Highland Vengeance

Chapter 32

As much as I had wanted Macbeth to ride to Cawdor and express his love and ask my forgiveness, that never happened. In fact, I heard nothing from Inverness except for informative dispatches regarding matters of state. It amused me that for the first time in my marriage, I was kept abreast of the affairs of the country. I would have been better off as one of his constituents all along. In truth, I was relieved to be done with the constant energy it took to keep Macbeth happy. The entire time I was with him, I’d felt like I was walking on glass, always hoping not to provoke him. Life in Cawdor was quiet and blissful.

It was late in the winter when I found myself in the small garden outside the church. This section of the castle had been kept closed. I eyed the room in which Crearwy, Gillacoemgain’s sister, had been murdered. I sighed.

It was very silent in the little garden, the snow drifting down slowly in fat flakes. I was all alone.

No Macbeth. No Gillacoemgain. No Ute. No Madelaine. No Eochaid. No Sid. No Epona. No Andraste. No one save Lulach, Thora, and me. I’d sent a messenger to Lochaber, but there still had been no word from Banquo either. I felt very safe in my solitude, and very alone.

That evening, as I sat soaking up the moonlight and ruminating to the point of melancholy, a rider arrived.

“Lady Gruoch? My lady?” Standish called as he neared the garden.

Rising reluctantly, I went to see what was the matter.

Standish carried a torch. The orange light glowed on the blanket of new snow. Alongside Standish was a messenger, a man I didn’t recognize wearing the colors and insignia I knew well and had grown to loathe—the colors of King Malcolm.

“A message, my lady,” the man said, dropping to his knee. “Urgent,” he added.

I opened the scroll and read.

Malcolm was dead.

The note had come from Duncan.

Macbeth and I were to come to Scone before Christmas to pledge our fidelity to our new king.

I turned and looked back at the garden. How beautiful it looked in the moonlight, how serene, how quiet.

“My lady?” Standish asked.

“The king is dead,” I said.

“We’ll ring the bells.”

I nodded.

“My lady,” the messenger said. “I’m supposed to return with a reply from you and Lord Macbeth.”

I handed the message back to him. “Then you must ride on to Inverness where Lord Macbeth keeps residence.”

“Oh,” the messenger said. “I was told to come here.”

“By whom?”

“The king. King Duncan.”

I smirked, thinking over the reasons for Duncan’s play. Clearly, he knew Macbeth and I were estranged. Why would he send the message to me? Was it possible he did not trust Macbeth? It amused me that he thought he might have an ally in me. Of all the people in this land, no one hated Duncan more than me.

“Just a small confusion. Word travels slowly. Why don’t you take some refreshment before you ride on to Inverness,” I told the messenger.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said then turned and went to the hall.

I headed across the yard when a second rider arrived. This time, from Fife.

“Lady Gruoch?” the rider called. He dismounted quickly then handed me a message.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the scroll. It was from Madelaine. It seemed that Malcolm had died peacefully in his bed, weakened by a coughing sickness. Duncan had sent word to all the thanes, demanding they come to Scone to kiss his ring and pledge their allegiance to their new king. How quickly everyone forgot that Madelaine was Malcolm’s half-sister. Didn’t they even consider that she might want to take a moment to mourn her brother?

Tapping the scroll in my hand, I turned and headed inside. When I returned to my chamber, Tira was inside tending to Lulach.

“What is it, my lady? I heard the bells.”

“King Malcolm is dead.”

She stared at me. “And…”

“And Duncan has taken the throne.”

“May the gods watch over us all.”

“Indeed.”

Two days later, Macbeth rode with a small party through the gates of Cawdor. I watched him from my chamber window. My heart twisted in ten different directions. I hated him, yet desperately wanted to love him. How could a person feel such contrasting things all at once? I was also keenly aware that he was only here for one reason. Macbeth and I must present a unified front before Duncan. If we did not, it would fracture Macbeth’s and Thorfinn’s hold on the north.

And just what would happen if I did not join him? What would happen if I chose to support Duncan—not that I ever would—but what if?

I cast a glance at Lulach who was sleeping.

Every move I made was for him. What was best for Lulach?

“My lady?” Tira called. She rapped on the door then entered. “Lord Macbeth has arrived. He’s in the hall. He asked that we let you know.”

I nodded. “Very well. Thank you.”

“Shall I stay with Lulach?”

“Yes, please.”

Sighing, I turned and headed toward the hall.

For Lulach.

For Lulach.

But the raven within me was whispering.

Tell him no. Go to Scone without him. Swallow your sorrows and win Duncan’s support. Rule the north alone. Kill Macbeth. Bury him. He doesn’t deserve your love. Finish him, and be with your druid. Finish him, and avenge Gillacoemgain. Better yet, raise your army and end them both as Boudicca would have done. Daughter of a king. Granddaughter of a king. Blood of MacAlpin and ruler of Moray. Take your crown. As Boudicca would have done. As Boudicca would have done. Level them both. Make them pay.

The voice became so loud in my head that it made my hands shake. I stopped mid-step and gazed out the window, catching my breath.

“Boudicca died, the Romans crushed the Celts, and Boudicca’s daughters suffered because of her defeat. Would you have me be so stupid?” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to myself, the dark seed that lived within me, or something other.

Either way, the tirade ended.

I needed to be smart, smarter than Macbeth or Duncan. For Lulach’s sake, for Lulach’s heirs’ sake, I needed to outsmart them all.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my long skirts, swept back my hair, and painted a smile on my face.

In the hall where I had seen Gillacoemgain stand before the hearth so many times now stood Macbeth. I hated him for standing in that spot.

“How now, Macbeth?” I called.

He paused, seeming to collect himself, then turned and looked at me. “Gruoch.”

“Are we for Scone?”

Macbeth inhaled slowly, deeply. “Yes.”

“When?”

“In the morning?” he asked tepidly.

“Fine,” I said then turned and headed out.

“Gruoch?” he called, but I did not look back.

Now, we would see.

There was a flurry of activity that night as I readied myself for the trip south. Rhona and Tira had a good-natured squabble over who would go to court. In the end, Rhona won out, saying she was old and more likely to die soon without ever seeing any kind of pageantry save some sheep herded through the yard, which made us all laugh. Tira reluctantly acquiesced.

Macbeth did not come to my chamber that night to broker peace nor to pay even a moment’s attention to Lulach. I was glad my son was too young to have grown to love Macbeth. He would not, I hoped, ever miss him. Feeling vexed about the entire matter, I did not hold a feast to welcome Macbeth. He could eat whatever scraps my kitchen maids felt like giving him, sleep wherever they decided to light a fire—or not. In fact, I gave no instructions for his comfort at all, and in Gillacoemgain’s castle, none were inclined to provide any. For all I cared, he could have slept in the pig shed.

Without a single word spoken to Macbeth and no more than a passing glance when I did finally see him the next day, we took to the road the following morning. The snow was too deep for wagons, so we rode on horseback. Little Lulach, who had no idea he was about to be thrust into the public eye, rode with me. In addition to Macbeth’s men, I also rode with four guards of my own, all of whom wore the tartan of Moray. I might ride to Scone beside Macbeth, but I was not truly with him.

We arrived in Scone the following morning. King Malcolm was dead, but it didn’t appear anyone minded. In fact, evergreen garlands were hung on the buildings and decorated the castle. The place was busy, full of people and animals. It looked like a horse fair times ten. Everywhere I looked, vendors sold their wares, calling to the visiting lords and ladies and their servants. As we rode through town, many stopped to watch Macbeth and me.

“Scone of the Noisy Shields,” Rhona said as we rode down the street toward the castle which sat not far from Scone Abby where Duncan would be crowned. Trumpets blasted as we approached the citadel.

Lulach whimpered then began to cry, the loud noise grating his nerves.

“Don’t cry, love. One day, if you become king, you can order them not to blast their trumpets,” I said.

Macbeth, who was riding just ahead of me, looked back at me over his shoulder.

I ignored him. If Macbeth thought I’d ever let him into my bed again, he truly was out of his mind. The man had left me to die in the dark, in a pool of my own blood, writhing in pain as his own child died. In such a circumstance, he’d thought only of himself. He hadn’t spared a moment to offer me, lying in agony at the loss of our child, a word of comfort. He only blamed me, blamed Banquo. He’d abandoned me when I needed him the most. It was Banquo who had stayed with me, Banquo who had ensured I was cared for. What had Macbeth done? Nothing. I would never forgive him. Whatever I’d hoped Macbeth and I would be, he had broken it completely. I glared at him.

Once we arrived at the castle, we were escorted to the western wing where we were bid to relax and make ready to meet the king the following day. Finally, I had a reason to be glad of courtly life. Macbeth and I had been given separate sections of the castle.

My section of the castle had a large meeting hall and two bedchambers, one for me and one for Rhona. My bedroom was richly adorned with a large poster bed, rich tapestries, and fine furniture. The extravagance seemed excessive. I settled in by the fire, warming up after the long ride.

“Look at all the lords and ladies,” Rhona said, glancing out the window. “What pageantry!”

I yawned tiredly. Footmen and maids raced in and out of the chamber bringing wine, food, and news. There would be a grand dinner that evening, but the king would not come from Edinburgh until the morning.

“He isn’t here yet?” I asked a maid who had brought a basket of bread and a round of cheese from the kitchens.

“No, my lady.”

“I wonder why not,” Rhona mused aloud.

The maid smirked. “There was a rumor that he would not come until Lord and Lady Macbeth arrived.”

I huffed a laugh. “I suppose he needed to ensure he actually had the north before he proclaimed himself king over it.”

The maid giggled then turned and left.

Rhona chuckled. “Have you ever seen him, my lady? What manner of man is King Duncan?”

I bit my lip, wanting to tell her exactly the kind of man he was, but I said, “I saw him once. He didn’t make a good impression on me.”

Rhona harrumphed.

There was yet another knock on the door, but before Rhona could open it, Madelaine let herself in.

“Gruoch,” she called merrily, crossing the room to embrace me.

How lovely she looked in her winter furs and an elegant green velvet gown. Her long red hair drifted down her back.

She turned quickly and picked up Lulach, planting kisses on his cheeks. “Oh, my naughty boy, you’re growing like a weed. How big you are since autumn.”

Lulach laughed.

“Madelaine, this is my maid, Rhona. Rhona, this is my aunt, Madelaine, the Lady of Fife.”

Rhona was about to drop a curtsey when Madelaine clapped her on the back and said, “Merry met.”

Rhona laughed. “I see where my lady gets her open nature.”

Madelaine smiled. “Can you believe all this pomp?” she said, motioning out the window. “My god, there will be a shortage of soap in Scotland.”

We both laughed.

“Fife has gone with Macbeth. The lords are meeting in the hall below. Shall we go meet the ladies?”

“By the gods, no.”

Madelaine laughed. “Gruoch. Don’t you want to see who has a daughter for Lulach?”

“Madelaine! He’s just a wee boy.”

“I know that, and so does everyone else. Everyone will want to claim the hand of a boy with royal blood.”

I blew air through my lips. Sid’s faerie princess would be better than some courtly lady.

“Now, let’s see what dresses you brought for the coronation tomorrow. Who packed, you or your maid?”

“Both of us.”

“Oh dear,” Madelaine said then looked back at Rhona. “Did you fix it?”

Rhona laughed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Fix what?”

“Gruoch, you can hardly tell the difference between a house dress and a formal gown.”

“I can so.”

Rhona laughed in such a manner that indicated that clearly I did not. In truth, I hardly cared for a gown one way or another. In fact, men’s breeches always appeared far more practical to me.

“Well, I brought some of the new dresses you sent,” I said, albeit weakly, in my defense.

Madelaine winked at Rhona and then began picking through my things. I smiled at her, glad to have a mother’s comfort at this time. Alone, I would have to deal with Macbeth. But with Madelaine here, I had every excuse to avoid him. And more, while Madelaine knew nothing of the matter, every time I thought about seeing Duncan, my stomach felt ill, and rage made my hands shake. That pompous boy, that user and defiler would become king of Scotland. It was an affront to the country I loved. But I remembered Macbeth’s plans. As angry as I was at Macbeth, I still supported his plan to win the crown. Had he asked my opinion on the matter, I might have advised him to stay north. If we stood our ground now, before Duncan was crowned, it would make things easier. But Macbeth had not asked me anything other than how many casks of wine and pigs I needed at Cawdor.

“How is Ute fairing?” I asked Madelaine as she looked through the dresses.

“Very well. She told me to send her greetings.”

“She didn’t want to come?”

“No. I asked her, but she declined. What about this one?” Madelaine asked, snapping the wrinkles out of a lovely purple silk and velvet gown. The cut of it was much like the holy gown I wore at Ynes Verleath. “It will match your torcs and amulet.”

“Yes. That will be perfect,” I said, my mind distracted by the idea that Ute had not chosen to come, not even to see Lulach.

“There is a suit there for Lulach as well, and a doublet and pantaloons that match that gown,” Rhona said.

“Yes, I had them made of the same fabric,” Madelaine said with a giggle.

“Mum, mum,” Lulach said, climbing up into my lap. “Mum, dat,” he said, pointing to the fire.

I looked at the flames. “What do you see?” I whispered.

“Dat, dat. Banc dere. Banc,” he said.

I stared into the fire, for a flickering moment, I saw the image of Banquo riding toward the gates of the citadel in Scone.

Picking up Lulach, I went to the window. Roman-style glass covered the edifice. The view through the thick glass was wavy and distorted, but we had a slim view of the courtyard. Lulach and I watched and waited. Five minutes later, I saw the colors of Lochaber then the Thane himself.

“Banc!” Lulach screamed.

I chuckled. “He cannot hear you, son. He is too far away.”

“Who is it?” Madelaine asked.

“Banc. Banc!”

Madelaine chuckled.

“Banquo, Thane of Lochaber,” I said, setting my hand on the cold glass.

Madelaine rose and came to the window. We both watched as the Lochaber men dismounted.

“With the chestnut colored hair?” Madelaine whispered.

“Yes.”

Madelaine watched until Banquo was out of sight. She sighed heavily then turned to me, pushing my hair behind my ear, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. “My little raven,” she whispered. “Lulach saw him in the flames?”

I nodded.

“Boite’s grandson indeed. Did Gillacoemgain…”

I shook my head. “No. But he knew, understood.” But more, Gillacoemgain was not Lulach’s true father. His real father would arrive tomorrow and be crowned King of Scotland.