Free Macbeth and Son by Jackie French Page A

pass.
    Lulach glanced at the countryside around them. As far as he could see she was the only cook in the glen too.
    The Mormaer bent his head under the lintel. Suddenly Lulach remembered his father telling him why doors were always low. ‘That way you can chop off an enemy’s head before he lifts it again,’ his father had said. He’d laughed, but Lulach could tell that he was serious.
    Why had he thought of his father now? Was it because he had heard the name Thorfinn last night?
    Had he heard it? Or had it been a dream?
    It was cool inside the guesthouse, despite the fire at the end of the long room. The Mormaer and Kenneth made their way towards it.
    What were they all doing here? Lulach sat on the bench by the fire and watched Kenneth and his stepfather, trying to find a clue. The Mormaer was sitting on one of the benches too, looking as relaxed as if he were in his own Hall. But Kenneth was restless, pacing back and forth by the fire.
    ‘You stay here with the boy,’ said Kenneth abruptly. ‘I’ll scout around.’
    ‘Thorfinn said midday,’ said the Mormaer mildly. ‘There’ll be nothing to see yet.’
    Thorfinn! Lulach started. So he hadn’t been dreaming!
    ‘If he keeps his word,’ said Kenneth grimly.
    ‘He will. He has as much to lose as we have.’
    ‘Except the boy.’
    Lulach started again. Did Kenneth mean him? What were they talking about?
    The Mormaer shook his head. ‘Lulach is no use to Thorfinn.’
    ‘Then why does he demand to see him?’
    ‘Who knows? But go if you like.’
    Kenneth nodded. He strode out the door.
    Lulach couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. ‘My Lord…what’s happening?’
    ‘It’s a meeting,’ said the Mormaer. ‘Thorfinn and—’
    There were footsteps outside the door. Lulach glanced up. But it was just the hostel-keeper’s wife hurrying in with more wood for the fire.
    ‘There,’ she panted, as the flames flared higher. ‘Now, I’ll just milk the cow. I’ve been leaving the calf to suck, but the cow’s a grand milker. And there are chickens…’
    Chickens were precious in these hungry times, but this was the Lord of Moray.
    The Mormaer shook his head. ‘A bannock and a bit of cheese will be plenty. Anything.’
    ‘A bannock!’ The woman looked disappointed that the Lord of Moray didn’t want anything fancier than flat bread. ‘I’ll make them fresh! And cheese—green cheese or hard cheese?’
    Green cheese was fresh cheese, soft and white. Hard cheese was kept to mature.
    ‘Either,’ said the Mormaer. ‘Green cheese, if you like.’ There was a hint of impatience in his voice—but only a hint, as though he guessed how few travellers the old woman had to talk to in these days of Duncan’s wars.
    ‘Green cheese then, my Lord,’ prattled the woman nervously. ‘And you’ll have your bannocks quick as blinking.’
    She bent down to feel the hearthstone, then looked relieved. ‘The stone is hot already,’ she chattered, as she scooped cold barley porridge out of the pot beside the fire, patted it flat then placed it on the stone to bake. ‘It’s a good thing I lit the fire this morning; with this warm weather we’ve only had it lit at night. It’s almost like I knew you were coming!’
    She hurried out again to get the cheese.
    ‘If she knew we were coming,’ the Mormaer said, half to himself, ‘she’d probably have had half the neighbourhood here for a feast.’
    ‘Sir?’ said Lulach. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
    The Mormaer met his eyes. ‘Thorfinn has asked for a meeting. A secret meeting, just himself and me, with one guard each.’ He paused. ‘And you.’
    ‘Me too? Why?’ He half hoped the Mormaer would say, ‘Because you’ll be my tanist. You’re my appointed heir.’
    But the Mormaer just shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
    Lulach was silent for a minute. Then he said, ‘Sir? Will we kill him?’
    The Mormaer smiled slightly. ‘No.’
    ‘But sir! He killed my father!’
    ‘He’s killed