By Honor Bound Part 3

Elen caught her breath as Patric's long- limbed, muscular form moved into view. She could not tear her eyes away from those auburn curls, that

chiseled jaw. She was unaware of the other men who now filed into the hall behind Duncan.

Gruach nudged her, urging her forward, then Lulach, on her other side, pushed at her waist with his child'

s hand.

"Go and bow to the king," he whispered urgently.

Elen followed Gruach toward the king, aware of Lulach close beside her. She knew without looking that Patric was watching her.

Macbeth stepped forward, took her icy, trembling hand, and personally presented her to King Duncan.

Elen swept into a deep curtsy, her heavy red skirts flowing about her. She held it a moment too long and

felt her cousin's strong hand lifting her. Under his golden brows, Macbeth's light blue eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. The corners of his wide mouth twitched. Elen gave him a nervous smile, and then looked at King Duncan.

"Your father, the Thane of Laggan, was dear to us," Duncan was saying, in a voice too light and highpitched for command. "Although we deeply regret his death, we welcome you as our royal ward."

"Thank you, my lord." Elen met his eyes. They were pale grey, as colorless as the man himself."Our queen is ill, as you may have heard," Duncan told her, "and unable to care for you properly.Therefore, your cousin Macbeth has agreed to shelter you until we find you a suitable husband."

"I will do whatever you wish, my lord.""Yes." The king turned away from Elen. "Is there no ale? No wine?" He snapped his fingers, and a golden, jewel-encrusted goblet was handed to him on a golden tray.

Macbeth and Elen moved away, and he dropped her hand.

"You did that very well," he said. "The shy, nervous young girl. Very effective." Before Elen could

protest that she had not been pretending, Macbeth turned to speak to Gruach."You made a pretty bow," Lulach told her."Thank you, my lord." Elen smiled at the serious boy. "You helped me just in time."

"I like you," Lulach said. "When I grow up-"

He was interrupted by a sudden racket at the door by which Duncan had entered. Three young boys burst into the hall. The first was tall and dark, a wild-looking, unkempt child, whose knee-length silk tunic was stained and wrinkled. He was followed by a younger boy who led a toddler by the hand.

"That's Malcolm," Lulach said to Elen. "The one with the white hair is Donald, and the baby he'sbringing with him is Maelmuire. Now I'll have to go sit with them. Malcolm is only eight years old and henever makes any sense when he talks. I would rather stay with you."

"The child has excellent taste," said a voice behind Elen, "but he is a bit young for you, don't you think?""Bancho!" Elen turned, exclaiming in delight.The Thane of Lochaber wrapped Elen in his arms, his grey-streaked beard tickling her cheek as it always did.

"Run along, my young lord." The st.u.r.dy Bancho winked at Lulach, man to man. "The king requires youto entertain his sons, and a n.o.bleman must do his duty, however unpleasant.""I suppose I must." Squaring his thin shoulders, Lulach marched off toward the nowsquabbling royal children."I can't say I blame him. They aren't my favorite brats, either." Bancho looked at Elen with approval. "

So you are the king's new ward? The way you look tonight, I don't think he will have any trouble findinga husband for you. I will miss your father, Elen. Colin was always a true friend." "Thank you for thosewords, Bancho." "And when you are married to some great lord, may I still visit you at Laggan andbounce you on my knee as I did when you were a wee la.s.s?"

"Well, perhaps not on your knee," Elen laughed, "But you are always welcome at Laggan."

"Have you met Conal mac Duff? His wife is just a little older than you. She would make a good friend foryou, Elen. You will need friends at court."Bancho led Elen to the handsome, brown-haired man who had stood with Macbeth at Duncan's side."The Thane of Fife," Bancho said, "And his wife, Fionna. And this is Patric mac Keith.""We have met before." Elen glared at Patric. He grinned back at her with his usual self-confidence."So you are the beautiful Elen of Laggan." Conal mac Duff's wife met Elen's eyes with an impish expression. "My brother has talked of you all day long.""Your brother?""This great oaf is my brother." Fionna caught Patric's arm and laughed up at him. "I have tried to teach him manners. I hope he wasn't rude to you.""He-he was very kind." Elen was much relieved when Bancho's hearty laugh cut across her stumbling words.

"Aye, I'll wager he was kind. He has an eye for a pretty la.s.s. I must leave you, my friends. I should speak with several people I see here. Enjoy the banquet, Elen." With that, Bancho vanished into the throng of courtiers.

Elen looked from Fionna to Patric. Fionna was short and decidedly plump, and her curly hair was more golden-red than Patric's, but there was a distinct resemblance. They had the same square chin with a cleft, similar noses, and most of all, the same merry expression and easy confidence.

"Will you sit with us?" Conal mac Duff asked solemnly, indicating the banquet tables upon which platters of food were being piled.

"I think I must join my cousin Gruach," Elen began, but Patric interrupted her.

"Macbeth and Gruach are always at the high. table with Duncan. Of course you will sit with us." I

"But Lulach-"

"Lulach will eat with the young princes." Fionna took a place at a long table that had been set up close to Duncan's. "Sit here, next to me, Elen."

Unable to think of any further excuse to avoid Patric, Elen politely acquiesced. She found herself on the bench between Patric and Fionna, while Conal mac Duff sat on his wife's other side. Servants began to pa.s.s the platters of roasted game birds and boiled pork, bowls of turnips and cabbage and beans, plates of cheeses, breads an honey and apples and grapes. Cups were filled refilled with wine or mead or heavy, frothing bee "You've never been to court before?" Fionna began in a friendly way.

"No, and my head is spinning. I can't; remember the names of all these people."

"It will take you a while. Just ask me, my dear; I know everyone here."

"Do you? Who is that man?" Elen indicated a black-haired, ugly man with a large, jutting nose, who sat the king's table.

"The one in the bearskin cape? That is Thorfinn the Mighty, ruler of Orkney, come south to negotiate with King Duncan. The king wants Thorfinn to make submission to him, but I don't think Thorfinn will. Like most Nors.e.m.e.n, he would rather be independent." "He looks fearsome."

"He's really very nice. I'll introduce you to him if you like."

Elen watched the Norse giant hack at a joint of beef with a wicked-looking knife. "No, I don't think so."

On her other side, Patric laughed at the look on her face. Elen had tried to ignore him, but now it was impossible. She and Patric were to share a wooden trencher. He neatly cut a piece of meat with his dagger and offered it to her, his graceful manners a notable contrast to the Viking at the royal table. As he turned toward her, she was aware of the provocative pressure of his firm-muscled thigh against her own. She was sure he was doing it deliberately.

"You cannot avoid me forever," he whispered, teasing her. "Do you like my sister?" "Better than I like her brother." He smiled. "I knew you would lose your shyness quickly once you were at court. I never imagined it would happen so soon."

"Do you treat all of the king's wards the way [you have treated me?"

"I only kiss the beautiful ones. And I never [kiss the boys. I do like it when girls kiss me back [the way you did."

Elen stared straight ahead, her shoulders

rigid, knowing that waves of bright color were sweeping across her cheeks. She sensed Fionna watching her, knew Fionna's lips were opening to ask why she was blushing, and knew she would have to make some explanation.

She was saved by a disturbance. Across the hall, at another table, two men were quarreling. Elen saw Duncan say something to Bancho of Lochaber, who then hurried to speak to the disputing men. They subsided into their seats with obvious reluctance.

"What happened?" Elen asked. Conal mac Duff answered her.

"It was one of the northern n.o.bles," he said. "They quarrel constantly with the men close to Duncan. They resent what they call Duncan's English manners and southern att.i.tudes. They think he is neglecting the north of Alba, which is, after all, the heart of the kingdom. Duncan is planning to move his capital even farther south, across the Firth of Forth to Dunedin, and the northerners are freshly angered by that. I 'll wager that was what the quarrel was about."

"The fools," Patric broke in. "Duncan is trying to bring peace to Alba, but he cannot do it if his n.o.bles persist in making war among themselves."

"A stronger king could make them behave," Conal observed, "and our invasion of Northumbria had nothing to do with warring n.o.bles, though our defeat there at Durham made many of them angry enough to war against Duncan himself. I think Macdowald will make trouble next."

"Stop it, both of you," Fionna said sharply. "I am tired of your constant arguing on this subject. You may want peace in Alba, but I want peace while I eat."

"Do you let her talk to you like this all the time, Conal?" Patric asked. "Why don't you beat her into silence? Most men would."

Fionna gave an outraged squawk.

"I could never beat her," Conal said. "She is too dear to me." He smiled down at his young wife with an expression of tender love.

"Then you are doomed to a lifetime of following her orders." Patric shook his head in mock sorrow. " Our father never could make her be quiet, either."

"Oh, Patric," Fionna began to giggle. "Can you not be serious for more than a sentence or two?"

"There have been times when I was serious," Patric said, his eyes on Elen, "but no one believed me."

"Fionna," Elen said nervously, "who is that tall thin man with the red hair?" Perhaps if she changed the subject Patric would forget about her and talk to whoever sat on his other side. For a while her idea worked, as Fionna pointed out various n.o.bles and explained their positions at court. But sooner than she would have liked, Patric interrupted them with more teasing.

"Are you trying to guess who Duncan will choose for your husband? Have you considered that your cousin Macbeth might use his influence to claim you for his henchman, Talcoran? I must admit I respect that fellow. He's an honest man, and a remarkable warrior, if a bit rough. Or perhaps Macbeth will want you to wed his stepson Lulach. He will be a great n.o.bleman one day, if Malcolm doesn't beat him to death before they both grow up. Of course, he's only a boy-you'd have to wait a year or two before you bed him." Patric leaned closer, his blue eyes gleaming dangerously, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Or would you rather marry me?"

Elen's heart gave a great lurch. She stared back at him for a long, breathless moment.

"I would rather throw myself into the sea," she said.

He shouted with laughter. Heads turned to look at them. Elen wished she could vanish in a puff of magical smoke.

"Lady, I think you lie," Patric sputtered between gusts of laughter. "You enjoyed my kisses. I have your own admission on that."

"Patric, whatever you are tormenting her about, stop it at once," his sister ordered. "You are making a spectacle of the poor girl. She will think everyone at court is as wicked as you. Leave Elen alone."

"I beg your pardon, sister. And yours, sweet Elen. Though I will tell you privately," he added in a low voice to the furious girl beside him, "that I have no intention of leaving you alone permanently."

After that, he obeyed his sister and did not disturb Elen with any further teasing. Instead, he spent the remainder of the meal paying extravagant compliments to the elderly woman who sat on his other side, leaving Elen to talk with Fionna and Conal. They, as if in apology for Patric's behavior, devoted themselves to conversation with her, pointing out important people, describing recent events at court, and doing everything in their power to make Elen feel comfortable.

When at last Duncan had retired and the guests had begun to leave, Patric took Elen's arm as she stood by the table. Before she could move away from him, his hand had moved down to weave his fingers between hers.

"Elen, I am truly sorry for what I said earlier. Sometimes my tongue runs wild when I begin to tease. Forgive me, please. I have no wish to hurt you, and my question was not a jest. I would have spoken to you during our journey, but you would not listen to me. Now we have little time. Before I speak with Duncan, I must know how you feel. I pray you do not despise me."

She raised her eyes to his. She saw there what appeared to be tenderness. As his strong fingers pressed her hand, she was once more overcome by the sweet confusion she now a.s.sociated with Patric's nearness. Without full awareness of what she was doing, she responded with an answering squeeze of her own hand.

"Here is Gruach," said Fionna over Elen's shoulder, and Patric dropped her hand and stepped away from her.

"Fionna, I thank you for being so kind to my cousin this evening." Gruach was all smiles. "She is new at court and knows no one."

Now and his aide Talcoran joined the group and began talking with Conal. Macbeth pointedly ignored Patric, though Talcoran exchanged a friendly word with him.

"I think we will be good friends." Fionna kissed Elen on the cheek. "Good night. We will meet again soon, I know." She left the great hall on her husband's arm.

Macbeth spared Patric a curt nod as he slipped a possessive arm about his wife's waist.

"Talcoran," Macbeth said, "You will escort my cousin Elen safely to my quarters. As for me, since I am not on campaign now, I will walk alone with my wife for a while before we go to bed." He and Gruach strolled off without another glance at Patric.

"I should attend the king," Patric said. He bowed stiffly to Elen, said good night to Talcoran, and then he, too, was gone.

Elen looked at Talcoran, feeling awkward. Talcoran's expression plainly showed he wished he were anywhere but in the royal banquet hall. Elen almost felt sorry for him.

"We should go," she said. "They are dousing the torches."

"Do you wish to take my arm?"

She felt a peculiar reluctance to touch him, yet she did not want to offend him. He had been placed in an uncomfortable situation. She doubted he had any interest at all in escorting her anywhere, yet he must obey Macbeth's order.

"That would be very nice," she said, as politely as she could. "I don't want to trip and soil my new gown." She forced herself to slide her hand into the crook of his elbow. Through the smooth wool of his tunicsleeve she felt warmth and strong muscles. She made herself smile at him. It was not necessary for her tolook up to do so, as she had to do with Patric. Talcoran's face, level with her own, remained intent andserious.

"It is a beautiful dress," he said.

"I-thank you." she stammered. "It was Gruach's."