Page 9 of Highland Queen

Chapter 3

In the hours that followed, news came in from all around the country. The north was solidly aligned behind Macbeth and me. The south, however, was another matter. While not all the southern lords had followed Duncan into battle willingly—as was the case with Fife—enough of them had done so that it presented problems. Macbeth and I needed to move quickly. With everything so unsettled, it was a relief when news arrived that Macbeth was at Inverness. He sent a rider, requesting Banquo and me to join him there.

I read the scroll then handed the dispatch to Banquo.

Banquo frowned. “Now things become complicated.”

“One bastard cousin dead. Now I’ll place a crown on the head of the second.”

Banquo eyed me but said nothing. He never asked why I had sought out Duncan that night. Part of me suspected that Banquo had some feeling, some intuition on the matter. But he hadn’t probed that tender wound. One day, I would tell him the truth.

“I should go,” Banquo said. “Thorfinn and Magnus are there.”

I nodded. As one of Macbeth’s chief generals, Banquo’s presence was necessary.

Was mine?

“I will not come. When it’s time to go south, I will go. But not yet.”

Banquo folded his arms across his chest, nodded, but remained silent.

What was there to say?

Macbeth could be as angry or disturbed as he pleased, but he would also understand the wall I had built between him and me. After all, he had laid its foundation. What more was there to do? I felt nothing for him but contempt.

“My lady,” a page called, entering the conference room. “A rider with a message from Echmarcach of the Isles.”

I took the scroll and read over the dispatch. I felt the blood drain from my face as I considered what I found there.

“What is it?” Banquo asked.

“Donaldbane. He has been abducted by Ímar mac Arailt. The Irish king’s troops besieged the monastery on Iona and took him hostage.”

Banquo frowned. “Bold but wise move.”

I shook my head. “Echmarcach promises to do what it takes to secure the boy, provided we support him in his moves to retake Dublin.”

“Too soon. The blood in Scotland has not yet cooled,” Banquo said.

“I will write to Ímar mac Arailt. Perhaps, for once, my Ui Neill blood will make some difference,” I said then went to grab a piece of parchment.

“Ui Neill?” Banquo asked, staring at me.

“Yes. My mother’s line. The blood of two great dynasties runs in my veins. Remind me again why Macbeth will be crowned monarch?” I said, a waspish feeling washing over my heart. I lifted a piece of parchment from the box only to pause. Once more, I was taken aback by the appearance of the red spots on my hands. This time, the blood looked as fresh as the night Duncan had died.

I closed my eyes.

It wasn’t really there. I was just overtired.

I inhaled deeply then let out a slow breath.

“I never knew,” Banquo said, bringing me back to myself.

“My mother died young, one of many daughters, and was easily forgotten. But who knows if it will mean anything to the Irish king. Let’s hope it is enough to get him to talk.”

I willed myself not to pay attention to my hands.

Banquo sighed, went across the room, and poured himself an ale. He returned to sit beside me, staring in quiet contemplation at the fire.

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