Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (12 page)

‘Completely,’ Duncan said, the sweet, warm wine soothing away the thumping in his skull.

Chapter Sixteen

F
leance ordered two meals and two jugs of ale before going back out to the horses. He untied both and led them to the stables. There were a number of stablehands in attendance – evidence that this was a busy tavern and used to much traffic. Already there were four horses chewing on hay, thick horse blankets on their steaming bodies. He was very tired so was grateful to hand over the task of bedding them in. Fleance patted Willow. ‘Good job, boy. Da would have been proud of you.’ He untied his own belongings and carried them over his shoulder. It had started to rain again; this time, though, it was not the solid downpour of the afternoon but windblown and cold.

He stepped out from the shelter of the stables and, as he made his way towards the warmth of the inn, his eye caught a movement in a field to the left. Fleance turned his head and, through the rain, saw a man standing, staring at him. Fleance’s heart skipped a beat – it was the same fellow he had seen, bleeding, in the northern woods of England.

‘Are you wanting something from me, sir?’ Fleance called out, uncertainty flooding through him. He could not, from this distance, make out the facial features but there was a similarity in the way he stood. Nervously, Fleance looked behind him, back to the stables thinking perhaps he could get one of the hands to accompany him. But, when he turned back, the stranger was gone.

Fleance ran forward, his eyes searching up and down to see if a lone figure was anywhere. But, like last time, there was no sign
of him.

With his heart racing, Fleance walked quickly to the inn. It was shadowy indoors but the light from the torches enabled him to see the faces of people crowded at tables. He scanned the room. Not one person resembled the man who had stared from the field.

The innkeeper motioned him to a table where steaming plates of hot food and refreshing cups of drink had been set. A moment later, Duncan appeared in dry clothes, clearly much too large for him. Fleance guessed they belonged to the stout innkeeper.

There were fresh bandages on his arm and the colour had returned to his face.

Duncan sat down. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘You’ve gone mighty pale, though it could be the light in t
his room.’

Fleance shook his head. ‘Just tired and hungry. You are looking much more fit to the role of king’s nephew.’ He tried to smile.

‘Yes, well, I am thinking that the title will change too soon.’ He began to eat as did Fleance.

After a while, Duncan paused and lay down his spoon. ‘Where were you heading when you so fortunately came upon my
predicament
?’

Fleance finished his mouthful and swallowed. ‘Fife.’

‘For kin or for business?’

Fleance leant back into his chair and studied the young man in front of him. He was as tall as Fleance though not as solid. His blond hair and blue eyes gave him an air of innocence. But he smiled readily and warmly and Fleance had not detected an awareness of status that he remembered from the royal family when he was a boy.

‘I wish to speak with the thane of the county.’

‘Macduff?’ Duncan asked, a tone of surprise in his voice.

Fleance nodded. ‘Aye, him.’

Duncan picked up his spoon. ‘Well, it seems our meeting has been most helpful for both of us.’

‘Why is that?’

‘The thanes have all been called to the king’s castle.’ He broke off some bread. ‘You would have had a wasted journey. It’s Forres you need to go to.’ He dipped the bread into the hot stew on his plate. ‘Seems we are now heading in the same direction.’

This was food for thought and Fleance recommenced eating. How was it that he was supposed to follow these signs? Or had what happened been part of the big plan? The stranger he saw in the woods and then just now? The dreams? Blair’s dream and his advice to find answers from Macduff? Now this – a change in plan, yet again. He sighed.

Fleance eyed Duncan. ‘Perhaps you need me to protect you from the wolves,’ he said, smiling.

‘It seems I do, Flea.’ Duncan shook his head and laughed. ‘What a pair we are.’

The young boy came and cleared away their plates and returned with a mug for Duncan. ‘Gram says you need to have some more of this – for your injury.’

‘Thank you and give thanks to your grandmother.’ The boy bowed and scurried away. Fleance was amused at the tenderness with which the young royal spoke to the servant. Duncan was
diff
erent from what he remembered about the men and women of court. He was very much like his grandfather as Fleance remembered him.

He stretched. ‘My body has had enough of sitting and is calling me to bed.’ He stood up. ‘Good night, Duncan.’

Duncan looked puzzled. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the stables,’ Fleance said, gathering up his bag and cloak.

‘There’s a cot in my room, man. It would be rude of me to allow my saviour to bed down on straw when there’s a perfectly comfortable bed available.’

Fleance hesitated. The thought of yet another night in a stable was not so appealing as this offer of Duncan’s. But what if the dreams came again? What if he betrayed himself in his sleep. ‘I snore,’ he offered, as a way to allow Duncan to change his mind.

Duncan laughed. ‘So do I, so you may rather sleep with the horses.’

What if the man had been following him? What if he was waiting for him and perhaps meant to do him some harm? He would be much safer in the tavern than exposed in the stables. He made a decision. ‘Thank you, Duncan, I will accept your hospitality.’ He sat down again, still with his bag and cloak in his arms.

Duncan finished his drink and stood up slowly. ‘I feel like I’ve aged twenty years,’ he said, rubbing his back. ‘I think I’ll be stiff and sore in the morning.’ He moved off towards his room and Fleance followed.

His father was angry. Fleance had never seen him like this before. He couldn’t hear what he was saying but Banquo was shouting at him, fists clenched, then fists shaking in his face. What had he done wrong? Why was his father so furious? ‘What, Da?’ he called out. ‘What’s the matter?’ But Banquo just paced backwards and forwards. It was awful and Fleance felt like he was a boy again, caught being unkind to Blair. ‘I didn’t do it, Da. Promise. It wasn’t me.’ Still his father raged against him. If only he could hear what he was saying Fleance might understand what the transgression was. ‘Please, just tell me what I’ve done.’ Banquo grabbed him and began shaking him. Then the dream worsened for blood began flowing from his father’s mouth. Banquo seemed unaware and continued to shake him so that the front of Fleance’s coat and hands were covered in blood.

Fleance awoke with a start, panting. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He felt sick. The dream was so real and he searched his mind for a memory that would match what he’d just seen. But his father had never lost his temper with him even though Fleance would often disobey him or do the wrong thing. Banquo was ever patient and gentle. Quite the opposite of his son. Fleance had often heard the older servants say that the temper had jumped from his grandfather on his deathbed and into the swollen belly of his mother.

He turned the dream over and over. What was meant by the blood? Mentally, he shook himself. It was just a dream. He was tired. The past few weeks had been very difficult. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him and he was thinking about the men he’d killed.

It made for a disturbed night. Instead of accompanying the king’s nephew, he would rather have another day and night of sleep. But at the cock’s crow, Fleance understood this was not to be. There were other forces in place which seemed to be dictating his actions.

He sat up, his head pounding. Whether it was from the poor night or the ale, he didn’t know. He looked over to where Duncan slept but the bed was empty, the covers thrown back. A small worm of concern moved inside his stomach and Fleance tried to ignore it. It was likely Duncan was relieving himself.

The door opened and Duncan appeared. He smiled at Fleance. ‘You didn’t snore but you do talk in your sleep.’

Fleance froze. ‘What did I say?’

‘I couldn’t understand a word of it but I guessed you weren’t dreaming of a lass unless you’ve grieved one and she’s come back to give you a tongue lashing.’ He sat on his bed and began to unwrap the bandage. ‘When you’ve got a wife, you better warn her about it as she may find it less tolerable than snoring.’

Though he offered them light jest, Duncan had no idea how his words pained Fleance for he immediately thought again of his Rosie. He climbed out of bed and pulled on his boots trying to ignore the ache in his heart. ‘I will go see to the horses and order a meal.’ He indicated Duncan’s arm. ‘Do you need help with that?’

Duncan shook his head. ‘My sister is skilled in healing and I’ve seen her do this often enough.’ He took the final wrap and held up his arm. ‘’Tis clean and no sign of rot, thank goodness.’ He picked up the pot of cream and began to apply a thick coat to the bite marks. ‘I’ll tell my wee Bree that she better pray the wolf had no werewolf in him else her brother is likely to turn at the full moon.’

Fleance put on his cloak. Duncan sitting there chatting reminded him how different the two of them were. Unlike himself, Duncan had few worries or burdens and had lived a privileged life. A life that would have been very much his had his father not been murdered.

To mask his sudden bitterness, he went out.

The morning was wet and the sky fragile. The air was still cold from the north but the worst of the storm was over. Light mist floated above the fields and it swirled and curled around the legs of the cattle as they grazed. Fleance strode over to the stables, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding lands in case he saw the stranger again. They were deserted.

In contrast to the quiet outside, the stable was noisy and full of
activit
y. The horses had already been fed and one hand was
grooming
Willow, who was swishing his tail and stamping his feet bad-
temp
eredly.
‘He’s not a morning horse,’ Fleance said to the stablehand.

‘Aye, I can tell.’ He picked up Willow’s hoof and began clearing it out. Fleance got to his horse just in time as Willow was about to nip the man’s rear end.

‘That will do, Willow,’ he said, pulling the horse’s large head around. ‘Mind your manners.’ He lifted the bridle from the hook and began tacking up his horse. He looked over to Duncan’s
horse an
d saw that it was dozing in its stall as the hands prepared him for the day. Mild-mannered, like his owner, Fleance thought.

When he had tied up his bags and everything was ready, he led Willow to the front of the inn and tethered him. He went inside to have his breakfast. Duncan was already at the table eating, a clean bandage visible underneath the cuff of his shirt.

Duncan smiled at him as he sat down. ‘How are the horses?’

‘I think they had a more restful night than we did,’ Fleance said. He bit into the hot sausage from his plate. ‘How far is it, to this place we’re going to?’

‘Forres is still some distance. Will take us two days to reach it.’

‘Providing we don’t encounter any wolves,’ Fleance quipped. ‘Two-legged or four.’

‘Indeed,’ Duncan said. ‘I have a feeling, with your wit and words, the journey will not be as tedious as I had expected.’

They finished their breakfast and accepted a gift of food for the road and went out into the cold morning.

Phoenix and Willow stood waiting; Willow impatiently, a mood shared by his rider. The sooner he could get this over and done with, the sooner he could return to England and his Rosie – if she would forgive him and have him back.

Rosie
England

It was as if there was no future: nothing to look forward to; not spring, summer, not any festivals. In the past, always, there was the anticipation of the next time she would see Flea. Now, the future was empty. Rosie drifted around the cottage in mourning. She hardly ate and no longer sang or smiled. The heaviness of grief sat on her shoulders.

‘What shall I do?’ Rebecca asked Dougal, finding him splitting wood in the workshop.

He put down his tools. ‘Nothing. ’Tis a broken heart and only time – and another beau – will fix it.’

Rebecca swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps if you hadn’t made him choose . . .’

‘I did the right thing by her,’ Dougal growled. ‘Which is more than I can say for that boy.’

Rosie, from her position at the kitchen table, could hear her parents arguing. She agreed with her mother: Da pushed Flea’s hand, but then Flea was at fault too – he’d kept things from her, important things – whereas she had opened her heart and life to him. It was not fair. She had done nothing wrong so why was she being punished this way? Why had he been brought into her life only to be taken?

If he had been killed, it would have been better than it was now. Now, she felt the sting of his rejection. He was still a living, breathing, speaking being and she could not be with him. This was hell.

As she thought these things and as the quarrel between her parents washed over her, a shift occurred. She would not be the victim of foolish men whose idea of honour mattered more than the welfare of others. She, an only child, adored by her father, and strengthened by what she had heard, made a decision.

She loved Flea and would love him forever. But she could not stay in this cottage a virgin widow.
He might come back
, one part of her whispered.
He said he would come back. He said he loved me.

But,
argued the other side of her mind,
he left you.
Without warning, as was often the case these past weeks, the tears began to fall again.

She sighed deeply and stood up, wiping them away. Her parents were still arguing but the heat had gone out of their exchange. Rosie took a jug and went outside to fill it with water then carried it into her father’s shed. Rebecca and Dougal fell silent.