By Honor Bound Part 23

"Because he begged me to," Fionna said simply. "But only if you asked about him. I was not to offer information that might upset or anger you."

Elen clenched her fists hard at her sides, fighting off the image of Patric that now rose up before her. She had thought she could not remember his face, and yet there he stood in her imagination, just as she had last seen him. Those

close-cropped auburn curls, that square chiseled jaw, those bright blue eyes . . ."No!""Elen, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't dream it would distress you so. I should not have told you. You and Talcoran . . ." Fionna's voice trailed off."Yes," Elen said between set teeth, "I love Talcoran. I have borne his children. I never think of Patric. I have forgotten him. It was Crania, dying alone in a foreign land, that distressed me. That, andremembering Bancho." Elen tried to calm herself. She believed that she had done so."Let us return to the feast," she said.She sat beside Talcoran while the harper sang and the magician performed. Her mind and heart were filled with memories of Patric. She was tormented by an unreasonable desire to see him again, to hear his

deep, laughing voice, to feel his lips on hers.

She was scarcely aware that the feast had ended, or that she and Talcoran had returned to their apartments. She found herself in her bedchamber not knowing how she had gotten there.

She heard Talcoran in the reception room, talking to Drust. Talcoran, who was her husband, who was kind to her, who would rather sleep alone for the rest of his life than chance giving her another child that might kill her.

Patric had left her without a good-bye. Patric was a traitor. If Patric came through the door she would . .

. she would throw herself into his arms and beg him to make love to her, as they should have made love long ago when they were both young, before madness and war overtook Alba and she had been made to marry a stranger who was . . . who was the man she loved above all

others, whose caresses she longed for each night and must now live without.

"I'm going mad," she whispered to herself. "Mad. I can't bear it any longer."

There was a pitcher of mead on the table. Elen filled a cup and drank it down, then swallowed a second

and a third."Mistress, are you ill?" Ava was watching her, puzzled."Undress me," Elen said."Do you want your robe?" Ava asked when Elen was naked, covered only by the smooth black hair that spilled over her shoulders and down to her hips.

"No, it's too hot in here. Leave me like this. Go to Drust, Ava. Go and make love with him all the nightlong. If you love him, don't deny it, and don't wait.""Mistress!" Ava was shocked.

"Go!"

Ava slipped out the door as Talcoran came in. Talcoran, not Patric. Talcoran, who was her husband, whom she loved. Her sudden desire for Patric was a momentary aberration, some trick of the devil perhaps. She would not fall victim to it.

Talcoran took in her naked state with raised eyebrows."I came to say good-night. You seemed unwell this evening. You eat so little these days.""I am in perfect health," Elen told him, lifting yet another cup of mead to her lips."Still drinking?" he asked lightly. "You will have a sore head in the morning." He watched her for a moment or two, his dark grey eyes taking in every line of her slender nakedness before he turned to go.

"Good night," he said over his shoulder. It

seemed to Elen he went reluctantly.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, but he was already gone.

There was a fire in her veins, a smoldering, barely suppressed need that tortured her. It would not go away. It was more than three years since she and Talcoran had lain together shortly before Aiden's birth. No wonder she thought of Patric. It was a marvel that in all that time she had not found someone else, someone to ease the febrile yearning and at least make it possible for her to sleep at night. As quickly as it came, she rejected the idea with revulsion. It was Talcoran she wanted. She was his wife. He had no right to deny her his affection, however good his intentions might be.

She would go to him, beg him to take her back into his bed. No, she had tried that once and his refusal had been so humiliating that she had never attempted it again.

She poured herself another cup of mead, lifted it, then banged it down on the table. Mead would not help her. She needed a clear mind. She had to think of something to change her situation.

She recalled a conversation she had once unwillingly heard between two of the queen's ladies, who had twittered in delicious outrage over the peculiar demand made by the husband of one of them. Elen had declared such a thing to be impossible, unnatural, and quite probably sinful, even with one's own husband. With malicious pleasure the two ladies had proceeded to enlighten her, after which a scandalized Elen had placed the unwelcome information firmly in the back chambers of her mind and turned the key on it.

Now she opened her mind, let the idea out and examined it anew. It no longer seemed so revolting. In fact, it might offer a way for her to be close to Talcoran again, if he would accept the idea.

She draped a plaid woolen shawl about herself and headed for the room in which Talcoran now slept. She would act before she lost her courage.

Talcoran sat in a chair, the harsh lines of his face cruelly accentuated by the single oil lamp that burned beside him. He was deep in thought. She picked up a stool, placed it before him, and sat down.

"Elen. What are you doing here?" He made as if to rise, his loose robe falling open as he moved. Elen placed a hand on each of his bare knees.

"Talcoran, we must talk. Please don't send me away."

He sat back in his chair and waited.

"You have been cruel to me," Elen said. "You banished me from your bed without asking my opinion, but I am the one who must take the risk."

"I will not discuss this with you."

"Have you had other women?" By the look on his face she saw that he had, and the knowledge was like a knife in her breast. "Shall I find other men because my husband no longer wants me?"

"I have not said I do not want you. The others mean nothing. I use them, and only because I cannot have you."

She put her head down on his knees. After a while she told him what the court ladies had said, that scandalous, exciting, possibly sinful thing they had informed her about. She heard his gasp as she spoke. When she lifted her head at last, she saw that whatever he might say, Talcoran was not at all averse to her suggestion.

She slipped off the stool and knelt between his knees. She pushed aside his robe and lowered her head. He stiffened, making a futile gesture as if he would push her away, before his hands became entangled in her hair, and with an ecstatic moan he surrendered to her.

For the next few weeks Elen went about her duties in a happily dazed condition similar to that she had known when first she and Talcoran had married. She smiled at trifles, and discovered that even the most irritating problems of daily existence melted away when she thought of Talcoran.

He came to her room almost every night. Although it was she who had opened the gates of imagination, Elen marveled at the inventiveness of his mind, the suppleness of his hands and body, the tender pa.s.sion of his mouth. There was one thing only he would not do, the thing she wanted most, for he still feared getting her with child. She decided it was a small price to pay. She had her husband back again, and his loving attentions had driven the specter of Patric mac Keith out of her mind.

In the summer of 1045, King Duncan's father, Crinan of Dunkeld, finally hatched a plot to unseat Macbeth which was more than mere talk or midnight meetings in his abbey. Upon learning of Crinan's plans, Macbeth ordered the great war-horn blown to officially summon the men of Alba to war.

"I will accompany Macbeth as always," Talcoran said.

"Colin will go, too," his four-year-old son declared, unsheathing his wooden toy sword and matching it to his father's real one. His midnight-blue eyes, so like Elen's, sparkled, and a lock of straight black hair fell over his forehead as he tossed his little head, trying to look fierce.

"Put that thing away," Elen ordered. She caught Colin in her arms, tossing the make-believe blade aside. "I've seen enough of war. I thought once Macbeth was king, we would have peace."

"This revolt was not Macbeth's doing," Talcoran said. "If he had dealt harshly with Crinan at the beginning of his reign, killed him or sent him into exile, it would not have happened. This is the penalty a king pays for treating his enemies with kindness."

"I am afraid for you."

"Don't worry about me, I have a charmed life," Talcoran laughed.

Elen thought with a flash of something akin to hatred that he was looking forward to the battle against Crinan. How lovingly he polished his blade and oiled his leather helmet. How carefully he checked the strength of his square s.h.i.+eld and tested the edges of both spear and battleaxe. He whistled a light-hearted tune as he laid out his leather battle dress, examining the metal plates attached to it. There was new armor made of chain mail coming into Alba from the continent of Europe. Talcoran preferred his older, padded leather gear that had served him so well in the past.

Cheerfully Talcoran and Drust discussed the horses they would use, and the arrangements to feed both men and beasts. As Thane of Laggan, Talcoran had responsibility to provide a certain number of men-at-arms for the king's enterprise, and frequent messages went back and forth between the court and Laggan Castle where the men were gathering.

Like small boys bored with courtly intrigues and feastings and meetings of the king's council, the n.o.bles of Alba joyfully prepared for war.

Macbeth himself was in the best of humors, certain of victory over Crinan, whom he repeatedly referred to as "that pious a.s.s." Lulach girded on his sword and swore to make his stepfather and king proud of him. Even Conal mac Duff, who had once said he had lost his taste for war, now seemed to be looking forward to it. "They've all gone mad," Elen said to Fionna. The queen had overheard her. "Where's your courage, woman? Here's wine. Thicken your blood with it; you look green and pale. This war is just."

Macbeth had entered the room while Gruach spoke, and laughed.

"My love," he said, "you sound as fierce and warlike as one of those strange G.o.ddesses the Nors.e.m.e.n believe in, who carry heroes killed in battle to their heavenly banqueting hall."

"Speaking of Nors.e.m.e.n, will Thorfinn fight with us?" Fionna asked.

"Aye, if we need his help, but leave such matters to men, sweet lady," Macbeth told her. "War is not a woman's problem."

"It is if her menfolk are killed or wounded, or if she herself is harmed, as too often happens," Elen reminded him.

"It will be a short campaign," Macbeth promised her. "We will all be safely home by midsummer."

In spite of the king's a.s.surances and the cheerful confidence of the n.o.bles, Elen felt a sense of dread. Talcoran rode off on a secret mission for the king, and in the three days he was gone, Elen neither slept nor ate. He reappeared during one of those royal feasts Macbeth was so fond of giving. He sat down next to Elen and calmly began eating from her trencher.

"This is good," he said. "I've not had hot food recently."

"Where have you been?"

"Don't ask. I'll be late tonight. I have to report to Macbeth when this is over." Talcoran looked about the crowded hall. "Everyone is here and ready. My own men have arrived from Laggan. Unless something goes wrong, we leave tomorrow."

Later, Elen lay alone in her bed, tensely listening for a sound that would tell her Talcoran had returned from his conference with Macbeth. The hours pa.s.sed slowly until she dozed.

She wakened, how much later she did not know, aware of Talcoran stretched beside her. By his quiet breathing, he was asleep. She pressed against him, afraid for him, wondering if they would ever lie like this again.

"Elen?" His mouth touched hers in a gentle kiss that quickly turned into something much more.

He was abruptly, hugely erect, with a hard, pulsing need that could not wait or be denied. She heard a startled exclamation as he rolled over on top of her, his mouth seeking hers again. There was an urgency in him, a hasty desperation that she recognized as a counterpart to her own fears for him.

She was ready for him, responding eagerly to his slightest touch, for this, this was what she had wanted from him, the one thing he had denied her during their recent nights together. She rejoiced in his maleness as Talcoran gave in to the atavistic urge of the soldier going into battle, the desire to create life before taking it, to leave some part of himself behind lest he not return.

They surged together, half mad with their need for each other, moaning in painful pleasure as the irresistible, immediate climax shook them both.

He kissed her until her mouth was numb. He caught her face between his hands and kissed her again and again as if he would never stop, and his body was still inside hers, and she cried out as one final bursting wave shook her and she gave herself to his unending kisses with tears of joy that she had known this night, this time with him.

"Oh, dear G.o.d." He had stopped kissing her. She opened her eyes. In the grey dawn light he was staringdown at her in shocked horror. "What have I done to you?"

"We have made love."

"You know what I mean. How could you let me do that?"

"It was impossible to stop you," she teased. "Was it so terrible?" She wrapped her arms around him and held him fast. After a while she felt him relax against her.

"What's done is done," he told her philosophically. His mouth brushed down the length of her throat. "

Whatever damage there will be from this has already happened. I do not need to leave for some hours yet, and who knows when I will return, or in what condition? I see no point in wasting the time left to us, do you?"

17.

Late summer and winter 1045.

The war against Crinan's rebels, which was to be over so quickly, dragged on for several months.

Talcoran had been gone not quite ten weeks when Elen concluded she must be with child again.

"What shall I do?" she asked Fionna. "Talcoran will be so angry with me. He forbade me to have more children."

"The child is of his making," Fionna reminded her. "He can hardly blame you after he has had his pleasure, can he?"

Elen giggled, momentarily forgetting her concern.