Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (19 page)

As the bearers moved towards where Fleance was standing, he studied Donalbain’s face. The king looked very pleased with himself. It was a look of satisfaction; when one has finally gained one’s heart’s desire. He had not gained the crown through foul means so why shouldn’t he be pleased, Fleance thought. Weird fascinations aside, he was the rightful king of Scotland and should be honoured as such.

The cries from the watching crowd continued. Even Fleance could not resist calling out as Duncan walked passed. The young prince looked at him and grinned. Yes, it was good to enjoy this moment and he saw Duncan appreciated his support.

Fleance watched the procession as they moved off and his eyes skipped over the crowd. Many were following the procession but he began walking away from the church so that he could have some quiet space before the small banquet which had been arranged for the evening.

He made his way to a low stone wall and stood under one of the decorated trees. A ribbon had come loose and now was making a jerky dance across the road. Fleance stooped down to pick it up and when he stood up he saw his father standing in the barren field on the other side of the wall. Fear flooded him and he swallowed quickly. But this time, Fleance decided, he would not chase him. He would wait and see if this vision would justify why it continued to plague him.

The mass of people had all but dispersed but Fleance stood
quie
tly as did Banquo. Instead of anger, this time he saw sadness in his father’s face. And something else. Concern? Worry? Their eyes were locked and though his brain was reminding him that what he was seeing could not possibly be real, Fleance was at the same time utterly certain as to what his eyes were telling him. Banquo was standing here at Scone where they had stood together some ten years earlier – the same look on his face now as Fleance remembered him having then.

‘Are you not well, Da?’ Fleance had asked as they watched Macbeth being carried towards the church.

Banquo looked down at him. ‘Aye, son. It has been a long day.’ But he did not take his eyes from the retreating king.

‘Da, I heard some lords talk about King Duncan’s sons – that it was not the chamberlains but them that killed their father.’

Banquo nodded. ‘Aye, that is the story I’ve heard as well.’

‘Do you not think it true?’ Fleance asked.

His father gave him a sharp look. ‘These are times, Fleance, to keep a body alive, that what a man thinks should not always align with what he says. I suggest, son, you do not discuss these things so openly.’

Fleance’s face burned hot with shame. It was not often his father chastised him but this was as close to a public reprimand as the occasion would allow. ‘Sorry, Da.’

Banquo pulled him to his side. ‘The less said, boy, the best mended.’

‘Fleance?’ A hand touched his arm and he jumped. It was Rachel. She was staring up at him and frowning. ‘Are you not
coming
in?’

Fleance looked back to where his father had stood but the area was empty. He felt a loneliness again. ‘Sorry, I was away with my thoughts. ’Tis said, I’m often doing that.’ He tried to smile.

‘Are you inclined to share them?’

‘Eh?’

‘Your thoughts. Sometimes, when one is burdened, it can ease the load to share half of it with another,’ she said smiling.

‘It is nothing. Let us go in and celebrate your father’s day.’ He offered her his arm, which she took and they walked together towards the gathering as she recounted Bree’s insistence that she also be carried on the stone until a growl from the king had sent her scuttling to hide behind Rachel.

Later they partook of communion. The smoke from the burning incense stung his eyes and when Fleance accepted the bread, he almost choked so dry was his mouth. Duncan slapped him on the back and the coughing stopped.

‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not something I’m used to doing.’

‘You’re in good company then,’ Duncan whispered back, grinning. He pointed to a line of noblemen who were fumbling with the wine and the bread. ‘You would think they would have the skill for such an event.’

‘It has been a while,’ Fleance whispered back. ‘Nine years since the last coronation?’

‘Aye,’ Duncan began but a loud hiss behind them from Rachel made him silent. Duncan pulled a face at Fleance and it was all he could do to avoid laughing and thus encounter Rachel’s wrath.

Later they went on to the meal and Fleance once more found himself in Rachel’s company. ‘Princess,’ he bowed. ‘I offer my humblest apologies for my behaviour.’

‘Is attendance at church not a thing you are accustomed to, Fleance?’ she asked, but without any sense of judgement.

‘Apart from Shrove Tuesdays and Ash Wednesdays, we rarely cross the threshold of a sanctuary,’ he said, remembering Magness’s grumbles about having to attend such ceremonies even if they only happened once a year. Fleance could quite clearly hear Magness’s voice when they had entered the local church:
Mark this, lad. The church is only a tool used by the throne to control its people and keep them oppressed
.

‘God’s presence and forgiveness is not contained in a building but it is good that you were given the opportunity to seek His forgiveness,’ Rachel said kindly.

‘And do I have yours, Rachel?’ Fleance asked.

She touched his arm. ‘I have no judgement over you, Fleance. I do expect more from my brother who is well acquainted with such ceremonies. I anticipate he will also seek my forgiveness which I am obliged and happy to dispense – though I may make him squirm a bit before I do,’ she smiled cheekily, a happy sparkle in her eyes.

Fleance grinned. That would be entertaining to see. He watched Rachel make her way over to Duncan and he followed a short distance behind, thinking about their conversation.

When all the dishes had been carried off, Fleance suddenly realised that Rachel had not left his side all evening. He didn’t mind. She was delightful in her quiet way and, although his heart still ached for Rosie, Rachel’s easy laughter and gentle manner removed the edge from his loneliness.

Duncan had lost some of his edginess as well and teased him mercilessly. Their gentle ribbing amounted to a wrestle in the clearing, cheered on by the earls, Rachel and a number of the monks.

Fleance was far stronger and swifter than his friend but felt it inappropriate to let the young prince lose face. He made a good show of trying to beat Duncan but did not hold him as firmly as he could, did not apply his strength. Rather, he allowed himself to be conquered by Duncan much to the delight of the watching crowd.

They stood up and shook hands. Bree brought her brother a drink and Rachel brought Fleance his. ‘I saw,’ she said quietly. ‘You could have taken him anytime.’

Fleance drank and then wiped his mouth. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Princess,’ he said. She looked at him with a smile and raised her right eyebrow. Suddenly he was back in the forests of England; back with Rosie who had caught him out with some story. He remembered the lift of the eyebrow and her sweet smile.

He turned away from Rachel quickly and went to the tent where he was to sleep with Macduff, Lennox and the enigmatic Calum.

That night the dreams came again. Kissing Rosie who turned into Rachel who turned back into Rosie and then back into Rachel. Even in his dreams, he knew it was wrong to think of anyone save Rosie. But there was something about Rachel that was comforting. There was none of the passion he always felt with Rosie but, if he was truly honest, it wasn’t too terrible being with Rachel on this trip.

When they travelled back to Glamis, however, Fleance made sure he sat as far away from Rachel as he could. He would not be distracted from finishing his quest and then finding Rosie again.

Rosie
Perth

Da had been in Scotland some weeks when he returned to take them both back to the inn at Perth. However, Rosie knew Ma’s painful joints would make the trip unbearable. They agreed, when Dougal arrived, they would tell him of their plan that Rebecca would move in with Miri and help her especially as Magness regularly spent many days away now.

But Dougal would have none of that. ‘I will not be separated unnecessarily from my wife,’ he cried. So it was, then, that they boarded a ship at Newcastle and sailed around the coast of
Scotland
, up the Firth of Tay then north up the river to Perth. It had been a difficult journey. Ma suffered from seasickness and Rosie had spent a good deal of time below deck helping to nurse her through the worst of it.

Despite her uncomfortable task with her mother, being busy and preoccupied helped keep her heart above fatal drowning. Rosie was relieved to be active and distracted.

But, despite this, it wearied a body to be so long out of the light and swaying beneath decks. By the time they docked, at the river village, she was glad to be on firm land again.

Dougal was cheerfully arranging the transportation of their belongings while Rosie helped Rebecca off the ship and into the waiting cart. Her mother looked too white and her lips were of a bluish hue. Still, she smiled at Rosie as her daughter tucked a travel blanket around her legs.

They left father and husband behind and made the short trip to the tavern. It was a pleasant-looking building with bright-red flower boxes outside the windows. To the left was a large stable. Dougal would be pleased for he judged an inn by the quality of its stables. ‘Any self-respecting innkeeper,’ he told them on the journey over, ‘must have more than adequate housing for the horses as well as good ale from which to make a profit.’ Their driver pulled up and Rosie, happy to see her mother was making a recovery, helped her down from the cart. The driver took their bags and followed them as they entered the building.

It was huge. This was the first thought she had. Why had she imagined her father had signed up for some poky little downcast hovel when, in fact, this was a major establishment? Her heart raced. This would be wonderful. This would give them opportunity for much trade and traffic.

The young man behind the counter grinned at Rosie. ‘I am mighty pleased to see you, Miss.’ He bowed to Rebecca. ‘And you, Mam. We lost cook four weeks ago and trade is down. We understand you have the touch and will bring in business.’ He pulled up two tankards. ‘Here, you’ll be wanting these after your long
journey
.’

Rosie held up her hand. ‘Just water, thank you, sir.’

The barman nodded and went out the back. Soon he was back with cool, refreshing water. ‘The inn sits beside a natural spring,’ he explained. ‘And the name’s Jethro. I worked here for the previous owners but Dougal was happy to keep me on.’

He was trying to impress. She nodded politely at him and helped her mother with the water. ‘Thank you . . . Jethro. You are very kind and we look forward to working with you to make this establishment the best in Perth.’

‘No, my lady,’ he replied. ‘The best in Scotland.’

No wonder Da loved this place, Rosie thought. An ambitious young worker; wine coming from the best place, for grapes prefer ground-fed water. The fates were smiling. The only thing left now for her was to find Flea.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Glamis Castle

W
hen he peered into the mirror that morning, Fleance was shocked to see how unwell he looked from too many nights of vivid and violent dreams. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. And tonight there was to be a feast. Donalbain, not content with the meal at Scone, had decided that a large banquet in honour of his coronation was needed.

The day after they had returned from Scone, while at supper, Donalbain had made the announcement that the thanes and earls would be called to the palace and that Rachel was to organise a feast that would be the rival of any other that had gone before: the best food, drink and entertainment.

He decided to call for a bath in preparation for the evening ahead. Perhaps a long soak in a hot tub would ease the exhaustion which plagued him continuously.

Duncan had discreetly arranged for Fleance to be given a fresh set of clothes and it was nice to pull on a soft, clean shirt and a change of breeks. His newly appointed page had set a plate of fruit, bread, cheese and sausage on the table beside his bed and Fleance picked away at these while he dressed. He pulled from his dusty cloak the parchments he’d found at Inverness and put them inside his new shirt. It would not be good if anyone got their hands on these. Though few in the royal court could read, there were enough who could and it would be dangerous, what with Donalbain’s obsession with signs and prophecy, to let this information come into the court.

As befitted a celebration, the sun was out but there was still a threat of rain as the sky was watery. A cool breeze came in from the north but it was refreshing nonetheless. He would go see about Willow, who would be grumpy at being neglected, and then find Duncan.

The cacophony of sounds which greeted Fleance as he stepped into the yard almost sent him back to his chambers. Chic
kens, shee
p, pigs, goats, a cow – all were clamouring for attention, crying and squawking and complaining. Hands and servants hurried
to and fro
, arms filled with fresh straw, baskets of vegetables or piles of fresh linen.

As he strode over towards the stable, a long cart and horse rattled into the courtyard. Fleance barely noticed it until a loud voice bellowed out, ‘Drink for the feast – where do you want it?’ It was unmistakably familiar – Dougal. Fleance turned on his heel and his heart leapt. Rosie sat beside her father.

‘Rosie,’ he called and she turned towards his voice. When she spotted him, her eyes widened. He ran up to the wagon. ‘Rosie. You’re here.’

Her face, which a moment before was radiant with delight, suddenly lost all expression. She politely cleared her throat. ‘I would have thought that was
obvious
, Flea. As are you.’ She turned to her father who was glaring at him. ‘I see you are embraced by this court.’

‘No matter,’ he said, joy bubbling forth. ‘I have news, Rosie. I can explain now. The new king’s son . . . he took kindly upon me and—’ Fleance gestured to his attire ‘—dressed me. But it is still me.’ Fleance reached up to her. ‘It’s all right now, Rosie. I can explain it all. I’m sorry but I couldn’t before because I didn’t know but now I understand.’ He was gabbling, but he so desperately wanted to hold her and tell her everything and ask for forgiveness.

‘You’re making no sense, lad,’ Dougal growled. ‘Typical.’

Fleance swallowed. ‘Dougal, may I have a word with Rosie – I have some explaining to do.’

‘You got that bit right,’ Dougal grumbled. ‘Well, it’s really up to wee Rosie here whether she has a mind to listen to your excuses.’

Rosie looked at him for a long moment, then picked up her skirts. ‘I won’t be long, Da. Will you be right with them barrels?’

‘Aye, lass. Looks to be plenty of fellows to give me a hand. Off you go but don’t be long.’ He pointed at Fleance. ‘You should wipe that silly grin off your face – you look like the fool you are.’

Barely able to contain the giddy joy he felt, he ignored Dougal’s comments and helped Rosie down from the cart. He held her longer than necessary and felt her stiffen under his hands.

‘Let’s go to the stable. Willow’s been neglected and we can talk openly there.’ He led her to the stables but kept turning to look at her. She was not her usual bubbly self and there was a distinct calmness about her. No matter, he thought. Once he told her everything, she would surely understand.

Willow was eating and completely ignored him. To Rosie, however, he nudged her hand and allowed her to stroke his neck. Fleance watched her, his heart too full. He had missed her terribly but seeing her now, the full force of his love hit him solidly. ‘You’re more beautiful . . .’ he started but she shot him a pained look.

‘What are you doing here, Flea?’ She pointed to his clothes. ‘You’re dressed like a royal.’

He stepped towards her. ‘I can explain everything, Rosie my love, if you will hear me out.’ He waited, holding his breath and when she gave a quick nod, he began his story. ‘My full name is Fleance of Lochaber. My father was Banquo, Thane of Lochaber.’ She gasped, her eyes wide again. ‘Yes. But only Duncan and his sister,’ he gestured towards the castle, ‘know this yet. My father was a loyal general in the king’s army until his untimely murder by
Macbeth
, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor. Once Macbeth was crowned king, he arranged for my father’s murder – and mine.

‘He succeeded with Banquo but I managed to escape.’ He told her his story. He reached out to her and she did not pull away. ‘The last words he said to me, Rosie, were to fly that I may avenge his murder.’ He studied her face, trying to see if his words were getting through to her. ‘You see, Rosie, I was just a lad of eleven when that happened and, until now, I have lived these last ten years with the fear that whoever killed my father was still hunting me.’

Rosie found her voice. ‘But why?’ she whispered. ‘Why did Macbeth want to kill your father and you?’

Fleance pulled the parchments from his shirt. ‘I found these when I went to Inverness. They are letters from Macbeth to his wife. They explain everything.’ He read her the contents of the first letter and was inwardly pleased at her surprised intakes of breath.

When he finished it she said, ‘So, he murdered your father because he had been there when Macbeth received the prophecies. But why, Flea? Why did he want your life?’

‘Here,’ he said, opening the second letter. ‘He went to the witches again.’ He read her the second letter.

‘He was insane,’ Rosie said when he had finished. ‘How can a king put the guidance of his kingdom into the hands of such evil?’

‘Aye, the man was mad, that is certain. And this madness drove him to betray even his best friend. It is strange, though, that he believed the witches’ prophecies yet thought it necessary to act to ensure they were fulfilled. Rosie, I never heard Da talk of being anything more than what had been bestowed upon him.’

‘Flea?’ she began her voice trembling. ‘The prophecies say
Banquo
will be the father of kings.’

‘Pay no heed to them. ’Tis just silly prattle, Rosie, but there are men here who still believe such things which is why we must not say anything. Only one other knows the contents of these letters and I trust him with my life.’ He stroked Willow’s rump. ‘Likewise, why would I even think of having an ambition that set me as a target for men’s envy?’

Rosie frowned as she flicked her long hair over her shoulder in annoyance. ‘And yet, this does not explain why you left me.’

‘But it does,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see? I have been plagued by the history of this injustice.’

She frowned deeper. ‘You make no sense.’

‘Rosie. Listen. My father, he has been visiting me. Both in my dreams and when I am awake.’

‘You see him?’

‘Aye, and he looks mighty fierce.’

‘But that doesn’t explain why you’re here, in this place, with these clothes,’ she said pointing to his shirt.

Fleance took in a deep breath. ‘’Tis a bit of a long story. If you have the time while Dougal is busy I will share it with you.’ Rosie nodded and he told her the story of saving Duncan; going to Forres; the death of King Malcolm; of coming here, to Glamis. He touched her cheek gently. ‘I am certain my father is directing my course.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You are unbelievable.’

Fleance frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought I knew you, Flea. I thought I understood you but this,’ she pointed to the letters, ‘this still doesn’t explain why you left me.’

Fleance nodded. ‘I have felt my father’s presence with me most powerfully. And though I don’t know how I am to avenge his murder, I sense that the answer is not too far from my grasp.’

‘No,’ she cried. ‘What is unbelievable is that you are standing here in front of me as if nothing has changed between us. That you went off so willingly to amend a wrong done ten years ago, to fix something that has plagued you in dreams and visions. And yet I,’ she cried, her face dissolving into anger and despair, ‘I, who have been in front of you these past months, real, flesh and blood—’ she pinched her arm ‘—was not regarded enough by you in your plans. What does that say about your feelings towards me, Flea? I thought you loved me. I opened my whole life to you and now I learn you gave me nothing but your scraps.’

Her angry words frustrated him. ‘You are being unfair, Rosie,’ he said, feeling his temper rise.

‘
Me
unfair,’ she cried. ‘While you’ve been living the high life, I’ve been trying to mend my heart, broken by you.’

‘Do you not think I have been grieving too?’ he stormed. She looked away. ‘It has been no high life I’ve lived. Every night,
nightmares
– horrible, bloody visions so that I spend daylight feeling like I’ve been in battle. To forever have the memory of
watching
my father brutally murdered replaying in my mind is not living the high life.’ He was almost shouting now but he needed to get through to her. ‘All that time in England, Rosie, I was afraid. Afraid. Can you imagine what that must be like? Can you?’ She had begun to cry, quiet tears falling down her cheeks but he was not finished.

‘And,’ he lowered his voice, ‘and now to learn that I am in line to the throne, not simply a distant relative of the royal family.’ Rosie looked up at him, tears still spilling down her face though she was silent. He took a deep breath to calm himself, though his heart w
as stil
l beating furiously, and leant his body against the wall.

The two of them stood in Willow’s stall, saying nothing. Eventually he straightened up and went to her. ‘Rosie, I’m sorry but I had always believed my life to be in danger and if I told anyone, anyone, then, not only would that risk my life, but those whom I love. You,’ he added quietly.

Rosie shook her head and then looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Flea. You are right to be cross. My words were mean.’ She tried to wipe away the tears but more followed.

‘Shhh, love,’ he said and pulled her to him. For a moment s
he wen
t rigid, but he continued to hold her until she relaxed against him.

‘Oh, Flea. I have missed you so much – it was unbearable.’ She pressed her face into his chest.

‘Aye, likewise, but I hoped you would wait for me.’

‘I can do nothing else because you are the only one I want.’ She was quiet for a bit. ‘But you’re not finished, are you?’ She lifted her head to look at his face. In hers he saw confusion and doubt. ‘How much longer do I have to wait? Flea, do you not see your position now? You are part of the royal family. This will make it hard for us.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘It will be fine, I promise. Do you understand now, though, why I had to leave?’

‘Was it Da, also?’ she asked, her lips quivering. ‘Was it that he forced your hand?’

‘I think that may have just been the prod I needed – I had been putting it off for too long and then when I met you I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you.’ He drank in her beauty, his heart thumping. Then he bent down and kissed her, gently at first and, when she began to respond, more intensely so that for a long while they clung to each other, their mouths seeking a deeper connection. He felt as if he wanted all of her and the touch and taste of her lips sent his mind into another world.

There was a discreet cough and they jumped apart. It was the new king’s advisor, Calum. ‘Sire,’ he said to Fleance, while staring hard at Rosie, ‘the prince is looking for you. What would you have me tell him?’

‘I will be with him shortly,’ Fleance replied and, when Calum did not move, he added, ‘That will be all, thank you.’

A dark look washed over the advisor’s face and then he bowed and left abruptly.

Rosie giggled. ‘You suit the part, I must say, Flea.’

He pulled her to him again. ‘Say you have forgiven me.’

She reached up a hand and stroked his cheek. ‘There is a peace in my heart now, for I understand your story. I’m still angry with you for putting me through such pain, but I shall think up some revenge to make you suffer,’ she said kissing him and biting his lip.

‘Ow,’ he said pulling back but then planted a firm kiss on those lips and whispered into her mouth. ‘I shall look forward to it.’ Grabbing her hand, he led her out of the darkened stables and into the bright morning. ‘I cannot tell you, Rosie, what a weight has gone from my shoulders. All these years I believed there was someone whose instruction it was to track me down and destroy me and all I love.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I am no longer afraid for my life.’

They found Dougal talking with Morag, a tankard in his hand, a bunch of carrots in hers. Dougal put his tankard on a barrel. ‘Well, lass? Has he given you a sound explanation and come to his senses?’

‘Aye, Da.’

‘Just as well or else I’d have to knock it into him some more,’ Dougal growled, giving Fleance a hard look. ‘You can tell me about it on the journey home.’

A jolt hit Fleance. ‘You’re going back to England?’

‘No, we have bought a tavern in Perth. That’s home for us now,’ Rosie said. ‘Da here has combined his trade with the profitable use of his goods. Ma and me run it between us.’