A Kingdom of Dreams (20 page)

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

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

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

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

"
His what
!" Royce hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I disagree," Royce snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mine, too," someone else called.

"Mine is on the woman," Graverley proclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

I
n answer to her father's summons, Jenny dragged her thoughts from the memories of the handsome, gray-eyed man who still haunted her days and nights. Laying down her embroidery, she gave Brenna a puzzled look, then she pulled her dark green mantle closer about her shoulders and left the solar. Male voices raised in debate made her pause on the gallery and glance down into the hall. At least two dozen men—kinsmen and nobles from surrounding demesnes—were gathered around the fire, their rough-hewn faces grim as death. Friar Benedict was there, too, and the sight of his stern, icy face made Jenny cringe with a combination of alarm and shame. Even now, she could recall every word of his blistering tirade when she confessed to him the sin she had committed with Royce Westmoreland: "
You shamed your father, your country, and your God with your uncontrollable desires for this man. Were you not guilty of the sin of lust you' d have surrendered your life before your honor
!" Instead of feeling cleansed, which she normally did after confessing her sins, Jenny had felt dirtied and almost beyond salvation.

Now, in retrospect, she thought it a little odd that he had placed God in the last position of importance when he listed those she had shamed. And despite her lingering guilt at having actually enjoyed the things Lord Westmoreland had done to her, she refused to believe
her
God would blame her for making the original bargain. In the first place, Lord Westmoreland had not
wanted
her life, he had wanted her body. And although she'd been wrong to enjoy lying with a man who was not her husband, the actual bargain had been nobly made for the sake of sparing Brenna's life—or so she'd thought.

The God whom Friar Benedict spoke of in such frightening terms of fiery vengeance and righteousness, was not the same God to whom Jenny frequently poured out her heart.
Her
God was reasonable, kind, and only somewhat stern. Hopefully, He even understood why she could not seem to permanently blot out of her mind the exquisite sweetness of the night she'd spent in Royce Westmoreland's arms. The memory of his passionate kisses, of his whispered words of praise and passion, kept coming back to torment her, and she couldn't prevent it. Sometimes, she didn't want to try… several times, she'd dreamed of him, of the way he looked when that lazy white smile swept across his tanned face, or…

Jenny jerked her mind from such thoughts and stepped into the hall, her reluctance to face the men assembled around the fireplace growing with each step she took. Until now, she'd remained virtually secluded within Merrick, needing somehow the security of its ancient, familiar walls around her. Despite her self-imposed seclusion, she had no doubt the men in the hall knew what she had done. Her father had demanded a full accounting of her abduction, and partway through Jenny's explanation, he had interrupted her to bluntly demand to know if the Wolf had forced her to lie with him. Jenny's face had given away the answer, and despite her efforts to ease his fury by explaining about the bargain and assuring him that her captor had not been brutal, his rage was uncontainable. His shouted curses had rung to the rafters, and the reason for it had not been kept secret. Although, whether the men in the hall viewed her as a helpless victim or a common slut, she had no way of knowing.

Her father was standing at the fireplace, his rigid back to his guests. "You wished to see me, Father?"

Without turning he spoke, and the ominous tone of his voice made alarm tingle up her spine. "Sit down, daughter," he said, and her cousin, Angus, quickly stood up to offer Jenny his chair. The swiftness, the
eagerness
of the polite gesture took Jenny by surprise.

"How are you feeling, Jenny?" Garrick Carmichael asked, and Jenny stared at him in amazement, a lump of emotion filling her throat. It was the first time since Becky's drowning that Becky's father had spoken to her.

"I—I'm very well," she whispered, looking at him with her heart in her eyes. "And I—I thank you for asking, Garrick Carmichael."

"Yer a brave lass," another of her kinsmen spoke up, and Jenny's heart began to soar.

"Aye," said another. "Yer a true Merrick."

A fleeting thought passed her delighted mind that, despite her father's inexplicably black look, this was beginning to feel like the best day of her life.

Hollis Fergusson spoke up, his voice gruff as he issued an apology on behalf of everyone for their past behavior: "William has told us all about what happened while you were in the clutches of the Barbarian —about how you escaped on his own horse, and attacked him with his sword, and slashed their blankets. You've made him a laughingstock with your escape. A lass with courage like yours would no' sneak about doin' the sorts o' vile things Alexander accused you o' doin. William has made us see that. Alexander was mistaken in you."

Jenny's gaze flew to her stepbrother's face, and there was a world of love and gratitude in her eyes.

"I only told the truth," he said, his smile gentle and inexplicably sad as he returned her gaze—as if his pleasure in what he'd accomplished was being dimmed by something else weighing heavily on him.

"Yer a Merrick," Hollis Fergusson put in proudly. "A Merrick through and through. Not one 'o us has ever given the Wolf a taste of our blades, but
you
did, small though you are, and a lass, at that."

"Thank you, Hollis," Jenny said softly.

Only Malcolm, Jenny's youngest stepbrother, continued to regard her as he had in the past, his face filled with cold malice.

Her father turned abruptly, and the expression on his face banished some of Jenny's delight. "Has something… bad happened?" she asked hesitantly.

"Aye," he said bitterly. "Our fates have been decided by our meddling monarch, not ourselves." Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace slowly back and forth while he explained in a harsh monotone: "When you and your sister were taken, I petitioned King James for two thousand armed men to join with ours so that we could pursue the Barbarian into England. James sent word back, commanding me to take no action until he had time to demand your release, as well as reparation for this outrage, from Henry. He had just agreed on a truce with the English, he said.

"I should
no'
have told James what I wanted to do. That was my mistake," he gritted, beginning to pace. "We'd no' have needed his help! The sanctity of one of our abbeys had been violated when you were taken from its grounds. Within days, all Catholic Scotland was ready—
anxious
—to take arms and march with us! But James," he finished angrily, "wants peace. Peace at the cost of Merrick pride—peace at any cost! He promised me revenge. He promised all Scotland that he would make the Barbarian pay for this outrage. Well," Lord Merrick spat furiously, "he's made him
pay
, all right! He's gotten his '
reparation
' from the English."

For a sick moment, Jenny wondered if Royce Westmoreland had been imprisoned or worse, but judging by her father's furious look, neither of those punishments—which he would see as fitting—had been meted out. "What did James accept in the form of reparation?" she asked when her father seemed unable to continue.

Across from her, William flinched and the other men began to look at their hands.

"Marriage," her father gritted.

"Whose?"

"Yours."

For a moment Jenny's mind went completely blank. "My—my marriage to whom?"

"To the Spawn of Satan. To the murderer of my brother and my son. To the Black Wolf!"

Jenny gripped the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles whitened. "
Whaat
!"

Her father jerked his head in a nod, but his voice and expression took on an odd note of triumph as he came to stand directly in front of her. "You are supposed to be the instrument of peace, daughter," he said, "but later, you will be the instrument of
victory
for the Merricks and for all Scotland!"

Very slowly Jenny shook her head, staring at him in confused shock. The remainder of her color drained from her face as her father continued, "Without realizing it, James has given me the means to destroy the Barbarian, not on the battlefield, by putting an end to his life, as I'd hoped to do, but instead in his own castle, by ruining what is
left
of his misbegotten life. In fact," he finished with a sly, proud smile, "you've already begun."

"What—what do you mean?" Jenny whispered hoarsely.

"All England is laughing at him because of you. The stories of your two escapes, your wounding him with his own dagger, all of it, have been circulating from Scotland to England. His brutality has gained him enemies in his own country, and those enemies are busy spreading those same stories everywhere. You've made a laughingstock of Henry's champion, my dear. You've ruined his reputation, but his wealth remains, along with his titles—wealth and titles he accumulated by crushing Scotland beneath his heel. 'Tis up to you to see he never enjoys those gains—and you
can
, by denying him an heir. By denying him your favors, by—"

Shock and fear combined to send Jenny surging to her feet. "This is madness! Tell King James I wish for no 'reparation.' "

" 'Tis of no consequence what
we
want! Rome wants reparation. Scotland wants it. Claymore is on his way here even as we speak. The betrothal contract will be signed and the wedding is to follow immediately. James has left us no alternative."

Jenny shook her head slowly, in silent, desperate denial, while her voice slid to a frightened whisper. "Nay, Papa, you don't understand. You see—I—he trusted me not to try to escape, and I did. And if I've truly made him a laughingstock, he'll never forgive me for that…"

Anger turned her father's face a terrible shade of red. "You do not want his
forgiveness
. We want his
defeat
in every way—large and small—that we can have it! Every Merrick, every
Scot
, will depend on you to deliver it. You have the courage to do it, Jennifer. You proved that while you were his captive…"

Jenny no longer heard him. She had humiliated Royce Westmoreland, and now he was coming here; she trembled at the realization of how much he must loathe her and how angry he must be: her mind promptly presented her with frightening visions of the times she had seen him angry; she saw him as he had looked the night she'd been dumped at his feet, his black mantle billowing eerily, the orange flames of the fire giving his face a satanic look. She saw the expression on his face when his horse was dead because of her; the fury that blackened his features when she cut his face. But none of that had been breaking his trust. Or, worse, making
a fool
of him.

"He must be deprived of an heir as he deprived me of mine!" her father's voice slashed through her thoughts. "He must! God has granted me this revenge when all other paths were closed to me. I have other heirs, but he will have none. Never. Your marriage will be my revenge."

Reeling with anguish, Jenny cried, "Papa, please, don't ask me to do this. I'll do anything else. I'll go back to the abbey, or to my Aunt Elinor, or anywhere you say."

"Nay! He would only marry another of
his
choice and beget his heirs on her."

"I
won't
do it," Jenny insisted wildly, voicing the first logical arguments that tumbled to mind. "I can't! It's wrong. It's impossible! If—if the Black Wolf wants me—wants an heir," she corrected with a shamed, blushing glance at the other men, "how can I prevent it? His strength is five times mine. Although, after all that's passed between us, I don't think he'll want me in the same castle with him, let alone in his"—she tried desperately to think of a word to substitute, but there was none—"bed," she finished weakly, her gaze shying away from their guests.

"Would you were right, my child, but you're wrong. There is about you the same quality your mother possessed, the quality that stirs lust in a man when he looks upon you. The Wolf will want you whether he
likes
you or no." Suddenly he paused for emphasis, a slow smile on his face, "however, 'tis possible he'll no' be able to do much about it if I send your Aunt Elinor with you."

"Aunt Elinor," Jenny repeated blankly. "Papa, I know naught of what you mean, but all of this is wrong!" Her hands clutching helplessly at her woolen skirts, she looked with desperate appeal at the men surrounding her, while in her mind she saw another Royce Westmoreland than the one they knew—the man who had teased her in the glade, and talked with her on the parapet; the man who bargained her into his bed and treated her gently, when another captor would have raped her and given her to his men.

"Please," she said, looking around at all of them and then at her father. "Try to understand. 'Tis not disloyalty, 'tis reason that makes me say this: I know how many of our people have died in battle with the Wolf, but such is the way of all battles. He cannot be blamed for Alexander's death or—"

"You dare to exonerate him?" her father breathed, looking at her as if she was changing into a serpent before his eyes. "Or can it be that your loyalty is to him, not us?"

Jenny felt as if he had slapped her, yet in some tiny part of her she realized her feelings for her former captor were a strange enigma, even to her. "I only seek peace—for all of us—"

" 'Tis obvious, Jennifer," her father said bitterly, "you cannot be spared the humiliation of hearing what your affianced husband thinks of this 'peaceful' union, and of
you
. Within hearing of everyone at Henry's court, he said he wouldn't want you if you were the
queen
of Scotland. When he refused to have you as his wife, his king threatened to deprive him of all he possessed and
still
he refused. It took the threat of death to finally make him agree! Afterward, he called you the Merrick
slut;
he boasted he would
beat
you into submission. His friends began placing wagers on him, laughing because he means to bring you to heel as he has brought
Scotland
to heel.
That
is what he thinks of you and this marriage! As for the rest of them—they've given you the title he conferred on you: The Merrick
Slut
!"