Page 75 of Highland Queen

“How I miss you when we are apart,” he whispered. “And now—” he set his hand on my stomach—“what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Once she is old enough, we could send her to fostering.”

“I cannot,” Banquo whispered. “I’d rather quit the court life.”

His words stung my heart. Banquo still didn’t know about Crearwy. I planned to tell him when he came to the coven, but now I wasn’t sure I’d ever find the right time.

“Lochaber is quiet. I have a small but loyal staff there. If you come to Lochaber, it’s possible we can hide the truth. No one will ever know you bore a child.”

“Perhaps. That may work. But I will need to return. I will need to rule. Otherwise, we are all in ruin.”

“Yes,” Banquo said, kissing my cheek.

“And you?”

“I will not be separated from my child because I have placed the wrong man on the throne.”

“If Macbeth ever learns—”

“If Macbeth ever dreams of touching my child, I will murder him.”

“Don’t tempt the gods,” I whispered, remembering the terrible vision I’d had.

“No. I won’t tempt the gods,” Banquo said then took my hand. He paused when he saw the gloves. “I saw you wearing these. I thought you were cold. But now that I see them under the light… Cerridwen, this is no normal stitching.”

“They were a gift.”

“From whom?”

“Sid brought them to me from the Unseelie Queen.”

Banquo rose up on his elbow and looked at me. “Why?”

“Because…because my hands are marred.”

“What do you mean?”

I swallowed hard then pulled off my gloves. When I did so, I instantly saw both hands as though they were slick with blood. “Can you see?” I whispered.

“See what? There is nothing there.”

“With your druid’s eyes.”

There was a strange hum in the air, and a moment later, Banquo gasped.

Sighing, I pulled the gloves back on.

“What is that?” Banquo whispered.

“A curse. Blood of my blood. The gloves are bespelled. They disrupt the enchantment.”

“Oh, Cerridwen. Why would the gods do such a thing to you?”

“I don’t know. But no matter what, I cannot get rid of the spots.”

“They set us on this path, they move us toward our fates, then they punish us for following the trenches in the road they’ve dug,” Banquo said, a hard edge on his voice. “Sometimes, I wonder about the teachings of the White Christ. The doctrine, unpolluted by his priests, promotes love and forgiveness. Maybe—”

“Oh, my love, don’t even speak the words.”

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