Queen Hereafter, page 22
We mounted and rode in silence out of Inverness, along the river and past the surrounding settlements until we were between the water and the thick forest. I placed my hand on my stomach. The child within me was kicking again. The motion comforted me.
Still we rode in silence. When we were far enough from Inverness, I slowed and dismounted, allowing Allistor to drink from the river and graze along its bank. Mael Colum hesitated for the merest of moments then followed suit.
“What do you plan to tell Gillecomghain?” he asked.
“You know him best.”
“I thought I did, but I would not have expected him to go to such lengths to rid himself of me.”
Mael Colum spoke with unexpected vulnerability.
“He worships you in a way.” I lied to appeal to his ego.
“He is afraid of me,” Mael Colum said with cruel nonchalance.
“Are not fear and veneration closely linked?” I asked.
He looked at me and smiled.
“You clever girl,” he said, and began moving towards me.
“Perhaps,” I murmured. “If you—” But I got no further. He grabbed me and kissed me hard, pressing me back against a birch tree. I willed myself to kiss him with as much passion as I could muster. He grabbed my hair and tugged until it hurt, but I did not cry out.
I waited.
He grabbed my waist and turned me around. Tree bark grazed my face as he forcefully bent me forward.
I waited.
His breeches dropped to the ground, and I moaned appreciatively.
He lifted my skirts.
I waited until he was about to press himself into me.
Then, with a whispered prayer to Brighde, I withdrew my dagger from where I had hidden it in my cloak and plunged it into the side of his stomach.
He stumbled back.
But he didn’t fall. Why did he still stand there looking at me, shock etched across his face? Blood began seeping through his clothes. The stories of my childhood were all of men who died instantly, killed between breaths. True, those men had been felled with swords, but I would have thought my blade as good as any weapon.
It was not.
I reached to pull it out, but his hand closed around my wrist. I tugged but he gripped harder, crushing me. I tried to push him away, but he fell against me, pinning me to the tree. There was no escape.
I panicked and tried to yank myself free. He let go, but in an instant his hand flew to my throat, wrapping powerful fingers around my neck. He pressed me harder against the tree trunk, the whorls in the bark digging painfully into my back.
I scrabbled desperately at him, trying to push him away, but he was too strong. I scratched at his arms, digging my nails into his flesh. He grunted in pain, baring his teeth, but his fingers only tightened, his nails digging deeper into my flesh.
My vision was growing foggy, and the horror of what was happening filled my mind so that I couldn’t think. I was going to die. Then I remembered to reach again for my dagger, still buried in his side. I pulled on the hilt and this time the blade came out easily. With both hands I drove it back into his lower stomach, and with a strength born of terror, pulled upward with as much force as I could muster until it struck against bone with a resounding thud and could go no further.
A cry stuck in his throat as he released me, stumbling backwards. He looked down at the long gash, stretching from groin to ribs, then finally collapsed. The impact of his fall pushed his intestines out through the slit.
The smell was overpowering. I vomited.
I stood there, frozen in place. Minutes passed. I should have run the second his body hit the ground. But even as his eyes stared up at me, vacant now in death, I worried he might rise and chase me if I moved.
My breathing returned to normal, though my ears rang and my heart pounded in my head. I had cut my lip somehow in the struggle and tasted the salty iron on my tongue.
Still I did not run.
I tried to remember my original plan. Anyone might stumble upon us. Taking off my cloak to be free of the weight of it, I gagged violently as I approached the corpse. I suppressed the urge to vomit again as I slowly stripped off his clothes. I knew no robber would waste a perfectly good tunic by slicing through it, but what was done was done. The rest of his things must also be removed.
The dark gash running down his torso contrasted with the paleness of his body was oddly comforting. I felt no remorse. Here lay the man who might have killed me, who had murdered Findlaich. It gave me great pleasure to think that in protecting my unborn child, I had also avenged my friend.
I bundled up Mael Colum’s clothes and shoes into his cloak. I then freed his horse, who was desperate to flee the scent of death as all animals instinctively are. Mounting Allistor, I rode in a great arc around Inverness, to the sea on the far side, keeping to the thick shadows of the forest.
When Allistor and I emerged into the morning sunlight, the gods were finally with me. There was not a person in sight. The water lapped gently at the shoreline of the firth and I collapsed onto the sand, washing the blood and filth from my hands and face in the frigid water. It was useless to try and remove it from my clothes. They would have to burn along with Mael Colum’s as soon as I returned to the keep. Cleaning the blood from beneath my fingernails was especially difficult, and though I rubbed my hands with sand, I still thought I could detect the smell of death.
“Don’t be paranoid,” I whispered to myself, more of a plea than a command. My mouth tasted of bile, and I could still feel Mael Colum’s fingers clasped tightly around me. I pulled my cloak higher around my neck, where I was sure a bruise was already forming. It would be difficult to hide that from Gillecomghain.
Content with my appearance at last, I turned back towards the keep. I slid off Allistor as we reached the walls and led him through a side door, the river entrance used only by traders who dealt directly with the servants. It was still quite early and only a few people moved about. No one paid much attention to me, but all the same I kept my cloak wrapped tightly around my body to hide the telltale state of my clothes as well as Mael Colum’s things.
I stabled Allistor and hurried inside. I climbed the stairs and shut the door to my chamber behind me. Sinna was in my room, bent over some mending, using the burgeoning sunlight to illuminate her work.
Her eyes widened as she stared up at me. I looked at my hands again, worried that she might have seen blood, then took in my bedraggled state: long hair matted from the struggle, blood clots stuck to my bodice. More than that, there was a fresh stain spreading down the front of my dress.
In my heightened state of emotion, I hadn’t noticed the dampness between my legs. I felt a sharp pain in my stomach and doubled over. Sinna leapt to my side. She led me to her chair to sit down and then moved towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I called after her.
“I must send for help,” she said.
“No!” I shouted. Surprised, Sinna turned back to me. In a hushed whisper, I told her everything in as few words as possible—it still hurt to speak. I showed her the clothes I had brought with me and explained I had not buried them lest they be dug up by a wild animal.
“Why didn’t you tell me of your plan?” she said.
“What could you have done?”
“I could have helped.”
“By talking me out of it?” I asked. Sinna never would have condoned a murder had she known of it.
She opened her mouth to protest, but I doubled over in pain again. The tightness in my stomach was getting worse.
“We have to burn these,” I said, stripping off my own bloodied dress and shift, adding them to the pile. Wordlessly, Sinna handed me a fresh shift, which I pulled over my head with difficulty.
“We can’t do it here,” she replied. “Gillecomghain might visit and your child is coming. We must send for help,” she reiterated.
I was too tired and in too much pain to try and form a plan. I sank back into the chair. My breathing had grown shallow. I knew she was right. We would need to send for someone soon.
“Do as you see fit but be careful.”
“Of course.” Sinna nodded.
She picked up the clothes from where I had dropped them, wrapping them in my cloak to conceal them from sight, and left without another word.
The morning hours had flown by—mere seconds—but as I waited for Sinna to return, time dragged endlessly. I paced and stared out of the window, clinging to the sill tightly as pain ebbed and flowed, washing over my body,
A knock sounded at the door. I jumped. Sinna would not have knocked. I gripped the hilt of my blade, now sparkling clean, and hid it behind my back, but when I opened the door I found only the curious faces of a few women sent from the settlement. I allowed them to enter and prepare the room. They had brought lavender with them and clean sheets, which they laid out on the floor. The youngest kept stealing curious looks at me, but the others concentrated diligently on their work. I was relieved by their efficiency and allowed them to lead me.
I pulled aside the one who seemed to be in charge: an old woman with silver hair the length of my grandmother’s.
“I do not wish my husband to come in,” I said, hoping that my authority would overrule his if it came to it. “I do not think he will want to, but might one of your women wait outside the door to tell him?”
The old woman nodded and repeated the command to the youngest girl, who frowned but did as she was told. As the young girl left, I caught the old woman looking at my neck, where a bruise no doubt was already forming.
The work of childbirth dragged on longer than I had ever thought possible. The minutes stretched into hours, and the hours crawled by at a glacial pace. I had been encouraged to walk about the keep, but I insisted on staying in my room; I did not wish to encounter Gillecomghain.
The room felt smaller as I paced around it. I opened the window to let in what little breeze there was coming in from the sea, but still the hair around my face curled in sweat. In a way, I was glad I did not have to conceal the anguish and anxiety of the day as it poured out in the pain of childbirth.
Still Sinna didn’t return. I worried she would not finish her task by the time it grew dark, as a fire might draw attention. Gillecomghain did not come to visit me in the end, though I learned later that he had gone to the chapel to pray when he heard I was giving birth and had stayed there for most of the afternoon. I was touched by his thoughtfulness; it boded well for our future. Only when the shadows from the window had started to creep up the wall did Sinna finally return.
Relieved, I embraced her. She did not immediately return my gesture of affection, but I kissed her cheek and whispered my sincerest thanks in her ear. When I could no longer stand, she sat beside me on the sheets the women had laid out and held my hand.
I was given a bit of rope on which to bite down to distract me. Still the birth dragged endlessly. I had been so occupied with Mael Colum’s death in the months leading up to it that I had not even considered the fact I might not survive childbirth. Countless new mothers were lost in the childbed, but the possibility only became real in my mind when I was laid out on the ground, panting with effort.
And then it was over.
I heard the tiniest of wails from my child and relief doused me. It took an age to clean and wrap the child in warm clothes. I felt desperate, as though a part of me had been removed and I might die if it was not returned soon.
The midwife handed me my child, pink and purple as Adair had been. And in another respect my child was like Adair. It was a boy.
At first I was alarmed by how small he was. The midwife assured me that he was as healthy as could be expected for having come earlier than anticipated. Sitting there, staring at my newborn, I didn’t cry as some women do. I felt only the deepest sense of comfort. The beauty of this little being in my arms erased any guilt I might have harbored for forcing Gillecomghain into this arrangement, and I was pleased that already I had removed the greatest threat to my little one’s life.
The midwife left and I was at last left alone. I had not become the pagan my grandmother would have wished. Ardith had taught me no spells, and Ailith’s innate talent was lost on me. But I resolved to be enough for my son.
All the same, I whispered over him the only words of protection that I knew.
When shall we meet again?
An tàirneanaich, an dealanaich no ’m bùrn?
Nuair bhios an ùirle-thruis na tàm,
When the battle has been lost and won.
“The battle is won, little one,” I whispered over him. “Now watch me win the war.”
Chapter 20
I named him Lulach, “little bull.” He was such a tiny thing that I suppose it was preemptive. But what mother would not give her son a name she hoped he would grow into? I kept him constantly at my side for the next few days. The midwife sent a nursemaid, as was common for great ladies, but I refused to let him feed from any breast but mine.
I did my best to cover my neck with a shawl and only allowed Gillecomghain to visit the following morning. Sinna sat quietly in a corner, watching for any signs that he might suspect what we had done. But Gillecomghain only looked in wonder at the small bundle lying in my arms, and my heart warmed towards him.
“You are happy it’s a boy?” I said.
“I am happy he is healthy.”
He did not speak of his brother’s body being discovered, which worried me. Surely Mael Colum’s guards should have alerted him by now.
“Does Mael Colum not wish to measure the threat this little one poses?” I asked.
I tried to keep my voice light, unconcerned.
“My brother returned to Burghead,” Gillecomghain said.
My heart stopped beating. Someone had seen us?
“Alone?”
“Aye, Sinna saw him riding for Moray yesterday evening. I sent his guards after him this morning.”
Clever woman! She had bought us some precious time.
“Perhaps he heard of our little bull and ran.”
Gillecomghain said nothing, lost in his own thoughts.
“Well, at least Lulach will secure our place in Moray,” I said.
“I do not care to have my position secured in such fashion. Besides, the arrival of my son will only heighten my brother’s paranoia.”
“Your very existence feeds his paranoia.”
Gillecomghain flinched and I decided to try a different tack.
“You would make a far better ruler than he.”
“No,” he said. “I can never aspire to greatness. God has seen to that.”
“Because of your brother?” I asked.
Perhaps the only thing inhibiting Gillecomghain’s ambition was his brother. Now that I had removed that barrier, perhaps he could grow into his freedom—become the assertive leader I needed by my side.
“No. Because . . .”
Gillecomghain moved to the window, too distressed to face me.
“Why should I deny what I most desire? Mael Colum has always taken whatever and whomever he likes. Why should I not be allowed to do the same?”
Such petulance was distasteful after all that I had borne in the last day, let alone the last year.
“I wish I were afforded the privilege of being able to discover what I love and what I do not. As it is, I must take what I am given. Perhaps it is time for you to learn to do the same.”
“You have no idea what it is like to spend every day living a lie,” he said.
“I have been tossed around my whole life.” The coldness in my voice drew his attention. “And every time I create myself anew. Every time I rise from the ashes and forge a new life for myself. My very existence is in defiance of those who would have killed me. I do not have the luxury of knowing who or what I desire beyond surviving each day, as it comes. I would not even know where to begin.”
“Your hardships have been many, I am not denying that,” he said, “but to be denied the only thing in life that you want . . . it is unbearable. You must understand.”
I did. But I would not give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“Do you expect me to pity you?” I asked. “For what? Because you are a mormaer? Because you may fuck whomever you like in the shadows? Because you may move freely about the kingdom, have a great destiny if you so choose? No, my lord. I will not pity you. Were you not my husband and the father of my son, I would despise you.”
Gillecomghain’s mouth opened and he exhaled as if I had struck him.
“Does your cruelty have no end?” he asked, without any spite, as though he genuinely wished to know how far it extended.
“I hold a glass up to your life and show you your privileged existence, and you think it cruelty? That you find it so is a testament to your charmed existence.”
“I will not listen to this,” he said, moving towards the door. Before he left, he turned back to look at me. “I thought we could create a life together—in amity born of mutual understanding. I thought we could carve out a little happiness for ourselves. We have both lost so much. I thought you . . . our life here . . . could be enough.”
There was so much pain in his eyes that a distant memory tugged at my heart. MacBethad had looked at me with just such sorrow and pain when I had refused his troth.
“Had I known what you were, manipulative, coldhearted . . .”
I scoffed at his dramatic air, but he carried on.
“I should have thrown myself on my sword the moment Mael Colum insisted I stay in Inverness.”
My laughter died in an instant. If Gillecomghain killed himself now, I would be left with nothing. King Malcolm would appoint a new mormaer, and unless I got word to my father I would be without allies and without a home. My struggle, my sacrifice, would all be for nothing.
“Forgive me, my lord,” I said. “I am tired, and the birth has wrung me out. I did not mean—”
“I am not going to do it now,” he interrupted, seeing straight through to my true concern. “I have a son and a wife to provide for. I will not forsake my duty.”
