A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Twenty

The noise that had been audible in her bedchamber became a deafening roar as Jenny neared the great hall, a cacophony of male laughter and music overlaying a sea of conversation. With her foot upon the last step, she hesitated before stepping into view of the revelers.

She knew, without needing to look, that the hall would be filled with men who knew all about her; men who'd undoubtedly been present in camp the night she'd been delivered to Royce like a trussed-up goose; other men who'd undoubtedly participated in her removal by force from Merrick; and still others who had witnessed her humiliating reception in the village today.

A half hour ago, when her husband had been talking in his deep, persuasive voice about memories to store, the prospect of a celebration had seemed wonderful; now, however, the reality of how she had come to be here was demolishing all the pleasure. She considered returning to her chamber, but her husband would only come up to fetch her. Besides, she told herself bracingly, she would have to face all these people some time, and a Merrick never cowered.

Drawing a long, steadying breath, Jenny walked down the last step and rounded the corner. The sight that greeted her in the torchlit hall made her blink in momentary confusion. Easily three hundred people were present, standing and talking, or sitting at long tables that had been set up along the length of one side of the hall. Still others were watching the entertainment-and of that, there seemed to be a dazzling variety: on the gallery above, a band of minstrels was playing, while other minstrels were strolling about the floor entertaining smaller groups; four jugglers in particolored costumes were tossing balls high into the air in the center of the room and exchanging them with each other; while at the far end of the hall three acrobats hurtled into the air. Behind the great table upon the dais, a lutist played upon his instrument, adding its sweet chords to the general chaotic gaiety of the hall.

There were women present, too, Jenny noted in some surprise, about thirty of them-wives of some of the knights, or else neighbors, Jenny decided. She spotted Royce easily, for with the exception of Arik, he was the tallest man in the great hall. He was standing not far away, talking to a group of men and women, a goblet in his hand, laughing at something one of them said. It hit her then that she'd never seen him like this-laughing and relaxed, the master of his own castle. Tonight, he did not resemble the predator for whom he was named; he looked like a powerful noble, and a dangerously handsome one, Jenny thought with a tiny tingle of pride as her gaze drifted over his tanned, chiseled features.

Alerted to Jenny's presence by the sudden dropping of the noise level in the hall, Royce put his goblet down, excused himself to his guests, turned, and stopped cold. A slow smile of admiration swept across his face as he beheld the regal young duchess who was walking toward him in a gown of blue-green velvet with a fitted bodice and a slashed skirt that parted at the front to reveal a shining gold undergown. A matching velvet mantle lined in gold was draped over her shoulders and held in place with a flat gold chain inset with aquamarines. At her tiny waist was a curving, stiffened belt of gold satin edged in blue-green and set with aquamarines. Her glorious hair, parted in the center, tumbled over her shoulders and back in luxurious waves and shining curls, a ravishing contrast to the rich blue-green of her gown.

Belatedly realizing that he was forcing his courageous young bride to come to him, he walked forward, meeting her partway. Taking her cold hands in both of his, he drew her close, grinning down at her with unconcealed admiration, "You are beautiful," he said softly. "Stay still for a moment so they can all look their fill."

"I was given to understand, my lord, that one of your many reasons for objecting to marrying me-even if I were the queen of Scotland-is because I am plain." Jenny saw the surprised bafflement in his gray eyes and knew instinctively that it was genuine.

"I'm sure I voiced many objections during that angry interview with Henry, but that was assuredly not one of them." Quietly he added, "I am many things, Jennifer, but I am not blind."

"In that case," she answered teasingly, "I yield to your excellent judgment on the matter of my appearance tonight."

There was a meaningful note in his deep voice as he said, "And will you yield to me on anything else?"

She inclined her head like a queen bestowing a regal favor upon a lesser mortal. "Everything-for as long as we remain down here."

"Stubborn wench," he said with sham severity, then his eyes took on a tender, intimate look as he added, " 'Tis time for the bride and groom to join their guests." Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he turned, and Jenny realized that while he'd been talking to her, his knights had formed into a line behind him-obviously by prearranged plan-in order to be formally presented to their new duchess. At the head of them stood Stefan Westmoreland, who'd scarcely glanced at her except to scowl at her in the hall at Merrick. Now, he pressed a light, brotherly kiss to her cheek. When he stepped back and grinned at her, Jenny was struck anew by how very much he resembled Royce, especially when he smiled. Stefan's hair was lighter and his features slightly less rugged; his eyes were blue not gray, but like his brother, he did not lack for charm when he cared to use it-as he did now. "An apology for the trouble I have caused you is not enough, my lady, but 'tis long overdue. I make it now, most sincerely, in hopes you will someday find it in your heart to forgive me."

The apology was made with such sincerity, and so prettily, that Jenny could not, in the spirit of the evening and the dictates of good manners, do anything but accept it, which she did. Her reward was an irrepressible grin from her new brother-in-law, who leaned forward and said, "Naturally, I needn't apologize to my brother, for 'twas a grand favor I did him."

Jenny couldn't help it; that notion was so outrageous that she burst out laughing. Beside her, she felt Royce look down at her, and when she glanced at him, his gray eyes were warm with approval and something that looked very much like pride.

Arik was next, and the stone floor seemed to rumble as the terrifying giant strode forward, each step double the stride of an average man's. As Jenny expected, the granite-faced giant did not demean himself with an apology, let alone a gallant speech, or even so much as a bow. Instead, he stood before her, looking down his nose at her from his towering height and then, with his strange pale eyes looking into hers, he merely jerked his head in a curt nod. Turning, he stalked off, leaving Jenny feeling as if he had just accepted dominion over her instead of the reverse.

Seeing her startled discomfiture, Royce leaned down and chuckled in her ear, "Don't be insulted-Arik has never condescended to actually swear fealty to me either."

Jenny looked into those smiling gray eyes and suddenly the whole evening seemed to stretch before her with all the promise and excitement of the first warm night of spring.

The knights who made up Royce's personal guard came next. Sir Godfrey, a tall, handsome man in his late twenties, was first and instantly became her favorite because, immediately after kissing her hand, he did something that completely dispelled the tension over their past association: Turning to all within hearing, he proclaimed her the only woman alive with wit and courage enough to dupe an entire army. Then he turned back to her and said with an irrepressible grin, "I trust, my lady, that if you ever decide to escape Claymore as you did our camp a few weeks ago, you'll spare our pride by leaving us a better trail to follow?"

Jenny, who was partaking of the goblet of wine Royce had pressed into her hand, replied with sham solemnity, "Should I ever try to escape from here, I shall contrive to do it very badly, to be sure," which made Sir Godfrey roar with laughter and kiss her cheek.

Sir Eustace, blond and handsome with merry brown eyes, gallantly announced that if her hair had been unbound when she escaped, they'd have spotted its golden flame and been able to find her no matter where she hid, which earned him a mild, quelling look from Royce. Undaunted, Sir Eustace leaned forward and teasingly told Jennifer, "He's jealous, you can see-of my superior looks and chivalrous conversation."

One at a time, they came to stand before her, skilled, deadly knights who once would have killed her at a word from their lord, but who were now bound to protect her, even at the cost of their own lives. Attired in fine velvets and wools, instead of chain mail and helmets, the older knights treated her with differential courtesy while a few of the younger ones actually exhibited an endearing embarrassment for something they had done: "I trust," young Sir Lionel said to Jennifer, "I didn't cause your grace any undue discomfort when I-when I-that is, er, grabbed your arm and drag-"

Jenny chuckled and raised her brows, "and escorted me to my tent that first night?"

"Yes, escorted," he said with a sigh of relief.

Gawin, Royce's young squire, was the last to be formally presented to her as his mistress. Obviously too young and idealistic to follow the older, more experienced knight's example and let bygones be bygones, he bowed to Jenny, kissed her hand, and then with ill-concealed rancor said, "I suppose, my lady, 'twas not your true intention to make us freeze when you slashed our blankets."

That remark earned him a hard cuff from Sir Eustace, who had lingered at Jenny's side, and who said to him with disgust, "If that's your idea of gallantry, no wonder young Lady Anne casts her eye at Roderick, not you."

The mention of Roderick and Lady Anne made the youth stiffen in umbrage and throw an irate look about the room. Issuing a hasty apology to Jennifer, Gawin hastened off in the direction of a pretty brunette who was talking to a man Jenny didn't recognize, looking more belligerent than gallant.

Royce watched him leave and glanced at Jennifer with a look of apologetic amusement. "Gawin has lost his head over that pretty maid over there, and evidently his sense as well." Offering her his arm, he added, "Come and meet the rest of our guests, my lady."

The fears Jenny had harbored about her reception from those who were not bound to Royce by pledges of fealty were completely allayed during the next two hours, as she was introduced to each. The unprecedented words Royce had spoken earlier on the castle steps had obviously been repeated far and wide-including to the guests who'd come from neighboring estates-and though Jenny occasionally encountered a hostile gaze, the owner of it was careful to hide it behind a polite smile.

When all the introductions had been made, Royce insisted that Jenny should dine, and at the table on the raised dais there was more conversation-all of it gay and pleasant, interrupted only by the blast of trumpets from the gallery that heralded the arrival of each new course from the kitchen.

Aunt Elinor was in her glory, with a captive audience of more than three hundred people to converse with, although the person she was most often seen near was none other than Arik! Jenny watched her, amused by the elderly lady's fascination with the one person who didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

"Does the food live up to your expectations, my lord?" Jenny asked, turning to Royce, who was helping himself to a second portion of roasted peacock and another of stuffed swan.

"It's adequate," he said with a mild frown. "But I'd expected better fare from kitchens under Prisham's supervision." At that moment, the steward himself materialized behind Royce, and Jenny had her first glimpse of Albert Prisham as he said in a cool, formal voice, "I fear I have little interest in food, your grace." He glanced at Jennifer and said, "A cup of mild broth, a lean joint of meat is enough to satisfy me. However, I feel certain your wife will take the kitchens in hand and create menus and recipes to better please you."

Jenny, who knew nothing whatever of recipes and menus, paid no heed to that remark, because she was trying to stifle a surge of instant dislike for the man. Wearing a gold chain about his waist and carrying a white staff, the insignias of his exalted position, he was thin to the point of emaciation. His jawbones protruded sharply beneath skin that was white and nearly transparent. But it wasn't that which made Jenny react so negatively to him, it was the coldness in his eyes when he looked about him. "I trust," he continued, showing more respect to Royce, but certainly no more warmth than he'd showed Jennifer, "that with the exception of the food, all else is to your satisfaction tonight?"

"Everything is fine," Royce replied, sliding his chair back as the dancing began at the far end of the hall. "If you're well enough tomorrow, I'd like to see the ledgers, and the following day, we should tour the estate."

"Certainly, your grace, but the day after tomorrow is the twenty-third, which is customarily Judgment Day. Do you desire me to postpone it?"

"No," Royce said without hesitation, his hand under Jennifer's elbow as he indicated she should rise. "I'd be interested to watch and see how it is done."

With a bow to Royce and a curt inclination of his head to Jennifer, Sir Albert withdrew. Leaning on his staff, he made his slow way to his own chambers.

When Jenny realized Royce meant to join the dancing, she drew back and shot him an apprehensive look. "I have danced little, your grace," she explained, watching the swirling, energetic dancers and trying to see what steps they were doing. "Perhaps we ought not to do it, just now, when there are so many-"

With a grin, Royce took her firmly in his arms. "Just hold on tightly," he said and began to whirl her expertly. He was, Jenny realized at once, an excellent dancer. Moreover, he was an excellent teacher-by the third dance she was twirling and skipping and leaping right along with the others. Those dances were followed immediately by a dozen more, as Stefan Westmoreland claimed his dance, and then Sir Godfrey and Sir Lionel and the rest of the knights claimed theirs.

Breathless and laughing, Jenny shook her head no when Sir Godfrey tried to lead her into another dance. Royce, who'd danced with several of the other ladies present, had been standing on the sidelines for the last half hour talking with a group of guests. Now he materialized at Jennifer's side as if sensing her exhaustion. "Jennifer needs a rest, Godfrey." Nodding toward Gawin, who seemed to be having a belligerent conversation with the knight called Sir Roderick in the presence of Lady Anne, Royce added dryly, "I suggest you invite Lady Anne to dance instead-before Gawin does something foolish to win her admiration, like provoking a fight with Roderick and getting himself killed."

Sir Godfrey obligingly went off to solicit a dance from the lady in question, and Royce led Jenny over to a quiet corner in the hall. Handing her a goblet of wine, he blocked her from view by standing directly in front of her and bracing his hand on the wall near her head.

"Thank you," she said, happy and flushed, her chest heaving with exertion. "I truly needed a moment to rest." Royce's gaze drifted appreciatively to the rosy skin swelling above the square bodice of her gown, making Jenny feel strangely excited and nervous at the same time. "You're an excellent dancer," she said, and he reluctantly forced his gaze to hers. "You must have danced a great deal at court."

"And on the battlefield," he said with a disarming grin.

"On the battlefield?" she echoed, perplexed.

He nodded, his grin widening. "Watch any warrior who's trying to dodge arrows and lances and you'll see dance steps and footwork that would dazzle you."

His ability to laugh at himself warmed Jenny's heart, which was already liberally warmed by several cups of strong wine and a great deal of dancing. Self-conscious, she glanced sideways and saw Arik only a few yards away. Unlike everyone else who was laughing, eating, or dancing, Arik was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs braced wide apart, staring straight ahead with an expression on his face that looked absolutely lethal. And at his side was Aunt Elinor, chattering up at him as if her very life depended on making him respond.

Royce followed the direction of Jennifer's gaze. "Your aunt," he teased, "would seem to enjoy courting danger."

Emboldened by the wine, Jenny returned his smile. "Does Arik ever talk-I mean in real sentences? Or laugh?"

"I've never seen him laugh. And he speaks as little as necessary."

Gazing up into his compelling eyes, Jenny felt strangely safe and sheltered, and yet uneasily aware that her husband was a virtual mystery to her. Sensing that in his approachable mood, he'd be willing to answer a question, she said softly, "How did you meet him?"

"We were never actually introduced," he teased. When she continued to regard him as if waiting for more information, he obliged by saying, "The first time I saw Arik 'twas eight years ago, in the thick of a battle that had been raging for over a sennight. He was trying to fend off six attackers who'd singled him out as a target and were pounding him with swords and arrows. I went to his aid, and between the two of us we managed to fell the attackers. When the skirmish was over, I was wounded, but Arik didn't give me so much as a thank you for my efforts. He just looked at me and then he rode off, plunging into the heat of battle again."

"And that was all there was to it?" Jenny asked, when Royce fell silent.

"Not quite. The next day, near nightfall, I was wounded again, and this time unhorsed as well. As I bent down to pick up my shield, I glanced up and there was a rider coming straight at me, his lance aimed at my heart. The next instant, the lancer was headless, and there was Arik, swooping down to pick up his bloodied axe and riding off. Again without a word.

"My wounds had rendered me virtually useless, and twice more that night Arik appeared-seemingly from nowhere-to fend off my attackers when I was outnumbered. The next day, we routed the enemy and gave chase. I looked over to see Arik riding beside me. He's been there ever since."

"So you gained his undying loyalty because you rescued him from six attackers?" Jenny summarized.

Royce shook his head. "I suspect I gained his undying loyalty a week after that when I killed a large snake that was trying to share Arik's blanket without his knowledge."

"You don't mean to tell me," Jenny giggled, "that giant of a man is afraid of snakes."

Royce gave her a look of feigned affront. "Women are afraid of snakes," he explained unequivocally. "Men hate them." Then he spoiled the whole effect with a boyish grin. "It means the same thing, however."

Royce gazed down into her laughing blue eyes, longing to kiss her, and Jenny, carried away by this tender, joking, approachable side of him, suddenly blurted the question that had been haunting her. "Did you truly mean to let him murder that child today?"

He stiffened slightly, and then he quietly said, "I think it's time we go upstairs."

Uncertain just why he'd suddenly made that decision, or if talking was what he intended to do once they got there, Jenny hesitated suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you want to talk," he stated levelly, "and I want to take you to bed. In which case, my chamber is better suited to both our purposes than this hall."

Short of making a scene which would only humiliate her, Jenny knew she had no choice but to leave the hall with him. A thought struck her before she took the first step, and the eyes she turned on him were imploring. "They aren't going to try to follow us-" she pleaded. "I mean, there'll be no bedding ritual, will there?"

"Even if there was, there's no harm in it," he said patiently. " 'Tis an ancient custom. We can always talk afterward," he said meaningfully.

"Please," Jenny said. " 'Twould be a farce, for the world knows we've already-already done that, and a bedding will only make the talk start up again."

He didn't answer her, but as they passed Arik and Aunt Elinor, he stopped to speak to Arik.

The impending departure of the bride and groom was noted almost at once, however, and by the time they'd passed the table on the dais, Jenny's face was scarlet from the bawdy encouragement and advice being shouted at Royce. As they started up the stairs, she stole a frantic glance over her shoulder and to her relief she saw that Arik had positioned himself at the bottom of the steps, folded his arms across his chest, and had taken up a post-obviously at Royce's order -to prevent the revelers from following them.

By the time Royce opened the door to his bedchamber, Jenny was in a state of generalized terror and helplessness. In frozen silence, she watched him close the door, her startled eyes dazedly registering an extremely large and very luxurious room with a huge four-poster canopied bed with fine velvet hangings and a pair of massive chairs with carved arms placed before a large hooded fireplace. Three large, ornately carved chests were against the wall, one for clothes, Jenny knew without looking, and the others evidently containing coins and other riches, judging from the size of their massive locks. A pair of tall silver stands with candles burning in them flanked the bed, and another pair stood on either side of the fireplace. Tapestries hung on the walls and there was even a mat on the polished wood floor. But the most amazing thing about the room was the window-a large bay window with leaded glass that overlooked the bailey and would make the room cheerful and airy in the daylight.

A door to the left was ajar and opened into a solar; the door on the right evidently opened into the chamber Jenny occupied. Scrupulously avoiding looking at the bed, she stared at the two remaining doors, and the instant Royce moved, she jumped and said the first thing that came to mind: "Wh-where do those two doors lead?"

"One to a privy, the other to a closet," he answered, noting the way she was averting her gaze from the bed. In a calm voice that nevertheless carried an unmistakable thread of command, he said, "Would you mind explaining to me why you seem to find the prospect of lying with me even more alarming when we're married than you did before, when you had everything to lose?"

"I had no choice then," she said in nervous defense, turning to face him.

"You have none now," he pointed out reasonably.

Jenny's mouth went dry. She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were very cold, her eyes desperate with confusion. "I don't understand you," she tried to explain, "I never know what to expect. Sometimes you seem almost kind and quite rational. And just when I think you're actually quite nice-I mean normal," she amended quickly, "you do mad things and you make insane accusations." She held out her hands as if asking him to understand. "I cannot be at ease with a man who is a stranger to me! A frightening, unpredictable stranger!"

He took a step forward and then another, and Jenny retreated step for step, until the backs of her legs bumped against the bed. Unable to go forward, and adamantly unwilling to move backward, she stood in mutinous silence. "Don't you dare touch me. I hate it when you touch me!" she warned shakily.

His dark brows pulled together, and he reached out and hooked his fingertip in the neck of her gown, looking straight into her eyes as he drew it downward until his fingertip was deep in the hollow between her breasts. It stayed there, moving up and down, stroking the sides of her breasts, while tiny flames began shooting through Jenny's body, making her breathing shallow and rapid. His hand forced its way between her bodice and her skin and closed on her full breast. "Now tell me you hate my touch," he invited her softly, his eyes holding hers imprisoned, his fingers teasing her hardening nipple.

Jenny felt her breast swelling to fill his hand and she turned her head aside, staring fixedly at the fire in the grate, drowning in shame at her inability to control her own treacherous body.

Abruptly he pulled his hand away. "I'm beginning to think you must enjoy baiting me, for you do it better than anyone I've ever known." Raking his hand through the side of his hair in angry self-disgust, Royce walked over to the flagon of mulled wine resting near the fire and poured some into a goblet. Turning, he studied her in silence. After a minute, he said in a quiet, almost apologetic tone that startled Jenny into looking at him, "The fault for what happened just now was mine and had little to do with your 'baiting' me. You merely gave me an excuse to do what I've longed to do since I first set eyes on you in this gown."

When she remained silent, watching him with wary suspicion, he said with an irritated sigh, "Jennifer, this marriage was not of our choosing, but the deed is done, and we will have to find a way to live in harmony with it. We have wronged each other, and nothing can change that. I'd hoped to bury the past, but perhaps it's best to let you talk about it as you seem determined to do. Very well," he said as if reaching a conclusion, "go ahead and itemize your grievances. What do you want to know?"

"Two things for a start," Jenny replied tartly. "When did you finally come to the realization that I've been wronged? And how in God's holy name can you possibly say I've wronged you?"

"I'd prefer to leave the last question unanswered," he said evenly. "Before I came in to see you this evening, I spent two hours in this room, coming to grips with the things you have done, and I've decided to put all that behind me."

"How very virtuous of you," Jenny said derisively. "It so happens, my lord, that I have done nothing, nothing for which I require your forgiveness or for which I owe you explanations, for that matter. However," she amended tightly, "I will be happy to give any explanations you wish once you've made yours to me. Is that agreeable?"

His lips quirked in a reluctant grin as Royce contemplated the stormy beauty in aquamarine velvet who'd already abandoned fear in favor of anger. He found it acutely painful when she feared him. Making an effort to smooth the grin from his face, he nodded. "Perfectly agreeable. You may proceed."

Jenny needed no more encouragement. Studying his face, watching for any signs of deceit, she said abruptly, "Were you or were you not going to let Arik kill that boy in the village today?"

"No," he said flatly. "I was not."

Some of Jenny's hostility and fear began to dissolve. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't need to. Arik does not act except on my orders. He stopped, not because you screamed, but because he was waiting for a decision from me."

"You-you aren't lying are you?" she asked, searching his inscrutable features.

"What do you think?"

Jenny bit her lip, feeling slightly churlish. "I apologize. That was needlessly rude."

Accepting her apology with a nod, he said civilly, "Go on. What's your next question?"

Jenny drew a deep breath and slowly expelled it, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground now. "I would like to know why you felt compelled to humiliate my father and my family by proving you could breach Merrick's defenses and stealing me from my own bedchamber?" Ignoring the sudden angry gleam flaring in his eyes, she continued doggedly, "You've proved your skill and prowess in such things. Why, if you ever wanted us to live in harmony, did you need to prove it in such a petty, small-minded-"

"Jennifer," he interrupted in a cutting voice, "you've made a fool of me twice and caused me to make a fool of myself once. That's quite a record," he applauded sarcastically. "Now take your bow, and let the matter drop!"

Fortified with a considerable amount of wine and a good deal of natural stubbornness, Jenny searched his features. Despite his tone of sarcasm, there was a harshness in his gray eyes that told her whatever "plot" he was referring to did more than merely anger him, it cut him deeply enough to make him bitter. Trying to ignore the dangerous, magnetic tug that seemed to be pulling her toward him with each moment since he'd begun to answer her questions, she said lightly, "I shall happily take my bow, but first, I'd like to be absolutely certain what it is I've done to deserve such credit."

"You damn well know what I'm referring to."

"I'm not entirely-certain. I'd hate to take credit where it wasn't due," she said, raising her glass.

"You're amazing. You can lie and look me straight in the eye. Very well," he said, his voice reeking with irony. "Let's play your game to its distasteful end. First, there was the little ruse that your sister-who I'd have sworn didn't have sense enough to dress herself-pulled off with your help and the help of feather pillows…"

"You know about that?" she said, choking on her wine and trying to hide her smile.

"I wouldn't advise you to laugh," he warned.

"Why not?" Jenny said wryly. " 'Twas as much a 'joke' on me as 'twas on you."

"I suppose you knew nothing about it?" he snapped, studying the telltale flush on her cheeks, wondering if it was due to the wine or lying.

"If I had," she said, turning serious, "do you think I'd have been so eager to trade my honor for feathers?"

"I don't know. Would you?"

She lowered her glass and said somberly, "I'm not certain. To help her escape, I suppose I might have-but not until I'd exhausted every other possibility. So I can't quite take credit for duping you in this instance. What are the other two?"

He slapped his goblet onto the table and started toward her.

"I gather you're referring to my escape with William?" she prompted uneasily, backing away a step from the ominous expression in his eyes. "I can't take credit for that either. He was standing in the woods, and I didn't notice him until you were about to leave with Arik."

"Right," he said icily, "and although you are aware of my remark about the queen of Scotland, you aren't aware that while you were escaping, I was telling Graverley, like a besotted fool, that I intended to marry you. And you aren't aware that you were leaving for a cloister immediately after our wedding at Merrick? Which would have neatly bound me to you for life at the same time it deprived me of heirs? And if you lie to me just one more time-" He took the goblet of wine from her and jerked her into his arms.

"You were doing what?" she whispered.

"Enough of this nonsense," he said shortly, bending his head and taking her lips in a hard, silencing kiss. To his surprise, she didn't fight him, In fact, she seemed not to know what he was doing to her. When he lifted his head she was staring at him with an expression in her blue eyes he'd not seen before.

"You were doing what?" she breathed again.

"You heard me," he said shortly.

An awful, treacherous warmth was seeping through every pore of Jenny's body as she gazed into his mesmerizing eyes. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you tell him you intended to marry me?"

"I was insane at the time," he said coldly.

"About me?" she whispered, so carried away with what her heart was telling her that she spoke without thinking.

"About your delectable body," he said crudely, but somewhere in her heart, Jenny was accepting something else… another explanation so exquisite that she was afraid to think it. It explained everything.

"I didn't know," she said simply. "I never imagined you would want to marry me."

"And I suppose if you had, you'd have sent your stepbrother off and stayed at Hardin with me?" he jeered.

It was the greatest risk Jenny had ever taken in her life, because she told him the truth: "If I-I'd known how I was going to feel after I left, I might have." She saw his jaw harden, and without thinking, she lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to his taut cheek. "Please don't look at me like this," she whispered, her eyes gazing deeply into his. "I am not lying to you."

Trying without complete success to ignore the tender innocence of her touch and to stifle the sudden memory of the way she had kissed his scars, Royce said flatly, "And I suppose you knew nothing about your father's plot?"

"I was not going to any cloister, I was leaving with you in the morn," she said simply. "I would never have done anything so… so low."

In sheer frustration at her endless deceit, Royce jerked her into his arms and kissed her, but instead of fighting the hard, punishing kiss, she leaned up on her toes and welcomed it, her hands sliding up his chest and twining around his neck. Her parted lips clung to his, moving tenderly, softly against his mouth, and to Royce's astonishment he realized she was gentling him. And even when he realized it, he couldn't stop it from happening. His hands no longer dug into her arms, they were shifting over her back in a restless, soothing caress, sliding up her nape and holding her lips closer to his hungry mouth.

And as his passion built, so did the awful, guilty premonition that he had been wrong. About everything. Tearing his mouth from hers, he held her clasped tightly to him, waiting for his breathing to even out. When he could finally trust himself to speak, he moved her slightly away and reached down to lift her chin, needing-wanting-to see into her eyes when he asked her. "Look at me, Jennifer," he said gently.

The eyes she raised to his were innocent of guile and strangely trusting. It was not a question, it was a statement: "You didn't know anything about your father's plot, did you?"

"There was no plot," she said simply.

Royce leaned his head back and he closed his eyes, trying to shut out the obvious truth: After forcing her to stand in her own home and endure the barbs of his people, he had dragged her out of bed, forced her to marry him, hauled her across England, and to finish it all off nicely, he had, within the hour, graciously offered to "forgive" her and "let bygones be bygones."

Faced with the choice of shattering her illusions about her father or letting her go on thinking he was a callous madman, Royce chose the former. He was not in a mood to be gallant-not at the expense of his marriage.

Stroking her silken hair, he tipped his chin down and stared into those trusting eyes, wondering why he consistently lost his reason where she was concerned. "Jennifer," he said quietly, "I am not quite the monster you've had good reason to think I am. There was a plot. Will you at least listen to my explanation?"

She nodded, but the smile she gave him told him she thought he was fanciful beyond belief.

"When I went to Merrick keep, I fully expected either your father or one of the clans to try to violate the pact that guaranteed my safety while in Scotland for our marriage. I put men on the roads leading to Merrick and left them with orders not to let any group pass without making inquiries."

"And they didn't find anyone trying to violate the pact," she said with quiet assurance.

"No," Royce admitted. "But what they did discover was a caravan of one abbess with an escort of twelve, making what seemed to be undue haste toward Merrick. Contrary to what you have reason to believe," he added with a wry smile, "my men and I are not in the habit of harassing clerics. On the other hand, following my instructions, they made inquiries of the party-by the expedient measure of letting the abbess believe they were there to give her escort. She, in turn, happily confided that she was coming for you."

Jenny's finely arched brows drew together in a puzzled frown, and Royce almost regretted telling her the truth. "Go on," she said.

"The abbess and her party had been delayed by all the rain in the north-which was, by the by, why your father and your 'pious' Friar Benedict dreamt up that nonsensical explanation about the good friar being very temporarily too ill to perform the ceremony. According to the abbess, it seemed that one Lady Jennifer Merrick had decided to cloister herself as the result of an unwanted marriage. The 'husband,' she understood, was determined to stand in the way of the lady's decision to pledge her life to God, and so she had come to assist Lady Jennifer by helping her father get her out of Merrick-and out of her husband's godless clutches-in secret.

"Your father had hit upon the perfect revenge: since our marriage had already been consummated before the fact, an annulment would have been out of the question for me. So of course would divorce have been. Without the opportunity to remarry, I couldn't sire a legitimate heir, and so all of this-Claymore and all I have-would have reverted to the king on my death."

"I-I don't believe you," Jenny said flatly, and then with heartbreaking fairness, she amended, "I believe you believe this. But the simple truth is that my father would never have locked me away for the rest of my life without at least giving me a choice first."

"He would, and he intended to."

She shook her head, shook it so hard and so emphatically that Royce suddenly realized she couldn't bear to believe it. "My father… loves me. He wouldn't do that. Not even to avenge himself on you."

Royce winced, feeling like the Barbarian he'd been called for trying to shatter her illusions. "You're quite right. I-it was a mistake."

She nodded. "A mistake." She smiled at him, a soft, sweet smile that made his heart pick up its tempo because it was not like any other smile she'd given him. It was filled with trust and approval and something else he couldn't quite identify.

Turning, Jenny walked over to the window, staring out at the starlit night. Torches were lit on the battlements and the silhouette of a guard patrolling the wall was clearly outlined against the orange light. Her mind, however, was not on stars or guards, or even her father; it was on the tall, black-haired man standing behind her. He had wanted to marry her, and the knowledge filled her with an emotion so poignant, so consuming that she could scarcely contain it. It was so overpowering that feelings like patriotism and revenge became paltry.

She reached out, idly following the handsome tracings on the cold glass with a fingertip, remembering all those sleepless nights at Merrick keep when she could not tear him out of her mind, when her body felt empty and overheated and cried out for his. Behind her, she heard him start toward her, and she knew what was going to happen between them as surely as she knew she loved him. God forgive her, she loved her family's enemy. She had known it at Hardin, but she had been stronger then-and afraid. Afraid of what would happen to her if she let herself love a man who seemed to regard her as nothing more than a temporary amusement. But as surely as Jenny knew she loved him, she knew he loved her, too. It explained everything-his anger, his laughter, his patience… his speech in the bailey.

She felt his presence like a tangible thing even before he slowly slid his arm around her from behind, drawing her back against his body. In the windowpane their eyes met, and Jenny gazed into his as she asked him for the one promise that would free her from all guilt for giving him her love and her life. Her soft voice shaking with emotion, she asked, "Will you swear to me never to raise your hand against my family?"

His answer was an aching whisper. "Yes."

Shattering tenderness swept through her, and she closed her eyes, leaning back against him in complete surrender. He bent his head, brushing his mouth against her temple, his hand slowly sliding upward to caress the fullness of her breast. His mouth trailed a hot path down her cheek to her ear, his tongue exploring each fold as his hand slipped inside her gown, cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing over her hardening nipple.

Awash in a sea of pure sensation, Jenny made no protest when he covered her lips with his, turning her into his arms. She felt no shame or guilt when her gown slid down around her hips or when he came to her in bed, his bare, muscled shoulders gleaming like bronze in the candlelight as he leaned over her, skillfully parting her lips with his tongue. With a silent moan of surrender, she slipped her hand around his neck, her fingers sliding into the curling hair at his nape, holding his mouth pressed fiercely to hers as she welcomed his tongue and gave him hers. Her innocent ardor was more than Royce's ravenous body could withstand. Wrapping his arm around her hips he pulled her into vibrant contact with his straining thighs, molding her body to the rigid contours of his. His other hand cupped the back of her head as he drove his tongue into her mouth again and again, forcing her to give him back the sensual urgency he was offering her.

When she tore her mouth from his, he almost groaned with disappointment, thinking he had frightened her with his unbridled passion-but when he opened his eyes, what he saw on her face was neither fright or revulsion, it was wonder. A knot of tenderness swelling in his chest, he held perfectly still, watching her as Jenny took his face between her hands, her trembling fingertips reverently caressing his eyes, his cheekbones and jaw, and then she leaned up and kissed him with an ardor that nearly matched his own. Turning into his arms, pressing him back into the pillows, her hair spilling across them like a satin veil, she kissed his eyes, his nose, his ear, and when her lips closed over his nipple, Royce lost control. "Jenny," he groaned, his hands rushing over her back and thighs and buttocks. His fingers dug into her hair, pulling her lips back to his fevered mouth. "Jenny," he whispered hoarsely, his tongue plunging into her mouth, tangling with hers as he rolled her onto her back and covered her body with his. "Jenny," he murmured hotly as he hungrily devoured her breasts and stomach and thighs with his mouth. He could not stop saying her name. It played like a melody in his heart when her arms went around him and she lifted her hips, willingly molding herself to his engorged manhood; it sang in his veins as she welcomed the first fierce thrust of his body into hers; it rang through every fiber of his being as she matched his fierce, driving thrusts; and it exploded in a crescendo as she cried out, "I love you," her nails biting into his back, her body racked with wave after wave of ecstasy.

His body straining, desperate for release, Royce dragged his lips from hers and leaned up on his forearms, waiting for her tremors to subside as he gazed down into her beautiful, shadowy face. And then, because he could hold back no longer, he drove into her one last time, gasping her name. His body jerked convulsively again and again and again as he spilled his life into her, holding her hips to his hips and her mouth to his mouth.

Lying on his back, his wife cradled tightly against his side, he waited for the thundering beat of his heart to subside, his hand roving over her satiny skin, his mind still dazed by the explosion of his body. In all his years of aimless sexual encounters and torrid dalliances, nothing had ever approached the shattering ecstasy he'd just experienced.

Beside him, Jenny raised her head, and he tipped his chin down, looking into her eyes. In their slumberous blue depths he saw the same wonder and confusion he felt. "What are you thinking?" he asked with a tender smile at her upturned face.

An answering smile touched her lips as her fingers splayed across his hair-roughened chest.

Only two thoughts had crossed Jenny's mind and, rather than admit that she'd been longing to hear him say he loved her, she confessed to the other thought. "I was thinking," she whispered ruefully, "that if it had been like this… at Hardin… I don't think I'd have left with William."

"If it had been like this," Royce countered, his smile widening to a wicked grin, "I'd have come after you."

Unaware that she could so easily stir his desire, Jenny trailed her fingers down the flat planes of his hard stomach. "Why didn't you?"

"I was under arrest at the time," he replied dryly, then he caught her wandering hand in his, flattening it beneath his palm to prevent it from straying lower, "for refusing to turn you over to Graverley," he added, releasing her hand.

His breath caught as her hand slid down the side of his thigh. "Jenny," he warned hoarsely, but it was already too late, desire was pouring through him, making him rigid. With a smothered laugh at her startled expression, he caught her hips and lifted her, settling her gently but firmly atop his swollen shaft. "Take as long as you like, little one," he teased huskily, "I'm entirely at your service." His laughter faded, however, as his wife leaned down, straddling him, and sweetly covered his mouth with hers.