A Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter Five

Frost lay sparkling on the grass, lit by the first rays of the rising sun, and Jenny arose silently, careful not to awaken poor Brenna any sooner than was necessary. After systematically reviewing all the alternatives, she'd arrived at the best possible plan, and she felt almost optimistic about their chances to make good an escape.

"Is it time?" Brenna whispered, her voice choked with fright as she rolled onto her back and saw Jenny already wearing the thick woolen hose, man's shirt, and jerkin that they'd each be wearing beneath their habits when their guard escorted them into the woods where they were allowed a few minutes' privacy to tend to their personal needs each morning.

"It's time," Jenny said with an encouraging smile.

Brenna paled, but she arose and with shaking hands, she began to dress. "I wish I weren't such a coward," Brenna whispered, her hand clutched over her pounding heart as she reached with her free hand for the leather jerkin.

"You're not a coward," Jenny assured her, keeping her voice low, "you simply worry to great excess-and well in advance-about the possible consequences of anything you do. In fact," she added, as she helpfully tied the strings at the throat of Brenna's borrowed shirt, "you're actually braver than I. For if I was as frightened of consequences as you are, I'd never have the courage to dare the slightest thing."

Brenna's wavery smile was silent appreciation for the compliment, but she said nothing.

"Do you have your cap?"

When Brenna nodded, Jenny picked up the black cap she herself would soon put on to hide her long hair, and she lifted up her gray habit, tucking the cap in the waist of her hose. The sun rose a little higher, turning the sky a watery gray as the girls waited for the moment when the giant would appear to escort them to the woods, their loose convent robes hiding the men's clothes they wore beneath.

The moment drew near, and Jenny lowered her voice to a hush as she reiterated their plan for the last time, afraid lest Brenna forget what she must do in the fright of the moment. "Remember," she said, "every second will count, but we must not appear to move too quickly or we'll draw notice. When you remove your habit, hide it well beneath the brush. Our best hope for escape lies in their looking for two nuns, not two boys. If they spot our habits, they'll catch us before we can leave the camp."

Brenna nodded and swallowed, and Jenny went on. "Once we're free of our habits, keep your eyes on me and move quietly through the brush. Don't listen to anything else or look at anything else. When they realize we're gone, they'll raise a shout, but it means nothing to us, Brenna. Don't be frightened of the uproar."

"I won't," Brenna said, her eyes already huge with fright.

"We'll stay in the woods and move around the south border of the camp to the pen where the horses are kept. The searchers won't expect us to head back toward the camp, they'll be looking for us in the opposite direction-moving into the woods.

"When we near the pen, you stay just inside the woods, and I'll bring the horses. With luck, whoever watches the mounts will be more interested in the search for us than he is the horses."

Brenna nodded silently and Jenny considered how best to phrase the rest of what she must say. She knew that if they were seen, it would be up to her to try to create a diversion so that Brenna could make good her own escape, but convincing Brenna to go on without her was not going to be easy. In a low, urgent voice, Jenny said finally, "Now then, in case we become separated-"

"Nay!" Brenna burst out. "We won't. We can't."

"Listen to me!" Jenny whispered so sternly that Brenna swallowed the rest of her protest. "If we become separated, you must know the rest of the plan so that I can-catch up with you later." When Brenna nodded reluctantly, Jenny took both her sister's clammy hands in her own and squeezed them tightly, trying to infuse some of her own courage into Brenna. "North is toward that high hill-the one behind the pen where the horses are kept. Do you know which one I mean?"

"Yes."

"Good. Once I've gotten the horses and we're mounted, we're going to stay in the woods, working our way to the north, till we've topped the hill. Once there, we'll angle west as we head down the hill, but we must remain in the woods. When we're in sight of a road, we'll ride parallel to it, but we'll need to stay in the woods. Claymore will probably send someone to watch the roads, but they'll be looking for two nuns from Belkirk Abbey, not two young men. If we're lucky, we'll meet up with some travelers and join their group, which will add to our disguise and increase our chances of success.

"Brenna, there's one thing more. If they recognize us and give chase, you head as fast as you can in the direction I just told you, and I'll veer off in another direction and lead them away from you. If that happens, stay under cover as much as you can. It's no more than five or six hours to the abbey, but if I am caught, you must go on without me. I don't know where we are now. I assume we're across the border in England. Ride north by northwest and when you come to a village, ask for direction to Belkirk."

"I can't just leave you," Brenna cried softly.

"You must-so that you can bring father and our kinsmen to my rescue."

Brenna's face cleared slightly as she understood she'd be ultimately helping Jenny, not abandoning her, and Jenny gave her a bright smile. "I feel certain we'll be at Merrick keep together by Saturday."

"Merrick keep?" Brenna blurted. "Should we not remain at the abbey and send someone else to inform father of what has happened?"

"You can stay at the abbey if you wish, and I'll ask Mother Ambrose for an escort so I can continue on home sometime today or tonight. Father will surely think we're hostages here, so I must reach him at once, before he accepts their terms. Besides, he'll have questions to ask about how many men there are here, what arms they bear-things like that, which only we can answer."

Brenna nodded, but that was not the entire reason Jenny wished to go in person to Merrick keep, and they both knew it. More than anything, Jenny wanted to do something to make her father and her clan proud of her, and this was her golden opportunity. When and if she succeeded, she wanted to be there to see it in their eyes.

The guard's footsteps sounded outside, and Jenny stood up, a polite, even conciliatory, smile fixed on her face. Brenna stood up, looking like she was about to face certain death.

"Good morning," Jenny said as Sir Godfrey escorted them toward the woods. "I feel as if I haven't yet slept."

Sir Godfrey, a man of perhaps thirty, cast an odd look at her-undoubtedly, Jenny thought, because she'd never spoken a civil word to him; then she stiffened as his frowning gaze seemed to drift down her habit, padded now with men's clothes beneath it.

"You slept little," he said, evidently aware of their late-night efforts with a needle.

Their footsteps were muffled by damp grass, as Jenny walked on his left with Brenna stumbling along on her other side.

Feigning a yawn, she cast a sidelong glance at him. "My sister is feeling rather peaked this morn from our late hours. 'Twould be very nice for us if we were permitted a few extra minutes to refresh ourselves at the stream?"

His deeply creased, sun-bronzed face, turned to her, watching her with a mixture of suspicion and uncertainty, then he nodded agreeably.

"Fifteen minutes," he said and Jenny's spirits soared, "but I want to be able to see the head of at least one of you."

He stood sentinel at the edge of the woods, his profile turned to them, his eyes, Jenny knew, dropping no lower than the top of their heads. So far, none of their guards had exhibited a lustful desire to glimpse them in any state of partial undress, for which she was particularly grateful today. "Stay calm," Jenny urged, leading Brenna directly toward the stream. Once there, she walked along the bank of the stream, moving as far into the woods as she dared without giving Sir Godfrey cause to barge into the woods in pursuit, then she stopped beneath the low limb of a tree that hung above a stand of brush.

"The water looks cold, Brenna," Jenny called, raising her voice so the guard could hear and would hopefully feel no need to watch them too closely. As she spoke, Jenny stood beneath the branch of the tree and carefully loosened her veil and wimple, nodding to Brenna to do the same. When both short veils had been removed, Jenny carefully ducked down, holding the veil above her head as if her head were still in it, and gingerly hung it on the limb just above her. Satisfied, she crouched and moved swiftly to Brenna who was likewise holding her headpiece above her head, and took it from Brenna's shaking fingers, attaching it as best she could to the bush.

Two minutes later, both girls had shed their habits and were stuffing them beneath the brush, heaping leaves and twigs over the gray cloth to hide it from view. In a moment of inspiration, Jenny reached into the pile of clothing and twigs and snatched out her handkerchief. Pressing her finger to her lips, she winked at Brenna and bent low, scurrying in a crouch until she was about fifteen yards downstream, in the opposite direction they intended to go. Pausing only long enough to attach the white handkerchief to a thorny branch, as if she'd lost it in flight, she turned back and raced toward Brenna.

"That ought to mislead them and get us much more time," she said. Brenna nodded, looking doubtful and hopeful at the same time, and the two women looked at one another for a moment, each checking the other's appearance. Brenna reached up and pulled Jenny's cap lower over her ears and tucked in a stray wisp of red gold hair and nodded.

With a smile of appreciation and encouragement, Jenny grabbed Brenna's hand and led her swiftly into the woods, moving north, keeping to the perimeter of the camp, praying that Godfrey would give them the full fifteen minutes he promised, and perhaps more.

A few minutes later they had worked their way around behind the pen where the horses were cordoned off, and they were crouched low in the brush, catching their breath. "Stay here and don't move!" Jenny said, her gaze scanning the immediate vicinity for the guard she felt certain would have been stationed near the warhorses. She saw him then, fast asleep on the ground on the far side of the pen. "The guard's asleep at his post," she whispered jubilantly, turning to Brenna, then she added quietly, "If he awakens and catches me trying to take the horses, follow our plan on foot. Do you understand? Stay in the woods and head for that high hill behind us."

Without waiting for an answer, Jenny crawled forward. At the edge of the woods, she paused to look around. The camp was still partially asleep, lulled by the overcast gray morning into believing it was earlier than it was. The horses were nearly within arm's reach.

The guard stirred only once in his sleep as Jenny quietly caught two restive horses by their halters and led them toward the rope that formed the pen. Standing awkwardly on tiptoe, she lifted the rope high enough for the horses to walk beneath it, and in two short minutes, she had handed one of the animals to Brenna and they were quickly leading them deeper into the woods, their hooves silenced by the thick mulch of damp leaves provided by the dewy morning.

Jenny could scarcely suppress her smile of jubilation as they led the horses to a fallen tree and, using that for height, they climbed upon the huge steeds' backs. They were well on their way toward the high ridge when the dim sounds of an alarm being sounded went up behind them.

The din created by that negated the need for quiet, and at the sounds of the men's shouts, both girls simultaneously dug their heels into their steeds' flanks and sent them bounding forward, flying through the woods.

They were both expert horsewomen, and they both adapted easily to riding astride. The lack of a saddle was something of a hindrance, however, because without one it was necessary to grip tightly with the knees, which the destriers took as a signal for speed, which necessitated hanging onto the horse's halter for dear life. Ahead of them was the high ridge, and then eventually, on the other side, a road, the abbey, and, finally, Merrick keep. They stopped briefly so that Jennifer could try to get her bearings, but the forest obscured what little sunlight there was, and Jenny gave up, forced to go on instincts. "Brenna," she said, grinning as she patted the satiny, thick neck of the enormous black warhorse she rode. "Think back on the legends about the Wolf-about his horse. Is it not said his name is Thor and that he's the fastest destrier in the land? As well as the most agile?"

"Aye," Brenna answered, shivering a little in the cool dawn as the horses began picking their way through the dense forest.

"And," Jenny continued, "is it not said he's as black as sin with only a white star on his forehead for a marking?"

"Aye."

"And does this horse have such a star?"

Brenna looked round and then nodded.

"Brenna," Jenny said, laughing softly, "I've stolen the black Wolf's mighty Thor!"

The animal's ears flickered at the sound of his name, and Brenna forgot her worries and burst out laughing.

"That's undoubtedly why he was tied and kept separate from the others," Jenny added gaily, her gaze roaming appreciatively over the magnificent animal. "That also explains why, when we first rode away from camp, he was ever so much faster than the horse you're riding, and I kept having to hold him back." Leaning forward, she patted his neck again. "What a beauty you are," she whispered, harboring no ill will for the horse-only for his former owner.

"Royce-" Godfrey stood in Royce's tent, his deep voice gruff with chagrin, an embarrassed flush creeping up his thick, tanned neck. "The women have… er… escaped, about three-quarters of an hour ago-Arik, Eustace, and Lionel are searching the woods."

Royce paused in the act of reaching for a shirt, his face almost comical in its expression of disbelief as he stared at the most wily and fiercest of his knights. "They've what?" he said, an incredulous smile mixed with dawning annoyance sweeping across his face. "Do you mean to tell me," he jibed, angrily snatching the shirt from the pile of clothing the girls had mended last night, "that you let two naive girls outwit-" He rammed his arm into the sleeve, then stared in furious disbelief at a wrist opening that refused to part so his fist could pass through it. Swearing savagely under his breath, he snatched up another, checked the wrist to ascertain it was all right, and shoved his arm into it. The entire sleeve parted from the body of the shirt and fell away as if by magic. "I swear to God, "he bit out between his teeth, "when I get my hands on that blue-eyed witch, I'll-" Flinging that shirt aside, he stalked over to a chest and pulled out a fresh one, jerked it on, too infuriated to finish his sentence. Reaching automatically for his short sword, he buckled it on and stalked past Godfrey. "Show me where you last saw them," he snapped.

"It was here, in the woods," Godfrey said. "Royce-" he added, as he showed him to the place where two veils were hanging crazily from branches without heads underneath them. "It… er… won't be necessary for the other men to hear of this, will it?"

A brief smile flickered in Royce's eyes as he shot a wry look at the big man, understanding at once that Godfrey's pride had suffered a grievous blow and that he hoped it could remain a private one. "There's no need to sound an alarm," Royce said, his long legs carrying him along the bank of the stream, his gaze delving into the trees and searching the brush. "It'll be easy enough to find them."

An hour later, he wasn't so sure of that, and his amusement had been replaced by anger. He needed those women as hostages. They were the key that would open the gates to Merrick keep, perhaps without bloodshed and the loss of valuable men.

Together the five men combed the woods, working eastward in the belief that one of the girls had lost her handkerchief in flight, but when no trail could be found leading away from the spot, Royce reached the conclusion that one of the girls-the blue-eyed wench, no doubt-might actually have had the presence of mind to place the white scrap of cloth there in a deliberate attempt to mislead them. It was incongruous-incredible. But, apparently, true.

With Godfrey on one side and a scornful Arik on the other, Royce stalked past the two gray veils and snatched them furiously off their branches. "Sound an alarm and form a party to search every inch of these woods," he snapped as he passed the girls' tent. "No doubt they're hiding in the thicket. These woods are so dense, we may have walked right past them."

Twoscore men formed a line the length of their combined, outstretched hands and began to comb the woods, starting at the edge of the stream and moving slowly forward, looking beneath every bush and fallen log. The minutes became one hour, and then two, until, finally, it was afternoon.

Standing at the bank of the stream where the girls had last been seen, Royce squinted at the densely wooded hills to the north, his expression becoming more harsh with each passing moment that his captives remained missing. The wind had picked up and the sky was leaden.

Stefan walked up to him, having just returned from the hunting expedition he'd taken out last night. "I hear the women escaped this morning," he said, worriedly following Royce's gaze to the highest hill to the north. "Do you think they actually made it to yon ridge?"

"They haven't had time to get there on foot," Royce answered, his voice harsh with anger. "But in case they took the longer route around it, I sent men out to check the road. They questioned every traveler they encountered, but no one has seen two young women. A cottager saw two boys riding into the hills on horseback and that was all.

"Wherever they are, they're bound to lose their way if they head into those hills-there isn't enough sun to use as a compass. Secondly, they don't know where they are so they can't know which direction to go."

Stefan was silent, his eyes searching the distant hills, then he looked sharply at Royce. "When I rode into camp just now, I wondered if you'd decided to go hunting on your own last night."

"Why?" Royce said shortly.

Stefan hesitated, knowing that Royce prized the mighty black warhorse for his enormous courage and loyalty more than he valued many people. In fact, Thor's feats in the lists and on the battlefield were nearly as legendary as his owner's. One famous lady at court had once complained to her friends that if Royce Westmoreland showed her half the affection he showed his damned horse, she'd count herself lucky. And Royce had replied, with typical acid sarcasm, that if the lady had half the loyalty and heart of his horse, he'd have married her.

There wasn't a man in Henry's army who would have dared to take Royce's horse out of the pen for a gallop. Which meant someone else had.

"Royce…"

Royce turned at the hesitancy he heard in his brother's voice, but his gaze was suddenly drawn to the ground beside Stefan where leaves and twigs formed an unnaturally high mound at the base of a bush. Some sixth sense made him poke at the mound with the toe of his boot-and then he saw it-the unmistakable somber gray of a nun's habit. Bending, he reached out and snatched at the cloth, just as Stefan added, "Thor isn't in the pen with our other horses. The girls must have taken him without the guard noticing."

Royce straightened slowly, his jaw clenched as he looked at the discarded garments, his voice edged with fury. "We've been looking for two nuns on foot. We should have been looking for two short men, mounted on my horse." Swearing under his breath, Royce turned on his heel and stalked toward the pen where the horses were kept. As he passed the girls' tent, he hurtled the gray habits at the open tent flap in a sharp gesture of fury and disgust, then he broke into a run with Stefan following at his heels.

The guard standing sentry at the huge horse pen saluted his liege lord, then stepped back in alarm as the Wolf reached out and caught him by the front of his jerkin, lifting him off the ground. "Who was on guard at dawn this morning?"

"I-I, milord."

"Did you desert your post?"

"Nay! Milord, no!" he cried, knowing the penalty for that in the king's army was death.

Royce flung him aside in disgust. Within minutes, a party of twelve men, with Royce and Stefan in the lead, galloped down the road, heading north. When they came to the steep hills that lay between the camp and the north road, Royce reined in sharply, calling out instructions. Assuming the women hadn't met with some accident or lost their direction, Royce knew they would already have made their way down the far side and climbed the next ridge. Even so, he dispatched four men with instructions to comb these hills from one side to the other.

With Stefan and Arik and the remaining five men at his side, Royce dug his spurs into his mount and sent the gelding flying down the road at a run. Two hours later, they rounded the hill and came to the north road. One fork led northeast, the other angled northwest. Frowning in indecision, Royce signaled his men to stop as he considered which route the women might have taken. Had they not had the presence of mind to leave that damned handkerchief in the woods in order to mislead their captors into searching in the wrong direction, he'd have taken all his men up the northwest fork. As it was, he couldn't dismiss the possibility that they'd deliberately taken a road that would lead them a half day's journey out of their way. It would cost them time but gain them safety, Royce knew. Still, he doubted if they knew which direction led back to their home. He glanced at the sky; there were only about two more hours of daylight left. The northwest road appeared to climb into the hills in the distance. The shortest route was also the most difficult to traverse at night. Two women, frightened and vulnerable even though dressed as men, would surely take the safest, easiest road even though it was longer. His decision made, he sent Arik and the remaining men to search a twenty-mile stretch of that route.

On the other hand, Royce thought angrily as he swung his own mount toward the northwest route and signaled Stefan to follow him, that arrogant, conniving blue-eyed witch would brave the hills alone and at night. She'd dare anything, that one, he thought with increasing fury as he recalled how politely he'd thanked her for mending their clothes last night-and how sweetly genteel she'd been as she accepted his thanks. She knew no fear. Not yet. But when he got his hands on her, she would learn the meaning of it. She'd learn to fear him.

Humming gaily to herself, Jenny added more twigs to the cozy campfire she'd built using the flint she'd been given yesterday to light their sewing candles. Somewhere in the dense forest nearby, an animal howled eerily at the rising moon, and Jenny hummed more determinedly, hiding her instinctive shudder of apprehension behind a bright, encouraging smile designed to reassure poor Brenna. The threat of rain had passed, leaving a black, starlit sky lit by a round golden moon, and for that Jenny was profoundly grateful. Rain was the last thing she wanted now.

The animal howled again, and Brenna tugged her horse's blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Jenny," she whispered, her eyes fastened trustingly upon her older sister. "Was that sound what I think it was?" As if the word was too unspeakable to voice, she formed the word "wolf" with her pale lips.

Jenny was reasonably certain it was several wolves, not one wolf. "Do you mean that owl we just heard?" she prevaricated, smiling.

"It wasn't an owl," Brenna said, and Jenny winced with alarm as a spasm of ugly, shrill coughing seized her sister, leaving her gasping for breath. The lung ailment that had plagued Brenna almost constantly as a child was recurring tonight, aggravated by the damp cold and by her fear.

"Even if it wasn't an owl," Jenny said gently, "no predator will come near this fire-I know that for fact. Garrick Carmichael told me so one night when the three of us were on our way back from Aberdeen and the snow forced us to make camp. He built a fire and told Becky and me just that."

At the moment, the danger of building this fire concerned Jenny almost as much as the danger of wolves. A small fire, even in the forest, could be seen for a long distance and, although they were several hundred yards away from the road, she couldn't shake the feeling that their pursuers might still find them.

Trying to divert herself from her own worries, she drew her knees up to her chest, propped her chin on them and nodded toward Thor. "Have you ever in your life seen a more magnificent animal than that? At first, I thought he was going to toss me off this morning when I mounted him, but then he seemed to sense our urgency and he settled down. And all day today-it's the oddest thing-he seemed to know what I wanted him to do, without my ever having to urge him or guide him. Imagine papa's delight when we return, having not only escaped from the Wolf's very clutches, but with his horse, to boot!"

"You can't be certain it's his horse," Brenna said, looking like she was seized by second thoughts about the wisdom of having stolen a steed of great value and greater fame.

"Of course it is!" Jenny declared proudly. "He is exactly as the minstrels tell of him in their songs. Besides, he looks at me whenever I say his name." To illustrate, she called his name softly, and the horse raised his magnificent head, regarding her through eyes so intelligent they seemed human. "It is he!" Jenny said jubilantly, but Brenna seemed to cringe at the thought.

"Jenny," she whispered, her huge hazel eyes sad as they studied her sister's brave, determined smile. "Why do you suppose you have so much courage and I have so very little?"

"Because," Jenny said with a chuckle, "our Lord is a just God and, since you received all the beauty, He wanted to give me something for balance."

"Oh, but-" Brenna stopped abruptly as the great black horse suddenly lifted his head and whickered loudly into the night.

Leaping to her feet, Jenny rushed over to Thor, clamping her hand against his nose to keep him quiet. "Quickly-put the fire out, Brenna! Use the blanket." Her heart pounding in her ears, Jenny tipped her head, listening for the sounds of riders, feeling their presence even though she couldn't hear them. "Listen to me," she whispered frantically. "As soon as I mount Thor, cut your horse loose and send him crashing down into the woods in that direction, then run over here and hide beneath that fallen tree. Don't leave there or make a sound until I return."

As she spoke, Jenny was vaulting onto a log and hoisting herself up onto Thor's back. "I'm going to ride Thor out onto the road and race him up that rise. If that devil earl is out there, he'll chase me. And Brenna," she added breathlessly, already turning Thor toward the road, "if he catches me and I don't return, take the road to the abbey and follow our plan-send papa to rescue me."

"But-" Brenna whispered, shaking in terror.

"Do it! Please!" Jenny implored and sent her horse charging through the woods toward the road, deliberately making as much noise as possible to draw any pursuers away from Brenna.

"There!" Royce shouted at Stefan, pointing to the dark speck racing toward the ridge high above, then they spurred their horses, sending them flying down the road in pursuit of the horse and rider. When they came to the spot in the road near where the girls had camped, the unmistakable smell of a newly doused fire made Royce and Stefan rein in abruptly. "Search the camp," Royce shouted, already spurring his horse to a gallop. "You'll probably find the younger girl there."

"Damn, but she can ride!" Royce breathed in near-admiration, his gaze fastened on the small figure bent low over Thor's neck as she tried unsuccessfully to stay three hundred yards ahead of him. He knew instinctively it was Jenny he was chasing, and not her timid sister-just as surely as he knew the horse was Thor. Thor was running with all his heart, but not even the gallant black stallion's speed could make up for the time he lost whenever Jennifer refused to let him jump a particularly high obstacle and made him go around it instead. Without a saddle, she was obviously in jeopardy of being unseated if she let him jump too high.

Royce had narrowed the distance to fifty yards and was closing fast when he saw Thor suddenly veer away from the path he was on and refuse to jump a fallen tree-a sure sign that he sensed danger and was trying to protect himself and his rider. A shout of alarm and terror tore from Royce's chest as he peered into the night and realized there was nothing but a steep drop and thin air beyond the fallen tree. "Jennifer, don't!" he shouted, but she didn't heed the warning.

Frightened to the point of hysteria, she brought the horse around again, backed him up and dug her heels into his glossy flanks, "Go!" she screamed, and after a moment's hesitation, the huge horse gathered his hindquarters beneath him and gave a mighty leap. A human scream split the night almost instantly as Jenny lost her balance and slid off the leaping horse, hanging for a suspended instant by his thick mane, before she fell with a crash into the limbs of the fallen tree. And then there was another sound-the sickening thud of a huge animal plunging down a steep incline and rolling to its death.

Jenny was climbing unsteadily from the tangle of tree limbs as Royce vaulted down from his horse and ran to the edge of the cliff. She shoved her hair out of her eyes and realized there was nothing but blackness a few feet beyond her, then she dragged her eyes to her captor, but he was staring down the steep slope, his clenched jaw as hard as granite. So unnerved and disoriented was she that she made no protest when he grabbed her arm in a painful grip and yanked her with him as he deliberately slid down the steep hill.

For a moment, Jenny couldn't imagine what he was about-and then her mind cleared a little. Thor! He was looking for his horse, she realized, her gaze flying wildly over the rugged terrain, praying somehow that the magnificent animal might not be harmed. She spotted him at the same time Royce did-the still, black form lying only a few yards away at the base of the boulder that had broken his fall, and his neck.

Royce flung her arm aside, and Jenny stayed where she stood, paralyzed with remorse and anguish as she gazed at the beautiful animal she'd inadvertently killed. As if in a dream, she watched England's fiercest warrior kneel on one knee beside his dead horse, slowly stroking the animal's glossy black coat, and speaking words she could not quite hear in a voice that was raw.

Tears blurred her eyes but when Royce stood up and swung around to face her, panic collided with her sorrow. Instinct warned her to run and she turned to flee, but she wasn't quick enough. He caught her by the hair and jerked her back, swinging her around to face him, his fingers digging cruelly into her scalp. "God damn you!" he bit out savagely, his glittering eyes alive with rage. "That horse you just killed had more courage and more loyalty than most men! He had so damned much of both that he let you send him to his death." Sorrow and terror were etched on Jenny's pale face, but they had no softening effect on her captor, who tightened his painful grip on her hair, forcing her head further back, "He knew there was nothing but thin air beyond that tree, and he warned you, and then he let you send him to his death!"

As if he couldn't trust himself any longer, he flung her away, caught her wrist and dragged her roughly in his wake to the top of the ridge. It dawned on Jenny that the reason he'd insisted on taking her down there was doubtlessly to prevent her from stealing his other horse. At the time, she'd been so overwrought it hadn't occurred to her to try, even if the opportunity had presented itself. Now, however, she was recovering her senses, and as he hoisted her onto the back of his horse, another opportunity did arrive. Just as the earl started to swing his leg over the horse's back, Jenny made a sudden lunge for the bridle reins, managing to snatch one out of his hand. The plan failed, for he hoisted himself effortlessly onto the running horse and then wrapped his arm around Jenny's waist in a grip that cut off her air. "Try one more trick," he whispered in her ear in a tone of such undiluted fury that she cringed, "do one more thing to annoy me," his arm tightened horribly, "and I'll make you regret it for as long as you live! Do you understand me?" He underlined the question by tightening his grip sharply.

"Yes!" Jenny gasped, and he slowly released the pressure against her rib cage.

Huddled beneath the fallen tree where Jenny had instructed her to remain, Brenna watched as Stefan Westmoreland rode back into the clearing, leading her horse. From her vantage point, she could see only the legs of the animals, the forest floor, and as he dismounted, the legs of the man himself. She should have run deeper into the woods, Brenna decided frantically, but if she had, she might have gotten lost. Besides, Jenny had told her to remain where she was, and in all matters such as this, Brenna faithfully and impeccably followed Jenny's instructions.

The man's legs brought him nearer. He stopped at the fire, nudging the dying embers with the toe of his boot, and Brenna sensed instinctively that his eyes were probing the dark recess of the bushes where she was hidden. He moved suddenly, walking toward her, and her chest rose and fell in frightened spasms as her lungs fought for air. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she tried to silence the coughing fit that was bursting within her while she stared in frozen terror at the tips of his boots only inches from her own.

"All right now," the deep voice boomed in the little clearing, "come out of there, milady. You've given us a merry chase, but the chase is over."

Hoping it was a trap and that he didn't actually know she was there, Brenna pressed further back into her hiding-hole. "Very well," he sighed, "I suppose I'll have to reach in there and fetch you." He crouched abruptly and an instant later a big hand thrust through the branches, groping around and finally closing on Brenna's breast.

A squeal of indignant horror stuck in her throat as his hand snapped open, then closed again slowly, as if he was trying to identify what he'd found. When he did identify it, he jerked his hand back in momentary shock, then thrust it forward, grabbed Brenna's arm, and hauled her out.

"Well, well, well," Stefan said, unsmiling. "It seems I've found a woodland fairy."

Brenna hadn't courage enough to strike him or bite him as Jenny had done to his brother, but she did manage to glower at him as he tossed her up onto her horse and mounted his own, holding her horse's reins in his hand.

When they emerged from the woods onto the road, Brenna breathed a prayer that Jenny had escaped, then steeled herself to look up the road to the ridge. Her heart plummeted when she saw Jenny coming toward her, mounted in front of the black Wolf on his horse. Stefan guided his horse into step beside his brother's. "Where's Thor?" he asked, but the murderous expression on Royce's face answered the question before his voice did. "Dead."

Royce rode in tight-lipped silence, growing angrier with each passing minute. Besides the deep loss he felt because of Thor, he was also tired, hungry, and thoroughly enraged because one young girl (he rightly held Brenna blameless) with red hair (he knew that now) had managed to dupe a wily, experienced guard, throw half an army into an uproar, and force him to spend an entire day and night recapturing her. But what infuriated him most was her unbending will, her stiff spine, and defiant manner. She was like a spoiled child who'd not admit she was wrong by breaking down and crying.

When they rode into camp, heads turned to watch them and faces relaxed, but none of the men were foolish enough to cheer. That two captives had been permitted to escape in the first place was a cause for embarrassment, not rejoicing, but that those captives were women was unthinkable. It was humiliating.

Royce and Stefan rode toward the pen and Royce dismounted, then unceremoniously hauled Jenny down. She turned to start toward her tent, then stifled a cry of pain and surprise when Royce jerked her back. "I want to know how you got the horses out of the pen without the guard seeing you."

Every man within hearing distance seemed to tense in unison and turn toward Jenny, waiting for her to answer. Until then, they'd behaved as if she was invisible, but now she squirmed under their swift, intense stares.

"Answer me!"

"I didn't have to sneak them out," Jenny said with as much dignity and contempt as she could manage. "Your guard was asleep."

A look of pained disbelief flickered in Royce's angry eyes, but his face was otherwise blank as he nodded curtly at Arik. The blond giant, his war axe in hand, walked forward through the men, heading for the recalcitrant guard. Jenny watched the unfolding tableau, wondering what was going to happen to the poor man. No doubt he'd be punished for being derelict in his duty, she knew, but the punishment wouldn't be truly terrible. Or would it? She didn't know because Royce snatched her arm and began pulling her with him.

As Royce marched her through the camp, Jenny could feel the hostile rage blazing at her from every soldier and knight she passed. She had made fools of them all by escaping and by eluding them. They hated her for that now, and their hatred was so virulent it made her skin burn. Even the earl seemed angrier at her than he'd been before, Jenny thought, as she quickened her pace to a near-run, trying to keep up with him before he pulled her arm out of its socket.

Her concern over his anger was suddenly overwhelmed by a more immediate calamity-Royce Westmoreland was taking her to his tent, not to her own.

"I won't go in there!" she cried, jerking backward.

Swearing under his breath, the earl reached out and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, her buttocks pointing skyward, her long hair falling to his calves. Lewd laughter and cheers rang out all over the clearing as the men witnessed her public humiliation, and Jenny almost gagged on her fury and mortification.

Inside the tent, he dumped her onto the heap of fur rugs on the ground, then stood watching her as Jenny scrambled to a sitting position, and then to her feet, watching him like a small, cornered animal. "If you defile me, I'll kill you, I swear it," she cried, mentally recoiling from the fury that turned his face to steel and his eyes to glittery silver shards.

"Defile you?" he repeated with scathing contempt. "The last thing you awaken in me right now is lust. You're going to stay in this tent because it's already heavily guarded, and I don't have to waste more of my men's time watching yours. Furthermore, you're in the center of the camp, and if you decide to make a run for it, my men will cut you down. Is that clear?"

She glowered at him but remained stonily silent, and her arrogant refusal to submit to his will enraged Royce yet more. His fists clenched at his sides, he fought down his rage and continued, "If you do one more thing to inconvenience me or anyone else in this camp, I will personally make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?"

Looking into that harsh, sinister face, Jenny fully believed he could, and would, do it.

"Answer me!" he ordered murderously.

Realizing that he was already pushed past reason, Jenny swallowed and nodded.

"And-" he began, then broke off abruptly as if he couldn't trust himself to say more. Turning, he snatched up a flagon of wine from the table and was about to drink from it when his squire, Gawin, entered the tent. In Gawin's arms were the blankets he'd fetched earlier from the ladies' tent-blankets which he'd been handing out to the men before he realized they'd been slashed, not mended. The boy's face was a study of anger and disbelief.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Royce snapped, the flagon arrested halfway to his lips.

Gawin raised his young, indignant face to his master. "The blankets, sire," he said, turning his accusing gaze on Jenny, "she slashed them, 'stead of mending them. The men would have been cold enough with only these blankets for protection, but now…"

Jenny's heart began to pound in genuine terror as the earl very slowly, very carefully, lowered the flagon and put it on the table. He spoke and his voice was a raw whisper, rasping with rage. "Come here."

Shaking her head, Jenny retreated a step.

"You're making it worse on yourself," he warned as she retreated another step. "I said, come here."

Jenny would have sooner jumped off a cliff. The tent flap was up, but there was no way to escape; men had been gathering out there since Royce had carried her into the tent, waiting no doubt to hear her whimper or scream for mercy.

Royce spoke to his squire, but his dagger gaze remained on Jenny. "Gawin, bring needle and thread."

"Aye, milord," Gawin agreed and scurried over to the corner, retrieving both. He put them on the table beside Royce, then stood back and watched in surprise as Royce merely lifted up the scraps that had once been blankets and held them out to the red-haired witch who'd destroyed them.

"You're going to mend every one of them," he told Jenny in an unnaturally quiet voice.

The tension left her body and she stared at her captor with a mixture of bafflement and relief. After causing him to spend a day and night chasing her, after killing his beautiful horse and destroying his clothes, the only punishment he meant to exact from her was to make her mend the blankets she'd ruined. That was making her life a living hell?

"You'll not sleep with a blanket until every one of these are repaired, do you understand?" he added, his voice as smooth and hard as polished steel. "Until my men are warm, you'll be cold."

"I-I understand," Jenny said in a wavering voice. So restrained was his manner-so parental-that it did not occur to her that he meant to do anything further to her. In fact, as she walked forward and reached a shaking hand toward the tattered strips of cloth he held, the thought flashed across her mind that rumor had grossly exaggerated his ruthlessness-a thought that was shattered an instant later: "Ouch!" she cried as his big hand shot out like a striking snake and locked around her outstretched wrist, yanking her forward with a force that knocked the air from her lungs and snapped her head back. "You spoiled little bitch," he bit out. "Someone should have beat that pride out of you when you were still a child. However, since they didn't, I will-"

His hand lifted and Jenny threw up an arm to cover her head, thinking that he meant to strike her in the face, but the huge hand she'd expected to hit her yanked her arm down. "I'd snap your neck in two if I hit you like that. I have another target in mind-"

Before Jenny could react, he sat down and in one fluid motion yanked her across his lap. "Nay!" she gasped, wriggling in furious, frightened earnest, horribly aware of the men who were gathered outside the tent, trying to hear. "Don't you dare!" she cried, as she threw all her weight toward the floor. He clamped his leg over both of hers, imprisoning them between his thighs, and lifted his hand. "This," he said, as his hand crashed down against her backside, "is for my horse." Jenny counted through waves of pain, biting her lip until it bled in an effort to strangle her sobbing cries, as his hand rose and fell with relentless pain, again and again and again. "This is for your destructiveness… your stupid escape… the blankets you ruined…"

Intending to thrash her until she sobbed and pleaded with him to stop, Royce continued until his hand ached, but even though she squirmed frantically to avoid his hand, she never made a sound. In fact, if her whole body hadn't jerked spasmodically each time his hand struck her bottom, he'd have doubted that she was feeling anything at all.

Royce lifted his hand again and then hesitated. Her buttocks tightened, anticipating the strike of his hand, her body tensed, but still she did not cry out. Disgusted with himself and deprived of the satisfaction of making her weep and plead for mercy, he shoved her off his lap and stood up, glaring down at her and breathing fast.

Even now, her stubborn, unyielding pride refused to permit her to stay collapsed at his feet. Putting her hand to the ground, she rose slowly, unsteadily, until she was standing before him, clutching her breeches to her waist. Her head was bent forward, hiding her face from his view, but as he watched, she shuddered, trying to square her trembling shoulders. She looked so small and vulnerable that he felt a twinge of conscience. "Jennifer-" he bit out.

Her head lifted, and Royce froze in surprise and reluctant admiration for the amazing sight he beheld. Standing there like a wild enraged gypsy, her hair tumbling all about her like golden flames and her huge blue eyes alive with hatred and unshed tears, she slowly raised her hand… a hand which was holding a dagger which she'd obviously managed to snatch from his boot as he spanked her.

And in that unlikely moment, as she held his dagger poised high, ready to strike, Royce Westmoreland thought she was the most magnificent creature he'd ever beheld; a wild, beautiful, enraged angel of retribution, her chest rising and falling with fury as she courageously confronted an enemy who towered over her. He'd hurt her and humiliated her, Royce realized, but he hadn't broken that indomitable spirit of hers. Suddenly Royce wasn't certain he wanted her broken. Softly and without emphasis, he held out his hand. "Give me the dagger, Jennifer."

She raised it higher-aimed, Royce realized, straight at his heart.

"I'll not harm you again," he continued, talking calmly as young Gawin moved stealthily behind her, his face murderous as he prepared to defend his lord's life. "Nor," Royce added with the emphasis of a command aimed at Gawin, "will my overzealous squire, who is at this moment standing behind you, ready to slit your throat if you try."

In her fury, Jenny had forgotten the squire was in the tent-that the boy had witnessed her humiliation! The knowledge erupted inside her like a volcano.

"Give me the dagger," Royce said, extending his hand to her, confident now that she would give it to him. She did. The dagger slashed through the air with the speed of light, aimed straight at his heart. Only his swift reflexes enabled him to deflect it with his arm, then twist the blade free of her death grip, and even with that, as he jerked her against him and threw his arm around her, imprisoning her against his body, bright red blood was already seeping from the gash she'd managed to carve along his cheek near his ear.

"You bloodthirsty little wench!" he said in a savage underbreath, all his former admiration for her courage instantly demolished as he felt the blood begin to pour from his face. "If you were a man, I'd kill you for this!"

Gawin was staring at his lord's wound with a fury that outmeasured Royce's, and when the boy looked at Jenny, there was murder in his eye. "I'll fetch the guard," he said with a final loathsome look at her.

"Don't be a fool!" Royce snapped. "Would you have word spread throughout the camp and then the land that I was wounded by a nun? 'Tis fear of me, of my legend, that defeats our enemies before they ever raise their weapons against me!"

"I beg pardon, milord," Gawin said. "But how will you stop her from telling it once you let her loose?"

"Let me loose?" Jenny said, roused from her fear-induced trance as she stared at the blood she'd drawn. "You intend to let us loose?"

"Eventually, if I don't murder you first," the Wolf snapped, shoving her away from him with a force that sent her sprawling amidst the heap of rugs in the corner of his tent. He snatched up the flagon of wine, keeping a wary eye on her, and took a long swallow, then he glanced at the large needle on the table beside the thread. "Find a smaller needle," he ordered his squire.

Jenny sat where she was, bewildered by his words and actions. Now that her reason was returning, she could scarce believe he hadn't murdered her on the spot for trying to kill him. His words ran through her mind, " 'Tis fear of me, of my legend, that defeats our enemies before they ever raise their weapons against me." Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind, she'd already arrived at the conclusion that the Wolf was not near so bad as legend had him-were he half as bad as they said, she'd already have been tortured and molested. Instead, he evidently intended to let Brenna and her go.

By the time Gawin returned with a smaller needle, Jenny was feeling almost charitable toward the man she'd tried to kill but minutes before. She could not and would not forgive him for physically abusing her, but she counted matters fairly even between them, now that she'd wounded both his body and his pride as he'd wounded hers. As she sat there watching him drink from the flagon, she decided that the wisest and best course, henceforth, would be to try her best not to provoke him into changing his mind about returning them to the abbey.

"I'll have to shave your beard, sire," Gawin said, "else I can't see the wound in order to stitch it."

"Shave it off then," Royce muttered, "you're not much good with that needle even when you can see what you're doing. I've scars all over me to prove it."

"A pity 'tis your face she cut," Gawin agreed, and Jenny had the feeling she'd ceased to exist for the moment. " 'Tis scarred enough already," he added as he set out a sharp knife and a cup of water for shaving.

The boy's body blocked the Wolf from Jenny's view as he went about his task, and as the minutes slowly ticked by, she found herself leaning slightly to one side, then the other, intensely curious to see what sort of ferocious face had been concealed by his thick, black beard. Or did it hide a weak chin? she wondered, leaning further to the left, trying to see. No doubt it hid a weak chin, she decided, leaning so far to the right that she nearly lost her balance as she tried to peer around the squire.

Royce had not forgotten her presence, nor did he trust her, now that she'd showed herself bold enough to try to end his life. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he saw her leaning from one side to the other, and he mockingly told his squire, "Move aside, Gawin, so she can see my face before she topples like an overturned bottle, trying to see around you."

Jenny, who had leaned far to the right, trying to see, could not recover her balance quickly enough to pretend she hadn't been doing exactly that. Color washed up her cheeks and she jerked her gaze from Royce Westmoreland's face, but not before she'd gotten the startling impression that the Wolf was considerably younger than she'd thought. Moreover, he did not have a weak chin. It was a strong, square chin with a curious little dent in the center of it. More than that, she hadn't been able to tell.

"Come, come, don't be shy," Royce prodded sarcastically, but the strong wine he'd been drinking was doing much to soothe his temper. Besides, he found her swift, startling change from daring assassin to curious young girl both baffling and amusing. "Take a good look at the face you just tried to carve your initial into," he urged, watching her prim profile.

"I need to stitch that wound, milord," Gawin said, frowning. "It's deep and swelling and 'twill be ugly enough as it is."

"Try not to render me hideous to Lady Jennifer," Royce said sardonically.

"I'm your squire, milord, not a seamstress," Gawin replied, the needle and thread poised above the deep gash that began near his lord's temple and followed his jawline.

The word "seamstress" suddenly reminded Royce of the neat, nearly invisible stitches Jenny had sewn into a pair of woolen hose, and he waved Gawin aside, turning his speculative gaze on his captive. "Come here," he told Jenny in a calm voice that nevertheless rang with authority.

No longer eager to provoke him, lest he change his mind about releasing them, Jenny arose and warily obeyed, relieved to take the pressure off her throbbing backside.

"Come closer," he bade her when she paused just out of his reach. "It seems only fitting that you should have to mend everything you have rent. Stitch up my face."

In the light from the pair of candles, Jenny saw the gash she'd made in his face and the sight of that torn flesh, added to the thought of piercing it with a needle, made her feel like swooning. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and whispered through parched lips, "I-I can't."

"You can and you will," Royce stated implacably. A second ago, he'd started to doubt the wisdom of letting her near him with a needle, but as he witnessed her horror at the sight of what she'd done, he felt reassured. In fact, he thought, forcing her to continue to look at it-to touch it-was just retribution!

With visible reluctance, Gawin handed her the needle and thread, and Jenny held it in her shaking hand, poised above Royce's face, but just when she was about to touch him, he stayed her hand with his and said in a cold, warning voice, "I hope you aren't foolish enough to entertain any thought of making this ordeal unnecessarily painful?"

"No, I wasn't. I won't," Jenny said weakly.

Satisfied, Royce held out the flagon of wine to her, "Here, drink some of this first. 'Twill steady your nerves." If he'd offered her poison at that moment, and told her it would steady her nerves, Jenny would have taken it, so distraught was she at the prospect of what she had to do. She lifted the flagon and took three long swallows, choked, then lifted it and drank some more. She would have had yet more, had the earl not firmly removed the flagon from her clenched hand. "Too much of it will cloud your vision and make you clumsy," he said dryly. "I don't want you trying to stitch my ear closed. Now, get on with it." Turning his head, he calmly offered his torn face for her ministrations while Gawin stood at Jenny's elbow, watching to make certain she did no harm.

Never had Jenny ever pierced human flesh with her needle, and as she forced the point through the earl's swollen skin, she couldn't completely suppress her moan of sick protest. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Royce tried not to wince for fear she'd see it and faint dead away. "For an assassin, you have an amazingly weak stomach," he remarked, trying to divert his mind from the pain, and her mind from her gory task.

Biting her lip, Jenny dug the needle into his flesh again. The color drained from her face, and Royce tried again to divert her with conversation. "Whatever made you think you had a calling to be a nun?"

"I-I didn't," she gasped.

"Then what were you doing at the abbey in Belkirk?"

"My father sent me there." she said, swallowing down the sickness at her gruesome task.

"Because he thinks you're meant to be a nun?" Royce demanded in disbelief, watching her out of the corners of his eyes. "He must see a different side of your nature than you've shown to me."

That almost made her laugh, he noted, watching her bite her lip as the color returned to her cheeks. "Actually," she admitted slowly, her soft voice amazingly lyrical when she wasn't angry or guarded, "I suppose you could say he sent me there because he'd seen the same side of my nature that you have."

"Really?" Royce inquired conversationally. "What reason had you to try to kill him?"

He sounded so genuinely disgruntled, that Jenny couldn't completely suppress a smile. Besides, she'd eaten nothing since yesterday and the heady wine was surging through her bloodstream, relaxing and warming her all the way to her toes.

"Well?" Royce prompted, studying the tiny dimple that peeked from the corner of her mouth.

"I did not try to kill my father," she said firmly, taking another stitch.

"What did you do then, that he banished you to a convent?"

"Among other things, I refused to wed someone-in a way."

"Really?" Royce said, genuinely surprised as he recalled what he'd heard of Merrick's eldest daughter when he was last at Henry's court. Rumor had it that Merrick's eldest was a plain, prim, cold woman and a dedicated spinster. He racked his brain, trying to remember who had actually described her to him in such terms. Edward Balder, he remembered now-the earl of Lochlordon, an emissary from King James's court, had said that of her. But then, so had everyone else on those rare occasions he'd heard her mentioned at all. A plain, prim, cold spinster, they had said, but there had been more, though he couldn't recall it at the moment. "How old are you?" he asked abruptly.

The question startled her and seemed to embarrass her. "Seventeen years," she admitted, rather reluctantly, Royce thought, "and two weeks."

"That old?" he said, his lips twitching with a mixture of amusement and compassion. Seventeen was hardly ancient, although most girls married between fourteen and sixteen years of age. He supposed she was loosely qualified for the term spinster. "A spinster by choice then?"

Embarrassment and denial flickered in her deep blue eyes, and he tried to recall what else they said of her at court. He could remember nothing-except that they said her sister, Brenna, eclipsed her completely. Brenna, according to rumor, had a face whose beauty outshone the sun and stars. Idly, Royce wondered why any man would prefer a meek, pale blond to this fiery young temptress, and then he recalled that he himself had generally preferred the comforts of an angelic blond-one in particular. "Are you a spinster by choice?" he demanded, wisely waiting until she'd taken another stitch before using the word that made her flinch.

Jenny took another tiny stitch, and then another, and another, trying to stave off her sudden unaccustomed awareness of him as a handsome, virile male. And he was handsome, she realized fairly, astonishingly so. Clean-shaven, he possessed a rugged, thoroughly male sort of beauty that had taken her completely by surprise. His jaw was square, the chin clefted, his cheekbones high and wide. But what was so completely disarming was her latest discovery: The earl of Claymore, whose very name struck terror in the hearts of his enemy-had the thickest eyelashes she'd ever seen in her life! A smile danced in her eyes as she imagined how intrigued everyone would be at home when she imparted that piece of information. "Are you a spinster by choice?" Royce repeated a trifle impatiently.

"I suppose I am, since my father warned me he'd send me to the convent if I spoiled the only eminently suitable offer of marriage I was likely ever to receive."

"Who offered for you?" Royce asked, intrigued.

"Edward Balder, Earl of Lochlordon. Hold still!" she commanded with outrageous temerity when he jumped in surprise. "I'll not be blamed for making a poor job of this if you mean to leap about beneath the needle."

That sharply worded chastisement from a mere slip of a girl who was, moreover, his prisoner nearly made Royce laugh aloud. "How many damned stitches do you mean to take?" he countered irritably. " 'Twas only a small gash, anyway."

Offended that he apparently considered her daring attack nothing more than a slight inconvenience, Jenny drew back and glared at him. " 'Tis a huge, nasty gash and nothing less!"

He opened his mouth to argue with her but his gaze was drawn to her breasts where they strained impudently against the fabric of the shirt she wore. Odd that he hadn't noticed until just now how amply endowed she was, or how tiny her waist, or how gently rounded her hips. On second thought, not odd at all, Royce reminded himself, since she'd been wearing shapeless nun's robes until a few hours ago, and until a few minutes ago, he'd been too furious to notice what she was wearing at all. And now that he'd noticed, he wished he hadn't. Having noticed all that, he remembered full well how delightfully rounded her bottom had been. Desire leapt inside him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Finish your task," he said brusquely.

Jenny noted his sudden gruffness, but she put it down to his moodiness-the same moodiness that caused him to seem like an evil monster one moment and almost like a brother in the next. For her part, her body was almost as unpredictable as his moods. A few minutes ago she'd been cold, despite the fire burning in the tent. Now she felt over-warm in her shirt! Still, she rather wanted to restore the almost friendly companionship they'd shared for the last few moments, not because she desired him for a friend, but simply because it made her less afraid of him. Tentatively, she said, "You seemed surprised when I mentioned the earl of Lochlordon."

"I was," Royce said, keeping his expression noncommittal.

"Why?"

He did not want to tell her that Edward Balder was probably responsible for the somewhat unjust rumors circulating all over London about her. Considering that Balder was a vain peacock, it wasn't entirely surprising that he reacted to being a rejected suitor by blackening the name of the woman who rejected him. "Because he's an old man," Royce hedged finally.

"He's also ugly."

"That, too." Try as he might, Royce could not imagine a loving father actually trying to marry his daughter off to that old lecher. For that matter, Royce couldn't believe her father actually intended to keep her locked away in a convent, either. No doubt the earl of Merrick had merely sent her there for a few weeks to teach her obedience. "How long have you been at Belkirk Abbey?"

"Two years."

His mouth dropped open, then he caught himself and closed it. His face was hurting like hell and his disposition was taking a sudden turn for the worse. "Evidently, your father finds you as unmanageable, headstrong, willful, and unreasonable as I do," he said irritably, wishing for another long draught of wine.

"If I were your daughter, how would you feel?" Jenny demanded indignantly.

"Cursed," he said bluntly, ignoring her wounded look. "In two days, you've shown me more resistance than I encountered at the last two castles I took by force."

"I meant," Jenny said, her eyes filled with ire, plunking her hands on her slim hips, "if I were your daughter, and your sworn enemy kidnapped me, how would you want me to behave?"

Momentarily dumbstruck, Royce stared at her as he considered what she said. She had not simpered nor pled for mercy. She had, instead, tried her damnedest to outwit him, to escape from him, and to kill him, in that order. She had not shed so much as one tear, even during the sound thrashing he'd given her. Afterward, when he'd thought she was crying, she'd been planning to stab him. It crossed his mind again that she must be incapable of tears, but for the moment he was absorbed in envisioning how he would feel, were she his daughter-an innocent captured from the safety of an abbey.

"Sheathe your claws, Jennifer," he said curtly. "You've made your point."

She accepted her victory with a gracious nod-in fact, with far more grace than Royce had conceded it.

It was the first time Royce had seen her really smile, and the effect on her face was more than startling. The smile came slowly, dawning in her eyes until they positively sparkled, then drifting to her generous lips, softening them at the corners until they parted, allowing a glimpse of perfect white teeth, and a pair of dimples that peeked at him from the corners of her soft mouth.

Royce might have grinned at her, but at that moment he caught the disdainful look on Gawin's face, and it dawned on him that he was behaving like a besotted gallant to his prisoner-more importantly, to the daughter of his enemy. Most of all, to the woman whose destructiveness meant that many of his men would shiver in the unseasonable cold tonight, without blankets to offer them any warmth. He nodded curtly at the pile of rugs. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, you can start repairing the damage you did to the blankets."

His brusqueness banished the smile from her face, and she stepped back.

"I meant what I said," he added, angrier with himself than he was with her. "Until you've repaired the damage to the blankets, you sleep without them."

Her chin came up in the arrogant pose he'd grown used to from her, and she turned to walk toward the rugs that served as his bed. She moved, Royce noted grimly, with the provocative grace of a courtesan, not a nun.

Jenny lay down atop the furs while he blew out the candles; a few moments later, the earl stretched beside her, pulling the furs over him for warmth. Suddenly the comforting glow from the wine began to desert her, and her exhausted mind started replaying each nerve-shattering hour of the endless day, from early dawn when Brenna and she planned their escape, until a few hours ago, when the man beside her had recaptured her.

Staring up into the darkness, she relived the most shattering scene of all-the one she'd been trying to forget all night. Before her eyes she saw Thor in all his magnificent splendor, prancing effortlessly through the woods, racing along the ridge, jumping obstacle after obstacle, and then she saw him lying dead against the boulder, his glossy coat shining in the moonlight.

Tears gathered in her eyes; she drew a shattered breath and then another, trying to hold them back, but the anguish she felt for the courageous animal would not go away.

Royce, who was afraid to fall asleep until she did, heard the ragged texture of her breathing, and then a slight, suspicious sniff. Positive she was feigning tears in hopes he would relent and let her beneath the furs, he rolled onto his side and in one smooth motion caught her face and turned it toward him. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. "You're so cold, you're fighting back tears?" he uttered in disbelief, trying to see her face with only the dying embers of the little fire in the center of the tent for illumination.

"No," she said hoarsely.

"Then why?" he demanded, completely at a loss as to what could have finally battered down her stubborn pride and made her cry. "The thrashing I gave you?"

"No," she whispered achingly, her eyes locked with his. "Your horse."

Of all the things she could have said, that answer was the one he least expected and most wanted to hear. Somehow knowing that she regretted the senseless loss of his horse made it seem somehow less painful.

"He was the most beautiful animal I've ever seen," she added hoarsely. "If I'd known that taking him this morning might have led to his death, I'd have stayed here until I could-could find some other way."

Staring up into the earl's hooded eyes, Jenny saw him wince as he pulled his hand away from her face. "It's a miracle you fell off or you'd both have died," he said gruffly.

Turning onto her side she buried her face in the furs. "I didn't fall," she whispered brokenly, "he threw me. I'd ridden him over higher obstacles all day. I knew we could clear that tree with ease, but when he jumped, he reared up at the same time, for no reason at all, and I fell backward. He shook me off before he jumped.

"Thor sired two sons, Jennifer," Royce said with rough gentleness, "in his exact likeness. One of them is here, the other at Claymore being trained. He isn't completely lost to me."

His captive drew a shattered breath, and in the darkness, she said simply, "Thank you."

A biting wind howled through the moonlit valley, taking sleeping soldiers in its frigid embrace until their teeth chattered convulsively, as fall made an ungraceful and early debut, masquerading as winter. In his tent, Royce rolled over beneath the warm furs and felt the unfamiliar brush of an icy hand against his arm.

He opened an eye and saw Jennifer shivering atop the furs, her slim body curled into a tight ball, her knees drawn up against her chest, as she tried to keep warm. In truth Royce was not so drugged with sleep that he knew not what he was doing, nor had he forgotten that he'd forbade her the warmth of blankets until she righted the damage she'd done to his men's. And, to be completely honest, as he wearily considered her shivering form, it did occur to him that his loyal men were shivering far more outdoors, without a tent. And so there was absolutely no justification for what Royce did next: Leaning up on his elbow he reached far across Jennifer and grasped the edge of the thick pile of furs, then he pulled them up and over her, rolling her into them until they made a warm bunting around her.

He lay back again and closed his eyes without remorse. After all, his men were conditioned to hardship and the elements. Jennifer Merrick was not.

She moved, snuggling deeper into the furs, and somehow her bottom came to rest against Royce's updrawn knee. Despite the insulating barrier of furs, his mind instantly began reminding him of all the delectable female attributes that lay just within his easy reach. And just as persistently, Royce shoved the thoughts aside. She had the peculiar ability to be at one and the same moment an innocent, untried girl and a golden-haired goddess-a child who could snap his temper as easily as a twig, and a woman who could soothe even pain with a whispered, "I'm sorry." But child or woman, he dared not touch her, for one way or another, he would have to let her go, or else relinquish all his carefully laid plans for a future that would be his in less than a month. Whether Jennifer's father yielded or no, it was actually no concern of Royce's. In a week, two at the most, he would either hand her over to her father, if he surrendered on terms that were agreeable to Henry, or to Henry himself if her father refused. She was Henry's property now, not Royce's, and he did not want the complications that would come from every direction if he bedded her.

The earl of Merrick paced before the fire in the center of the hall, his face contorted with wrath as he listened to suggestions from his two sons and the four men whom he counted as his closest friends and kinsmen.

"There's naught to be done," Garrick Carmichael put in wearily, "until King James sends us the reinforcements you asked for when you told him the Wolf has the girls."

"Then we can attack the bastard and demolish him," his youngest son, Malcolm, spat. "He's close to our borders now-there's no long march to Cornwall to weary us before we go to battle this time."

"I don't see what difference it makes how close he is or how many men we have," William, the eldest son, quietly said. " 'Twould be folly to attack him unless we've freed Brenna and Jenny first."

"And how in God's name are we supposed to do that?" Malcolm snapped. "The girls are as good as dead as it is," he said flatly. "There's naught to do now but seek revenge."

Far smaller in stature than his brother and his stepfather-and far calmer of temperament-William brushed his auburn hair off his forehead and leaned forward in his chair, looking about him. "Even if King James sends us enough men to trample the Wolf, we'll not get the girls free. They'd be killed in the fighting-or murdered as soon as it began."

"Stop arguing with every plan unless you have a better one!" the earl snapped.

"I think I do," William quietly replied and all heads turned to him. "We can't get the girls out by force, but stealth might do the trick. Instead of sending an army out to challenge him, let me take a few men with me. We'll dress as merchants, or friars, or something, and we'll follow the Wolf's army until we can get close to the girls. Jenny," he said fondly, "may well realize what I say is true. If so, she'll be watching for us."

"I say we attack!" Malcolm burst out, his desire to pit himself against the Wolf again overwhelming his reason, as well as what little concern he had for his sisters.

Both young men turned to their father for an opinion. "Malcolm," the earl said fondly, " 'tis like you to want to take a man's approach-to exact revenge and damn the consequences. You'll have your chance to attack when Jamie sends us reinforcements. For now"-he glanced at William with a glimmer of new respect-"your brother's plan is the best we have."