“Yes. That will be perfect,” I said, my mind distracted by the idea that Ute had not chosen to come, not even to see Lulach.
“There is a suit there for Lulach as well, and a doublet and pantaloons that match that gown,” Rhona said.
“Yes, I had them made of the same fabric,” Madelaine said with a giggle.
“Mum, mum,” Lulach said, climbing up into my lap. “Mum, dat,” he said, pointing to the fire.
I looked at the flames. “What do you see?” I whispered.
“Dat, dat. Banc dere. Banc,” he said.
I stared into the fire, for a flickering moment, I saw the image of Banquo riding toward the gates of the citadel in Scone.
Picking up Lulach, I went to the window. Roman-style glass covered the edifice. The view through the thick glass was wavy and distorted, but we had a slim view of the courtyard. Lulach and I watched and waited. Five minutes later, I saw the colors of Lochaber then the Thane himself.
“Banc!” Lulach screamed.
I chuckled. “He cannot hear you, son. He is too far away.”
“Who is it?” Madelaine asked.
“Banc. Banc!”
Madelaine chuckled.
“Banquo, Thane of Lochaber,” I said, setting my hand on the cold glass.
Madelaine rose and came to the window. We both watched as the Lochaber men dismounted.
“With the chestnut colored hair?” Madelaine whispered.
“Yes.”
Madelaine watched until Banquo was out of sight. She sighed heavily then turned to me, pushing my hair behind my ear, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. “My little raven,” she whispered. “Lulach saw him in the flames?”
I nodded.
“Boite’s grandson indeed. Did Gillacoemgain…”
I shook my head. “No. But he knew, understood.” But more, Gillacoemgain was not Lulach’s true father. His real father would arrive tomorrow and be crowned King of Scotland.
Chapter 33
The next morning, I woke to the sound of trumpets blasting and drums beating the courtyard. I opened my eyes and stared at the rich drapes. Duncan had arrived. I inhaled deeply then let out a long, slow breath. I would feel nothing. I would remember nothing. Not the rain. Not the mud. Not the feel of him inside me. Not the pain of knowing I carried his children. I would feel nothing. I would show nothing. I was here in the role of Lady Macbeth, mother of Lulach. That was all.
But you are more, so much more. And one day, he shall pay. One day, he shall pay.
Rhona arrived not long after to help me get ready. Footmen raced up and down the halls rousing all the lords and ladies. I bathed and rubbed my body down with perfumes and oils. Rhona fixed up my hair in high looping curls. She set a silver brooch in my locks. Once she was done, we both wrangled Lulach and forced him into his fancy clothes, much to his annoyance. But more, we made sure the boy wore the plaid of Moray.
“I brought this, my lady,” Rhona said, pinning the fabric across Lulach’s chest with a silver penannular brooch. I recognized the piece at once.
“Gillacoemgain’s?” I asked.
She nodded. “I put a cork on the end so Lulach doesn’t take his eye out,” she said with a laugh.
I smiled. “I thought it was gone.”
Rhona shook her head. “I found it by accident myself. It was… Lord Gillacoemgain left it in the chapel.”
“Oh,” I whispered, touched that Gillacoemgain had the foresight to leave the precious item for his son.
There was a knock on the door.
As I righted Lulach’s clothes, Rhona went to answer. A moment later, Macbeth entered.
He smiled lightly but barely met my eye. “If you and Lulach are ready, we should go to the cathedral.”
I eyed him over. He was dressed fashionably in red velvet and black silk under a heavy bear cloak.
“Very well,” I said then put a cap on Lulach.
Macbeth took my cloak from Rhona’s hands and helped me put it on. “You look very beautiful,” he whispered.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Thank you.”
“And you, little Lord Lulach. Would you like to go meet the new king?” he asked, picking Lulach up.
“No,” Lulach said, looking dour.
Both Macbeth and I laughed. “Well, at least there is something all of us can agree on,” Macbeth said with a gentle smile. I eyed him warily, reminded myself not to be fooled again.
We were escorted from the citadel to the cathedral. Pair by pair, we would be processed through the church to the new king who sat on the Stone of Scone. We were expected to profess our loyalty. The footman organized the lords and ladies, sending each pair through. The crowd was thick. I saw many lesser lords and ladies were already seated within. Madelaine and Fife were in the procession line ahead of us.
“Where is Thorfinn?” I whispered.
Macbeth smirked. “North.”
“Bold.”
“It must begin somewhere.”
The footman announced Madelaine and Fife. I strained to look, catching only a glimpse of my aunt’s red hair.
“Your aunt,” Macbeth said.
I nodded.
“If you will… I would very much like to be introduced to her.”
I looked up at him. Macbeth met and held my eyes. I was surprised to find sadness and, I thought, remorse.
“Gruoch,” he whispered. “I want to make amends—”
“Lord and Lady Macbeth. Come forward, please,” the footman said.
Macbeth set Lulach down, and I straightened his clothes, smoothing down his hair. I took my son’s hand, surprised to see that Macbeth held his other hand.
“Come, Lulach. We shall go together like the family we are,” Macbeth said then prepared to be called.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to be unmoored by his words. I straightened my back, pulling myself up long and tall. Remembering just a bit of glamour, I worked my fingers and pulled an enchantment around myself. I would appear more radiant, more beautiful, and very powerful. At this moment, Duncan needed to see a hint of the raven. He needed to feel its strength and be wary.
“Mum,” Lulach said, his eyes wide, a smile on his face.
“Sh,” I said, lifting a finger to my lips, grinning when I realized what the boy had noticed.
“Macbeth, son of Donalda and Findelach, Lord of the North and his wife, Gruoch, daughter of Boite, Lady of Moray, and Lulach, son of Gruoch and Gillacoemgain of Moray,” the herald announced.
The cathedral stilled.
Everyone knew that if there was any legitimate challenge to Duncan’s rule, it would come from me and Macbeth. While Duncan had been Malcolm’s favorite, Duncan’s mother was the elder of Malcolm’s two daughters, I was the daughter of Boite. I was the Lady of Moray. Macbeth held the north. We were the only ones in the room with the power to unseat everything—save Thorfinn who was not here to profess his allegiance. Again, I thought about how we should have stayed north. We should have amassed our armies and ridden south in force, not with fancy clothes and pretty words. But here we were.
There were whispers in the crowd. I heard my name and my father’s. I heard Gillacoemgain’s name, Lulach’s, and Macbeth’s.
“Mum. Mum, Banc,” Lulach whispered pointing. I tapped his hand gently, reminding him to be quiet, and thanking the Goddess that Lulach had not simply screamed out Banquo’s name as was his usual fashion.
I cast a glance toward the Highlanders and spotted Banquo amongst them. His eyes met mine for just a fleeting moment, but I looked away, knowing my face would betray me if I did not. I could not be soft at this moment. I could not feel anything. I must radiate power. And I must forget the past, forget that the man before me was the father of the child whose hand I held. I needed to forget the smell of the wet earth and the rain. Forget the glow of torchlight. Forget the feel of his hand on my back. Forget the sound of his coin purse falling at my feet, the coins inside jangling.