Highland Queen by Melanie Karsak

Author:Melanie Karsak [Karsak, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clockpunk Press
Published: 2018-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Once Crinian was dealt with and on his way back to his monastery, I returned to Macbeth’s chamber and began sorting through the mess. As I went through the papers on his desk, I could see his slip from competent to his current vertical position on the chapel floor. There was so much work to be done. There was no time for madness. No time for anything. The state of the realm was one of upheaval. I hardly knew where to start.

But I did start.

One item at a time, I answered every letter, sent messengers, ordered supplies, redistributed troops, and plotted a way forward.

Wordlessly, servants brought in food and drink for me, but the day passed so fast that I was surprised when it was nightfall once more.

I rose, pulling up my gloves, then headed back to the chapel.

There, I found Macbeth sitting cross-legged in front of the altar.

He stared at the crucifix hanging there.

“Go to bed, Macbeth. You need rest.”

“I am tired,” Macbeth said.

“Yes, I’m sure you are.”

Macbeth rose on unsteady feet. I gestured for his man to take his arm. “Think nothing of this. He’ll be well in a few days,” I told the servant.

“Of course, Queen Gruoch.”

“And say nothing.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”

I nodded then watched the two depart.

I stood in the chapel for a few moments. It was a small, congested space with wooden walls, floor, and a low ceiling. A breeze blew in from the open window. On the breeze, I caught the slightest scent of spring tinged with wood smoke.

Moonlight shone in from the window, casting its rays on the effigy of Jesus hanging above the altar.

“If he is your son, as your priests say we all are, then heal his mind,” I whispered to the effigy.

There was no reply.

I had not expected one.

The White Christ had never spoken to me.

As I crossed the room to leave, however, there was an odd commotion behind me. A bird had come to roost on the open windowsill. It was a dove. It turned and looked at me, it’s dark eye glimmering in the moonlight. It cooed softly.

I sucked in a breath, remembering the vision Scotia had given me.

Perhaps there was a way to put the pieces of Macbeth together after all.

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