Highland Vengeance

Chapter 48

Two days later, Banquo began rallying the army to ride south. We would leave just before dawn. A late spring snow blew in, covering the ground with white powder. The weather was strange that day, thunder rocking the clouds. It was as if the sky itself was at war.

The Lord of Mar, playing the friend, rode south to welcome the king. Mar’s army, led by his elder son, waited alongside my own men and that of the north. If Mar’s deception was revealed too soon, his life would be in grave danger. I worried about the man who had once been so kind to me, the man who had remembered my father and my mother, who’d told the tale of Emer and her harp. I prayed to the goddess to keep him safe.

Alone in my chamber, I stood before the fire. I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, feeling for Lulach. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not find my son. Wherever Balor had taken Lulach, he had taken him somewhere very deep. I suspected that I would have better luck reaching him if I returned to Ynes Verleath.

The sounds of men and horses rose from outside. It was almost time to go. I closed myself off from the noise and inhaled slowly and deeply. I found the silence and the darkness within.

And then, I called: Come.

I am already here. We are one.

The sound of wings filled my senses. Once again, the raven and I melded into one. I lifted my arms, feeling her and me all at once. I was a Valkyrie. I was an avenger.

Pulling Scáthach from my belt, I grabbed my long black braid.

For the Morrigu. For Scotia. For victory.

With a quick flick of the blade, I cut my hair at the nape of my neck. I threw my long locks into the fire.

Thora, who had been lingering around me all day, her tiny brood having now found new owners amongst the soldiers, whimpered.

“I suppose you want to come.”

Thora thumped her tail.

“It is war. It will be dangerous. You are not yet recovered from weaning, and in truth, you’re not as young as you once were. Stay at Cawdor. Keep the castle safe.”

Thora looked at me as if I had just said the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Only my dog would dare judge the raven.

“Very well. Then you will need to stay beside me and help me fight.”

She yipped a small bark.

I turned then and dressed, pulling on a pair of man’s breeches, a stiff leather jerkin, and Gillacoemgain’s chainmail shirt. I fingered my short hair and then pulled on Gillacoemgain’s helmet. I looked out with my raven eyes. Little by little, I could feel that Gruoch was retreating. I was Cerridwen, the raven. Everything around me was brighter than it had been before. I was able to hear far more clearly than I had before. I belted Uald’s Gift then slid Scáthach into her scabbard.

I looked at Thora. “Let’s go.” I went to the door. I had already opened the latch, but then I paused. I went back into the room and dug deep into my trunk. There, at the very bottom, I found a small wooden box. Gruoch’s hands wanted to tremble as I removed the lid, but the raven would not allow it. Inside, I found a worn coin pouch stained with blood. The coins within jingled, the small fee my cousin had paid me for the complete alteration of my life. I closed my eyes, remembering Lulach and Crearwy as tiny babies, and the pain I felt having left my daughter behind. I slid the pouch into my pocket and then went to join the awaiting army outside.

* * *

Working my way through the scores of men in heavy armor milling about, I went to the stable. Thora followed a discreet distance behind me. I quickly saddled Kelpie, hoping Standish would not spy me, then rode out of Cawdor to join the army of men that had collected around the castle.

The men were falling quickly into ranks. I worked my way through the soldiers, positioning myself near one of the lesser lords of Moray. As the sun began to rise, Banquo came forward and began to rally the army.

“My friends, the Lord of Mar has gone forward to greet the king. The Earl of Northumbria and his army follow a league behind King Duncan. When we attack, the king will retreat to join the earl’s army. Duncan does not believe we have had time to prepare. He will not expect our army. And yet, even when he does see us, he will believe he has the better of us.

“He does not.”

“When we engage the king’s army, the men of Lothian and Fife, loyal to Lady Madelaine, will turn on Duncan and join us. Know they are your allies.

“I will ride with a small group of men to rescue the Lord of Mar, who will be amongst the king’s people. The rest of you men stay under the direction of your lords,” Banquo said then paused. Torchlight illuminated him. How handsome he looked in his armor, the flames reflecting on him. My vision doubled, and I saw Banquo and Prasutagus together. My once and future husband.

“The king has sent a large portion of his army by ship with the intention of making port at Aberdeen. They seek to surprise us, crushing us from both a frontal assault and a surprise wedge from the east. Lord Macbeth has gone with heavy ships against the king’s armada. Echmarcach of the Isles has joined forces with Thorfinn the Mighty to ensure the safety of Orkney. My friends, the king’s plan is as weak as its creator. We have seen through all of his schemes and have moved to counter them. There can only be one result, a result long coming, to this war: King Duncan will be no more, and King Macbeth will sit on the Stone of Scone!”

The men roared. The sound rose up into the night and to the ears of the Morrigu. This song belonged to her.

“Come, men. Let’s ride,” Banquo yelled, and then the lords turned around and began barking orders.

The army began to advance.

We swarmed across the land that was familiar to me. But looking out from underneath Gillacoemgain’s helmet, the nature of the land around me changed. I saw visions. At first, I was confused. Then the Morrigu whispered a truth to me: some lands bleed more than others. Riding beside me were phantom beings, armies from the past. First, I saw the men of Ynes Verleath marching across the land. I watched the phantoms battle, the men of Ynes Verleath against the armies of Dal Riata, Pict against Northman, Celt against Roman. I heard swords crashing together and the grunts of men—and women. I smelled blood.

Then one face stood out. I saw my kin, Kenneth MacAlpin, whose looks reminded me of my father. It was Kenneth who’d finally brought the north under control. It was he who united Pictland with the old Kingdom of Dal Riata and created Scotland. Scotia remembered this union. The Morrigu remembered this bloodshed. The Crone remembered these deaths.

My vision was interrupted by my commander’s call to halt. The phantom images dissipated like puffs of smoke. I suddenly became conscious of the passage of time. Lost to the raven’s visions, I realized we’d been riding south far longer than I’d realized.

The men began to stir excitedly. Everywhere I looked, men adjusted their weapons. This was what I had been missing all those times when Macbeth and Banquo had gone into battle. This was the truth of war. It was glorious.

I watched as Banquo rode the length of the army to ensure that all was in order. As he neared, I unsheathed Uald’s Gift and lifted it into the air. It glimmered in the firelight. He slowed, lifted his hand to salute me, and then moved on. I sheathed my sword and smiled down at Thora.

“You keep out from under the horses’ feet when they start charging. Some of these horses have been trained to kick. I don’t know how long I’ll be on horse, but try to stay nearby. If you lose me, look for Banquo. If something happens to me, get Banquo.”

Thora wagged her tail.

It was not long after that when Banquo moved us forward. The lords began to ride more aggressively, and the men around me began to unsheathe their weapons. I lifted my shield and took out Uald’s Gift. We rode over a small crest. Duncan’s army sat on the other side.

They were on lower land than us, their army only a fraction of the size of our own. Their scouts would certainly have informed Duncan we were coming. As I looked across the field, I saw that the army stood at ready.

Banquo lifted his hand in the air. The lords turned around on their horses and lifted their swords. The men began to scream, cackle, and yell. I joined my voice with theirs. Banquo pointed his sword forward and screamed, “Now!”

I had one moment of clarity when I watched Banquo and a group of men break off—they would go for the Lord of Mar—then I was pushed forward on the wave.

Duncan’s army rushed forward to engage our own. My eyes focused as I reined Kelpie to move quickly across the field. I sought out Duncan only to realize he was not amongst these men. Where was he?

When we rode into the army of men advancing upon us, it was like we had hit a massive wall of steel. We came to a stop, and, looking over the attire of the men we battled, I realized we were fighting Irish mercenaries. The men of Fife turned around and joined us, but my attention was lost when a man twice my size came at me in an attempt to pull me off my horse.

His battle-ax slammed forcefully into my shield, making Kelpie shy sideways. Furious, I struck out with Uald’s Gift. As the blade swung, it had a silvery sound that made the air shiver. I sliced the man’s head from his neck. His face held a moment of awe and fear, and then his body fell to the ground. Seconds later, another man was upon me.

As soon as one man was defeated, another stepped into his place. I rode forward hunting Duncan. Duncan, Lulach’s father, the man who had pushed me to the ground and had changed my life in a moment of sheer pleasure, where was he? His action had forced me to birth a daughter whose face I rarely saw. Duncan, the waster, the taker, the user. As I fixed my mind on this purpose, something strange happened. The men who had lined up to meet their death turned and ran away. All of them.

“Give chase, give chase,” the lords called.

And be mindful, I thought to myself, that you chase a small army of bought men into a substantial army of Englishmen who had come to fight Scots, as Englishmen were apt to do. As we rode, I spotted Banquo and a small group of men, including the elder Lord of Mar, rejoin the army. I breathed a sigh of relief.

We gave chase. Below me, Kelpie began to lather as I sped across the field, Thora racing to keep pace. After a hard ride, the Earl Siward’s army, with the earl and the king at the front, came into view. The lords barked at us to move back into ranks.

“Make ready,” the clan chieftain, MacDougall, called.

The men across the field lifted up their voices then charged.

I moved forward with one goal, to kill the man in the golden armor. MacDougall led his men into a flanking maneuver, but that stratagem led me away from Duncan. I left them and raced across the field to join Banquo. He and a small band of soldiers rode directly toward the king.

Once the advance began, however, Duncan, the pompous coward, whirled his horse around and retreated to the back of the army.

“Damn him,” I cursed.

When we met the Earl of Northumbria’s men, it quickly became evident that we weren’t fighting Irish mercenaries anymore. These were well-trained English soldiers. Though I was part of the cavalry, the men I fought against were on foot. Those men had one goal: remove the cavalry from horseback.

One well-armed man after another advanced on me. My position of height made it easy for me to take these men’s lives. The raven within me shrieked with pleasure as each man fell. But the men around me, seeing their comrades die, became more desperate to get me off my horse. In a desperate maneuver to unseat me, they began to beat at Kelpie. He was a strong horse, but he was also well beyond his prime. I could feel the anxiety rising within him as he whinnied and kicked. Thora snapped and bit, trying to defend Kelpie as best she could. My concentration on my goal waned as I fought more for my horse than for my vengeance. One man came forward swinging a massive claymore. He had seen the other men try to dislodge me and fail. From the gleam in his eyes, I understood his intention. He was going to cut Kelpie down.

Kelpie felt it too. He began to back up as the man came toward him. I jumped from the saddle.

“Go! I won’t sacrifice your life. Go!” I said, slapping Kelpie on the backside.

Kelpie whinnied then took off. My dismount surprised my opponent. It threw him off guard. I took my chance. Moving fast, I spun my sword then ran him through. His claymore dropped from his fingers. When I pulled my sword out of his gut, his still-warm blood sprayed all over my pants. I sneered at him then turned and raced in search of Duncan.

The king was far afield, and the battle of men taking place around me was heavy. Dodging one assailant after the other, I pushed my way through. A young man wearing the colors of Moray was being beaten down by a Northumbrian soldier. I shoved Uald’s Gift through the Northumbrian man’s back, saving the Moray man’s life.

But then the boy’s eyes grew wide. “Look out,” he called, staring behind me.

I spun and dodged left, but felt the sting of a blade as it sliced my arm. I stared into the face of yet another English soldier. I snatched Scáthach from my belt and stabbed the man in the neck.

The soldier fell.

Offering my good arm, I helped the Moray man up.

“Thank you, sir,” he told me.

“Of course,” I said, but the man held on to me.

“Purple eyes,” he whispered.

I winked then turned and headed off once more.

Weaving around the fighting pairs, I soon had Duncan in sight. Foot soldiers skirmished between him and me, but at last, he was close. Five strong guards stood in a circle around him, one of which I recognized. MacDuff, the man with the badger symbol, guarded his king. My mind flashed back to that stormy night and the mud and the rain. Macduff had held the arrow on me, forcing me to choose between death and rape.

I glared at him and advanced.

Duncan fought, but not much and not well. His guards were strong and well-armed, but they were not invincible. As I neared Duncan, I saw one of his guards go down. Only four were left.

Seeing me approach, one of Duncan’s guards turned to engage me.

“Well, wee lad, what are you trying to do, make a name for yourself? I think not. Are you ready to meet your maker?” he asked me.

“My maker wears a red cloak and rides a raven. You might see her here at my side, and she will gladly take your blood,” I said as I began to circle around him.

He laughed. “I’ll send you to that bloody goddess.” He lifted his ax and moved to cleave me in half.

I danced behind him. Lifting Uald’s Gift, I drove it forward. But much to my surprise, I met with metal. The man had blocked my attack.

“Fancy feet. Does that come from all your lordly dancing? Who are you in that fine armor? My son is going to like that sword of yours.”

The raven laughed. “He won’t like it much when he finds it sticking out of your gut.”

This comment angered the man, and he swung at me. I bent low to the ground and struck my dagger upward. I cut the guard’s belly wide open, rolling away before a rain of blood and guts could cover me. The guard groaned and became silent.

Duncan’s bodyguards, including MacDuff, now numbered only three. He would retreat soon. I made way for him again, but someone grabbed my arm. I turned to find Banquo, who was also blood-soaked, staring at me through his visor.

“Thank the gods. Which way, Lady Raven?”

“In the direction of vengeance.”

“Let’s go.”

Banquo and I began to work our way toward the king.

“Your Highness, we must retreat,” one of the guards told Duncan, who cursed in reply.

“Let me take the king,” I whispered.

I realized then that a thin mist had settled on the snowy battlefield. Strange weather. But I also realized then that if I could get Duncan into the fog, he would be mine.

One of the guards turned. Sizing us both up, he advanced on Banquo. Soon, their swords were clashing.

I rushed toward MacDuff and Duncan.

Both men turned toward me. Duncan held his sword. MacDuff had drawn his bow.

Come the mist. Come the mist.

The fog swirled all around us, enveloping us in a dense mist. I felt the magic in the air.

“Stay close,” I whispered to Thora. “Don’t get lost in the fog.”

“Kill him,” Duncan told MacDuff, motioning toward me. As the king retreated, he nearly tripped on one of the corpses lying on the ground.

MacDuff turned to me. “Traitor,” he cursed. “Would you kill your king?”

Thora growled and bared her teeth.

MacDuff sneered, leveled an arrow at Thora, then shot.

I gasped.

Thora darted to the side just in time.

Scowling, the man reached for another arrow.

“You,” I said, my hands shaking with rage. I pulled off my glove, raised a single finger, and pulled magic from the air.

I scanned the ground, looking at my fallen men. “Wake,” I whispered.

Recognizing the gesture, MacDuff lowered his arrow. “Who are you?”

Making an arcane symbol in the air, one Andraste had taught me, I motioned to the bodies of the soldiers, men of Moray, lying on the ground around us.

“Wake,” I told them.

Slowly, the dead men, their bodies broken and bloody, rose to their feet once more, their weapons still in their hands.

“Kill him,” I said, leveling my finger at MacDuff.

The soldiers rushed MacDuff, Thora joining them, leaving me free to turn on the person I had come for.

Duncan.

He stared at MacDuff. The mist had been so thick that he would not have been able to see clearly what had happened, but he saw his last guard under attack. Duncan turned his attention to me. Seeing me approaching quickly, he moved backward.

“Come, lad. I am your king,” Duncan said as he continued to retreat.

“But you are the very man I have come to kill. Would you turn me away now?”

Duncan had long since lost his helmet. His hair was wet with sweat, his face dirty. He looked back at MacDuff. “MacDuff? MacDuff! Where did those soldiers come from? Boy, turn back. I am your king.”

I lifted Uald’s Gift. “I am no boy. And you are no king. You are a defiler and a cutthroat. And when you are gone, Scotland will know a new ruler.”

Duncan laughed then lifted his sword. “You’re wrong. Macbeth will never wear the crown.” He engaged me, but his moves were clumsy.

I laughed. “Who said anything about Macbeth? Your life, King Duncan, is done. I have come to cut your thread. Don’t you see? You’ve angered the gods, and I have come as their messenger.”

“What?”

“I have come as the raven, and the message is death,” I said then lunged at him.

Duncan blocked. “I know your voice. I know you. Who are you? You are no man.”

“I am the raven,” I said attacking again.

Duncan retreated. “No…no, I know you. Who are you?”

“I am the crone,” I said as I attacked again. Duncan and I circled round and round each other, attacking and retreating.

There was a sharp scream behind us as MacDuff fell.

“MacDuff,” Duncan whispered, pausing a moment, his sword drooping.

I lunged at him again. With the length of my blade, I cut a line down the side of his cheek. Blood poured down his face. He clumsily threw up his sword to protect himself.

“Back away,” he stammered.

Gripping Uald’s Gift, I advanced on him. Slashing, I cut his leg.

Duncan yelped. “Back away.”

“Coward,” I retorted, attacking again. This time, I disarmed him. He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it in front of him. The blade caught my attention; an odd blue glow seemed to surround the dagger. Duncan gripped the weapon and backed away.

I advanced on him. “User. Violator,” I said as I lunged forward again.

He tried to block with the dagger, but his move was awkward. I stabbed him in the arm.

“Who… Who are you? Your voice…” Duncan said.

“Don’t you remember? No. I’m sure you don’t. One girl in a hundred. And just how many innocent girls have you forced to ride your cock?” I said, and with an upward slice, I caught him between the legs.

Duncan let out a howling scream.

“Sorry. Does that hurt? I wonder if you ever stop to think of the hurt that nasty little member of yours caused that poor girl you met in the woods. Her or any of the girls like her.”

Duncan grabbed his wounded member and dropped to his knees. “G-girl? In the woods?”

“Tell me what you remember,” the raven hissed.

Duncan screamed in pain. Blood oozed from between his fingers.

“Tell me!”

“What I…remember?”

“Tell me,” the raven shrieked.

“I remember… I remember the rain.”

I kicked him over. His dagger tumbled from his hands. The weapon glimmered as it bounced away. I stared at it. There, lying in a bank of pristine snow, lay a silver dagger with a raven on the handle. Hands shaking, I picked up the dagger and turned over the blade. Just below the hilt, I found Uald’s smith mark. I gasped.

“Where did you get this?” I seethed.

“What?”

“Where did you get this?” I said, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his shirt.

“Malcolm. Malcolm gave it to me. A family heirloom.”

“This is the dagger of Boite.”

“What? I don’t know,” Duncan said then whimpered again, holding his bloody crotch.

I stared at the dagger then back at Duncan once more. “So, you remember the rain. The rain and what else?”

“What? MacDuff? MacDuff, where are you?”

“MacDuff is dead. The rain and what else?”

“The rain?”

“The rain and what else?” I screamed, shaking him hard.

“A farm girl,” he whimpered.

“But why did you think she was a farm girl? Because she was dirty? Now you are dirty. You dirty yourself with your own blood, and, for at least for a few minutes longer, you are a king. What did you do to that farm girl?”

“I… She was not a farm girl?”

“What did you do to that girl?”

Duncan wiped the blood from his mouth. The sound of the army was far behind us. “I took her.”

Setting on his chest, I gripped my father’s dagger tightly and leaned over Duncan.

“Rape, I think you mean. Can you say rape, Duncan?” I set the tip of the dagger on his throat.

His eyes bulged.

“Say it, you filthy bastard!”

“Rape,” he whispered.

“What did you do to me?” I asked.

He did not respond.

“Say it.”

His lips quivered.

I pressed the dagger in. Blood made a ring around his neck. “Say it.”

“I raped you.”

“You did what?”

“I raped you.”

“Raped who?”

“You. I raped you.”

“But who am I?”

He did not reply.

I pulled off my helmet and let it drop to the ground with a thud.

“Gruoch!”

“Your kin. Your own blood. Not a farm girl. Not a peasant girl. Not that it matters. I was a girl who did not want you. That should have been enough. Do you know what I have been waiting for all these years?”

He stared at me. “Gruoch?”

“I have been waiting and training for this moment, the moment when I extract my vengeance, and you live no more. Tell me why I have done this.”

“God, God, God,” Duncan whispered.

“God has nothing to do with this. Even the White Christ does not condone your sins. Why, Duncan? Tell me why this blade is on your throat. “

“Why?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because,” he said and then he stopped.

“Because?”

“Because I raped you. “

I bent low, looking him in the eyes. From inside my vest, I pulled out the coin pouch and held it for him to see. “For your trouble,” I said then threw it at his face.

His eyes opened wide. I lifted the dagger into the air and let it drop into his chest again and again. He screamed and screamed. With each stab, I pounded away years of pain and hate. I stabbed and stabbed at his body and loved the feel of it jerking beneath me. The dagger tore through chainmail and leather, burrowing into the flesh. Again and again, I stabbed him, Duncan’s blood spraying on me. Then I yanked away his tattered armor. I carved into his chest. From within, I plucked out his bloody heart.

I rose and held the heart above my head. Blood ran down my arms and covered me. “See me, Morrigu. See me, Scotia. See me, Andraste,” I yelled into the night. “See my vengeance. See me avenge my father’s death. Malcolm’s dreams die here. See me, Morrigu! I am avenged! I am avenged! I am avenged!” I squeezed the heart until all its blood had emptied onto me, and then I threw it onto Duncan’s corpse, his eyes frozen open, his mouth gaping.

I sneered at him. “The king is dead. Long live the queen.”

* * *

Coming Soon!

Highland Queen

Scotland, 1040.

The king is dead.

Long live the queen.

With Duncan defeated, Gruoch becomes Queen of Scotland. Now she must rule at Macbeth's side, a difficult prospect as the new King of Scots grows increasingly unstable. To keep her son, her love, and her country safe, Gruoch must call on the raven within.

Dive into the final installment of Gruoch's epic tale in Highland Queen, a Scottish Historical Fantasy, Book 4 in The Celtic Blood Series by New York Times bestselling author Melanie Karsak.

Coming soon!

Join Melanie’s newsletter to stay updated on this series and more!

Join my newsletter and get TWO FREE BOOKS and an EXCLUSIVE downloadable Steampunk Alice in Wonderland Adult Coloring Book!