A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Eleven

Moonlight spilled through the window, and in his sleep Royce rolled onto his stomach, reaching out with his arm for Jennifer. His hand encountered cool sheets, not warm flesh. A lifetime spent with danger as his usual bed partner brought him from deep, sated sleep to sharp awareness in the space of seconds. His eyes snapped open as he rolled onto his back, his gaze scanning the room, sweeping over the furnishings that loomed like ghostly shadows in the pale moonlight.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and rapidly began to dress, cursing his own stupidity for having failed to post a guard at the bottom of the steps. Out of habit, he grabbed his dagger as he stalked toward the door, furious with himself for falling asleep in the comfortable belief Jennifer could not cuddle up against him like that and then stay awake and coldly plot an escape. Jennifer Merrick was capable of that and more. All things considered, he was lucky she hadn't tried to slit his throat before she left! His hand hit the latch and he jerked the door open, almost stepping on his startled squire, who was sleeping on a pallet in front of the doorway. "What's amiss, milord?" Gawin asked anxiously, sitting upright, ready to scramble to his feet.

Some imperceptible movement-something blowing across the window from outside on the parapet-caught Royce's eye and his head jerked toward it.

"What's amiss, milord?"

The door slammed in Gawin's startled face.

Telling himself that he was simply relieved that she had spared him the unwanted task of another nocturnal pursuit, Royce silently opened the door and stepped outside. Jenny was standing on the parapet, her long hair blowing in the night breeze, her arms wrapped around herself, staring off into the distance. With narrowed eyes, Royce studied her expression, and a second wave of relief washed over him. She did not appear to be contemplating flinging herself from the parapet, nor was she weeping for the loss of her maidenhead. More than distraught or angry, she looked merely lost in thought.

Jenny was, in fact, so immersed in her own reflections that she had no idea she was no longer alone. The soothing caress of the unseasonably balmy night air had helped restore her spirits, but even so, she felt as if the whole world had turned upside down this night, and Brenna was part of the reason for it: Brenna and a feather pillow had been the reason for Jenny's "noble" sacrifice of her maidenhood. The awful realization had hit her just as she began to drift off to sleep tonight.

She had been mumbling a sleepy prayer for Brenna's recovery and safe journey, when a quill from her own pillow protruded through the linen case, jarring her memory of the moment she'd smoothed the pillows beneath Brenna's head as she lay in the cart. Feathers near Brenna's face or body made her cough horribly, and no one was more careful than she to avoid them. Evidently, Jenny decided, Brenna must have fallen asleep in her chamber and woken up coughing, but instead of removing the offending pillows, she'd become daring and inventive at last: Believing the earl would release them both, Brenna had probably lain upon them until she was coughing as if death was imminent.

Absolutely ingenious, Jenny thought-worthy of any scheme she herself might have devised-and just as ill-fated, she decided glumly.

Her thoughts left Brenna and shifted to the future she had once dreamed of having, a future that now, more than ever before, was lost to her.

"Jennifer-" Royce said behind her.

Jenny whirled around, making a stern effort to hide her treacherous heart's reaction to the deep timbre of his voice. Why, she wondered desperately, could she still feel his hands upon her skin, and why did the mere sight of his face call to mind the tender roughness of his kisses. "I-why are you dressed?" she asked, relieved that her voice sounded calm.

"I was about to go looking for you," he replied, stepping out of the shadows.

With a wry glance at the gleaming dagger in his hand, she asked, "What did you intend to do when you found me?"

"I'd forgotten about this parapet." Slipping the dagger into his belt he added, "I thought you'd managed to slip from the room."

"Isn't your squire sleeping just beyond the door?"

"Good point," Royce said sardonically.

"He generally makes a habit of stretching out to block the entrance to wherever you are," she pointed out.

"Right again," he said dryly, wondering at his unprecedented lack of forethought in dashing for his own door without checking every other alternative.

Now that he'd found her, Jenny sorely wished he'd go away; his presence wreaked havoc on the serenity she so desperately sought. Turning away from him in an unmistakable hint that he should leave, she gazed out across the moonlit landscape.

Royce hesitated, knowing she wished to be left alone, yet reluctant to leave her. He told himself it was merely concern over her strange mood, and not the pleasure he derived from her company or her profile, that kept him from leaving. Sensing she would not welcome his touch, he stopped within reach of her and leaned his shoulder against the wall surrounding the parapet. She remained lost in thought, and Royce's brows drew together into a slight frown as he reconsidered his earlier conclusion that she wasn't contemplating something as stupid as taking her own life. "What were you thinking of a few minutes ago, when I came out here?"

Jenny stiffened slightly at the question. She'd been thinking of only two things, and she certainly could not discuss one of them, which had been Brenna's ingenious ploy. " 'Twas nothing of great importance," she evaded.

"Tell me anyway," he insisted.

She glanced sideways, her heart giving a traitorous leap at the sight of his broad shoulders so close to hers and his sternly handsome face etched with moonlight. Ready, willing, to discuss anything to distract herself from her awareness of him, she gazed out across the hills and said with a sigh of capitulation, "I was recalling the times I used to stand on a parapet at Merrick and look out across the moors, thinking of a kingdom."

"A kingdom?" Royce repeated, surprised and relieved at the nonviolent nature of her thoughts. She nodded, her heavy hair sliding up and down her back, and he sternly repressed the urge to wrap his hand in the silken mass and gently turn her face up to his. "Which kingdom?"

"My own kingdom." She sighed, feeling foolish and sorely tried that he meant to pursue the issue. "I used to plan a kingdom of my own."

"Poor James," he teased, referring to the Scottish king. "Which of his kingdoms did you mean to seize?"

She sent him a rueful smile, but her voice was oddly tinged with sadness. "It wasn't a real kingdom with land and castles; it was a kingdom of dreams-a place where things would be just the way I wanted them to be."

A long-forgotten memory flickered across Royce's mind, and turning toward the wall, he leaned his forearms atop it, his fingers linked loosely together. Gazing out across the hills in the same direction Jennifer was looking, he admitted quietly, "There was a time, long ago, when I, too, used to imagine a kingdom of my own design. What was yours like?"

"There's little to tell," she said. "In my kingdom, there was prosperity and peace. Occasionally, of course, a crofter fell violently ill, or there was a dire threat to our safety."

"You had illness and strife in your dream kingdom?" Royce interrupted in surprise.

"Of course!" Jenny admitted with a rueful, sideways smile. "There had to be some of both, so that I could race to the rescue and save the day. That was the very reason I invented my kingdom."

"You wanted to be a heroine to your people," Royce concluded, smiling at a motivation he could readily understand.

She shook her head, the wistful yearning in her soft voice banishing his smile. "Nay. I wanted only to be loved by those whom I love; to be looked upon and not found wanting by those who know me."

"And that's all you wanted?"

She nodded, her beautiful profile solemn. "And so I invented a kingdom of dreams where I could accomplish great and daring deeds to make it happen."

Not far away, on the hill nearest the castle, the figure of a man was momentarily illuminated by a shaft of moonlight emerging from the clouds. At any other time, that brief glimpse would have caused Royce to dispatch men to investigate. Now, however, sated with lovemaking, knowing more of it was yet to come with the winsome beauty beside him, his brain paid no heed to what his eyes had noted. It was a night filled with warmth and rare confidences, far too soft and lovely a night to contemplate the unlikely threat of silent danger lurking so close to his own demesne.

Royce frowned, thinking of Jenny's puzzling words. The Scots, even the lowlanders who lived by feudal laws more than clan laws, were a fiercely loyal lot. And whether her clan called Jennifer's father "earl" or "the Merrick," he, and all his family, would still command clan Merrick's complete devotion and loyalty. They would not look upon Jennifer and find her wanting, and she would undoubtedly be loved by those whom she loved-ergo, she should not need to dream up a kingdom of her own. "You're a brave and beautiful young woman," he said finally, "and a countess in your own right. Your clan undoubtedly feels about you as you would wish them to feel-and probably more so."

She tore her gaze from his and seemed to become absorbed in the view again. "Actually," she replied in a carefully emotionless voice, "they think me some sort of-of changeling."

"Why would they think anything so absurd?" he demanded, dumbfounded.

To his surprise she leapt to their defense: "What else could they possibly think, given the things my stepbrother convinced them I've done?"

"What sort of things?"

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself again, looking much as he had seen her when he first came out onto the parapet. "Unspeakable things," she whispered.

Royce watched her, silently insisting on an explanation, and she drew an unsteady breath and reluctantly complied: "There were many things, but most of all there was Rebecca's drowning. Becky and I were distant cousins and the best of friends. We were both thirteen," she added with a sad little smile. "Her father-Garrick Carmichael-was a widower and she his only child. He doted on her, as nearly all of us did. She was so sweet, you see, and so incredibly fair-fairer even than Brenna-that you couldn't help but love her. The thing was, her father loved her so much that he'd not let her do anything, for fear she'd come to harm. She wasn't even allowed to go near the river, because her father feared she'd drown. Becky decided to learn how to swim-to prove to him she'd be safe-and early each morning, we would sneak off to the river, so I could teach her how."

"The day before she drowned, we'd been at a fair, and we quarreled because I told her one of the jugglers had been looking at her in an unseemly way. My stepbrothers, Alexander and Malcolm, overheard us -as did several people-and Alexander accused me of being jealous because I'd had eyes for the juggler, which was silly in the extreme. Becky was so angry, embarrassed, I mean, that when we parted, she told me not to bother coming to the river in the morning because she no longer needed my assistance. I knew she didn't really mean it, and she couldn't swim at all well yet, and so naturally, I went there the next morning."

Jennifer's voice dropped to a whisper. "When I got there she was still angry; she called to me that she wanted to be alone. I was already at the top of the hill, walking away, when I heard a splash and she screamed to me to help her. I turned and started running down the hill, but I couldn't see her. When I was halfway there, she managed to get her head above the water-I know, because I saw her hair on the surface. Then I heard her scream to me to help her…" Jenny shivered, absently rubbing her arms, "but the current was carrying her away. I dove in, and I tried to find her. I dove under again and again and again." Jenny whispered brokenly "but I-I couldn't find her to help her. The next day Becky was found several miles away, washed up on the banks."

Royce lifted his hand, then dropped it, sensing that she was fighting for control and would not welcome any gesture of comfort that might make her lose it. "It was an accident," he said gently.

She drew a long steadying breath. "Not according to Alexander. He must have been nearby, because he told everyone he heard Becky scream my name, which was true. But then he told them we were quarreling, and that I pushed her in."

"How did he explain your own wet clothing?" Royce said tersely.

"He said," Jenny answered with a ragged sigh, "that after I pushed her in, I must have waited and then tried to save her. Alexander," she added, "had already been told that he, not I, would succeed my father as laird. But it wasn't enough for him-he wanted me disgraced and far away. After that, it was easy for him."

"Easy in what way?"

Her slim shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "A few more evil lies and twisted truths-a crofter's cottage that suddenly caught fire the night after I challenged with the weight of a sack of grain he brought to the keep. Things such as that."

Slowly she raised tear-brightened blue eyes to his and to Royce's surprise she tried to smile. "Do you see my hair?" she asked. Royce glanced needlessly at the golden red tresses he'd admired for weeks and nodded.

In a suffocated voice, Jenny said, "My hair used to be an awful color. Now, it's the color of Becky's hair. Becky knew… how much I… admired her hair," she whispered brokenly, "and… and I like to think she gave it to me. To show me she knows-I tried to save her."

The painful, unfamiliar constriction in Royce's chest made his hand tremble as he started to lift it to lay against her cheek, but she pulled back, and although her huge eyes were shining with unshed tears, she did not break down and weep. Now, at last, he understood why this lovely young girl had not wept since her capture, not even during the sound thrashing he'd given her. Jennifer Merrick had stored all her tears inside her, and her pride and courage would never permit her to break down and shed them. Compared to what she'd already endured, a mere thrashing at his hands must have been as nothing to her.

For lack of knowing what else to do, Royce went into the bedchamber, poured wine from a flagon into a goblet, and brought it out to her. "Drink this," he said flatly.

With relief, he saw that she'd already gotten control of her sorrow, and a winsome smile touched her soft lips at his unintentionally abrupt tone. "It seems to me, milord," she replied, "that you are forever putting spirits into my hand."

"Usually for my own nefarious reasons," he admitted drolly, and she chuckled.

Taking a sip, she put the goblet aside, then she crossed her arms on the low wall, gazing out into the distance again as she leaned against it. Royce studied her in silence, unable to get her revelations out of his mind, feeling the need to say something encouraging about her plight. "I doubt you'd have liked having the responsibility for your clan, in any case."

She shook her head and quietly said, "I would have loved it. There were so many things I saw that might have been done differently-things a woman would notice that a man does not. Things I learned from Mother Abbess, too. There are new looms-yours are much better than ours-new ways of growing crops-hundreds of other things to be done differently and better."

Unable to argue the relative merits of one kind of loom or crop over another, Royce tried a different argument. "You cannot live your life trying to prove yourself to your clan."

"I can," she said in a low, fierce voice. "I would do anything to make them see me as one of them again. They are my people-their blood flows in my veins, and mine in theirs."

"You'd best forget it," Royce urged." 'Twould seem you've embarked on a quest where victory is unlikely at best."

"For a while, these past few days, 'twasn't as unlikely as you think," she said, her beautiful profile somber. "William will be earl someday, and he's a kind, wonderful boy-well, man-since he is twenty. He isn't strong like Alexander was, or Malcolm is, but he is intelligent and wise and loyal. He feels for my plight with our clan, and once he became lord, he would have tried to set matters aright. But tonight, that became an impossibility."

"What has tonight to do with it?"

Jenny raised her eyes to his, the expression in them reminding him of a wounded doe, despite the calm, matter-of-fact tone she used. "Tonight, I became the consort of my family's worst enemy-the mistress of my people's foe. In the past, they despised me for things I hadn't done. Now, they have good reason to despise me for what I have, just as I have reason to despise myself. This time, I've done the unforgivable. Even God won't forgive me…"

The undeniable truth of her accusation about becoming his consort hit Royce with more force than he wanted to acknowledge, but his guilt was lessened by the knowledge that the life that was lost to her now was not much life at all. Reaching out, he took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her around, then he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. And even as he began to speak, in the midst of his concern and sympathy, his loins were already hardening in demanding response to her nearness. "Jennifer," he said with quiet firmness, "I didn't know how things stood between you and your people, but I've bedded you, and nothing can change that now."

"And if you could change it," she said, looking mutinous, "would you?"

Royce gazed down at the incredibly desirable young woman who was setting his body on fire at that very moment. Calmly and honestly, he said, "No."

"Then do not bother looking regretful," she snapped.

His lips quirked in a mirthless smile, his hand sliding along her cheek to her nape. "Do I look regretful? I'm not. I regret causing you humiliation, but I do not regret the fact that I had you an hour ago, nor will I regret having you again in a few minutes, which I mean to do." She glared at the arrogance of his statement, but Royce forged ahead with what he'd intended to say: "I do not believe in your God, nor any other, but I'm told by those who do, that your God is supposedly a just God. If so," he continued in a calm, philosophical tone, "He will surely hold you blameless in all this. After all, you only agreed to my bargain out of fear for your sister's life. 'Twas not your will, 'twas mine. And what passed between us in that bed was against your will, too. Wasn't it?"

As soon as he asked the question, Royce regretted it-regretted it so sharply that it confused him. And then he realized that, while he wanted her to assure him that he hadn't damned her in the eyes of her God, he did not want her to deny that she'd felt all the things he had in their mating, or that she had wanted him almost as much as he had wanted her. As if he suddenly needed to test her honesty and his instincts, he persisted, "Isn't that right? He will hold you blameless in all this because you merely submitted to me in bed against your will?"

"No!" The word burst out of her, filled with shame and helplessness, and a thousand other feelings Royce couldn't identify.

"No?" he repeated, while a heady sensation of relief burst within him. "Where am I wrong?" he asked, his voice low, but insistent. "Tell me where I'm wrong."

It was not the tone of command in his voice that made her answer. It was, instead, her sudden memories of the way he had made love to her; memories of his incredible gentleness and restraint; of his pained regret when he hurt her as he broke her maidenhead; of his whispered words of praise; of his labored breathing as he fought to hold back his passion. Added to all that was the memory of her own urgent desire to be filled with him, and to give him back the exquisite sensations he was making her feel. She opened her mouth, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt all her chances for happiness, but her conscience strangled the words in her throat. She had found glory, not shame in their mating, and she could not make herself lie to him and say otherwise. " 'Twas not my will to come to your bed," she answered in a muffled whisper. Dragging her mortified gaze from his smoky gray one, she turned her head away and added, "but once there, 'twas not my will to leave it either."

She had looked away, so Jenny didn't see the new tenderness in his slow smile, but she felt it in the way his arms encircled her, his hand splaying against her spine, clasping her against his hardened length as his mouth took possession of hers, robbing her of speech, and then of breath.