Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (22 page)

Perhaps she and Da had misheard and he was coming
tomorrow
? But she recounted his words as he held her hand
I will see you tomorrow, my love; before darkness falls, you will have me again.
And then the promise he made to Da:
Nothing, save death, will keep me from her, Dougal – I give you my word.
So, then, where was he? Had he been injured? Had he been attacked?

A jolt of fear swept through her. That was it. She sat up and lit the stub of candle. It fizzed into life and she got out of bed a
nd thr
ew a shawl around her shoulders. She took up the candle and went to her parents’ room. There was light coming from under the door so she knocked.

‘Come,’ Dougal called. When she opened the door, both he and Ma were sitting up in bed – they had probably been discussing the events of the evening. ‘What is it, child?’

‘I think Flea has been hurt. We should send some fellows to go look for him,’ Rosie said. ‘Perhaps send a messenger to Glamis castle.’ Her parents looked at each other. ‘Please, Da. I know him and I know that he is a man of honour. He promised me and you. I’m certain that if he could, he would be here now.’

Dougal sighed. ‘All right, Rosie. In the morning, we will send someone to the castle to find out where he is. And some fellows to check along the way in case he is hurt.’

Rosie let out an unsteady sigh. ‘Thank you, Father,’ she said with formality. ‘I know you are cross with him still but now that you know his story, you can understand why he had to leave.’
Dougal
grunted and Rebecca put a hand on his arm. ‘He loves me and I him. We are meant for each other just as you and Ma are – I’ve heard you say so many times when you thought I was asleep.’

Ma smiled at her. ‘Yes, my dear sweet daughter. He is to you as your father was to me when I was your age. And it wasn’t easy for us then either.’

‘Rebecca, no,’ Dougal said quietly.

‘She’s old enough to know,’ Rebecca said. Dougal frowned but even then Rosie could tell his father had relented. Her mother patted the bed beside her. ‘Come, sit, dear. And let me tell you my story.’ She held up her hands, twisted and swollen. ‘This began when I was just a child – no more that twelve or thirteen. Your father here, he was known well by my parents and though a number of years my senior, had shown a particular fondness for me and my difficulties.’ Rosie looked at her mother’s hands and understood – she had suffered all her life with pain and found it a struggle to do even simple tasks easily.

‘When it came time for me to marry, Dougal asked my father for my hand which was freely and happily given. Unfortunately, he was suddenly called up by the king to help quell an uprising along the border. He did not have time to send me word and, on the day arranged for the wedding, he did not show.’ Rosie gasped and looked at her father who looked away.

‘Do not judge your father, Rosie, for he was under King
Duncan’s
command. My parents believed he had reneged on his promise but I knew better. I knew my Dougal.’ She pulled his calloused hand into her lap. ‘And I knew he loved me as I love him. Whatever was keeping him from me was beyond even his strength.’ With her other hand, she picked up Rosie’s. ‘My dear girl, if you know in your heart that Flea is the one, then he is. Nothing can a
nd w
ill ever stop this from being true. But know this also, sometimes we have to wait for what we are destined for, longer than we think we can bear.’

Rebecca let go the hands of her husband and daughter and took up a drink of water. ‘Some feel they have not the strength nor the patience to wait for such love and decide that good enough is good enough. Me, I waited five long years for your father and because of that, I have spent the last twenty years in joy and happiness.’

Dougal shifted in the bed. ‘Do you think, woman, it is wise to give your child such offerings?’

‘Yes, man. Don’t think to know how hard it was for me to wait for you but I did. And I am pleased to have done so. Flea is a good young man and more than enough for what I should hope for our girl.’

Dougal held up his hands. ‘All right! All right! We will send forth men to find Flea for the good of my daughter’s heart and my marriage bed! So please you, woman, that you don’t use my youth’s adventures against me – it is too much to bear.’

Rebecca turned herself towards her husband. ‘But worth it, my sweet.’ She kissed him lovingly on the cheek and Rosie was bemused to see her father blush. Rebecca faced her daughter. ‘Your father will send out many men to find him. If he is out there as you say he is, then he is striving to be here with you.’

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Thank you, Ma. Da. Thank you,’ she choked and turned away quickly before they saw her tears.

Dear God,
she prayed as she hurried back to her room.
Let him be alive. Please, let him be alive.

The next day, Rosie was up before even the rooster had begun his ritual crowing. She dressed quickly and set about lighting candles and torches throughout the tavern. She made breakfast and woke her father.

Grumbling and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he accepted the breakfast and hot mead. ‘Shall I go wake the lads?’ she asked him, anxious that they got started.

‘No, lass, I will do it. Just let me finish my meal first. The boys will keenly do my bidding but much better if they are not woken at so ungodly an hour.’

Eventually, though, much to Rosie’s relief, Dougal sent out two of his regular stablehands – one to go immediately to the castle and learn word of Flea; the other to search among the roadsides and adjoining ways in case he had met misfortune and was lying ill in a ditch.

Another day and no Flea and no word from the messengers. Rosie was forced to go on working for Da, pouring ale, making beds and providing nourishment for those who were travelling.

Early the next day, the first messenger galloped into the yard. He and his horse were breathing hard. ‘The king’s advisor, himself, a strange pale fellow, sent word. He said that the traitor Fleance was seen leaving the castle gates on Tuesday morning and that he had told the hands he was heading south on the road to England.’

‘England?’ Rosie cried, disbelieving. She turned to Dougal. ‘Did we not tell him we are in Perth?’

‘Aye.’

‘Maybe the king’s advisor was mistaken, for the same road leads to England as it does for Perth,’ Rosie said hopefully.

In the evening, the other young fellow came back and said he saw, along the road and the byways, no sign of anything.

Dougal stood behind the counter and glared. ‘The evidence is clear. He set out from the castle but did not come this way.’ He banged his fist down. ‘The coward has fled!’

‘No,’ Rosie cried. ‘It’s not so. He’s out there.’

Dougal turned to her. ‘Get over yourself, maid. He’s a nobleman and you are a commoner. He cannot and will not be for you. He has made his choice. Don’t wait for him, for he will not com
e. N
ot now; not ever.’

The words were daggers to her heart. It all seemed reasonable but not logical. Flea loved her and she loved him. But where was he? He had said he would be here but he was not and there was no trace of him.

It had been four nights and three days since she had last seen him. He was not coming. There had been no word from anyone though she questioned the travellers who came through the doors of the tavern whether they had seen a young man on a large dark horse. Each answer was the same. No.

Though she had waited and argued with her father, it was clear that Flea would not turn up and they would not be reunited.

Rosie would not sit around waiting for what might be; she loved Flea but he was not here and, yet again, she didn’t know where he was. Father needed help with the business so Rosie continued getting up early, lighting the fires and helping the cook organise the meals. She made the beds and washed t
he lin
en and served the customers, alert always for the sound of Flea’s arrival.

Dougal came out to the yard where she was throwing grain at the chickens. ‘Rosie, love,’ he called, his usual gruff tone taking on a softness. ‘I need you to do an errand for me.’

Rosie stopped flicking and put the bowl on top of a post. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘There is a supplier of good oak planks just south of
Alnwick
, back in England. I hear he has the best quality. I would go myself but there is much to do here and my absence would sorely
affect busin
ess. Take your mother with you and I’ll send along a good strong lad. It would assist me mightily.’

She knew what he was doing. He was offering her a way out – somewhere to go so that she would not be constantly reminded of her disappointment.

‘You’re a fine negotiator, Rosie, and I can think of no better person save myself who would complete the task.’ Da smiled at her and she was suddenly filled with love for his devotion to her.

She flew into his arms. ‘I will do it, Da.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘And I will do it well.’

On the evening of the fourth day, Rosie stood angrily in front of her open window, tears in her eyes.

She was weary. Everyone expected so much of her and she tried so hard to help her mother and Da and be kind and patient but all she wanted to do was crawl away and cry for her place in life. Her bottom lip twitched.
God, all I want to do is to go to bed and pull the covers over my head and never arise. No mother with painful joints; no angry father with ambition; no troubled Scotland and no,
she sobbed,
no lover who has disappeared
.

She gave herself a shake.
Stop behaving like a spoilt child
, she chided herself. There are people worse off. She breathed steadily. She would wait for him until she heard word and she would not tell Dougal of her plans. For now, she would swallow down any sorrow and get busy so that she had little time to think.

Come the morning, she would plan her trip back to England with Ma and, when she returned, she would go find Flea herself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

H
e was lost. The wood was so thick that he could not get his bearings. For three days now he had wandered through the sunless undergrowth hoping to glimpse light which would tell him the forest was coming to an end. He had been unable to find the path that led to Perth and, with Willow gone, he had no way of catching easily something to eat. He was hungry and he was angry.

Who had sent the assassin to kill him? He was no danger to anyone: he was landless and powerless – what possible threat could he be? Surely no one could take the rambling prophecies of three weird women seriously? Who in their right mind would ever look to him as king? Yet again, something beyond his control had intervened to thwart his attempts to reach the one thing he wanted m
ost – t
o be with Rosie.

She would be furious with him. He imagined her silently cursing him, her face frowning in the sweet way it did. And Dougal, sure, when he finally got out of this blasted forest and explained, then Rosie’s father might understand but right now he’d probably be making plans to hang, draw and quarter him.

Get in line,
Fleance thought wryly.

In the distance, he saw light and his hopes rose. He picked up his pace but when he broke through into the sunlight, his heart sank. It was just another small clearing. Fleance stood in the middle and looked around – there was nothing save the trees to give him a landmark. He needed to find a stream and follow it – that was going to be his only hope of getting out.

The one he’d crossed yesterday morning was just a trickle and it was not worth going back although he doubted he would be able to find it anyway. Fleance looked to the sky. The sun was low which meant that direction was west and the way he needed to travel. He turned and went in that direction, crossed over the small clearing and disappeared into the thick forest once more.

By the time the birds started flocking back to the trees, he realised he would be spending yet another evening up in the branches. He had not been able to find another resting place like the first night and resorted to tying himself onto the trunk so that he would not fall out. As he settled himself in for the night, the birds calling and singing around him, he sent a quiet message to Rosie
. I’m coming, sweet. Wait for me.

Fleance was woken before daybreak by the happy sounds of the birds. Their cheerful and optimistic chirruping grated. From his vantage point, he watched a fox and her young scamper past heading in the direction of the way he’d come, the mother with an egg in her mouth.

An egg. It was a chicken’s egg. There must be a cottage or farm somewhere close. Fleance untied himself and climbed down. He drank some water – there was little left – and walked the path from where the fox had come.

It must have been an hour later when he noticed the trees thinning and more sunlight shining down on the floor of the forest. He stopped for a drink and to catch his breath. In the distance he heard a sheep bleating. Yes, he thought. I’m getting closer. He was too sore and weak from hunger to move faster but he now knew he would get free of this dreaded wood.

It wasn’t long after this, he smelt the tang of smoke and then, coming out of the forest suddenly, he was in a clearing and in this clearing was a small cottage.

Fleance went to the door and knocked. A stout woman answered, about the age of Miri. ‘Good morning, madam,’ Fleance said. ‘I have been lost in the woods these past three days and I would be most grateful for a bite to eat and something to drink.’

The woman nodded, ‘Aye, and some patching up as well by the look of you. Come in, lad.’

Once inside the cottage, Fleance smelt something good and then saw that the family was gathered around their table eating. He nodded to them. ‘My name is Flea and I was on my way to Perth when I was attacked.’

The children, there were four, stared at him wide-eyed while their mother dished him a large bowl of porridge. ‘Get this in you,’ she said roughly but not unkindly.

Her husband stood up. He was as stout as his wife but shorter. ‘You are welcome though we don’t have much. Damn foxes keep getting at the chickens and worrying the sheep.’

The porridge was hot and tasteless but his stomach was thankful for it nonetheless. Fleance nodded to the man. ‘I saw a fox and her young come past with an egg in her mouth. She was what got me the idea to head this way.’

The man shook his head. ‘I’d love to catch the wee minx and wring her neck.’

‘If I had my horse, I’d be able to hunt her with my crossbow, but the dang mule left me to fight my attacker alone.’ Fleance caught a glance between husband and wife. ‘You haven’t seen him by any chance? Large, dark brute?’

‘Well, you see, the thing is,’ the man looked nervously at his wife. ‘I found a horse much like your description. I did go out to look for its rider but found nothing so thought him probably dead with a broken neck. I took the horse to the village and sold him to a traveller.’ The shock and despair must have shown on Fleance’s face. ‘I’m sorry, lad, and I’d give you the money but I used it to buy me a milking cow.’

Fleance was lost for words. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had just expected he would find Willow in a clearing, enjoying unlimited feed and they would be reunited. Now, not only had his horse gone for good, but the saddle, sword and his crossbow – everything left in the world which connected him to his father – and were also gone.

The woman went outside and came back with something wrapped in sacking. ‘We kept these because we thought one day we will teach the children how to use them.’ She unwrapped the cloth and there was his sword and bow. ‘I’m sorry for your trouble.’

Fleance stood up and accepted back his weapons. ‘Thank you.’ At least it was something. ‘Maybe I could find that fellow and buy back my horse,’ he said hopefully. ‘Can you show me the way to the village and tell me how far it is to Perth?’

The man took him outside and, in the dirt, drew a crude map explaining to Fleance the direction he should take. ‘The fellow might still be there, lad, for it was just yesterday I did the trade. It’s half a day’s walk to the place and then another half day’s walk to Perth.’

His wife came out with some bread and cheese. ‘For your
journey
.’

With mixed feelings of frustration and relief, Fleance said his goodbyes with both man and woman apologising profusely. Fleance forgave them. How could they have known?

Fleance eventually came upon the village just as the farmer had said. It had taken much longer than the promised time for his aching body hindered him from moving as fast as he would normally go. The sun was making its way down when he located the busy tavern and went in to enquire after Willow. ‘I fell from my horse,’ Fleance explained. ‘I came upon a couple who say they found him and sold him here yesterday. I would very much like to be able to buy him back.’

The innkeeper nodded. ‘Aye, there was a fellow came and asked if anyone was interested in the horse outside. The man who bought your horse is still abed after a somewhat late night carousing. I don’t want no trouble.’

‘If you would be so kind as to wake him and tell him I would like to meet.’

The innkeeper hurried off, throwing his cleaning cloth to one of the maids and disappeared out the back. Fleance bought a drink and sat at a table, his head throbbing and his cut lip still stinging.

He had drained the tankard by the time the innkeeper returned with a grey-faced man who looked decidedly the worse for wear. Fleance stood and motioned to the man to sit and for the innkeeper to bring him some ale.

‘I understand,’ the man began, ‘you have some business with me regarding that damn fool horse I bought yesterday?’

Fleance suppressed a smile. Willow was bad tempered at the best of times. He would not take too kindly to a stranger trying to ride him. ‘Aye. The cottager who sold him thought his rider dead. I am that rider and, as you can see, very much alive. I will pay you what you paid for him if you would return him to me.’

The man eyed him balefully. ‘What’s he to you? I can’t saddle him; he’s tetchy and ill tempered. And he’s old. I think the ale I drank yesterday made him appear much better than he is.’

‘He is my father’s horse and the only thing left of him for he was killed ten years ago.’

‘You’d waste your gold on nostalgia?’

‘Yes, but I am in need of a horse as well.’

The man downed his drink and stood. ‘Right then, it seems God has forgiven me my foolishness and given me a way out of it. Let’s go see this beast of yours.’

Fleance paid for the drinks and followed the man, who still walked unsteadily, towards the stables. There was Willow, his tail swishing. Fleance checked him over. There was a long cut down one leg and grazes along his back.

‘Hey, Willow,’ Fleance called and the horse turned to him. For the first time since he could remember, Willow appeared was pleased to see him. ‘Where is the saddle?’

‘It’s no good,’ the man said. ‘It’s busted. He must have rolled on it.’ He told Fleance what he paid for Willow and what he wanted. They briefly haggled over the price so that finally it was an amount Fleance could afford.

He retrieved the last three coins in his bag and handed them over. ‘We are even,’ he said and shook the man’s sweaty hand.

At least Willow had not torn the reins, and after strapping his sword and bow to his back, he climbed up on the horse and set out towards Perth.

Both man and horse were not in the best of spirits as they plodded along the road. Fleance had no more gold left and the only things he had of value were his father’s sword and his crossbow but he did not want to spend another wretched night in the open. After days of sunny weather, the sky was dark with clouds and it was sure to rain soon.

‘We will have to find ourselves some shelter, Willow.’ Fleance scanned the fields to his left and right, searching for some type of building but there was nothing. He did not want to stop until he found some sort of safe place. The light had all but gone from the sky and the moon was obscured by the cloud, its intermittent light throwing up strange shapes and shadows.

Just then, he spotted a light in the distance. Maybe he could ask to sleep in their stables. He urged Willow on and as they approached the building it took on shape. It was a beacon in the darkness and Fleance breathed a sigh of relief – it was a church. In fact, it was the very abbey where the new king had enjoyed
communion
. Scone.

Fleance slipped off Willow’s back and banged on the church door. He waited a good while but then heard muffled footsteps. T
he do
or swung open and light flooded out.

‘Father,’ Fleance said. ‘I would ask for a night’s repose for me and my horse. I am down on my luck but give thanks for this
providential
abbey.’

The door swung wider. ‘Come in, my son,’ the softly spoken friar said. ‘I will send someone to tend your horse. We have just enjoyed vespers and you are welcome to sit with us for supper.’

‘Thank you,’ Fleance said and he followed the friar through the church and to the inner rooms.

The monks attended his cuts and bruises and filled him with roasted lamb and cooked vegetables. It was on a full stomach and a weary body he crawled into the small cot and, despite the loud snores bouncing around the room, he was soon fast asleep.

That night he slept soundly and without dreams.

The next morning, the monks gave him a large breakfast and a long prayer for his safety and he was on his way. They said he would come across Perth before mid-morning. For this he was thankful because rain had started up early and persisted the whole way. It was not enough, however, to dampen his hopes because very shortly he knew he would see Rosie and it was these thoughts of her which sustained him despite the battered state of his body.

Before he knew it, he was at the top of a small incline and the village of Perth was below. Fleance spied the tavern and happily coaxed his weary horse down the hill. With his heart beating fast, he slid off Willow, tied him up and went into the tavern. Dougal was behind the bar and looked up as he came in.

Suddenly and with a roar, Rosie’s father rushed him, knocking him out of the tavern and onto his backside. ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ he cried. ‘I don’t know what your excuse is this time but you’ll never see her again while I live.’

Fleance was stunned. Painfully, he stood up. ‘I was set upon, Dougal. Look at me. See my wounds.’

Dougal hesitated and took in Fleance’s injuries. With a sigh he mopped his face and sat heavily on the railing outside the tavern. ‘Ah, Flea,’ he sighed wearily. ‘I can see you’ve come to some kind of trouble, but lad, she waited and waited for you. Now, I’ve sent her away. She’s not here and you will not find her.’

‘What? But I came for her as I promised.’

‘Actions speak louder than any pretty promises. She’s better off without you, especially now with your new position.’

‘No, you’re wrong,’ Fleance cried. ‘You should know that makes no difference to me.’

‘Fer God’s sake man, stop being so dense. You need to face the truth of the matter. There’s always been something canny about yo
u –
not the same as us. Now my suspicions are proven right.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘Now, away with you, Flea. Go back to your castle. Forget about her as I have told her to forget about you. Go find yourself another because you have lost Rosie for good.’ Then he stomped back into the tavern and slammed the door shut, leaving Fleance outside in the rain, his heart breaking, no food, no gold, nowhere to go – but worse than all of this, no Rosie.