By Honor Bound Part 40

"I have some men I can lend you," Conal offered. "We will send them out in the morning to search for news of Elen. They can report to us at Scone."

"Thank you."

Conal's men discovered nothing. The very lack of information convinced Patric that Elen had gone to Lulach, and had cleverly hidden her tracks.

He could think of nothing but Elen. He ached for her. The memory of her soft, pa.s.sionately responsive body and her unwilling, tormented declarations of love haunted him, fueling his anger against her.

As soon as Malcolm would allow it, Patric

departed Scone and rode to Laggan. Fionna and Conal had heaped gifts upon him, saying he would need furniture and linens and other household gifts.

"I have heard the most awful stories about Malcolm's army ravaging the castle," Fionna had said. "You may find nothing there but the bare walls. But whatever the condition of your home, I think you would rather have a new marriage bed, would you not?"

Patric had hugged her, touched by her sensitivity and by her implied belief that Elen would return to him. Because Fionna knew Laggan well, Patric had let her give instructions to the servants who would accompany him. Fionna and Briga held long conferences, and when the time came for Patric to leave Scone, Briga went with him. They were followed by a train of pack horses, and guarded by Nechtan and a large party of armed men, for Malcolm had not yet completely subdued the countryside, and travel could be dangerous.

Because of all the baggage, the journey was tediously slow. Patric chaffed and swore at every delay, but at last they arrived at the castle that was now his home.

He scarcely remembered the place. He had spent three nights there eighteen years ago, and at the time he had been more interested in Elen than in her home. Now he reined in his horse and sat looking at the surrounding hills and the limpid blue loch. Beside the loch, Laggan Castle brooded, grey and solid.

"It looks just the same," Briga said as they approached the high-walled citadel.

Inside, it was much changed. One wall of the great hall was blackened where fire had scorched both timbers and stone, and the trestle tables and benches had been badly damaged or broken. The servants who had survived the attack had made a half-hearted attempt to clean the walls and repair the furniture, then had given up.

The master's bedchamber was a shambles. Malcolm's marauding army had destroyed everything in the room during a wild night of drinking and wenching. Patric kicked at the fragments of a chair and cursed.

"I can't sleep here," he said. He looked at Briga, who had followed him into the room.

"The other chambers are just as bad. Everything in the stillroom was destroyed," she reported. "Only the kitchen is usable. We can all sleep there for the time being."

Nechtan appeared at the open bedroom door.

"My lord, I would speak with you. There is a problem at the stables."

"Yes, I'm coming. Briga, I leave you in charge of everything indoors that is within a woman's domain. My sister says you are dependable. Here are the keys. Keep them until my lady comes home."

By the time they met again in the damaged great hall that night, over a scanty meal of cold game birds, bread and ale, Patric had a long list of problems he had found on his new property. He listened closely to Briga's comments and advice.

"Nechtan," Patric said to the man he had that afternoon confirmed as captain of his household guard, "I'l gladly take your suggestions, too. You will be aware of details not in Briga's knowledge. If we all three work together we can make Laggan even more beautiful and productive than it once was, so that when our lady returns to us, she will be pleased with what we have done."

He would not admit even the slightest possibility that Elen might not return. He wanted to ride to Lulach's camp, wherever that might be, and drag her home. Instead, he was forced to remain at Laggan. There was so much to do, and he was now solely responsible for the well-being of the people of Lagganshire. While he and Briga, Nechtan and Resad, labored together, gradually eradicating the evidence of war and hardship from the castle and its surroundings, repairing, rebuilding, supervising the harvest and storage of food for the winter, Patric sent a few trusted men to search out Lulach's headquarters and find news of his missing wife. It was nearly Christmas before he heard anything definite.

"She is at Burghead, my lord. When I rode north I stopped at a farmer's house to rest, and there I recognized another traveler, a friend of Drust's, who had become separated from a hunting party. The man went with Drust and your lady when they rode to join Lulach. He was eager to talk about Laggan. I think he was homesick. I gave him a little news of his old friends here, and then I asked him about my mistress. She is well, and has been made Lady to Lulach's wife. The man says she is devoted to Lulach and Gertha, but whenever he sees her, she seems sad."

"And what did you do with this talkative fellow?" Patric asked.

"There seemed no point in killing him. I suggested to him that it would be unwise to let his new companions know he had spoken to someone loyal to King Malcolm, and hinted that we might meet again sometime, when I could give him more news of his old home. We parted on friendly terms."

"Good fellow. You acted wisely." Patric beamed at his man. "Now that I know where Elen is, I can plan how to get her back."

"It might be well to wait until spring." Nechtan had also been listening to the man's report. "Burghead is so well fortified that even King Malcolm's army would have difficulty taking it, and though it is warmer in that part of Alba than it is here, and there is not so much snow, still the winter storms can be treacherous."

"We think alike, Nechtan. I hate the thought of Elen at Lulach's court, but in the spring he will have to move out of Burghead and go south to protect his southern border from the army Malcolm will send against him, and he will very likely take his womenfolk with him. We can rescue Elen before the two armies do battle, before she is in any serious danger."

And when I get my hands on her, Patric added silently to himself, my dear wife will regret the day she left me.

29.

December 1057 to March 1058. Burghead and Scone.

It was cold and damp at Burghead, and there was never enough food. Gertha's Viking cousins had sailed down from Orkney to celebrate Christmas with Lulach, and at long nightly feasts had consumed most of the supplies stored in the fortress.

Lulach had not begrudged the Nors.e.m.e.n their food and drink. He was trying to negotiate a formal alliance with them so they would send men to help him fight Malcolm when spring came.

In addition to her constant hunger, Elen suffered from the cold. Her wardrobe was inadequate for the winter conditions. She had brought with her only two gowns and the dress she had worn for travel. They were not warm enough. She had spilled wine on the warmest of the dresses.

"I'll wash it," Ava said, "But I don't think the stain will come out, and it won't be dry for tonight's feast."

"I have my old red wool gown. I put it in this chest when we first arrived. Go on, Ava, wash that and don 't worry about me. I can dress myself"

Elen took the red dress out and unfolded it. As 402.

she did so, the bracelet Patric had given her for a betrothal gift years before fell out of the skirt and clattered on the floor. Elen picked it up, feeling the weight of the gold, running her fingers over the smooth, cool surfaces of the stones with which it was set. She pressed it against her cheek as if doing so would bring Patric himself closer to her. Her eyes were misty.

"I'm being silly," she whispered to herself. Walking to a nearby table, where her comb and a small hand mirror lay, she picked up the wooden box containing the charmstone and the gold hair ornaments Talcoran had once given her. She stood a long time, weighing the two objects, one in each hand. At last, with a deep sigh, she put Talcoran's box into the clothes chest and lowered the lid. She clasped Patric's bracelet around her left wrist. And then she put on her red woolen gown and went down to Lulach's feast.

Hasteen, a pale-haired Norwegian giant, had taken a liking to Elen. He managed to sit next to her at every feast, and spent his evenings trying to charm her. On the night he tried to kiss her, Elen pushed him away so roughly he nearly fell off the bench.

Hasteen was not offended. He broke into loud, drunken laughter.

"I would like to marry you," Vie declared. "A woman like you would make strong sons. We would have a good time in bed, I think."

Elen grimaced at the thought. She reminded herself she should be nice to this Viking for Lulach's sake.

"I cannot marry you, Hasteen." She tried to put a touch of regret into her voice. "I already have a husband."

"Where is he?" Hasteen demanded, his hand on his sword hilt.

"He fights for King Malcolm."

"That is worse than no husband at all. You sleep here, he sleeps at Scone. Only a bad husband would let you leave him."

"He is not-" Elen bit off the words she had started to say.

"I give you a promise," Hasteen told her. "If we join Lulach in his war against Malcolm, I will seek out your husband and I will make you a widow, so you can marry me. Would you like that, my beauty?"

"Will your leaders join Lulach?" Elen asked, to change the unpleasant subject.

"I do not know. That one is weak." Hasteen nodded toward Lulach. "Perhaps the rulers of Orkney will decide it is wiser to make a treaty of friendship with Malcolm than to support one such as your Lulach."

Elen shivered and rose from her place at table. Hasteen reached for her. She slipped out of his grasp.

"Where do you go?" he inquired.

"I have forgotten to do something," Elen said. "I will return later."

She hurried away to her chamber, and bolted the door behind her, lest Hasteen should follow. She needed to think. The Viking's words had terrified her. What if he did find Patric, and killed him? It was an unbearable idea. She wanted no harm to come to Patric because of her. Her nervous fingers stroked the gold bracelet, which she now wore constantly.

Lulach would not make a good king for Alba. She had always known that, but in her grief at Macbeth's death, and her blind anger at Malcolm and Patric, she had cast that knowledge aside. In the three months since she had joined Lulach, she had seen his n.o.bles daily quarreling among themselves, while Lulach, inept and weak, was helpless to stop them. Elen was certain that a group of Lulach's men were using him to advance their own fortunes. Lulach's decisions were often contradictory, frequently confusing, and usually not obeyed. Gertha was stronger than her husband, and more sensible, but she was a foreigner, and no n.o.bleman would take orders from a woman under any circ.u.mstances. When spring came there would be war again, and Elen was convinced that, Viking allies or not, Lulach would be the loser.

She had been wrong to come to Lulach. She would remain, having made her choice, and publicly she would show only loyalty to Lulach's cause, but hers was now a heart divided.

She thought too frequently of Patric. Finding herself in a similar situation, she had begun to understand a little of what his life in exile must have been like. She had lately found herself becoming more and more sympathetic toward him.

He had told her he had never stopped loving her through all those years they had been separated. She had destroyed that love by her own actions, for how could he want her after what she had done? Her flight to Lulach, that act of disloyalty to Patric and to Malcolm, would separate them forever. She lived each day with that bitter knowledge. And now, when it was too late, she admitted to herself that she loved Patric. A part of her had never stopped loving him, not even when she thought she hated him.

Alone in her cold bedchamber, Elen wept for poor, foolish Lulach, whom she still loved like a brother whatever his faults, and for herself and Patric. She could see no end but tragedy.

"Patric, it's so good to see you. It has been a long winter." Fionna embraced her brother warmly. "Is

there any news of Elen?"

"She is with Lulach. I was ready to ride north and rescue her when Malcolm's summons came, and I had to abandon my plans."

"Rescue? Is that what you call it? Are you sure she wants to be rescued?"

"She is my wife," Patric said, his mouth tightening, "and by heaven, I'll take her home to Laggan at thiswar's end, if I have to kill Lulach's entire army myself to do it.""This war may not be so hard nor so long-lasting as we once thought," Conal said. "Have you heard about Malcolm's proposed marriage?"

"I only arrived at Scone an hour ago and came directly to your apartments. I've heard no gossip yet.Why is Malcolm marrying? It's an idea he has never relished.""For the same reason all kings marry-to get an heir and to seal an alliance," Fionna said."There is always Donald for heir," Patric observed. "He is the next eldest of Duncan's sons.""Donald has lived in the Hebrides too long," Conal said. "From Malcolm's point of view, Donald is tainted by exposure to the old tribal customs. As for Maelmuire, Malcolm has made him the ruler of Atholl, and the royal baby brother is quite content with that honor. A new day requires a new kind of king, and Malcolm believes in direct succession. He needs a son he can train as he wants."

"You are right," Patric said, "And I would have realized all of this myself, had I not been preoccupied with other things. So Malcolm will marry. Who will the new queen be? You mentioned sealing an alliance, too."

"Ingebjorg of Orkney.""Thorfinn's widow?" Patric whistled in surprise. "She's a good deal older than Malcolm.""Not too old to bear him a son," Conal said. "Such a marriage will bring with it the friendship of Thorfinn and Ingebjorg's sons, who are now co-rulers of Orkney."

"So Paul and Erland will give their mother in marriage to Malcolm? That means they will stand withMalcolm rather than with Lulach, whose wife is only their cousin.""Exactly. The contract is all but signed, and Malcolm seems eager enough to marry.""Still, Lulach is safe so long as he remains in Moray," Patric said. "My information is that the people of Moray are united in their support of him. Lulach is Macbeth's heir, after all.""Malcolm has a plan. I don't know what it is; he's keeping it to himself," Conal revealed."It had better be a good plan," Patric replied. "I want Lulach beaten, and I want my wife back."In early March, Malcolm's army left Scone and marched into Moray to meet Lulach.

30 April 2 and 3, 1058. Strathbogie. "I will not do it." Patric faced Malcolm, a dangerous gleam in his blue eyes. Beside him, Conal nodded in agreement.

"Neither will I. This is unworthy of you, Malcolm "

The king looked up from the map he had been studying. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his

legs, his arms behind his head. Patric knew Malcolm was not so relaxed as he appeared to be.

"It is necessary. There will be no peace in my kingdom while Lulach lives. There would always be those men, particularly in these northern parts of Alba, who would rally behind him and try to place him on the throne."

"Lulach has a son," Patric reminded him."Maelsnechta will be disposed of, too," Malcolm said. "Lulach will be buried beside Macbeth at lona.""That royal graveyard grows crowded very quickly," Patric muttered under his breath."Do you fear for that renegade wife of yours, Patric?" Malcolm's laugh was unpleasant. "Is that why you oppose me in this? You should have taken my advice and divorced her last winter. You

409.

would still have Laggan, and you would be free to marry again. There are any number of my lords who would be willing to marry their daughters to you." Malcolm's attention returned to his map. "Here, I think, is a good place to trap Lulach."

The dozen or so other lords in Malcolm's tent agreed enthusiastically. The plan was approved with no more discussion. Only Conal and Patric dissented.

"Ambush and treachery," Conal said in disgust. "Lulach is no common outlaw, he is a prince of Alba, with a true claim to the throne. You should meet him in fair battle to decide who will rule. Give him warning and allow him time to draw up his men in proper formation, as is the custom among civilized rulers."

"Lulach is not ruler of Alba. I am, and I reject his claim. With the Norse and English reinforcements, my army outnumbers his by six to one. However I meet him, I will certainly win, but why should I waste more warriors than I must on a large battle I don't need to fight? An ambush is good enough for Lulach. I 'll save my men for the task of pacifying the entire north of Alba." Malcolm's cold grey eyes flicked from Patric's set face to Conal's and back again. "You will not order your men to march with me?"

"No, my lord," Conal said evenly. "No," Patric said. "Were you any other men, I'd have you put in chains," Malcolm told them. "You are too scrupulous. Lulach is a usurper. Very well, I see I can't move you. I'll give you another a.s.signment, then. While I engage Lulach, take some of your men and capture Lulach's womenfolk. I want Gertha and her children brought here to me. Hand the other women over to your men. They can do whatever they want with them. Patric, you may have Elen back again. If you are wise, you will strangle her at once."

Patric and Conal left Malcolm's tent together.