Highland Queen Page 6

  “Malcolm was not one to concern himself with the well-being of his siblings. Ask my father.”

  Fife huffed a laugh. “No truer words spoken, Lady Gruoch,” he said then clinked his glass against mine.

  “Fife, will you join us for hunting?” the Mormaer of Lennox called to him, taking his attention away.

  I looked around the table. Macbeth was deep in conversation with Thorfinn and Injibjorg, the Northmen laughing and talking amongst themselves. I turned to Banquo who was sitting diagonally from me. His hand rested on his mouth, and he was studying me carefully. He had a thoughtful expression on his face.

  I laughed lightly. “You look far too serious. Should I call for someone to refill your cup?”

  He shook his head, his expression softening. “No.”

  “Something troubling you?”

  “Trouble is an interesting word.”

  “You riddle, druid.”

  “Yes,” he replied with a wink. He lifted his cup and took a drink.

  “Banquo,” Thorfinn called to him. “You must sail back with me. We will go to Norway and help Magnus prepare to make war against Denmark. The Macbeths will keep Scotland quiet.”

  “It’s been too long since I was in Lochaber,” Banquo said. “I shall leave the fighting to you.”

  Thorfinn laughed. “Banquo’s bones are weary. You’ve worn him down, Macbeth.”

  “Him? Nothing ever wears him down. No matter what, he is persistent in whatever course he chooses, to a fault,” Macbeth said, his voice hard.

  “Aren’t we all,” Banquo replied, giving Macbeth a disinterested glance.

  “Then bring Fleance in the spring,” Thorfinn told Banquo. “And Lady Gruoch will send Lulach. I’ll teach those boys the ways of the sea and shield.”

  At that, Madelaine scoffed. “Do you think I’ll let my nephew run wild with you, Jarl Thorfinn?”

  “Lady Madelaine,” Thorfinn said, eyeing my aunt over great intensity. Thorfinn stroked his long beard as he considered her. “I see that Lady Gruoch’s beauty is common in her family line.”

  Madelaine grinned wickedly. “Not so. My brother Malcolm was quite hideous.”

  At that, Thorfinn chuckled.

  “Lulach will soon join Gruoch and me at court,” Macbeth said. “He was sent away for safekeeping until the war was over. But soon, I’ll have my son by my side again.”

  At that, Madelaine stilled. She glanced at me.

  I lifted my cup and drank, not daring to look at Macbeth. I wouldn’t fall for whatever traps he sought to set for me. He didn’t know where Lulach was, and he would not know. Not now. Not until I willed it.

  The conversation around us faltered as everyone sensed the tension in the air.

  For once, I had to thank the Lord, because it was at that moment that Bishop Lawrence cleared his throat to say, “My king, the processional is planned for eleven in the morning. Everything is ready, if that pleases you.”

  “It does,” Macbeth said. He lifted his cup and reached down the table to clink it against that of the bishop. “It pleases me to no end. And you, Lady Gruoch,” Macbeth called. “Does it please you as well?”

  I turned and looked at him.

  Macbeth’s blue eyes were wide, a wild gleam therein. He grinned, and I could see the muscles under his eyes twitching.

  “Of course she is pleased,” Thorfinn interjected on my behalf. “Who would not be pleased to be queen of this great land? A toast, to King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch,” Thorfinn called loudly, lifting his tankard.

  “To King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch,” the crowd echoed.

  “Long may they reign,” Thorfinn added then drank. But when he did so, his eyes met mine over the top of his tankard. He, too, had seen the mad sheen. Thorfinn’s eyes held a warning.

  The dinner seemed to stretch on forever. While the Northmen, Thorfinn, and Macbeth were still celebrating, the rest of the company had disbanded. Banquo walked me back to my chamber.

  “So, what had you looking so worried?” I asked Banquo.

  He shook his head. “These days, I see visions, this time and the future overlapped. It’s hard to make meaning of it all.”

  “Maybe I can help. What are you trying to make meaning of?”

  Banquo smiled lightly. “Who can say for sure?”

  “You remind me of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “An ancient thing who riddles like yourself.”

  “The Wyrds.”

  I nodded.

  He shrugged. “Everything is too muddled. If I understood, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”

  What had he seen? Did he have an inkling of what Injibjorg told me? I wanted so desperately to tell him, but now was not the time. I wanted to tell Banquo when and where the moment could belong to us alone—as it should.

  “Speaking of news. Anything about Tavis?” I asked.

  Banquo shook his head. “No. No one’s returned yet.”

  “And do you sense anything?”

  “Not anything good.”

  “As I feared. Tavis is like a father to me.”

  “And dear to your aunt. I can only hope the gods, too, care for him.” Banquo flicked an eye behind us where my guard followed a safe distance away. “I like how dedicated your men are to your safety, but I can’t even steal a kiss with them around.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sorry.”

  “I believe that dark-haired guard of yours is in love with you,” he said, motioning with his chin to Killian who was standing just outside my chamber door.

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  Banquo chuckled. “I won’t see you in the morning. Not until Moot Hill.”

  I nodded.

  “Cerridwen,” he said in a whisper. “I am so proud of you.”

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  He returned the gesture. “I will see you tomorrow, Queen Gruoch.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Sighing, I let Banquo go. Emotions washed over me—from frustration to joy to worry—but I was too tired to master any of them. More than anything else, I wanted to sleep.

  Once I was in the chamber, Tira and Rhona helped me redress into my nightclothes. I was just settling in when there was a knock on the outer door.

  “I’ll go see,” Rhona said.

  A moment later, she returned with Madelaine.

  “Rhona, Tira, will you give us a moment?” Madelaine asked.

  The maids nodded then left us alone.

  I moved to get up, but Madelaine motioned for me to stay in bed. “Rest. You look very weary, Gruoch.”

  “That I am.”

  “Gruoch, you must not let Lulach come into Macbeth’s reach again. At dinner, he said—”

  “He lied. He doesn’t know where Lulach is. He will never come close to my boy again.”

  “Thank the Great Mother. I saw that odd spark behind his eyes.”

  “He is unwell, mad in fits and starts. He can’t be trusted.”

  “Oh, my Corbie. What will you do?”

  “When the coronation is done, I will return with you and Fife. I will see Crearwy and speak to Epona. Some things are not clear to me. I need her advice.”

  “And then?”

  “And then, I will see. I may have to join Macbeth in Glamis. I don’t know.” The truth was, if what Injibjorg said was true, then much was in upheaval.

  “What about Banquo? Will he really return to Lochaber?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “All is uncertainty. There is no news on Tavis?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Madelaine wrung her hands together. “I can’t stand it,” she whispered.

  “If there is no news by the time the coronation is done, we will all ride to your keep together.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, putting on a brave face, but I saw her chin tremor. “Now, you must rest, my
dear. Tomorrow, we will see you crowned queen.”

  “As the goddess wills.”

  Madelaine rose, kissed my cheek, and then set a loving hand on my head, stroking my hair. “As the goddess wills. Goodnight, little raven.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She kissed my cheek once more then left me alone.

  I closed my eyes. Under my blankets, I shifted my hands to my stomach. Was I with child again? I couldn’t remember when my courses had last come upon me. They hadn’t since Banquo’s return that I could remember. Was Injibjorg right?

  “Andraste,” I whispered into the darkness. “What trouble are you stirring up?”

  But there was no reply.

  And a moment later, I was lost to dreams.

  Chapter 11

  The following morning, Madelaine did her best to make me look like a queen. She’d brought with her the most beautiful gown I had ever seen in my life. The dress was scarlet-colored and embroidered with silver thread on the neck and sleeves.

  “A gown for a queen,” Madelaine said as she tightened the laces. “But, Corbie, I don’t know what to do about your hair. A veil, maybe?”

  “I’ve come to rule, not set fashion.”

  Rhona shook her head. “If it were not for us, I swear you’d go to the stone in an apron and mud-covered field boots.”

  “And what would be so bad about that? There is work to be done. Perhaps I could herd some sheep on my way.”

  Tira, Rhona, and Madelaine chuckled in unison.

  Madelaine tugged the laces around my waist, making me grunt. My hands drifted down to my waist, and as I felt my stomach, I realized there was a swell that had not been there before. My aunt paused then and let out a soft hum. A moment later, she loosened the laces.

  I said nothing. It was not the time.

  Tira ran a brush through my hair, braiding it to the side. She decorated my short locks with a silver pin and some wildflowers. “That will have to do,” she said.

  “That works fine,” Madelaine said.

  Lifting my belt, threaded with my sword and daggers, I started fastening it.

  “Oh, Corbie. Must you?” Madelaine asked.

  I looked down at my weapons. “Must I what?”

  “The gown is so lovely.”

  “So it is, and it will be just as lovely if Siward decides to ambush us. But with these at my side, I might get a bit farther.”

  Madelaine sighed but didn’t protest.

  Turning to her bags, Madelaine produced a length of red fabric that put me in mind of the red robe of the Morrigu.

  “What is that?”

  “A cloak.”

  “Oh, how beautiful,” Tira gushed.

  “Turn,” Madelaine said. She attached the cloak to my shoulders with silver broaches made in twisting Celtic knot designs. Once she had adjusted the cloak, she stepped back to assess her handiwork. She nodded. “A queen.”

  Tira and Rhona wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and stood admiring me.

  “My Lady of Moray,” Tira said, her voice cracking with emotion. “How beautiful you look.”

  Rhona nodded vehemently. “But Lady of Moray no more. Now she is Queen of Scots.”

  “I will always be the Lady of Moray.”

  Both women smiled at me.

  There was a knock on the door. Rhona went to answer. On the other side, I could hear Killian.

  “They’re ready for you, my lady,” Rhona told me.

  Madelaine kissed me on both cheeks. “I’ll go join Fife. I’m so proud of you, Corbie,” she said, kissing me once more before turning to Rhona and Tira. “Girls, go on now and get your places so you have a good view.”

  I nodded to them, indicating that they were free to go. They both bobbed a curtsey then departed, Madelaine following along behind them.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Be with me, Lady,” I whispered, then went to the door.

  On the other side, the men of Moray waited.

  “My lady,” Killian said. They all bowed when they saw me.

  “Come, lads. Let’s go and stand for Moray.”

  The bells on the chapel rang as Macbeth and I progressed to Moot Hill where the Stone of Destiny awaited. For Duncan’s coronation, the ceremony had taken place within the abbey itself, and the stone had been safely tucked under his throne. Macbeth had asked for the stone to be returned to the mound near the Celtic cross where the ancient kings had received their coronation.

  The people of Scone lined the streets, throwing flowers in our path as we made our way to the site. The scene was festive. Bagpipes and trumpets played, the people cheered, and a crowd of noble lords and ladies had come to watch. But I was also keenly aware of the amount of steel I saw everywhere. Not only was this a coronation, but it was a show of strength. There would be spies in the crowd, enemies watching. They would report everything that happened here back to Siward and Harthacnut. The message we were sending was clear: Scotland was strong once more.

  But what they didn’t know was that the new king was anything but stable.

  Just under his practiced smile, a thunderstorm was brewing inside Macbeth.

  What would happen when that storm broke loose?

  I glanced at Macbeth who rode beside me. He was finely bedecked, his armor glimmering in the sunlight. As he rode, he kept his gaze forward, eyes fixed on the coronation place.

  He hadn’t spoken to me since dinner the evening before. No doubt, I had frustrated him by failing to play his game.

  That was fine.

  I had no interest in partaking in his antics. I was here for my people and for Lulach.

  And for whatever life was now growing inside me.

  A girl.

  Another girl.

  Banquo’s daughter.

  If it was true, then I would need to figure out a way to hide her as I had done with Crearwy. If that was what Banquo wanted.

  What would Banquo want?

  Until I spoke to Epona, nothing was certain.

  And Andraste was giving no hint of anything these days.

  “Gruoch, Queen Gruoch,” the villagers called, waving to me.

  I smiled and waved to them.

  One day, my son would come to Scone. He would sit on the stone of kings and become ruler of this land. Everything I did, I did for Lulach.

  I took a deep breath, smiled, and waved once more.

  Macbeth and I finally arrived at the Celtic high cross.

  The place had been beautifully bedecked with arches of greens trimmed with ribbons. The audience waited. Thorfinn and Injbjorg, Madelaine and Fife, and Banquo stood at the front. The other royal thanes, mormaers, and lords and ladies stood nearby.

  I looked at Banquo.

  He had a strained look on his face. On the surface, he looked delighted and proud. But under that, I saw the deep lines of worry. He smiled at me, inclining his head.

  I returned the gesture.

  A groom took the reins of my horse, and another attendant helped me down. Macbeth and I moved into place, our guard behind us.

  The bishop signaled for Macbeth and me to come forward.

  Macbeth ever-so-slightly offered me his arm.

  Never. Instead, I set my hand on the hilt of my blade.

  “Fine,” Macbeth hissed under his breath.

  We moved forward, coming to a stop before the bishop.

  “Who comes to Scone today to take their place on the stone of destiny?” the bishop called.

  “Macbeth, son of Findelach and Donalda, heir to the throne by right of blood and combat,” Macbeth said in a loud voice.

  “And who comes as queen?”

  “Gruoch, daughter of Boite and Emir.”

  “Come, Macbeth, son of Findelach, and Gruoch, daughter of Boite,” the bishop said, taking us both by our hands. He led Macbeth to the great stone which had been set upon a sturdy dais. Alongside it was another seat that had been carved with ancient symbols. Behind us, the tall stone cross cast its shadow.


  The bishop motioned for us both to sit. He then came behind us and began the service in Latin. I only half listened as I eyed the crowd before me.

  Thorfinn, whose arms were crossed on his chest, openly frowned at the bishop, but when his gaze fell on Macbeth, he smiled.

  Madelaine was openly weeping. She gave me the softest of smiles.

  I turned to Banquo. He stared at me. There was an odd shimmer of the Otherworld all around him. His eyes were wide, nostrils flaring. He was having a vision. And from the looks of it, not a good one.

  “Bring them,” the bishop said, motioning to one of his attendants.

  I turned to look.

  Two attendants came forward. They carried pillows on which were set two crowns. The boys stood behind Macbeth and me.

  The bishop moved to stand behind me. He lifted the heavy silver crown off the first pillow. The metal was old and thick. I had never seen the crown before. It was not the beautiful diadem Suthen had worn to Duncan’s coronation.

  “In the name of Lord Jesus Christ, by right of victory and blood, I crown you Queen Gruoch of Scotland,” the bishop said as he lowered the crown on my head.

  In that same moment, a raven alighted on top of the Celtic cross behind me. It squawked loudly.

  An audible gasp rolled through the crowd. Several of the Christians crossed themselves.

  I turned to look at the raven.

  No one would name me queen in the name of Lord Jesus Christ alone. While I had no quarrel with the White Christ, it was the Red Lady who had brought me here. And she would always have her say.

  The bishop looked up at the raven, an annoyed expression on his face.

  Over the hum of the whispering crowd, I heard Thorfinn’s soft laugh.

  The bishop frowned then turned to the other boy holding a crown. On the second pillow sat a solid gold coronet trimmed the blood-red rubies.

  “In the name of Lord Jesus Christ, by right of victory and blood, I crown you King Macbeth of Scotland. Upon the sacred stone of destiny, may you take your place in the annals of this mighty kingdom,” he said then slowly set the crown on Macbeth’s head.

  The raven squawked once more then flew off.

  “Rise, King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch, and be greeted by your subjects,” the bishop said then turned to the crowd. “All hail King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch.”