Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (24 page)

To come to his chambers would no longer be appropriate; nor would being alone to do what he imagined she needed to do. ‘I am starved. Could we meet in Morag’s kitchen – when you are ready?’

‘Aye. I will be there presently.’ She gave Bree a wee nudge. ‘Come along, Bree. You have need of some quiet time.’

Fleance could not help but suppress a smile. Bree and Rachel both, it seemed. He walked down the cold stone stairs which were used by the family and key servants as access to the main kitchen. Fleance had never gone this way alone, though many a time Duncan had pointed out the door to him: ‘Need a quick bite of food or drink – there’s your route. Straight to the heart of the castle.’

The smells, noise and heat washed over him before he’d reached the last few steps. When Fleance opened the wooden door, he was unprepared for the sights and sounds which confronted him: colour and steam and movement and music and noise and a wonderful aroma of roasting meat and sweet foods almost sent him back up the staircase. He was already exhausted from his day. To contend with this, might be too much.

‘Young Fleance,’ a throaty voice called from deep within the chaos. ‘Are you here to peel the vegetables?’ A woman chuckled. It was Morag.

‘Sorry, Morag,’ he teased. ‘I have no skill with a knife.’ Morag roared with laughter, many cooks and maids joining her. ‘I’ve been sent by Rachel to wait. I’ve hurt my shoulder and she has a remedy.’ Fleance caught the looks between the kitchen staff.

Morag came over to him and pulled him over to an alcove off the kitchen. ‘Rachel knows what she is doing. Sit here, Sire, and she will come soon, once she’s dealt with that tempestuous child.’

Fleance sat on the hard bench and leant against the wall. He observed the busy movements of the staff. Morag, impressively, had it all under control and those who flittered in and out of the kitchen respected her directions. Her niece, Charissa, however, seemed far removed from the frantic nature of her post: she
quietly pla
ced
vegetables
in their cooking pots, took bread from the oven,
peeled ca
rrots to place in the boiling pans and still thought enough to fill her aunt’s cup with water for it was suffocatingly hot in this place. Yes. He could see why Duncan was enamoured: not only was she extraordinarily pretty, but she was peacefulness personified. Balm for the young prince’s soul.

Outside, the snow turned to ice and the water could not be pulled from the well without a fellow descending the walls to break through the ice. Morag, the general of the kitchen, ordered young servants to scale the slippery insides of the castle’s inner well to smash the ice so that they had clean drinking water. She had another group go out into the field to bring in snow to be used for the daily needs of the castle.

Fleance watched all the effort that went into ensuring that none of the family knew how much effort was required to keep them all comfortable. Simply they, blessed children of Donalbain, needed comfort at this time. How wonderful, he thought, that there were kind souls such as Morag and Charissa, who went about their daily duties with a generous heart for those they served and loved. To be the benefactor of such care as well made Fleance feel blessed indeed.

He was about to leave, thinking Rachel had forgotten, when she came through the wee wooden door. In her hand was a bowl and over her arm a towel. ‘Fleance,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry you had to wait long. Bree was . . . most uncooperative.’ He saw Mor
ag smirk.

‘You’ve a very kind way of saying the bairn’s a brat and has tested the patience of every saint in the castle,’ Morag said, at the same time pointing out to a kitchen hand to rescue a pot that was spilling over.

Rachel sighed. ‘She is hard work, Morag, but you know I don’t like to give the child a name lest she grows into it.’ She turned to Fleance. ‘Now, let’s see to these aches.’

‘I am grateful for your time, Rachel. I haven’t experienced this difficulty nor pain in a very long time.’

She set down her tools and, dispassionately, undid his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders. ‘Your limbs have a memory of their ability but they do not acknowledge illness or injury. We need to remind them that, though they can be strong and mighty, it is not without effort.’ She rubbed her hands vigorously and then scooped a great wad of wax-like substance from the bowl. Again, she rubbed her hands and then applied them to his shoulders. The heat at once was like a knife but he did not move and then, with her firm manipulations, it began to ease the pain.

Fleance groaned. It was both very sore but such a relief. Rachel continued to press her fingers into the very strips of his muscles. He hung his head. At once he wanted to cry and call out at the pleasure and the pain. Still she massaged his taut limbs and the salve clearly was right for him.

‘There’s magic in your hands, Rachel,’ he said, his throat
constricted
.

She stopped. ‘Do not speak to me about magic,’ she scolded in the same tone he’d heard her use with Bree. ‘That is foolish talk. ’Tis but a salve – my mother’s recipe.’

‘Sorry. I did not mean to offend. It was just a figure of speech.’ He was annoyed with himself that he had upset her.

‘I understand but you know the ways of this castle somewhat and the store some put in foolish words.’ She resumed her manipulation of his muscles. He did not want her to stop but after ten minutes, Rachel wiped her hands and stood up. ‘The ointment will do its work. You should eat something and then rest.’

Fleance tried to stand up but wavered, so quickly sat back down on the stool, not wanting Rachel to see him so weak.

Morag came to his rescue. ‘Wee Rachel. The man has been training most of the day. Let me attend him now. You go. Bless you and, on my part, give wee Bree a smack on the arse.’

He heard Rachel laugh but it was too hot and too much.
Groggily
, he allowed Morag to lead him up the stairs. She’d already sent a message to Duncan who met them outside Fleance’s chamber. ‘I’ll take him from here,’ Duncan said and put his shoulder under Fleance’s arm. ‘What have you been up to, my friend?’ he asked.

Fleance rolled onto his bed and tried to kick off his boots. ‘Your sister rubbed some type of balm into my burning muscles. I think I became overwhelmed by its healing.’ The damn boots wouldn’t pull off.

‘Here,’ Duncan said, with laughter in his voice. ‘They won’t come free if you don’t unlace them.’ He quickly removed the straps and pulled off the boots. ‘Are you sure it was only Rachel’s cream that overwhelmed you?’ Duncan said grinning.

Fleance looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Perhaps her kindness and beauty is also working on your heart?’

He threw a cushion at Duncan. ‘Go away and leave me to rest.’

Laughing, Duncan did as he was told. But, in the darkness, Fleance could feel Rachel’s hands once again on his shoulders and back. He turned over and tried to concentrate on the manoeuvres he would work on tomorrow in his training session, pushing thoughts of Rachel from his mind.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T
he next morning, Fleance’s head ached. He had not drunk much but yesterday he had pushed himself physically. Though the winter months normally called for hibernation, the men could not rest, for secret armies were planning an offensive against the king.

Macduff had arrived at the castle to work with Fleance and the other leaders within the ranks. ‘You need to train your body and mind to move without thinking for there is no time for such things in the heat of battle,’ he told them. His thoughts turned back to the times Magness trained him. There had sometimes been a feverish intensity to those workouts.
No, lad! You must not give up. Trust your inner rage at these times for it will save your life. And, maybe, those you love!

Fleance watched as he showed Blair a routine which had his friend step forward, using a back hand to swing the sword and then bringing the shield in his left hand up to block while the sword finished its arc and came down the other side. If it hadn’t been for such a deadly purpose, it would have been considered quite a
beautiful
dance.

Macduff was patient with Blair and though Fleance shivered in the cold morning, he wondered about the battles Macduff had fought in, the fights he had won and lost, and whether he was plagued by the memories of them.

Soon it was Fleance’s turn and he, along with five other fellows, repeated the exercise Macduff had shown them. They trained all morning and, after a meal, into the afternoon unaware that sometime, during that same clear, cold day, Calum mounted his horse, rode out of the castle gates and did not return.

At first, Donalbain was annoyed; then he became concerned and sent soldiers out to scout for the advisor but each one came back empty-handed. It was as if the pale, blond man had disappeared into the snow.

It was a strange thing that Calum had gone from the palace and not returned. Nor had he given word as to where he was going. This, more than anything, distressed Donalbain violently. ‘He has been murdered,’ Donalbain shouted at supper time when the last post came. ‘My good, wise counsellor, struck done by a foul traitor.’ He paced wildly in the great hall, his hands and arms flailing around his body. ‘I shall find who has done this and, when I do, that
day h
e will draw his last breath.’ He stormed out of the room and they could hear him shouting through the castle.

Fleance saw Rachel and Duncan exchange looks, rise from their stools and quickly follow the king.

Blair leant over and whispered, ‘Does this happen often?’ Fleance gave a quick nod. Blair raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d heard the rumours about the king’s behaviour but I thought it was
exaggerat
ion.’ He lifted his fork and pointed in the direction of the retreating siblings. ‘What will happen now?’

Fleance exhaled sharply. ‘I think it wise, my friend, to ask no questions. The walls have ears and men are not always as safe in their beds as they are led to believe.’

A slow flush of red crawled up Blair’s neck. ‘Sorry, Sire,’ he said quietly and went back to his meal.

Fleance also finished his meal but it sat like a cold stone in his stomach. What had happened to Calum? The man had always made him nervous and it appeared Duncan neither liked nor trusted him. Yet, there must be something powerful about the advisor to hold such sway over Donalbain’s thoughts and moods.

He wiped his fingers and mouth with the warm cloth offered by the manservant and stood up. ‘Tomorrow, then, Blair. We will practise our sword work and the moves Macduff has shown us.’ Blair nodded, his face still slightly red. ‘Good. Not too much wine tonight for we have a lot of new strategies to test and learn.’

Fleance stepped away from the table of his men and went in search of Duncan.

His friend was not in his chambers, nor the kitchen nor the courtyard. Eventually, he came across Preston who seemed
more age
d and worried that ever before. ‘Preston,’ Fleance called. ‘Have you seen the prince?’

‘Aye, Sire. He and his sister are in the blue room.’

Fleance hesitated. Though he had been there a few times with Duncan, he had never gone there uninvited. ‘Would you send word to him that I wish to speak on a matter of importance.’

Preston gave his strange bow. ‘If you could come with me, Sire, I shall announce you for I am certain that the prince and princess would warmly welcome your company.’ As he followed the advisor down the halls, Fleance turned the old man’s words over and over. Fleance was somewhat uncomfortable with both of the king’s advisors, but Preston had been with the family a very long time. Though it had not gone unnoticed that the old man had wandering eyes, especially the way he regarded Rachel, he appeared steadfastly loyal to the family.

They came to the outer door and Preston knocked on
ce. ‘Com
e,’ Duncan’s voice could be heard deep within the chambers. Preston opened the door, entered and closed it behind him, leaving Fleance to study the jumping shadows of the torches which lined the great corridor. A moment later, Preston returned. ‘Prince Duncan welcomes you,’ he said and opened the door for Fleance.

The room inside was its normal warm and comforting place. Rachel sat on a low chair beside the fire, rolling strips of bleached material and Duncan stood against the mantle, a drink in his hand. Both looked downcast and exhausted.

‘How is the king?’ Fleance asked, standing in the middle of t
he room.

‘I have given him something that will help him sleep,’ Rachel answered. ‘When he gets agitated so, he sleeps little, which only further aggravates his moods.’

‘Sit,’ Duncan said, motioning to the other low chair beside Rachel. ‘Would you have a drink?’

‘Aye. But just one. I’ve told my men they must be ready to train tomorrow and I need them with clear heads. Best I do likewise.’ Fleance took the drink and sat down.

‘Preston said you wished to talk with us,’ Duncan said.

Fleance could feel his face warm at the exposure of his lie. ‘Actually, I just wanted an excuse to come join you and I didn’t want to say those words to the old man.’ Fleance grinned sheepishly.

Duncan stared at him for a moment and then threw his head back as he roared with laughter. Even Rachel grinned at him.

‘Have you not yet understood your place here, Fleance? You are as close as kin. You don’t need permission to speak with me or Rachel.’

‘We welcome your company any time, Fleance,’ Rachel said, smiling at him.

Fleance felt himself relaxing. ‘Thank you,’ he said, leaning back into the chair.

‘I am not certain,’ Rachel said, continuing a conversation she was having with her brother before Fleance’s arrival, ‘that Preston is up to task of advising Father on how to manage this war.’

‘That may be,’ Duncan said. ‘But we still have the valued skills and knowledge of the thanes and earls. Lennox, Ross, Angus and Macduff have each pledged men and weaponry when the time comes. Fleance here has our men in hand. ’Tis not like the family is unused to battle.’

‘Agreed,’ Rachel continued. ‘But with Father in the state of mind he is in, who’s to say that some of the leaders will pull out if they sense their king would put them at unnecessary risk?’

Fleance listened to the two of them discussing strategies and personalities as if they were appointed heads of state rather than siblings with an unstable father. From Duncan’s attention to detail and Rachel’s calm but firm enquiries into these details came a clear plan of how and what to do come spring – whether their father was in a right mind or not.

Yet, as they talked, Fleance became mesmerised by Rachel’s swift hands as she sorted and rolled the strips of cloth. It took him a moment to realise she was rolling bandages, and it occurred to him that she, too, might be caught up in the fray, attending to the wounded and dying.

A shudder passed through him and she looked up. ‘Are you not well, Fleance?’ She stood up and came over to him, pressing her soft hand to his forehead. She frowned. ‘You don’t feel too warm.’

Fleance cleared his throat. Suddenly the cosiness of the room, the drink and close proximity to her was overwhelming. He took her hand from his face and kissed the back of it. Then he stood up. ‘Thank you for your concern, Princess,’ he said formally and somewhat stiffly. ‘Good night.’ He hurried to the door.

‘Fleance,’ Rachel called after him. He turned, heart still pounding. ‘Do not push yourself too hard just yet.’

He nodded but grinned at Duncan. ‘I will take it slowly for Duncan’s sake.’

Duncan snorted. ‘I can manage whatever you can.’

Rachel sighed. ‘You two are like bucks in the spring.’ She finished her roll and picked up another. ‘You’re on the same side.’ She smiled at Fleance. ‘Rest well.’

Fleance looked over at Duncan who raised an eyebrow and gave him a knowing grin. Fleance shook his head and disappeared into the coolness of the corridor.

It had been a week since Calum’s strange disappearance. The king had rarely been sighted, spending most of his days and nights in his chambers. This morning, after a night of snow, the day had dawned bright. Duncan and Fleance arose early as Macduff was teaching Duncan and Fleance some more moves with the sword. They had not been practising long when Donalbain came running down the steps. The two young men stopped what they were doing.

‘What is the matter, Father?’ Duncan called. Donalbain seemed not to hear him but headed off in the direction of the stables. ‘Father?’ he called after him but the king ignored his cries. Fleance reached for his friend’s sword. ‘Thank you,’ Duncan said, his face grim as he hurried after the retreating figure of the king.

Fleance sheathed the weapons and handed them to one of the waiting soldiers. ‘The prince and I will resume our practice later, if you are willing,’ he told Macduff. He looked over to the stables. Should he go there and lend support to Duncan or would it be best if he stayed out of the king’s way? The second option, while preferable, was not one a brave man could take and so, taking a deep breath, he followed Duncan.

Before he got to the stable doors, he heard Donalbain shouting and Duncan’s calm voice. When Fleance arrived in the warm dark building, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The king and his son were standing side by side while nervous stablehands rushed around preparing Donalbain’s horse.

Suddenly, Donalbain saw Fleance and gave a strangled cry. ‘You,’ he pointed. ‘You hang around our home like a malignant omen. Ever since you came upon our family, terrible things have happened.’

‘Father, no,’ Duncan pleaded. ‘Fleance is not to blame for th
e war.’

Still the king glared. ‘I shall know for certain after I speak with the sisters.’

‘Father,’ Duncan said again. ‘Do you think it wise to travel
with th
is much snow? Could you not wait a day or two until the weather improves?’

A stablehand led out the king’s horse but now stood uncertainly beside it.

‘I will go. You need have no fear for my life from any man for that is what they prophesised.’ He motioned for the hand to bring his horse outside. Duncan helped his father mount. ‘I will be back before nightfall,’ he said and then kicked his horse into a canter. Fleance barely got out of the way as horse and rider rushed past.

They watched him go and once again Fleance had to remind himself that what he was witnessing was not some silly child’s behaviour but the actions of the King of Scotland. He turned to Duncan. ‘Should we send someone with him?’

‘Aye. He is a fool to go from the castle alone.’ They began walking back. ‘Sometimes his passion makes him forget reason.’

‘Passion?’

‘All my life I’ve heard him talk about the way Scotland should be ruled. About how he would do it much better than my grandfather and then my Uncle Malcolm. I don’t think he ever believed he would one day become king and now, I fear, he is trying to make up for what he sees as decades of poor rule, seeking counsel upon counsel from those hags whom he believes will give him knowledge of the future and therefore power.’ They walked up the wet steps. ‘He has the drive, Fleance, but not the wisdom which should attend it.’ As they walked through the large doors, two servants came forward and took their heavy cloaks. ‘He is not a bad man, my father.’

Fleance listened to his friend’s concerned tone and wished he could do something to take some of the burden. ‘I will send Blair and another to follow his tracks and ensure his safety.’

‘Thank you,’ Duncan said. ‘He is prone to forget the needs of his body when he is distracted by the supernatural.’

Fleance took his cloak again and shrugged it on before heading out into the bright, cold morning. He was uncertain how
Donalbain
would react when he learnt two of his soldiers had followed him so, as he walked to one of the wooden huts on the palace grounds which housed the soldiers, he mulled over what it was he should tell the young sergeant.

He found the men chucking dice but sought out Blair who was mending a shirt. ‘Sergeant,’ he called and Blair looked up. ‘Choose a good horseman – one who can keep a secret – and meet me at t
he stables.’