A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Eighteen

All the next day, Jenny endured her husband's stony silence, while her mind whirled with questions that only he could answer, until in sheer desperation she finally broke down just before noon and spoke herself: "How long will this interminable journey to Claymore last, assuming that is our destination?"

"About three days, depending on how muddy the roads are."

Ten words. That was all he'd said in days! No wonder he and Arik were so congenial Jenny thought furiously, vowing not to give him the satisfaction of speaking to him again. She concentrated on Brenna, instead, wondering how she was faring at Merrick.

Two days later, Jennifer broke down again. She knew they must be nearing Claymore and her fears of what awaited her there were escalating by the minute. The horses were three abreast, moving down a country lane at a walk, with Arik riding in the middle and slightly ahead. She considered talking to Friar Gregory, but his head was bowed slightly forward, suggesting he might be at prayer, which is how he'd spent most of their journey. Desperate to talk about anything to take her mind off the future, she glanced over her shoulder at the man behind her. "What happened to all your men-the ones who were with us until we reached the priory?" she asked.

She waited for some answer, but he remained coldly silent. Pushed past the boundary of reason and caution by his cruel refusal even to speak to her, Jenny shot him a mutinous look. "Was that question too difficult for you, your grace?"

Her jeering tone pricked the cold wall of reserve Royce had carefully erected around himself to guard against the inevitable result of having her body pressed intimately against his for three endless days. Slanting her a heavy-lidded look, he considered the foolhardiness of opening up any sort of conversation with her and decided against it.

When he couldn't even be angered into speaking to her, Jenny suddenly saw a rare opportunity to enjoy herself at his expense. With childlike delight and well-concealed animosity, she promptly launched into mocking conversation without his participation. "Yes, I can see the question about your men has baffled you, your grace," she began. "Very well, let me find a way to make it simpler."

Royce realized she was deliberately mocking him, but his momentary irritation soon gave way to reluctant amusement as she continued her charming, reckless, one-way conversation with him:" 'Tis obvious to me," she remarked, giving him a look of false sympathy beneath her long, curly lashes, "that 'tis not lack of intelligence which causes you to stare at me so blankly when I question you about your men, but rather that your memory is failing! Alas," she sighed, looking momentarily crestfallen on his behalf, "I fear your advanced years are already taking their toll on your mind. But fear not," she told him brightly, sending him an encouraging look over her shoulder, "I shall keep my questions very, very simple, and I shall try to help you recall where you've put your misplaced men. Now then, when we arrived at the priory-you do recall the priory do you not?" she prompted, looking at him. "The priory? You know-the big stone building where we first met Friar Gregory?" she prompted again.

Royce said nothing; he glanced at Arik, who was staring straight ahead, impervious to everything, and then at the friar, whose shoulders were beginning to shake suspiciously as Jenny continued with sad gravity: "You poor, poor man-you've forgotten who Friar Gregory is, haven't you?" Lifting her arm, she glanced brightly over her shoulder at Royce, pointing her long, tapered finger at the friar. "There he is!" she declared eagerly. "That man, right there, is Friar Gregory! Do you see him? Of course you do!" she answered, deliberately treating him like a backward child. "Now then, concentrate very, very hard, because the next question is more difficult: Do you remember the men who were with you when we arrived at the priory where Friar Gregory was?" Helpfully, she added, "There were about forty of them. Forty," she emphasized with extreme courtesy, and to Royce's disbelief, she actually held up her small hand before his eyes, splayed out five fingers, and politely explained, "Forty is this many-"

Royce tore his gaze from her hand, swallowing back his laughter.

"And this many more," she daringly continued, holding up her other hand. "And this many more," she repeated thrice more, holding up ten fingers each time. Now!" she finished triumphantly, "can you remember where you left them?"

Silence.

"Or where you sent them?"

Silence.

"Oh dear, you're worse off than I thought," she sighed. "You've lost them completely, haven't you? Oh well," she said, turning away from him in frustration at his continued silence, as her momentary delight at mocking him was demolished by a burst of anger. "Don't worry overmuch! I'm certain you'll find other men to help you steal innocents from abbeys and slaughter children, and-"

Royce's arm tightened suddenly, jerking her back against his chest, and his warm breath in her ear sent unwanted tingles up and down Jenny's spine as he bent his head and said softly, "Jennifer, you merely try my patience with your mindless chatter, but you test my temper with your jibes, and that is a mistake." The horse beneath them responded instantly to the slackened pressure from his master's knees and instantly slowed his pace, letting the other horses move ahead.

But Jenny didn't notice; she was so deliriously relieved by the sound of a human voice, and conversely furious that he'd denied her even that for so long, that she could hardly contain her ire. "Good heavens, your grace, I shouldn't wish to rile your temper!" she said with deliberately exaggerated alarm. "Were I to do that, I might suffer a horrible fate at your hands. Let me think, now-what dire things could you do to me? I know! You might compromise my reputation. No," she continued as if considering the matter impartially, "you couldn't do that because you compromised it beyond recall when you forced me to stay with you at Hardin without my sister there. I have it!" she cried, inspired. "You might force me to lie with you! And then, you could arrange it so that everyone in two countries knows that I shared your bed! But no, you've already done those things-"

Each barbed word she spoke pricked Royce's conscience, making him feel like the barbarian he was oft called, and still she continued hammering at him with her words:

"I have it at last! Having done all that to me, there's only one thing left to do."

Unable to stop himself, Royce said with feigned unconcern, "And that is?"

"You could marry me!" she exclaimed in pretended triumphant delight, but what had begun as a jibe directed at him, now seemed to Jenny like a painful joke on her, and her voice shook with bitterness and pain, despite her valiant effort to speak in the same bright, satirical vein as she continued: "You could marry me, and in so doing, take me away from my home and country and bind me to a life of public humiliation and scorn at your hands. Yes, that's it! It's exactly what I deserve, is it not, my lord, for committing the unspeakable crime of walking up a hill near an abbey and putting myself in the way of your marauding brother!" With sham disdain she said, "Why-considering the enormity of my crime-having me drawn and quartered is much too kind! It would end my shame and misery prematurely. It would-"

She gasped as Royce's hand suddenly swept up from her waist and gently cupped the side of her breast in a caressing gesture which shocked her into speechlessness. And before she could recover, he put his cheek against her temple, and spoke in her ear, his gruff whisper strangely gentle. "Cease, Jennifer. That's enough." His other arm went around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. Clasped against his body with his hand caressing her breast, surrounded by his reassuring strength, Jenny succumbed helplessly to the unexpected comfort he was offering her now, when she faced the terrors of an unknown, and unkind, future.

Numbly, she relaxed against him, and the moment she did, his arm tightened, drawing her nearer, while the hand that had been caressing her breast slid forward to softly cup the other one. His unshaven jaw rubbed lightly against her temple as he turned his head and touched his warm lips to her cheek, his hand sliding slowly, endlessly over her breasts and midriff, soothing and caressing, while the hand that curved around her waist clasped her tightly between his muscular thighs. Faced with a future that held nothing but misery and fright, Jenny closed her eyes, trying to hold her fears at bay, and gave in to the fleeting sweetness of the moment, to the poignant sensation of feeling safe again, of being surrounded by his body, protected by his strength.

Telling himself that he was doing no more than comforting and distracting a frightened child from her woes, Royce brushed the heavy hair from her nape and kissed her, then he trailed his lips lightly up her neck to her ear, nuzzling her there before he brushed his mouth against the creamy skin of her cheek. Without realizing what he was doing, his hand slid upward, over her breast to the warm flesh above her bodice, then it delved down to cup the sweet breast beneath. And that was his mistake-whether from protest or surprise, Jennifer squirmed against him, and the sliding pressure of her buttocks against his loins ignited the very desire he'd been fighting to control for three long days… three endless days of having her hips between his thighs and her breasts tantalizingly exposed to his view, within reach of his hand. Now those three days of suppressed desire erupted, raging through his veins like wildfire, nearly obliterating his reason.

With an effort of will that was almost painful, Royce dragged his hand away and lifted his lips from her cheek. But the moment he did, his hand, which seemed to have developed a will of its own, lifted to her face. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turned her face and tipped it up to his, gazing down into the bluest eyes on earth-a child's eyes filled with confusion and bewilderment, while the gist of her words revolved around and around in his brain, stabbing at a conscience that would no longer keep silent. I put myself in the way of your marauding brother by walking up a hill… and for that crime I deserve my fate… You compromised my reputation. You forced me to lie with you and then you humiliated me in the eyes of two countries. But I deserve to be drawn and quartered-Why? Because I put myself in the way of your marauding brother… All because of that… only that

Without thinking what he was doing, Royce tenderly laid his fingers against her smooth cheek, knowing he was going to kiss her, no longer certain he'd had any right to berate her. All because I put myself in the way of your marauding brother…

A plump quail ran out of the woods, dashing across the road in front of the horse. Beside the road, the bushes parted and a boy's round, freckled face peered out, his eyes slowly scanning the brush on his right for the quail he'd been illegally stalking through Claymore's woods. Puzzled, his gaze retraced the same path, moving slowly to the left now… along the road… directly in front of him… then a few feet further. His brown eyes riveted in alarm on the powerful legs of a great black warhorse just to his left. His heart thumping with fear that he'd been caught poaching, Tom Thornton reluctantly followed the legs of the stallion upward, past its wide, satiny chest, praying hard that when he looked at the rider's face he'd not be staring into the cold eyes of the castle bailiff-but no-this rider wore golden spurs, which signified his knighthood. With relief, Tom also noted the man's leg was very long and very muscular-not fat like the bailiff's leg. Tom heaved a sigh of relief, glanced up and almost screamed in terror as his eyes riveted on the shield hanging beside the knight's leg-a shield emblazoned with the dreaded symbol of a snarling black wolf with white fangs bared.

Tom turned to flee, took a step, then checked the motion, and cautiously turned back. 'Twas said the Black Wolf's knights were coming to Claymore, and the Wolf himself was going to reside in the great castle there, he remembered suddenly. And if so, the knight on the horse could possibly be… might actually be…

With hands that shook from a combination of terror and excitement, Tom reached for the bush and hesitated, trying to recall every description he'd heard of the Wolf. Legend had it that he rode a huge stallion as black as sin, and that he was so tall men had to lean back to see his face-the warhorse in the road was definitely black, and the man who rode him had the long, powerful legs of a very tall man. It was also said, Tom remembered excitedly, that on his face, near his mouth, the Wolf bore a scar in the shape of a C-put there by a wolf he killed with his bare hands when he was but a boy of eight and the animal attacked him.

Excited at the thought of the envy he'd enjoy were he to be the first to actually set eyes on the Wolf, Tom parted the leaves and peered out and stared straight at the man's dark face. There, beneath the stubble, near the corner of his mouth-there was… a scar! In the shape of a C! His heart hammering wildly, he stared at the scar, then he remembered something else and tore his gaze from the Wolf's face. Glancing eagerly up and down the road, he searched expectantly for the fair-haired giant called Arik-the giant who was said to guard his master day and night, and who carried an axe with a handle thick as a tree trunk.

Failing to catch sight of the giant, Tom quickly turned his gaze back for a longer study of the entire, famous man, and this time he took in the entire picture before him-a picture that made his mouth drop open in shock and disbelief: The Black Wolf, the most fierce warrior in all England-in the world-was sitting atop his mighty warhorse, with a girl cradled in his arms-holding her as tenderly as a babe!

Lost in his own reflections, Royce paid no heed to the slight sounds beside him as the branches of a bush snapped together and something raced off in the direction of the village. He was gazing at the stubborn, rebellious child-woman who was now his wife. She was other things, too, like scheming and dishonest, but at the moment he didn't want to think about all that. Not when his mind was more pleasurably occupied with the kiss he was about to give her. Her eyes were nearly closed, her long curly lashes lying like russet fans, casting shadows on her creamy cheeks. His gaze dropped to her lips, soft and rosy, lips that beckoned to a man to kiss them. Generous, inviting lips.

Drowsy and relaxed as she lay against his chest, Jenny scarcely felt his hand tighten on her chin.

"Jennifer-"

Her eyes opened at the odd, husky note in his voice, and she found herself gazing into smoldering gray eyes, his finely chiseled lips poised just above her own. It hit her then what she'd let happen, and what was going to happen if she didn't stop it. She shook her head, trying to dig her elbow into his ribs and push away, but his arm held her fast. "No!" she burst out.

His hypnotic gray eyes held hers imprisoned as his lips formed a single, irrefutable command: "Yes."

A moan of angry protest lodged in her throat, stifled by a hard, possessive kiss that seemed to go on forever and only became more insistent the longer she resisted. His parted lips moved on hers, demanding that they part, and the moment they did, his tongue slipped between them and the kiss gentled. He kissed her long and lingeringly, forcing her to remember how it had been between them at Hardin, and Jenny's traitorous mind did exactly that. With an inner groan of surrender, she yielded and kissed him back, telling herself one kiss meant very little, but when it was over she was shaking.

Lifting his head, Royce stared down into her slumberous blue eyes, and Jenny saw the look of pure satisfaction mingled with puzzlement on his face-"Why is it when you yield, I feel like the one who has been conquered?"

Jenny flinched and turned her back on him, her slim shoulders rigid. " 'Twas no more than a minor skirmish I yielded, your grace; the war has yet to be fought."

The road to Claymore wound in a wide arc around the woods, a route that took them far out of their way but eliminated the need to force their way through the dense forest. Had he been alone, Royce would have taken the shorter route, for now that they were so close, he was anxious for a glimpse of it. Suddenly he wanted Jennifer to share in his eagerness. For want of anything better to say to reduce the friction between them, Royce answered the question she'd asked him before, about the whereabouts of the men who'd been with them at the priory. With a smile in his voice, he said, "In case you're still curious, the fifty men who were with us at the priory left there in groups of five. Each group then took a slightly different route so that pursuers from Merrick would have to split up into smaller groups in order to give chase." Teasingly he added, "Would you like to know the rest of what they did?"

Jenny gave her red-gold hair a disdainful toss. "I know the rest. After choosing an advantageous spot for an ambush, your men then hid themselves beneath bushes and rocks like serpents, waiting to strike my father's people from their backs."

He chuckled at her outrageous slur on his code of ethics. "A pity I didn't think of that," he teased.

Although Jennifer did not deign to reply, the stiffness went out of her shoulders, and Royce could sense her curiosity to know more. Willing now to satisfy that curiosity, he continued his explanation as they rounded the last bend in the road. "Until a few hours ago, my men were about ten miles behind us, fanned out across five miles in each direction. In the last few hours, they've been moving closer, and very soon they'll close ranks and move in directly behind us." Good-naturedly, he added, "They've been back there, waiting to be stabbed in the back by your father's men."

"Which," she pointedly replied, "would not be necessary had I not been taken from the abbey in the first place and brought to you-"

"Cease!" he said, irritated at her continued hostility. "You were not ill treated, all things considered."

"Not ill treated!" she burst out in disbelief. "Do you deem it a kindness, then, to force yourself upon a helpless maiden, destroy her honor along with her chances to wed a man of her choice?"

Royce opened his mouth to answer her, then closed it again, frustrated because he could no longer defend, nor completely condemn, his actions. From Jennifer's irate viewpoint, he had acted dishonorably in holding her captive. From his own point of view, his treatment of his captive had been downright chivalrous!

A moment later, they cantered round the last bend and all such unpleasant thoughts vanished from Royce's mind. His hand tightened reflexively on the reins, inadvertently jerking Zeus to an unnecessarily sharp halt that nearly pitched Jenny out of the saddle.

Recovering her balance, Jenny threw a dark look over her shoulder, but Royce was staring straight ahead at something in the distance, a faint smile playing about his lips. In an odd voice, he tipped his head in the direction he was staring and said softly, "Look."

Puzzled, she turned to see what he was gazing at, and her eyes widened with pleasure at the incredible beauty spread out before her. Directly in front of them, decked out in golden autumn splendor, lay a wide valley dotted with thatched cottages and neatly tended fields. Ahead, nestled into gently rolling hills, was a picturesque village. And higher yet, completely covering a wide plateau, stood a gigantic castle, with flags flying from its soaring turrets and stained-glass windows glinting like tiny jewels in the sun.

As the horse continued forward at a brisk walk, Jenny temporarily forgot her problems and admired the splendor and symmetry before her eyes. A high wall punctuated with twelve gracefully rounded towers completely enclosed the castle on all four sides.

As Jenny watched, the guards along the castle wall raised trumpets and blew a long, double blast, and a minute later, the drawbridge was let down. Soon liveried riders were clattering across it, their helmets shining in the sun, the pennants they carried undulating like small excited dots. Up ahead, along the road, Jenny saw peasants running from the fields and huts and pouring down from the village, hastening toward the road and lining up on both sides of it. Evidently, Jenny thought, the lofty personage who owned the place must be expecting them and had planned this lavish welcome.

"Well," Royce said behind her, "what do you think?"

Her eyes were alight with pleasure as she turned to look at him. " 'Tis a wondrous place," she said softly. "I've naught seen the equal to it."

"How does it compare to your dream kingdom?" he teased, grinning, and she could tell he was inordinately pleased that she appreciated the splendor of the castle and the beauty of its setting.

His smile was almost irresistible, and Jenny hastily turned her head toward the castle, lest she start to weaken, but she was no test against the beauty spread out before her. Suddenly she became aware of the distant thunder of horses coming up from the rear, which she assumed must be Royce's men closing the gap that separated them from him. For the first time in days, Jenny felt acutely dismayed over her appearance. She was still wearing her wedding gown, which she'd worn the night Royce took her from Merrick, but it was soiled and torn from her unwilling descent down Merrick's wall and their breakneck rides through forests. Moreover, the rain had ruined the gown and her mantle, and the sun had dried it into a faded, splotchy, crushed mess.

Now they were obviously about to stop at the castle of someone of great importance, and although she told herself she didn't care a snap of her fingers what an English nobleman or his villeins and serfs thought of her, she hated the thought of disgracing herself, ergo her kinsmen, before them. She tried to console herself with the fact that she'd at least had an opportunity to wash her hair this morning in the icy creek that ran near the place where they'd camped for the night, but she was morbidly certain her hair, which was her only real asset, was a mass of tangles strewn with twigs and leaves.

Turning, she glanced a little apprehensively at Royce and asked, "Who is lord here? Who owns such a place as this?"

His gaze shifted from the castle on the hill, which seemed to fascinate him almost as much as it did Jennifer, and he looked down at her, his eyes glinting with mocking amusement. "I do."

"You do!" she exclaimed, "But you said 'twould be three days, not two, before we reached Claymore."

"The roads were drier than I expected."

Horrified that his vassals were going to have their first glimpse of her when she looked such a fright, Jenny's hand flew automatically to her tangled hair in the gesture that universally signified a woman's worry over her appearance.

The gesture was not lost on Royce, who politely halted the big destrier so that Jennifer could try to comb the tangles from her hair with her fingers. He watched her, amused by her concern over her appearance, for she looked adorable with her hair tousled and her creamy skin and vivid blue eyes glowing with health from her days in the sun and fresh air. In fact, he decided, his first official act as her husband was going to be to forbid her to hide that magnificent mass of golden red hair beneath the usual veils and hoods. He liked it down, falling about her shoulders in wild abandon, or better yet, spread across his pillow like thick, waving satin…

"You might have warned me!" Jenny said darkly, wriggling in the saddle and trying ineffectually to smooth the wrinkles from her ruined velvet gown, while she glanced anxiously toward the people lining the road up ahead. The liveried retainers riding toward them in the distance were obviously an honor guard coming to escort their lord home with appropriate fanfare. "I never imagined this was your demesne," she said nervously. "You've been looking at it as if you've not set eyes on it before."

"I haven't. At least not when it looked like this. Eight years ago, I commissioned architects to come here, and together we drew plans for the home I wanted when I was finished with battles. I kept meaning to come back here to see it, but Henry always had urgent need of me somewhere else. In a way, it's been for the best. I have amassed a large enough fortune now to ensure that my sons will never have to earn their gold with their own muscle and blood, as I have done."

Jenny stared at him in confusion. "Did you say you're done with battles?"

His eyes flicked to her face and he said with amused irony, "Had I attacked Merrick 'twould have been my last battle. As it is, I breached my last castle wall when I took you from there."

Jenny was so dazed by these startling revelations that she actually entertained the absurd thought that he might somehow have made this decision on her account, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, "When did you decide all this?"

"Four months ago," he stated, his voice harsh with resolve. "If I ever raise my arm in battle again, 'twill be because someone is laying siege to what is mine." He was silent after that, staring straight ahead, and then the tense muscles of his face slowly relaxed. When he finally pulled his gaze from the castle, he looked down at her with a wry smile and said, "Do you know what I'm looking forward to most in my new life-next to a soft bed to sleep in at night?"

"No," Jenny said, studying his chiseled profile, feeling as if she scarcely knew him at all. "What are you most looking forward to?"

"Food," he stated unequivocally, his spirits restored. "Good food. No-not just good, but excellent, and served three times a day. Delicate French food and spicy Spanish food and wholesome English food. I want it served on a plate, cooked to perfection-instead of hanging off a spit, raw or else charred. And then I want desserts-pastries and tarts and every kind of sweets." He shot her a look filled with amused self-mockery as he continued, "On the night before a battle begins, most men think of their homes and families. Do you know what I used to lie awake thinking of?"

"No," Jenny said, fighting back a smile.

"Food."

She lost the battle to remain aloof and burst out laughing at this incredible admission from the man the Scots called the son of Satan, but although Royce spared her a brief, answering smile, his attention had reverted to the view in the distance, his gaze roving over the land and its castle as if he was drinking in the sight of it. "The last time I was here," he explained " 'twas eight years ago, when I worked with the architects. The castle had been under siege for six months, and the outer walls were in ruins. Part of the castle itself had been destroyed, and all these hills had been burned."

"Who laid siege to it?" Jenny asked suspiciously.

"I did."

A sarcastic reply sprang to her lips, but she was suddenly loath to spoil their pleasant mood. Instead, she said lightly, " 'Tis little wonder the Scots and English must always be at odds, for there's naught in common in the way we think."

"Really," he said, grinning at her upturned face. "Why so?"

"Well, you will agree," she replied with polite superiority, " 'tis a very queer custom the English have of razing your own castles-as you've done for centuries-when you could be fighting with Scot-with other enemies," she corrected hastily "and razing their castles."

"What an intriguing idea," he teased. "However, we do try to do both." While she chuckled at his answer, he continued, "However, if my knowledge of Scottish history serves me, it seems the clans have been battling with each other for centuries, and still managing to cross our borders and raid and burn, and generally 'annoy' us."

Deciding it was best to drop the subject, she glanced back at the enormous castle shining in the sun and asked curiously, "Is that why you laid siege to this place-because you wanted it for yourself?"

"I attacked it because the baron to whom it belonged had conspired with several other barons in a plot to have Henry murdered-a plot which nearly succeeded. This place was called Wilsely then-after the family to whom it belonged, but Henry gave it to me with the stipulation that I rename it."

"Why?"

Royce's glance was wry. "Because Henry was the one who raised Wilsely to baron and rewarded him with the place. Wilsely had been one of his few trusted nobles. I named it Claymore in honor of my mother's family and my father's," Royce added, as he spurred his horse, sending Zeus forward in a flashy trot.

The riders from the castle had wended down the hill and were bearing down on them from the front. Behind her the low, constant rumble that had been moving ever closer and louder became the distinct sound of galloping horses. Jenny glanced over her shoulder and saw all fifty men closing in on them from behind. "Do you always plan things with such precise timing?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with reluctant admiration.

His heavy-lidded glance was amused. "Always."

"Why?"

"Because," he explained obligingly, "timing is the key to leaving a battle on your horse, instead of stretched out on your shield."

"But you aren't fighting battles any more, so you don't need to think about timing and such."

His lazy smile was almost boyish. "True, but 'tis a habit, and one that will not be easy to break. The men behind us have fought beside me for years. They know how I think and what I want done almost without my saying it."

There was no more time to reply, for the castle guard was almost on top of them, with Arik in the lead. Just when Jenny was wondering if the guards meant to stop, all twenty-five of them suddenly executed a whirling turn with such precision that she felt like clapping. Arik moved into position directly in front of Royce, while, behind them, fifty knights formed into precise columns.

Jenny felt her spirits lift at the colorful procession of prancing horses and fluttering flags, and despite her determination not to care what his people thought of her when they saw her, she was suddenly filled with violent nervousness and uncontrollable hope. Whatever her feelings for her husband, these were going to be her people, she was going to live all her life among them, and the awful truth was that she couldn't help wanting them to like her. That realization was instantly followed by a fresh surge of terrible self-consciousness over her messy appearance and general physical shortcomings. Biting her lip, Jenny said a swift, impassioned prayer that God would make them like her, then she hastily considered how she ought best to comport herself in the next few minutes. Should she smile at the villagers? No, she thought hastily, it might not be appropriate under the circumstances. But neither did she want to appear too aloof, for then they might mistake her for being cold or haughty. She was a Scot, after all, and Scots were regarded by many as cold, proud people. And although she was proud to be a Scot, under no circumstances did she want these people-her people-to mistakenly think she was unapproachable.

They were within a few yards of the four hundred or so villagers lining the road, and Jenny decided it was better to smile just a little than to be mistaken for being cold or too proud. Fixing a small smile upon her mouth, she self-consciously smoothed her gown one last time, then she sat up very straight.

As their entourage began making its decorous way past the spectators, however, Jenny's inner excitement gave way to bafflement. In Scotland, when a lord, victorious or otherwise, returned home from battle, he was met with cheers and smiles, yet the peasants along this road were silent, watchful, uneasy. A few of their faces showed downright belligerence, while a great many more looked frightened as they beheld their new lord. Jenny saw it, felt it, and wondered why they would fear their own hero. Or was it her they somehow feared, she wondered nervously.

The answer came a scant second later, when a loud, belligerent male voice finally broke the taut silence: "Merrick slut!" he shouted. In an eager frenzy to demonstrate to their notorious master that they shared the duke's well-known feelings about this marriage, the crowd picked up the chant: "Merrick slut!" they shouted, jeering, "Slut! Merrick slut!" Everything happened so suddenly there was no time for Jenny to react, to feel anything, because directly beside them, a boy of about nine rashly snatched up a clump of dirt and threw it, striking Jenny squarely on her right cheek.

Jenny's cry of startled fright was muffled by Royce, who instantly threw himself forward, shielding her with his body from an attack he hadn't seen and hadn't anticipated. Arik, who had only glimpsed a raised arm throwing something that could as easily have been a dagger, let out a blood-chilling bellow of rage and hurtled out of his saddle, whipping his war axe out of his belt as he launched himself at the boy. In the mistaken belief that Royce had been the boy's target, Arik grabbed him by his thick hair, lifted him several feet off the ground, and while the screaming boy's legs were flailing wildly in the air, the giant raised his axe in a wide arc…

Jenny reacted without thinking. With a strength born of terror she reared back wildly, dislodging Royce, and drowning out whatever command he was about to give with one of her own: "No!-No, don't!" she screamed wildly, "DON'T!"

Arik's axe froze at the top of its arc, and the giant looked over his shoulder, not to Jennifer, but to Royce for a judgment. So did Jenny, who took one look at the cold rage on Royce's profile and instantly knew what he was about to tell Arik to do. "No!" she screamed hysterically, clutching Royce's arm. His head jerked to her and, if anything, he looked even more murderous than the moment before. Jenny saw the muscle jerking in his taut jaw, and in mindless terror she cried, "Would you murder a child for aping your own words-for trying to show you he supports you in everything, including your feelings about me! For the love of God, he's naught but a child! A foolish child-" Her voice broke as Royce coldly turned from her to Arik to issue his command: "Have him brought to me on the morrow," he snapped, then he dug his spurs into the black horse, sending him bolting forward; as if by some silent signal, the knights behind them shot forward, forming into a moving curtain on both sides of Royce and Jennifer.

No more shouts came from the crowd; in complete, utter stillness they watched the caravan gallop past. Even so, Jenny didn't draw an easy breath until they were clear of all of the villagers, and then she went limp. Drained. Slumping against Royce's unnaturally rigid body, she let the whole scene replay in her mind. In retrospect, it occurred to her that his rage at the child had been on her behalf, and that he acceded to her wishes by giving the boy a reprieve. Turning in the saddle she looked at him. When he continued staring straight ahead, she said hesitantly, "My lord, I would like to-to thank you for sparing-"

His gaze snapped to her face, and Jenny recoiled in shock from the scorching fury in his gray eyes. "If you ever," he warned savagely, "defy me in public again or dare to address me in that tone, I won't be responsible for the consequences, I swear to God!"

Before Royce's eyes, her expressive face went from gratitude, to shock, to fury, and then she coldly turned her back on him.

Royce stared at the back of her head, furious because she actually believed he would let a child be decapitated for a misdeed that deserved a less harsh punishment-furious because, by her actions, Jenny had led all his serfs and villeins to believe the same thing. But most of all, Royce was furious with himself for failing to anticipate that such a scene as the one with the villagers might occur, and for not taking steps to avert it.

Whenever he planned a siege or went into battle, he always considered everything that could possibly go wrong, but when it came to today, to Claymore, he'd foolishly trusted everything to chance, assuming it would all come out all right.

On the other hand, Royce decided with an irritated sigh, in a battle his smallest order was anticipated and carried out without question or argument. In a battle, he did not have Jennifer to contend with-Jennifer, who argued or questioned him about everything.

Blind to the beauty of the place he'd been yearning to see for eight long years, Royce wondered grimly how it was possible that he could intimidate knights, nobles, squires, and battle-hardened soldiers into doing his bidding with a single glance, and yet he could not seem to force one young, stubborn, defiant Scottish girl to behave. She was so damned unpredictable that she made it impossible to anticipate her reaction to anything. She was impulsive, headstrong, and completely lacking in wifely respect. As they rode across the drawbridge, he glanced down at her stiff shoulders, belatedly realizing how humiliating the scene in the valley must have been to her. With a twinge of pity and reluctant admiration, he admitted that she was also very young, very frightened, very brave, and extremely compassionate. Any other woman of her rank might well have demanded the boy's head, rather than pleading for his life as Jennifer had done.

The castle's huge courtyard was filled with the people who lived or worked within its walls-a veritable army of stable grooms, laundresses, scullions, carpenters, farriers, archers, serfs, and footmen, in addition to the castle's guards. The higher-ranking members of the castle staff-bailiffs, clerks, butler, pantler, and a host of others-were lined up formally on the steps leading into the hall. Now, however, as he looked about him, Royce did not fail to observe the cold hostility being directed at Jennifer by nearly everyone, nor did he intend to leave their reaction to her to chance. So that every single person in the crowded bailey would have a clear view of Jennifer and himself, Royce turned to the captain of the guard and nodded curtly toward the stables. Not until the last knight had disappeared into the crowd, leading their horses to the stable, did Royce dismount. Turning, he reached up and caught Jennifer by the waist and lifted her down, noting as he did so that her pretty face was stiff, and she was carefully avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone. She didn't try to smooth her hair, or straighten her gown, and his heart squeezed with pity because she'd obviously decided it didn't matter how she looked any more.

Aware of the unpleasant murmuring rising from the crowd in the bailey, Royce took her arm and led her to the foot of the steps, but when Jennifer started to walk up them, he drew her firmly back, then he turned.

Jenny surfaced from the pit of shame she felt and shot him a desperate glance, but Royce didn't see it. He was standing without moving a muscle, his face hard and implacable as he gazed steadily at the restless crowd in the bailey. Even in her state of numb misery, Jenny suddenly felt as if there was a strange power emanating from him now, a force that seemed to communicate itself to all. As if a spell were being cast over them, the crowd grew silent and slowly straightened, their eyes riveted on him. Then and only then did Royce speak. His deep voice rang out in the unnatural stillness of the bailey, carrying with it the power and force of a thunderclap.

"Behold your new mistress, my wife," he pronounced, "and know that when she bids you, I have bidden you. What service you render her, you are rendering me. What loyalty you give or withhold from her, you give or withhold from me!"

His harsh gaze slashed across them for one breath-stopping, threatening moment, and then he turned to Jennifer and offered her his arm.

Unshed tears of poignant gratitude and awed wonder shimmered in Jenny's blue eyes as she looked up at him and slowly, almost reverently placed her hand upon his arm.

Behind them, the armorer clapped his hands slowly-twice. The smith joined in. Then a dozen more serfs. By the time Royce had guided her up the wide steps leading to the hall doors where Stefan and Friar Gregory were waiting, the entire bailey was thundering with steady clapping-not the sort of uninhibited, spontaneous salute that marks heartfelt enthusiasm, but rather the rhythmic response of the spellbound who are awed by a power too potent to resist.

Stefan Westmoreland was the first to speak after they entered the great, cavernous hall. Clasping Royce's shoulder with warm affection, he joked, "Would that I could do that to a crowd, dear brother."Meaningfully, he added, "Can you grant us a few moments? We have something that needs discussing."

Royce turned to Jenny, excusing himself for a minute, and she watched the two men walk over to the fire where Sir Godfrey, Sir Eustace, and Sir Lionel were standing. Evidently they'd all come ahead to Claymore along with Stefan Westmoreland, Jenny realized.

Her mind still dazed by Royce's incredible thoughtfulness in making that speech, Jenny pulled her gaze from his broad shoulders and looked about her with dawning awe. The hall in which she stood was immense, with a soaring, timbered roof and smooth stone floor swept clean of rushes. Above, a wide gallery, supported by richly carved stone arches, wrapped around on three sides, instead of only one. On the fourth wall was a hearth so large a man could easily stand in it, its chimney heavily embellished with scrollwork. Tapestries, depicting scenes of battles and hunts, hung upon the walls, and someone, she noted with horror, had actually placed two large tapestries on the floor near the hearth. At the far end of the hall, opposite where she stood, was a long table set upon a dais and cupboards displaying goblets, platters, and bowls of gleaming gold and silver, many of them encrusted with jewels. Although only a few torches were burning in wall holders, it was not nearly as dark and gloomy as the hall at Merrick. And the reason, Jenny noted with a gasp of admiration, was a huge round window of stained glass, set high in the wall beside the chimney.

Jenny's preoccupation with the stained glass window was abruptly cut off by a joyous semi-shriek from above:

"Jennifer!" Aunt Elinor cried, standing up on tiptoe in order to see over the shoulder-high wall that enclosed the gallery. "Jennifer! my poor, poor child!" she said, and disappeared from sight completely as she rushed along the gallery. Although Aunt Elinor could not be seen, the echo of her happy monologue could easily be heard as she headed for the steps leading down to the hall: "Jennifer, I'm so very glad to see you, poor child!"

Tipping her head back, scanning the gallery, Jenny started forward, following the sound of her aunt's voice as she continued: "I was so worried about you, child, I could scarcely eat or sleep. Not that I was in any condition to do either, for I've been bounced and jounced clear across England on the most uncomfortable horse I've ever had the misfortune to sit upon!"

Tilting her head and listening closely, Jenny slowly followed the voice toward the opposite end of the great hall, searching for the body that belonged to the sound.

"And the weather was perfectly abominable!" Aunt Elinor continued. "Just when I thought the rain would surely drown me, the sun came out and baked me alive! My head began to ache, my bones began to ache, and I surely would have caught my death, had Sir Stefan not finally agreed to let us stop for a short while so that I could gather curative herbs."

Aunt Elinor descended the last step and materialized before Jenny's eyes twenty-five yards away, walking toward her and still talking: "Which was a very good thing, for once I convinced him to swallow my secret tisane, which he was loathe to do at first, he did not get so much as a snuffle." She glanced toward Stefan Westmoreland, who was about to lift a tankard of ale to his lips, and interrupted him to insist on confirmation of her words: "You did not get so much as a tiny snuffle, did you, dear boy?"

Stefan lowered his tankard of ale. Obediently, he replied, "No, ma'am," bowed slightly, then he lifted his tankard of ale to his lips, carefully averting his eyes from Royce's mocking, sidewise glance. Arik stalked into the hall and went over to the fire, and Aunt Elinor gave him a reproving look as she continued to Jenny, who was walking toward her: "Altogether, it was not such a very bad journey. At least it wasn't when I was not forced to ride with that fellow, Arik, as I was forced to do when we first left Merrick…"

The knights by the fire turned to stare, and Jenny broke into an alarmed run, heading for her aunt in a futile effort to stop her from treading into such dangerous territory as the axe-wielding giant.

Opening her arms wide to Jennifer, her face wreathed in a beaming smile, Aunt Elinor continued: "Arik returned here a full twenty minutes before you arrived, and would not answer my anxious inquiries about you." Anticipating that she might not have time to finish her thought before Jennifer got to her, Aunt Elinor doubled the speed of her words: "Although I do not think 'tis meanness that makes him look so sour. I think he has trouble with his-"

Jenny flung her arms around her aunt, wrapping her in a tight hug, but Aunt Elinor managed to wriggle free enough to finish triumphantly, "bowel!"

The split-second of taut silence that followed that slander was exploded by a loud guffaw that suddenly erupted from Sir Godfrey and was abruptly choked off by an icy glance from Arik. To Jenny's horror, helpless laughter welled up inside of her, too, brought on partly by the incredible stress of the last day, and by the sounds of stifled mirth at the fireplace. "Oh, Aunt Elinor!" she giggled helplessly and buried her laughing face in her aunt's neck to hide it.

"Now, now, sweet little dove," Aunt Elinor soothed, but her attention was on the knights who'd laughed at her diagnosis. Over Jenny's shaking shoulders, she aimed a severe look at the fascinated audience of five knights and one lord. In her severest voice she informed them, "A bad bowel is not a laughing matter." Then she switched her focus to the glowering Arik and commiserated, "Just look at the sour expression on your face, poor man-an unmistakable sign that a purgative is called for. I shall fix one for you from my own secret recipe. In no time at all, you'll be smiling and cheerful again!"

Grabbing her aunt's hand, and scrupulously avoiding meeting the laughing gazes of the other knights, Jenny looked at her amused husband. "Your grace," she said, "my aunt and I have much to discuss, and I am wishful of a rest. If you would pardon us, we will retire to-to-" it occurred to her that the discussion of sleeping arrangements was not a subject she wanted to approach any sooner than absolutely necessary, and she hastily finished "-to-er-my aunt's chamber."

Her husband, with a tankard of ale arrested in his hand in exactly the same place it had been when Aunt Elinor had first said Arik's name, managed to keep his face straight and to gravely reply, "By all means, Jennifer."

"What a delightful idea, child," Aunt Elinor exclaimed at once. "You must be fatigued to death."

"However," Royce interjected, directing a calm, implacable look in Jennifer's direction, "have one of the maids upstairs show you to your chamber, which I'm certain you'll find more comfortable. There will be a celebration this evening, so ask her for whatever you need to prepare yourself when you awaken."

"Yes, well, er… thank you," she said lamely.

But as she guided her aunt toward the stairs at the far end of the hall, she was acutely aware of the stark silence from the fireplace, and equally certain they were all waiting to hear whatever outrageous thing Aunt Elinor might say next. Aunt Elinor did not disappoint them.

A few steps beyond the fireplace, she drew back in order to point out to Jennifer some of the merits of Jennifer's new home-several of which Jennifer had already noted. "Look up there, my dear," said Aunt Elinor with pleasure, pointing to the stained-glass window. "Isn't it delightful? Stained-glass windows! You won't believe the size of the gallery above, nor the comforts in the solar. And the candlesticks are gold. The beds are hung with silk, and nearly all the goblets have jewels in them! In fact," she declared in a thoughtful voice, "after seeing this place as I have done, I'm quite convinced pillaging and plundering must be a very profitable thing-" With that, Aunt Elinor turned back to the fireplace and politely inquired of the "pillager and plunderer" who owned the castle, "Would you say there is great profit to be had from pillaging and plundering, your grace, or am I mistaken?"

Through her haze of mortification, Jenny saw that her husband's tankard of ale was now frozen in midair a few inches from his lips. He lowered it very slowly, causing Jenny to fear he was about to have Aunt Elinor pitched over the castle wall. Instead he inclined his head politely and said, straight-faced, "A very great profit indeed, madame, I recommend it highly as a profession."

"How very nice to hear," Aunt Elinor exclaimed, "that you speak French!"

Jenny caught her aunt's arm in an unbreakable grip and began marching her toward the steps as Aunt Elinor continued brightly, "We must speak to Sir Albert at once about finding you some suitable gowns to wear. There are trunks of things belonging to the former owners. Sir Albert is the steward here, and he is not a well man. He has worms, I believe. I made him a nice tisane yesterday and insisted he drink it. He's dreadfully ill today, but he'll be fit tomorrow, you'll see. And you ought to have a nap at once, you look pale and exhausted…"

Four knights turned to Royce in unison, their faces wreathed in helpless grins. In a laughter-tinged voice, Stefan said, "God's teeth! She was not quite that bad on the way here. But then she could scarcely talk when she was clinging to a horse for dear life. She must've been storing up her words all those days."

Royce quirked a sardonic brow in the direction Aunt Elinor had disappeared. "She's crafty as an old fox if your hands are tied. Where's Albert Prisham?" he said, suddenly anxious to see his steward and to discover first hand how Claymore was prospering.

"He's ill," Stefan replied, settling down in a chair by the fire, "as Lady Elinor said. But 'tis his heart, I think, judging from the short time I spoke with him when we arrived yesterday. He's arranged for the celebration tonight, but begs your leave not to join you until the morrow. Don't you want to have a look around the place?"

Royce put his tankard of ale down and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll do it later. For now, I need some sleep."

"So do I," Sir Godfrey said, yawning and stretching at the same time. "First I want to sleep, and then I want to stuff myself with good food and drink. And then, I want a warm, willing wench in my arms for the rest of the night. In that order," he added grinning, and the other knights nodded in agreement.

When they were gone, Stefan relaxed in his chair, eyeing his brother with mild concern as Royce frowned distractedly into the contents of his tankard. "What is it that makes you look so grim, brother? If it's thoughts of that messy scene in the valley, put them aside and do not let them spoil the celebration tonight."

Royce glanced up at him. "I was wondering if 'uninvited guests' were going to arrive in the middle of it."

Stefan understood instantly that Royce was referring to the arrival of a contingent from Merrick. "The two emissaries from James and Henry will naturally come here. They'll demand to see proof of the marriage with their own eyes, which the good friar can provide. But I doubt her people will ride all this way when they can do naught once they get here."

"They'll come," Royce said flatly. "And they'll come in sufficient numbers to show they have might."

"So what if they do?" Stefan said with a reckless grin. "They can do naught but shout at us over the castle walls. You've fortified this place to withstand the worst assault that you could give it."

Royce's expression turned hard and implacable. "I'm done with battles! I told you that and I told Henry that. I'm sick of it, all of it-the blood, the stench, the sounds." Oblivious to the fascinated serf who had come up behind him to refill his tankard, Royce finished harshly, "I've no stomach for it any more."

"Then what do you intend to do if Merrick does come here?"

One sardonic brow lifted over mocking gray eyes. "I intend to invite him in to join the celebration."

Stefan saw he was serious and stood up very slowly. "And then what?" he demanded.

"And then we'll hope he sees the futility of trying to fight me when he is vastly outnumbered."

"And if he doesn't?" Stefan prodded. "Or if he insists on fighting you alone, which is more likely, what will you do then?"

"What would you have me do-" Royce snapped in angry frustration. "Slay my own father-in-law? Shall I invite his daughter to watch? Or shall I send her upstairs until we've mopped up his blood from the floor where her children will play someday?"

It was Stefan's turn to look angry and frustrated. "Then what are you going to do?"

"Sleep," Royce replied, deliberately misunderstanding Stefan's question. "I'm going to meet briefly with my steward, and then I'm going to sleep for a few hours."

An hour later, after meeting with his steward and leaving instructions with a servant to see to a bath and clothes for him, Royce walked into his bedchamber and with great anticipation, he stretched out atop the huge four-poster bed, linking his hands behind his head. His gaze roved idly over the dark blue and gold canopy above the bed with its heavy, brocaded silk draperies pulled back and held with gold ropes, then he glanced at the wall across the room. Jennifer was on the other side of it, he knew. A servant had provided that information, along with the information that Jennifer had entered her bedchamber a few minutes ago, after requesting to be awakened in three hours and to have a bath and whatever clothing might be available for her to wear to the celebration.

Memories of the way Jennifer looked in sleep with her hair strewn about the pillow and her bare satiny skin exposed above the sheets made his body tighten in instant need. Ignoring it, Royce closed his eyes. It was wiser to wait to bed his reluctant bride until after the celebration, he decided. It was going to take some persuasion to make her agree to fulfill this part of her marriage vows, of that Royce had little doubt, and at the moment he was not in a fit state of mind to deal with her on the matter.

Tonight, when she was mellowed with wine and music, he would bring her to his bed. But willing or unwilling, he intended to make love to her tonight and any night hereafter that he pleased. If she would not come to him eagerly, she would come because he willed it, and it was as simple as that, he decided forcefully. But the last recollection he had as he drifted off to sleep was of his outrageously pretty, impertinent young bride holding up her fingers and informing him with saucy superiority, "Forty is this many-"