By Honor Bound Part 2

She felt his tongue pus.h.i.+ng against her lips and then entering her mouth in a wave of sweet sensation. Her eyes flew open and she began to struggle, but he gathered her even more tightly into his arms. There was a moment of half-hearted protest until, with a soft little moan, she yielded.

A glorious eternity pa.s.sed before he lifted his head. She swayed when he loosened his hold on her. He had to steady her or she would have fallen. Her knees were like water.

"You feel it, too. I knew you did!" he exclaimed with boyish a.s.surance. "I wasn't mistaken."

"This is wrong. You must let me go." Tears of shame and confusion were running down her cheeks. "If anyone saw us, I would be ruined."

"No, my sweet Elen, you don't understand. I can talk to the king and ask him-"

"Mistress?" Ava's questioning voice came out of the darkness. "Are you there? I was worried about you. I thought you were lost."

"I'm here." Elen disengaged herself from Patric's arms, thankful it was too dark for Ava to see much. "I' m coming now. Before I really am lost," she added under her breath.

"Elen, wait, please. Listen to me."

"Good night, Patric." And she hurried through the darkness after Ava.

They reached Dunfermline shortly after King Duncan himself arrived, leading the remnants of his army from the disaster at Durham. The palace and its grounds were a seething ma.s.s of confusion. Armed soldiers, wounded men walking or on litters or crutches, horses, and baggage carts crowded the courtyards, while richly dressed n.o.bles jostled each other in the inner rooms and corridors. The clear, high music of church bells rang out over the din made by the discordant crowd.

Elen waited near the entrance, guarded by Patric's warriors, while he went in search of someone who could tell him where to deliver the king's new ward. Ava huddled close to her, wide-eyed in amazement at the noise and activity swirling around them.

Elen, her head high, stood wrapped in her dark cloak and the silent dignity she had a.s.sumed ever since Patric had kissed her so pa.s.sionately by the riverbank. She had refused to speak to him at all during the remainder of their journey, ignoring the amused glances he sent her way. She was becoming increasingly irritated by his c.o.c.ky self-a.s.surance. He behaved as though he knew some wonderful secret.

Well, she wasn't interested in Patric's secrets. She was only concerned with saving herself from total ruinat his hands. The sooner she met King Duncan, and the faster he married her to one of his n.o.bles, thehappier she would be. That was her only hope of safety. When she had a husband to protect her, Patricwould have to leave her alone, "Elen? Lady?" He had returned and was speaking to her. She lifted herchin a little higher and he smiled in that annoyingly teasing way he had. "You are to stay with your cousin."

"I know that," she said coldly. "The king is my cousin. Take me to him."

"The king is too busy to see you today. You are to be lodged in your other cousin's quarters for now."Seeing her puzzled expression, he added, "You did tell me the sub-king of Moray is your cousin, did younot?"

"Macbeth, the Mormaer of Moray, is mycousin.""His lady, Gruach, is here awaiting her husband's return with the army. I will take you to her."

"Thank you."

He grinned again, unabashed by her icy tone, and motioned for his party to follow him. Elen was quickly lost as they proceeded through corridors and interconnecting chambers, across courtyards, indoors and out, through the sprawling palace grounds until they came to a richly furnished apartment. Bright tapestries hung on the walls. Thick furs were draped over benches and carved wooden chairs. A fire burned in the hearth. A servant bade them wait and disappeared into an inner room. The men-at-arms remained outside, while Elen, Patric, and Ava waited in the splendid comfort of the room until Gruach joined them.

Gruach was only of medium height, but her proud carriage made her appear taller. At twenty-eight she was still beautiful. Her honey-blonde hair was braided and artfully arranged. Her grey eyes were warm.

Her gold velvet gown swished against the rushes on the floor, and the jewels in her belt and at her wrists and neck winked in the firelight as she moved toward them.

"Lady," Patric said, bowing, "I bring you your cousin, Elen of Laggan."

"Duncan sent me a message. Thank you, Patric, for your good care of her." Gruach's voice was soft andsweet. She laid a gentle hand on Patric's sleeve. "I grieve with you for your brother, but I am told he dieda brave warrior's death. I would expect no less of your father's son."

Patric bowed again.

"You may go now," Gruach said.

Dismissed so royally, Patric could do nothing but leave. Gruach smiled after him.

"He is a bit too sure of himself," she said, "but then, so was his father, until someone wiser and surer killed him."

Elen smothered a shocked gasp.

"Let me look at you." Gruach took Elen's hand and turned her toward the firelight. "You were a babe when last I saw you. How like your mother you are, with that beautiful hair. You are too thin and pale, but that can be remedied. With the right clothes and jewelry, you will be a lovely prize for some deserving thane. Duncan has commanded me to see that you are properly cared for, and I will do his bidding with pleasure. We will have to hurry, for my Macbeth is returning today with his men, and I must be free to attend him when he comes."

Gruach led Elen to another chamber as she spoke. "Is this your maidservant? Good. Bring

your mistress's belongings in here. How fortunate that we have an extra bedchamber in this apartment. You will want a bath. Then we will see about your clothes. You will need something very grand for your presentation to Duncan."

Gruach's voice went on and on, a melodic accompaniment to her firm direction of Elen's day. There was an undercurrent of barely subdued excitement about the woman. Watching her closely, Elen soon connected it to Macbeth. Gruach expected her husband to arrive at any moment and was desperate with impatience to see him.

None of Elen's gowns was suitable for court. "This is dreadful," Gruach said. "Ava, find my maid. Tell her to bring my new red dress. Can you sew? Good, so can she. The two of you will alter it to fit Elen while I spend the afternoon teaching her how to behave before the king. Don't just stand there, girl. Hurry!"

"When will I meet the king and queen?" Elen asked.

"You will be presented to Duncan tonight at the welcoming feast. The queen sees no one but her ladies. She is ill and weak. She will not live long. I am the most important woman at Duncan's court."

The gown was being hastily refitted for Elen's slender figure, Gruach's instructions on court protocol had been repeated several times just to be sure Elen understood them, and the two cousins were sitting before the fire in the main room of the apartment, when Macbeth arrived at last.

The name Macbeth meant "son of life," and it had been well chosen for him. He appeared in the doorway with no announcement of his coming. He was simply there-big-boned and tall, ruddy-complexioned, with thick yellow hair and beard-and his presence filled the room with life and warmth.

"My love!" He opened his arms, flinging his bright blue cloak back over one shoulder.

Gruach rose from her stool and flung herself into his embrace. Their lips met in a hungry kiss that deepened into pa.s.sion. They were oblivious to anyone else in the room.

For a moment Elen looked on in amazement. Then, afraid she was intruding, she looked away from her cousins and met straight-on the glowing dark eyes of the man who had followed Macbeth into the room. Something in his steady regard of her made Elen catch her breath, but she would not drop her own eyes. Then the man nodded and broke the oddly intimate contact.

"Who is this?" Macbeth had released his wife and was appraising Elen with a shrewd gaze. Gruach introduced them.

"You are welcome, cousin," Macbeth said. Elen found herself enveloped in his exuberant embrace. " What a beauty you are!"

"I don't think so," Elen demurred shyly, believing he was only trying to be kind.

"You must let a man decide that. What do you think, Talcoran? This is my aide, one of my most trusted companions." Macbeth clapped the dark man on his shoulder, pus.h.i.+ng him toward Elen. "Well, what do you say, old friend?"

The dark man stared at Elen again, looking her over from head to toe with great seriousness.

"Very beautiful," he said at last.

"You see, cousin, I told you so." Macbeth laughed heartily. He slipped an arm about Gruach's waist. " My wife and I want to be alone now. We have been apart too long. You two stay here and talk. You should get to know each other."

He drew his wife toward a door at the far side of the room, and hurried her through it. The door closed firmly and a bolt could be heard sliding

across it.Talcoran cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable."Would you like some ale?" Elen askednervously. "Yes."She poured a cup and brought it to him. He was not very tall. He was just a little shorter than Elen, andtheir eyes were level. His were dark grey, almost black. His hair was black and straight, his face swarthy,made even darker by a deep suntan and a black, neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was thin. Helooked wiry and tough, a strong veteran of war. In place of the bright garb of most n.o.blemen, Talcoranwore plain dark clothes. They suited him. His simple, direct manner suggested that this man would carenaught for gaudy fabrics or glittering jewels.

He drained the cup of ale, his eyes on her face all the while. There was something intense and veryserious about him, which kept that close inspection from becoming insulting. "Do you want more?" sheasked. "Yes." As she bent to pick up the pitcher from the hearth, he added in a softer tone, "I thank you,most sweet lady."

She rose abruptly at that, splas.h.i.+ng some of the ale. He smiled at her. One front tooth was a little crooked. It gave him a rakish, almost a sinister look. His eyes were still fastened upon her face with that intent expression. Unnerved, she poured out the ale with a shaking hand while she searched for something ordinary to say to him that would break the awkwardness between them. "You must be very thirsty after your long

ride."

"And hungry. It was a hasty retreat and a difficult journey home with inadequate supplies. And we lefttoo many of our good fighting men dead in England." His voice was harsh, filled with the bitterness ofdefeat.

"If you wish to eat, I think there is some cheese, and some bread," she offered sympathetically. She almost told him about her father, to let him know she had at least a little understanding of how terrible war could be, but he spoke before she could say the words.

"It would be better," he told her, "If I found what I need somewhere else."

"But, I'm sure my cousins would want me to provide-"

"No. I must go." He rose quickly and a moment later the door to the corridor had slammed behind him.

What a strange man, Elen thought. He had no manners at all. She wanted to dismiss him from her thoughts, but the memory of his dark eyes haunted her for the rest of the day.

Gruach's maid and Ava helped Elen to bathe and dress. Ava combed her mistress's hair until it s.h.i.+mmered with blue-black.light.

The gown Gruach had given Elen was of a deep wine-red wool, colored with the treasured dye made from c.o.c.kles. It would never fade, not from exposure to the sun, nor from was.h.i.+ng, however vigorous. The dress had a wide, curved neck and long, tight sleeves. The full skirt flared into rich, heavy folds that rippled when Elen walked. The girdle was of twisted cords of silk in the same dark red. It was a beautiful dress, expertly made and costly, and Elen was deeply touched by the gift, and the warm-hearted generosity that prompted it.

There was no decoration at all on the gown, which was unusual in an age of elaborate embroidered trim. It was only later that Elen realized Gruach must have intended the gown as a simple background for her spectacular collection of heavy gold jewelry. The simplicity pleased Elen. She added a delicate gold chain and a gold ring set with a pearl, both of which had been her mother's.

"Very suitable for a modest maiden," Gruach approved. She had changed to a gown of deep blue trimmed with fur, to which she had added wide gold bracelets set with jewels, a heavy gold necklace, gold earrings, and a jeweled gold belt. Gold ornaments shone among her braids, holding in place a sheer silken veil that drifted softly about her shoulders. Several gold rings adorned her hands.

"This is my son, Lulach." Gruach indicated a fair-haired boy about twelve years old who had come into the room with her. He was dressed like an adult in a blue woolen tunic with a gold chain about his neck. " Lulach is attending the feast tonight because the young princes will be present. The king has commanded it."

"I don't like Malcolm," Lulach told Elen. "Donald is nice, but Malcolm always wants to fight."

"You must learn to fight, too, my darling," his mother admonished him. "That is what grown men do."

"When I have a big sword, I'll fight Malcolm and kill him." Lulach stuck out his lower lip.

"You must not say such things, my love. One day Malcolm will be your king, and then you must obey him."

"Not me!" Lulach turned his attention to Elen. "When I am Mormaer of Moray, will you be my subject?"Elen burst into laughter."I will be your most loyal subject, my lord," she said, making a low curtsy."Be careful," Gruach warned. "My son has a long memory.""I did not know you and Macbeth had children," Elen said."We have none. I had two stillborn babes when first we married, and none since. Lulach is the son of my first husband, Gillecomgan, who was foully murdered." Gruach's lovely face twisted in pain. "That is why Lulach is so dear to me, why I cannot send him to be fostered by another family. I must keep him safe by my side."

"My father was burned alive," Lulach told Elen with childish relish. "He and all his men were lockedinside his house and it was set on fire. King Duncan's grandfather ordered him killed. First he killed mymother's nephew, who was the next rightful king, and then he killed my father so he couldn't becomeking, either. But no one can kill Macbeth. He's too strong for them all."

"Lulach, be silent!" his mother commanded. "You are speaking treason."

"But, mother-"

"Not another word." Gruach pulled herself together with a visible effort. "We must go now. We will belate.""I thought we were waiting for Macbeth," Elen said.

"He is in attendance on the king. He will meet us there."

The great hall was brightly lit. Torches flamed along the walls, casting wavering shadows from the thick roofbeams against the high, peaked ceiling. Candles in tall holders burned on either

side of the king's raised chair. n.o.bles and their ladies cl.u.s.tered in the hall, waiting for King Duncan to appear. They were a colorful crowd, arrayed in red or green or blue or saffron-gold, in gowns of silk or wool, in tunics trimmed with fur or with finely embroidered bands of gold and silver thread. They wore jewelry of gold or silver set with colored stones. They reeked of heavy, musky perfumes.

The crowd parted, making room for Gruach, wife of Macbeth mac Finlaec, and for her son and her cousin. There were those who bowed low as Gruach pa.s.sed by.

They were just in time. They had barely reached their places near the royal seat when the king and his closest n.o.bles appeared through a side door.

Duncan did not look like a king to Elen. He was no more than thirty, at least five years younger than his cousin Macbeth. He was thin, with light brown hair and a skimpy beard. Behind the beard, his face was weak. Any one of his n.o.bles looked more kingly than he.

Macbeth was tall and magnificent in his deep blue silk tunic. The chain of the Mormaer of Moray lay in linked pairs of silver rings across his chest, fastened with the broad penannular ring which was his badge of office. He held himself with great dignity, towering over the king. In his own s.h.i.+re of Moray, Macbeth was king, and his word was law. Even when he obeyed Duncan, who was king of all Alba, Macbeth did not forget his own rank.

Behind Macbeth a tall, handsome man with brown hair and a solemn expression looked n.o.ble, if not royal, and next to this man walked Patric mac Keith.