Page 92 of Highland Queen

“Listen to how they speak,” I told Killian.

“And do you understand their words, or are they secret?”

“Anyone can understand. Just close your eyes and listen.”

Killian closed his eyes. “You’re right. Squeak, squeak, squeak.”

I laughed, which made Macbeth glance over his shoulder at me. For a moment, a storm cloud rolled over his visage, but he hid it behind a smile and turned back around.

I frowned. There was no settling the man. No matter how much I secretly hoped he could be recovered, there was no hope. I had to remind myself of that fact again, and again, and again.

“Now, one such as you, who knows the old gods, should know better,” I told Killian.

“Oh, I know the trees speak, just not to me. Yet I feel the presence of the gods in the deep woods all the same. Squeaking and all. For instance, the trees near that old camp I visited felt like they had a lot to say.”

“Did they?”

“I must say, I was rather glad when those ladies arrived. I was beginning to worry dryads were about. And I don’t spook, Lady Gruoch.”

“I certainly hope not, or you’d make a terrible guard.”

Killian chuckled. “Well, you’re still alive. I must be doing something right.”

“I’m glad for it,” I said with a laugh.

It took most of the day to cross the countryside to the old hilltop fortress. As we rode, I gazed into the woods. Part of me wanted to jump off Swift and go back where I belonged. In the woods. Among my own people. With my druid under the limbs of an old oak. With my son and daughter. And soon, with my baby. My hand drifted to my stomach. I needed to get north very soon.

Stopping only to rest and water the horses, we reached the path that led up to the winding hilltop fortress of Dunsinane just as the sun was setting. To my surprise, the edifice was massive. The castle was made of large grey stone and built in three tiers, ramparts on all three levels. Long ago, a mighty king must have ruled in this place.

“Whose castle was this?” I called to Kirk.

“You are in the land of the Parisi, my queen,” he replied, referring to the ancient Celtic tribe who were once near neighbors to the Iceni, Boudicca’s people.

“Such an ancient place,” I said.

“With deep foundations and strong walls.”

“Revived, thanks to your help,” Macbeth told the man.

“Ah, Your Majesty, I’m only touching up the work of masters.”

Even as we approached the hilltop, I could see the construction going on inside. Everywhere I looked, I saw masons, stone workers, and carpenters.

Macbeth turned in his saddle and smiled at me. “Your castle, Queen Gruoch,” he said, flourishing his hand.

Kirk laughed. “What a fine gift for a king to give his queen.”

I studied Macbeth’s face. He wore an honest, open, even hopeful expression.

“It’s a wonderful, strong place,” I said.

“A new home, a new start,” Macbeth said with a smile then turned around.

Killian gave me a sidelong glance, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to. I wanted Macbeth to be well, but not for my sake. I wanted him to be well, so he would rule well. As for the man, I wanted nothing from him. If he ever thought we would reconcile after all the harm he wrought, he was sadly mistaken.

We rode to the gate which was securely locked with a heavy steel grate. The men within worked the levers, and a moment later, the gate lifted.

Swift huffed and snorted.

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