Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) Read online

  In no time, he’d reached Magness. ‘Did you see the man?’

  Magness frowned. ‘I did nae see anyone. Who are you talking about?’

  ‘I saw a man, a nobleman I think, over there,’ Fleance said, pointing back the way he’d come. ‘And he was hurt.’

  ‘Hurt? How? Was he armed?’ Magness stopped and began to carefully study the surrounding trees.

  Fleance shook his head. ‘Not armed, I don’t think, but his hand was a right state.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing. And then he just, well, vanished.’

  Magness stared at him. ‘What do you mean, lad, he vanished?’

  ‘He . . . wasn’t there. One moment I saw him; the next, he was gone.’

  ‘You’re sure you weren’t dreaming?’

  ‘I don’t know. I . . .’ But Fleance couldn’t be certain. Was his mind so full of things that it had played a trick on him?

  ‘Come on home. Miri needs our help.’ Magness began to walk back and, still uncertain and confused, Fleance followed him. ‘But keep that crossbow ready in case we need it.’

  They walked in silence, Fleance playing the sight of the man over and over. There was something familiar about him. He hadn’t seen his face because the man had stood in the dark shadows. Still, something felt familiar about the clothes and the quiet manner. Or, was it simply as Magness had said – his mind was playing him for a fool. As it stood, his heart was sorely charged what with Rosie’s outburst and thoughts of his uncertain future.

  Miri and Keavy were lugging bedclothes from the stream, red-faced and unhappy. This added to Fleance’s feelings of misery. It must have shown on his face because Magness remarked, ‘Won’t do no good making yourself more miserable with feelings of guilt, lad. Has been a low day for us all.’

  ‘But, Magness, why couldn’t he let me come back? I would have.’

  ‘Och, who’s to know the working of a father’s heart? If it had been wee Keavy here, perhaps I would have done the same. He doesn’t know you like we do.’ Magness stopped. ‘But, Flea, my boy, why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell our Rosie what was on your mind?’

  And that was the thing. Fleance knew he had done wrong – by Rosie, Magness and Miri. But he’d been swept up in the joy of falling in love; the joy of anticipating time with her. Then, the dreams, the nightmares. They intruded upon the comfortable life he’d pulled around himself for the last ten years. Try as he might, he could not pretend that this comfortable world could be his until he had done what was asked of him all those years ago.

  He was a man but these emotions threatened to make him behave like a woman. He would not weep. He would take those bedclothes from Miri and Keavy and do what needed to be done, even if it meant doing women’s work. ‘Here, Miri. Let me.’ He grabbed the wet and weighted load from his adoptive mother and hoisted the pile onto his shoulders.

  ‘Ma,’ he overheard Keavy ask. ‘Why didn’t Flea say he’d jump the broom with our Rosie?’

  ‘Shhh, girl. Not now.’

  Another stab.

  Then, in a flash, the sound of a galloping horse.

  ‘Give me strength,’ Magness cried. ‘Will we not have the rest of the day in peace?’ He turned towards the sound of the approaching horse.

  ‘God bless the king,’ said the pale-faced man atop of the horse.

  Magness went forward and grabbed the horse’s bridle, muttering to the rider. Then, raising his voice, replied, ‘Yes. God bless whichever king we choose.’

  The young messenger, panting and with a waxy face, stared at them all a moment before he continued. ‘I saw the smoke of your fire so came off the main road to give you the news.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I have come from Scotland. Malcolm is ill. Malcolm has no heir. Donalbain has been named as the inheritor of the crown.’

  ‘Do you need rest and food?’ This from Miri.

  ‘Nay. I’m told to take the news to the southern parts of Scotland and the northern parts of England.’ He turned his horse around and cantered back into the trees.

  ‘Well, looks like Dougal was right enough,’ Miri said.

  ‘No matter,’ Magness replied. ‘Donalbain’s rule, whether it be good or bad, canna reach us here.’

  Fleance stared after the rider. It was time for him to go.

  Chapter Five

  Have you got everything then? Lavender?’ Miri asked as Fleance tightened the girth of the saddle.

  ‘Leave the boy, Miri. If he’s old enough to take this journey, he doesn’t need a woman clucking over him.’ Magness handed Fleance a dirk. ‘You’ll need this as well as your bow and your father’s sword.’

  ‘I can’t take your dirk, Magness. I’ll do fine enough with the sword. And my crossbow.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled, boy. You’ve got dangers aplenty waiting for you before you even get to the border.’ He gave it to Fleance who tucked the sharp dagger into his belt.

  ‘An’ that’s why he should go by sea,’ Miri muttered. ‘Sea pirates are fewer than land rats.’

  ‘Don’t worry, either of you. I have my wits and Magness has taught me well.’

  ‘Aye, it’s true you’re handy with them weapons.’ Magness sighed, a troubled look clouding his features. ‘I just wish you didna have to go.’

  Fleance mounted his father’s horse and gathered up the reins. ‘I’ll keep hidden until I get to Glasgow – that’s a promise.’

  ‘Well, your first challenge will be finding a safe place to get through the wall and then the second is to avoid the reivers. Don’t trust any man – or woman for that matter. They’d like to slit your throat as soon as spy you. Keep your coins well hidden.’

  ‘Thank you, both. For everything. And Keavy,’ Fleance called down to his adoptive sister. ‘You be good.’

  Keavy, like her mother, was quietly weeping. ‘Sure, Flea. And look after Willow,’ she added, patting the horse’s dark neck. ‘You bring him home soon.’

  Fleance winked at her and then nudged Willow into a trot. As he made his way into the wood, he could feel their eyes boring into his back but he didn’t turn around. He hoped and prayed it wouldn’t be long before he returned. And, he also hoped it would be soon enough to woo Rosie once more.

  ‘Rosie,’ he whispered but the name was left behind along with his security and happiness.

  He rode north all day, stopping every few hours to give Willow a drink and a rest from his rider. By early evening, he’d found a secluded place to set up camp so that he could sleep. He lit a small fire and roasted the rabbit he’d killed earlier. His arms and thighs ached but it was good to be off the horse and soon the smell of the meal made his stomach rumble.

  The flames licked about the meat as fat dripped into the fire with a hiss.

  ‘Smells good,’ a man’s voice called from outside the light.

  Fleance leapt to his feet and pulled out the dirk from his belt. He stood in fighting stance, squinting into the dark.

  There was a throaty chuckle. ‘Put your blade away, laddie. I’m no’ armed.’ The owner of the thick Scottish accent stepped into the firelight, his hands empty, spread out before him. Fleance didn’t move. ‘See,’ the man continued. ‘I’ve nothing to worry you. Just me an’ my horse.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Fleance asked, his heart beating furiously.

  ‘William. Yours?’

  Fleance didn’t put the dirk down but stood taller, relaxing a bit. ‘Flea.’

  ‘You don’t look like a flea – I’d say the opposite,’ William said, smiling.

  ‘It’s the name I’m called by those who know me.’

  William stood there a moment, his shaggy head tilted to the side as he regarded Fleance. ‘Well, Flea. Here’s the thing: I’m mighty hungry and I can see your wee rabbit is going to spoil if you don’t take it off them flames. I have a loaf of bread. I’d be pleased to share supper with you.’

  Fleance looked down at the rabbit – indeed, it did need to be taken from the fire. But he didn’t know who this William was – whether friend or foe.

  A few moments later, Fleance conceded. ‘I guess we can’t just stay like this all evening. Your horse looks like it needs rest as much as you say you need food.’

  William chuckled. It was a warm sound and seemed genuine. ‘I’ll tie the wee beastie up with your great animal, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sure Willow would appreciate different company from me,’ Fleance said with less hostility but still as wary. ‘After you’ve settled your horse, would you join me?’

  ‘That’s mighty kind,’ William said, coming closer and lifting a satchel from his shoulder. ‘I found some fruit earlier so maybe that might be a nice way to end the evening.’

  Fleance turned his attentions to the rabbit, mindful of the offer of bread and Magness’s exhortation not to trust a soul. Still, he was tired and hungry and, though he was bigger than this William, and probably quicker, he was tired from a long day’s riding.

  In silence they prepared the meal. Swiftly and with skill, Fleance divided up the rabbit while William split the loaf. Fleance was watchful the whole time, his senses keen despite his tiredness. Though his stomach growled in protest, he struggled to finish his dinner.

  ‘You’re not hungry, lad?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Where are you heading, then?’

  ‘Scotland.’

  William studied him. ‘Did you hear the king’s sickly?’

  ‘Aye,’ Fleance replied. He wouldn’t be drawn as to how he felt about such news. It was always best to keep much of
your thoughts in your skull, Magness had told him over and over.

  ‘I’m on my way to Forres to pay my respects,’ William said quietly.

  Fleance’s head shot up. ‘Forres?’

  ‘Aye, the king’s castle. ’Tis traditionally been. So, I’ve got a long road ahead.’

  Fleance took in William’s cloak and the boots. Though dusty and old, they were clothes worn by a nobleman. He was not sharing a meal with a petty thief or vagabond – unless he was a cut-throat and had stolen the clothes from another. It seemed unlikely because, as Miri often remarked, Fleance was an astute judge of character and the idea of William being a cut-throat didn’t fit the slow and gentle nature of the older man who sat across the fire from him.

  William wiped his beard with a small cloth. ‘That was a very tasty bit of meat.’

  ‘I stuffed it with rosemary and thyme I found along the way,’ Fleance said, picking at the bread on his lap. ‘Sometimes, a wee rabbit can taste a bit gamey. The herbs mask that.’

  ‘Your mother teach you that, then?’

  ‘No, ah, yes. My adoptive mother.’

  William appraised him. ‘Are your folks home in Scotland?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

  William laughed. ‘An’ you do a lot of saying very little.’ He pulled his cloak further around him. ‘How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?’

  This was a harmless question. ‘Twenty-one.’

  The old man sighed. ‘My boy would’ve been about your age had he lived. He was killed during the troubles.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, William. My father was also killed during that time.’

  William stared hard at him. ‘Aye?’

  Fleance had said too much. He put some more wood on the fire. ‘Do you have other children?’ he asked to take the focus from himself.

  ‘Not any more,’ was all the man said, still looking at him curiously.

  ‘I only have my adoptive parents. They won’t come back to Scotland because of what happened.’

  ‘So, you’re on your own. ’Tis a brave thing, a young man like you, travelling alone.’

  ‘I’m armed and know how to use my weapons,’ Fleance said. ‘I’ve been trained by the best.’

  William held up his hands. ‘No doubt but you’ve nought to worry about with me. Though, I may have a suit to offer: would you be willing to accompany an old man back to Scotland?’ When Fleance hesitated, he continued. ‘You seem mighty distrustful for one so young.’

  ‘I have cause for it. There are daggers in men’s smiles, my father used to tell me.’

  ‘As I told you: I’m no armed. I’ve seen enough bloodshed and carnage to last me seven lifetimes – I no longer want to be the cause of another’s misery.’

  The sight of Rosie’s tear-stained face flashed into Fleance’s mind and his stomach twisted. ‘That’s a brave stance to take.’

  ‘Many think it’s foolishness. But I’m still alive and it’s been nigh on eight years since I put away my sword.’ He picked up a small bundle of dry sticks Fleance had gathered and carefully, stick by stick, placed them on the fire. Fleance studied him carefully. There was something about this man which stirred a memory. He was certain he had met him before – whether in the company of Magness or way back when he was a child, he didn’t know. Something in William’s manner reminded him of someone. He could not be sure that this was a man from his past or his present. He would think on it some more to see if his mind would be able to offer up the answer.

  Fleance questioned him, ‘Do you not even carry a dirk?’

  ‘No, but I’ll tell you, lad, if a man comes against me with his weapon, I will use what I have to hand to keep myself safe.’ William shifted his saddle so that it served as a support for his body and then leant back onto it. ‘Well, Flea, how ’bout you sleep on my request and let me know in the morning – provided you are happy to share your campsite with me.’

  ‘I will do that and you are welcome.’ Fleance pulled his own cloak over his head and lay down to sleep.

  Willow was exhausted. Fleance was exhausted. All he wanted to do was creep into a safe place and sleep. How long they had been heading south, he did not know, except the sun had come up and gone down again and it was night.

  Fleance was too afraid to stop in case his attackers were still pursuing him but both he and Willow needed water and rest. He roused himself and pulled the horse up. ‘Whoa, boy,’ he said. Though they’d stopped, he could feel the animal trembling. He couldn’t risk making a light but the moon was bright enough for him to make out some ruins and what could possibly be water.

  He nudged Willow on and was relieved to see that there was indeed a tiny brook. The horse pricked up his ears and, despite his exhaustion, quickened his pace, the trot jarring Fleance’s thighs and backside. Like his mount, he was keen to get there.

  A few yards from the ruins, Fleance reined his horse in again, listening carefully for any sign of life. The only sound, thankfully, was the wind in the trees and frogs singing. Fleance jumped down from Willow and immediately fell back, his legs too weak to hold his weight. He sat up, then grabbed the stirrup to haul himself to his feet and then led the horse to the water. While the horse drank, Fleance unbuckled the saddle and, struggling under its weight, walked back to the ruins. The roof of the building had collapsed but one corner was secure. He cast the saddle to the floor and went back to the stream to bring the horse into the old dwelling and out of sight of potential threat.

  After he checked Willow was tethered securely (though, in all his time with the family, the horse had never strayed far, so worries about him leaving Fleance behind were unfounded), the young boy had eaten the last of the bread and cheese his father has packed at the beginning of their journey. After that, he fell into an exhausted and fretful sleep.

  ‘Show your face, you coward!’

  Fleance woke with a start and reached for his sword – it wasn’t there. In the half light, he saw William standing, brandishing his father’s weapon. Fear swept through him and he leapt to his feet, drawing his dirk, ready to fight the old man.

  ‘Show your face or I will un-seam you, and your insides will fall out for the wolves to devour!’

  It was then that Fleance realised William was not threatening him but rather an unseen foe in the woods. ‘What is it, William?’ he whispered.

  William didn’t turn around. ‘I’ve seen a man in the shadows. A Scot, like us. And he didn’t look very friendly. Have you got your dirk?’

  ‘Aye.’

  A branch snapped behind them. Fleance spun around, his back to the fire.

  ‘I say again. Show your face,’ William growled.

  From deep within the dark wood, a man called. ‘Old man, you and the boy are surrounded. I suggest you put down your weapons.’

  ‘And I suggest to you, you put down your weapons,’ Fleance cried. ‘Or, you’ll be mighty sorry.’

  A nasty hoot came from his left and then, one by one, three Scots emerged out of the darkness and into the clearing, each brandishing a sword.

  Chapter Six

  Almost from instinct, Fleance flicked his dirk at the man in front of him. He was surprised to see that the blade went deep into the man’s throat before he even had a moment to cry out. As he fell backwards, Fleance lunged forward and grabbed the sword from the dying man who had relinquished his weapon when he clutched at the wound in his neck.

  Fleance looked around towards William who was now engaged in a fierce struggle but there was no time to help because the third man was charging towards him, his claymore swinging. Fleance barely had time to get himself into a position where he could defend himself.

  He brought the sword up just as his enemy’s came crashing down. The power and weight of the sword hitting the one he now held caused a painful jar in his forearms and shoulder but Fleance was strong enough to hold back the pressure bearing down on him. He inhaled and, roaring with all his strength, pushed his assailant’s weapon around to his right before spinning away to his left.

  The man regained his balance and charged again. It was clear to Fleance that this man was not a skilful fighter but rather someone used to using brute force to win fights. This time Fleance was ready for him so, just before the man reached the spot where he stood, Fleance skipped out of reach. The weight of the claymore, and the lack of a solid target, sent the man off balance. He stumbled and Fleance used this moment to bring his own weapon down on the other’s back.