I tapped the scroll on my hand then turned and headed toward the stables, passing the empty mews, to the back where I had a good view of the fields. A soft wind blew in, carrying with it the scent of the highlands.
In the end, all my pain had come to nothing. There was nothing between Macbeth and me. But I had secured Lulach’s birthright. That was all I had ever wanted to do. As for me, I would rethink my world, my life, and find my own way once more.
In the name of the Goddess.
As Gruoch, the raven.
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.