Queen Hereafter, page 18
Duncan spoke with utter sincerity, but everything about this felt wrong to me. The shadows were too dark. The camp was too quiet. King Malcolm was too generous.
“I told him how much I liked you,” Duncan said as though reading my mind, “and he said if I arranged your escape, I could protect you.”
“And he plans on sending me to Burghead alone?” I asked. That would be the easiest way to get rid of me.
“No, no! My guards will go with you. But you must leave now.”
He grabbed my hand and dragged me on more urgently. Sinna trotted behind. By the time we were some distance from Scone, we were all breathless. We slowed as four horsemen emerged from the darkness. I gripped the hilt of my dagger, prepared to draw it, but Duncan addressed them.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asked.
“Aye,” one of the guards replied.
Duncan looked at me expectantly. Still I hesitated. I needed an excuse to slow our escape, to gather my thoughts and find a different way out—one that did not rely on the goodwill of King Malcolm.
“Allistor! I won’t leave without him.”
I made to run back but Duncan caught me by the hand.
“He’s here. I had him brought for you.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
Duncan pulled me close in an embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He was much stronger than he looked. I dared not move lest I offend him. He lifted my face and pressed his lips to mine. I stiffened but could not pull away. His kiss was sloppy, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. It was nothing like Thamhas’s kiss—soft lips, gentle mouth. I resisted the urge to gag, and I tried not to cry as the memories flooded my mind.
He is dead. There’s nothing more to be done about it.
I could hear Ardith’s warning in my head, so I bore the embrace. After an eternity, he released me, and one of the guards helped me onto my horse. Sinna was already on a mount beside mine.
“I’ll come for you,” Duncan whispered into the dark. “We will be married, I promise.” He took my hand and squeezed it. With that we rode away.
We rode hard, as we had when we were escaping Fife all those years ago. No one spoke. We rose early every morning and rode late into the night. The horses grew steadily more exhausted, and my body ached, but still we pressed on. I would have liked to give my horse a rest and I did my best to comfort him, giving up my own dinner occasionally so he could have more food. Sinna and I didn’t speak to each other, too weary and too nervous.
We reached Inverness on the sixth day, where we stopped briefly to rest the horses. I had visited the place often as a child and remembered it as a thriving port town. But it was deserted now. Only a few women and children were visible, hanging back in the shadows of the small thatched houses. I didn’t see a single man in the whole place. The guards did not seem to notice anything strange; or if they did, they said nothing about it.
My unease grew.
We rode on.
We reached the next large settlement, Forres, an hour after the sun had gone down. Burghead was still at least two hours away, and I had assumed we would stop in Forres for the night, but the guards pressed onward. My heart broke for Allistor, who was so clearly tired. He dragged his legs and did not seem to take comfort in my gentle murmurings and pats. Another hour crept on.
It was Allistor that first alerted me to danger.
I felt him tense beneath me. His ears flicked, hearing things that were still silent to me, and he started making small whinnying noises. He was not the only one; all the horses were behaving strangely, the guards now struggling to control them. I looked around, squinting into the darkness to see what was wrong.
A light began to emerge on the horizon. I thought it might be from a torch, perhaps one of Findlaich’s men sent to scout us out.
But as we drew nearer, the flames grew higher and I realized the horrifying truth.
Burghead was on fire.
Chapter 16
Tall flames leapt into the sky, bathing the coast in an eerie orange light. They reflected on the dark sea, illuminating the waves that lacerated the sandy beach.
I pulled Allistor to a halt, expecting the others to do the same with their mounts. They paused, but only for a moment, before continuing towards Burghead.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Where are you going?”
They didn’t respond. I turned Allistor around. Perhaps whoever had attacked Burghead might not have reached Elgin. There would still be time to warn them. But two guards blocked my path.
“Get out of my way,” I said, trying to sound commanding, trying not to let the panic crest and crash over me and catch me out in its wake.
“We have instructions to take you to Burghead.”
“Burghead is on fire, you fool! I think your instructions are no longer relevant.”
Still the guard did not move. My chest constricted and I struggled to breathe.
Had this been part of the plan?
I thought about bolting; I could tell Allistor was ready for it. He wanted to run away from the burning mass as much as I did. But where could I go? There was no hope of crossing Alba to find my father. And Burghead was on fire. Donalda? Findlaich? Were they even alive?
Still the guards stood behind me, blocking my path. There was nothing to do but face whatever was in store for me in the ruins of the settlement. I turned to Sinna. I had forgotten about her in the panic and felt sorry for it now. She was crying quietly. I reached over and took her hand in mine.
“It will be all right,” I said, making my voice more resolute than I felt.
As we began the ascent inland and round to the keep, we met straggling soldiers, drunk in celebration. I did not recognize any of them, though I had known Findlaich’s guard well. These were neither the coastal farmers nor the large Norsemen who often frequented Findlaich’s lands. They wore no distinguishing symbols and their hair was shaved short reminding me of those Irishmen, the mercenaries Mael Colum and Gillecomghain had brought to Moray all those years ago.
Gods!
I knew exactly who had attacked the keep.
My stomach clenched. If Mael Colum had returned for revenge, what would he do when he saw me? Was he expecting me? Had this been part of King Malcolm’s plan? My vision went blurry and my head spun with all manner of possibilities, each more terrible than the last. My breath came in shallow starts and my vision began to cloud. But this time I did not have Ardith to comfort me.
I forced myself to slow my breathing and willed myself to carry on.
The horses resisted our commands, tossing their heads anxiously as we rode closer to the fire, but we urged them on until we crossed the bridge over the deep moat I had once hidden in and entered the settlement. Here we alighted, unable to bring them any closer without risk of their bolting.
Mercenaries were streaming out of the inner fortress, swaggering with the gait of victors. I wondered how Mael Colum had amassed the funds to pay them all. One of the soldiers tried to take my horse, but I kicked him. He stumbled back and was about to strike me when a guard shouted at him. He spat at me instead. Women were screaming as they were dragged out into the night, their abandoned children huddled in dark corners, holding on to each other and crying.
The king’s men, clearly anxious to leave this barbarism behind and return to Scone as quickly as possible, ushered Sinna and me through the charred settlement. Averting my eyes from the desolation, I focused my attention on the central grounds where towering flames leapt above the walls. I prayed to Brighde that Findlaich and Donalda had escaped. I prayed that I would not see their corpses among the others. I prayed that I would not be sick.
The ground inside the inner wall was littered with bodies: men of Burghead who had tried to defend the keep. In the firelight, they looked almost animated in death, the glow casting strange shadows on their blood-soaked faces. I wanted to scream, but dared not open my mouth.
I dragged my eyes from the carnage back to the fire that savaged the Great Hall. Men were already hard at work trying to put it out. They had hacked into the back wall to pass through buckets of seawater to douse the flames, but still the angry heat burned my cheeks.
Against the blaze the outlines of two men were visible. Even from behind, I instantly recognized both the bullish, broad-shouldered silhouette and the lithe, lean one beside him. Perhaps I was so quick to recognize them because I had only ever known them by firelight.
We stepped aside, staying pressed against the inside wall as one of the guards approached Mael Colum. As he barked back a response, I noticed the truncated arm where Findlaich had cut off his hand all those years ago.
Battle scars were usually seen as tokens to be envied, but to be maimed was a warrior’s greatest defeat. Many men hid such disfigurement beneath long cloaks, but Mael Colum was gesticulating wildly at the king’s guard. He must have been either ignorant of the old custom or confident of his remaining brute force; I suspected it was the latter.
After a brief conversation out of earshot, Mael Colum cast his gaze around. It landed on me. A sinister smile spread across his face.
“The Picti bitch returns home,” he shouted as he sauntered towards me.
I felt for my dagger. It was accessible if I needed it, though I did not know what I would do with it. For all the times I had touched its hilt for comfort, I had not often practiced wielding it as MacBethad had taught me. Even with one hand, I was sure Mael Colum could counter me easily.
“You’ve grown,” he said, advancing until he was standing very close to me. Even with his back to the blaze, his eyes were illuminated by the firelight. His gaze slid hungrily over me. I would not give in to his intimidation, no matter how much I longed to pull my furs around my body, hiding it from his view.
“A shame you did not,” I retorted before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed. Then he hit me hard across the face. I yelped in pain but quickly recovered. Tasting blood on my lip, I stood tall, daring him to strike me again. My legs shook, and I hoped he would not see it. He moved to hit me when one of the guards spoke.
“She is not to be harmed.”
Mael Colum looked up as though he were just now seeing the guard for the first time. I too turned to them, stunned.
“But if she comes from King Malcolm, I would have thought—”
I too had thought—
“King Malcolm has decreed she is not to be killed.”
“Well, there is still fun to be had.” Mael Colum reached out and grabbed me, pulling me against him. His body was revolting—the feel of it, the smell of it, like soured milk. King Malcolm’s guard called out again.
“You are to marry her.”
“What?” We both said it at the same time, and despite my own distress, his alarm was satisfying.
“MacBethad is a favorite of Cnut’s and King Malcolm is concerned that his nephew and Boedhe will attack to avenge Findlaich’s death. If Gruoch marries the new Mormaer of Moray perhaps Boedhe will warn off MacBethad.”
So Findlaich was dead. Of course he was. But hearing it confirmed crushed me.
“The king is a spineless coward who can’t do anything for himself,” said Mael Colum. “What of Donalda? She was meant to be my bride.”
My heart lurched.
Donalda lived.
I swung my head around in search of her, seeing nothing but fire and smoke and blood.
“She is to return to her father,” the king’s guard said.
My unease in Scone, my confusion at King Malcolm’s generosity, the destruction of Burghead—it all slotted into place as I realized what the king had been plotting all along: a rescue mission for his daughter Donalda, and I the pawn with which he would bargain for her release. Duncan must have known. Duncan, who had embraced and kissed me, and sent me into the ruin of Moray.
Mael Colum released me so as to be able to better argue with the guards. I felt the urge to run. I might slip out now, undetected.
Sinna.
Her eyes were cast determinedly down, trying to avoid catching sight of the bodies strewn all around us. I could not abandon her, and it would be impossible for both of us to slip out undetected. Approaching Sinna, I took her hand in mine. She put her arms around me, and I held her.
I longed for Ardith. She would have known what to do. She would have been able to concoct a poison from the ground and find a way to put it in Mael Colum’s ale. I realized what a fool I had been to leave her behind. But it was too late now for regrets.
Coming out of my reverie, I saw Gillecomghain had come to stand at his brother’s side. I was once again struck by how tall he was. He stood a full head above Mael Colum, and despite his elder brother’s bullishness, did not cower or try to diminish his own height but stood silently beside him. It seemed like a small act of defiance, and that pleased me greatly.
I remembered how Donalda had spoken of Gillecomghain’s kindness and knew he had disapproved of Mael Colum’s duel. Perhaps he would have compassion for me.
“Gillecomghain,” I called out to him. Mael Colum barely looked up as his brother approached us.
“We are tired and have travelled far. Might we sleep?”
“You know my name.”
“Aye.”
“I do not know yours.”
Mael Colum had remembered me instantly; I wondered why Gillecomghain had not.
“I am Gruoch, daughter of Boedhe, son of King Coinneach.”
“Gruoch,” he said, eyes lighting up in recognition. “I remember—the girl in the woods. You’re much taller. Why have they brought you here?”
“I have been sent from Scone to marry Mael Colum in return for his obedience to King Malcolm.”
Even as I spoke, the words felt like the fate of another. It was not I but some other girl who had been sent to marry a man she abhorred, a brute who had killed the man she had loved almost as much as a father.
Gillecomghain tilted his head and studied me.
“You accept the change in your fate better than I would have thought possible. The girl in the woods who insisted she was a Picti princess would not have done so.”
I bit on my tongue to keep myself from cursing him.
“I had little choice.”
His brother was approaching, looking as angry as ever.
“The king cannot drop his problems at my feet,” Mael Colum spat. “Am I to have no reward for obeying his orders?”
“Surely Mormaer of Moray is reward enough,” Gillecomghain answered.
“You are to go back to Scone,” Mael Colum said to me, ignoring the comment.
“But the king said I was to marry you,” I replied, confused by how quickly events were moving.
“I don’t need a Picti bitch getting under my feet.”
Moments ago, there had been nothing more loathsome to me than the prospect of a union with Mael Colum. But in Scone, I would have nothing, would be nothing. With Mael Colum, I might come to rule Moray. It was a disgusting choice, but I could think of no alternative.
“I won’t get in your way,” I said.
He snorted in disbelief.
“I can give you a strong claim to Moray,” I added.
“Half of this land is mine by rights. It was Findlaich who stole it from me in the first place,” he said.
“That may be so. But King Malcolm is right. My father will use his considerable influence to protect me, and therefore you, from any attack.”
Even as I spoke the words, I didn’t know if they were true. My heart broke as I realized that Father would no longer be Lord of Atholl one day; he and my brother would be stranded in England with King Cnut. I could only be thankful they had escaped Findlaich’s fate.
Mael Colum was silent as he thought it over, and I found my eyes straying to Gillecomghain’s face. He would have been the preferable match between the two brothers, but lacked ambition—that much was clear. Despite my pitiful circumstances, I clung doggedly to my grandmother’s prophecy. Without her words—that promise of greatness—my existence would be without purpose, without meaning.
“No.”
“But—”
“Enough!” Mael Colum shouted. “You do not tell me what to do. You do not tell me what will pave my way and what will not. I am the Mormaer of Moray now, and you are nothing.”
Desperation was mounting. I could not go back to Scone.
“And you, Gillecomghain.” I turned to the young man. “Are you in need of a wife?”
Mael Colum laughed.
“I am not,” the young man said, apologetic. “But I am travelling to Ireland soon and can take you with me. Perhaps from there we can find safe passage for you to the court of King Cnut where you might join your father.”
His kindness felt out of place amidst the destruction of Burghead. Stranger still was the offer. I looked to Mael Colum for some explanation, but he was studying Gillecomghain as well.
“No,” Mael Colum said.
“Perhaps Boedhe might be won to your cause when we return his daughter to him safely,” Gillecomghain explained.
Why hadn’t I thought of such a solution?
“I meant, you are not going to Ireland.”
Gillecomghain’s mouth fell open. Mael Colum stared back at his brother, daring him to raise a challenge.
“You promised,” Gillecomghain said, his voice breaking. Inquisitive faces turned towards the sound.
“It seems things here are not finished. King Malcolm may decide to turn on us, and you are more . . . diplomatic. I need you here with me.”
“Use someone else,” Gillecomghain begged, his desperation embarrassing.
“Who else can I trust?” Mael Colum said. “Who else owes me such loyalty?”
I wished I understood the way things were between these two brothers—so contradictory and yet bound by something deeper, more sinister, than mere brotherly affection.
“You cannot go to Ireland,” Mael Colum said. “You may rule in Moray beside me, at Inverness. It is just as much your birthright as it is mine.”
Gillecomghain lunged towards his brother and for a moment I thought he would strike him. True, Mael Colum seemed stronger, but Gillecomghain was taller, lither, and I imagined he could defeat his brother if he so chose. But the younger man checked himself.
