By Honor Bound Part 25

Elen moved back into Talcoran's bed. For a long time they did not make love, but as the nights lengthened toward winter it was comforting to sleep next to him and to feel his warmth. His listlessness and his strange irritability would disappear as his health improved, and then they would be close once more.

The harvest was gathered, the household was well prepared for the winter to come. It was the old Celtic new year, the festival of Samhain, when the spirits of the dead walked abroad for one night. As Christians, they now called it All Hallows' Eve. The servants had celebrated it with extra ale and beer, and noisy games designed to keep evil spirits at bay.

In the master's room it was quieter. A huge golden moon hung in a luminous sky, casting its light across the bedchamber floor and over the bed where Talcoran lay.

"It's a night for ghosts." Elen s.h.i.+vered as she threw off her robe and slipped under the furs.

"And what of living men?" Talcoran asked, sounding more like his old self than he had for months. "Is it a night for them, too?"

She saw his face in the moonlight, black and silver, almost like a ghost in its thinness. But he was alive. It was warm, human flesh that fastened itself upon her mouth, and human hands that touched her, stroking embers into glowing flames once more. It was a human body, a distinctly male human body that covered hers and with fierce love brought her to the edge of a delight all the sweeter, all the more intense because of the fear she had so recently had for him, for his very life. He was alive now, as only Talcoran could be alive, hard and tense and almost frantic in his need of her. He moved against her and she melted with love for him, urged him into her, welcoming the growing tension within herself, knowing it would end in glorious unity, Elen and Talcoran, one being. Soon now, soon . . .

Something was wrong, horribly, dreadfully wrong. He was gone from her and she was empty, bereft, and the pain was unendurable. He was gasping above her and she felt something wet and sticky on her belly and she knew what he had done.

"Don't, don't," she begged, but it was too late.

"I can't do it," he whispered, panting. "I can't chance hurting you. I don't want to lose you."

"You have already hurt me!" she cried, trying to push him away.

He did not hear her. His brief burst of strength expended, Talcoran had fallen asleep. Elen lay in her beloved husband's arms while he slept, and her heart and her mind were empty and cold, and she felt totally alone. She wondered in despair if they would ever truly be together again.

She tried to discuss it with him the next morning, reminding him of the many things they had done and enjoyed before he was wounded, that had been pleasurable to her, too.

"Unmanly things," Talcoran said, his temper flaring as it did too frequently since his wounding. "I will decide such matters, Elen, and you will be an obedient wife and do as I wish. Do not tempt me with such ideas again."

She did not argue further. She understood his churlish inflexibility on this matter had something to do with his injury. Perhaps he felt diminished by his physical weakness and by the need for his wife to manage his affairs until he recovered. Only in this one aspect of their life together, their lovemaking, did he still exercise complete control. She would not dispute his authority in their marriage bed. She would leave him that, for the sake of his fierce pride, until he was completely well again.

Autumn 1046. Scone. She never learned how he discovered it. When she asked them, Fionna, Briga, and Ava all swore they had said nothing. It might have been some ill-chosen turn of phrase on her part, some careless piece of evidence, a putting together of bits and pieces of information. Somehow, Talcoran had learned of Elen's pregnancy and miscarriage.

It was the worst possible time for it to happen. At Talcoran's insistence they had returned to court in the summer of 1046, although he was still not completely recovered from the terrible wound he had taken the year before. He would admit to no disability, although he tired easily, and when his side ached in bad weather, he limped. There were nights when he put his arms around Elen and could do no more than that, and he pretended it was all he wanted. Elen knew better. Still, those times were easier for her than the nights when he used her as he had at Samhain, and left her empty and lonely even though he was beside her.

When Earl Siward of Northumbria, backed by English troops, made a feeble attempt to invade Alba, Macbeth would not allow Talcoran to ride with the army.

"You are too valuable here," Macbeth told him kindly. "I leave you to sit on my council. Like the good soldier you are, you will guard my back."

The kindness rankled.

"Even Lulach, a weakling of eighteen, is included in the army," Talcoran fumed, "and I, at thirty-three, am treated like an old man who cannot even sit his horse."

"Macbeth needs you here," Elen said soothingly. "He needs someone he can trust completely. The campaign won't last long."

"What do women know of armies and campaigns?" Talcoran said cruelly. "I am a warrior, not some snivelling courtier."

"Which is exactly why Macbeth wants you at court."

He glared at her, then left the room. Elen shook her head sadly. He was so different since his wound. He was even rude to Gruach later that evening, after the army had left to fight Siward.

"His wound aches," Elen apologized. "He does not mean what he says."

"It is hard to be left behind," Gruach said "Perhaps Morigan can divert him. If she fails, he's hopeless. Bring your needlework and sit by me, Elen, while the harper plays. We've not talked for a long time."

Grateful for her cousin's sympathy, Elen took her place on a stool near Gruach. She watched Talcoran from time to time as the evening progressed. He sat in a corner of the queen's reception room, talking with the queen's lady, Morigan. The beautiful, red-haired niece of the Thane of Mar was only lately come to court. She had been widowed after a year of marriage and was expected to make a good second marriage, since her husband had left her considerable property. Elen had heard whispers about her, that she was overly fond of men.

Elen saw Talcoran smile at Morigan and bend his head to say something to her. If Morigan could charm him and put him into a better mood, she would thank the woman and be her friend no matter what the gossips said of her.

Talcoran became increasingly cheerful as the days pa.s.sed. Elen thought that he had reconciled himself to not marching with the army. Certainly he was busy with matters of state, with meetings of the king's council and conferences with other n.o.bles that often lasted well into the night. She saw him less and less.

He had new clothes made for himself. They were not the dark grey or black he had always worn, but dark green silk for the tunic, and bright red wool for the cloak.

"How handsome he looks," she said to Fionna. "His health is better, too. There is more color in his cheeks."

"And sparkle in his eyes," Fionna added dryly. "Indeed, there is a definite gleam in Talcoran's eyes these days."

"I hope so," Elen laughed. In a fit of despair one day, she had confessed to Fionna a little about her unhappy relations.h.i.+p with Talcoran, and had been advised to be patient with him, for men often had such problems, especially after a serious wound, which injured the spirit as well as the body. "I begin to think you were right, Fionna. Perhaps we can be happy again, and soon, too."

"Elen, sometimes I worry about you." Fionna's voice had taken on a certain sharpness. "You have a marvellous capacity for never seeing what you don't want to see. Were you a king, you'd lose your throne and your head within a year."

"What's this? Elen a king? What a funny idea." Morigan had joined them. Her easy laughter bubbled up.

"Fionna, why should Elen want to be a king?"Now Talcoran was at Elen's elbow, smiling down at her. She returned the smile and took his arm. Hecovered her hand with his and she gave a little sigh of happiness at this affectionate gesture Talcoran didnot often show his love for her in public.

"I was saying," Fionna said in that same sharptone, fixing her sparkling blue eyes on Talcoran,"That not being of a suspicious nature, Elenwould make a dreadful king. She is too trusting.""But she is a wonderful wife," Talcoran said.That night they made love, and it was almostas it had been when first they married. Until theend, when, nearly too late, he left her alone as was.h.i.+s custom now, and she beat at his shoulders andcried out that she hated him, hated him."That may be," he told her, "But you are my wife, my chattel, and you will do as I wish." And with that, this newly cold and cruel Talcoran, this stranger she loved and hated at the same time, rolled over and

went to sleep.Elen was not quite so simple as Fionna imagined. She was aware of Talcoran's interest in Morigan. Atfirst she thought it would be good for him. A joking conversation, a little flirtation with Morigan would lifthim out of his despondency, would make him feel more manly. They slept in the same bed each night soshe did not doubt his fidelity. But after a time, he began coming later and later to bed, and she sensed astrange odor about him, another woman's seductive perfume, and knew it was Morigan's.

She was afraid. A n.o.bleman of Alba had power of life and death over his wife. Talcoran could send her away to a convent, divorce her, even kill her if he wanted. It was not likely he would kill her, for she was too closely connected to Macbeth for that, and she knew that whatever their differences Talcoran cared about her. But he could divorce her to marry Morigan, who was eighteen and could give

him children, the sons he wanted. Because he had Colin, grandson of the last thane, Talcoran could keep Laggan, to pa.s.s it on to his eldest son. Elen, should he divorce her, would be left with nothing.

The tense weeks crawled by, with Talcoran growing ever colder and more distant. Elen did not know

what to do.

Ava came to her one morning with a perplexed expression.

"Mistress, it has been eight weeks." Ava counted on her fingers. "That long since your woman's time has

come on you. Are you with child?""That's impossible. It can't be.""Oh, yes it is." Ava counted again, explaining patiently, and Elen remembered the night when Talcoran had almost, almost, forgotten to be careful.

"I've been so distracted, I never thought of this," she said. She was terrified and happy at the same time.Could she give Talcoran another son after all? And Talcoran, what would he say, what would he do?"Tell no one," she cautioned her maid. "I must find the right time to inform Talcoran."

These days there never seemed to be a right time to talk alone with Talcoran about anything. Another week pa.s.sed while Elen worried about how to do it.

And now, on top of everything else, Talcoran had learned about her miscarriage.

"Am I so feeble a creature that my own wife dares to lie to me?" he roared. "How could you keep such a secret for so long? I had a right to know."

"You were grievously ill, Talcoran. And by the time you were well enough to know it, it was in the past. Idid not want to distress you. I was afraid if you knew," she added honestly, "you would forbid me yourbed again."

"So I would have. You could have died, Elen. I may never forgive you for this. Do you think I'm some half-man to be manipulated like that?"

All the fears and heartache, and all the thwarted desires, of the past year and a half boiled over at last.

"Yes!" Elen replied hotly. "That miserly bit of yourself you deign to bestow on me in our bed is less thanhalf a man, less than half of Talcoran. I deserve more. I want all of you, not an occasional bone tossedunder your table as though I were a dog. Forgive me? You should go on your knees and beg me toforgive you for everything you've done to me!"

His open hand cracked across her cheek. Elen stumbled, caught herself on a chair and pulled herself upright. She knew other men beat their wives, but Talcoran had never struck her before.

"From now on, you will get none of me, woman," he snarled. "You will keep to your chamber at night,and I'll keep to mine." He headed for the door.

"Before you leave, my n.o.ble lord, there is something you should know." Elen's voice dripped scorn. "I have another secret to tell you. I am with child again."

Talcoran turned white. He approached her like some tense, wiry beast, stalking its prey.

"Whose?" he demanded. "Who is the father?"

"Unlike you, I have not betrayed my marriage vows. I have known no man but you, Talcoran. The child is yours."

"That is impossible."

"So I thought, but it is so." A flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt crossed her face. "Perhaps whichever soldier friends of yours have been advising you in such matters should be warned their methods do not work."

The faintest hint of answering humor showed in his dark eyes before he sobered.

"It was no ordinary soldier," he said. "It was the Thane of Mar."

"That seems appropriate to me. I trust you did not serve his niece in the same way."

Talcoran's eyes slid away from hers."No," he said shortly.There was an uncomfortable silence until Talcoran cleared his throat and spoke again.

"I have treated you badly."Elen knew it was as close to an apology as Talcoran could ever come."Indeed you have," she said."About Morigan. It is finished.""There is no need to explain. We began our marriage promising to be honest with each other and wehave both failed miserably. But we could begin again. I see no reason for you to stay away from my bed,Talcoran, now that the thing you feared the most has happened."

"I am still afraid." Talcoran shook his head. "I fear nothing in war, not death however hideous, nor anything that happens after death. But I am terrified of losing you."

Elen saw in his face that it was true. Whatever their quarrels, Talcoran loved her. He was her husband, and she must, she did, love him.

"I am afraid, too," Elen said, "But less so when you hold me. Never leave me alone again, Talcoran. Promise me that, and let us try to be happy together once more."

In late November, Macbeth returned in triumph from routing Earl Siward. A few nights later, Gruach, after loving him into complaisant good humor, made a tactful suggestion, and in December, the Thane of Mar's niece was married to a wealthy Norwegian jarl and sailed away to live in that icy land. Elen, happily involved with Talcoran once more, scarcely noticed that Morigan had left.

Siward the Strong, Earl of Northumbria, spun around on his booted heel when the door behind "Ah, Patric, it's you. Come here to the window. Look at that." He pointed to a pair of young men engaged in swordplay in the practice courtyard below. "Watch now. Ha, ha! Good work, Malcolm. Not many lads of fifteen could do that. What a warrior he'll make in another year or so."

Siward and Patric mac Keith stood shoulder to shoulder at the narrow window. Siward was of almost gigantic size, towering half a head above Patric's own great height. He was a burly, beefy, barrel-chested man, with hair and beard the color of bra.s.s. He was both violent and unscrupulous, but he ruled his earldom with rough justice. Having made Northumbria securely his possession, his present goal was to place his orphaned nephew Malcolm mac Duncan on the throne of Alba. Siward considered Macbeth a usurper, and welcomed into his earldom those who had fled Alba when his brother-in-law, King Duncan, was killed. He had quickly befriended Patric, appreciating the bravery of the man who had safely brought his young nephews to him.

"We could have used Malcolm in Alba this summer," Patric said, following the swordplay below them with considerable interest.

"We could have used a few hundred more English troops," Siward corrected him sourly. "That's what we needed. But King Edward was too miserly for that."

"More troops would have made no difference. It was a foolish invasion, ill-planned and poorly captained.