Highland Vengeance

Chapter 22

I had never seen Macbeth so happy. It was as if all our old troubles had been erased, wholly forgotten in the wake of the happy news. That night at the feasting hall, everyone toasted in cheer at the good news.

“He’ll be a fine, strapping lad,” Thorfinn said. “We’ll make sacrifices to Thor and Odin to celebrate.”

Macbeth smiled at his friend. “Your cheer is all that’s needed.”

Thorfinn rolled his eyes and leaned forward to look at Banquo, who’d said little throughout the night. “You hear that, Lochaber? We’ve failed miserably to turn Macbeth to the old ways. Odin, forgive him.”

“Aye,” Banquo said then picked up his tankard. He finished it off in one long drink then waved to one of the serving maids to bring him another. Merna was not in attendance this night.

“Aye, aye, aye. That’s all you have to say tonight, Lochaber. Aye, indeed. Maybe Lady Macbeth will have more luck getting you to speak up,” he said clasping my shoulder.

“Are you well, Banquo?” I asked, suddenly feeling all eyes on me.

Banquo smirked then nodded. “Aye,” he said then took a long drink of his freshly-filled tankard.

Thorfinn laughed.

I stared at Banquo who wouldn’t meet my eye.

While there was much merriment to be had that night, the growing life inside of me drained my energy. Soon, I found I was overly tired.

“I’ll retire for the night,” I told Macbeth and Thorfinn. “I’m feeling weary.”

Macbeth kissed my cheek. “Sleep, my dear wife. I’ll check on you later.”

Banquo rose. “I’ll also retire. I’ll walk with you, lady,” he told me.

“Aye,” Thorfinn said cheerfully then waved farewell to us.

With that, Banquo and I departed. We walked in silence for a time. The air between us was charged. After a bit, he said, “I do wish you congratulations.”

I linked my arm with his. “Banquo, I know that—”

“I’ve meant to tell you that I must return to Lochaber when we travel south.”

“Oh? You will not be gone for too long, I hope.”

Banquo stiffened then stopped. “What do you expect me to do? How would you feel watching Merna grow ripe with my child? I’ll be gone as long as I need to. Goodnight, Gruoch, daughter of Boite,” he said then let me go. Turning, he headed toward the beach.

“Banquo?”

He did not look back.

“Banquo, please.”

He disappeared over the rise and into the dark of night.

Sighing, I turned and went to my house. There was a strange shiver in the air and a cold wind whipped around. When I pushed open the door, I was met with the sharp scent of flowers. I was standing on the cauldron terrace of Ynes Verleath.

“How now, daughter?” a familiar, crackling voice asked.

“Andraste?” I had walked between the worlds.

“I come as the raven,” Andraste said.

“And what do you herald?”

“A royal death. “

“A royal death?”

“Your father will be avenged,” Nimue said.

“Malcolm. When?”

“When the mother sleeps, so shall he,” Andraste replied.

“And after?”

“Strife,” Nimue said.

“And blood,” Andraste added.

“And crowns for kings,” Nimue said. “And queens.”

“Make yourself ready,” Andraste added then waved her hand before her.

The cold wind blew once more. I rocked a little as I reappeared in the longhouse, standing just outside the open door.

“Oh, my lady, you startled me,” Ute said, turning. She was kneeling before the fire, banking up the logs.

I entered slowly, my hands and knees quaking. “Sorry. Is Lulach sleeping?”

“Yes, my lady.”

I nodded absently.

“My lady, you should take your rest. I…was so pleased to hear your news,” she said, her voice wavering a bit.

“Thank you, Ute. Ute, are you well?” In truth, she had been acting odd since we arrived in Thurso. I had thought it was the strain of the travel and the foreignness of the place, but perhaps there was more to it. Of late, she seemed…nervous.

Ute gingerly set another log on the fire. “I’m well.”

I was keenly aware that she was not meeting my eyes.

“Are you certain?”

She rose, clapping her hands. “Yes, my lady,” she said with a forced smile.

“Very well,” I said, eyeing her carefully. “Goodnight then.”

She nodded. “Goodnight.”

When I finally lay down, I thought about Andraste’s words. A royal death was coming in the winter. Did I dare warn Macbeth? Would he trust my sources? Word had come that Malcolm’s spring illness had left him weak, but had not killed him. Yet Andraste’s word was to be trusted. She knew what would be.

I would say nothing…yet.