Macbeth did not come to my chamber that night to broker peace nor to pay even a moment’s attention to Lulach. I was glad my son was too young to have grown to love Macbeth. He would not, I hoped, ever miss him. Feeling vexed about the entire matter, I did not hold a feast to welcome Macbeth. He could eat whatever scraps my kitchen maids felt like giving him, sleep wherever they decided to light a fire—or not. In fact, I gave no instructions for his comfort at all, and in Gillacoemgain’s castle, none were inclined to provide any. For all I cared, he could have slept in the pig shed.
Without a single word spoken to Macbeth and no more than a passing glance when I did finally see him the next day, we took to the road the following morning. The snow was too deep for wagons, so we rode on horseback. Little Lulach, who had no idea he was about to be thrust into the public eye, rode with me. In addition to Macbeth’s men, I also rode with four guards of my own, all of whom wore the tartan of Moray. I might ride to Scone beside Macbeth, but I was not truly with him.
We arrived in Scone the following morning. King Malcolm was dead, but it didn’t appear anyone minded. In fact, evergreen garlands were hung on the buildings and decorated the castle. The place was busy, full of people and animals. It looked like a horse fair times ten. Everywhere I looked, vendors sold their wares, calling to the visiting lords and ladies and their servants. As we rode through town, many stopped to watch Macbeth and me.
“Scone of the Noisy Shields,” Rhona said as we rode down the street toward the castle which sat not far from Scone Abby where Duncan would be crowned. Trumpets blasted as we approached the citadel.
Lulach whimpered then began to cry, the loud noise grating his nerves.
“Don’t cry, love. One day, if you become king, you can order them not to blast their trumpets,” I said.
Macbeth, who was riding just ahead of me, looked back at me over his shoulder.
I ignored him. If Macbeth thought I’d ever let him into my bed again, he truly was out of his mind. The man had left me to die in the dark, in a pool of my own blood, writhing in pain as his own child died. In such a circumstance, he’d thought only of himself. He hadn’t spared a moment to offer me, lying in agony at the loss of our child, a word of comfort. He only blamed me, blamed Banquo. He’d abandoned me when I needed him the most. It was Banquo who had stayed with me, Banquo who had ensured I was cared for. What had Macbeth done? Nothing. I would never forgive him. Whatever I’d hoped Macbeth and I would be, he had broken it completely. I glared at him.
Once we arrived at the castle, we were escorted to the western wing where we were bid to relax and make ready to meet the king the following day. Finally, I had a reason to be glad of courtly life. Macbeth and I had been given separate sections of the castle.
My section of the castle had a large meeting hall and two bedchambers, one for me and one for Rhona. My bedroom was richly adorned with a large poster bed, rich tapestries, and fine furniture. The extravagance seemed excessive. I settled in by the fire, warming up after the long ride.
“Look at all the lords and ladies,” Rhona said, glancing out the window. “What pageantry!”
I yawned tiredly. Footmen and maids raced in and out of the chamber bringing wine, food, and news. There would be a grand dinner that evening, but the king would not come from Edinburgh until the morning.
“He isn’t here yet?” I asked a maid who had brought a basket of bread and a round of cheese from the kitchens.
“No, my lady.”
“I wonder why not,” Rhona mused aloud.
The maid smirked. “There was a rumor that he would not come until Lord and Lady Macbeth arrived.”
I huffed a laugh. “I suppose he needed to ensure he actually had the north before he proclaimed himself king over it.”
The maid giggled then turned and left.
Rhona chuckled. “Have you ever seen him, my lady? What manner of man is King Duncan?”
I bit my lip, wanting to tell her exactly the kind of man he was, but I said, “I saw him once. He didn’t make a good impression on me.”
Rhona harrumphed.
There was yet another knock on the door, but before Rhona could open it, Madelaine let herself in.
“Gruoch,” she called merrily, crossing the room to embrace me.
How lovely she looked in her winter furs and an elegant green velvet gown. Her long red hair drifted down her back.
She turned quickly and picked up Lulach, planting kisses on his cheeks. “Oh, my naughty boy, you’re growing like a weed. How big you are since autumn.”
Lulach laughed.
“Madelaine, this is my maid, Rhona. Rhona, this is my aunt, Madelaine, the Lady of Fife.”
Rhona was about to drop a curtsey when Madelaine clapped her on the back and said, “Merry met.”
Rhona laughed. “I see where my lady gets her open nature.”
Madelaine smiled. “Can you believe all this pomp?” she said, motioning out the window. “My god, there will be a shortage of soap in Scotland.”
We both laughed.
“Fife has gone with Macbeth. The lords are meeting in the hall below. Shall we go meet the ladies?”
“By the gods, no.”
Madelaine laughed. “Gruoch. Don’t you want to see who has a daughter for Lulach?”
“Madelaine! He’s just a wee boy.”
“I know that, and so does everyone else. Everyone will want to claim the hand of a boy with royal blood.”
I blew air through my lips. Sid’s faerie princess would be better than some courtly lady.
“Now, let’s see what dresses you brought for the coronation tomorrow. Who packed, you or your maid?”
“Both of us.”
“Oh dear,” Madelaine said then looked back at Rhona. “Did you fix it?”
Rhona laughed. “Yes, my lady.”
“Fix what?”
“Gruoch, you can hardly tell the difference between a house dress and a formal gown.”
“I can so.”
Rhona laughed in such a manner that indicated that clearly I did not. In truth, I hardly cared for a gown one way or another. In fact, men’s breeches always appeared far more practical to me.
“Well, I brought some of the new dresses you sent,” I said, albeit weakly, in my defense.
Madelaine winked at Rhona and then began picking through my things. I smiled at her, glad to have a mother’s comfort at this time. Alone, I would have to deal with Macbeth. But with Madelaine here, I had every excuse to avoid him. And more, while Madelaine knew nothing of the matter, every time I thought about seeing Duncan, my stomach felt ill, and rage made my hands shake. That pompous boy, that user and defiler would become king of Scotland. It was an affront to the country I loved. But I remembered Macbeth’s plans. As angry as I was at Macbeth, I still supported his plan to win the crown. Had he asked my opinion on the matter, I might have advised him to stay north. If we stood our ground now, before Duncan was crowned, it would make things easier. But Macbeth had not asked me anything other than how many casks of wine and pigs I needed at Cawdor.
“How is Ute fairing?” I asked Madelaine as she looked through the dresses.
“Very well. She told me to send her greetings.”
“She didn’t want to come?”
“No. I asked her, but she declined. What about this one?” Madelaine asked, snapping the wrinkles out of a lovely purple silk and velvet gown. The cut of it was much like the holy gown I wore at Ynes Verleath. “It will match your torcs and amulet.”