Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (18 page)

She
. Duncan rarely said her name aloud or in his thoughts for she was forbidden fruit. When Donalbain had first learnt of the attraction between the two, he had hauled Duncan into his study and berated him about wasting his seed on poor soil; that she was not good enough for a prince. She had lived with the family her whole life but, to Donalbain she was merely part of the castle, not the sweet and kind young girl who had been his best friend growing up and his comforter as a man.

Duncan rested against a tree watching Fleance tend the horses. His cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders to ward off the chill of the winter day. Though he would not like to face it, he was upset. He took a deep breath which caused Fleance to look at him. ‘Is all well with you?’

Frustration flooded him. ‘No, Fleance, it is not.’ It was hard for him to say it – to speak of the secret love long held close. He knew his father thought the matter closed but Duncan could not so easily discard her.

Fleance patted Willow and came forward. ‘Are you ill? Is it your wound?’

‘No, man, it’s my heart.’

Fleance looked concerned. ‘Do you need to sit, Duncan? Water? Food?’

Duncan waved him away. ‘Fleance, it is my heart, my soul, my dreams, my . . .’ He pulled at the damp grass growing between the knotted roots of the tree. He hissed through his teeth. ‘To be truthful, I don’t know what to call it.’

Fleance frowned. ‘You are making no sense.’

‘Aye, and what man does when he is in love but has the burden of his country on his shoulders?’

‘You are in love, Duncan?’

He stood up and sighed deeply, trying to control his feelings but the image of Charissa flashed across his thoughts. ‘I am in love,’ he repeated, ‘with a woman who understands my heart and hopes.’

‘Then why are you not with her?’ Fleance asked calmly.

‘Because I am to be king, Fleance, and unlike other men, my bride cannot be chosen for love but rather from duty and what is deemed correct. Such is the responsibility one must accept with th
e crown.’

Fleance moved to mount and Duncan, throwing the crumpled grass in his hands into the wind, did the same. ‘Then we are both cursed by the same blessing,’ Fleance said. Once seated on Willow, he turned to Duncan. ‘I’m sorry for you and for me. I hear that the way of true love is never a smooth one,’ he said.

Duncan nodded. ‘But it’s a path I’m not yet ready to abandon.’ He flicked the reins of Phoenix. ‘Let us to Glamis,’ he said.
And to an uncertain future
, he thought.

‘I hear the food at Glamis is to die for.’ Fleance grinned at him.

Duncan looked over at his companion, thankful that he was trying to lift his mood. ‘Aye, it is so but it is also a place fraught with other things. You are well advised to be on guard.’

The horses moved on, plodding through the mud and mist which stretched its soft fingers across the land and tickled the legs of the horses.

They travelled five days from Forres to Glamis, saying little, for Duncan felt an ever-increasing sense of doom the closer he got to the castle. The horses were grumpy, which matched his mood. ‘Gee up,’ he chided.

‘They are weary and dispirited,’ Fleance offered. ‘’Tis not our horsemanship but their tempers which make them disobedient.’

‘A lot like servants,’ he said, thinking about his father’s aides and instantly regretted being so free with his quips. ‘Well, despite my father’s opinion,’ he added to impress Fleance, ‘a good whipping never was of much use.’

Fleance laughed. ‘Aye, and if I tried that with Willow here, he’d have landed me in a nasty patch of thistles.’

The closer they came to Glamis, the more foreboding the weather. When they left Perth, the hills were bathed in yellow light but now a thick cloud was moving down the mountains and
into th
e valley. Though it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived at
the ca
stle, they could barely see two horse lengths in front of them as the mist rolled in across the glen.

At first all was quiet as the horses walked into the courtyard. A lone figure emerged out of the thick fog, wearing a long hooded cloak, and seemed to float towards them through the mist. ‘Rachel, dear sister, what brings you outdoors in such weather?’

She lifted the hood from her head and smiled warmly, though she looked pale and strained as she did after a difficult night with Bree. ‘Duncan,’ she said. ‘You have been gone so long and I have worried.’

Duncan dismounted. ‘I am sorry, sister. It was the king’s
pleasure
that we stayed longer at Forres.’ He gestured to his friend. ‘Meet Fleance, my companion.’

Rachel stood by while he dismounted and then turned to Fleance.

‘Welcome to Glamis, Fleance.’ Fleance bowed his head but said nothing, though it pleased Duncan to see his sister’s gaze linger on the face of his new friend.

Eventually, she turned back to her brother. ‘Father is in a state. We have had a messenger to say Malcolm is dead.’

Just then his father could be heard shouting. Duncan moved past her. ‘Aye, he is. So, sweet sister, get the house ready for Father will be king and you and I the tools necessary to run Scotland.’ There was anger in his tone which, by the look on their faces, surprised both his sister and Fleance.

Duncan was angry. He had wanted to give his friend a place of rest for all the kindness he had shown these last weeks. He had wanted time, perhaps, for Fleance and Rachel to get to know each other before the madness of the coming months but it was too late for that. All he now wanted to do was bath and rest but he could not. The moment he entered the castle, he was summoned.

Donalbain was in a frenzy. While thinner, it was clear Rachel’s ministering had been effective – his face was of a good colour and his eyes clear. He strode about the castle yelling to servants and his advisors alike. When he saw Duncan, he fell upon him. ‘Son,’ he cried. ‘You are welcome home.’ Duncan was taken back by the rush of affection his father showered upon him but said nothing. ‘Into the meeting hall as I have questions for you. Calum,’ he barked. ‘Come.’ Calum followed them like an obedient dog.

Donalbain almost ran up the stairs and along the corridor to his great hall, talking all the time – to himself, to Duncan, to Calum.

His father poured drinks and gave one to Duncan. ‘Well, tell us how my brother died.’

‘Peacefully, Father, and in good spirits.’

Donalbain swallowed and nodded, taking another gulp of his drink. ‘We are pleased to hear it. He was a kind-hearted man, much like our father.’

Duncan noticed his father now spoke as the uncrowned kin
g –
a sign that he had been more than ready to take up the role. ‘He wished you good health and a happy reign,’ he said.

‘We are pleased to have gained his blessing as well as his crown. After our coronation, we will send word to Margaret of our intention to move to Forres.’

‘Do you not think, Father,’ Duncan said, ‘that Glamis is a more suitable position politically, especially with how the English throne is regarded.’

Donalbain looked at him sharply. ‘How it is regarded?’

Duncan swallowed, unsure how much information he should divulge to his father. ‘Uncle Malcolm warned me that the people of England are somewhat dissatisfied with their monarch but even more suspicious of Scotland.’

His father nodded. ‘And so they should be on their guard. For too long, the English have considered us inferior.’

Something about the way his father spoke chilled Duncan. ‘But not a threat, surely?’

‘No, but they wish to control us and that is not good for our people.’

His father’s open acknowledgement of the needs of the country surprised him. Perhaps, though his thoughts were addled by the prophecies of the witches, Donalbain might have enough sense in him to avoid strange judgement and bizarre prophecies. ‘I agree, Father. And that is why I think the crown should stay here where we are closer to the people.’

Donalbain looked at Calum. ‘What say you, Calum? Is my s
on correct?’

Calum nodded. ‘Duncan is often wise beyond his years and I do agree that at this time, it would be better that we remain here, close to all important posts.’ Duncan detected an edge to the advisor’s tone but when he looked at Calum, the pale man’s face was unreadable.

His father was silent but chewed his nail, caught up in his thoughts. Outside, Duncan could hear bird calls and the noises of the movements of servants and animals. He wondered where Fleance had gone and hoped Rachel would be a gracious hostess.

Suddenly, Donalbain sprang into action. ‘I concur. We will travel to Scone to be invested and then hold a great feast to
celebrate
.’

After supper, Duncan went to find Fleance. He discovered him in the blue room with Rachel and that caused a small jolt of pleasure. It would be good for them to have time to get to know each other. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Fleance, I wish to introduce you t
o Father.’

He saw Rachel nod. ‘I think he will be well pleased to learn that his cousin’s only son survived.’

Duncan looked sharply at Fleance. ‘I have told her my story,’ Fleance said. ‘Well, most of it.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Dear sister, if we could leave you to your needles for a moment. Father was in a good state when I left him.’ Rachel’s face showed understanding of what that statement implied and she smiled.

‘Go quickly then before the mood changes,’ she said and went back to her embroidery.

The two young men left the comfort of the room and entered the chill of the castle halls.

‘I have been thinking, Duncan,’ Fleance said. ‘On what you said about your father.’ He hesitated and Duncan saw that his ears had gone quite pink.

Duncan put a hand on Fleance’s arm and they stopped.
‘Wh
at is it?’

Fleance rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘It’s just that . . . well . . . maybe Donalbain won’t be pleased to see me alive?’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Duncan could not fathom his frie
nd’s logic.

‘My father, as you know, had a claim to the throne once your father and Malcolm had fled.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t really know what I’m saying but I get this strong feeling we should just keep my lineage between the three of us – for now.’

Duncan studied him. So many secrets were not good but then, Fleance was right. Sometimes giving someone too much information could be dangerous. ‘All right. As you wish.’

They moved off towards Donalbain’s chambers but suddenly found themselves confronted by him as he strode around the
corner. H
e seemed not to see them.

‘Father,’ Duncan called. ‘A word?’

Donalbain spun around. ‘Eh?’

Duncan was dismayed to see that his father was intoxicated. No mind. He would still introduce Fleance. ‘This is my friend, Fleance. We met on my way to Forres.’

Donalbain peered at Fleance and frowned. ‘Fleance,’ he said, his voice slurry. ‘Thassa strange name. Haven’t heard that one fer a while.’ Duncan inhaled. Donalbain wobbled slightly. ‘Good. Good,’ he said, waving his hands. ‘Now, I must find . . . I must go get . . .’ and he walked determinedly down the corridor, only
occasionally
off-balance.

Duncan turned to Fleance. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘No matter but I do wonder if he will remember who I am in the morning,’ Fleance answered shrugging. ‘Shall we return to your sister and her stories?’

‘Yes, please,’ Duncan said, relieved that his father had not made a fuss and that Fleance acted unperturbed by the introduction.

Chapter Twenty-One
Glamis Castle

T
here was an unusual atmosphere of festivity in the
castle
even though it was only a week since King Malcolm’s death. Hogmanay, the much-anticipated annual New Year’s Eve celebration, was to be enhanced by a coronation. The new year would not only bring fresh hopes but a new king for Scotland.

Donalbain was in excellent spirits and was often seen to be smiling. He was even pleasant to Morag and she stored his friendly words into her heart. For the journey to Scone, she and Rachel discussed the preparation of everyone’s favourite morsel, although, for the young prince’s new friend, both of them were at a loss. This Fleance was always agreeable and polite so that poor Morag could not discover if any of what she designed for the palace meals impressed or appalled him.

Still, there was one whole wagon filled with food and drink and strict instructions from her as to when and where and how it should be distributed. Morag stood in the archway of the ante-room to the scullery and saw off her dear children: Duncan, Rachel and Bree. With them was their father whose demeanour had always worried her. Even when she had been a servant girl at King Duncan’s castle, Donalbain, the youngest son, had always tortured her and made her life almost unbearable.

Many years ago now, when Breanna, Donalbain’s new wife, needed to choose servants for the house, she chose Morag to be in charge of the kitchen. So the young servant girl, with her natural understanding of food and taste, was thrust into the important role of cook.

Even when the castle was gathered up suddenly to flee to Ireland, it was without question that Morag accompanied the family.

That one year when they were exiled in Ireland was one of the happiest times for all. There, Morag met her soulmate and, shortly after, produced a son. However, she did not skip her duties which enamoured her to Breanna, busy herself with two wee ones,
Duncan
and Rachel. All too soon, they were called back to
Scotland
– the moment dear Macduff slew the tyrant and Malcolm was nam
ed king.

Morag wiped her hands on her apron as the entourage made its way out of the courtyard. She crossed herself. God would need to take special care of the bairns, for their future, she predicted, would be full of turmoil not seen since their exile. As the second-to-last cart went past, she spotted Duncan’s friend sitting between Rachel and her brother. A warmth flooded through her. This fellow made Duncan (and her Rachel if she read the signs right), happy. Morag crossed herself again. For she wanted God to also look after this striking young man.

Fleance was amused. Just weeks ago he was alone with Willow, trudging through the rough roads of northern Scotland unsure as to what in God’s name he was doing. Now, he was sitting with the new heir to the throne of Scotland. It was remarkable.

Beside him, Duncan’s sister Rachel had their younger sister on her lap. Rachel stroked her sister’s hair and stared ahead. Duncan tapped furiously on his knee. So much so that Fleance thought he might say something.

‘Duncan?’

‘Aye?’

‘So, I talk in my sleep but you jiggle about enough to drive a man insane.’ Fleance grinned at him.

Duncan spread his hands wide. ‘You cannot accuse me of anything when you are so weird yourself.’

Fleance smiled. ‘I’m weird, am I? So what does that look like?’

Rachel roused herself. ‘It looks like Calum trying to get Father to understand why water is better for him than wine.’

Duncan nodded. ‘Or that the sky is green and the land is blue.’

Fleance snorted. ‘Who says such rubbish?’ He caught a look between the two. ‘Sorry, have I said something out of turn?’

Duncan fell back against the seat. ‘No, but it’s just that we hear a lot of foolish talk and sayings.’

To change the subject, Fleance reached out his hand to the sleeping Bree’s head. ‘Although she has your height, she doesn’t look like either of you.’

‘She has our mother’s looks,’ Rachel said. ‘But our father’s
temper
.’

‘My adoptive sister is about her age, and is a cheeky wee thing. She’s talented though – plays the lute sweeter than any bird I’ve heard.’

‘What’s her name?’ Rachel asked and Fleance could tell she was genuinely interested. He told her all about his adoptive family and a bit of his life in England. He did not tell her of the difficult times when Magness would return from his secret journeys, and would brood and snarl for days afterwards. Rather, he recounted the many happy times with the family. Ah, how he missed them. But he would not think of Rosie for he wanted to enjoy the occasion and not spoil it with his melancholy thoughts.

Rachel listened intently and Fleance was surprised and pleased with the intelligent and thoughtful questions she asked without prying too much. Then she told him about her own family, her gentle lilting voice that of a skilled storyteller and Fleance found himself caught up in the events that had brought their family to this point.

‘Mother was unable to have any more children after me but we enjoyed an idyllic childhood up until our grandfather was murdered. Father came home in a terrible state – that was the first time in my memory I’d seen him not in control.’ She looked out over the fields and sighed. ‘I did not even say goodbye to Grandfather. Mother had a cousin in Ireland, so we went there. It might have been awful living in exile and hearing the stories of what was
happening
to Scotland’s people – terrible things like what happened at Macduff’s castle and so many being killed, but Father was with us more instead of travelling and going to battles and Mother was ver
y happy.

‘The first time I heard them quarrel when we were there was when a messenger came to request that Father join forces with Uncle Malcolm and the English army to fight against Macbeth. Father refused to go but Mother had said it was his duty. After that, there were lots of times at supper when they would not speak to each other.’

Duncan had nodded off and his head fell against Fleance’s shoulder. Fleance pushed him in the opposite direction so that he snuggled into the side of the wagon.

‘When did you come back to Scotland?’ Fleance asked, trying to match his own life’s timeline to theirs. He had fled Scotland ten years ago.

‘We were away a full year. When Uncle Malcolm was crowned king, another messenger came to us to say the king invited us to return. He gave Glamis castle to Father and Mother was pleased for she thought the country beautiful. We have been here for nine years. Father thought it too small and I heard him tell her it was his punishment for refusing to join his brother in battle but the rest of us love it.

‘I was about eight or nine, I think, when mother became ill. It was quite a while before we discovered she was with child which made us all very happy but, though Bree here thrived, Mother did not and she took to bed. There was a very good wet nurse who taught me many things about healing so I helped to make Mother more comfortable: teas to lessen the nausea, grass to wrap around the wrists, which foods to avoid and which would help the b
aby grow.

‘Bree came early but she was a bonny wee babe and I helped to bring her into the world. Mother spent one day and one night with her child before she succumbed and died.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Fleance said. ‘It is a hard thing to watch a parent die.’

Rachel smiled sadly. ‘Aye, but we did not really have time to mourn because this one,’ she said, nodding towards the sleeping child, ‘demanded our time – night and day. Unfortunately, Father was consumed by grief and could not help us in ours so we leant upon each other, Duncan and I, with the help of our cook, Morag, who is really more than a cook to us.’ She frowned slightly and Fleance was surprised to see that it actually made her look even more beautiful. ‘Father does not hold Morag in much esteem. However, I suspect that they each share part of a dark history together for she was a servant to King Duncan’s house.’

‘You have carried a large burden for a long time, it seems and yet, I sense no bitterness in you.’

Rachel smiled, the simple action bringing light to her face.

‘What need have I to be bitter – God deals the hand He does but gives us the faith and strength to bear the load.’ Bree yawned then, and stretched, her legs pushing quite painfully into Fleance’s thighs. Rachel laughed. ‘Looks like our quiet time is now over.’ She kissed Bree on the cheeks. ‘Hello, young Bree. That was a nice lo
ng sleep.’

Bree rubbed her nose vigorously. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said, which made Fleance laugh loudly so that Bree give him a dirty look.

‘Well, that’s all good for I see Father has pulled up his wagon, so we must be stopping for a rest.’

Duncan and Fleance sat under an oak tree eating the food Morag had prepared – it was very good and the nagging loneliness was kept at some distance by the unusually fine weather and the good company. A pretty maid came over with another basket of food, this time moist fruit cakes, but it was the look between the maid and Duncan which was of interest to Fleance. Could this be the girl Duncan had spoken of? The maid curtsied and went over to Duncan’s sisters.

He nudged Duncan with his foot. ‘Who is the maid?’

Duncan’s face blushed slightly. ‘That is Charissa. She is Morag’s niece.’

‘And?’ Fleance pressed. ‘Who is she to you?’

Duncan looked startled. ‘What do you mean?’

Fleance leant over to him slightly and spoke in a low voice. ‘You have the look of a man in love, Duncan, and it came upon you when she brought us these.’ He held up the small cakes.

‘Well, that may be but if I cannot wed her, I honour her too deeply to bed her,’ Duncan said, his voice tight.

Fleance watched Bree poke leaves and twigs into Rachel’s thick tresses. The young woman has the patience of a saint, he thought. ‘Why hasn’t your sister married?’

Duncan sighed deeply. ‘A long story with an abrupt ending, I’m afraid. There was a man about two years ago who had Rachel’s heart but Father asked him to take on a dangerous journey – he never returned and we received word he had been killed by the border reivers.’ He threw his crusts to some hopeful sparrows. ‘Rachel was devastated but she’s stoic. And ever the optimist. I believe she is truly a saint.’

Fleance looked again at the two girls and saw the similarities between brother and sister – both had a genuine heart for people and a gentleness which seemed to stay firm in the face of trying
circumstances
. Rachel looked over at them, caught his eye and smiled warmly. Something stirred within him. Pity? Attraction? He knew not what but for the rest of the journey he was acutely aware of her sitting beside him, her breathing, her singing and her delightfully entertaining stories to keep the fidgeting child settled.

They arrived at Scone in the late afternoon and, despite himself, Fleance began to be affected by the excitement and carnival-like atmosphere. Servants and workers had arrived the day before to set up a large tent and to decorate the coronation seat with dried flowers and coloured ribbons. It was strange yet quite fitting for such an occasion to see gold and white ribbons tied to trees and the brown fields seem to shimmer as the yellow sun began its steady descent into the west.

Fleance watched Macduff, Lennox, Duncan and Calum, who had been chosen to carry the new king in the procession, disappear into the abbey. He stood among the peasants, farm workers, villagers and many from the town who had made the journey to Scone to witness the crowning of this man who many had thought too strange, too unlikely, to be an effective king. He listened to their talk and wondered at the openness of their opinions at such a time. He recalled it had only been in the quiet of the night that Magness spoke so freely and then only to Miri; not knowing Fleance was awake too, terrified of falling asleep.

Soon the stone bearers came from the church; between them they carried a red-coloured oblong stone and placed it in front of
Donalbain
. He wore white flowing robes with a blue and gold sash around his hips. His hair and beard had been freshly washed and oiled with sweet-smelling perfume. He did not look at all like a mad man but a pleasant and reasonable ruler. Perhaps Magness and
Dougal
were misguided in their fears about Donalbain becoming king.

The monks from the abbey, led by the bishop, came towards the guests, swinging incense and chanting. Fleance could feel a quiver of excitement move through the spectators. Oh, if only Rosie was here with him to see all this. She would think it wonderful.

‘How beautiful they look,’ Rosie whispered as they watched the parade of actors and performers moving out into the field. She held his arm tightly. ‘Wouldn’t it be grand, Flea, to pull on such robes and take on the disguise so that you could be anyone you wanted to be?’

Fleance delighted in her excitement and found his own heart seeing through Rosie’s eyes the possibility of simple joy. ‘Aye,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘That would be grand.’

The monks formed a guard in front of Donalbain while the bishop went forth and spoke prayers at the same time as he splashed holy water over Donalbain’s shoulders and head. Then he dipped his hand in oil and anointed the new king’s forehead before offering up more prayers. Macduff handed the crown to the bishop who placed it on Donalbain’s head. Lennox thrust a sceptre in front of Donalbain who took it with his hand. The new king placed his bare feet, one after the other, on the stone.

Using the thick iron rings, the men lifted Donalbain to shoulder height. Macduff shouted out, ‘Long live the king!’ Fleance watched as the stone and new king swayed slightly, sending a
concerned
murmur throughout the crowd. However, Donalbain was able to right himself by using the sceptre to aid in balancing.

A roar of agreement came from the assembly as Macduff repeated his cry: ‘Long live the king. Donalbain the First!’ All
gathered
echoed his cry.