Highland Vengeance (The Celtic Blood Series Book 3)

by Melanie Karsak

  “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.

  I set my eyes on the man before me.
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br />   Duncan’s arrogance and utter joy at having the world at his feet was the first thing that shone through. What I did remember of him, I remembered perfectly. The thin face, fat lips, fair hair, and gangly body were the same. He looked like a child playing at king, like his rich robes adorned with jewels weighed more than he did. He smiled smugly at us.

  The raven within me screeched loudly, and I heard the heavy beat of raven wings. My eyes flashed silver, and in that moment, I saw the expression on Duncan’s face change. An expression of confusion and fear washed over his face. What had the raven shown him?

  I sucked in my breath and held it in, keeping the raven at bay. A terrible rage washed over me, and all I could think about was killing him where he sat, freeing the stone of destiny from the fungus that sat upon it.

  Duncan wet his lips nervously then rose. “Worthy cousins,” he called.

  I exhaled slowly.

  “My king,” Macbeth replied with a bow. “May I present my wife and stepson?” Macbeth said, turning to us.

  “All men say the Lady of Moray is the most handsome woman in the land. It is not a boast,” Duncan said, turning to me.

  One day, I will kill you. “Thank you, my king,” I said then curtsied.

  Duncan stared at me, examining my face longer than expected. “Lady, have we met before?”

  Fool! “No, my king.”

  Duncan nodded. “Perhaps I am seeing your father in your face. I remember Boite. I thought he was a giant,” Duncan said then laughed loudly.

  I stared at him.

  Duncan coughed then looked down at Lulach.

  My heart slammed in my chest. What if he realized? What if he recognized his own blood? I curled my free hand into a fist so it would not tremble.

  “And this is your stepson,” he said, glancing from Lulach to Macbeth.

  The comment was meant to wound, and from the fleeting expression on Macbeth’s face, it had. Worse, Duncan had seen Macbeth’s pained expression and had relished in it. He smirked, looking self-satisfied. His expression enraged me.

  “This is Lulach, Son of Gillacoemgain, heir of Moray,” I said firmly. To my surprise, my voice echoed throughout the cathedral, the words sounding more like a proclamation than an introduction.

  The poignancy was not lost on the assembled crowd. If Duncan nor Macbeth produced an heir—not considering Lulach’s true paternity—the tiny boy who would one day be king, would one day come to this very room and sit on the stone of destiny.

  “Lord Lulach,” Duncan said more formally, inclining his head to my boy. Out of the corner of his eye, Duncan gave me a wary glance.

  Good. He had realized I would not let his petty games pass. Perhaps he and Macbeth had grown up together at Malcolm’s knee, spent a lifetime tormenting one another and vying for the king’s affection and attention, but I would have no part of their cheap slights. I was the daughter of Boite. Lulach was Boite’s grandson. Duncan was a cheap version of power, a raping ruler. He was a fool, and I would never again suffer a fool. I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling the raven look out once more.

  Duncan looked away. He turned to Macbeth. “Come, cousin. Let’s be done with this so we can get to our meal,” Duncan said then motioned for Macbeth and me to kneel.

  Do not kneel. A daughter of the Goddess does not kneel. Rip out his heart, and eat it before the assembled crowd. Let them see the real you.

  Macbeth kneeled.

  Inhaling deeply, I followed his lead. I wrapped my arm around Lulach’s waist and held him at my side. Lulach did not kneel because he did not know better. And I did not ask him to. His small refusal would not go unnoticed by the gods.

  “I, Macbeth, son of Findelach and Donalda, swear the loyalty of my lands in the north to Duncan, king of Scotland.”

  “I, Gruoch, daughter of Boite and Emer, swear loyalty to King Duncan as the Lady of Moray for both myself and my son, Lulach of Gillacoemgain.”

  “Lord and Lady Macbeth, I accept your fealty and acknowledge Lulach as the rightful successor to Moray. I bid you go in peace.”

  With that, we rose and were escorted to a seat at the front of the cathedral close to Madelaine, Fife, and some other lords and ladies I did not know. The bishop came forward then and began speaking in Latin. He said his prayers and blessed Duncan, ending the performance when he set a crown on Duncan’s head.

  “Long reign King Duncan,” the man intoned.

  “Long reign the king!” the assembly answered.

  Until his reign comes to its end.

  Chapter 34

  Duncan stepped off the dais and took the arm of a beautiful woman I had not noticed before. The girl, who would not have been older than eighteen, had long golden hair and wore an ornately embroidered cream-colored grown. A small diadem of gold and pearls sat on her head.

  “Queen Suthen,” Madelaine whispered in my ear. “Sister of Earl Siward of Northumbria.”

  Following behind them was an attractive older pair who nodded politely to us.

  “That is your cousin and my niece, Bethoc, daughter of Malcolm, and her husband, Crinan, Abbot of Dunkeld. Duncan’s parents,” Madelaine whispered.

  The attendant waved for us to come next.

  Macbeth picked up Lulach, and we processed back through the cathedral.

  This time, I caught Banquo’s eye.

  He smiled at me and nodded.

  We were escorted back to the castle and into the feasting hall. There, we were seated close to Duncan at the end of the table. I glanced at those around us, my extended family, none of whom had anything to do with me.

  “Lady Macbeth,” Queen Suthen called. “Please, sit beside me.”

  Madelaine took Lulach from my arms and sat down beside Bethoc, Duncan’s mother. Fife, Crinan, Macbeth, and a man I did not know talked with Duncan.

  “My queen,” I said, inclining my head, then took a seat beside her.

  “Please, call me Suthen. And you’re Gruoch, is that right?”

  I nodded.

  Queen Suthen smiled as she eyed me over, her gaze assessing. “That’s my brother, Siward,” she whispered as she pointed her chin toward the man. “Duncan speaks regularly of his cousin Macbeth, but he doesn’t seem to know much about you or your aunt.”

  “I’m not surprised. Besides whose bed we lay in, Madelaine and I were of little interest to Malcolm.”

  Suthen, who was sipping her wine, half spit out the drink as she suppressed a laugh.

  Duncan looked up at her, a reproachful glance on his face.

  My gaze darkened. I stared at him, daring him to look at his wife in such a manner again.

  Acting as though something behind his wife had caught his attention, Duncan fixed a soft expression on his face once more then turned back to his father who was talking quickly, gesturing wildly as he spoke. I couldn’t help but notice the good Abbot’s fingers were covered with gold and silver rings.

  “Sorry,” Queen Suthen said, daintily patting her lips with an embroidered cloth. “I’m unused to such frankness.”

  I smirked. “I was not raised at court. I am unused to hiding my opinion.”

  “All the better for it, then. And that is your son?” she asked, looking toward Lulach.

  I nodded. “Lulach.”

  “And his father was Gillacoemgain of Moray?”

  “Yes.”

  Queen Suthen tapped her finger on the side of her glass as she stared at Lulach. I could see she was calculating: Lulach’s age, the length of my marriage, and so on. There was no one in the land who did not know Lulach’s fate if neither Duncan nor Macbeth produced an heir. And by now, both Macbeth and Duncan should have an heir on the way—yet neither did.

  “He is a fine boy. I hope to soon be blessed with a child of my own. Perhaps when Lulach is older he—and you, of course—should come to court. But only if it won’t curtail your frankness,” she said then smiled. “One day, Duncan and I will have sons of our own. It would be nice to see our children grow side by side, let them grow to
love their cousins as our husbands do.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. Was she really so clueless about the true nature of affairs in Scotland, or was she playing? She picked up her wine and sipped once more.

  “Indeed,” I answered simply. Dammit, what was I doing here?

  “Or, perhaps, if we have a daughter… What better alliance could be found? But now I speak like a politician, and I see you’re already weary of the conversation. Let’s have a change of subject. I understand you were north with Thorfinn of Orkney? Is he the monster they all say?”

  Duncan gave his wife a sidelong glance, but he did not interrupt.

  “Worse,” I said with a smirk.

  “And is he married?”

  “He is betrothed to a girl from the north.”

  Queen Suthen nodded. “Of course. My mother and father would have the whole world married off, paired like the beasts of Noah’s ark,” she said then glanced at Duncan. I could see the look of disgust that danced on her lips. She lifted her wine and drank again.

  In that single moment, I pitied her. I had run from Duncan, but this girl had taken my place. I could not imagine what kind of man he must be, how he must treat his wife, but then my eyes fell on Macbeth. No, I knew how Suthen was treated. I was treated the same way.

  The meal took far longer than was tolerable. Madelaine chatted happily with both Suthen and Bethoc. I eyed Duncan’s mother who, despite being Malcolm’s daughter, didn’t seem to have any of the blood of MacAlpin in her. How many times could someone have the same conversation about the weather? Bethoc had found at least a dozen ways to consider the subject thus far.

  As I listened, I learned that the Crinan, the Abbot of Dunkeld, was actually in charge of the realm’s silver—her mines, her coins, her wealth. And money was, it seemed, the only thing that interested him. Despite his wife’s sincere passion for the weather, Crinan always returned the conversation to coin.

  My head ached. I had ridden south in good faith. I had come to see Lulach acknowledged, and that work was done. There was no other reason for me to stay here. I would not sit for days on end and talk of marriage alliances—or the damned weather.