By Honor Bound Part 33

Gowned in deepest blue wool, for she would not wear black mourning on this occasion, Elen stood alone just beside the entrance of the castle the next noontime, watching Macbeth and his men ride out to meet Malcolm. The day had begun grey and misty, but now the sun had begun to break through, glinting on armor and weapons, enveloping the scene in a golden haze that made everything seem s.h.i.+mmering and unreal.

She remembered other times when she had stood thus while he rode off to war with his proud army behind him. It was a smaller army now, reduced by death and injury and a few desertions, but it seemed to her that its ranks were swelled by the ghosts of his earlier companions. She thought she could almost see, riding in his accustomed place just behind Macbeth's right shoulder, Talcoran of Laggan with his son Colin. And there, through the softening mist, was that not the st.u.r.dy bearded figure of Bancho of Lochaber? And that was surely Thorfinn the Mighty of Orkney in his huge bearskin cape. And those others, whom she could just glimpse now and then, so many others, who had been Macbeth's friends, who had loved him and had been willing to give their lives to defend an ancient way of life. Surely they were here to lend their aid to him now? Remembering all of them, Elen's eyes filled with tears.

As he came abreast of her, Macbeth reined in his horse, pulled off his gauntlet, and reached down to take her hand. She felt again the vitality and strength of him.

"See," she told him, standing on tiptoe to stretch higher so she would be nearer to his heart, "the sun is coming out. That's a good omen, cousin."

"A good omen for someone," he agreed. "I pray it is meant for us. Take care, Elen."

"Go with G.o.d, my lord." She watched him spur his horse, and kept her eyes fixed on his blue-mantled back as he rode down the line of warriors, until the press of men and horses blocked him from her view, and the mist closed in again, and the army disappeared, like the ghosts she thought she had seen, leaving behind it a great, empty silence.

PART III.

MALCOLM'S KINGDOM A.D. 1057-1058.

August 15 and 16 1057.

The wounded soldier screamed as Briga finished sewing his wound and applied a hot herbal poultice to it. Elen began to wrap his side with a strip of linen.

"Lie still," she ordered. "You are not so badly hurt. You will heal quickly with this treatment."

"I can't stay here. I have to escape. Lady, you don't understand. Malcolm's army is coming here. Ah,such an army. I've never seen so many men. You should run away, too. It won't be safe for you whenthey come."

"Will it be any safer in the countryside?" Fionna asked briskly. She was busily bandaging the shatteredarm of the boy who lay next to Elen's patient. "We are n.o.blewomen, and we will remain here, insidethese walls, where we will be treated with respect by whoever rules this castle."

The soldier in Elen's care laughed bitterly.

"For your sake, lady, I hope you are right," he said, "But as for me, I am leaving as soon as I can stand."

The great hall was full of maimed, weary men, who had staggered or been carried from the battlefield at Lumphanan, a short distance away.

Elen had been told that the stables were packed with wounded, too.

Drust, who was still weak and recovering from the injury he had taken in the battle before this one, limped across the hall with a bucket of hot water.

"Thank you," Elen murmured. Drust squatted beside her on the stone floor, grunting a little and pressing his hand to his side.

"Lady," Drust whispered, "I have heard a rumor that Lulach's wife and her women are preparing to leave this place. Perhaps you should go with them."

"Don't be silly. Where could they go?" "To Moray, lady. To Macbeth's old stronghold. Lulach is Mormaer of Moray now. The folk there will support him."

"Drust, Macbeth is Mormaer of Moray. Lulach cannot hold the t.i.tle until-" Elen stopped, overcome by the full realization of what had happened. "Macbeth is dead," she finished in a hushed tone "Aye, lady," Drust said, "and my lord Talcoran, were he still alive, would ride to Lulach's aid."

"So he would. I will think about it, Drust. For now, we have work to do." Elen moved on to the next wounded man. By the time she had a few moments to think of what Drust had said, Gertha was gone.

"Wise woman," Fionna said dryly. "I am not at all surprised. Don't worry, Elen, we will stay in our quarters when Malcolm takes the castle. I will appeal to him for the safety of all of Gruach's ladies. If we offer no resistance, we will be safe." "Perhaps Conal will be with Malcolm." "I hope so." Fionna's blue eyes shone. "It has been three years since I have seen him."

It did not happen as Fionna had hoped it would. With Briga and Ava, they barricaded themselves in Elen's rooms when Malcolm's men stormed the castle. Elen watched through the window as a seemingly endless stream of men threw themselves against the gate and forced it open. Another relentless river of humanity swarmed over the walls. It was finished quickly. Elen heard a cheer as something was lifted on a pike and stuck above the castle gate. She saw yellow-gold hair and beard, lightly streaked with silver, blowing in the breeze. Even in death the gruesome trophy was plainly the head of a king.

"Macbeth," Elen whispered, grasping at the sill to hold herself upright. She turned away from the window, unable to bear the sight.

Someone was battering at her chamber door. She could hear shouts and the sound of something heavy being dragged along the stone floor outside.

"They are breaking in!" Ava screamed, flinging herself behind Elen for protection. "Oh, dear G.o.d, help us now."

Some weightly object thudded against the stout wooden door. The bolt shook but held. The weight thudded again. Ava began to scream once more. Briga caught her by the wrist, dragging her away from Elen.

"Be quiet," Briga ordered sternly, and Ava's cries diminished to tearful whimpers.

The metal bolt was being torn from the door frame. With every blow against the door, it gave a little more. Elen and Fionna stood hand in hand, waiting.

With a loud crack, the door flew open and half a dozen blood-stained soldiers erupted into the room, their swords drawn. They stopped, startled at the sight of four women, and then began to smile mirthlessly. Elen shuddered at the sight of those grimy, grinning faces. She sensed an answering tremor in Fionna's body before Fionna stepped forward.

"We are n.o.blewomen. My husband, Conal mac Duff of Fife, is fighting in your army," Fionna said, hervoice remarkably steady. "I wish to speak with your officer in charge."

One of the men spat out a few words that Elen could not understand, though she thought it was a curse.

"They are heathens," Ava moaned. "They don't even speak Gaelic."

"They are English," Fionna said, and spoke to the men again in that language.

Elen spoke a little English, but she found it] impossible to comprehend what was being said. When one of the men caught Fionna's arm with one hand and tore her gown off her shoulder with his other hand, Elen did not need words to understand what would happen next.

Fionna slapped her attacker's face. He threw] her across the room. She stumbled against a stool and fell to the floor.

The room exploded into violence. Elen lost] touch with what was happening. The noise was unbearable.

Men were shouting and throwing the furniture about. She heard Ava screaming, saw Briga struggling with a tall, dark-haired man, watched Fionna swing the stool at the man who had hit her.

Someone had Elen by the shoulders. A beery, hot breath blew against her face, coa.r.s.e lips buried themselves in her neck. She fought with all her strength, but could not get free of the disgusting creature who held her. He bore her to the floor, pulling at her clothes. She could feel him moving against her. It was too horrible to be endured. She had to stop him. She bit his bare wrist, sinking her teeth in as deeply as she could. With a

cry of pain, he loosened his grip on her and drew back his arm to strike her. She closed her eyes, antic.i.p.ating the blow.

Then the weight was gone from her. Elen opened her eyes. The man hung above her, a surprised expression on his face, until he was slammed into the wall. He slid slowly down the wall and sat on the floor, his eyes closed.

A long, tanned hand reached out and lifted, Elen to her feet. She gaped at her rescuer, onlyslowly recognizing the handsome, lined face, thebrown hair and beard, now streaked with grey, thesolemn grey eyes."Conal?""Yes. Are you hurt?""I don't think so. Fionna, where is she?""Safe." Conal mac Duff smiled at something across the room.Elen suddenly realized how quiet it had grown. The six soldiers who had rushed into her room now lay onthe floor, unconscious. Some were bleeding. Ava was weeping softly in Briga's arms. But, where wasFionna?

Fionna was clasped in the embrace of an auburn-haired giant. Her plump little hand stroked his face as she nestled against his chest.

"Wouldn't you think," Conal asked Elen seriously, "that she would want to greet her husband first?"

Fionna flew across the room and into Conal's arms.

"You were busy rescuing Elen," she told him. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Take my advice and kiss her," Patric said. "It's the only way to keep her quiet."

With a smothered laugh, Conal swept his wife off her feet and planted his mouth firmly over hers.

Elen stared at Patric, feeling the hatred rising inside her until she wanted to scream it out.

"Did they harm you?" he asked, taking a step toward her.She ignored him. She went to her serving women."Ava," she began. Ava cried harder."She'll be all right," Briga said. "She's only frightened. These good men arrived just in time. I thank you,my lord," Briga added to Patric.

"It was a pleasure," Patric said. "Elen, are you sure that man didn't hurt you?" He put out his hand to her.

She backed away.

"Don't touch me," she grated through clenched teeth. "Stay away from me, you traitor."

"I am no traitor," he replied mildly.

"No? You and that English army you march with have killed the best king Alba ever knew. His headrests on a pike above the gate out there. Your English army, not two months ago, killed my husband andmy son. They were loyal to their king." Elen drew herself up proudly. "I am still loyal to Macbeth and toLulach, and I, Elen of Laggan, say that you are a d.a.m.ned traitor!"

"I know about Talcoran and your son. Elen, I'm sorry. Let me tell you what I-"

"Sorry won't bring him back to me, will it?" she interrupted as she saw him approaching her again. Hispresence was no less intolerable to her than that of the soldier who had seized her a while ago. "Whyshould Talcoran be dead when you still live? I hate you! Don't come near me." She made for the door.He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back into the room.

"Don't go out there. It's unsafe," he said. "They are still fighting."

"It's unsafe here, with you in the room," she snarled, her teeth bared at him in rage. "Take your

filthy, bloodstained traitor's hands off me!"

Patric dropped his hands and stood back.

An anxious face appeared at the broken door. Drust looked about the room and swore softly. Ava,

seeing him, began to cry loudly once more."What in the name of all the saints happened here?" Drust asked."Just a little misunderstanding," Patric told him. "Are you one of the lady of Laggan's servants?""I was her husband's aide until he died," Drust answered."Good. You will need help to drag them out." Patric gestured toward the men on the floor. "Then someone to stand guard until the door is repaired.""I'll find Nechtan and his men, my lord." Drust left, and Patric came to Elen."I won't touch you," he promised, "but I will stay here to guard you until your servant returns.""I don't need your help."