By Honor Bound Part 4

He was silent as they paced through the corridors and across the courtyard to Macbeth's rooms. Elen began to understand that Talcoran was shy, even more shy than she was, and she felt a dawning sympathy for him. It must be dreadful to escort an unknown woman and not know what to say to her.

She wondered what she would say to Elen if she were Talcoran.

"You should have silk gowns," he said suddenly. "You should wear silk. And a warm fur cape in the winter."

"What a lovely idea. Then I'd never be cold."

"I wish I-" He stopped. They had reached Macbeth's apartment. He opened the door and

waited for her to enter.

"Thank you for your good care of me, Talcoran."

"I was ordered to do it," he said gruffly, and

walked away.

Elen found Lulach in her room, weeping in Ava's arms. His lower lip was b.l.o.o.d.y and swollen, and he had bruises on his wrists.

"He came looking for you," Ava told her. "I washed his face, but there's no repairing his new

tunic.""Lulach, what happened?""Malcolm beat me. He said I must let him, or when he grows up and becomes king, he'll cut off my head."

Elen was horrified. Having had no brothers, she knew she was ignorant of the sc.r.a.pes boys got into, but this seemed unreasonably violent.

"Let's tuck you into your own bed before you catch a chill.""Will you stay with me until I sleep?""If you like."She did stay, sitting by his side and trying to distract him by telling him about Laggan.

"I hate Malcolm," Lulach murmured."Hush, go to sleep.""He said I am a weakling. He calls me Lulach the Fool. I hate him."

The morning sun slanted through the narrow windows of the king's bedchamber. Patric's sharp glance took in the golden harp tossed carelessly into a corner, the overturned goblet that spilled the dregs of last night's wine onto a polished wooden table beside the bed, and the tumbled bed itself, its fur covering half on the floor.

Duncan had wrapped a gold silk cloak about himself; his skinny, nearly hairless legs and bare feet showed beneath the hem. His eyes were red-rimmed.

His latest mistress, a plump, golden-haired woman, eyed Patric with interest and drew her thin red silk robe over her nakedness rather too slowly for true modesty.

"Leave us," Duncan barked at her. "And tell Cormac to keep everyone else out of here. I want to talk to Patric alone."

"Will I see you tonight?" the woman murmured.

"I don't know. Go away."

The woman gathered up her belongings and slipped out the door. Duncan sank onto the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

"Christ, my head aches. Give me some water, will you, Patric? And the basin."

Patric brought the golden basin and poured some water into it. Duncan splashed the water on his face, then took the pitcher, drank from it, and spat into the basin. Patric watched him impa.s.sively.

"That's better." The king rose, pulling the cloak more tightly about his shoulders. "That d.a.m.ned Thorfinn. No matter what I promise him, he won't submit to me. What am I going to do about him?"

"He has his own ways, my lord. Perhaps you should be content to live peacefully with the ruler of Orkney as an equal ally."

"Never. Orkney must become part of Alba. I'll find a way. I'll think of something. I suspect Thorfinn has been plotting with my northern n.o.bles. I know they are angry about the Northumbrian campaign. If I had won a great victory at Durham, they would proclaim me a mighty king, but as it is, they are close to revolt."

"Lochaber and Moray are loyal, my lord, and they are your most important generals. They will keep the others in line."

"Lochaber, yes. I trust Bancho. What about Fife? Is your brother-in-law my man, Patric? I never can tell about a quiet man who drinks as little as he does."

Patric repressed a smile at this a.s.sessment of Fionna's husband.

"Mac Duff is totally trustworthy, my lord."

"Good. He's rich and powerful. I need him. I wonder about Macbeth, though. Did you know he styles himself Ri Alba in Moray? King of Alba, indeed! I am King of Alba. He is King of Moray only, a sub-king, and that at my pleasure."

Patric knew that Macbeth's power in Moray was such that Duncan's pleasure, or his will, meant nothing there.

"He adheres to the old tribal customs, my lord," Patric said soothingly. "His t.i.tle is more to please his subjects than to advance himself."

"I doubt that. Pah! I'm sick of them all." With a sweep of his hand, Duncan dismissed his fractious n.o.bles. "That isn't why I wanted to talk to you. Patric, you have served me well. Almost alone among my n.o.bles, you have never given me cause to doubt you. The loss of your brother at Durham was a blow to me, too. You deserve a reward for your loyalty and your suffering."

"I expect no reward for the loyalty I owe to you as my king."

"Don't talk like a d.a.m.ned courtier. I like you best when you are honest with me."

"I am being honest." Patric looked Duncan right in the eye.

"Perhaps you are, you idealistic young fool. How do you like Elen of Laggan?"

Patric was so taken aback by the unexpected question that he could find no ready answer.

"Why do you think I sent you riding like a madman to Laggan to fetch her to court? I wanted to give you a chance to meet her before all these other slavering hounds who call themselves men caught the scent of a great heiress. Do you want her or don't you?"

"Want her, my lord?"

"She's too thin for my liking," Duncan went on. "I want a woman in my bed with some fat on her bones, but what do you think? Her inheritance will make her look plumper."

Patric was irrationally annoyed at Duncan's words. Men commonly talked that way about women, but the subject here was Elen, and it was a subject on which Patric was sensitive.

"I like her well enough," he said cautiously, and watched Duncan explode into laughter.

"Well enough, indeed! One of the greatest heiresses in Alba, and you like her only well enough." Patric's king wiped his eyes, still laughing. "I'll give her to you for wife if you want, and afterward you may do as you wish for female companionship. Well, what do you say? Will you be the next Thane of Laggan? You do need a wife, you know. You must have an heir, since you are the only man of your family left alive. And I need a man I can trust to hold Laggan for me. It seems a suitable arrangement for both of us. Speak up, Patric. Will you accept or no?"

"If you wish it, my lord, I will be most pleased to wed her," Patric said formally, trying unsuccessfully to quiet the sudden excitement that flooded his mind as he finally comprehended that Duncan was serious. " Will you let me speak with her first to determine if she is willing?"

"Why wouldn't she be? Every woman at court would like to tumble into your bed. Except for my queen and Macbeth's Gruach, of course. Gruach. Now there's a hot-blooded wench, for all she's nearly thirty years old. I'd like to get my hands on her."

Patric stared dumbly at his king. He was well used to the crudities of soldiers in the field. Duncan's words did not shock him, nor did the sentiment behind them. He was himself aware of the thick air of sensuality that lay about Macbeth's lady. No, it was rather the speaker himself who failed Patric's youthful ideal of kingly behavior. A king should not speak aloud such thoughts about another man's wife. It was unworthy of his high rank. It was also foolish in a practical sense, for there were often unnoticed listeners about the court, who could carry tales to a jealous husband, and then . . . Patric, recalling the power of the Mormaer of Moray, did not want to think about what would happen then.

"Go on," Duncan was saying. "Go and ask her. But I have made up my mind, and whether she says yes or no, you will be betrothed at this night's feast."

Patric bowed himself out, more irritated and angry than he dared show. He was acutely conscious of having seriously damaged his cause with Elen by his stupid teasing at Duncan's feast two nights ago. d.a.m.n the man! Why couldn't Duncan wait a few days at least, let him approach Elen properly, as a serious suitor? As a king's ward, she had no real choice in the matter once the king had decided upon her husband, but Patric wanted a willing bride.

The poor girl was still mourning her father. She was like a shy, frightened bird. He must deal gently with her, he knew. He must resist the urge that shook him so violently each time he met her. He had barely been able to restrain himself that night in his tent. He had wanted to push her onto his pallet and throw himself atop her and make her his beyond all questioning. And then, the night by the stream, when she had responded so eagerly, he had been certain she felt as he did. Her avoidance of him since then was only proof of her innocence.

He had planned to discuss the matter with Duncan that very day, to request the thing Duncan had just so impulsively given him. He knew there would be objections from Macbeth, who felt no kindness or friendship toward southern n.o.bles such as Patric mac Keith. He would overcome whatever objections Macbeth might make. He and Elen would be together, and they would be happy. She would come to love him if she did not already. He was certain of it.

At the memory of her fragile, trembling body against his, he felt the heat flow into his loins. He cursed again as his healthy young body strained against his tunic. He found his way to the courtyard and sluiced his burning face with icy water from the wooden horse trough before he went in search of the Thane of Laggan's daughter.

He found her in the chapel. Elen knelt in prayer with her maid Ava by her side.

Patric got to his knees and sent up a fervent prayer of his own. Then he waited with growing impatience until Elen had completed her devotions. He intercepted her just outside the chapel door.

"What do you want of me?" she demanded, the red spots on her cheeks betraying her calm demeanor

and the ice in her voice."I want to speak with you. I have the king's permission," he added hastily."King Duncan gave you permission to speak to me?" She looked as if she did not believe him."He commanded me to do so." Looking down at her lovely, bewildered face, Patric could not stop smiling."Then I must agree. I cannot disobey my king."Ava had been listening to this conversation with undisguised interest."There is a garden next to the chapel," the little maid offered helpfully. "I could keep watch at the entrance to be sure you aren't disturbed.""That will do very well," Patric said.A high stone wall around the garden gave them complete privacy. Elen faced him with a touch of defiance in her manner.

"What is it you wish to say to me, Patric?"

He was only twenty, but Patric thought of himself as experienced and able to deal with nearly any

situation. Now all of his self-confidence suddenly deserted him. Faced by the beautiful, delicate girl upon whom he had set his heart, his quick mind was a blank, his clever tongue silent.

"Elen," he managed at last, "marry me."It was a far cry from the elegant speech he had hoped to make."What did you say?""King Duncan has said I may ask you to marry me."Her comprehension was quick."You mean he has decided to give me to you. Along with Lagganshire and the t.i.tle of Thane."

"Yes," he said. He could not tell if she was angry or not. "But only if you want it. I will not force youagainst your will. I may have given you reason to dislike me, and if you do, I will tell Duncan I refuse hisoffer of your hand. I don't care what he does to me. I won't marry you if you don't want it, too."

She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. Her midnight-blue eyes seemed to see into his soul. He had the uncomfortable sense that she was examining him with some ancient female knowledge he could never understand.

"Do you want to marry me, Patric?"

"I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my life."

"I believe you. You and I both know we must obey the king, and yet you have contrived to give me a choice. You would let me say no if I wish it, and take the punishment for my disobedience on yourself."

He felt a sense of elation that she had understood his motives so quickly.

"I will marry you," she said softly.

It took a moment for her words to sink in. She had moved a step nearer to him.

"Will you kiss me to seal our bargain?" she asked shyly.He touched her lips lightly, then drew back.'Are you certain?" he asked."Yes," she breathed. "Oh, yes."Their mouths met, warm and searching Patric pulled his love against him. As her lips parted under thepressure of his tongue, he felt astonishment at the free offering of herself that she was making. She clungto him and gave back kiss for kiss in innocent pa.s.sion.

Before all thought was swept away on waves of delight, Patric promised himself that he would treat her gently. Elen was so lovely, so precious, and she was his to protect. Certain of his happy future, he renewed his amorous attentions to his willing companion. . . .

Someone was coughing. Coughing again.

"Psst! Mistress, master, please."

Unwillingly, Patric released Elen. Ava still stood at the garden entrance, her back to the lovers.

"What is it?" Patric asked."The priest is coming. He's here."With great presence of mind Patric took Elen's arm, steadying her and leading her toward the gate. Herhair was badly mussed, but he hoped a priest would not notice that, and he silently thanked heaven thatAva was present. The three of them were at the gate when the priest reached it.