Highland Raven (3 page)

With the blare of a
trumpet, a courier arrived the next morning with news that Alister and his men would be home by evening. The house was set aflutter. The beds were filled with fresh straw, the stairs were scrubbed, the cattle slaughtered, and wine casks were brought up from the cellars. Madelaine, paler than the moon, moved through the house dispatching orders. Alister had been away for a month. The cooks and grooms had vacationed from their hard work. The serving girls had enjoyed empty beds.

That night, the light from Alister’s men’s torches glared through the dark, heralding his arrival. I watched from my window as he arrived at the castle gate and was met by Tavis whose formal position in the castle was sentinel and chief guard. Their exchange was brief and stiff.

The smell of roasting meats and wood smoke soon wafted upstairs from the feasting hall. I could hear the call for ale reverberating off the timbers and stones. Lord Alister wanted ale, not wine. I feared for anyone who happened to get in his way, myself included. After the incident in the feasting hall, Alister’s eyes never left me. He was a snake lying in wait.

I watched the activity in the yard. Some of my uncle’s men rode back into the night to their awaiting families. Others pitched tents around the castle. The smell of campfire smoked filled the valley. The sweet sounds of harps and bagpipes rose up from the hall alongside rowdy cheers.

A short while later, Madelaine rapped on my door and entered. “Will you come down?” she asked, closing the door behind her as she headed to my trunk full of dresses. We both knew it was not really a question. Neither of use wanted to go to the hall, and neither of us had a choice. It was our duty to attend. Ladies of our station were expected to make an appearance. Anything less could be taken as a slight to the noble lords in attendance. And Madelaine, most of all, had to play the dutiful wife, lest she earn Alister’s swift and brutal retribution. The cheerful glow on my aunt’s face was gone, and her green eyes looked haunted with the look of smothered terror.

Madelaine pulled a fur-trimmed black velvet dress from my trunk. I frowned but said nothing. It would gain me nothing to complain and would only make Madelaine feel worse than she already felt.

Once I changed, we headed back to the feasting hall. Loud voices, the stench of ale, and rude talk wafted from the room. Therein, drunken revelry abounded. The room was so brightly lit that it made me squint. Madelaine squeezed my hand, but I could feel her fingers had grown cold. I hated Alister. I hated his men. I hated their ale hall. I hated the discord it brought: vomiting drunks, groping hands, and my aunt’s sorrow.

“Ah, my niece,” Alister called.

The men whistled and banged their ale horns against the wooden table.

Madelaine led me to the head of the table. The room was so full of smoke that it burned my eyes. I noticed that Father Edwin had returned as well. He sat near my uncle at the head of the table. He’d grown a scraggly beard while he was gone; it barely hid his pock-marked face. I shuddered.

“Corbie! Come,” Alister called with a laugh. His eyes, already tinged ale-red, tried to focus on me. The smell of hops and body odor reeked from him. He’d grown fatter in the month away, his belly looking rounder than ever. And he had not changed from his mud-splatted riding clothes. I felt a lump rise into my throat. How abhorred it was to be near him. I couldn’t stand the sight of him. “How is my niece?” he asked, motioning for me to sit beside him. Father Edwin looked away from me.

“Well, Uncle,” I replied politely.

Madelaine turned to leave but Alister grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“My Lord’s kitchens need attention,” she answered.

He let her go. “Then be away with you,” he said, slapping her on the ass as she turned to leave. He laughed loudly as Madelaine hurried off and turned his attention to me. “Well, Little Corbie, what did you do while I was away?”

“Women’s things, my uncle.”

“Women’s things,” he repeated then laughed. “And what are women’s things?”

“Sewing, gossiping, and talking about babies, of course,” I replied flatly, looking forward. Alister had no imagination beyond the obvious expectations.

My uncle laughed out loud. “Indeed, women’s things.” He set his hand on the back of my head and stroked my hair, his hand moving down the length of my hair to the small of my back.

My stomach turned, and my body shook. I shifted away from his touch, turning to face him. His hand dropped away. “Any news from court?” I asked.

“News?” he asked with a snort. “Nothing to concern you, lass, unless you want to talk over strategies, war, or fucking!” he said then laughed out loud, the other lords around him joining his laughter. “Though,” he said, leaning in toward me, his hand stroking my back again, “maybe you’re finally ready to start talking about fucking,” he whispered in my ear, “I still remember how sweet your perfume was,” he added, then sniffed his fingers and laughed out loud, his breath reeking of meat and ale. Mortified, I turned away. I felt like someone had poured ice water over me; my flesh rose into goose bumps.

“Here you are, My Lord,” my aunt said, coming between us, ”your pheasant.” Alister removed his hand. Madelaine set down a wooden platter in front of Alister. I usually loved the scent and flavor of the roasted bird, but my stomach felt sick; I fought back bile.

I slid over so Madelaine could sit between us. My uncle leaned forward, pushing his platter where I could see it. “Struck down by my arrow along the way,” he boasted. “Would you like a taste?”

“I’ve already eaten,” I replied.

My uncle grinned, pulled the platter back, and began talking to his cousin, Diomat, who sat near him as he carved a hunk of flesh from the bird. He shoved an enormous bite of fowl into his mouth, the crispy golden skin hanging from the corner of his lips. He pressed the morsels into his mouth with his greasy fingers, bloating his checks like a dead thing.

I took a deep breath. I tried to remind myself that it would be Madelaine who would pay if I lost my composure. Or the worse still, that Alister would lose himself again. My head ached.

The food was cleared and the pipers began to play a jig. The smoke burned my eyes. The men—the drunken men—rambled out of the castle to urinate, to vomit, or to take one of the scullery maids. I watched as Aggie passed through the room. One of Alister’s men grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. She smiled and tried to excuse herself, but there was little she could do. Around the pair, everyone laughed. The soldier tickled her chin then stuck his hand down the front of her gown, fondling her breasts. I saw her cheeks flush red.

I turned and looked at Madelaine. She’d already seen and had motioned discreetly to Tavis. The soldier was playing with Aggie’s skirts, trying to stick his hands between her legs when Tavis interrupted and called the soldier away. Laughing, he dumped her to the floor when he rose. I watched her get up quickly and hurry back to the kitchen. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

What ladies there were in the room were pulled to their feet. My uncle’s cousin Diomat, against my wishes, dragged me to the dance floor. It took all my strength to keep him upright.

“My Lady is quite the beauty,” he said, his speech slurring. He stunk like fox piss, the strange gamey scent emanating from his very pores.

My head pounded, and I wondered if all castles kept in such a manner? Would I have to live like this all my life? I noticed Madelaine and Alister moving around the floor. Their words were heated. His hand held the back of her neck tightly. I could see his fingers pressing into her skin. I then noticed someone else’s eyes on the pair: Tavis. Commoner born, he had no chance, but he loved Madelaine. I could see from his expression that he was smothering his rage. How horrid to see someone you loved not only with another but to be treated so poorly. I pitied him.

Before I could return to my seat, Lord MacKay, whose wife was not present, asked me to dance.

“Ah, our little lass, how you would love the pageantry of King Malcolm’s court! It’s a sight to see all those ladies in their fine gowns. They look like flowers strewn in the wind. But they are dainty little birds, not hardy stock like you and your aunt.” He droned on and on as we danced, his hands resting too low on my back for my liking. I stepped heavily on his feet and didn’t apologize for my clumsiness. When the dance was done, I hurriedly excused myself, fleeing to my chamber.

The house did not hush for many hours, presumably until all the men had passed into drunken unconsciousness. I was trying to sleep when I heard the door open. Terror gripped me, but I turned to see Madelaine in the doorway. She slid into bed beside me. Exhausted, I lay very still. I had just started to fall asleep again when I heard her whimper.

“What is it?” I whispered.

My aunt did not respond. I moved, allowing the moonlight to glide past me onto her swollen face. She held a wet rag against her eye: it was red, puffy, and black. She looked deathly pale.

“Madelaine!” I exclaimed.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered.

I went to the water basin, moistened a fresh piece of cloth, and took the old one she’d been clutching. I gently pressed the clean cloth against her face.

“Why?” I asked. Rage made my hands shake. Violent anger swelled up in me. I was so angry I realized I bit my tongue. Blood swelled in my mouth, filling my mouth with its salty taste. I felt feverish. I wanted to kill Alister.

Tears rolled down Madelaine’s cheeks. “It doesn’t matter why. This is what men do. Husbands don’t love their wives. They especially do not love wives who bear no children.”

I felt sick. I asked said pointedly, “Your miscarriages…did they follow such cruelty?” How many little ones had Madelaine lost? She rarely spoke of it, but I knew she had lost or put into the grave at least six little souls, too many for a mother to count. “He beat you until you lost your children, didn’t he? Then beat you again because you bore none? Madelaine, you must not suffer this! Are you to have no happiness?”

“I have found some.“

“With Tavis?”

“Well, that is something different. You fill my heart.”

“Then I shouldn’t go!”

“You must.”

“Then come with me.”

Madelaine shook her head. “Only nine. Nine is the holy number. Someone else has moved on, and you shall take her place as the new ninth.”

“Were you with these women before?”

Madelaine nodded. “The world is changing, Little Corbie. Soon all will follow the White Christ. But all the women in our family go amongst the wise women when their time comes. Some stay for a short time while others train for many years.”

“What about you?”

“Scant months thanks to a marriage contract. The family needed an alliance with Alister’s clan. I sealed the alliance.”

“Then family duty comes before the old ones?”

Madelaine sighed. “You must realize your immediacy to the throne. King Malcolm is your uncle. As well you know, he had only daughters, your cousins, Bethoc and Donalda. While the line of succession will pass to the next male heir, Bethoc’s son Duncan, you must realize your importance. Any son you bear will have a claim at the throne. You are a valuable chess piece. They will marry you off to the most royal lord in the land, if not to Duncan himself, to ensure there is no rivalry. But there are many young lords who would gladly mix their blood with the line of MacAlpin. Your fate is not yours to determine. These scant few years you have before a match is made must be lived with passion. Learn what you can. Be who you truly are.”

I didn’t want to think about it, but I knew her words were true. I had always known I was meant for a bridal contract. But would they really marry me off to Duncan? My own cousin? Such close matches were not uncommon, I knew, but I shuddered at the thought. Such a marriage would also mean great things for me…I would be Queen of Scots…my sons would be princes.

Nonetheless, my heart sank as I looked at Madelaine. My womb would be used to forge alliances or birth princes. I would never be free, just as she had never been free. We belonged to the crown, and I was a prize like her, waiting to be reaped. I understood then something about the world: legitimacy and power determined your fate.

I sighed then kissed my aunt on her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I snuggled next to Madelaine and pulled my covers to my chin, my mind spinning. What if they married me to a man like Alister? What would I do with such a man? Outside my window, I heard the call of a raven. It landed on the sill just outside, a mouse in its talons. The mouse’s dead, bulging black eyes gleamed in the moonlight. With its sharp beak, the raven ripped its corpse to bits.

The next morning, I awoke
groggy and starved for fresh air. Madelaine had gone back to her duties. My mind spun with a hundred different ways for Alister to die, but none of them seemed violent enough. I lay in bed and stared out my window. A heavy mist rose. Finally, I pulled on a cloak over my night clothes and went below.

I crept past the sleeping men in the feasting hall to the garden at the side of the castle. There, in the first of the morning sunlight, I knelt between rows of herbs. No doubt the cooks would soon, though lovingly, chase me away, so I quickly snapped fresh tendrils of mint, thyme, and other herbs. I thought their sweet scent would cheer Madelaine, and I’d often seen her brew the herbs into a draft. She said it calmed her. Something told me she might need them. The leaves were wet with morning dew. My fingers became moist, dirty, and perfumed with the herbs. I held the bunches in my hands and breathed deeply until the heady scent made me feel dizzy. I stuffed the herbs into my pockets and headed toward the front of the castle.

In the field, fire rings puffed up dissipating tails of smoke. The encampment was clearing; the men were heading home. I prayed this meant that the siege of debauchery was over.

As I walked, I spied a small trembling mass sitting near one of the abandoned camps. I climbed a small hill toward it and found a furry black body battling the wind. When I came to stand over her, she looked up at me with her sad brown eyes. It was a tiny puppy. She whimpered softly, rose on her six-inch tall legs, and waddled toward me, her tail wagging. I patted her head. She started licking me, her little pink tongue working hard. I laughed, picking her up and hugging her. She was shivering.

“Poor little thing,” I whispered to the pup. “Let’s get you inside.”

I turned to head back to the castle only to find myself face to face with Father Edwin.

“My Lady, good morning to you! May the Lord bless you this fine morning! Ah, what do you have there?” He was wearing long gray robes, a large wooden cross hanging from his neck. He peered at my hands with his sharp, gray eyes.

I looked away from him. “Just a pup. She was in the field,” I said and tried to pass by him, but he moved to stop me.

“A faerie thing then. Let me take it to the men and have its throat slit. You shouldn’t bring a foundling inside the castle walls,” he said, reaching for the puppy.

I clutched the puppy closer and looked down at her. Her brown eyes met mine. “No,” I said sternly and started walking toward the castle. I saw Tavis near the gate. He caught sight of me and began crossing the lawn toward me…and Father Edwin.

Father Edwin turned to walk beside me, still pressing his point. “Such temptations should be avoided, My Lady. The fey folk still play with high-born people such as yourself. Give it to me. I’ll be rid of it,” he was saying when we met with Tavis.

“What is that, Corbie?” Tavis interrupted, eyeing Father Edwin suspiciously as he stepped closer to me. I moved toward Tavis.

“Just a wee pup.”

“I told My Lady that it is the work of the faerie folk to leave such traps for young girls. It should be thrown in the river.”

Tavis laughed. “Have you become so suspicious, Priest? Faerie folk? You talk like a superstitious fool, scared of some bitch’s abandoned runt. Be off with you.”

“But, Lord Tavis,” the priest interjected.

“Your master is awake. He’ll be looking for you,” Tavis said sternly, stepping between me and the priest.

Father Edwin glared at Tavis then turned and headed back into the castle.

“It’s early in the day to start an argument with the White Christ, Little Corbie,” Tavis said, grinning at me. Clearly, he had not yet seen Madelaine’s broken face. I pitied the pain I knew he would feel. I pitied the revenge he would not be able to extract. I pitied his love. But I was grateful for his help.

“That is certain,” I said with a wry grin. I set the puppy down. It waddled over to him, its belly bulging.

“So, a foundling, eh? Have you named her?”

I shook my head. “No doubt she already has one. I just need to figure it out.”

Tavis shook his head. “All right,” he said with a smile. “But what if it really was the fey folk who left her? Or maybe even the little people of the hollow hills?” he asked jokingly. Laughing, he picked up the pup and was scratching her belly when two of my uncle’s men neared us. I caught just a snippet of their conversation.

“They say Duncan may take a wife this year,” said the first.

The other man laughed. “Nonsense. He’s just a boy. They will wait until they can make a sturdy alliance,” the other replied as he mounted.

“With King Cnut badgering Malcolm, no doubt there will be some movement very soon.”

“All the movement being done is being done by Thorfinn.”

“He’s just a whelp with a big ship.”

“He may be a whelp, but he’s allied with King Magnus of Norway, and he’s fostering Macbeth.”

“Shame about Macbeth’s father. Findelach was a good man.”

Tavis, also overhearing the conversation, cleared his throat loudly. Both men looked at us.

“Ah, Lady Corbie,” said the first, winking knowingly to his partner.

The second man turned to me. “And here is Boite’s daughter,” he said slickly, casting a knowing glance to his comrade.

Tavis handed the puppy back to me. “Farewell, My Lords,” Tavis said gruffly, cutting off the words lingering on the men’s tongues.

The men laughed knowingly then guided their horses away from the castle, gossiping like two old women as soon as they were out of earshot. I heard my name carry on the wind.

I thought about their words. My cousin Donalda’s husband Findelach had been killed by his own brother, Gillacoemgain, in a quarrel over the rule of Moray. Findelach had fallen out of King Malcolm’s favor, and it was rumored that the King secretly supported Gillacoemgain’s move to take power from his brother. Apparently Macbeth, my second cousin by Donalda, had heard the rumor as well. People said he fled to Lord Thorfinn of Orkney for protection. King Malcom had no problem striking out at his own when it pleased him, much as he’d done to my own father, according to the rumors. My elder cousin Donalda, now a widow, was back at court, and Gillacoemgain, despite killing Donalda’s husband, was now the Mormaer of Moray and the most powerful man in the north. I frowned as I thought about where I fit on that chessboard. Would they really marry me off to Duncan? I’d never even seen the boy. The thought of it made me feel indignant, but in the end, the truth was obvious: King Malcolm would move me soon.