Watching Munro trudge ahead, chatting merrily with Robert, she did not know which was worse—to have him here at her side when she was so angry she could have strangled him, or seeing him up ahead where he did not have to witness her fury.
Inside the entryway to the great hall, Elen flung off her mantle and tossed it to a passing servant. She caught up with the king and Munro. "'Tis a pleasure to have ye here to celebrate this special day," she told the king with a false sweetness. "We have prepared a great banquet in your honor." She motioned into the hall toward the dais, which had been set higher than the other tables. "Please let me escort ye to your place of honor."
"And what of me?" Munro raised an eyebrow, toying with her.
"Why, husband, ye already know your place of honor." She pointed to the grate over the oubliette and both men burst into laughter.
So angry she would have liked to slap both Munro's and the king's heads together, Elen entered the hall, leaving her sovereign and her husband to find their own blessed seats.
For the next hour, she busied herself with the banquet. She saw to it that the maids continued to bring food to the guests, that the traveling players she had hired kept up a merry tune, and that all in her hall were well content. Elen knew she could have left these last details up to Finley. He was more than willing, more than competent, but if she didn't keep busy right now, she would surely lose her mind and do something truly foolish. Finding two empty ale pitchers, she picked them up and headed for the kitchen.
Married. She was married to Munro Forrest until death did them part. Of course, if she had her way right now, his death would come sooner than expected.
Elen felt as if she was looking at the world through a haze of red, but anger was easier for her to deal with than some of the other feelings coursing through her right now. She was hurt that Munro would make these plans behind her back with the king, that he would dare use his personal influence with the king to get what he wanted at her expense.
And she was just a little flattered, maybe even a little relieved. Perhaps he really did love her. And now she did not have to make the difficult decision of whether or not to marry him and take her chances with Dunblane. The decision had been made for her, ending the struggle she'd been having with herself.
Elen turned down a narrow hall lit by only a few smoking candles in sconces on the walls. On her way to the kitchen, she heard a man's low rumbling voice followed by a giggle. She halted a moment and listened. She could hear the rustle of clothing. Heavy breathing. Her eyes widened in recognition of what that sound was.
The nerve of her servants. The king of Scotland was in Dunblane's hall, and they took this moment to play slap and tickle in the corridor?
Elen took another step, intent upon breaking up the liaison, when the woman giggled again. She halted once more. She recognized that giggle. She almost called out her sister's name when she realized she had just passed Cerdic in the great hall as he headed toward the dais to speak with Robert and Munro.
So who was her sister with?
Elen contemplated turning around and returning to the hall with the empty ale pitchers. This was not her business. Rosalyn was Cerdic's problem now.
But she was still Elen's sister. Still family until death parted them... not unlike a husband.
"Rosalyn Burnard," Elen shouted, charging forward down the dim hallway.
"E-Elen."
Elen turned the corner to the short stairway that led into the kitchen. There in the alcove in the darkness were Rosalyn... and Finley.
Elen was so taken aback she could not speak. She just stood there in her golden dress, an empty tin pitcher in each hand, staring at them. The chilly air smelled of warm skin and bodily fluids.
Finley fumbled with his shirt, tucking it into the plaid he wore around his waist. He did not lift his gaze to meet hers.
Rosalyn just stood there, her gown rumpled, her hair mussed.
"Get yourself to your husband," Elen growled.
"Please don't tell him," Rosalyn begged. "Please. Nothing happened. 'Tis only that I had a wee bit too much unwatered wine and I forgot myself."
Elen pushed past them, disgusted with them both. How could Rosalyn do such a thing? She had been married less than a month. And Finley... God's teeth! She did not even want to begin to try and figure out what he thought he was doing. Had all the men and women in Scotland taken leave of their senses?
"To your husband," Elen repeated, going down the steps.
In the bustling kitchen, she handed the pitchers to a girl with flour on her cheek. "Refill these and take them to the hall, will ye, lassie?" she asked. Suddenly Elen was weary. She wanted nothing more than to climb into her bed and hide from her family, from Munro, even from the king. Of course, she had no bed tonight because Robert would be sleeping in her chamber. And she could not hide. She had a king to entertain... and now a husband to see to.
When Elen passed the dark alcove where she had found Rosalyn and Finley, they were thankfully gone. Starting down the corridor toward the hall, she decided she would say nothing more to them tonight. Once the king was gone, she would take them both by the ear.
Just in front of her, the small door from the service corridor to the great hall swung open, and Elen stepped back to give a servant with trays room to pass by.
"There ye are. I wondered where ye had gone." Munro filled the doorway, looking handsome and smelling dangerously provocative.
She pressed against the wall, her palms to the cold stone. She did not look at him. "I had matters in the kitchen to deal with."
"Let Finley do it." He grasped her hand and did not allow her to escape when she tried. "Ye are wanted in the hall. The king wishes to offer a toast in our honor. And then, of course, there is the obligatory dance of the bride and groom."
"I nae wish to be toasted," she grumbled. "I nae wish to dance, not with ye or with any mon on God's rocky earth. I wish to shout and perhaps pummel a few faces."
He laughed. He had been drinking. He was not drunk, but she sensed a relaxed easiness to his voice. "Ye cannot refuse a toast by the king, Elen. Now come." He pulled hard on her arm and she bumped into him.
A bolt of energy arced between them. Just his touch, the smell of his clothes, his clean hair... he took her breath away even now, when she was so angry she could have laid his head upon a plate.
Elen did not protest as he pushed her against the wall and grazed his mouth across hers. He smelled and tasted of ale... of desire.
She parted her lips to allow him to deepen his kiss, telling herself she was merely surrendering. She could not fight Munro and the king. She could not fight Scotland. But the truth was, she wanted him, even now, even when she was so furious with him.
Elen lifted her arms to his shoulders and clung to him, moaning as his tongue met hers.
Munro slid his hand down her back, over her buttocks, and squeezed gently. Without thought, she pressed her hips to his, molding her body to his. Her groin throbbed, and there could be no relief but his male hardness, no relief but Munro's muscle and sinew, and tender, knowing hands.
Munro dragged his mouth over her chin and she lifted her head. He kissed her neck, moving lower to the valley between her breasts that swelled over the bodice of the golden gown.
"Elen, Elen," he whispered. "I am sorry it happened this way, but I will make it up to ye. I swear I will."
"Munro," she gasped. He closed his wet, warm mouth over her breast, and even through the fabric of the gown, she could feel the heat of his desire for her. "Nae here. Not now." All she could think of was her sister and Finley groping in the dark corridor. She knew this was different. Munro was her lawful husband, but this was not the way she wanted to make love with him this time. This time, there would be no creeping about, no secrecy. They now had the blessing of God and the king.
"The king waits," she whispered. "There will be time for this later."
Reluctantly, he set her free and stepped back. "I will hold ye to the promise,
wench," he said huskily.
"Do not call me that." She tried to smooth her gown and realign her bodice. "'Tis degrading."
Munro reached out and tucked back a lock of stray hair that had fallen forward from her headdress. "Have I told ye you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen, if not the most willing?"
"I will not hear your pretty talk." She pushed past him. "I am still angry, and ye have not heard the last word on this marriage business."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, and what of this?" He pointed to the wall where they had just exchanged heated kisses and hurried caresses.
"That?" She threw back her head, determined not to look flustered when she sat at the dais with the king. "That is an entirely different matter, m'lord."
Munro was still laughing when she entered the great hall and closed the door soundly in his face.
Chapter 20
Elen entered the great hall flustered, her cheeks burning, her limbs tingling. No matter what she thought of Munro and his manipulations, she could not deny her fervent desire for him, nor his desire for her.
"Your Grace." She approached the dais and lifted the hem of her gown to curtsy.
Robert smiled, a horned cup in his hand. "I see he found ye." The king lifted a brow, no doubt noticing the red of her cheeks and perhaps that her bodice was set slightly askew. "I feared ye might have fled, and then I would have to lift myself from this bench to follow your merry chase."
She drew her hand self-consciously over her breasts. "I had to attend to surly lasses in the kitchen, 'tis all, Your Grace."
He slid over to make room for her on the bench beside him. "And have they been properly drawn and quartered, m'lady?"
She laughed. Considering the events of the evening, she was surprised she had it in her. "With their heads placed on spikes beyond the gatehouse." She reached for a pitcher of ale. "Let no mon or woman say Elen of Dunblane will stand for laziness."
He lifted his cup to his lips, his eyes twinkling. "Lady Rancoff now as well."
She filled her cup to its brim; she was not hungry, but beyond parched. She was the wife of an earl now, but that didn't matter to her. What mattered was her father's land. "I nae wish to hear of Rancoff. I care not what Munro says. He knew ye came for this purpose and this purpose only, and I warrant ye, he will pay dearly for his treachery."
Robert laid his hand upon Elen's. "Now admit it, if only to me. If ye had to wed, our Munro is a better choice than most."
The pipes and fiddlers were loud, the crowd of guests becoming rowdy with laughter. A couple danced before the great hearth, and several men had cleared their tables of food to try their hands at cards or dice. Elen had to speak loudly and lower her head to the king's to hear and be heard.
"I shall admit no such thing." She lifted her cup to her lips. "My Lord Rancoff tells me Dunblane can remain in my name with your blessing, at least as long as I live or until I pass it on to my issue. Is this more of his perfidy, or is there truth to his words?"
"'Tis highly irregular." Robert set his cup in a stag's antler holder in the center of the table and reached for another slab of venison to drop onto his plate.
For the king's feast, Elen had gathered all the chargers in the entire castle and borrowed several from Rancoff to set the dais table. The men and women below table would eat off bread trenchers as they always did at Dunblane, but for her honored guests, she presented nothing but the best they had to offer.
"But it can be done?" she questioned. "Ye could make it so, Your Grace?"
The Bruce cut his gaze at Elen. "I think this marriage will be good for ye, Elen. Mayhap the Clan Forrest can teach you your place."
Elen met his gaze, tearing off a bit of brown bread to eat. She knew she treaded upon thin ice; the king had been more than tolerant with her. But it was important to her that she continue to protect Dunblane. "I know my place, Your Grace. I am a servant to God, to my king"—she bowed her head in reverence—"and to the land and people my father left in my care."
"And to your husband?"
A smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth. She understood why Munro liked Robert not just as a king, but also as a man. He was kind when he needed to be, but also clever and shrewd. "And to my husband, when necessary," she conceded.
"Well enough." Robert reached for his cup again. "I shall have the decree written and pressed with my seal before I leave at daybreak. So long as you are true to me and true to your husband," he stipulated, "the land is yours. I ask only that ye tell no one. This must be between us and Munro."
"Thank ye," she breathed, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "Munro said ye were a fair man."
He shrugged. "Your father left it in your hands in the belief you would do well by Dunblane. Who am I to question Murdoch Burnard?"
A lump rose in Elen's throat and she reached for her cup again, surprised by the sudden sadness she felt. She wished her father could be here tonight to see her entertain the king. And in truth, she knew he would be pleased by the marriage as well.
"There ye are." Munro approached the dais and came around to sit beside Elen. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away.
"Nae push your good fortune, m'lord," she warned.
Munro's blue eyes twinkled. "I ken." He looked to Robert. "She is saving all of her sweetness for our marriage bed," he explained.
Robert grinned and returned to conversation with the man seated on his other side.
Elen gave Munro a none-too-gentle tap beneath the table with the heel of her kidskin slipper. "A pity ye will have to wait on that marriage bed, m'lord, but the master chamber is already occupied."
"By whom?" Munro bellowed.
Elen's eyes widened, for he knew damned well who would sleep in her chamber. "The king," she whispered.
"The king," Munro shouted. Several men at the table below them glanced up with interest. "I beg your pardon, m'lady, but I must have a word with our king."
"Munro," Elen whispered harshly. "Hush. Ye cannot insult the king by—"
"Insult the king?" He tried to push her aside to get Robert's attention. "After the words that came from your sweet lips this night, my love, if we havenae been tossed in the Edinburgh dungeon by now, we are nae going to be." He laid his arm across her chest and pushed her backward. "Robert! I must speak with ye."
"Munro." Elen felt a sudden sense of panic. She was not ready to sleep with him... not tonight. Not with the castle bursting at the seams. Not with everyone listening at the door.
"Aye, what is it?" Robert asked.
"All night I have thought of naught but taking my lovely virgin wife into my arms in the privacy of my chamber, and now she tells me someone else sleeps in my bed."
"Who?" Robert played along.
"Ye!"
"Me?" Robert laughed. "Nae me. I intend to drink myself into a slumber and lie down right there before the hearth with yonder hound." He indicated Elen's sleeping Camille.
"Your Grace," Elen reasoned. "Pay nae attention to my lout of a groom. My father's chambers are yours this night. What would people say to hear Dunblane offered the hospitality of a floor to their king?"
"They would say Dunblane had a wedding to consummate this night," Robert teased. He lifted a hand. "Nae another word of it now, or I will toss ye both in the oubliette." His gaze twinkled as he turned back to the man beside him.
Elen elbowed Munro. "Ye told him I threw ye in the oubliette?"
"'Twas the truth."
"'Twas a mistake, and ye know it."
"There, there, my love. Wait until we retire to the privacy of our chamber, and I will soothe ye as a husband should."
Elen's eyes sparked with anger. "Ye will sleep upon the floor," she threatened.
Munro took her cup from her hands, holding her gaze. "Nay. I will not. Ye are my lawful wedded wife now, and I shall have my husbandly rights."
The force of his tone frightened her... thrilled her. "Give me my cup." She snatched at the ale, but he was too quick for he
r.
"I nae want ye drunk this night, Elen," he murmured huskily. "I want ye totally aware of your senses."
His words sent a rush of tingling warmth through her, rendering her speechless. By the time Elen was in control of herself again, the king had stood to offer his toast to the newlyweds.
The next hours were a blur. Elen danced with Munro, with the king, with men she had never laid eyes upon before. She drank, she ate, and she dreaded—waited with desperate anticipation—for the night to end.
At last Munro suggested they bid good night to all. Elen was so tired that her mind was hazy, her muscles tired beyond thought. It would be dawn in a few hours.
"Bid His Grace good night and I will see ye above stairs shortly," Munro murmured in her ear. They stood near the doorway, clapping, watching two men arm wrestle. "Robert wishes a word alone with me."
Elen thought to protest. She wanted to protest, but she was too tired. She said her good nights and climbed the stair to her father's chamber... and her wedding bed.
* * *
Munro took his time in climbing the long tower stairs to Elen's bedchamber. It was with great trepidation and excitement that he made the climb. His head was awhirl with what seemed like gallons of ale, with the excitement of Robert's visit, with the amazing truth that he had gotten what he wanted. Elen Burnard was now his wife until death parted them. The question now—he chuckled aloud—was what would he do with her?
At the bedchamber door on the fourth floor of the tower house, he stepped over a lad sleeping on a pallet. He laid his hand on the door latch. She might well openly refuse his entrance to their marriage chamber, king present in the keep or not. Or she might be waiting for him. He could not guess. Elen was constantly a source of amazement to him. One moment she was all spit and claws, and the next all woman and softness.
To his relief, the latch lifted, which was fortunate because he wasn't certain he had the energy to break down any doors tonight.
Slowly he eased it open. The room was warm; a fire flickered in the hearth. An array of candles ht the room like diamonds glimmering in the darkness. As he stepped inside and closed the door, a sense of panic rose in his chest. Where was Elen? Had she flown?
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