Page 87 of Highland Queen

Chapter 25

I worked tirelessly over the coming weeks as Macbeth lay in his bedchamber staring at the wall. It was long past time when I had hoped to return to Moray. I eyed my growing belly skeptically, knowing that I would soon have to think of a solution to my problem. Aside from fleeing and letting everything fall into disrepair, my options were limited. I needed to get Macbeth on his feet if I had any hope of making my way north before anyone knew I was with child.

Of course, hiding such knowledge from my maids was impossible.

“I’ll select dresses with more fabric at the front. They will conceal your state better,” Tira told me. “And I’ll loosen the laces where I can.”

Rhona studied me carefully then shook her head. “You know there will be talk.”

“And Macbeth… Would be best if we move back to Moray,” Tira said, echoing my thoughts.

I nodded. “I agree. But there is much to be done.”

“Yes. But I worry, my lady.”

She didn’t have to tell me. I, too, worried. I needed to leave, and soon.

Rising early one morning, I took out my box of medicines and went to Macbeth’s chamber.

“Queen Gruoch,” his servant said, bowing when I approached. Remembering Macbeth’s whoring at Inverness, I hesitated.

“Is His Majesty within?”

The man nodded then went inside, motioning for me to follow.

The room was dank and dark. Incense burned, making the air stifling.

“Has he left the chamber at all?” I whispered.

“No. But the priest comes three times a day.”

I nodded to the man then motioned for him to leave.

Crossing the room, I pulled back the heavy drapes and flung open the windows.

“Who is there?” Macbeth called from his bed.

“Your wife.”

“My wife,” he repeated.

I pushed open every window then eyed the room. Macbeth had drawn the drapes on his bed closed. Feeling unreasonably furious, I snatched the fabric back.

“What—what are you doing?” Macbeth asked, wincing at the bright sunlight.

“Airing out this sty.”

Macbeth sat up in bed. He had grown a scraggly beard. His bedclothes smelled sour.

I went to the door. Macbeth’s man came to attention. “Have fresh linens brought. I need a maid to come tidy the room.”

The servant nodded then rushed off.

Turning, I headed back inside. Opening my box, I pulled out one herb at a time, carefully selecting those I thought might ease his mind and balance him. I ground the herbs into a fine powder then mixed them into a glass of water.

“Get up,” I told Macbeth, pulling out the chair at his table.

“What is that?”

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