Page 101 of Highland Queen

“Will Lulach be in Moray?”

I stiffened. “Perhaps.”

Macbeth nodded glumly. “All right. I wish you safe travels,” he said. Without another word, he rose and exited the room.

I raised an eyebrow and watched him go.

I could only pray to the Goddess that he did not undo the progress I’d made.

Glancing around the chamber, I saw that everything was ready. I pulled up my gloves then grabbed my cloak. I was ready to go home.

After I said farewell to Madelaine, our party headed north. The Moray guard and a dozen of Macbeth’s men, men of Inverness who wanted to go home, rode with us.

At Rhona and Tira’s urging, I rode in the cart with them. Swift was decidedly unhappy about walking behind the cart. When we stopped to water the horses, Killian came to me.

“My Queen, shall I exercise your horse? He looks like he’s taking being tied to the wagon personally.”

“I’d consider it a favor,” I said.

Killian nodded then untied Swift.

“Do you remember his father and brother?” Rhona whispered to Tira, motioning to Killian as he walked away.

Tira nodded. “I remember his brother. He was a handsome one.”

“That he was. And his father was a great clansman, a good leader.”

I furrowed my brow, looking from Killian to the maids. “What happened to them?” I asked.

Tira and Rhona turned to me, both looking surprised to find me listening.

“Oh,” Rhona said. “His father and brother were with the Mormaer when…when they all perished.”

I looked at Killian. He was chatting with Swift, calming the animal. “They were with Gillacoemgain?”

Rhona nodded.

“Who leads their clan now?” I asked.

“Killian’s uncle. Killian was the youngest son, too young to rule. He came to the castle to serve. Standish is connected to that somehow,” Rhona said.

Tira chuckled. “Standish is related to everyone.”

I stared at Killian. It moved my heart to know that he too had lost something that terrible day. But it was also a poignant reminder. Macbeth was the one who had ordered that fire. Macbeth. May the Gods reward me for my patience in dealing with such a man. Given all his treachery, I wondered why his hands weren’t covered in blood. But then a realization struck me. Macbeth’s hands might not be stained, but his mind was. He had always been unsteady, but it seemed to me, he was teetering very close to being undone. I could only hope he held the pieces of himself intact while I was away.

We rode throughout the day, camping that night. When the sun rose, we took to the trail once more. I was relieved when the ramparts of Cawdor appeared on the horizon. The sound of trumpets lit up the night, heralding our arrival. Finally, I was home. I exhaled deeply. All this time, I’d felt like I was carrying a weight on my shoulders. In Moray, I could let go.

Even before I got to the gate, I spotted a black shadow rushing across the grass to meet us. She barked loudly as she raced toward the wagon.

“Thora!” I called. I set my hand on the wagon driver’s arm, motioning for him to stop.

I slipped out of the wagon.

“Come here, bad girl,” I called to her.

Thora ran to me, more waddling than running, but her eyes glimmered with excitement. I couldn’t help but notice how stiff her legs were and how round she’d become.

“Just look at you,” I told her. “My gods, did you eat all the winter stores yourself?”

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