“Hmm,” Merna said. “Then you’ve been able to wean him some.”
“Y-yes.”
“Gruoch,” she said then leaned toward me, “Are you with child?”
I set down my embroidery and took a deep breath. “I…I’m uncertain. My courses were not regular yet. But this,” I said, my hand drifting down to my bulging midsection, “seems to suggest there is something to that question.”
Merna reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’m so pleased for you. Macbeth dotes on you so. I cannot imagine his joy when he learns. And Banquo—you’re like a sister to him—will be so pleased for you,” she added, her voice falling a bit flat at the end, her expression darkening for just a moment. She quickly covered it with a smile then pulled her hand back.
Did Merna suspect something between Banquo and me? Or had Banquo told her something?
“Look at Fleance and Lulach,” she said, pointing to her son who was rolling a ball to Lulach. Ute held Lulach’s hands as he walked, but very soon, he would be able to get around on his own. Lulach gave the ball a kick, laughing wildly when he did so. “I hope you have a girl.”
My stomach knotted. I did have a girl. A feisty, sour, but a much-loved girl. “And why do you say that?”
“Our boys will be close. But a girl would give us a way to link our houses.”
Merna had never struck me as the ambitious sort. I eyed her as she gazed happily out at Lulach and Fleance. No. Her words had been spoken out of love. “I hope so too,” I said, setting my hand gently on her arm.
* * *
It was late in the evening when Macbeth returned from the longhouse looking overly tired, but not over-worn with drink, for once. I had laid all the dressing gowns I’d made for Gwendelofar into a pile. I wanted to have everything ready by the time her lying in began.
“What’s this?” Macbeth asked, pausing to look.
“My friend will deliver her baby soon. I’ll go stay with her then, make sure she has someone learned in medicine watching over her. I made these for her little one.”
Macbeth looked down at the tiny garments. His thoughts hung unspoken like a dense fog in the air. In that denseness, I felt his despair. My heart felt glad that, for once, I could do something that would make him pleased with me.
“And after I finish these, I’d best begin a new set.”
“For whom? Merna? She always looks plump to me. I can’t tell if she’s—”
“For me.”
Macbeth stilled. “For…you?”
I nodded then looked up at him.
“Gruoch, are you certain?”
“Yes,” I said, taking his hand and setting it on my stomach.
Laughing, he stroked his hand across my stomach. “Bless you,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “And bless you,” he said, bending to kiss my stomach.
I laughed.
“Do you know how far along you are?”
I shook my head. “Not for certain. I’m guessing maybe ten or fifteen weeks.” Last time I’d grown so large due to the twins, I showed far earlier, but I didn’t want to bring any of that to Macbeth’s mind. The sooner everyone forgot there had ever been two children, the safer for Crearwy.
To my surprise, Macbeth scooped me up then and carried me to the bed. He planted kisses all over my face then touched my stomach. “A boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“If a boy, we’ll name him after my father. And if a girl, we’ll name her after my aunt Crearwy. Poor lass, she died young. Did Gil—did anyone ever tell you about her?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Perhaps if it’s a girl, you’d consider my mother’s name?”
“Your mother?” Macbeth said then paused. “Gruoch, I don’t even know who your mother was.
I smiled. “Few remember her. She was Emer.”
“Emer. Emer of House…”
“I don’t know, really. I’ve had no contact with my mother’s family. But Allister, my aunt Madelaine’s first husband, once mentioned that my father went to war against Máel Sechnaill of Ireland, making treaty thereafter which included one of his daughters, my mother.”
Macbeth stared at me. “Máel Sechnaill?”
“I believe that was the name.”
“You’ve never studied the Irish families?”
“No. I’ve heard since before I could remember that I was of Kenneth MacAlpin’s line. I gave little thought to my other family, considering Emer was one of six daughters.”
“Malcolm taught Duncan and me about the wars, the feuds. The blood of the Irish kings is mixed with the old kingdom of Dal Riata. Gruoch, Máel Sechnaill was of the Uí Néill.”
My brow furrowed. “The Uí Néill?”
“The kings of Tara… Gruoch, your mother was an Irish princess.”
“But that’s—”
“No wonder Malcolm keeps you chained to one man or another. As his brother’s daughter and the granddaughter of a foreign king, your claim to the throne outweighs Duncan’s or mine.”
“My mother’s family has forgotten me. My mother died very young, wed off to a foreign prince who died. None of the Uí Néill will remember I exist. It hardly matters.”
“What matters is that you know. And if the need ever arises, we know. But for now, little one, what do you say? What name can we claim for you?” he asked my stomach, laying a gentle kiss thereon. Macbeth stared at me, his eyes swimming with emotion. “I love you, Gruoch.”
“And I you,” I said, but there was hesitation in my heart. Did I love him?
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.”