Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (28 page)

But what pierced Rosie’s heart was the way Flea was
looking
at the woman – laughing and open, her beloved Flea sharing something of great amusement with this other woman who was so
obviously
in love with him.

She couldn’t see him now, it had been wrong to come here after so long; foolish, foolish girl that she was to even think he could still love her.

Quickly she turned and made to leave the room but in her haste she stumbled into a side table and a large, ornate vase crashed to the floor.

The party on the landing stopped their talk and looked her way.

Flea blanched.

‘Rosie,’ he cried. ‘My God, is that you?’

Rosie swept from the room, even as Flea cried out for her
to wait.

He caught her at the doorway and spun her around to face him.

‘It is you,’ he whispered, ‘after all this time. I can’t believe it.’

Then his face hardened and he looked like the old Flea on a bad day.

‘Why did you not wait for me?’

She lifted her head, clenching her jaw, a buried anger returning.

‘You had vanished without a trace,’ she said, her voice quiet but hard. ‘We sent a messenger to the castle and they told us that you had gone to England.’

Flea shook his head. ‘That is a lie! I came as fast as I could but fate intervened, Rosie. First I was attacked and Willow left me; then I was lost in the woods.’ He looked at her. ‘I was delayed but by f
ive days.’

‘You promised—’ she began.

‘Aye and I kept my promise.’ He looked alone, lost, and she wanted to reach out and touch him but pride kept her hands by her sides.

‘I believed nothing would separate us,’ he sighed.

‘It seems,’ she said, ‘your belief was misplaced.’

‘Rosie,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing has changed.’

‘
Everything
is changed, Flea,’ she hissed. ‘We cannot go back to what we were – foolish young things caught up in ourselves.’

She went to step away from him but he reached for her. ‘That may be true for some things but of this I am certain: my love for you, Rosie, has never faltered.’

For a moment she wavered, but then remembered her purpose. Gently, she took his hand from her arm and held it in hers. ‘Keavy is with me. I need your help.’

A look of concern flashed across his face. ‘Is she hurt?’

‘No, but she needs a home. Magness is gone and Miri is . . . dying.’ It was hard to say the word. ‘She sent me here to you.’

‘She sent you? You did not come of your own will?’

She wanted to tell him: yes, I came willingly. I needed to see you. I need to be with you. But none of these words could she utter. She saw him watching her, waiting for her to tell him yes, she came of her own free will. She heard his sigh when she kept silent.

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

‘Outside. In the wagon. I will take you to her.’ She picked up her skirts and walked out the door, aware of the sound of his soft breathing as he followed her.

It was colder and Rosie worried that she had been too long in the castle but, when they got to the wagon, Keavy was happily talking with a woman from the kitchen.

‘I see she’s made friends with our Morag already,’ Flea said.

At the sound of their approach, Keavy turned and for a moment sat completely still. Then she let out a squeal of delight and threw herself from the wagon into Flea’s arms. ‘Flea! Flea!’ she cried. ‘It’s me – Keavy!’

Flea laughed. ‘Aye, bairn, I know that.’

‘Do you live here?’ she asked, her face suddenly serious. ‘Are you the king?’

‘No. Our king is Duncan.’

Keavy looked over at Rosie, a bit put out. ‘Flea is a general in the king’s army,’ Rosie explained.

‘Morag,’ Flea said to the woman. ‘I’m taking my girls inside. Could you arrange for their sleep and some food?’

The woman curtsied. ‘Aye, Sire.’

This formality made Keavy giggle. He put the child down and grabbed her hand. ‘Your fellows will find warmth and rest for themselves and the horses at the stables,’ he said. ‘As for you two, you need warming up.’

The royal family were seated in the dining hall when Flea, Rosie and Keavy returned and Rosie saw they had interrupted a quarrel. A young girl was sitting with her arms crossed and her face red, an expression sour enough as to turn Da’s ale. The blonde woman was quietly and urgently speaking with her. The young king was frowning at the two of them.

Flea coughed politely. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said formally. ‘This is my adoptive sister, Keavy, and this,’ he put his hand on the small of her back, ‘is Rosie.’

The king stood but not before Rosie caught a look between him and his sister. ‘Welcome. We have heard much about you. My sisters, Rachel,’ Rachel smiled warmly at them, ‘and Bree,’ who glowered.

‘I’m Keavy,’ Keavy said to the sulking child at the table. ‘Do you want to be friends?’

‘Can you tell stories?’ Bree asked, the red fading in her face.

‘Some, but I’m better with my lute. Rosie tells great stories.’

‘So does Rachel,’ Bree answered. ‘She’s the best storyteller in the whole world.’

Keavy grinned. This challenge did not faze her and Rosie glanced at Rachel who was looking kindly at the two children. ‘Then we shall have lots of stories tonight,’ Keavy said.

Flea put his hand on the bairn’s head. ‘No, Keavy. Not tonight. You have had a long journey and I can see our Rosie is tired.’ Rosie heard his words but her eyes were glued to his hand which played with Keavy’s hair.

She shuddered. She must not think back to those times for it would only stir the feelings for him she had pushed deep down away from her heart.

‘I have asked Morag to make ready a chamber. I’ll take them to her. If you will excuse us?’

Duncan nodded his head and Rosie could feel his eyes boring into her back as she left the great hall.

Once Keavy was settled, Flea took Rosie to a small room down the hall. It was warm and comfortable. He removed her cloak and motioned for her to sit. Then he brought the plate of food Morag had prepared and put it beside her. All the time, they were silent but Rosie felt as if every action, every movement was speaking to her heart.

‘Tell me about Miri,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, Flea. She has the cough.’ She saw the news
saddened him.

‘She has been like a mother to me, Rosie,’ he said.

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ Rosie repeated.

‘Who will make the . . . arrangements then, when she dies?’

‘She will be well cared for, Flea. I have seen to it. Do not worry for her. She sends you her love and, if you will have her, Keavy to care for.’

‘I’ll have to ask Duncan but I’m certain he will be delighted to have Keavy here as would I.’ He sat beside her. ‘It is such a
joy to
see you again, Rosie.’ He stared at her and she felt her body burn. ‘You are more beautiful than when I last saw you,’ he said quietly.

Rosie felt her heart race. He took her hand and leant forward but Rosie quickly stepped away from his embrace.

‘I’m sorry, Flea,’ she sighed. ‘I just don’t see the point of us continuing this dance. It was wrong of me to come here but I needed to see if there was still some remnant of our love left alive. Your situation has changed and I have been left well behind.’

‘I don’t understand what you are saying, Rosie. Do you still love me or not?’

Rosie sighed again. ‘That is beside the point, Flea. Your situation here has allowed you room for another love, perhaps one more suitable to your current position.’

Flea frowned and he shook his head. ‘If it’s Rachel you speak of then you are wrong. Yes, she has been kind to me and we do share a special bond. In fact she saved my life on one occasion. I hold her as dear to me as I do her brother whom I have sworn allegiance to. He is my king and I would die for him, and as his sister she deserves an equal loyalty. But we are talking loyalty and duty here and that is a far cry from the love I felt we shared.’

Was he so blind to the changes in their circumstances? ‘You have always spoken fine words, Flea, words like honour and loyalty, but in the process you have thrown away love with two hands as easily as a child discards a broken toy. I thought our love would endure but I was wrong – it was wrong of me to come here.’

‘Rosie, within the week, I’m to battle,’ he sighed and she watched him swallow as if the very mention of the words brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

‘I think . . .’ He stopped and looked away. ‘I think we go to war and I may not return.’

A wave of heat spread over her. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying I may not come back and the last memory I have of us should not be one of harsh words and accusations. It seems that everything around us conspires to keep us apart and maybe, in the end, we will both be happier that way. But right now, with the drums of battle almost at our gate, I have to know . . .’ here he faltered and Rosie’s heart almost broke at the sight of him standing bereft in front of her.

‘Know what?’ she whispered.

‘I have to know whether there is still a chance for us, a chance that despite everything that seems destined to work against us we will get through this. I have to know that while I am fighting for my king and my Scotland, I have you waiting for me. Duncan has promised me I will be Thane of Lochaber – perhaps after this war is over we can start a new life there. I can make you no promises that I haven’t already made – the decision is yours whether you choose to still believe them.’

He looked lost again, not the brave soldier but her Flea –
tender
and kind and quiet. She walked to him and laid her hands on h
is face.

Flea pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. He smelt so good, so reassuring and she buried her face into his shirt.

‘You bewitch me, Rosie. I can never think straight when you are near.’

‘Then keep me near, you foolish man,’ she said, ‘and we can be bewitched together. Perhaps our fate is in the hands of others and both of us will need to learn some patience to see this game through to the end.’

The next morning, Rosie awoke with a peace in her heart she had not felt in a long while. Without a doubt, Flea loved her. This much was as certain as the sun rising and setting. What their futures may hold could not be determined now, but that they had a future she was now sure of.

It was the kind of love Ma had spoken of. She would go home and wait, and pray that the daft lad wouldn’t get himself killed
in battle.

When Keavy was presented with the news she would stay on at Glamis, the child’s only complaint was that her doll still sat with her things in England. When Flea promised to arrange for her belongings to be brought to Scotland, she relaxed and raced off to tell
Bree –
her new friend.

While arrangements were getting made for the wagon to be prepared, Flea took Rosie’s hand and led her to the parapet that looked over the countryside. The soldier in him had returned and he seemed quieter and more thoughtful than the previous evening.

‘I will not see you until after the battle is won,’ he said.

‘Ah, man,’ Rosie said. ‘I know where you live and I know where you are going.’ She reached up and traced her fingers down his face. ‘Come back alive. You cannot be lost to a battle as this.’

Flea bent down and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I will do my best to return to you.’

Rosie took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly on the lips. She cared not who could see them, this was her man and she wanted to send him to battle with the memory of her kiss fresh in his mind.

‘God speed, my dear Flea,’ she said. ‘Make sure you come back to me soon,’ and she walked down to the wagon, perhaps leaving Flea alone with thoughts other than battle in his mind.

All will be well at the end of things,
she thought.
I am beloved o
f Flea.

Chapter Thirty-One
Near Kilmarnock, South of Glasgow

D
uncan, King of Scotland, paced the dirt floor of his tent. He was both afraid and excited at the same time. The journey to Glasgow and the daily councils with the most seasoned veterans about what to do and when filled Duncan with confidence. True, this was not what he would have chosen to be the first act of his reign. But the choice had not been his
to make.

Macduff came into the tent. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘The scouts report that the rebels have gathered at Kilmarnock. Their trumpets have sounded for the battle to begin.’

Duncan looked at Fleance. ‘Are you ready, my friend?’

Fleance bowed. ‘Aye.’

The king nodded to Macduff. ‘And you, sir, are you sure you will join us in the battle?’

‘Aye,’ Macduff replied. ‘For never was there a more worthy cause to pick up arms once more.’

‘Rachel has the surgeons ready though I pray to God we will have little need of them,’ Duncan said. ‘Let us face our men,’ he commanded. ‘It is unkind to keep them waiting.’ With murmured agreement, all inside trooped out of the tent.

The sound hit them: of horses neighing, of armour and weapons, of men calling to each other, and of feet and hooves. Fleance signalled to the horn blowers to call their men to arms and to assemble.

A resounding chord pierced the air. Men stopped. Horses stopped. And then, in a moment of organised chaos, his soldiers rushed in all directions to get in position for battle.

Duncan put a hand on Fleance’s shoulder. ‘Stay well, my friend.’

Fleance bowed his head. ‘And you, Your Majesty.’

Duncan shook his head. ‘Don’t give me that. You stay alive or I will whip your arse.’

Fleance laughed. ‘It is not often I have heard you be so coarse.’

‘Ah, well,’ Duncan said. ‘Needs must, as Morag says.’ He looked around him and then back at his friend. ‘You know the plan well?’

‘Aye.’

‘It is a good plan and one that will bring us swift victory.’

‘Aye, there is no doubt in this. Your Majesty, we are in the right and Scotland is not the aggressor. We must do this for your people.’

Duncan looked at his dear friend for a moment and was filled with hope. ‘These are fine words and the right ones.’

Fleance put his hand on Duncan’s. ‘You are my best friend,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, know this: you have restored my faith in humankind.’ He tightened his grasp on the king’s hand. ‘You are exceptional. No man in history can replicate your heart’s desires and your generosity.’

Duncan laughed. ‘I am what I am and no more. Do not make me out to be greater.’

There was a cough. A messenger stood before them. ‘Your
Majesty
– we are called to war.’

The army, 20,000 foot soldiers and 4000 mounted, were
gathered
on the field and fell silent as the young Duncan rode his horse down the man-made corridor to the front. For a brief moment he felt the weight of his responsibility – so many lives in his hands. Yet he must put aside his own feelings and inspire true confidence in these men who would sacrifice so much.

Duncan turned his steed so that it was side on to the waiting soldiers. ‘Loyal friends. We have travelled so far to the middle of Scotland and have only found support for our cause. I bring you the good news that a number of dispossessed in England have ignored the cry to go against us and have pledged allegiance to Scotland. As we speak, we hear word they are gathering together to join us in this most crucial battle so our numbers will be swelled even more.’

The cries of support from the listening soldiers threatened to drown Duncan and he held up his hand for silence.

‘The rebel leader, that greedy, selfish man, shamefully has the blood of Scotland in his veins. He now stands not three miles from us with a ragtag group at his back and a foreign power to aid him.

‘Who are these foreigners? They are the Norwegians – again.’

A low grumble reverberated through the gathered men.
Duncan
saw he had hit upon a sensitive nerve. ‘Yes, my countrymen. The Norwegians think to take Scottish soil; to take advantage of political unrest between ourselves and England. How many times must our women, children and livelihood be torn from us by these foes from the north? Your king says: No more.’

A roar went up. ‘Long live the king. Long live King Duncan!’

Their passion moved him. ‘Know this, my kinsmen: from the depths of my soul, I regard your willingness to come forward to defend our place, no small thing. As St Andrew is our guide, so too is he Scotland’s. Do not fear life nor death, for both will honour you. We have always trod our paths under God’s good guidance and He has given us the power and strength to withhold and endure any advance. Scotland will send a clear message to any other invading army that to do so is fruitless. We will do this so that our peoples of Scotland may forever live in peace.’

‘So, in God’s name and for Scotland, let us march forward.’ Duncan lifted his sword and the soldiers roared back in support. He moved his horse to the side of the mass and watched, his heart racing, as they walked on towards the battlefield, the flag with the silver cross and azure blue proudly flowing above the leading men. The chanting of the name of their patron saint, ‘Andrew, Andrew, Andrew’, sent shivers down his spine.

Though he did not share his sister’s faith, he sent a prayer to God to place courage and strength in every man before him. He looked around. ‘Preston. Ride with me up yonder.’ Duncan pointed to a rise a hundred yards off to the left.

‘Sire, ’tis not safe,’ Preston said. ‘Lennox was most insistent. You are to stay back from the battle today. We can’t put you in the way of any risk. Not yet. Your time will come.’

Duncan turned back to the advancing army. Preston and
Lennox
were correct. There would be time enough for him to join the fray.

The sound of war sickened him and he wished to be among it but the advisors would not allow him to go just yet. It would be a disaster, they said, if he fell in the first act of battle. Rather he, the king, was needed at this time to give strength and courage to the hearts of their warriors.

‘Brother,’ Rachel said. ‘Can we send back for my women to help bind the wounds? The injured are many and I do not have enough people to help me save them.’

‘Aye,’ he said, weary and longing for sleep. ‘Do you think, Rachel, you can gather enough to help us with this?’

His sister flashed him the smile he had learnt to love. ‘Duncan, there will always be people ready and willing to come forth to serve the king. I need only say the word and I will have a troop of girls ready to serve you.’

Duncan paused for a moment. As always, she provided good counsel and good results. He would defer to her suggestions. ‘Please, send for your angels, for that is what they are.’ Then he retired
to the
main tent to consider their battle plan and receive reports from the field.

The breeze carried the sounds of his men screaming and dying, fighting and succeeding. Who was victorious? Who was injured? Who had died?

Too soon, the seriously wounded began arriving back at the camp and the surgeons and priests were busily employed to administer comfort to the hurt and dying. Duncan also went among them, offering kind words and encouragement. Rachel, her hair pulled tightly into a braid, worked quickly and skilfully alongside the two doctors who tended to the wounded.

He had to stay strong despite his initial reaction to the extent of the injuries he saw. His army was combating claymore, arrow and axe. He wished he had more surgeons to heal his men.

Many bled out and died.

Was he a failure as king that so many should die trying to protect the Scottish rule? Duncan shook his head. Like Alexander the Great before him, he too was a young ruler sent to battle. He took a deep breath. Perhaps thinking of them would give him more strength.

Duncan stood outside his tent, watching as the men returned. He noted who walked back, who was carried, injured, and who was carried, dead. He went among them to see the tally and was relieved it was not any person he knew or loved.

By nightfall, the camp was flooded again with their soldiers as the day’s fighting ended. Lennox, Macduff, Ross and Angus and Fleance met to survey the day’s fighting.

‘They are not so well prepared, Your Majesty,’ Lennox said. ‘A group of them have holed up across a burn. They sent arrows our way but few hit their targets.’

‘And their casualties?’

The men looked at each other and then at Fleance. ‘Your young general here, keen to lead the men by example, shot so many bolts across the stream we had to keep sending for new quivers,’ Macduff said. ‘And each one hit its mark.’

Duncan’s face was grim. ‘What news of the leader of these
rebels
?’

Fleance spoke. ‘Not one has named him nor identified him. We have brought back a hundred men as prisoners and they call their leader The Dark Oak.’

Macduff snorted. ‘So tomorrow we’ll be looking out for a tree in the middle of battle.’

‘What manner of man hides behind such a name?’ Duncan shook his head.

‘One that wears a shamed heart,’ Lennox said. ‘For to fight against your own kind and kin is a most dishonourable thing. But to lead that fight is unforgivable.’

‘Well said,’ Duncan replied. He straightened his back. ‘It is time to look after our bodies, for our business is not over yet.’

After supper, it was back to the main tent where he studied the map of the field with Fleance, the earls and Preston who, despite years of making Duncan feel uncomfortable, was turning out to be a most steady and rational commentator. He had sent young scouts out and around to gather information and, as they arrived back with details, he moved painted stones on the canvas.

Just then, a panting messenger came into the tent. ‘Sire,’ he called to Duncan. ‘I have learnt the King of Norway is intent on destroying my lord Fleance.’

Fleance looked up, startled. Duncan shook his head. ‘Why would he want anything from Fleance? I understood that Norway’s king disappeared five years ago.’

‘Aye,’ Macduff answered. ‘Rumour has it the useless bugger went to Rome and cloistered himself at the Vatican. What kind of king would it be, eh, that hides away under the robes of monks?’

‘One that’s mad, perhaps,’ Duncan replied.

‘Indeed. The country is just as mad, refusing to crown any other for their king had not abdicated and was still alive.’ Macduff thumped the table, displacing Preston’s stones. ‘They were content, fools, to be governed by him from afar sending out orders from within the sanctuary of the church.’

Preston cleared his throat. ‘What Macduff says is true, Your Majesty. Our spies tell us that his latest order was to prepare to join the rebel forces against Scotland. He said he received a message from God which commanded his army to go forth in the spring.’

Macduff snorted.

Duncan stood tall. ‘Did your spies gather details about the motives behind this aggression?’

The old man shook his head. ‘As is often the way with words passed from one man to another, the meaning became unclear o
r lost.’

Duncan breathed deeply. There were more issues to deal with at this time. ‘So,’ he said. ‘We will send a message to this king. Tell him: we have no quarrel with Norway and would seek to end these hostilities without further bloodshed. Scotland is well-armed and a powerful force. We would be willing to discuss any grievances
Norway
feels it has towards our country. Scotland would prefer to be at peace with Norway. We hope for a positive response.’

The messenger bowed low again and took to his horse, grabbing a white flag from one of the attendees. As he galloped off into the night towards the enemy camp, Duncan whispered a blessing that sanity would prevail – for the young servant and his nation.

‘I do not understand why he would have issue with me,’ Flea
nce said.

‘Your father,’ Lennox said, ‘fought against his father many years ago. In that battle, the old King of Norway, Sweno, was killed.’

‘What am I to that fight?’ Fleance asked.

‘Who can fathom the mind of a mad ruler,’ Macduff said
looking
at the other earls. ‘Long ago we tried to do just that and came up with no answer.’

Duncan looked across at Fleance and saw his confusion. Fleance had declared his allegiance yet the workings of this battle made things less clear. Before they all retired to bed, he cornered his friend. ‘Fleance,’ he said. ‘How goes it?’

Fleance smiled, albeit wearily. ‘I am tired.’

‘As am I.’ They stood there a moment. ‘I hear,’ Duncan said, ‘you’ve had difficulties with some of the regiment.’

Fleance frowned. ‘Not difficulties, really. Some gossip has been passed onto me but they are foolish rumours.’

‘Indeed,’ Duncan said. ‘Would you tell them to me?’

Fleance inhaled and let out his breath slowly. ‘It seems some of our country question my claims.’

‘Claims?’

‘That Banquo was my father and I am who I say I am.’