Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (3 page)

Fleance nodded. ‘Do you not think, Magness, she is the most beautiful woman . . . ?’

Magness chuckled. ‘Aye, after Miri and Keavy, she’s not so bad.’ His adoptive father thumped him lightly. ‘Go, boy, for I believe there is a long line of suitors for your young lady’s heart.’

Fleance mounted Willow, heart racing, a small valuable bundle sitting inside his coat and headed south to Rosie.

He held his mother’s necklace in his hand, heart pounding. Would she approve? Would his father have agreed to what he was about to do?
‘I gave this to your mother on our wedding day,’ Banquo had told him. ‘It was given to me by my mother. She had it made as a celebration of my birth. Now, I give it to you, Fleance, for, one day, you shall give it to another just as worthy.’

Fleance had wrapped the precious chain and cross in a soft
cloth w
hich he had picked from Miri’s mending basket. The
mater
ial was a deep red colour which pleased him. He wanted
Rosie t
o
apprec
iate that his love for her was as solid and strong as the colour
of the wrapp
ing.

When Fleance arrived at Rosie’s cottage, the light was leaving the day. He tethered Willow and splashed water on his face before presenting himself. Rosie was placing flowers around the table and had not seen him ride in. He put his hands over her eyes and she squealed with fright. Then she turned, her face beaming and threw her arms around his neck. ‘I knew you would come,’ she said. ‘Now I will have the best birthday, ever.’ Rosie took his hand and pulled him over to where she would sit.

Dougal, already cheerful from drinking ale, began to organise those gathered to come before a great table which he had placed in front of the stone house. ‘Friends,’ he cried. ‘Come forth for I have some words to say on this occasion.’ The gathered crowd laughed and Dougal smiled. ‘These are better words than I normally feed you,’ he said. More laughter. ‘You are doubting my skill as an orator?’

The look on his face and his words were too much for those gathered. They roared with laughter and it took many minutes to bring them back to a sober attitude.

Fleance touched the small package in his pocket. Would it say enough? Would it say too much? Would Rosie shy away from him because he was too plain with his affections?

Dougal had made a wonderful roaring fire and many were gathered around it. ‘Go to it. Eat, drink and be merry and give a proud father leeway to make mistakes.’

People smiled. Dougal was right. They were here firstly to enjoy Dougal’s hospitality and secondly for Rosie’s birthday.

The summer night was not as warm as the fire. Fleance went to find Rosie. She was helping her mother with the food.

‘Ah?’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’

Rosie, her face red and shining with the effort of trying to organise her own party, turned to him. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Take over the men. They, of all things, need directing.’

Fleance saluted her and she smiled. ‘At your command,’ he said and left the light to organise the people who had come for the
family’s
celebration.

They ate the cake and enjoyed the feast but he had not yet given Rosie his gift which still sat in his pocket. Fleance breathed deeply. There would be a time where he could present his birthday gift to Rosie if only they could steal a moment alone.

The night was dark. Stars had not yet made their appearance. It
had b
een an enjoyable gathering, but the whole time Fleance
had b
een looking to give Rosie the necklace. She, laughing, returned from inside where she had been helping her mother. Fleance was standing in the light of Dougal’s cottage.

‘Flea?’ she said, standing still. ‘Are you not well?’

His left hand wriggled. Fleance had to give her the right words. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Yes. I’m not sure.’

Rosie laughed out loud. ‘I do not know what you mean.’

Fleance was confused. He held out his hands. ‘Sorry, I just wanted you to know . . .’

Rosie came towards him, lifting her hands to his shoulders. ‘Know that I care for you?’ she said.

Was this enough to hand over such a precious gift? Fleance cleared his throat. ‘Rosie, the word “care” does nothing to paint the picture of how I feel for you.’

Rosie looked back towards the cottage. ‘Flea, what are you
saying
to me?’

He lifted her hands from his shoulders and held them to his chest. ‘Rosie, I have something for you. For your birthday.’

Rosie smiled brilliantly at him. ‘But you have been my birthday gift. I need nothing more.’

Fleance put his hand into the pocket. ‘A gift which I believe my mother would delight that I give to you.’ He pulled out the necklace.

Rosie’s looked confused. ‘Your mother?’

‘Aye. My mother’s cross and chain, given to me by my father after she died.’

She pulled him down to sit outside the cottage. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘of your mother.’

A sudden painful wave swept up to his throat, surprising him. Now, he was just a boy. Nine years old. How could he explain to her how remarkable his mother’s ministrations were? ‘I was nine,’ he told her, ‘when she got ill. It was a surprise for us, and me and Da were not prepared because she had never been ill. I was too young to know the cause except to understand her passing grieved not only me but all who knew her.’

Rosie poured the chain between her fingers. ‘It is so beautiful.’

‘Aye, and deserving of your wearing,’ he said. Still thinking of his mother, he took Rosie’s hand. ‘She was good,’ he said.

‘Good?’

‘So calm and funny and free. We loved her,’ Fleance said.

Rosie nodded. ‘The best mother to have then,’ she said.

This was the moment Fleance knew he adored Rosie. She took the necklace. ‘Put it on please, Flea, for I cannot.’

She bent her neck down and it reflected the flames of the dying fire. Pale and soft and beautiful. He dropped the necklace down around her neck, fastened it and then, before anyone noticed, planted a soft kiss on her bare shoulders.

‘I love you, Rosie,’ he whispered.

Rosie turned around and looked at him and then smiled.

The weather had turned. Summer had long since become a pleasant memory and it had been a month since Rosie and her family last called upon them, though the two weeks since Fleance had been with her had seemed an eternity. As Rosie’s family entered their clearing, Fleance helped to settle the horses and ensure the visitors were well set in their lodging.

Magness and Dougal talked on and on. It was all politics. Fleance was not concerned about the state of England; he had more personal issues. The dreams which he’d suffered ever since his father’s death had lately become more regular and nightmarish. He could not shake this powerful feeling that there was something
he w
as supposed to do before he would be free to stay here in England and be with Rosie, building a new life among this comfort and joy. Why did he have to have this black nagging at the back of his mind, his father’s last words a haunting command? He would rather not have to think about these things. Fleance desperately wanted to plan and live for the future, not constantly be pulled back into his past.

Rosie came back, sat down and held his hand. She leant into him while the noise of her father and Magness buffeted the night.

‘I’m telling you, Dougal. Donalbain’s a madman,’ growled Magness.

‘Well, so long as Malcolm reigns, that’s not a bother.’ Dougal wiped his stubby fingers with a wash cloth.

‘Aye, but Malcolm’s not been fruitful where his brother has. Three bairns to none.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Fleance watched Dougal drink deep again before replying. ‘I say again: Malcolm’s a fine king and been so for long enough. There’s no need to fear going back to them dark days of Macbeth.’

Fleance froze. Macbeth? The sound of that name stabbed at his stomach. He stopped stroking Rosie’s arm and turned to face the men, listening intently.

‘For a wanderer, you’ve got strange loyalties,’ Dougal
continued
.

Magness spat into the fire. ‘An’ I got a long memory. Scotland’s a hell place for me ever since bloody Macbeth ruled.’ He coughed again and then spat. The group was silent, even Keavy who had crawled beside her mother, tucking her arm into Miri’s.

Loyalties? Was that it? Why Magness oft threw out a curse towards the royal house of Scotland when he thought he was alone? He had never said anything
directly
to Fleance, but something settled over the family like a dusting of ice every time politics or the past was mentioned. Fleance had learnt not to pry, thankful that Magness seemed to hold by the same attitude.

Dougal coughed. ‘But ’tis fine now, Magness, and has been for ten good years. Malcolm’s a godly king.’

‘That may be but I know the country’s still cursed.’ Magness’s face, even in the light of the fire, reflected deep anger – it was a look Fleance knew very well.

‘Magness, man. You’re sounding like that fool brother of the king’s. Don’t tell me you still believe in those silly women’s tales.’

Miri roused herself. ‘More men would do better to listen to such women’s tales.’

Dougal pulled the blanket around his shoulders. ‘Ah, well, it’s not like we can do anything here. The country has fellows enough to keep it working properly.’

Magness sprang to his feet. ‘How can you be saying that? Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten who and what we lost under the tyrant? The wounds are still festering. Don’t be fooled into thinking that Malcolm has been able to clean and clear out the rot. Rather he has just kept tight a malignant bandage over a festering gash.’

‘An’ what are we supposed to do here in England, eh? Nothing! That’s all we can do,’ Dougal replied angrily.

Magness stood silhouetted against the firelight, a striking sight of a healthy man even though his thick beard was splashed with grey. ‘Nay. We can do something. If those of us who have been ousted get together, Dougal, my man, we could ensure Scotland stays strong.’

Dougal also stood and faced Magness, his protruding belly almost touching the other’s folded arms. ‘This is mad talk. Even for you.’ He threw the last of his drink into the fire. ‘I’m to bed.’ And he stomped off into the darkness to his tent.

Chapter Three

Y
oung Fleance, only eleven, was on his father’s horse. They’d ridden all afternoon and were hungry. The sun had already slipped low beyond the hills and they relied on Willow to find his way back to Macbeth’s castle in Inverness. His father had been quiet of late and had not talked as freely as was his custom. Fleance knew better than to question it as this often drove Banquo further into himself.

This ride, however, Banquo had been most animated and Fleance had enjoyed the closeness. ‘The bags have loosened,’ he’d said, pulling up the horse and jumping to the ground. ‘Give me some light.’ Fleance had held the torch higher. ‘No, here. Yes, that’s it.’ Fleance watched him untie and retie the rope which held together their travelling bags to the saddle of the horse. ‘I guess I’ll need to teach you how to do this properly, eh boy. Again.’ Banquo grinned and Fleance moved back for him to remount the horse. ‘Nay, I’ll walk for a bit.’

They trod onwards and came out of the trees. A thick cloud moved across the bright moon and Banquo looked up. ‘It will be rain tonight . . .’

‘Then, let it come down!’ A voice roared out of the darkness. Without warning, Fleance saw the light from a sword arc towards his father. Willow reared up in fright and it was all Fleance could do not to be thrown. He heard the sickening thud of metal striking flesh. ‘Da?’ he screamed.

‘Run, Fleance. Run!’

Hesitating for a moment, Fleance saw his father fall to the ground but a dark shadow lurched towards him, grabbing at him. ‘Get the boy.’

His father roared. ‘Fly, boy. ’Tis treachery. I am finished. Go so that you can revenge!’

With his heart thrashing in his chest, Fleance kicked away the grappling hands and urged the horse into a full gallop. He knew not which direction only save it was away from his father. Fleance clung to the horse’s mane, tears blinding his eyes, the words of his father echoing in his head.

‘Avenge!’

‘Avenge!’

‘Flea! Flea! Wake up!’

Fleance tried to push the mist of the dream aside and sat up, the sound of the horse fading. ‘Da! Da!’

‘Flea. Wake up. It’s all right. Shhh! Wake up.’

Fleance turned towards the soft voice, his eyes focusing. ‘Da?’

‘It’s me. Miri.’

Fleance shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Bad dreams.’

‘What about?’

‘I can’t rightly remember,’ he lied. ‘Just something about my father.’

‘Was it something Magness said tonight?’

But Fleance ignored her question. Instead he was reliving the thundering hooves and the scream of his father as the last blow of the sword cut out his life. He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

There was a spitting and a sudden flare – Miri had struck a flint and lighted a candle. Immediately the visions of the forest, murderers, and the galloping horse evaporated as the soft glow of light washed over them.

‘It’s been a while, Flea.’ Miri tugged Fleance’s bedclothes over him. ‘What has brought this on, eh?’ She sat at the end of his bed. ‘Sometimes dreams are sent to us to give us a message. Do you think it might be that your father is trying to remind you of something?’

‘I don’t know.’ He tried to change the subject. ‘The night was fine, wasn’t it, Miri? And Rosie, more beautiful than ever.’

Miri chuckled. ‘Aye, lad. We had fun apart from the silly mules who prattled on ’bout home and the king.’ Her eyes appraised him. ‘Was that it? Did you remember something about how you came to be all alone on the road with your horse and grown man’s get-up?’ Miri’s voice was soft, quiet. The voice she used every time she tried to get him to tell his story: who he was; where he came from; why he was here. A story of more than just his name and age.

Fleance stared at the flame of the candle. ‘I don’t know.’ But he did know. He remembered everything clearly but he wasn’t telling Miri. He wasn’t telling anyone that someone had killed his father and tried to kill him. Who knew what danger he was still in? And, what if this danger could also fall upon those here now whom he loved? He wouldn’t tell them, either, that he was the son of a nobleman, that his father was cousin to the King of Scotland before his murder – the murder of both of them.

And he wouldn’t tell them that for these past months he
had be
en having dreams, seeing visions, imagining things which all had his father reminding him of what he must do. To avenge h
is murd
er. But how? That was the thing nagging at Fleance. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go and to whom. And
he did
n’t kn
ow wh
at he was supposed to do once he got there.

‘Thanks, Miri. Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.’ She stood up and began to leave. ‘But leave the light, if you will.’

Miri nodded and placed the candle inside the lamp. ‘Sleep well, lad,’ she whispered before making her way outside.

The next morning was cold and damp and Fleance’s head felt like it weighed as much as a wagon. He threw off the covers and pulled on his clothes. Hopefully the fire had not been killed by the mist and would be easy to stir into life.

Though it was early, Magness and Dougal were already up, poking the fire and looking as grumpy as they were last night.

However, it was not Scotland that was affecting their moods. It was Fleance. More correctly, Fleance and Rosie.

‘Glad to see you up, lad,’ Magness said, placing some lighter twigs into the pit. ‘Dougal here has some important business wi
th you.’

A jolt went through him. This sounded a serious matter.

Dougal cleared his throat in a rather exaggerated manner. ‘Well, m’ boy, we all know how fond you are of our Rosie . . .’ Fleance blushed. ‘An’ we know that she’s as fond of you.’ He let the statements linger in the soggy air.

‘What he’s asking, lad, is what are your, ah, intentions towards Rosie?’ Magness asked.

‘My intentions?’

Magness shook his head. ‘For a bright wee man, you’re awful dense.’ His voice softened. ‘Do you intend to marry the girl?’

The ground at his feet spun. Did he love Rosie? Yes, more than anything – he thought of her constantly; dreamed of her; wanted her with a hunger that surpassed even thirst after a long hunt. But to marry her?

‘I do love her.’

Dougal snorted. ‘Yes, we
know
that, boy. What we want to know is do you intend to take her as your wife?’

Intend. Was that the same as desire? Want? Need? What were his intentions? Fleance knew the answer to that: for the last ten years all he had been thinking about was fulfilling his father’s dying words – to avenge his murder. Nothing else mattered and yet beyond his wildest hopes he had met someone who offered him another path. But still, honour spoke louder than love. Nothing else could be done before that deed had been settled. The ghost of a dead father spoke more incessantly than the soft voice of a living love.

‘One day, yes, Dougal, I would be honoured to have Rosie as my wife.’

Dougal spluttered. ‘What? One day? Honoured? What kind of fool talk is that? Do you want to jump the broom or not, lad?’

He did. He did. He wanted to do it right at that moment but he knew that he would not be at peace until he had done what his father had exhorted him to do. The nightmares were becoming more frequent and there could only be one possible way to stop them – go back to Scotland and seek revenge for his father’s murder. ‘Yes, but . . .’

‘But?’ Dougal raged. ‘What do you mean by this “but”?’

‘Flea,’ Magness said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘This is a big thing Dougal is asking of you. Rosie’s got many prospects but seems, fool girl, she’s got her eyes only for you.’

His eyes ached with the threat of tears and he had to swallow. ‘I canna do it right now, Magness,’ Fleance whispered.

‘Why, lad?’ Fleance looked away. ‘Flea, there are other folk involved here – and a young lass’s heart.’

This was it then. Fleance understood he was being asked to make a choice: between the loyalty to his father and his homeland, and the love and loyalty he felt, not only for Rosie but for Magness and Miri. ‘I have a journey to make,’ he said, barely audible. ‘I can’t just yet.’

Dougal roared. ‘What? You can’t? What foolishness was it then that for these past months you’ve been leading my Rosie down a path – eh?’

‘This is too sudden, Dougal,’ Fleance said. ‘We’ve not spoke of it yet.’

‘Too sudden, my cock. You’ve been speaking love songs to my girl all this time and leading her to understand you will be married.’ Fleance sat down and pulled his cloak over his shoulders to keep out the damp and cold – and the harsh truth of Dougal’s words. ‘You’re old enough an’ all to know which way things lie.’

Fleance raised his head and glared at Rosie’s father. ‘Life’s not always so simple.’ He stood up again, his temper rising. How dare this man exert such pressure at this time. He did not understand nor know what it was that Fleance had been plagued with. But getting angry with an angry father was not wise so Fleance attempted to reason with Dougal. ‘Listen, do you think I’m a good man?’ Dougal nodded but scowled. ‘And do you think I’ll make a good mate for your Rosie?’ This time Dougal frowned but eventually gave Fleance a swift nod. ‘Then, Dougal, know that I love your daughter more than anything and I long to be with her every moment. But I have some things I need to do. A promise I made to myself; an honourable one. Would you want me to turn my back on that and live with the shame for the rest of my life?’

The solution came to him. He could go back to Scotland and sort out what it was needed sorting and come back to Rosie – come back to the security and peace and love he’d known for ten years.

Dougal continued to scowl. ‘What sort of father do you think I am?’ Dougal pushed past Magness and stood in front of Fleance. ‘Do you think, lad, I’d let my child forego other chances because there’s the possibility you may come back?’

‘I will come back,’ Fleance said through gritted teeth.

‘You may – and when? How long will our girl have to wait for you? Till she’s past child bearing and her womb shrivelled up like a prune and no good for no one?’ Dougal’s tirade had drawn the others out of their tents. Fleance looked over to where Rosie stood, shivering under a blanket, staring at him. She had heard it all.

‘I have to . . .’ But what could he say without sounding
completely
mad.

‘What?’ Dougal spat the question at him, spittle from his mouth flying through the air. ‘You either pledge to her now or lose the chance.’

The silence hung as thickly as the mist and Fleance’s heart, so full of love and passion just half a day ago, was now so painfully cold with hurt and dread – and fear. He wasn’t ready for this yet. Fleance stood and faced Rosie. She stared for a few moments, waiting. She raised her eyebrows at him, expecting him to choose her now. But, when he said nothing, did nothing but let tears fall, she saw the decision he had made.

Stony faced, she turned on her heel and went back into her tent, her mother close behind. Dougal brushed past. ‘You’re a damned fool,’ he muttered, then followed his family.

Magness put his hand on Fleance’s shoulder again but he just felt a deadening cold in his belly and chest. Magness gave him a firm squeeze and, with Miri and Keavy, went back to their tent, leaving Fleance alone in the clearing, his head roaring with grief and disbelief.