Highland Vengeance

Chapter 3

We rode through the night into morning. During the afternoon of the second day, we met the rider Madelaine had dispatched. He’d found Macbeth’s army.

“Lord Macbeth asked you to ride to Lumphanan. He’d been told you were at Aberdeen and was headed in that direction.”

“Very good,” I said, well aware of the fact that Ute was shooting me questioning glances. I ignored her. “Please take some rest then ride ahead and let him know we are on our way.”

The man nodded. “Of course. I must say, my lady, Lord Macbeth was surprised to hear from you.”

“I’m certain he was,” I replied. I knew my choices, my actions made no sense to anyone but me. But I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I would meet Macbeth soon enough and take the measure of the man then. For now, I just needed to survive the ride.

We rested that night at our small camp in the woods. It was cold but didn’t snow again. We sheltered in a grove of dense pine, their boughs making a tent overhead. There was a stream nearby. A strange, heavy fog rose from the water.

“Odd weather,” Tavis said as he eyed the fog suspiciously. He reached out and moved his hand through the mist as if there were something tangible to catch.

“The water is warm,” one of the soldiers said, nodding toward the stream. “Must be an underground spring.”

“That explains the smell,” the second soldier said. “Filthy air.”

The other soldier laughed. “How can the air be filthy?”

“Don’t know. Just smells…unclean.”

“Just the stink of lime and the earth. Smells no worse than your breath.”

Both men laughed.

Resting with my back against a tree, my head bobbing drowsily, I looked up.

“Sorry, Lady Gruoch,” the first soldier said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Filthy air? “No. No, I wasn’t sleeping. Dangerous to sleep in the fog anyway.”

The man nodded. “So my old granny used to tell me.”

I nodded and peered into the mist. Exhausted, my body felt disconnected, my head felt lost between this world and the other. As I stared into the fog, shapes started to take form. I saw tall pillars, a cauldron, and the silhouette of two women.

“Ah, there now, the wind picked up something sweet. You smell that? Flowers,” the soldier said.

Tavis reached out and gently jostled my leg. “Gruoch,” he whispered. I heard the warning in his voice.

I turned and looked at him. The shapes in the mist receded.

“What? I don’t smell anything,” the second soldier replied.

“I smelled it too,” Ute said sleepily. “Like lilacs.”

“Wisteria,” I whispered, looking at Tavis.

He smiled knowingly then went back to warming his hands by the fire. Apparently, Tavis knew much more about Epona’s coven and the training that went on there than he let on.

My sleep that night was fitful. Between waking every few hours to care for Lulach to the horrible ache between my legs, when the sun rose again, I was in no mood to take to horseback. Only the thought of Duncan pursing me moved me to rise. We struck camp and were back on the road again.

It was late in the afternoon when the village of Lumphanan appeared before us.

The village, comprised of no more than a dozen buildings, was surprisingly quiet. Chickens and goats meandered aimlessly while old wives tossed wash water out the front door. A boy chased a goose with a switch, and an old man fed turnip tops to pigs. The villagers eyed us curiously as we approached.

It quickly became evident that Macbeth had not yet arrived.

“The alehouse,” I told Tavis, directing Kelpie toward a building at the edge of town.

We tied the horses at the trough then headed inside.

The musty scent of rancid ale, straw, and timbers filled the air. The barkeep barely looked up, but when he did, his eyes widened. He pulled out five mugs and began to pour. He eyed Thora who was leaning heavily against my leg. Then he looked away. She was lucky she had such good acquaintances. Tavis spoke in low tones, and the man directed us to a secluded table in the back corner. We slid into our seats. The guards sat facing the door.

A plump woman with a bright smile, her hair covered in a kerchief, brought us all steaming bowls of mutton stew. The heavenly smell of meat and winter vegetables made my mouth water.

Lulach stirred in his sleep. I adjusted him in the sling then patted him, settling him back down.

Tavis smiled at Lulach but said nothing. All of us exhausted, we ate in silence.

After we were done, Tavis and Ute dozed, their heads bobbing.

“I need to walk,” I told the soldiers.

“We should come with you.”

“No. You rest. I won’t go far. Thora is coming. Right, Thora?” I said, gently tapping the sleeping dog with my foot. She was lying on her back, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Come on, lazy,” I told her.

“At least let one of us come along. I must insist, my lady,” one of the soldiers said, rising.

He met my eyes. The expression pleaded with me not to argue.

I nodded to him.

Rewrapping my clothes tightly around me, I headed out. It was dusk. The skyline was streaked with deep red and vibrant orange colors. I looked out across the sloping hill behind the tavern. In the distance, I was surprised to see a standing stone near a raised bit of earth.

“Let’s have a look,” I said to the solder, pointing toward the stone.

“Peel of Lumphanan,” he replied, motioning to the raised ground. “Some say the rise used to support a fortress, others say it used to be an old temple.”

Holding Lulach close, I crossed the snowy ground to the stone. There was but one menhir, and beside it on the ground, a clutch of rocks. I could feel the energy of the place. It felt old, sleeping, much the same way as Ynes Verleath did. I knew that if I closed my eyes, if I focused, I could see into the otherworld, see the past. But I was too tired. I walked to the stone and touched the tall monolith. Its power vibrated under my hand.

I wanted to get lost in the energy of the otherworld. I wanted to think of Ynes Verleath. I wanted to leave all my worries behind, but I could not.

I was a fool.

I closed my eyes. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Everything I’d loved had crumbled into ash. Gillacoemgain was gone. He was not the love of my soul, nor some figment of my imagination—which surely that was what my raven-haired man had been. He was just a man. And in that, he’d been a good husband. He’d been faithful and caring and kind. And now, he was dead. I sat waiting on his murderer to come claim me as a war prize. Had Duncan reached me first, Malcolm would have wed me to him and thereby solidified the boy’s hold on the north. I couldn’t let that happen. But to marry the man who’d killed my husband…what kind of woman was I?

I leaned against the stone and wept.

My body hurt.

My daughter had been taken from me.

My husband was dead.

Everything had been undone.

Behind me, I heard the jingling of rigging.

Thora growled low and mean.

I heard voices at the alehouse behind us, but I didn’t move. Why bother? It would come, he would come, and then I would make what I could of my future.

The snow and frozen grass crunched under someone’s feet as they neared. Only one person approached. I listened to the footfalls. It wasn’t Tavis.

Was it Macbeth, or had he sent a messenger?

Thora growled again.

The footsteps stopped.

“My lord,” the soldier who’d accompanied me said stiffly.

Someone spoke in a low tone to the solider. I heard my guard retreat.

Metal armor clicked as the unfamiliar person approached. Thora growled and stepped toward the stranger. “I was told Lady Gruoch came this way. Instead, I found her familiar. Some mean looking teeth, lady,” the man said, his voice filled with playfulness. I was in no mood for jokes.

“Heel, Thora,” I said, motioning to her. Thora’s reaction to the newcomer had not escaped my notice.

“Hello, Thora. I am Macbeth.”

While Thora had stopped growling, she still stood with her hackles raised.

I stared at Macbeth’s silhouette reflected on the standing stone. It twisted grotesquely.

“Lady Gruoch. Cousin. Thank you for riding north. I must admit, I’m puzzled by a woman who turns from the chosen successor of Scotland to join her husband’s conqueror.”

I frowned hard and clenched my hands into fists. Part of me wanted to turn around and bash his face in—well, most of me. I heard the angry beat of my heart. But then I reminded myself that I was the one who’d chosen to ride north. This was a nightmare of my own making. Calming myself, I said, “You avenged your father, as you no doubt thought was your right.”

“It was my right. The cutthroat Gillacoemgain murdered his own brother, my father, over a square of land.”

I bit my tongue. It took everything within me to remember my promise to Gillacoemgain and not spit out the truth at this pompous bastard. “You’ve had your blood. Are you satisfied now?”

“I am. But that explains my motives. What about yours. Don’t you mourn your husband?”

The question enraged me. “How dare you ask me that! I loved Gillacoemgain. He was a good man,” I replied sharply, turning on him.

When I finally got a look at him, however, whatever else I had intended to say faltered.

Him.

It was him.

“You,” Macbeth whispered.

Sunlight shimmered down on Macbeth’s raven-colored tresses. He looked just as I’d seen in my visions. The cut of his chin, the shape of his nose, his soft, blue eyes. It was him, my raven-haired man. He was real.

And he was…Macbeth?

“It’s you,” I replied, my voice shaking.

Macbeth stepped closer to me.

Thora growled.

“You’re real. All those visions… I thought I was going mad, or maybe some fey thing had taken a fancy to me, but it’s you,” he said, coming closer. “You’re real.”

Thora bared her teeth and barked at him.

The sound woke Lulach from his sleep. He cried out in protest.

I looked away from Macbeth, turning my attention back to Lulach. “Sh, wee one. It’s all right,” I whispered softly, rocking Lulach.

“Is that the child of Gillacoemgain?”

Involuntarily, I clutched him tighter, moving my hands protectively over him. “Yes. This is Lulach. He’s barely a week old.”

“You rode so soon after bearing a child?”

It was not really a question. I didn’t answer.

Macbeth’s face softened, and he looked at me with pity. “I’ll have a wagon arranged for you. My men are on the Spey. We can move slowly.”

I eyed him closely. Macbeth was my raven-haired man in the flesh. I had run to my husband’s killer to escape a fate worse than death. Against all possibility, I’d run to the very man I’d decided was nothing more than a phantom. Andraste had known it all along. But what manner of man was he? I didn’t know. I’d seen him in my cauldron, no more. Had I run from the wolf to lie down with the bear?

“My lady,” he said, offering his arm to me.

I stepped toward him but paused when Thora growled once more.

“Your dog, my lady,” Macbeth said, eyeing Thora warily.

I cocked an eyebrow at her. Odd. Thora’s sense of people was always very good. Perhaps she was just responding to my own mixed feelings.

“Enough, Thora,” I said. I stepped in line beside him. Feeling wary due to Thora’s reaction, I did not take his arm.

Her ears flat, Thora followed ruefully along behind us.

“Lady Gruoch, I am astounded to find you with such a small babe so newly born. You must be exhausted. I trust you are unhurt?” Macbeth asked as we walked back toward the alehouse.

In truth, I was tired to my very core, and my body ached miserably, but I would not have him know it. “I shall manage.”

“I’m at a loss for words. Please don’t worry. I’ll make the arrangements for your comfort.”

I felt desperately confused. I eyed Macbeth out of the corner of my eye, noticing that he was doing the same. How many times had I seen him in my cauldron? Now, here he was, in the flesh, with Gillacoemgain’s blood on his hands.

Part of me hated him.

The other part of me, however, felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

Tavis and his men were waiting at the alehouse amongst Macbeth’s men, all of whom were heavily armed. Macbeth ordered his soldiers to get a wagon ready.

Tavis eyed me nervously. “I should travel with you,” he said.

I shook my head. “I cannot escape my fate. There is nothing more you can do. Please, ride back to Madelaine. Let her know I’m safe.”

“But your little one,” Tavis said, eyeing Macbeth warily. “Corbie,” he whispered, searching my face with that same fatherly expression I’d seen there before.

“I swear I’ll be all right. Macbeth needs me to secure his claim. I won’t come to any harm,” I whispered, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Tavis didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and let me go.

“Make sure Lady Madelaine’s men are provisioned,” Macbeth ordered. His men moved off to follow their commander’s orders.

Soon, the wagon was ready, and Ute, Thora, Lulach, and I were loaded in. Tavis stayed behind, watching as the cart drove out of sight.

I waved to him then turned and settled in as we set off north.