Free Macbeth and Son by Jackie French

the other two. Lulach grinned. So he was to have his own horse today!
    Lulach’s mother tied the strings of his cloak more tightly, then pinned something at his collar. It was his father’s gold brooch. It gleamed in the light of the candle. The Mormaer glanced down at it, but said nothing.
    Lulach’s mother hugged him hard and adjusted the collar of his cloak. ‘God speed,’ she said quietly.
    Lulach waited for her to kiss his stepfathergoodbye too. But she didn’t. She just said, ‘Look after him.’
    The Mormaer nodded. He spurred his horse. The others followed.
    The sea and the fishermen’s cottages were at their backs. They were heading inland. There was no track to follow here, just the river. Mist rose from it as the daylight grew, and a thin veil of white covered the hills as well. In a land with few roads, burns and rivers were the real highways. It felt grand to be riding his own horse with the two men, as though he were an adult too.
    Where are we going? Lulach wondered. But if his mother wouldn’t tell him, he guessed there was no point in asking the Mormaer either.
    Gradually the sun rose: a thin slip of gold at first, then larger and larger, dragging the day’s light with it. The hills turned green instead of grey, patched with bracken’s gold and heather’s purple. Bent trees shivered silver in the early sunlight, and ale-coloured streams crept between the hills.
    At last they left the river and followed a smaller one, heading north. The air smelled of distant sleet.
    ‘There’s food in your saddle bag!’ called the Mormaer. They’d been riding for hours now and Lulach realised he was starving. He reached down with one hand and fished inside the leather bag. There was a piece of oatcake, wrapped inside a scrap of linen, and a hunk of cheese leaking its grease into the cloth. He nibbled on the cheese as they rode, but left the oatcake. His mouth felt too dry to eat it. But he didn’t like to suggest they stop for a drink.
    The sun crept higher. Clouds gathered over the hills, then sped across the sky. It began to rain: sun showers that lasted for less time than you could sing a chorus, here then gone again.
    Lulach pulled the hood of his deerhide cloak over his head.
    The Mormaer glanced back at him. ‘Not long now!’
    The stream they’d been following was even smaller now. The Mormaer stopped at a burn that ran down from the hills, as though to check the way. Then he gestured to Kenneth. They headed off up the hill, leaving the river behind. Lulach spurred his pony to follow, weaving in and out of the heather. He hoped the pony wouldn’t stumble on this rough ground. But they reached the top of the hill in safety.
    A glen was spread out below them. Groves of trees grew in its shelter, a small loch edged with reeds and moss gleamed, shaggy cattle grazed on the hills. A field of barley glowed green behind a two-storey building, with a cattle byre behind.
    It must be a guesthouse, Lulach realised. Every clan kept guesthouses throughout their territory, to give travellers free food and a bed for the night.
    Lulach glanced up at the sky. The sun wasn’t even at midday yet. Surely it was too early to stop for the night!
    The three horses cantered down the slope. They stopped at the front door of the guesthouse and their riders dismounted. Lulach felt his knees tremble after so long in the saddle. His tummy growled too. It had been a long time since the piece of cheese.
    The Mormaer smiled. ‘Time to eat,’ he said, ringing the guesthouse bell.
    ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming!’ An old woman shuffled out of the door then stared. She was Meröe’s age, though there were more teeth in her wrinkled face. ‘My Lord!’ she gasped, as she recognised the Mormaer. ‘Please…please enter. It’s an honour…you’ll want rooms, the bedding is all aired…’
    ‘Just food, if you will.’
    ‘Anything! My husband says I’m the best cook in the glen!’ boasted the woman, standing back to let them