Queen Hereafter (44 page)

“I know the place,” the man called as she turned her horse and left.

“
REBELLION WILL COME
—we do not know when,” Lady Gruadh said. Eva listened as they walked among the trees, arms about each other—though her grandmother was not often affectionate, she had a warmth and a strength that Eva craved to absorb in this brief reunion. The sound of the nearby falls and the rush of the summer winds softened their words as they spoke. “My men lately rode about to tally the men in Moray and other provinces who would be willing to march southward, if needed. The numbers reach into the thousands.”

“Men discontent with Malcolm Canmore?” Eva asked. “But it is true that he has changed some of his ways for the better, with Margaret’s influence.”

“Let her remake him all she likes,” Gruadh said. “He has displeased many in the north by paying homage to William at Abernethy for the price of a few English farms. At least he has booted out the queen’s brother. That is a hapless one whose cause has come to naught.”

“Edgar put his heart into leading the revolts,” Eva insisted. “He is earnest, a good man. He reminds me a little of my father.”

Gruadh paused. “Then he is a caring young man? A good king, if given the chance?”

“He is. And he has been unfairly treated by fate, and by William.”

“Ah. Do you have feelings for him, and he for you?” Gruadh looked at her sharply.

Eva sighed. “I thought I did … but we are not suited. I do care for him, and I wish …”

“Marriage to a Moray princess would not further his cause,” Gruadh said gently.

“I know,” Eva said. “He has gone over the sea,” she added low. “I will not see him again. That is done.” She breathed against the regret.

Gruadh hugged her close for a moment and kissed her head.

“As for Malcolm,” Eva said, “at least he took the oath in the shadow of the Irish tower.”

“Just so. But he has had little luck in military matters, for all his storming about. Better he harasses the borderlands and leaves the rest of Scotland to those who are more interested in building its wealth, protecting its traditions.”

“So you still think Nechtan should rule Scotland someday.”

“Some of us think it the best solution, but the lad remains unconvinced. He is young yet, and will come round. Tell me more about the queen—so she prays at all hours, and deprives herself with fasting? I cannot understand it. Her little ones are healthy, her husband treats her well—why does she torment herself?”

“She tries her utmost in all things,” Eva said. “She cares so much. Too much. And she has come to love Scotland.”

“Despite her Saxon ways, she is a better queen than I expected of her. So Malcolm will build her a new church in Dunfermline in honor of the sons she has borne? Good. I always thought that little chapel needed replacing,” she said. “The roof leaked.”

They paused beside the falls, the water rushing downward, fine spray misting their hair, their faces. The morning, toward noon, grew warm. Eva leaned against her grandmother. “I have missed you,” she said.

“And we miss your brightness in our household.” Gruadh pushed damp tendrils of hair from Eva’s brow. “I will write to Malcolm once again and tell him it is time to set you free. He has refused every request I have made in your absence—I doubt you were even told, and I did not want to trouble you. And as far as he knows I have behaved myself quite well.”

“I doubt he believes that. Oh! I brought something for you.” Eva reached into her pocket and drew out the tightly rolled, now dry parchment sheets. “These tell of Macbeth and Lulach—”

“Let me see!” Gruadh reached for the sheets, hands trembling as she untied the ribbon that held them curled.

“
GONE? SHE MIGHT
have waited,” Margaret said. Emerging from the cool interior of the ancient saint’s cave, she felt expansive and peaceful. But she was puzzled to learn that Eva had ridden off on her own. “I would have gone with her to see her kin. I thought it was our plan.”

“She went toward a waterfall not far from here, a very pretty place indeed. We can find her there. This way,” the guard said, as Margaret turned her horse to follow him, the other housecarls falling into line behind her.

They followed a path that led west toward a grouping of round-shouldered hills. Soon the track met the bank of a wide, calm river, the way winding over a moorland and curving around the base of one hill after another. The path grew thick with trees clustered along the river’s edge, and water churned over rocks and boulders as the sloping ground climbed. Awed by the rugged landscape, Margaret paced her horse slowly and looked around, fascinated. She had rarely seen this face of Scotland—secretive, dynamic, powerful.

Ahead, she heard the rush and fury of a waterfall and craned her head to search for it through the trees. So far she had seen only a few homes tucked here and there against the steep hillsides. Roe and white-tailed deer flitted past, sheep grazed placidly, and in places wild goats clung to sheer, steep rock. Pine trees arrowed upward out of the hillsides, and everywhere the air was cool, brisk, and damp.

One of the guards led the party toward an overhang above the river, where the land sloped sharply downward and water poured over some high boulders in a narrow pass. Dismounting, he reached up to assist Margaret, who was eager to get down to see the falls.

“Come this way. We may see some salmon here,” he said, guiding her toward the overhang. “Careful, Lady,” he warned.

Reaching a cluster of boulders, Margaret leaned against a sizable rock to peer down at the turbulent, foaming white falls beneath. After a while, she saw the flash of a salmon as it surged upward, then
another and one more, so quickly that she was not sure, at first, what she had seen.

“Beautiful—oh!” she said, straightening. Below, amid the cover of trees, figures moved about. She glimpsed Eva’s glossy dark braids, her pale skin, and finely shaped profile. “Look! Lady Eva and someone else—likely her relative. Let us meet them down there.” Picking up her skirts, she went carefully down the rocky slope, while the guard, now and then, reached out to assist her.

Coming closer, she saw that Eva’s companion was a tall woman in a dark cloak. Behind them were a few plaid-draped Highland warriors, clearly an escort keeping their distance. The woman, whose head was draped in a white veil, moved gracefully as she walked with Eva among the trees. They spoke intently, and paused while the older woman gestured.

Though Margaret called out, Eva did not seem to hear her over the noise of the falls. A moment later she saw Eva hand over to the other woman what looked like a sheaf of parchments. They opened the pages, heads together. Suddenly wary, Margaret slowed, still unseen.

Close enough now to hear them speak in Gaelic, Margaret saw the taller woman roll the pages up and shove them into a deep pocket in her cloak. Just then, Eva turned to see Margaret standing higher along the slope, and she blanched, grew still. Her companion looked up as well, and tilted her head curiously. She spoke to Eva, who nodded.

This was Macbeth’s queen. Margaret realized it, heart and soul.

Slim and elegant despite being two generations older than Eva, Gruadh had an uncommon beauty—timeless, balanced, exquisite. She showed willfulness, too, and daring in the way she stared at Margaret. She resembled Eva in her long-lidded silver-blue eyes, so vibrant that they seemed mystical, capable of seeing into one’s soul.

Pausing, her confidence wavering under that sure stare, Margaret drew a deep breath and walked toward them, motioning for her guard to stay back. The Highland guards who stood upon the hill also stayed still, though alert and watching.

“Lady,” Margaret said in English. “Queen Gruadh.”

The older woman nodded once. “Queen Margaret.” Her English was softly accented.

“I am glad to have found you together,” Margaret said. “I hoped to meet you one day, Lady Gruadh. I have heard much praise of you.”

“And much that is not praiseworthy, I imagine,” Gruadh replied. “May I offer my congratulations on your three fine sons, and my compliments on your efforts as queen. You have proven yourself … worthy of the throne.” Her beautiful face was taut, proud.

“My thanks,” Margaret said, sensing sincerity and grace of character in the remarks. “Sometimes I wish, Lady Gruadh, that I had your wisdom and experience as queen. I wonder what you might have done in some of the situations I have faced.”

“I would not have set those prisoners free,” Gruadh said bluntly. “I would have wanted the ransom income. But I do not fault you for your kind heart.”

So Eva must have told her grandmother about that night, and Margaret wondered when. “I have heard, Lady Gruadh,” she went on, “that you have worn armor to lead armies against your husband’s enemies. That is admirable and remarkable.”

“The enemy was your own husband, Lady,” Gruadh replied. “I was trained to the warrior life as a girl, and so I did what had to be done.”

“You fought for the welfare of your people, just as I fight for the welfare of their souls.”

“Then we are alike in some things,” Gruadh said. “I am the last of all the Celtic queens who fought beside their kings. You … are the first of the new queens in Scotland. Queens of the heart and the book, queens who can be strong in their own way. The wider world comes to Scotland,” she said then, “through you.”

A chill went through her, as if a prophetess had spoken. “Why do you say so?” Margaret asked.

Gruadh stared at her for a moment. “Your sons and their sons will rule Scotland for generations to come. I feel it is so. The claim of my
kin, pure as it is, is only another branch now. Fate is proving a powerful opponent.”

Margaret felt a surge of sympathy. “Lady, I never intended—”

“I know that now,” Gruadh said. Then she looked past Margaret and turned quickly. “Eva, help the queen—hurry! It is not safe here!” She pushed Eva toward Margaret, just as an arrow thunked into the ground near where Gruadh’s Highland men had been standing—they had all vanished into the cover of the trees, along with their lady.

Eva pulled Margaret behind a tree as more arrows suddenly spit downward, slamming into earth, into tree trunks. Margaret saw movement between the trees and rocks as the hidden Highlanders now returned a volley of arrows that sailed well past Margaret and Eva, where they hunkered down together. Some of Margaret’s guards now ran toward them, and even more arrows shattered into the lush leafy canopy of the woodland, arching overhead from opposite directions now.

Hearing shouts, Margaret turned her head and saw Malcolm striding through the bracken like a great boar, roaring, red-faced. His men loosed a flurry of arrows and a spear went sailing past, too, launched from Malcolm’s own hand to split the earth where one of Gruadh’s men appeared for just a moment. One of the guards pushed Margaret to the ground, shielding her behind him as as arrows soared all around.

The arrow volleys seemed to last an interminable time—Margaret hated the sounds, the shouts, the shrieks as some were injured. She pushed the guard away and saw Eva stand. Calling for her to get down, Margaret reached out. But Eva ran ahead and bent down to pick up a piece of parchment, which Margaret had seen fall when Lady Gruadh had pushed her granddaughter and the queen toward safety.

“Ha! So they have run off now, the cowards!” Malcolm shouted as his men rushed past Margaret and Eva to pursue the Highlanders
into the trees. “You, Eva! Come here! It was you who led the queen into this ambush, and betrayed us to the rebels of Moray! You aided them!”

“Husband, she tried to save me—” Margaret began.

“Are you sure? She would not have expected us to ambush them here—this was a trap to harm you,” Malcolm said. “When I knew you had come this way, I remembered that Gruadh owns lands in this area. I feared she might try some rebellion, and so it was. Eva—you and your grandmother meant for the queen to die this day! This is treason and worse.”

“I never intended harm to the queen,” Eva said firmly.

Margaret came closer, her heart still pounding hard. She had never experienced anything like the chaotic fear of the last few moments. Always protected, never witnessing a skirmish or ambush, she had not known how fear and panic could overtake thought. She brushed her skirt clean and clasped her shaking hands.

“Sire, surely Eva speaks the truth—” she began.

“Aye? What is this, then?” Malcolm snatched the parchment from Eva’s hand and looked at them. “Here is certain treason! She has stolen pages from the book I commissioned of Brother Tor. These pages are the account of my war with Macbeth. Why do you have these?”

“I meant to destroy them,” Eva said. “That history is wrong, deceitfully and cruelly so.”

“This is part of her grandmother’s plot!” Malcolm grabbed Eva’s arm with such fury that Margaret winced just watching. “Hostage you are,” he told Eva, “and hostage you shall remain. You will be tried for treason and witchcraft, for consorting with the witch of the north and endangering the queen’s life. Take her!”

Guards came forward then and took Eva between them, walking her up the slope toward the waiting horses. She went quietly. Malcolm turned toward Margaret.