By Honor Bound Part 11

his old cheerful self again. "He trusted me with an impossible task."

Fionna, with two other ladies-in-waiting, knelt in prayer beside the queen's bier. Patric entered thechapel and knelt behind his sister. His prayers for the dead queen were short, his active mind beingoccupied with more mundane matters than the repose of that good lady's soul. He reached out a handand laid it on Fionna's shoulder. So deep was her concentration that she made no immediate response.Then she raised her head, saw whose hand it was, and smiled at him over her shoulder.

Patric was reminded of their childhood and the games of hiding-and-finding they had played through the rooms of their father's house, of Fionna's sweet smile and lighthearted laughter, and the tall older brother who always found both Patric and Fionna and made them pay a forfeit. All was gone-father, brother, house. Only he and Fionna remained, and now he must leave her.

Patric felt a sadness so deep he could hardly bear it. It was an ache different in kind, but equal in strength to the pain he felt knowing he would never see Elen again. Elen was a future he would not know, but Fionna embodied a past he could never forget.

She finished her prayers at last, and they moved into a dim corner of the chapel, where the candles placed around the queen's body cast long, flickering shadows.

"You are leaving now." Fionna knew of his promise to Duncan. She went into his arms, and he held her close as silent sobs shook her body. His own eyes were wet.

"Fionna," he said, "I want you to give a message to Elen."

"Elen? She left us. She went to Macbeth." In Fionna's voice was all the defeat and loss that Duncan's adherents now felt.

"She was forced to go. She had no choice. And she was so near. Had I but known when I spoke toTalcoran that day-" Patric controlled himself and lowered his voice. "I have no time to tell you whathappened to Elen. Conal knows. Ask him what Crania told him. Will you give Elen my message? She willcome to Forres with Macbeth, of that I am certain."

Fionna gulped back another wave of tears."What do you want me to say to her?""Tell her that I release her from our betrothal vows. I know Macbeth will not allow her to keep herpledge to me, and I understand. Tell her I wish her happiness. Tell her to forget me." Patric's voicebroke on those last words.

"My dear." Fionna pulled her brother's head down onto her shoulder and stroked his burnished curls. "

How torn your heart must be."

Patric allowed himself only a moment's self-indulgence before pulling away from Fionna and straightening his shoulders.

"My duty is with young Malcolm and his brothers," he said firmly. "I will write to you from England if Ican." He embraced his sister one last time before turning resolutely away from the sight of hertear-streaked face.

Ava had gone to the servants' quarters and Elen was in bed, about to snuff her candle, when there was a knock at the door. She looked for her shawl but could not find it. The knock came again, more urgently this time. Elen pulled her loose linen nightdress more closely about her body and ran to the door in bare feet.

It was Talcoran.

" Lady, do I disturb you? I have news I thought you would want to hear at once."

"Patric." Elen's lips formed the word, but she made no sound.

Talcoran nodded.

"Come in." Elen stepped back, opening the door more widely, then shutting it behind the dark man.

Talcoran's eyes quickly searched the room, then came back to rest on her face.

He always does that, she thought. A well-trained soldier, making sure at once that there are no enemies lurking in the shadows to attack him.

She waited for him to speak, surprised as she was each time she stood near him, that he was a little shorter than she was. From a distance his tense, wiry strength gave him the appearance of greater height and fiercer aspect. One step away, as he was now, he was somehow less intimidating.

"There is not much to tell," Talcoran said. "I have learned that Patric mac Keith was ordered by King Duncan not to take part in the battle but to remain at Forres to guard his sons. One of my men saw him this midday. He was unharmed."

"Oh. . . ." As relief overcame her, Elen saw the room spinning and growing darker. There was a ringing in her ears, and her arms were like lead. Her knees buckled and would no longer support her weight.

She felt strong arms lifting her. Her head lolled upon a leather-coated shoulder. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw Talcoran's dark, worried face, and then the world was black.

When she regained her senses, she was lying on her bed. Talcoran hovered over her, holding a water jug in one hand while he splashed drops of water onto her face with the other.

"Elen, speak to me!" he commanded, as though she were some disobedient soldier. She could not answer at first. The tears she had resolutely held back for so many anxious days now poured out, cleansing her of her deep-seated fear that Patric was dead or horribly wounded. She could not stop crying.

Talcoran sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

"Don't. Don't," he begged. "I don't know what to do if you weep. How shall I help you?"

Elen sat up.

"Thank you," she gasped between sobs. "Oh, Talcoran, thank you. I'll never forget what you have done. No one else would tell me anything about Patric."

As a fresh burst of sobs shook her, Elen flung her arms around Talcoran and buried her face in his neck. Even in her emotionally overwrought state, she was aware of his hesitation, of a shuddering effort at restraint, before his arms enfolded her.

He held her carefully, sitting at rigid attention on the side of her bed until she had wept all the tears that were in her. Gradually, as her emotions quieted, she became aware of him again. The skin of his throat, where her face was pressed, was soft in contrast to the stiff black beard above it. His leather jacket was open at the neck, and she could see the beginning of the dark, silky hair that must cover his chest. He was clean, with a healthy male body scent that was distinctly pleasant.

Without thinking, she nestled a bit closer, seeking comfort, and his arms tightened about her. She felt a warmth, just the beginning of a sensation deep within her, a remnant of something she had once felt with Patric. Bewildered, she sat up and moved apart from Talcoran.

He looked at her with those disconcerting

dark grey eyes of his, as though he comprehended her confusion and recognized its cause more clearly than she did.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to make such a fool of myself," Elen whispered, wiping her eyes. "It was the relief."

He made no response. He just sat there on her bed, examining her very soul, the lines of his face and body tense.

"You are a good friend, Talcoran. I knew I could trust you."

Still he said nothing. Suddenly, he caught her hand in his and held it tightly. As his eyes bored into hers, he brought her hand to his lips, and pressed his burning mouth upon her trembling fingers. Her heart began to pound with heavy, painful beats. "Talcoran?"

Abruptly, he stood, turning his back on her "You are distressed," he said over his shoulder as he moved toward the door, "and you are very young. You do not understand."

"Understand what? I know you have been a friend to me."

"You are so innocent that it would never occur to you that I might be stirred to do something I should not. Something that would harm you irreparably. Harming you would not pleasure me. Not at all."

"I am not so innocent," she said, trying to avoid recognition of the intimate meaning of his last words. "I have been betrothed for nearly a year."

A brief smile lit his face. "Lady, I have no doubt that you remain a virgin. I have known enough experienced women to recognize an innocent one when I meet her. And now I think I should leave before we can be accused of something we have not done. Or worse, before we are accused of something we have done " He was deadly serious as he opened the door. "The next time you invite a man into your room at night, be certain your maid is here. It is much safer that way. And bolt this door after I leave. Guard your virginity well, lady. It is more valuable to your king than you realize."

Elen stared after him in amazement. What had he meant, her virginity was valuable to Macbeth? She s.h.i.+vered as it dawned upon her that his words could have only one meaning. Macbeth planned to marry her to someone, to seal a treaty or to bestow her father's lands and t.i.tles on one of his n.o.bles.

"But I am betrothed to Patric," she whispered. Patric, who was safe and well, and with whom she would soon be reunited. "I love Patric. I will marry Patric or no one."

Even as the defiant words left her lips, she knew her betrothal would mean little to Macbeth. He disliked Patric and had opposed her marriage to him. Macbeth could easily dissolve Elen's oath to a man Elen felt certain would never kneel and call him king. To Macbeth, Patric was now a traitor, deserving only of death or exile.

Elen closed her eyes. She could see every detail of Patric's face. She could remember the way his hair curled under her fingers. She recalled the pressure of his mouth on hers, and his hands. Ah, those large, strong, gentle hands.

"Patric. Patric."

Macbeth rode into Forres in triumph, Gruach beside him as he formally took control of the castle that had been Duncan's last stronghold. Their new crowns, simple and roughly made but glinting bright gold in the sun, sat firmly on their heads while they accepted the cheers and salutes of the army and of those civilians who had come from all over the countryside to see the new king.

In the great hall at Forres Castle, those of Duncan's n.o.bles who were left alive came to make submission to Macbeth. Most did so willingly, and if there were a few who hung back or pledged their fidelity grudgingly, they were scarcely noticed in the cheerful throng.

Elen stood close beside Gruach's chair, employed in her new role as lady to the queen. She watched as Conal mac Duff and Fionna knelt before the throne.

"You are most welcome to my court and my service," Macbeth told Conal. "As proof of my friends.h.i.+p toward you, I require you to keep the t.i.tle of Thane of Fife, and to continue to administer the lands which accompany that t.i.tle. When the time comes for you to die, both lands and t.i.tle will pa.s.s to your eldest son without dispute."

"I thank you, my lord."

"Conal mac Duff," Gruach said, "I would like your wife to become one of my ladies. Will you grant her permission to do so?"

"Gladly, my lady," Conal replied.

So it was that later in the day Elen found herself in Gruach's chamber, alone with Fionna.

"How is young Keith?" Elen asked with stiff politeness.

"My son is well. Elen, I must-"

"Fionna, I-" They both laughed, and suddenly the tension between them was gone.

"Please," Elen said, "tell me where Patric is. I must see him. Is he imprisoned because he would notpledge himself to Macbeth?""He is gone." And Fionna delivered her brother's message."No. No." This pain in her bosom that made breathing impossible, this feeling of being shattered into a thousand ice-cold pieces, this must be her heart breaking, Elen thought."My poor dear, sit down." She felt Fionna's arms, guiding her to a stool."How could he leave me like that?" Elen whispered. "I love him. He said he loved me.""He had his duty, his promise to Duncan.""But why didn't he take me with him?" Elen's mind was a little clearer now, the first shock dissipating. "I would gladly have shared his exile. I was right here in Forres the day he came to see Duncan. He could

have found me and protected me from Talcoran, and kept me here until the battle was over.""I don't know." Fionna's voice trembled on the edge of tears. "That was such a confused day, withDuncan in such great distress and the queen so desperately ill. I don't know what happened."

Elen saw Fionna's anguished face and bit back the angry words she had been going to say, but they lay

in her mind like cold, hard stones.

Patric lied. He had never loved her or he could not have broken his vow and deserted her like this. All he really wanted was Laggan. And I a young and foolish girl, so ready to believe him!

"What will happen next, Fionna?" she asked aloud."Conal says that tomorrow at the latest, Patric and the men who left with him, along with a few otherswho have gone into exile since Duncan's defeat, will be proclaimed traitors and outlaws, and theirproperties will be confiscated. All of the lands Patric inherited from our father and from our brother will belong to the crown after the proclamation. It is the way kings deal with such matters," Fionna added dryly. "It was to be expected."

"How can you bear it? I know how much you love Patric." I'm not sure I can bear it, Elen added silently to herself, the pain of Patric's defection still searing her heart. She heard Fionna's rueful laugh before her friend answered.

"We women don't have much choice in these matters, do we? I feel as though I am split in two. One part of me has gone with Patric, but the larger part of me remains here, with Conal and Keith, and I must endure the unhappiness of that division as best I can. Conal has done what he believes is right for our son and for Fife. Whatever happens in the future, I will not dispute his decision. I will stand by his side." Fionna drew herself up bravely. "I am pledged to Macbeth now I will do as my husband wishes and serve the new king. And his queen. That task will not be hard. Gruach is kind, and she will not blame me for what Patric has done. Oh, Elen, I wish everything could be different, and Patric were here with us, and we were all happy, but we must accept what has happened and go on. We cannot look backward."

With that, Fionna came to kneel next to Elen and put her arms around her friend. A dry-eyed Elen laid her head down on Fionna's shoulder and the two held each other for a long, silent moment.

Its ancient name was Icolmkill, but later generations called it lona. It was there that the kings of Alba were buried.

Low-lying and serene, its thick gra.s.s dotted with high stone crosses, the island had about it an air of sanct.i.ty. In the soft, moist atmosphere, delicate green ferns grew between the stones. Silence lay on lona like a holy blanket.

On a morning of gentle suns.h.i.+ne in late August of the Year of Our Lord 1040, Duncan mac Crinan was laid to rest. When the short service was

over, Patric stood squinting against the misty light, gazing back toward Alba.

"We should hurry, my lord," one of his men reminded him. "Macbeth has surely sent men in pursuit of us, and we have tarried overlong in this

place."

"We had no choice. It had to be done." Patric focused his attention on the s.h.i.+p that lay waiting offsh.o.r.eto take them to England. "Are the princesaboard?""Aye, my lord. The rowboat is returning for us now." The man chuckled. "I heard someone cry out that one of the princes was seasick.""That will be Donald. Perhaps he will be better on the larger s.h.i.+p.""We can hope so. I see the boat is waiting. Are you coming, my lord?""In a moment."