A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Four

Fires burned at periodic intervals in the valley where the Wolfs men were still encamped that night. Standing in the open doorway of the tent, her wrists bound behind her, Jenny thoughtfully studied the activity going on all about them. "If we're going to escape, Brenna-" she began.

"Escape?" her sister repeated, gaping. "How in the name of the Blessed Mother can we possibly do that, Jenny?"

"I'm not certain, but however we do it, we shall have to do it very soon. I heard some of the men talking outside, and they think we'll be used to force Father to surrender."

"Will he do that?"

Jenny bit her lip. "I don't know. There was a time-before Alexander came to Merrick-when my kinsmen would have laid down their weapons rather than see me harmed. Now I don't matter to them."

Brenna heard the catch in her sister's voice, and though she longed to comfort Jenny, she knew Alexander had so alienated clan Merrick from their young mistress that they didn't care about her any more.

"They do love you, however, so it's hard to know what they'll decide or how much influence Father will have on them. However, if we can escape soon, we could reach Merrick before any decision is made, which is what we must do."

Of all the obstacles in their way, the one that worried Jenny most was the actual trip back to Merrick, which she estimated to be a two-day journey on horseback from here. Every hour they would be required to spend on the road was risky; bandits roamed everywhere, and two women alone were considered fair game even by honest men. The roads simply were not safe. Neither were the inns. The only safe lodgings were to be found at abbeys and priories, which was where all honest, respectable travelers chose to stay.

"The problem is, we don't stand a chance of escaping with our hands bound," Jenny continued aloud, as she gazed out at the busy camp. "Which means we either have to convince them to untie our wrists, or else manage to escape into the woods during mealtime when we're not bound. But if we do that, our absence will be discovered as soon as they come to collect our trays before we're very far away. Still, if that's the only chance that presents itself during the next day or two, we shall very likely have to take it," she announced cheerfully.

"Once we slip into the woods, what will we do?" Brenna asked, bravely quelling her inner terror at the thought of being alone in the woods at night.

"I'm not certain-hide somewhere, I suppose, until they give up looking for us. Or else we might be able to fool them into thinking we went east instead of north. If we could steal two of their horses, that would increase our chances of outrunning them, even if it made it more difficult to hide. The trick is to find some way to do both. We need to be able to hide and outrun them."

"How can we do that?" Brenna asked, her forehead knotted deeply in futile thought.

"I don't know, but we have to try something." Lost in contemplation, she stared unseeing past the tall, bearded man who had stopped talking to one of his knights and was studying her intently.

The fires had dwindled and their guard had collected their trays and retied their wrists, but still neither girl had come up with an acceptable scheme, even though they'd discussed several outlandish ones. "We can't just remain here like willing pawns to be used to his advantage," Jenny burst out when they were lying side by side that night. "We must escape."

"Jenny, has it occurred to you what he might do to us when-if," she amended quickly, "he catches us?"

"I don't think he'd kill us," Jenny reassured her after a moment's contemplation. "We wouldn't be any use to him as hostages if we were dead. Father would insist on seeing us before agreeing to surrender, and the earl will have to produce us-alive and breathing -or else Father will tear him to shreds," Jenny said, deciding it was better, less frightening, to think of him as the earl of Claymore, rather than the Wolf.

"You're right," Brenna agreed and promptly fell asleep.

But it was several hours before Jenny could relax enough to do the same, for despite her outward show of bravery and confidence, she was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life. She was frightened for Brenna, for herself, and for her clan, and she hadn't the vaguest notion how to escape. She only knew they had to try.

As to their captor not murdering them if he caught them, that much was likely true; however, there were other-unthinkable-male alternatives to outright murder that he had at hand to retaliate against them. Her mind conjured up an image of his dark face all but hidden by at least a fortnight's growth of thick, black beard, and she shivered at the memory of those strange silver eyes as they'd looked last night with the leaping flames from the fires reflected in them. Today his eyes had been the angry gray of a stormy sky-but there had been a moment, when his eyes had shifted to her mouth, that the expression in their depths had changed-and that indefinable change had made him seem more threatening than ever before. It was his black beard, she told herself bracingly, that made him seem so frightening, for it hid his features. Without that dark beard, he'd doubtless look like any other elderly man of… thirty-five? Forty? She'd heard the legend of him since she was a child of three or four, so he must be very old indeed! She felt better, realizing he was old. 'Twas only his beard that made him seem alarming, she reassured herself. His beard, and his daunting height and build, and his strange, silver eyes.

Morning came and still she'd come up with no truly feasible plan that would satisfy their need to make all speed as well as hide and to avoid being set upon by bandits, or worse. "If only we had some men's clothing," Jenny said, not for the first time, "then we'd have a much better chance, both to escape and to reach our destination."

"We can't very well just ask our guard to lend us his," Brenna said a little desperately, as fear overwhelmed even her placid disposition. "I wish I had my sewing," she added with a ragged sigh. "I'm so jumpy I can hardly sit still. Besides, I always think most clearly when I've my needle in my hand. Do you suppose our guard would secure a needle for me if I asked him very nicely to do it?"

"Hardly," Jenny replied absently, plucking at the hem of her habit as she gazed out at the men tramping about in war-torn clothes. If anyone needed a needle and thread, it was those men. "Besides, what would you sew with the-" Jenny's voice dropped but her spirits soared, and it was all she could do to smooth the joyous smile from her face as she turned slowly to Brenna. "Brenna," she said in a carefully offhand voice, "you're quite right to ask the guard to secure you a needle and thread. He seems nice enough, and I know he finds you lovely. Why don't you call him over and ask him to get us two needles."

Jenny waited, laughing inwardly as Brenna went to the flap of the tent and motioned to the guard. Soon she would tell Brenna the plan, but not yet; Brenna's face would give her away if she tried to lie.

"It's a different guard-I don't know this one at all," Brenna whispered in disappointment as the man came toward her. "Shall I send him to fetch the nice guard?"

"By all means," Jenny said, grinning.

Sir Eustace was with Royce and Stefan looking over some maps when he was informed by the guard that the ladies were asking for him. "Is there no end to her arrogance!" Royce bit out, referring to Jenny. "She even sends her guards on errands, and what's more, they run to do her bidding." Checking his tirade, he said shortly, "I assume it was the blue-eyed one with the dirty face who sent you?"

Sir Lionel chuckled and shook his head. "I saw two clean faces, Royce, but the one who talked to me had greenish eyes, not blue."

"Ah, I see," Royce said sarcastically, "it wasn't Arrogance that sent you trotting away from your post, it was Beauty. What does she want?"

"She wouldn't tell me. Wants to see Eustace, she said."

"Get back to your post and stay there. Tell her to wait," he snapped.

"Royce, they're no more than two helpless females," the knight reminded him, "and small ones at that. What's more, you won't trust anyone to guard them except Arik or one of us," he said, referring to the knights who made up Royce's elite personal guard and were also trusted friends. "You're keeping them bound and under guard like they were dangerous men, able to overpower us and escape."

"I can't trust anyone else with the women," Royce said, absently rubbing the back of his neck. Abruptly, he lurched out of his chair. "I'm tired of the inside of this tent. I'll go with you and see what they want."

"So will I," Stefan said.

Jenny saw the earl coming, his long effortless strides bringing him swiftly toward their tent, two guards on his right and his brother on the left.

"Well?" Royce said, stepping into their tent with the three men. "What is it this time?" he demanded of Jenny.

Brenna whirled around in panic, her hand over her heart, her face a picture of flustered innocence as she hastened to take the blame for annoying him. "I-it was I who asked for him." She nodded in the direction of the guard. "For Sir Eustace."

With a sigh of impatience, Royce withdrew his gaze from Jenny and looked at her foolish sister. "Would you care to tell me why you did?"

"Yes."

It was actually all she was going to say, Royce realized. "Very well, then tell me."

"I… we"-she cast a look of sheer misery at Jenny, then plunged ahead-"we… would like very much to be given thread and needles."

Royce's gaze swung suspiciously to the person most likely to have conceived some way of using needles to his own physical discomfort, but today Lady Jennifer Merrick returned his gaze levelly, her face subdued, and he felt an odd sense of disappointment that her bravado had been depleted so quickly. "Needles?" he repeated, frowning at her.

"Yes," Jenny answered in a carefully modulated voice that was neither challenging nor submissive, but calmly polite as if she'd quietly accepted her fate. "The days grow long and we have little to do. My sister, Brenna, suggested we spend the time sewing."

"Sewing?" Royce repeated, disgusted with himself for keeping them bound and under heavy guard. Lionel was right-Jenny was merely a small female. A young, reckless, headstrong girl with more bravado than sense. He'd overestimated her simply because no other prisoner brought before him had dared to strike him. "What do you think this is, the queen's drawing room?" he snapped. "We don't have any of those-" His brain stalled as he searched for the names of the contraptions which women at court spent hours of every day sewing upon with embroidery thread.

"Embroidery hoops?" Jenny provided helpfully.

His eyes raked over her in disgust. "I'm afraid not-no embroidery hoops."

"Perhaps a small quilting frame then?" she added, innocently widening her eyes as she held back her laughter.

"No!"

"There must be something we could use needle and thread on," Jenny added swiftly when he turned to leave. "We'll go quite mad with nothing to do, day after day. It doesn't matter what we sew. Surely you must have something that needs sewing-"

He swung around, looking startled and pleased and dubious. "You're volunteering to do mending for us?"

Brenna was a picture of innocent shock at his suggestion; Jenny tried to imitate her look. "I hadn't thought of mending exactly…"

"There's enough mending needed here to keep a hundred seamstresses busy for a year," Royce said decisively, deciding in that moment they ought to earn their bed and board-such as it was-and mending was exactly the right form of payment. Turning to Godfrey, he said, "See to it."

Brenna looked wonderfully stricken that her suggestion could have resulted in their practically joining forces with the enemy; Jenny made a serious effort to look balky, but the moment the four men were out of earshot, she threw her arms around her sister and hugged her exuberantly. "We've just overcome two of the three obstacles to our escape," she said. "Our hands will be unbound and we're to have access to disguises, Brenna."

"Disguises?" Brenna began, but before Jenny needed to answer, her eyes widened with comprehension and she enfolded her sister into a second hug, laughing softly. "Men's clothing," she giggled, "and he offered it to us."

Within an hour, their tent contained two miniature mountains of clothing and a third mountain of torn blankets and mantles belonging to the men-at-arms. One pile of clothing belonged exclusively to Royce and Stefan Westmoreland, the other to Royce's knights, two of whom Jenny was relieved to see were men of medium to small proportions.

Jenny and Brenna worked late into the night, their eyes straining in the flickering light. They'd already mended the items they'd chosen to wear for their escape and put them out of sight. Now they were diligently working on the pile of clothes belonging to Royce. "What time do you suppose it is?" Jenny asked as she carefully sewed the wrist of his shirt completely closed. Beside her were many other items of his clothing which had received equally creative alterations, including several pairs of hose which had been skillfully tightened at the knee to make it impossible for a leg to descend beyond that point.

"Ten o'clock, or so," Brenna answered as she bit off her thread. "You were right," she said smiling as she held up one of the earl's shirts which now had a skull and crossbones embroidered on the back in black. "He'll never notice when he puts it on." Jenny laughed, but Brenna was suddenly lost in thought. "I've been thinking about the MacPherson," Brenna said and Jenny paid attention, for when Brenna wasn't overwhelmed by fear, she was actually very clever. "I don't think you'll have to marry the MacPherson, after all."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Father will undoubtedly notify King James-maybe even the pope-that we were abducted from an abbey, and that may cause such an uproar that King James will send his forces to Merrick. An abbey is inviolable and we were under the protection of it. And so, if King James comes to our aid, we wouldn't need the MacPherson's clans, would we?"

A flame of hope ignited in Jenny's eyes, then wavered. "I don't think we were actually on the grounds of the abbey."

"Father won't know that, so he'll assume we were. So will everyone else, I think."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement, Royce stood outside his tent, his gaze turned on the smaller tent at the edge of the camp where his two female hostages were being kept. Eustace had just relieved Lionel and was standing guard.

The faint glow of candlelight seeping between the canvas and ground told Royce both women were still awake. Now in the relative peace of the moonlit night, he admitted to himself that part of the reason he'd gone to their tent earlier today was curiosity. As soon as he learned Jennifer's face was clean, he'd felt an undeniable curiosity to have a look at it. Now, he discovered he was ridiculously curious about the color of her hair. Judging by her winged brows, her hair was either auburn or brown, while her sister was definitely blond, but Brenna Merrick didn't interest him.

Jennifer did.

She was like a puzzle whose pieces he had to wait to see one at a time, and each piece was more surprising than the last.

She'd obviously heard the usual stories about his alleged atrocities, yet she was not half so afraid of him as most men were. That was the first and most intriguing piece of the puzzle-the entire girl. Her courage and lack of fear.

Then, there were her eyes-enormous, captivating eyes of a deep, rich blue that made him think of velvet. Amazing eyes. Candid and expressive with long russet eyelashes. Her eyes had made him want to see her face, and today when he had, he could scarce believe rumor called her plain.

She wasn't beautiful precisely, and "pretty" didn't quite suit her either, but when she'd looked up at him in the tent today he'd felt stunned. Her cheekbones were high and delicately molded, her skin was as smooth as alabaster, tinted with pale rose, her nose small. In contrast to these delicate features, her small chin had a decidedly stubborn bluntness to it, and yet when she smiled, he could have sworn he saw two tiny dimples.

Altogether it was an intriguing, alluring face, he decided. Definitely alluring. And that was before he allowed himself to remember her soft, generous lips.

Dragging his thoughts from Jennifer Merrick's lips, he lifted his head and looked inquiringly at Eustace. Understanding the unspoken question, Eustace turned slightly so the campfire would illuminate his features, and held up his right hand as if a needle was delicately poised between his two fingers, then he moved his arm, letting it rise and fall in the steady, undulating motion of sewing.

The girls were sewing. Royce found that notion rather difficult to comprehend, given the lateness of the hour. His own experience with wealthy women was that they sewed special items for their families and their homes, but they left mending for servants to do. He supposed, as he tried unsuccessfully to make out Jennifer's shadowed form against the canvas of the tent, that wealthy women might also sew to keep busy when they were bored. But not this late and by candlelight.

How very industrious the Merrick girls were, he thought with a tinge of sarcasm and disbelief. How nice of them to want to aid their captors by keeping their clothes in good repair. How generous.

How utterly unlikely.

Particularly in the case of Lady Jennifer Merrick, whose hostility he'd already experienced firsthand.

Shoving away from his tent, Royce strolled forward, wending his way past his exhausted, battle-scarred men sleeping on the ground, rolled up in their cloaks. As he neared the women's tent, the obvious answer to their sudden compulsion to have needles and shears suddenly struck him, and he stifled a curse as he quickened his pace. They were undoubtedly destroying the clothing they'd been given, he realized angrily!

Brenna stifled a scream of terrified surprise when the Wolf yanked the tent flap back and ducked inside, but Jenny merely started and then slowly rose to her feet, a suspiciously polite expression on her features.

"Let's see what you've been doing," Royce snapped, his gaze slashing from Brenna, whose hand rose protectively to her throat, to Jenny. "Show me!"

"Very well," Jenny said with sham innocence. "I was only now beginning to work on this shirt," she prevaricated as she carefully laid aside his shirt with the armholes she'd just sewn closed. Reaching to the pile of clothing she intended to wear, she held up a pair of thick woolen hose for his inspection and pointed to the neatly mended, two-inch rent down the front.

Completely baffled, Royce stared at the nearly invisible, tight seam she'd sewn. Proud, haughty, undisciplined, and headstrong she was, he admitted to himself, but she was also a damned expert seamstress.

"Does it pass your inspection, milord?" she prompted with a tinge of amusement. "May we keep our jobs, sire?"

If she'd been anyone else but his captive and the haughty daughter of his enemy, Royce would have been sorely tempted to lift her in his arms and kiss her soundly for her badly needed help. "You do excellent work," he admitted fairly. He started to leave, then he turned back, his arm holding the tent flap back. "My men would have been cold, their clothing torn and inadequate for the coming harsh weather. They'll be happy to know that what they have is at least wearable until the winter clothing arrives here."

Jenny had foreseen that he might realize how dangerous she and Brenna could be with a pair of shears, and that he might also arrive to inspect their work, hence she'd had the hose readily available to put him off the track. She had not, however, expected him to pay her an honest compliment, and she felt somehow uneasy and betrayed now that he'd shown he had at least one drop of humanity in his body.

When he left, both girls sank back down upon the rugs. "Oh dear," Brenna said apprehensively, her eyes on the pile of blankets in the corner that they had slashed to ribbons. "Somehow, I haven't thought of the men here as-people."

Jenny refused to admit she'd been thinking the same way. "They are our enemy," she reminded them both. "Our enemy, and papa's enemy, and King James's enemy." Despite that stated belief, Jenny's hand recoiled from the scissors when she reached out to touch them, but then she made herself pick them up and stoically hacked away at another cloak while she tried to decide the very best plan for their escape tomorrow morning.

Long after Brenna had fallen into an exhausted slumber, Jenny lay awake, considering all the things that could go right-and wrong.