A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Thirteen

Royce stood at the window of the small but well-appointed bedchamber that had been his "cell" since his arrival, two weeks ago, at the Tower of London, Henry's royal residence. His expression was impassive as he stared out across the London rooftops, lost in impatient contemplation, his legs braced wide apart. His hands were behind his back, but they were not bound, nor had they been since that first day when his fury at Jennifer Merrick-and at his own gullibility-had temporarily robbed him of his ability to react. He had permitted it then, partly to prevent his men from endangering their own necks by fighting for him, and partly because, at the time, he was too incensed to care.

By that night, however, his fury had been reduced to a dangerous calm. When Graverley had attempted to retie his wrists after Royce finished eating, Graverley had found himself jerked to the ground with the leather thong wrapped taut around his throat, Royce's face, dark with rage, only inches from his own. "Attempt to bind me again," Royce had bit out between his teeth, "and I'll slit your throat within five minutes after my interview with Henry."

Writhing in surprise and fear, Graverley had nevertheless managed to gasp, "Five minutes after your interview with the king… you'll be on your way… to the gallows!"

Without thinking, Royce had tightened his hand, the subtle twist of his wrist effectively cutting off his adversary's air. Not until his victim's face had begun to change color did Royce realize what he was doing, and then he released him with a contemptuous shove. Graverley staggered unsteadily to his feet, his eyes blazing with hatred, but he gave no order to Henry's men to seize Royce and bind him. At the time, Royce had attributed that to the likelihood that Graverley had realized he could be treading on dangerous ground by deliberately abusing the rights of Henry's favorite noble.

Now, however, after waiting weeks for a summons from the king, Royce was beginning to wonder if Henry was actually in complete accord with the privy councillor. From his position at the window, Royce stared out at the dark night that was scented with the usual malodorous smells of London-sewage, garbage, and excrement-trying to find a reason for Henry's obvious reluctance to see him and discuss the reason Royce was being incarcerated.

He had known Henry for twelve years; he had fought beside him at the Battle of Bosworth Field, had watched as Henry was proclaimed king and crowned on that same battlefield. In recognition of Royce's deeds during that battle, Henry had knighted him that same day, despite the fact that Royce was only seventeen. It was, in fact, his first official act as king. In the years that followed, Henry's trust and reliance on Royce had grown apace with his mistrust of his other nobles.

Royce fought his battles for him and each flamboyant victory made it easier for Henry to exact-without bloodshed-concessions from England's enemies and Henry's personal ones. As a result, Royce had been rewarded with fourteen estates and riches enough to make him one of the wealthiest men in England. Equally important, Henry trusted him-trusted him enough to permit Royce to fortify his castle at Claymore and to keep a private, liveried army of his own men. Although, in this instance, there was strategy behind Henry's leniency: the Black Wolf was a threat to all Henry's enemies; the sight of pennants with a snarling wolf pictured on them often crushed hostility before it had a chance to bloom into opposition.

In addition to trust and gratitude, Henry had also given Royce the privilege of speaking his mind freely and without the interference of Graverley and the other members of the powerful Star Chamber. And that was what was niggling at Royce now-this long period of refusal to give Royce an audience in order to defend himself was not indicative of the sort of relationship he'd enjoyed with Henry in the past. Nor did it bode well for the outcome of the audience itself.

The sound of a key being inserted in his door made Royce glance up, but hope shriveled when he saw it was only a guard bearing a tray with his meal. "Mutton, my lord," the guard provided helpfully in answer to Royce's unspoken inquiry.

"God's teeth!" he exploded, his impatience with everything coming to a rolling boil.

"Don't like mutton much myself, my lord," the guard agreed, but he knew the food had nothing to do with the Black Wolf's outburst. After putting the tray down, the man straightened respectfully. Confined or not, the Black Wolf was a dangerous man and, more importantly, a great hero to every male who fancied himself a true man. "Do you wish for anything else, my lord?"

"News!" Royce bit out, his expression so harsh, so threatening, that the guard backed away a step, before he nodded obediently. The Wolf always inquired about news-usually in a friendly man-to-man way-and tonight the guard was happy to be privy to some gossip. Still, 'twas not exactly gossip the Wolf would likely be happy to hear.

"There is some news, my lord. Gossip it be, but reliable-like, heert from those what are in a position to know."

Royce was instantly alert. "What 'gossip'?"

" 'Tis said yer brother was called afore the king last night."

"My brother is here in London?"

The guard nodded. "Came here yesterday, demandin' to see yer and practically threatnin' to lay siege to the place if'n he didn't."

An awful feeling of foreboding crept over Royce. "Where is he now?"

The guard tipped his head to the left. "One floor above ye and a few rooms to the west, I heert. Under guard."

Royce expelled his breath in a rush of frustrated alarm. Stefan's coming here was reckless in the extreme. When Henry was angered, the best tack was to stay out of his way until he got control of his royal temper. "Thank you," Royce said, trying to recall the guard's name, "er… ?"

"Larraby, my-" They both broke off and glanced toward the door as it swung open. Graverley stood in the doorway, grinning evilly.

"Our sovereign has bade me bring you to him."

Relief mixed with concern for Stefan ran through Royce, as he stalked past Graverley, shouldering him aside. "Where is the king?" Royce demanded.

"In the throne room."

Royce, who'd been a guest here at the Tower several times in the past, knew it well. Leaving Graverley to follow and try to keep pace, he strode swiftly down the long hall to the steps which wound down two stories and then led through a maze of chambers.

As he passed through the gallery with his escort/ guard following behind, Royce noted that everyone was turning to stare. Judging from the derision on many of their faces, the fact that he'd been confined here and was out of favor with Henry was a fact known to all.

Lord and Lady Ellington, attired in full court dress, bowed to Royce as he passed, and again Royce witnessed their strange expressions. He was accustomed to some fear and mistrust when he was at court; but tonight he could have sworn they were hiding amused smiles, and he discovered that he vastly preferred being mistrusted to being laughed at.

Graverley gleefully provided the answer for the odd looks: "The story of Lady Jennifer's escape from the notorious Black Wolf has been cause for much hilarity here."

Royce clamped his jaws together and increased his pace, but Graverley quickened his to match. In a confiding voice ringing with mockery, he added, "So has the story of our famous hero's infatuation with a plain Scottish girl who ran away, wearing a fortune in pearls he'd given her, rather than wed him."

Royce swung around on his heel, fully intending to smash his fist into Graverley's grinning face, but behind him the liveried footmen were already pulling open the tall doors to the throne room. Restraining himself with the knowledge that Stefan's future, as well as his own, would not be improved by murdering Henry's most valued councillor, Royce turned away and strode through the doors the footmen were holding open for him.

Henry was sitting at the far end of the room, garbed in formal robes of state, his fingers tapping impatiently on the arms of his throne. "Leave us!" he ordered Graverley, and then he turned his cold, distant gaze on Royce. Silence followed Royce's polite greeting-an unusual, icy silence that did not bode well for the outcome of the interview. After several endless minutes of it, Royce said with cool politeness, "I understood you wished to see me, Sire."

"Silence!" Henry snapped furiously. "You'll speak to me when I give you leave to do it!" But now that the dam of silence had been breached, Henry's own anger could no longer be held in check, and his words issued forth like lashes from a whip. "Graverley claims you had your men turn their weapons on my men. He further charges that you deliberately disobeyed my instructions and impeded his efforts to free the Merrick women. How plead you to this accusation of treason, Royce Westmoreland?" Before Royce could reply, his enraged sovereign shoved himself from his chair and continued. "You condoned the seizure of the Merrick women-an act which has become an affair of state threatening the peace of my realm. And having done so, you let two women-two Scottish women-escape from your clutches, thus turning an affair of state into a joke that has swept all England! How plead you?" he said in a low roar. "Well?" he roared again without taking a breath. "Well? Well?"

"Which accusation do you desire me to address first, Sire?" Royce replied with courtesy. "The accusation of treason? Or the rest, which constitutes stupidity?"

Disbelief, anger, and a twinge of reluctant amusement widened Henry's eyes. "You arrogant pup! I could have you whipped! Hung! Pilloried!"

"Aye," Royce quietly agreed. "But tell me first for which offense. I have taken hostages many times in the last decade, and on more than one occasion you've commended it as a more peaceful means of scoring a win than outright battle. When the Merrick women were taken, I could not have guessed you'd suddenly decided to seek peace with James-particularly not when we were defeating him in Cornwall. Before I left for Cornwall, we spoke in this very chamber and agreed that, as soon as the Scots were subdued enough for me to leave Cornwall, I was to take command of a fresh army near the Scottish border and install it at Hardin, where our strength would be very visible to the enemy. At that time, it was clearly agreed between us that I would then-"

"Yes, yes," Henry interrupted angrily, not wanting to hear again what Royce intended to do next. "Explain to me," he ordered irritably, unwilling to admit aloud that Royce's reasoning in taking the two hostages had been valid, "what happened in the hall at Hardin. Graverley claims your men tried to attack mine on your order when he placed you under arrest. I've no doubt," he said with a grimace, "your version will vary from his. He detests you, you know."

Ignoring the last part of that, Royce replied with calm, indisputable logic, "My men outnumbered yours almost two to one. Had they attacked your men, none of them would have survived to take me into custody-yet they all returned here without so much as a scratch."

Henry relaxed slightly. With a curt nod, he said, "Which is exactly what Jordeaux pointed out in the privy council when Graverley told us his tale."

"Jordeaux?" Royce repeated. "I wasn't aware I had an ally in Jordeaux."

"You don't. He hates you, too, but he hates Graverley more because he wants Graverley's position, not yours, which he knows he cannot have." Darkly he said, "I'm entirely surrounded by men whose brilliance is only exceeded by their malice and ambition."

Royce stiffened at the unintended insult. "Not entirely surrounded, Sire," he said coolly.

In no mood to agree, even though he knew his earl spoke the truth, the king sighed irritably and motioned to a table on which reposed a tray with several jewelled goblets and some wine. In the closest thing to a conciliatory gesture he was willing to make in his present mood, Henry said, "Pour us something to drink." Rubbing the joints of his hands, he added absently, "I hate this place in the winter. The cold dampness makes my joints ache incessantly. Were it not for this tempest you've created, I'd be in a warm house in the country."

Royce complied, carrying the first goblet of wine to the king and then pouring one for himself and returning to the foot of the steps which led up to the dais. Standing in silence, he sipped the wine, waiting for Henry to emerge from his brooding reflections.

"Some good has come of this, in any case," the king finally admitted, glancing at Royce. "I'll confess I've had many second thoughts about letting you fortify Claymore and keep your own liveried retainers. However, when you let yourself be taken into custody on charges of treason by my men, who were obviously outnumbered by your retainers, you gave me proof that you will not turn against me, no matter how tempting it might be to do so." In a lightening-swift change of topic, designed to trap the relaxed and unwary, Henry said smoothly, "Yet, despite all your loyalty to me, you didn't intend to release Lady Jennifer Merrick into Graverley's custody so that she could be escorted home, did you?"

Anger raged through Royce at this reminder of his utter stupidity. Lowering his goblet he said icily, "I believed at the time that she herself would refuse to go and would explain that to Graverley."

Henry gaped at him, open-mouthed, the goblet in his fingers tipping precariously. "So Graverley spoke the truth about that. Both women duped you."

"Both?" Royce repeated.

"Aye, my boy," Henry said with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Standing outside the doors to this chamber are two emissaries from King James. Through them I have been in constant contact with James, and he has been in contact with the earl of Merrick, and everyone else involved in this mess. Based on what James has somewhat gleefully reported to me, it appears to me that the younger girl-who you believed to be hovering at death's door-had actually put her face into a pillow filled with feathers, which made her cough. Then she convinced you it was actually a recurrence of an ailment of the lungs, thus duping you into sending her home. The older one-Lady Jennifer-obviously went along with the ploy, stayed behind for one day, then duped you into leaving her alone so that she could escape with her stepbrother, who'd undoubtedly managed to get word to her where to meet him."

Henry's voice hardened. " 'Tis the joke of Scotland that my own champion was duped by a pair of young maids. 'Tis also a story that's been well told and embellished in my own court. The next time you confront an adversary, Claymore, you may find he laughs in your face instead of trembling with fear."

A moment ago, Royce didn't think he could be angrier than he'd been that day at Hardin when Jennifer escaped. However, the realization that Brenna Merrick, who cried at the sight of her own shadow, had actually duped him was enough to make him grind his teeth. And that was before the rest of Henry's words sank in: Jennifer's tears and pleading for her sister's life had been false! She had feigned all that. No doubt when she offered her virginity for her sister's "life," she expected to be rescued before nightfall!

Henry abruptly stood up and walked down the steps, beginning to pace slowly. "You've not heard the lot of it! There has been an outcry over all this, an outcry that has surpassed even my expectations when you first sent me word about the identity of your hostages. I did not grant you an audience until now because I was waiting for your reckless brother to turn up, so that I could question him in person as to the exact location whence he snatched the girls. It seems," King Henry said in an explosive breath, "that there is every possibility he snatched them from the grounds of the abbey where they were staying, exactly as their father is claiming.

"As a result, Rome has been demanding reparation from me in every conceivable form! Then, besides the protests from Rome and all Catholic Scotland over the girls' abduction from a holy abbey, there's the MacPherson, who's threatening to lead every clan in the highlands into war against us because you despoiled his affianced wife!"

"His what!" Royce hissed.

Henry glanced at him in disgruntled annoyance. "You were not aware that the young woman whom you deflowered, and then lavished your jewels upon, was already betrothed to the most powerful chieftain in Scotland?"

Rage exploded in a red mist before Royce's eyes, and in that moment he was absolutely convinced that Jennifer Merrick was the most consummate liar on earth. He could still see her, her innocent smiling eyes never leaving his as she talked about being sent to the abbey-leading him to believe that she'd been sent to remain, possibly for the rest of her life. She had failed to mention that she was on the brink of marriage. And then he remembered her poignant little story about planning a dream kingdom, and the fury inside him was almost past bearing. He had no doubt that she had invented it all… everything. She had played upon his sympathies as skillfully as a harpist plays upon the strings of his instrument.

"You are spoiling the shape of that goblet, Claymore," Henry pointed out with wry irritability, watching as Royce's clenched hand forced the silver rim of the goblet into an oval. "By the way, since you haven't denied it, I assume you did bed the Merrick woman?"

His jaw clenched tight with rage, Royce inclined his head in the barest sign of a nod.

"Enough discussion," the monarch snapped abruptly, all casual friendliness banished from his voice. Putting his goblet down on a richly carved table of gilded oak, he ascended the steps to the throne, saying, "James cannot agree to a treaty when his subjects are in an uproar over our violation of one of their abbeys. Nor will Rome be satisfied with a mere gift to their coffers. Therefore, James and I have agreed there is only one solution, and we are in complete accord for once."

Switching to the royal plural for emphasis, the king announced in ringing tones that brooked no objection, "It is Our decision that you will proceed to Scotland at once, whereupon you will wed Lady Jennifer Merrick in the presence of diplomatic emissaries from both courts, and in full view of her kinsmen. Several members from Our own court will accompany you on your journey, their presence at the nuptials to represent the English nobility's full acceptance of your wife as an equal in rank."

Having spoken, Henry kept his ominous gaze leveled on the tall man who was standing before him, white-faced with fury, a nerve jerking in his dark cheek. When he could finally trust himself to speak, Royce's voice erupted like hissing steam. "You ask the impossible."

"I've asked it of you before-in battle-and you've not refused me. You've no reason, and no right to do so now, Claymore. Moreover," he continued, reverting back to the royal plural while his tone grew more dire, "We did not ask, We commanded. Furthermore, for not yielding to Our emissary at once when he conveyed Our orders to release your hostage, We hereby fine you the estate of Grand Oak together with all income derived therefrom during this past year."

So consumed with fury was Royce over the thought of wedding that scheming, deceitful red-haired witch, he scarcely heard the rest of what Henry was saying.

"However," said the royal voice, gentling somewhat, now that its owner could see that the earl of Claymore was apparently not going to voice foolish-and intolerable-objections. "In order that the estate of Grand Oak will not be entirely lost to you, I shall grant it to your bride as a wedding gift." Ever mindful of the need to continue fattening his coffers, the king added politely, "You shall, however, forfeit the income derived from it for the full year past."

With his hand he gestured toward the rolled parchment resting on the table at the foot of the dais beside his discarded wine goblet. "That parchment will leave here within an hour in the hands of James's emissaries, who will deliver it directly to him. It sets forth all I've told you-everything that James and I have already agreed upon-and I've set my hand and seal to it. As soon as he receives it, James will send his emissaries to Merrick, who will then inform the earl of the marriage that is to take place at once between his daughter and you at Merrick keep, a fortnight hence."

Having said all that, King Henry paused, waiting for polite words of acceptance and a promise of obedience from his subject.

His subject, however, spoke in the same infuriated hiss he'd spoken in before. "Is that all, Sire?"

Henry's brows snapped together, his tolerance at an end. "I'll have your word to obey. Make your choice," he growled. "The gallows, Claymore, or else your word to marry the Merrick woman with all haste."

"With all haste," Royce bit out between his teeth.

"Excellent!" Henry decreed, slapping his knee, his good will completely restored now that all was settled. "To tell you truly, my friend, I thought for a moment you actually meant to choose death over a wedding."

"I've little doubt I'll oft regret I didn't," Royce snapped.

Henry chuckled and motioned with a beringed finger to his discarded wine goblet. "We shall drink a toast to your marriage, Claymore. I can see," he continued a minute later, watching Royce toss down a fresh goblet of wine in an obvious attempt to calm his ire, "that you regard this forced marriage as poor reward for your years of faithful service, yet I have never forgotten that you fought beside me long before there was much hope for gain."

"What I hoped to gain was peace for England, Sire," Royce said bitterly. "Peace and a strong king with better ideas for keeping that peace than the old methods, with battle axe and battering ram. I did not know at the time, however," Royce added with poorly concealed sarcasm, "that one of your methods would be to wed the hostile parties to each other. If I had," he finished acidly, "I might well have thrown my lot in with Richard instead."

That outrageous piece of treason made Henry throw back his head and roar with laughter. "My friend, you've always known I deem marriage an excellent compromise. Did we not sit up late one night by a campfire at Bosworth Field, just the two of us? If you think back on the occasion, you'll recollect I told you then I'd offer my own sister to James if I thought 'twould bring peace."

"You don't have a sister," Royce pointed out shortly.

"Nay, but I have you instead," he quietly replied. It was the highest of royal compliments, and even Royce was not proof against it. With an irritated sigh, he put his chalice down and absently raked his right hand through the side of his hair.

"Truces and tournaments-that's the way to peace," Henry added, well pleased with himself. "Truces for restraint and tournaments to work off hostilities. I've invited James to send anyone he likes to the tournament near Claymore later in the fall. We'll let the clans fight us on the field of honor-harmless. Quite enjoyable, actually," he announced, reversing his earlier opinion on the subject. "Naturally, you needn't participate."

When Henry fell silent, Royce said, "Have you more to say to me, Sire, or may I beg your leave to retire?"

"Certainly," Henry replied good-naturedly. "Come to see me in the morn, and we'll talk more. Don't be too hard on your brother-he volunteered to marry the sister in order to spare you. Seemed not at all reluctant to do it, in fact. Unfortunately, that won't do. Oh, and Claymore, you needn't worry about telling Lady Hammel of your broken betrothal. I've done that already. Poor lovely thing-she was quite overset. I've sent her off to the country in hopes the change of scene will help restore her spirits."

The knowledge that Henry had proceeded with the betrothal, and that Mary had undoubtedly been subjected to tremendous humiliation as a result of Royce's notorious behavior with Jennifer, was the last piece of ill news he could tolerate in one night. With a brief bow, he turned on his heel and the footmen opened the doors. A few steps away, however, Henry called his name.

Wondering what impossible demand he was about to make now, Royce reluctantly turned to face him.

"Your future bride is a countess," Henry said, an odd smile lingering at his lips. "It is a title inherited by her through her mother-a title far older than your own, by the by. Did you know that?"

"If she were queen of Scotland," Royce replied bluntly, "I wouldn't want her. Therefore, her present title is scarcely an inducement."

"I quite agree. In fact, I regard it as a likely hindrance to marital harmony." When Royce merely looked at him, Henry explained with a widening smile, "Inasmuch as the young countess has already duped my most fierce and brilliant warrior, I think 'twould be a tactical mistake to have her outrank him as well. Therefore, Royce Westmoreland, I hereby confer upon you the title of duke…"

When Royce emerged from the throne room, the antechamber was filled with staring nobles, all of them visibly eager to have a look at him and thus assess how his interview with the king had gone. The answer came from a footman who rushed out of the throne room and loudly said, "Your grace?"

Royce turned to hear that King Henry bade him convey his personal regards to his future wife, but the nobles in the antechamber heard only two things: "your grace," which meant that Royce Westmoreland was now a duke, the holder of the most exalted title in the land, and that he was evidently about to be married. It was, Royce realized grimly, Henry's way of announcing both events to those in the antechamber.

Lady Amelia Wildale and her husband were the first to recover from the shock. "So," said Lord Wildale, bowing to Royce, " 'twould appear congratulations are in order."

"I disagree," Royce snapped.

"Who is the lucky lady?" Lord Avery called good-naturedly. "Obviously, it is not Lady Hammel."

Royce stiffened and slowly turned while tension and expectation crackled in the air, but before he could reply, Henry's voice boomed from the doorway: "Lady Jennifer Merrick."

The stunned silence that followed was broken first by a loud laugh that was abruptly stifled, and then giggles, and then a deafening babble of denials and amazed exclamations.

"Jennifer Merrick?" Lady Elizabeth repeated, looking at Royce, her sultry eyes silently reminding Royce of the intimacies they had once shared. "Not the beautiful one? The plain one then?"

His mind bent only on getting out of there, Royce nodded distantly and started to turn.

"She's quite old, isn't she?" Lady Elizabeth persisted.

"Not too old to snatch up her skirts and run away from the Black Wolf," Graverley put in smoothly, strolling out from the midst of the crowd. "No doubt you'll have to beat her into submission, won't you? A little torture, a little pain, and then mayhaps she'll stay in your bed?"

Royce's hands clenched against the urge to strangle the bastard.

Someone laughed to diffuse the tension and joked, "It's England against Scotland, Claymore, except the battles will take place in the bedchamber. My purse is on you."

"Mine, too," someone else called.

"Mine is on the woman," Graverley proclaimed.

Further back in the crowd an elderly gentleman cupped his hand to his ear and called to a friend who was closer to the duke, "Eh? What's all this about? What's happened to Claymore?"

"He has to marry the Merrick slut," his friend replied, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing hubbub.

"What did he say?" called a lady far back in the crowd, craning her neck.

"Claymore has to marry the Merrick slut!" the elderly gentleman obligingly called out.

In the uproar that followed, only two nobles in the antechamber remained still and silent-Lord MacLeash and Lord Dugal, the emissaries from King James, who were waiting for the signed marriage agreement which they were to take to Scotland tonight.

Within two hours, word had passed from noble to servant to guards outside, and then to passersby: "Claymore has to marry the Merrick slut."