The Scottish Selkie (21 page)

On the wooden dais, Kenneth sat in a throne carved with Pictish symbols of slanting lines, round shapes, and curving drawings of boars, deer, bulls, fish, and birds, depicting previous Kings and their family ancestry. At his side, Donald leaned back in a roomy oaken chair. 

After a slight bow to the king and a nod to Donald, Bethoc hiked up her skirts and stepped onto the dais. She folded her arms across her chest and looked Kenneth in the eyes.

“Tell me, where is my husband.” 

“I have not seen Malcolm for two days, it is not like him to leave without bidding farewell.” 

“His pelt is gone.” She dropped her arms to her side. “It was under my bed and now it is gone. Malcolm took it.” 

“Yes.” Donald stood and gently took Bethoc's hands in his. “Malcolm shall soon return. I feel it here.” Donald pressed his fist against his chest. 

“No.” Bethoc took a step back from Donald, pulling her hands away. “He has left. He thinks I do not want him.”

 “I ken not what you say.” Kenneth leaned forward. “He knows you love him, lass.” 

“Yet, I told him I wanted naught of him.” Bethoc raised her forearms. 

“What say you?” Donald's brows arched. 

“When Malcolm told me he was a selkie, the tidings were a hard blow. I went from weal to woe in a moment's time.” 

“So you broke the man's heart?” Kenneth stood. “The man you love. Anyone can see it, lass.” 

“Why did you not tell me he was a selkie?” Bethoc set one hand on her hip. 

“For it was not my place.” Kenneth stiffened, his green eyes hardened. “Furthermore, you tried to slay me once. Therewith, I did not fathom you and I were friendly enough to discuss Malcolm's secrets.” 

“Of course we are,” Bethoc said, still resting her hand on her hip. “I am wed to your cousin.” 

Donald cocked his head. “What she says is true.” 

Bethoc heard someone speak from below the dais.

“M'lady what is amiss?” 

Bethoc turned her head to see Riona walking toward them. “It is my lord husband. Malcolm, left me, he did. Without a farewell, much less and I love you.” 

Bethoc felt like forgotten yarn strung on an old loom, waiting for someone to unravel it. She wanted to hug Riona and have a good cry, then the next moment she wanted to kill Malcolm. Where was her bow and arrow?

“Oh Bethoc.” Riona stepped upon the dais and wrapped her arms tenderly around her in comfort. “I cannot fathom Lord Malcolm leaving you. The man risked his life to save you but days ago.” 

“Yes. But when I found out he was a selkie, I told him I did not want him.” Bethoc cast her eyes downward. “I was wrong. I want him so much.” 

“There, there now. He shall return.” Donald said as he moved to Bethoc's side, so she stood between him and Riona. 

“Where did he go?” Kenneth leaned his head toward Bethoc. 

“I think he went to sea.” She choked back a sob. 

“No. No. Oh Bethoc,” Riona said in a soothing tone. 

“I have chased him away. Back to the sea. I will never see him again.” 

“No Bethoc. I am sure it is not so. He loves you.” Kenneth pointed his head toward the priest who had just entered the hall. “Mayhaps he can be of some aid.” 

“Father Degnan, come hither,” Donald called out to the priest. 

“Look Bethoc, it is father Degnan.” Riona smiled. 

“My King what has happened.” The priest lifted the hem of his black robe and stepped onto the dais. 

“Malcolm has left Bethoc.” Riona stepped back to make room for him on the small dais. 

“I know. I asked him to go.” 

Bethoc rose and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. “How ... could you? Why would you ... send him away?” 

“For the people. I asked him to bring back more seafire to aid the sick so we would have a cure for others.” 

“Seafire.” Bethoc let out a sigh of relief. 

“Seafire?” Riona, Malcolm, and Donald said simultaneously. 

“He has not left you.” In his glee, Kenneth slapped Bethoc on the back. 

“Yes.” Father Degnan nodded. “He has but gone to fetch Seafire, the plant that saved you.” 

Bethoc crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the priest. “Why did you not tell me afore?” 

Father Degnan's brows arched. “M'lady, I thought Malcolm would have spoken to you of this.” 

“Mayhaps, if I had not told him I did not want to see him again.”

“No do not think of that now.” Riona patted her on the shoulder. “He has but gone to fetch Seafire for Father Degnan. When he returns you can tell him how you feel. Begin anew.” 

“Yes, I can.”

“Well, I came to ask something of you, Lady Bethoc.” Father Degnan placed his hand over his chest. “I came to ask you to be in the coronation ceremony. You are the guardian of the Stone of Destiny in Malcolm's absence. You must rehearse your part.” 

“You mean I am to be in the ceremony?” Startled by his request, Bethoc’s other thoughts vanished. “But, I am a Pict.” 

“Oh, Yes, m'lady, the Picts are Kenneth's people now,” Father Degnan nodded his head as he exchanged a smile with her. “You must place the stone in the seat of the throne and stand guard until the ceremony has ended.” 

* * * *

Standing on the hill where Kenneth was to be crowned, Bethoc peered at the winding Tay River. The lilting, soaring music of fife and harp danced in the air and made her body sway merrily. The air tingled with euphoric energy. 

Bethoc switched her gaze to the large oaken throne, carved with the figures of two eagles. The throne where Kenneth would soon be crowned king of all Scots and Picts. In awe of Kenneth and the Stone of Destiny and the power they both held, her breath hung in the air, bated with anticipation. It was good and just for Picts and Scots to live as equals. She lifted her head high, proud to be a part of the union of these two factions. 

The bustle, chatter, hurrahs of the throng of people gathered around, created a type of music of its own. Picts and Scots, from servants to nobles, and from all corners of Caledonia, came to see the coronation of Kenneth mac Alpin, first king of Alba. 

Bethoc adjusted the girdle of ruddy-gold fastened around her emerald green tunic dress. Riona told her it brought out the gleam of her eyes.
By St. Columba, I wish Malcolm was here at my side in the coronation and ... forever.
Absently, she reached up to her forehead, and lifted one of her six braids, twirling and twisting it.
Malcolm come back to me. I was wrong. 

She raised her head and dropped her hands to her side. All the bubbly excitement tingling in her a moment ago, faded into stiffness in her muscles and an acute ache in her neck. The weight of guilt pressed down on her as if an anvil lay on top of her head. 

Though she knew Malcolm had left to seek Seafire for Father Degnan, and she truly believed Malcolm loved her as Riona, Donald and Kenneth told her, Bethoc couldn't sweep away the fear she had pushed him out with her last words.

Those words played over in her mind. “I need some time alone. I have to go.” Her heart was as heavy as a stone and she felt like it had sunk to her stomach. She wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
Grand as this day is... it is naught without you, Malcolm
. “I need you,” Bethoc whispered aloud. 

The slow marching music of drum and fife brought her from her dark mood. Concentrating on the coronation, she blocked out the guilt over her separation from Malcolm.

Bethoc caught herself just in time.
Oh, my turn
. Taking a deep breath, she tilted her chin back, and held her head high. With one foot in front of the other, she moved in graceful, processional steps; carrying the La Fail on a gold, silk pillow to the high backed oaken throne. Though, a hard, rough rock, it beamed with heat and energy equal to the golden, summer sun. Although the silk cushion kept her hands from directly touching the La Fail, Bethoc’s palms tingled from its radiating power. 

She halted before the throne, and when the music began, she slowly placed the sacred Stone of Destiny into the oaken niche for Kenneth to sit upon. With a deep breath, she moved one foot back, pivoted in a graceful turn, and stepped to the side of the massive throne, to stand as guardian of the stone. But her thoughts were far away from this time and place. 

All my life, I found it near impossible to walk on the shore without searching the waves for a dark, bobbing head. Upon spotting a seal, I stand there wondering, if I watch it long enough will it come on shore? What if the reason the seals swim near shore, bobbing their heads in the water, is to watch us? Mayhaps the seals wonder if they watch humans long enough, will we wade into the water. 

Bethoc was pulled from her musings by the sound of harps and fifes playing. Kenneth walked slowly up the hill. With each step, his lithe warrior body moved in time to the Scottish tune and the rhythmic tattoo of warriors clashing spears against shields in tribute. The cheers of the crowd and the ethereal pitch of the music caused goose bumps to tingle on Bethoc's arms. 

All eyes were on Kenneth, including Bethoc's. Bands of gold circled his forearms. A gold tri braided torque banded his neck. His wavy red hair hung to his shoulders like a cloak over the green silk tunic, which fell to his knees. The plaid tartan wrapped his shoulders and was held by a circular, gold broach set with an amber stone. He carried himself with the regal grace of a true king as he strode in slow procession to the throne. Then he turned in one fluid movement, and sat down on the holy stone in the high backed, oaken chair. 

A hush fell over the crowd. Only Father Degnan's footsteps could be heard as he came forward. When the eyes of the priest and the king met, Bethoc laid her flat palm to the hollow at the base of her throat. She stood breathless, mesmerized by the moment. This same scene had taken place thousands of years before. Whether Celtic king and white robed druid or Celtic king and black robed priest, it mattered not; the power and potency of the stone remained the same.

Father Degnan recited the coronation vows to Kenneth. 

He answered, “I swear.”

The priest placed a golden diadem around Kenneth mac Alpin's brow.

“I crown you King of all Alba. So shall you and your descendants reign forever and anon.” A smile burst across Father Degnan's face. 

Kenneth stood as the King of Alba, he waved one hand in the air. “Let the festivities began. Light the bonfire.” 

Fergus stood by the mountainous pile of logs, built at the King's command. He tossed a firebrand onto the dry wood, igniting a hot, roaring blaze. Smiling kitchen servants hurried to their work, to roast more than a dozen pigs for the coronation feast of the first king of Alba.

* * * *

Malcolm walked toward the green hill where the ceremony commenced. He could not take his eyes off Bethoc. She stood out even from a distance, looking more like a goddess than a guardian. A manifestation of beauty in an emerald tunic dress with a gold belt adorning her dainty waist as her dark hair hung, a wispy cloak, to her knees.

“Bethoc I want you,” Malcolm whispered on the wind. 

She turned toward him as if she felt his stare.

Their eyes locked like two lodestones drawing the other. Before Malcolm knew it, he stood in front of her. He had no memory of taking a single step. He didn't remember anything, except Bethoc. He gazed into the smoldering fire in her eyes, glanced at her parted lips, then lowered his head until his mouth touch hers. She reached up to his shoulders and rolled her warm arms against his neck, squeezing him. His heart thrust so hard and fast he could hardly breathe. He was back where he belonged, in Bethoc’s arms.

Malcolm’s arms encircled her and his palm tingled as he pressed it against the small of her back. All her muscles thrust forward against him, closer and tighter. Ripples of fire coursed through him as he suckled her wet lips. She was all that was real to him, all else was a blur. The two of them alone, were the whole world.

Still clinging to her warm body, he released her mouth and rasped. “I will not leave you. Oh, Bethoc. I vow to stay on land with you.” 

“No,” Bethoc whispered from her parted lips. “Malcolm, Scone is not the same now. I am a Pict, not a Scot. It is no longer my home.” 

“What say you? I cannot undo what has been done.” Had she gone back to hating him for being a Scot? Would he lose her because Kenneth ruled her homeland?