Lady Macbeth's Daughter

by Lisa Klein

  The fellow stands up and flings off his hat, and I see that it is Colum. Unable to believe my good fortune, I run to him and we embrace, laughing. He gathers his sheep and leads me to the bothy. The shadows are long, heralding night. But there is enought light left for me to make out Caora with her bright silken hair.

  “Welcome, Albia,” she calls, looking pleased to see me. “You can stay here tonight. It will be too dark to travel.” She feeds Gath a handful of oats, tugs on his mane, and makes noises into his ear.

  Seeing my sword and shield, Colum is full of questions. I feel overwhelmed, for so much has happened since I last saw him, just after Geillis died. I have met my father and pricked him to a murderous rage. I have lost Banquo and left Dunbeag behind. I am now homeless. I am searching for Fleance, whom I love and whose life is in danger. So what am I doing stopped at a shepherd’s bothy?

  I explain to Colum that the king’s men have slain Banquo and that I am looking for his allies in order to warn them of the danger they face. I do not mention Fleance. Nor do I reveal anything that has occurred between Macbeth and me. I feel guilty keeping all this from Colum.

  Frowning, he picks up my sword and slides it halfway out of its scabbard. Gingerly he touches the shining blade.

  “The only weapon I have is a slingshot,” he muses.

  Caora goes into the hut and comes back with a long, graceful bow made of yew wood and strung with deer sinew.

  “You could borrow this, Colum,” she says softly. “You have some skill in hunting with it. Nothing is as swift as one of my arrows.”

  “I am a shepherd. Deeds of arms are not for me,” Colum says, frowning.

  I feel heat rising to my face. “You would not judge me if you knew my just cause!”

  “Albia, that sword is made to slay men. I cannot believe … that you would use it so!”

  “I do not plan to kill anyone, Colum, but to keep others from harm.”

  “And how do you plan not to get hurt yourself ?” asks Colum.

  “I … I’ll use my shield.”

  Colum regards me doubtfully. Suddenly the fine sword lying on the hearth looks like something that could not possibly belong to me. How could I hope to survive a fight against trained warriors more than double my size and strength?

  Colum turns his attention to gutting the rabbits for our supper. He hands them to Caora, who spits them to roast on the fire, then goes to fetch water. I can see they have done this many times while I was away at Dunbeag. I envy them the simple daily rituals of life on the shieling.

  Caora reaches up to turn the meat, exposing the red and white scars on her arm, marks of the fire-breathing Nocklavey. I see a small child stumbling into the fire and screaming as flames lick up her sleeve. A pot of water is dashed upon her, putting out the blaze. Of course. The beast is only afraid of water.

  “Your story of Nocklavey used to frighten me,” I say. “But I don’t believe it anymore.”

  Caora frowns, her brows hiding her golden eyes. “Believe it or not, it is true.”

  “Scotland is troubled by a far worse monster now. The king himself is the beast who brings everything to ruin. I have felt his evil touch.”

  “As I knew Nocklavey’s touch,” she says evenly.

  “My wound is not visible. But it is old, and deep.” I don’t know why I am needling Caora. Yes, I do. I want to know how much she knows about me, and how she knows.

  Caora gazes directly at me. “I have the Sight as well as you.”

  “Then tell me what you have seen, that you know so much about me.”

  Caora shakes her head. “I may not.”

  “You must! Do you know how much is at stake?” I am all but shouting. “While you and Colum keep your cozy hut on the shieling, Scotland is being destroyed!”

  “Aye. So hear me,” says Caora, her voice urgent. “You must not go on your way alone, if you want to live.”

  “Tell me more!” I reach out to seize Caora’s arm, but she is quicker, leaping to her feet and running away into the night.

  When Colum comes back to find Caora gone, I admit with some shame that she and I argued. He cups his hands and calls for her, but she does not come back. I cannot sleep, knowing that Colum is sore with me.

  In the morning I am up before dawn and on my way, alone.

  Late in the afternoon, when the shadows have grown to impossible lengths, I finally see Dunduff in the distance. I can even make out a figure in the watchtower. It is a relief to find the fort still standing, its palisades sharp and erect. I half expected a smoking ruin. Welcoming pennants flutter from the towers. But there no longer seems a need for haste, so I slow Gath to a walk, then stop altogether by a mossy bank to rest. My limbs ache from so much riding.

  Soon the wind changes, and faint shouts echo behind me. I turn to see a figure galloping toward me, and my first impulse is to leap on Gath and ride for the safety of Dunduff. But I am slow and sore, and the other horse comes on with surprising speed. I only have time to buckle my sword-belt and strap on my shield with fumbling fingers before a heavy black war-beast, snorting and pawing the path, is upon me. Its shape fills my sight, and in my terror I wonder if it is Nocklavey. It halts suddenly, rocks fly up from its hooves, and two leather-clad riders slide to the ground. They pull off their caps and I groan with relief to see Colum and Caora.

  “How dare you give me such a fright!”

  Colum looks shaky on his feet. I would wager he has never ridden such a beast. Caora is self-controlled but tense.

  “Why did you leave alone, after I warned you?” she asks.

  “What is there to fear? Look, it is peaceful here.” I gesture in the direction of Dunduff. “But tell me, where did you come by the horse?”

  “I stole it from a thane in the glen beyond our bothy. I meant to be back by morning, but the stables were well guarded and it was no easy task to take him.”

  Caora wears her bow and quiver strapped across her back. I suspect she had to use them when she stole the horse.

  “We left the sheep in the care of a friend and came as quickly as we could,” Colum says.

  “I’m glad you are here,” I say truthfully. “Though I am not as helpless as you think. Let’s go now.”

  Caora boosts Colum onto the black horse, then lightly leaps across the beast’s back as if there are wings on her feet. I step on a rock to hoist myself onto Gath’s back and hurry after them.

  We are almost within the shadows of Dunduff ’s towers when Caora halts the black beast and puts up a hand to warn me. Following her gaze, I see that the person in the watchtower is not moving. In fact, he leans over the battlements at an odd angle. I feel my gut twist. Caora nods to Colum seated behind her. He takes her bow and fits it with an arrow, holding it ready. I feel helpless and exposed as we approach the gate. Why don’t we run away? None of us wants to turn our backs to Dunduff now.

  “Look up!” I cry, seeing a movement in the opposite tower.

  An arrow whizzes by inches from my face and lodges in Gath’s neck. The horse lets out a high whinny and paws the air, almost throwing me from his back. Colum looses his arrow, but it falls short of the tower. While Caora holds the warhorse steady, he aims another arrow. It splits the air and finds its mark. With a cry, the figure falls from sight behind the wall of Dunduff.

  Colum, the peace-loving shepherd, has shot a man. He did not even hesitate.

  No more arrows come from the tower. Everything is still again, except for the banners flapping in the wind. Gath shakes his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the arrow. Blood trickles from his wound. We dismount and, using the horses to shield us, make our way with slow steps to the gate. To my surprise it swings open at our touch. Broken staves are strewn about the yard, where chickens peck the dirt. Caora picks up a stick to use as a weapon and Colum does the same. I count six bodies lying on the ground, twisted in violent death. The one Colum shot is tangled in the rungs of a ladder that broke his fall from the tower. Anguish shows on Colum’s face, but
none of us speaks.

  The heavy door of the dwelling has been hewed with axes. The hinges are broken. Caora hesitates. Her face is paler than usual. So I go in first, my sword drawn, my arm tense with dread. All the furniture is smashed, the cupboards looted. The back door is open, and I pass through it to Fiona’s garden. The once-green bushes are withered, the flowers and fruit trees all brown and sere.

  Under a leafless arbor they lie, covered in blood. Fiona with a bloody baby in her arms. The twins clutching each other, their limbs whiter than a swan’s down. A boy stabbed in the act of fleeing. And by the pool, her arms flung over her head, her fingers trailing in the water—Breda.

  I draw in my breath to scream, but no sound comes out. I am dizzy, the world spins around me, and I close my eyes to keep from falling. My sword drops to the ground. Caora and Colum hold me up, one on each side.

  “I am too late!” I finally manage to utter. “The monster has come and gone. O damnable father, tyrant king, hellish beast!” My voice rises to a scream. I turn and push my head into Colum’s shoulder.

  Caora trembles beside me. “The women and the children, all of them?” she murmurs in a daze. “Not one of them spared?”

  I open my eyes again. I must count the children, though I cannot bear to look at their still bodies. There are only four of them. Wee Duff is not here.

  “Duff! Where are you?” I shout. “Wee Duff, answer me!”

  I tear through the house, yanking open doors and flinging aside bedding. No one is there. I run outside into the yard. The archer who fell into the ladder. I run to the base of the tower and look up to see Wee Duff with the broken shaft of Colum’s arrow in his shoulder. Colum and Caora are right behind me. Colum climbs up the ladder and brings the boy down, laying him on the ground.

  “He’s only a boy,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “O holy God, I have killed a child.”

  Caora leans down and puts her ear to Wee Duff ’s mouth.

  “No, he is breathing,” she announces.

  A groan comes from the boy’s lips and his eyes flutter open. They are bright with fear.

  “Wee Duff, do you know me? It is Albia, and these are my friends. Don’t be afraid.”

  The boy’s eyes fill with tears. “I thought you were … them,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to die.”

  “You won’t die,” Caora assures him. “The wound is not deep.”

  The boy’s brief smile turns into a grimace of pain.

  “Oh, Duff, you are a brave boy,” I say, rubbing his hand. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “My uncle Ross and his band had just left when they came… . The king’s men.” The boy struggles to speak. “They asked for Da, but Mama told them he was away. We were not scared at first. But then they called Da a traitor and … showed their daggers … and killed my brother first!”

  Wee Duff begins to cry. I kiss his hands, leaving my own tears on them.

  “Next they came for me and got me … here.” He points to his stomach. His eyelids flutter as if he wants to sleep.

  Caora tears open the boy’s stained tunic. Besides the arrow in his shoulder, he has a wound in his belly, and fresh blood seeps from its ragged edges.

  “He has lost everything,” Colum whispers. “Not his life, too!”

  Emotions churn inside me like the contents of a boiling cauldron. Grief for Fiona and her children, for Breda. Rage at Macbeth, rage at myself.

  “Their deaths are my fault. If only I had not stopped—”

  “If you had not stayed the night with us, still you would have been too late, and still the boy would have mistaken you. But you would have been alone, and the arrow would have stuck in your throat,” says Caora fiercely.

  “Nay, I let Breda come here, thinking she would be safe. Now she is dead like her husband. Oh Fleance, now you have no father or mother!”

  “Albia, take heart that he was not here,” Caora whispers.

  But nothing can console me as I think of the slain children.

  “The blame is all on me. I told the king to fear Macduff. I dreamt of a bloody babe, but I did not know what it meant—that he would kill the children!”

  Caora bites her lip and looks at Wee Duff, lying with his eyes closed.

  “His thread of life is frayed,” she says softly. “But it still holds.”

  A new determination fills me. I will not let the boy die.

  “Caora, you must take charge of Wee Duff. Take him to the Wychelm Wood, where Helwain will heal him. Tell her it is my wish. Colum will go, too, and show you the way.”

  She nods and says, “I will take Gath, and leave you the warhorse.”

  I thank Caora. It will be an advantage to have a fast, fierce, and strong steed. Taking the beast by his harness and pulling his huge head down, I speak into his cavernous ear.

  “Your name is now Nocklavey. And I will ride you to my revenge.”

  Chapter 18

  The Spey Valley

  Albia

  We wash and bind up Wee Duff ’s wounds and lay him where he cannot see us burying the bodies of Fiona and her children. It takes us several hours. As soon as we are done, Caora springs onto Gath and Colum lifts the boy to ride in front of her.

  I stroke Gath’s long nose and peer at the wound in his neck. It will rankle until it heals. I touch Wee Duff ’s leg. “May all the gods be with you. One day your father will know how brave you are.” My voice starts to break.

  Suddenly I realize I have no idea how to find Macduff ’s allies.

  “Wait. Duff, where did your uncle Ross go, when he left here?”

  The boy frowns, thinking. “He said he was going to meet my uncle Angus. His lands are to the south, beyond the River Spey and across the Grampian Mountains.”

  “Then we’ll be traveling in opposite directions.” Because Gath cannot carry three riders, Colum will have to walk, and that will slow them. So I urge them to leave. “If you hurry, you can reach the shelter of the glen before dark.”

  Caora turns Gath toward the gate. But Colum crosses his arms over his chest and makes no move to leave.

  “I am staying with you, Albia. I am in this now.”

  I look at him in surprise. His jaw is lifted with determination.

  “But why? What are these people to you?” I gesture toward the fresh graves.

  “They were all innocent. The boy … I almost killed him.” Colum’s voice stumbles, then steadies. “I owe it to him to punish those who did this to his family.”

  “So you would join a rebellion against the king? You, a peaceful shepherd?”

  “Aye. For now I know the king to be a tyrant and a hellish beast. But tell me, what did you mean, calling him a … damnable father?”

  I can no longer hide the truth from Colum. Caora, too, must learn it all—whatever she does not already know. I take a deep breath. There is no easy way to break this to him.

  “Unbelievable as it may seem, Colum, I am the daughter of Macbeth and his queen.”

  Colum stares at me and says flatly, “That is indeed beyond belief.”

  “But it is true. And now you must decide if you want to remain my friend.” I swallow hard, half-afraid to look at him.

  Colum strides away from me, turns around, and comes back to face me. “You are making this up so that I will leave you here.”

  Caora’s voice rises over his. “Believe what she says, Colum. It is no lie.”

  “And how do you know?” I challenge her.

  Caora doesn’t answer. “I must be going now,” she says. “The boy needs help. May the gods protect you both.” She passes through the open gate of Dunduff, riding my gray palfrey into the gray dusk. I watch her until she disappears.

  Colum is staring at me with a strange look on his face.

  “How can you possibly be the king’s daughter?” he says in a hoarse whisper.

  “It is a long tale,” I say, letting out a weary breath.

  “I have all night.” He sits down on the ground, indicating t
hat he means to wait.

  I sit down next to him, and though I have no wish to remain any longer at Dunduff, among the dead, I begin the story of my birth and banishment. We do not rise until I have finished the story just as the sisters told it to me. I even admit that I have the Sight and that long ago I dreamt about the murder of Duncan. I describe my dream of Banquo and how he was killed and how Fleance fled, leaving me a sword and shield.

  I do not tell Colum that I might be in love with Fleance.

  My history must sound as fantastic as a tale of bogles and goblins told on the shieling. But Colum does not question it. He does not recoil when I tell him that the king shamefully touched me, his own daughter. Nor does he shrink away when I describe how I used my Sight to foretell the king’s doom, which spurred him to slay Macduff ’s family.

  “So you see,” I conclude, dropping my heavy head into my hands, “I am his daughter, and like him tainted with innocent blood.”

  “You are not the guilty one.” says Colum.

  “But think of the deaths that I did not prevent, even though I foresaw them. I cannot shake off that burden. Hear me, though, for I have made a vow, and you are my witness.” I pause until our eyes are locked together. “When I meet Macbeth, I swear I will not hesitate to lift my sword against him, even if it means my own death.”

  Colum stiffens. “Is it justice you seek, or revenge?”

  “They are the same,” I say defiantly.

  “Nay, revenge springs from malice, but justice I think …” He pauses, searching for words. “Justice comes from wanting what is good. Not for yourself alone, but for others.”

  “A fine thought for a mere shepherd!” I snap. “There is no justice, if the king himself, who should be its source, is corrupt. There is only revenge.”

  “I don’t wish to argue, Albia,” Colum says with a sigh. “Rather, let’s decide what to do now.”

  I gaze over the ruins of Dunduff, the dead guards, the graves. Only a few days ago a joyful household thrived here.

  “We find Macbeth and kill him.”

  Colum looks sideways at me, his brows knit together.

  “Perhaps I will argue with you. Shouldn’t we find Ross and the other allies of Macduff first? You and I alone … are not very strong.”