Page 31 of Highland Queen

“Lady Madelaine,” Thorfinn said, eyeing my aunt over great intensity. Thorfinn stroked his long beard as he considered her. “I see that Lady Gruoch’s beauty is common in her family line.”

Madelaine grinned wickedly. “Not so. My brother Malcolm was quite hideous.”

At that, Thorfinn chuckled.

“Lulach will soon join Gruoch and me at court,” Macbeth said. “He was sent away for safekeeping until the war was over. But soon, I’ll have my son by my side again.”

At that, Madelaine stilled. She glanced at me.

I lifted my cup and drank, not daring to look at Macbeth. I wouldn’t fall for whatever traps he sought to set for me. He didn’t know where Lulach was, and he would not know. Not now. Not until I willed it.

The conversation around us faltered as everyone sensed the tension in the air.

For once, I had to thank the Lord, because it was at that moment that Bishop Lawrence cleared his throat to say, “My king, the processional is planned for eleven in the morning. Everything is ready, if that pleases you.”

“It does,” Macbeth said. He lifted his cup and reached down the table to clink it against that of the bishop. “It pleases me to no end. And you, Lady Gruoch,” Macbeth called. “Does it please you as well?”

I turned and looked at him.

Macbeth’s blue eyes were wide, a wild gleam therein. He grinned, and I could see the muscles under his eyes twitching.

“Of course she is pleased,” Thorfinn interjected on my behalf. “Who would not be pleased to be queen of this great land? A toast, to King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch,” Thorfinn called loudly, lifting his tankard.

“To King Macbeth and Queen Gruoch,” the crowd echoed.

“Long may they reign,” Thorfinn added then drank. But when he did so, his eyes met mine over the top of his tankard. He, too, had seen the mad sheen. Thorfinn’s eyes held a warning.

The dinner seemed to stretch on forever. While the Northmen, Thorfinn, and Macbeth were still celebrating, the rest of the company had disbanded. Banquo walked me back to my chamber.

“So, what had you looking so worried?” I asked Banquo.

He shook his head. “These days, I see visions, this time and the future overlapped. It’s hard to make meaning of it all.”

“Maybe I can help. What are you trying to make meaning of?”

Banquo smiled lightly. “Who can say for sure?”

“You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“An ancient thing who riddles like yourself.”

“The Wyrds.”

I nodded.

He shrugged. “Everything is too muddled. If I understood, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”

What had he seen? Did he have an inkling of what Injibjorg told me? I wanted so desperately to tell him, but now was not the time. I wanted to tell Banquo when and where the moment could belong to us alone—as it should.

“Speaking of news. Anything about Tavis?” I asked.

Banquo shook his head. “No. No one’s returned yet.”

“And do you sense anything?”

“Not anything good.”

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