poured himself an ale. He returned to sit beside me, staring in quiet contemplation at the fire.

I drafted the letter for the Irish king then set it aside. Though I had carefully chosen my words, I would need to consider the matter from all points. Turning to Banquo, I found his eyes had taken on a dreamy, faraway look.

He was lost to a vision.

Turning, I stared into the flames, hoping to make out what he saw there.

I saw only fire.

The hearth popped, the flames danced, but no visions came to me.

A few moments later, Banquo shook his head then lifted his tankard.

“Banquo?” I whispered.

“All is well,” he said, taking my hand. “All is well. Our boys… They are safe and happy.”

“Then it is best they remain where they are, for now.”

“When it is quiet, I will properly cast to Balor.”

“When it is quiet.”

Banquo frowned. “I have no wish to see you ride off to Scone.”

“Nor do I have any wish to go. I will not stay there long.”

“You do not mean to rule?”

“I do. But not from Scone. Let Macbeth go south and play politician.”

Banquo frowned. “Without you there, his position is weakened. He is vulnerable. All we have worked for is put at risk.”

“My place is in Moray.”

“Your place was in Moray. Now, you are Queen of Scotland.”

“Not yet.”

“Soon. And if Scotland is to be ruled well, she needs you.”

“But what about you? About us?”

Banquo looked back toward the fire. “I am a druid,” he said stoically. “I serve the land and the gods before myself. Just like you.”

I stared at him. All along, I had intended to help Macbeth to his victory but had no intention of staying by his side. Not now. Never again. But Banquo was right. If Macbeth was unsteady, I could not leave him alone. He would inevitably fall victim to deceit, come unglued and act against the good of the country, or be murdered. If Macbeth died, I had the right to rule without him. I could be queen alone, Lulach my royal heir. But if Macbeth was murdered, his enemies would come for Lulach and me next.

“Are we never meant to have a moment?” I whispered.

“Yes,” Banquo said quietly. “But just moments. We are the tools of the gods,” Banquo said then slugged back his ale. “And this tool must get ready to ride to Inverness.”

“When?”

“I should go tonight.”

“Should. Would it matter much if it waits until morning?” I asked, taking his hand into mine.

Banquo turned and looked at me. He smiled, his chestnut-colored eyes shimmering softly. “No.”

“Then go in the morning,” I whispered.

He nodded. “I’ll go in the morning.”

I placed the draft of my letter in a chest and locked it. Banquo and I exited the hall, leaving my armed guards at the door, then went to my chamber where we spent the night relishing just one more moment.