Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) Page 4

  ‘Avenge!’

  ‘Avenge!’

  ‘Flea! Flea! Wake up!’

  Fleance tried to push the mist of the dream aside and sat up, the sound of the horse fading. ‘Da! Da!’

  ‘Flea. Wake up. It’s all right. Shhh! Wake up.’

  Fleance turned towards the soft voice, his eyes focusing. ‘Da?’

  ‘It’s me. Miri.’

  Fleance shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Bad dreams.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I can’t rightly remember,’ he lied. ‘Just something about my father.’

  ‘Was it something Magness said tonight?’

  But Fleance ignored her question. Instead he was reliving the thundering hooves and the scream of his father as the last blow of the sword cut out his life. He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  There was a spitting and a sudden flare – Miri had struck a flint and lighted a candle. Immediately the visions of the forest, murderers, and the galloping horse evaporated as the soft glow of light washed over them.

  ‘It’s been a while, Flea.’ Miri tugged Fleance’s bedclothes over him. ‘What has brought this on, eh?’ She sat at the end of his bed. ‘Sometimes dreams are sent to us to give us a message. Do you think it might be that your father is trying to remind you of something?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He tried to change the subject. ‘The night was fine, wasn’t it, Miri? And Rosie, more beautiful than ever.’

  Miri chuckled. ‘Aye, lad. We had fun apart from the silly mules who prattled on ’bout home and the king.’ Her eyes appraised him. ‘Was that it? Did you remember something about how you came to be all alone on the road with your horse and grown man’s get-up?’ Miri’s voice was soft, quiet. The voice she used every time she tried to get him to tell his story: who he was; where he came from; why he was here. A story of more than just his name and age.

  Fleance stared at the flame of the candle. ‘I don’t know.’ But he did know. He remembered everything clearly but he wasn’t telling Miri. He wasn’t telling anyone that someone had killed his father and tried to kill him. Who knew what danger he was still in? And, what if this danger could also fall upon those here now whom he loved? He wouldn’t tell them, either, that he was the son of a nobleman, that his father was cousin to the King of Scotland before his murder – the murder of both of them.

  And he wouldn’t tell them that for these past months he had been having dreams, seeing visions, imagining things which all had his father reminding him of what he must do. To avenge his murder. But how? That was the thing nagging at Fleance. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go and to whom. And he didn’t know what he was supposed to do once he got there.

  ‘Thanks, Miri. Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.’ She stood up and began to leave. ‘But leave the light, if you will.’

  Miri nodded and placed the candle inside the lamp. ‘Sleep well, lad,’ she whispered before making her way outside.

  The next morning was cold and damp and Fleance’s head felt like it weighed as much as a wagon. He threw off the covers and pulled on his clothes. Hopefully the fire had not been killed by the mist and would be easy to stir into life.

  Though it was early, Magness and Dougal were already up, poking the fire and looking as grumpy as they were last night.

  However, it was not Scotland that was affecting their moods. It was Fleance. More correctly, Fleance and Rosie.

  ‘Glad to see you up, lad,’ Magness said, placing some lighter twigs into the pit. ‘Dougal here has some important business with you.’

  A jolt went through him. This sounded a serious matter.

  Dougal cleared his throat in a rather exaggerated manner. ‘Well, m’ boy, we all know how fond you are of our Rosie . . .’ Fleance blushed. ‘An’ we know that she’s as fond of you.’ He let the statements linger in the soggy air.

  ‘What he’s asking, lad, is what are your, ah, intentions towards Rosie?’ Magness asked.

  ‘My intentions?’

  Magness shook his head. ‘For a bright wee man, you’re awful dense.’ His voice softened. ‘Do you intend to marry the girl?’

  The ground at his feet spun. Did he love Rosie? Yes, more than anything – he thought of her constantly; dreamed of her; wanted her with a hunger that surpassed even thirst after a long hunt. But to marry her?

  ‘I do love her.’

  Dougal snorted. ‘Yes, we know that, boy. What we want to know is do you intend to take her as your wife?’

  Intend. Was that the same as desire? Want? Need? What were his intentions? Fleance knew the answer to that: for the last ten years all he had been thinking about was fulfilling his father’s dying words – to avenge his murder. Nothing else mattered and yet beyond his wildest hopes he had met someone who offered him another path. But still, honour spoke louder than love. Nothing else could be done before that deed had been settled. The ghost of a dead father spoke more incessantly than the soft voice of a living love.

  ‘One day, yes, Dougal, I would be honoured to have Rosie as my wife.’

  Dougal spluttered. ‘What? One day? Honoured? What kind of fool talk is that? Do you want to jump the broom or not, lad?’

  He did. He did. He wanted to do it right at that moment but he knew that he would not be at peace until he had done what his father had exhorted him to do. The nightmares were becoming more frequent and there could only be one possible way to stop them – go back to Scotland and seek revenge for his father’s murder. ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘But?’ Dougal raged. ‘What do you mean by this “but”?’

  ‘Flea,’ Magness said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘This is a big thing Dougal is asking of you. Rosie’s got many prospects but seems, fool girl, she’s got her eyes only for you.’

  His eyes ached with the threat of tears and he had to swallow. ‘I canna do it right now, Magness,’ Fleance whispered.

  ‘Why, lad?’ Fleance looked away. ‘Flea, there are other folk involved here – and a young lass’s heart.’

  This was it then. Fleance understood he was being asked to make a choice: between the loyalty to his father and his homeland, and the love and loyalty he felt, not only for Rosie but for Magness and Miri. ‘I have a journey to make,’ he said, barely audible. ‘I can’t just yet.’

  Dougal roared. ‘What? You can’t? What foolishness was it then that for these past months you’ve been leading my Rosie down a path – eh?’

  ‘This is too sudden, Dougal,’ Fleance said. ‘We’ve not spoke of it yet.’

  ‘Too sudden, my cock. You’ve been speaking love songs to my girl all this time and leading her to understand you will be married.’ Fleance sat down and pulled his cloak over his shoulders to keep out the damp and cold – and the harsh truth of Dougal’s words. ‘You’re old enough an’ all to know which way things lie.’

  Fleance raised his head and glared at Rosie’s father. ‘Life’s not always so simple.’ He stood up again, his temper rising. How dare this man exert such pressure at this time. He did not understand nor know what it was that Fleance had been plagued with. But getting angry with an angry father was not wise so Fleance attempted to reason with Dougal. ‘Listen, do you think I’m a good man?’ Dougal nodded but scowled. ‘And do you think I’ll make a good mate for your Rosie?’ This time Dougal frowned but eventually gave Fleance a swift nod. ‘Then, Dougal, know that I love your daughter more than anything and I long to be with her every moment. But I have some things I need to do. A promise I made to myself; an honourable one. Would you want me to turn my back on that and live with the shame for the rest of my life?’

  The solution came to him. He could go back to Scotland and sort out what it was needed sorting and come back to Rosie – come back to the security and peace and love he’d known for ten years.

  Dougal continued to scowl. ‘Wh
at sort of father do you think I am?’ Dougal pushed past Magness and stood in front of Fleance. ‘Do you think, lad, I’d let my child forego other chances because there’s the possibility you may come back?’

  ‘I will come back,’ Fleance said through gritted teeth.

  ‘You may – and when? How long will our girl have to wait for you? Till she’s past child bearing and her womb shrivelled up like a prune and no good for no one?’ Dougal’s tirade had drawn the others out of their tents. Fleance looked over to where Rosie stood, shivering under a blanket, staring at him. She had heard it all.

  ‘I have to . . .’ But what could he say without sounding completely mad.

  ‘What?’ Dougal spat the question at him, spittle from his mouth flying through the air. ‘You either pledge to her now or lose the chance.’

  The silence hung as thickly as the mist and Fleance’s heart, so full of love and passion just half a day ago, was now so painfully cold with hurt and dread – and fear. He wasn’t ready for this yet. Fleance stood and faced Rosie. She stared for a few moments, waiting. She raised her eyebrows at him, expecting him to choose her now. But, when he said nothing, did nothing but let tears fall, she saw the decision he had made.

  Stony faced, she turned on her heel and went back into her tent, her mother close behind. Dougal brushed past. ‘You’re a damned fool,’ he muttered, then followed his family.

  Magness put his hand on Fleance’s shoulder again but he just felt a deadening cold in his belly and chest. Magness gave him a firm squeeze and, with Miri and Keavy, went back to their tent, leaving Fleance alone in the clearing, his head roaring with grief and disbelief.

  Chapter Four

  The sound of sobbing reached Fleance and it stung his ears like the incessant wails of a babe. And worse, he was the cause of this pain. A terrible thing it was, anyway, to bring grief to another; worse when it was brought to the one he loved. He longed to go to Rosie and comfort her, but he held back. What point would there be in that? Dougal wouldn’t let him anyway and he couldn’t go back on his decision – what sort of man would he appear to be to everyone?

  He couldn’t stand it any more so left the camp to go into the forest – at least then he would not hear her crying. But he’d not gone more than a hundred yards, when he heard Dougal shout. ‘Rosie! Come back here. Don’t!’

  ‘Flea?’ Rosie cried. ‘Flea – where are you? I need to talk to you.’ He could hear her crashing through the trees.

  Slowly, Fleance turned and waited for her to find him. Panting, her chest heaving, she found him but stood some distance away, hands on hips, her beautiful face swollen and blotchy from crying.

  He stepped towards her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Stay there.’ She took a deep breath and wiped angrily at a tear. The sight of her this way made his stomach twist further. ‘I have something to say and I’m going to say it. Then I’ll be gone so don’t bother trying to follow me.’ Fleance swallowed thickly, his stomach churning. He watched her take a deep breath as if to steady herself then her voice lowered and in it he heard confusion and pain. ‘How dare you do this to me? I gave my heart to you and you never once said anything about leaving this place; leaving me.’ Tears had returned and were falling steadily down her face.

  ‘But, Rosie, I—’

  She held up her hand. ‘No. You can say nothing that will change this. This was cruel, Flea. But I’ve learnt, it seems, even the sweetest man is still a man. And underneath every man is selfish, self-centred passion and deceit.’ She turned her back on him and he could see her shoulders shaking. More than anything, he was desperate to comfort her. Instead, her words had rooted him to where he stood. She began to return to camp.

  ‘No. Wait!’ he cried, his voice choking with the pain. ‘Rosie. Please. Listen to me. Please.’ He reached her and stood so close behind her he could smell that beautiful and familiar scent that belonged only to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and brought her around to face him. ‘I love you, Rosie. This is not what I had planned. Your da—’

  ‘My father is doing right by me,’ she snapped, her eyes bright fires.

  ‘Yes,’ Fleance nodded quickly. ‘Yes, he is but before he died, my father asked something of me and I’ve yet to fulfil his command.’

  ‘What?’ Rosie asked.

  Fleance was silent. He had held this secret for so long, even his tender love for Rosie was not strong enough to open his mouth. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘I can’t.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I may bring danger upon us all.’

  Rosie frowned and shook her head. ‘This is just foolish talk.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand . . .’

  ‘I do,’ she cried. ‘I see how things are. Flea, I thought you an honourable man. I thought you had strength enough in you to prove that. You are a coward.’

  Fleance grabbed her and she struggled. ‘That’s not true,’ he cried.

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘I won’t let you go until you see reason,’ Fleance said, desperation making him grip Rosie tighter. ‘I love you, Rosie,’ he said again. She stood before him, eyes staring past him, stony faced. He touched the side of her cheek but she did not pull away. ‘Please understand there are things outside my control that need fixing and I’m the only one who can fix them.’

  Rosie looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. Fleance put his arms around her and she leant into him. He kissed the top of her head but did not stop there as she lifted her face and received his kisses on her eyes, nose, chin, lips. Then, she was kissing him back and her hands went to his face and his hair.

  Just then, they heard Dougal’s voice through the woods, calling for them. Fleance dragged himself from their embrace. ‘Promise you will wait for me,’ he said softly. ‘When I come back from Scotland we can be together for the rest of our lives. You are the only one I want, Rosie – you have to see that. You have my whole heart but until I do what must be done, you will not have all of me.’

  She appeared not to hear. There were no tears, but the look of sheer grief on her face pained him. ‘Flea, you can’t go,’ she whispered. ‘We are supposed to be together.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There you are,’ Dougal came crashing through the undergrowth, puffing loudly. ‘Fool girl going off after a fool boy. I’ve a mind to whip the both of you save we were hoping you’d come to your senses and changed your mind.’

  He looked at his daughter and then at Fleance.

  Dougal stood there a moment taking in the situation and then suddenly he launched himself at Fleance, punching him powerfully in the face. ‘Not content to break her heart once but twice. You’re a fiend.’

  For a moment, Fleance saw nothing but bright lights as the pain of the assault registered with his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision and lifted his hand to his jaw where Dougal’s fist had smashed into him. He tasted blood so touched his lips. Bright red drops lay on his fingertips. He’d bitten his lip.

  Fleance looked to Rosie and watched as she pulled herself taller, her chin lifting. ‘You have made your choice then, Flea,’ she said quietly. ‘I may wait but I will not weep and wail while I wait.’ Rosie’s eyes were full of passion and anger. ‘May your heart one day be broken as mine is today.’ She walked away from him and past her father without another word.

  Her curse hung in the air but Fleance already knew it had hit its mark along with her father’s punch.

  Later that day, Fleance escaped back into the wood. It was too hard watching Rosie and her family preparing to leave, especially seeing the tension that had arisen between Dougal and Magness. Fleance felt guilty about that as well because he suspected he was the cause.

  He had brought his crossbow just in case he spotted game but he wasn’t really in the mood for hunting. He kept reliving the two scenes and Rosie’s face when she realised he was not
going to choose her. Why did it have to end like this? Why couldn’t Dougal be reasonable and let him do what he needed to do and then come back?

  But, at the back of his mind, he knew Dougal was right. Why should Rosie wait? She was an exquisite creature and could have the pick of anyone. This thought alone gave his heart more pain. Now, more than ever, the idea of Rosie with anyone but him was too terrible to consider.

  Just then, a bird let out a frightened squawk and Fleance was brought back to his senses. He looked up into the trees, in the direction of the noise and then watched as a large bird rose off a branch and swooped low between two trees.

  There in the shadow stood a man.

  Even as Fleance raised his bow, he saw the man wore the fine clothes of the court. He called out, ‘My lord, what is your business?’ The man said nothing but stared. ‘Are you friend or foe?’ Still, the man said nothing but lifted his hand. Fleance was horrified to see it was covered in bright red blood. ‘You’re hurt, man,’ Fleance cried and made towards the stranger.

  ‘Flea,’ Magness called in the distance.

  Fleance turned towards the camp. ‘Aye?’ he shouted in reply then turned back to the man. He had disappeared. Fleance reached the place where, just seconds before, the man had stood. There was no sign of him anywhere and, looking in the forest all around and listening intently, there were no sounds of a person retreating.

  With his heart thrashing and his breath coming rapidly, Fleance turned a slow circle, his eyes searching the dark wood. Nothing. He looked at the ground at his feet. Strangely, even here there was no evidence that someone had stood on this spot.

  A cool wind swept down through the clearing and Fleance felt a chill go through him. This was strange. He tucked the crossbow under his arm, his hands shaking. An unknown, bleeding man was walking the woods by their home. Who knew if he was a danger to the family?

  ‘Flea!’ It was Magness again.

  ‘Aye, I’m here, Magness,’ Fleance called back. Looking once more at his surroundings, he began walking back towards the camp.