Page 131 of Highland Queen

Chapter 39

That night, the lords and ladies feasted, toasting Macbeth’s great success. Bethoc was absent, and no one asked Macbeth what had happened to his bastard. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with the rest of them. As pleased as I was about Macbeth’s success, I couldn’t swallow his complete disregard for his own child. But why did it surprise me? When our child had died, he had thought only of himself. He had most certainly not thought of me. Macbeth only thought of others in relation to himself. If he was not harmed by a loss, then there was no loss. If he was not in pain, there was no pain. There was only him and his desires. And right now, listening to him toast his wins was too much to take.

After checking on Bethoc, who had cried herself to sleep, I went to my chamber. Madelaine joined me shortly afterward.

“Fife arrived just after supper,” she told me. “I will ride out with him when he leaves.”

I nodded. “I’m worried for Epona. She was so frail when I saw her last. And Crearwy… Madelaine, she hates me.”

Madelaine shook her head. “No. She loves you. She’s just angry. It will pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?

“Then you still did right by her, even if neither of us wanted it, and she never sees it.”

Sighing, I nodded. I rose and went to my bureau. Therein, I found Crearwy’s pin. I handed it to Madelaine. “Please, give this to her for me. Tell her it belonged to her aunt. The flower is the symbol of Gillacoemgain’s mother’s line.

“It’s lovely. I will give it to her. How is Aelith?” Madelaine asked.

“She’s doing very well, according to Banquo’s letters.”

“With the war done, will you return to Lochaber?”

“Not yet. Not with Macbeth in such a state. But I have an idea. An old idea. Let me see if I can make good on it again.”

“Corbie, I don’t know how you manage.”

“I manage poorly, Aunt. My life is like a bucket full of holes. Every time I look, something important slips away from me.”

Madelaine nodded sadly, that hollow look coming to her eyes once more. “Yes,” she whispered, but it was all she said. She understood well. Sometimes, there was nothing to be done to fix the broken pieces.

Well, almost nothing.

Madelaine and Fife left within the week. Shortly after their departure, the bishop arrived at Dunsinane.

Macbeth was in the chapel praying early one morning. He was muttering to himself and picking at his head. I studied him as I approached only to realize he was pulling out locks of his own hair.

“Macbeth?”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Aren’t what beautiful?”

“The angels,” he said, motioning above him.

I sat down in the pew closest to him. “Macbeth, I have invited the bishop here.”

“Why?”

“To talk to you about taking your pilgrimage.”

“Oh. Very well.”

“You will go?”

“Of course. It’s a good idea, Gruoch. Do you want to come?”

“No.”

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