‘What can it matter?’ I argued. ‘It’s like the charm for soldiers. Macbeth will spend his life in hope and ambition, and when he dies his last words won’t be, “I’m not king yet. The old hag on the heath lied.” And the promise to Lord Banquo was for long after his lifetime.’
Agnes stared at me. Even with her face (mostly) clean, she looked different up here in the mist, not the grumbling old lady who’d share her last bannock — or Old Man’s Bottom. She looked . . . different. ‘What you whispered here tonight may grow into a wind from hell.’
‘No,’ I said stubbornly. ‘Lord Macbeth has Cawdor’s land and titles, just as my lady wished. And he’ll watch out for his own advancement now, as my lady wished.’
Suddenly Agnes seemed to dwindle in the growing dark, an old woman, wet and weary. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘I am for my bed, and a long way it is to trudge to it.’
I glanced at Mam. She was drooping too. ‘Can you ride with me?’ I asked them.
I knew both Agnes and Mam could ride the shaggy Highland ponies. And with three on his back, my lady’s horse should be quieter than with just me.
Agnes looked down at Thunder consideringly as he nosed the wet grass. ‘Never met a horse I couldn’t humble.’
‘Another charm?’ I asked, still smarting from her rebuke.
‘A good biff across the nose. He knows I’ll give it to him. A horse is but a pony that thinks himself above the rest.’ Thunder looked up at us. He shuffled his hooves, almost as if embarrassed. Agnes turned her sharp eyes on me. ‘When your lady hears the news, tell her to send me a good fatty sheep’s pluck.’
I wouldn’t tell my lady any such thing. But Cook would give me the meat if I said it was for Mam.
Agnes was already hobbling down the hill. ‘Come on, girl!’ she called. ‘You’ll have to give me a leg up.’
The mist turned to rain again, and the rain to knives of ice. Thunder ambled along, subdued by the extra weight on his back, or the rain, or Agnes’s bony knees digging into his sides. I had never felt so cold. But at least Mam seemed warm between me and Agnes.
At last we saw the village down in the glen. I stopped the horse by Agnes’s cottage.
‘Mrrew?’ Paddock glared at us on the doorstep, hungry, wet, and it was all our fault.
A thin straggle of smoke wriggled from the chimney. Agnes had the knack of laying a peat fire that would burn all night and half the day. She and Mam would soon be warm and full of broth. I wished I could go inside with them, sleep warm by the hearth on old sheepskins. It seemed a long cold way to the castle. But that was where my lady waited, and my life . . .
I fumbled with the bag of food, my hands numb, and passed it down to Mam. ‘Here. I’ll bet Paddock won’t turn her nose up at stuffed mutton.’
‘Her?’ Agnes snorted. ‘She’s probably crunched down a nice fat bat. She just likes people waiting on her.’ She gave me a look that could cut a stone in two. ‘Like that lady of yours. Watch your step now. It’s not good to have fine folks notice you too much, in times like these. Just say “yes, my lady” and empty her chamber pot, and then stay out of sight.’
‘All right,’ I said wearily. I felt . . . strange. As if the world hung crooked.
Her eyes could have broken ice too. ‘And you’re not intending to do any such thing, are you?’
And waste all that we’d achieved today? My mistress grateful to me, and Lady of Cawdor now.
Agnes gazed at me. ‘Listen to me, girl! When men have the blood of war coursing through their bodies, a breeze can blow a feather, a feather can knock a crumb to the floor, a mouse can take the crumb, a cat can take the mouse and push over a cauldron, the cauldron’s fat spills into the fire, and the fire takes a castle.’
‘Just be careful, Annie,’ whispered Mam.
‘Of course I will,’ I said wearily. I wanted a few hours’ sleep, not a lecture. ‘Good night,’ I added quickly, and urged the horse for home.
He was eager now, sensing his oats; I didn’t even have to guide him. I shut my eyes, half dozing. And when I opened them, the rain had lifted and the stars shone like red daggers above Glamis.
I woke the porter, who woke the groom, who took my lady’s horse. The castle staff must have decided their thane would not be back tonight. Only one narrow window in the castle glowed: the red firelight in my lady’s chamber. I stumbled up the stairs, more tired than I’d ever been, and scratched on her door.
She opened it herself, dressed for bed, her hair plaited. Her eyes could have cleaved me like a sword. I slipped inside, breathing the warm air, the scent of roses. My lady shut the door behind me. ‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘It’s done,’ I whispered.
Her body uncoiled slightly. ‘The battle won? He was convinced? Sped like an arrow back to the king to ask for his reward?’
‘Yes. No.’ My tongue was thick with tiredness, my brain like bannock dough. I longed to sit by the fire, to lift my dress to warm my legs. But you couldn’t do that in the presence of a lady. ‘Lord Macbeth won the battle for the king. We met him on the track with Lord Banquo.’
‘And then?’ she demanded.
Should I tell her I’d promised Macbeth more than Cawdor? Keep your head down, Agnes had said. Besides, it was no matter. Only words.
‘We said the charm. And then a messenger came from the king. Cawdor is yours. Lord Macbeth rode back to thank the king. He will not return here tonight.’
‘What?’ My lady glowed, bright as the firelight. ‘Well may Duncan thank my husband. A dog shows greater gratitude than our king. How did my lord seem?’ she added eagerly. ‘Humble? Or did you fire him with ambition too?’
‘I . . . I think so. Yes, I did,’ I added more firmly, remembering the look on Lord Macbeth’s face when I’d promised he would be king. I tried to find the right words. ‘He feels the kiss of ambition now.’
‘At last,’ she said softly. ‘A good day’s work, for both of us.’
I wondered if she meant herself and me and the supposed charm; or did she mean herself and Macbeth? He had won one battle; she another. I should have felt triumphant. Instead I just wanted to strip off my wet clothes — even sealskin didn’t keep out so many hours of rain — and sleep.
My lady strode to the window and gazed at the red gleam of stars. ‘So,’ she murmured. ‘What next?’
‘I do not understand, my lady,’ I said wearily.
She turned, her expression impossible to read. ‘A high position is but a platform to leap to one much greater.’
‘But, my lady, Cawdor is the highest thaneship in the land. No other man has half the estate that Lord Macbeth does now, except the king.’
‘Except the king,’ she repeated softly. She looked out at the sharp-edged stars again. ‘Well, we shall see. Our estate is what we make it.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ I said obediently.
But she was wrong. A lady could choose to be a wife, or to take the veil, or to go on pilgrimage to Rome, or . . . My mind came to the edge of a cliff. I did not know what other choices nobility might make. A village girl had no choice but to obey her superiors. And yet I hadn’t obeyed this afternoon. Or had I?
My lady smiled suddenly, as if her thoughts had returned to me and this room. ‘To bed,’ she said briskly. ‘You must be frozen. No doubt my lord will send word of the battle and his new estate tomorrow.’ She eyed me sharply. ‘You will not speak of this.’
‘Of course not, my lady.’
To talk of charms would hurt me far more than it would damage her. And Mam, and Agnes. But we had got my lady her prize of Cawdor. No, my weary mind corrected me: Cawdor had already been given before we even set out. What had I done today . . . ?
‘Take the truckle bed.’ She nodded to the small bed next to her own.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said gratefully. Her room was the warmest in the castle. My toes felt lost in ice. I waited for her to go to bed, so I could too. But she looked at me, assessing.
‘I must think how to rewar
d you. How does Murdoch of Greymouth suit you?’
I blinked at the change in subject. ‘Most well, my lady. A courteous and handsome man.’
‘And his family is loyally pledged to ours. Well, we shall see.’
What did she mean? I was too tired to think.
I held the bedclothes back for her to slip between them, then went into the small room next door where a ewer of water and a basin waited for my lady in the morning. Well, Mistress Margaret would have to call for more. I washed quickly, leaving my filthy clothes in a puddle on the floor for the maids. The clean shift felt soft on my cold skin.
I opened my lady’s door and crept back into the welcome heat of the apple-wood fire and rose-scented sheets. I said my prayers under my breath, so as not to disturb my lady. But tonight, of all nights, I needed to say them. Only words, but words had power, Mam said. She’d be asleep by Agnes’s fire . . .
Then I slept too.
Chapter 5
Lord Macbeth’s messenger finally galloped across the drawbridge mid-morning. The sun shone with all the heat it had failed to give us, or the men in battle, the day before.
My lady had given out that as Macbeth must surely have defeated the rebels, we must welcome him appropriately. The courtyard was already afloat with chicken feathers and goose down, and peacock blood stained the paving stones. The protesting bleats of sheep ended abruptly as their throats were cut. The porter had hobbled down to the village at dawn to tell any boy old enough to poach his lordship’s woods and rivers that there’d be a reward and no questions asked for salmon, trout, pheasant or hare.
I heard the messenger’s hoof beats as I pinned on the last sleeve of her ladyship’s dress. I glanced at her for permission, then ran to the window and leaned across its deep stone sill.
‘The messenger wears the plaid of Glamis, your ladyship.’
‘Is his cockade black, white or red?’ Black for the death of the laird; white for loss of the battle; red if Macbeth had won.
The other ladies took her calmness for self-control. It was strange to think that in this whole castle, only my ladyship and I knew Macbeth was not just safe but had also been made Thane of Cawdor. And what of Lord Murdoch? Was he safe as well?
‘Red, my lady.’
She smiled, and gave Mistress Margaret her hand to slip on her rings. ‘Of course he has won! I would have as soon doubted that the sun will rise than his lordship face defeat in battle.’ She turned to Mistress Ruth. ‘If it is a message, bring the man here. If it is a letter, that itself will do.’
I took the comb and ran it through her hair as she sat upon a cushion. Soon Mistress Ruth was panting back into the chamber — the stairs tried her stoutness.
‘A letter, my lady.’
Lady Macbeth stood. She gave the letter one quick glance, her face lighting as tinder does to the spark. ‘He is safe. And not just victorious, but made Thane of Cawdor too!’
Mistress Margaret clapped her hands. I tried to look surprised.
‘Oh, lambkin, to see you made Lady of Cawdor,’ cried Mistress Ruth, then flushed. ‘I mean, your ladyship.’
My lady smiled. ‘’Tis well we planned to feast today! Mistress Ruth, tell the steward to see to the cellars. We must have wine as well as ale. Mistress Margaret, we need a fitting conclusion for our feast. A marzipan centrepiece of Scotland perhaps, with the colours of Glamis, Cawdor and the king.’
Mistress Margaret curtseyed. ‘Yes, my lady.’
Mistress Margaret was the daughter of a minor thane, but had never had beauty nor dowry enough for anyone to court her. She had helped to manage my lady’s mother’s household and there was none to equal her in fashioning a feast to look as grand as its ingredients. I hid my grin. My lady couldn’t have found better tasks to keep both women occupied. It would take hours to create a centrepiece so grand, nor would Mistress Ruth be soon up from her discussion in the cellars. They curtseyed and hurried out.
My lady’s smile faded as she bent to the letter again. I held my breath. Had Lord Macbeth told her what I’d said about being king one day? Her face said nothing.
‘My lady,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Does his lordship say how the other lords fared in battle? Lord Murdoch?’
She shook her head. ‘He does not mention them,’ she said absently. ‘Surely he would have, if any had been hurt, or captured for ransom.’ She put the parchment down and looked at me. ‘So, my husband is now Thane of Cawdor as well as Glamis. Yet do I fear his nature; it is too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way. He would be great; he is not without ambition, but without the illness should attend it.’
‘What illness is that, my lady?’
‘That sickness which cries, “Thus thou must do, if thou have it!”’ She crossed to her window. I remembered Agnes’s words. My lady’s world was indeed this castle, despite her rides on Thunder. This window was her only daily glimpse of the world beyond. ‘Hie thee hither, husband,’ she whispered, ‘that I may pour my spirits in thine ear; and chastise with the valour of my tongue all that impedes thee from the golden round.’
Gentlefolks’ speech was still hard for me to understand sometimes. I was still trying to puzzle out what the ‘golden round’ was when she turned to me. ‘Are you loyal?’ she demanded.
‘You know I am, my lady.’
‘And you have proved it. I will dower you,’ she added abruptly.
‘My lady? I don’t understand.’
‘A dowry,’ she said impatiently. ‘To make you worthy of a proper husband. I will grant it from my own dowry. We can well spare it now. It shall be yours on marriage.’
I curtseyed. It will be linen, I thought, a little too worn for castle use, dresses she has tired of, furs, even perhaps a ring or necklace. ‘I will wear whatever has touched your ladyship with gladness and gratitude.’
She looked at me, amused. ‘I do not mean petticoats and tablecloths. There is a small estate not far from Greymouth called Badger’s Keep.’
My mouth hung open like that of a salmon drowning in the air. ‘An estate, my lady? For me?’
‘A small one.’ She smiled again. ‘Small indeed compared to Cawdor. But Murdoch has been loyal to my lord. He should be rewarded with a wife well dowered, and her loyalty returned with a gift from us as well.’
I had dreamed that Murdoch might ask me to marry him. I’d dreamed of dancing in a gold gown with the king too. I’d never thought either was really possible. Lord Murdoch liked me, flirted with me. But even if he forgot his duty to his family and asked to marry me, his father would not allow it. The heir of Greymouth couldn’t marry a village girl, even one who wore silks and knew how to use a fork to eat her sweetmeats. But if I brought an estate and the favour of the Lady of Cawdor and Glamis? The old man would be dancing a jig if his back wasn’t so stiff. Maybe I should bring the Thane of Greymouth some Old Man’s Bottom as well as Badger’s Keep. I grinned. Murdoch, the handsomest man in the castle and the finest swordsman, full of wit and poetry . . . I could have danced around my lady’s chamber.
‘I . . . I do not know what to say, my lady.’
She grinned back at me. Suddenly we were two girls, not maid and lady.
‘You say most prettily, “All the gold in Christendom cannot sweeten any gift from your dear hand, my lady.” And then you curtsey low.’
This was the second time in two days that I had been given a speech to say. I sank into the curtsey. I would be Lady Greymouth! And Mam would . . . My grin faded. I tried, and failed, to see Mam as mother-in-law to the Thane of Greymouth. I put it from my mind. We’d manage. Mam could live in a cottage on my estate perhaps . . . My estate! What Rab McPherson would think of that.
I rose from the curtsey to find my lady a lady again and not a girl.
‘Well?’ she said quietly. ‘Are Badger’s Keep and Lord Murdoch enough to keep you loyal, come traitors, tide or tempest?’
‘I do not need a gift to keep me so. I am loyal unto death.’
She nodded. ‘I thin
k you are. And now we have a victory feast to supervise.’
I followed her along the corridor, a chick trailing a swan, darting in front to open the doors for her. We had just reached the staircase when someone panted up the stairs. Not Mistress Ruth. The steward.
My lady stared at him. ‘What tidings that you gallop so?’
He bowed. ‘My lady, the king comes here tonight.’
She stood quite still, as if a thunderbolt had struck her. The steward stayed down in his bow. I felt embarrassed as his face grew red. At last she gestured for him to rise.
‘You are mad to say it,’ she snapped, as if her only concern was housekeeping. ‘Is your master with him? Surely he would have told us so we might prepare.’
The steward bobbed his head. ‘So please you, my lady, it is true. The second messenger was sent as soon as the king announced that he would come. The messenger is almost dead for breath, with scarcely more than would make up his message.’
My lady gave her ‘be kind to servants’ smile. ‘Tend him well. He brings great news.’ She turned to me. ‘Tell Mistress Margaret that today’s feast must be tonight’s and end with a grand centrepiece to honour His Majesty and show our loyalty and gratitude. And I must have my scarlet gown.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ I curtseyed hurriedly and ran for the stairs, my thoughts as scattered as the courtyard filled with chicken feathers.
My lady had promised me a dowry and Lord Murdoch, and now I would see the king! I must wear my blue silk gown. No, my lady would order our dresses. Blue and her scarlet would not match. I had forgotten to ask her what petticoat to bring with the dress. The cream brocade perhaps, and silver sleeves.
I ran back along the corridor to ask her, then stopped as I heard voices in her chamber. Not voices, I realised. Just one: her own.
‘The raven himself is hoarse,’ she whispered, ‘that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements.’
Third Witch Page 3
