privately what your fate will be. We must allow time for the banns to be published. That will delay the

matter a little, but one month from today, you will marry my friend Talcoran."

"No!" The cry was wrung from the very depths of Elen's heart. She had known something like this would happen soon. She had tried to pretend it would never happen, had tried to put it from her mind. Now she wrenched her shoulders

examined the naked king and p.r.o.nounced him without blemish. Gruach had told her that this custom had something to do with the fertility of the land, but Elen had been unable to ascertain the particulars from her guarded comments. Privately, Elen thought the examination was a heathen practice, and she wondered what Macbeth would have done had one of the women declared him physically defective and therefore unfit to rule.

But then, she was certain Macbeth would have told her that this entire ceremony had nothing to do with Christianity. His enthronement was, rather, intended to establish publicly that Macbeth's legitimate claim to the crown of Alba had the support of all his n.o.bles.

Macbeth now held a gold and silver staff of office in his right hand. As a solemn hush fell over the crowd, he seated himself upon the Stone of Destiny. In total silence, Conal macDuff and Bancho of Lochaber draped about his shoulders a gold-edged mantle of royal purple.

An aged seannachie, an historian-orator, stepped forward. To authenticate his right to the succession, Macbeth was addressed with all of his t.i.tles, and with the names of all of his ancestors back to Scota, daughter of Pharaoh, and then back to Noah. When this long recital was finished, Macbeth stood. Lifting the hem of his robe so all could clearly see, he solemnly placed his bare right foot onto the soil of Alba.

"All hail Macbeth," the seannachie intoned, "Married to Alba, High King of Alba. Hail, Macbeth."

At the orator's words, every warrior present drew his sword and clashed it upon his shield again and again, to proclaim Macbeth's power far and wide. A shout went up, the same cheer Elen had first heard at Forres Castle.

"Macbeth! Macbeth!"

Behind Gruach's back, Fionna leaned toward Elen.

"The famous melodious shields make more of a clatter than music," she whispered, her joking words effectively breaking the spell that had held Elen entranced.

In the queen's chambers her ladies fluttered about, primping while they waited for the royal procession to the banquet hall to begin.

"Elen," Gruach said, "come with me. The king wishes to speak with you in private."

She took Elen's hand and led her through a door into Macbeth's private room. Elen caught her breath, dazzled at the sight of him.

Macbeth had changed his garments. He was now wearing a knee length cloth-of-gold tunic. A heavily wrought golden crown, set with amethysts and rubies, sat upon his head. A gold-trimmed mantle of royal purple swung from his wide shoulders in graceful folds.

Elen would have knelt, but Macbeth caught her by the shoulders and held her upright.

"No, cousin," he said, "let your obeisance wait until the banquet. I have asked you here to tell you privately what your fate will be. We must allow time for the banns to be published. That will delay the matter a little, but one month from today, you will marry my friend Talcoran."

"No!" The cry was wrung from the very depths of Elen's heart. She had known something like this would happen soon. She had tried to pretend it would never happen, had tried to put it from her mind. Now she wrenched her shoulders out of Macbeth's hands and went to her knees despite his efforts to stop her. "No, I beg you, cousin. If you have any love for me at all, don't do this."

"You grieve for Patric mac Keith." Gruach was practical as always. "You have some foolish idea that you care for him. That is because he is the first young man you ever saw who was not a near relative or a servant, and the first man to kiss you. You are an innocent in such matters. I tell you that you will soon forget him."

They did not understand, and Elen could not bring herself to explain. Patric had lied to her, broken her heart, destroyed her pride. She was now uncertain what she felt for him. He was, after all, a traitor. She felt utter confusion. Was Gruach right?

"Elen, don't be a fool," Gruach continued. "Talcoran will treat you kindly. Stand up. You will soil your new gown."

Elen stayed where she was. She lifted pleading eyes to Macbeth's handsome face.

"I don't want to marry anyone. Dear cousin, give me leave to retire to a convent. Laggan will revert to the crown, and you may then give it to Talcoran. As for me, I will turn over the few possessions that are my own to the church and end my days as a nun."

"Absolutely not. I forbid it. Stand up." Macbeth's blue eyes blazed at her. Elen forced herself to stand and face him with some semblance of dignity, but her mind was in turmoil. She no longer knew how she felt about Patric, or about anything else. She made herself dutifully pay attention to what Macbeth was saying.

"Patric mac Keith is a traitor. You are well rid of him. Listen to those who know more of the world than you do, and who have your best interests at heart.

"Talcoran has been faithful to me, a valiant warrior in my cause," Macbeth continued. "It is true he is not n.o.bly born, but he is a good man. I will reward him and secure his permanent adherence to me by giving him Lagganshire and the t.i.tle of thane. You must help me in this, Elen. You will be a good wife to him. Your coming marriage will be announced today."

"Please don't." Nearly swayed to consent by Macbeth's words and the force of his personality, Elen could barely whisper her plea.

"I command you."

Looking at her cousin's impa.s.sive face, Elen knew there was no hope left.

Macbeth had given her her own room in the palace. Ava was pleased and excited and chattered with giddy pleasure about her mistress's coming marriage. Elen heard nothing her maid said. She let Ava comb her hair and straighten her gown before the procession began, but she did not care to look into the silver mirror that Ava held up for her.

She took the gold bracelet Patric had given her as a betrothal gift and hid it at the bottom of her clothing chest. She could no longer wear it, but she could not part with it, either. Let the bracelet stay there, out of sight, like the feelings she also had to hide.

The magnificent procession wound its way slowly through the palace and into the banqueting hall. Elen scarcely knew where she was or what was happening. Like someone in a trance she marched behind Gruach, putting one foot after the other, her mind and soul a blur of conflicting emotions. Macbeth and Gruach reached the raised dais and stood before the royal chairs, their robes spread out around them.

"The golden couple," Fionna murmured. "May they always be so well-loved and happy."

Elen made herself look at them, at the King and Queen of Alba in all their gold-robed splendor. They were beautiful and powerful and she loved them both. They had taken her into their family circle, fed and clothed and been kind to her. They were her kin and she owed them her allegiance.

As she watched the royal couple, Elen came to a painful decision. She would try to forget Patric and survive as best she could in the new life Macbeth was forcing upon her. She would marry Talcoran and pretend to care for him if she could not care in truth, and no one would ever know how empty her heart was.

When Macbeth beckoned her forward, and called Talcoran to join her, Elen stood by that dark man's side and smiled, and put her hand in his, and agreed to give herself to him in marriage in one month's time.

Bancho sat next to Elen at the banquet, with Talcoran on her other side. For all her good intentions, Elen found it hard to hide her despair. She could eat nothing. She sat like a maiden carved of ice, not really aware of the people who offered congratulations to the newly betrothed couple and also to Bancho, who had that day been appointed to Macbeth's council. When Talcoran left his place to speak with Macbeth, Bancho took Elen's cold hand.

"Are you afraid of him?" Bancho asked. "I feel nothing. I will do my duty," Elen replied through stiff lips.

"Ah, la.s.sie, don't." Bancho scrutinized her pale face with anxious eyes. "You will make yourself ill. I know Talcoran well. If you let him, he will be a good husband to you. But do not give him cause to imagine that your thoughts are set upon another man. Like the rest of us, Talcoran has his pride. "

"He will have no reason to complain of me."

"It might improve matters between you if you were to show some warmth, perhaps even a little enthusiasm toward him. There are few men, in Alba or anywhere else, who care to bed with a statue."

"I will remember your advice."

"Remember also that I am your friend, Elen."

She had an almost overwhelming desire to rest her head upon Bancho's shoulder and weep and beg him to help her. Instead, she pulled her hand away and gave him a quick little smile. She had done with weeping. It never changed anything. She would weep no more.

When the banquet was over, Talcoran took her to her room. Ava, seeing who was with her mistress, quickly disappeared on some invented errand.

Elen gave one nervous glance at the bed, then stood unmoving in the center of the room, watching the man who now controlled her life.

He drew nearer. Elen stared into his intense grey-black eyes and thought she would faint. His hands captured her face, holding her prisoner as his lips sought and found hers. His mouth was cool and dry. It was not horrible. She felt nothing. Her arms hung lifelessly at her sides.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. His mouth was searching, pressing harder on hers, as though he was trying to evoke some response from her. Whatever he wanted, she could not give it.

It was so odd not to reach up to kiss a man.

Patric was so tall that she had had to stretch. No! She would not think of Patric. Patric was a traitor. She must never think of him again. Never. Never.

"Never. Never." She was pushing at Talcoran, trying to break his hold on her. "No, never, never."

He let her go so suddenly she nearly fell. Abruptly returned to reality, she gaped at him, one hand pressed against her lips.

"Lady," he began, his voice ragged. Then he corrected himself. "Elen. My Elen. I know you do not want to marry me. I am not happy about our marriage myself. I would have preferred to continue a bachelor.

Certainly I would rather not marry a woman who dreams of another man."

"I do not!" she flung at him, anger overcoming her fear and confusion. "I dream of no man. I wanted to become a nun."

A bitter smile twisted the corners of his mouth.

"I fear that cannot be arranged. We must both obey the king and make the best of it." His right hand stroked gently down the side of her face and cupped her chin. His smile was wistful now.

"Must you be so unwilling?" he asked.

"I will try to please you," she promised. "Macbeth only told me of his plans for me-for us-this noontide. I have had no time to grow accustomed to the idea."

"And do you think that you will grow accustomed, in time?""I do not know," she answered truthfully.He dropped his hand. His face darkened."You have no choice," he said. He slammed the door behind him as he left.

10.

October 1040.

The days pa.s.sed quickly, too quickly for Elen. When she was not in attendance on the queen, she was besieged by seamstresses who measured and fitted and draped and fussed over her until she felt like screaming, for Gruach had decided that little in Elen's wardrobe was suitable for the bride of a wealthy thane. Elen must have new gowns of silk and wool, delicate shifts of fine linen, warm winter cloaks, shoes and stockings, and an almost infinite variety of other items.

They nearly quarreled over the wedding dress. Elen wanted to wear the green silk gown she had worn for Macbeth's installation ceremonies.

"You shall have a new gown," Gruach insisted. "I have just the thing, some pale blue silk that came from Byzantium. Fionna, see if it is in the chest, there. Crania, help her. That lid is heavy."

The bolt of fabric in question proved to be an exquisite shade, so pale a blue it was almost silver, stiff and heavy and enhanced by the silver threads woven through it. Elen gave in, agreeing that it would make a perfect gown, and Gruach happily

gave it to her as one of the many wedding gifts she was providing.

Elen saw little of Talcoran during this time. He was deeply involved in Macbeth's plans. Macbeth worked hard, weaving a deft skein of firm government about the once-divided land of Alba, binding it into one ent.i.ty, and he kept his close a.s.sociates busy with his new projects.

Hoping that memory of the great king who had originally united Scot and Pict would help in achieving unity, Macbeth announced that he would rule from Kenneth mac Alpin's old seat of government at Scone. He ordered changes and additions to the palace there, to make it more comfortable.

He organized troops of men to patrol the wilder parts of the countryside and enforce the king's rule, and Talcoran was placed in charge of these patrols. Elen was relieved that he was often absent from the palace, but she knew her reprieve would be a short one.

The final draft of the treaty with Thorfinn of Orkney had been completed and signed, and the mighty Viking had sailed north to his island homeland.

There was in Alba a sense that the government was in strong, capable hands. The hated English influence at court had been eradicated. The mormaers and thanes were firm in their support of King Macbeth. Most men looked forward to a new era of peace and prosperity.

Elen's wedding day was warm, with a soft, golden sun hanging in a misty sky, a reminder of summer in early October.

She felt as though she was standing outside herself, watching the quiet, slender girl who was being bathed and perfumed and combed and finally dressed in a gown of blue silk as stiff and pale as ice. For the last time, the black ma.s.s of her hair hung loose down her back. After that day it would be braided and bound up in the style of a married woman.

"You look lovely." Fionna gave Elen a quick hug.

"I wish . . ." Elen stopped. She would not voice that wish. She told herself once more that Patric was a traitor. She had to stop the unexpected thoughts of him that crept into her head unbidden whenever she let down her guard. She must put him out of her mind. From this day on she must think only of Talcoran, that strange, dark man, who, once she was his wife, would have power of life and death over her.

"I know." Fionna hugged her again. "I, too, wish it were different, but we cannot change what has happened. Try to be happy, my dear. Don't look back. Forget the past. We will be friends no matter what the future brings."

The wedding ceremony took place in the porch of the church, as was the custom. Macbeth and Gruach were the witnesses. Elen made her responses in a firm voice, stating clearly that she came to Talcoran of her own free will and that she agreed with all the provisions of the contract. At the end she offered her lips for Talcoran's kiss with apparent willingness.

The solemn ma.s.s inside the church afterward pa.s.sed through her mind in a blur of candlelight and priestly vestments and incense. The magnificent feast Macbeth had provided for her and her new husband lasted all that day and into the evening. When Elen thought she could bear no more of noise and music and coa.r.s.e jests, Gruach herself, accompanied by Fionna and Crania, led her away from the banquet hall.