“Eyes and ears.”
Surprised, I smirked. Perhaps Macbeth wasn’t as naive about the “good cousin” game as he seemed.
“Gruoch,” Macbeth said, his tone careful. “Yule is coming and the celebration of the birth of Christ. I would like to return to Inverness for the holiday. And I would very much like you and Lulach to join me there. We can celebrate together as a family. I…am not comfortable here in Cawdor. I want to be with you, but I would like to go home.”
I looked at him, remembering what Banquo had once told me about Macbeth’s desire to be at Inverness. And in truth, I could see my servants merely tolerated Macbeth. This was Gillacoemgain’s castle. They would never make Macbeth welcome here.
“All right,” I said warily, not sure if I was making the right choice.
Macbeth smiled then grabbed a sheet of parchment. “I’ll send word to ready the castle,” he began then stopped and set down his quill. Reaching across the table, he took my hand. “Thank you, Gruoch.”
“You’re welcome, Macbeth.”
“Now, you must tell me what favor I can give you as a gift you to celebrate the season.”
“You’ve already bought me something.”
“I have?”
“Eyes and ears. What better gift could a lord buy for his lady?”
At that, Macbeth laughed. The honest sound softened my heart.
We returned to Inverness within the week. While Rhona and Tira were not happy about it, they only complained a little. Thora, Kelpie, and Lulach, however, seemed content to return. On the day we arrived, I took Kelpie to the stable to let Elspeth know her favorite vexing stallion was back. But when I searched the barn, I couldn’t find her. I did, however, come across her father.
“Samuel,” I said brightly, leading Kelpie along behind me.
“Lady Macbeth,” he said then nodded. “Pleased to have you back, my lady. And that giant brute of yours.”
I chuckled. “Thank you, sir. I was actually looking for your daughter. I know Elspeth was partial to Kelpie. I thought she’d be pleased he has returned.
“Oh,” Samuel said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, my lady. Elspeth is not here with me anymore. She went back to the glen with our family.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Oh, indeed. I am a grandfather now, my lady. Elspeth gave birth to a healthy baby boy not a month ago.”
“Congratulations.” I was happy for the man and for Elspeth, but a child born out of wedlock still created gossip. “Does Elspeth or her child need anything? Can I send anything to her?”
“No, my lady. That is very kind of you. My daughter and her little one as well,” Samuel said then reached out for Kelpie’s lead. “Come along, Kelpie. I’m not as pretty as my bonnie lass, but I guess I’ll have to do.”
“Wish your daughter well for me.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Samuel said then turned and led Kelpie away. I bit my tongue, not pressing the matter further. No wedding nor husband was mentioned. No doubt the child was that of whomever she’d been with that day in the stable. But it was not my business. Turning, I headed back to the castle, thinking nothing of it save for the lingering sound of raven’s wings beating at the edge of my awareness. Odd.
Lulach and I moved back into the chamber near the small garden with the balcony that looked over the river. Over the next few days, a terrible storm blew in. The winter winds whipped against the shutters, and a heavy snowfall blanketed the castle. Macbeth spent more time with us than he had before, and his attentions were not lost on me.
Macbeth was trying.
I should try too.
One evening, after Lulach had gone to sleep, I pulled on my heavy cloak and went to seek out Macbeth. The winter storm had locked us all in the castle. With the Yule celebration just days away, I was hoping Macbeth would be willing to host the servants and hold a grand feast. Perhaps we could even carve a yule log and celebrate the traditions of both religions, those of the old gods and the White Christ. In the least, we could show those who served their lord and lady how much we appreciated them. The idea of a merry event with music, wine, dancing, and cheer sounded like a joy. I hoped Macbeth would agree. And more than that, I wanted an excuse to spend some time alone with him. With Macbeth’s many small kindnesses, I was beginning to feel something once more. Not love. But hope, however small, was blossoming in me once more.
Pulling my cloak around me, I went first to the main hall to look for him, but his papers had been cleaned up. I went to Macbeth’s chamber. As usual, I found his guard posted outside his door. In the midst of such a terrible storm, did Macbeth fear a troupe of winter faeries might come for him? I grinned at the thought, amused by his slight paranoia.
“Good evening. Is your lord within?”
The man eyed me warily. “He’s abed, my lady.”
“Already? Is he well?”
“Yes, my lady.”
I frowned from the man to the door. On the other side of the chamber door, I heard voices. I caught the sound of Macbeth’s voice, but didn’t recognize that of the other person whose voice was very low.
“Who is with my lord?”
The man frowned. “Goodnight, Lady Macbeth.”
The raven did not like this answer.
Frowning, I moved to go around the man, but he shifted to block me. “My lord asked not to be disturbed, my lady.”
“Macbeth,” I called toward the door.
The voices within quieted.
“Macbeth?”
There was no answer.
I glared at the man, feeling the flash of the raven in my eyes. “Liar. I will not forget,” I told him.
“Lady Gruoch,” the man said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, my lady. Macbeth ordered me…” he began, but I didn’t hear the rest.
Turning, my anger boiling, I headed back to my chamber. I was about to go within when I spotted movement in the small garden below my chamber. There was a hooded figure sitting near the tree. Why was someone in my garden? Already seething, my heart beat quickly. Who would dare to come so close to me and my son? There was treachery afoot at Inverness. The raven was set on edge.
I pulled Scáthach from my boot, extinguished my lamp, and slipped down the stairs. The dagger before me, I stepped into the garden. The snow was so deep it was above my knees. I eyed the ground all around me. There were no other footprints in the snow.
I stared at the robed figure. The person held their head in their hands and wept.
A god?
A goddess?
The air around the figure simmered and waved. For a moment, I saw a hall I did not recognize. Images of stones and the orange glow of fire were superimposed over the snow. I saw the garden and the hall all at once. The stranger was both here and there.
The figure moaned miserably.
Gasping, I recognized a familiar catch in his voice.
“Banquo?” I whispered.
He looked up, his face scrunching up as if he was unsure where he was. The image of the hall around him wavered. I realized then what was happening. His despair had called to me, and I had found him in one of the thin places. Given the raven was already awake within me, it was not a surprise I had heard his distress. Banquo was not at Inverness. He was in Lochaber. But, at the moment, neither of us were quite in one place or the other. We were in the thin place, the place that was neither and both all at once.
“Banquo?”
He wiped a tear from his cheek. “Merna is dead,” he whispered.
I gasped. I had been jealous of the woman, but had never wished her gone. In my most desperate hour, Merna had been there for me whereas others who pretended to love me had not. It was Merna who had been at my side when my unborn child died, not Macbeth.