A Kingdom of Dreams (27 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J
enny climbed out of the wooden tub, wrapped herself in the soft, light blue wrapper a serving maid handed her, and then parted the curtains that hid an alcove where the shoulder-high tub was kept. The voluminous wrapper, although very fine, had obviously belonged to someone much taller; the sleeves hung down six inches past her fingertips and the hem trailed a full yard behind her, but it was clean and warm, and after spending days in the same soiled gown, Jenny thought the wrapper heavenly. A cozy fire was burning to ward off the chill, and Jenny sat down upon her bed and began to dry her hair.

The serving maid came up behind her, a brush in her hand, and began wordlessly to brush the tangles from Jenny's heavy hair, while another maid appeared with an armful of shimmering, pale gold brocade that Jenny assumed must be a gown. Neither of the maids betrayed any sign of overt hostility, which was little wonder, Jenny thought, considering the warning their duke had delivered in the bailey.

The memory of that kept coming back to taunt Jenny like a riddle. Despite all the bitter feelings between them, Royce had publicly and deliberately endowed her with his own authority, before one and all. He had elevated her to his equal, and that seemed like a very odd thing for any man to do, particularly a man like him. In this instance he seemed to have acted out of kindness to her, and yet, she could not think of a single action he'd ever taken, including releasing Brenna, that he'd done without an ulterior motive that served his purpose.

To endow him with a virtue like kindness was to be a fool. She'd seen with her own eyes the full extent of the cruelty of which he was capable: to murder a child for throwing a—a piece of dirt was more than cruel, it was barbarous. On the other hand, perhaps he'd never intended to let the boy die; perhaps he'd simply reacted more slowly than Jenny had.

With a sigh, Jenny gave up trying to solve the riddle of her husband for the moment and turned to the maid called Agnes. At Merrick there was always chatter and gossip and confidences exchanged between maids and mistresses, and although it was impossible to imagine these servants ever laughing and gossiping with her, Jenny was determined that they should at least speak to her. "Agnes," she said in a carefully modulated tone of quiet courtesy, "is that the gown I'm to wear tonight?"

"Yes, my lady."

"It belonged to someone else, I gather?"

"Yes, my lady."

In the last two hours those were the only words the two maids had said to her, and Jenny felt frustrated and sad at the same time. "To whom did it belong?" she persisted politely.

"The daughter of the former lord, my lady." They both turned at the knock on the door, and a moment later, three stout serfs were placing large trunks upon the floor.

"What is in those?" she asked, puzzled. When neither maid seemed able to answer, Jenny climbed off the high bed and went to inspect the contents herself. Inside the trunks was the most breathtaking array of fabrics she'd ever seen: there were rich satins and brocaded velvets, embroidered silks, soft cashmeres, and linen so fine it was almost transparent. "How beautiful!" Jenny breathed, touching a length of emerald satin.

A voice from the doorway made all three of the women whirl around. "I gather you're pleased then?" Royce asked. He was standing in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame, clad in an under doublet of dark ruby silk with an over-doublet of pewter gray velvet. A narrow silver belt with rubies at the clasp circled his waist and from it hung a dress dagger with a huge, fiery ruby winking in its hilt.

"Pleased?" Jenny repeated, distracted by the way his gaze had drifted down her hair and stopped at the neckline of her wrapper. She looked down, trying to see what he was looking at, and snatched the gaping fabric together, clutching it with a fist.

A faint mocking smile touched his lips at her modest gesture, then he glanced at the two maids. "Leave us," he said flatly, and they did so with almost panicky haste, sidling past him as quickly as possible.

As Agnes slipped behind him, Jenny saw the woman hastily cross herself.

Alarm trickled down Jenny's spine as he closed the door behind him and looked at her across the room. Trying to take refuge in conversation, she said the first thing that came to mind: "You really oughtn't speak to serving maids so sharply. I think you frighten them."

"I haven't come to discuss servants," he said calmly, and started walking toward her. Acutely aware of her nakedness beneath the wrapper, Jenny took a cautious step back and inadvertently planted her foot on its trailing hem. Unable to move further, she watched him walk over to the open trunks. Reaching into one of them, he flipped through the assortment of fabrics. "Are you pleased?" he asked again.

"With what?" she said, clutching her wrapper so tightly at the throat and breasts that she could scarcely breathe.

"With these," he said dryly, gesturing to the trunks. "They're for you. Use them to make gowns and whatever else you need."

Jenny nodded, watching him warily as he lost interest in the trunks and started toward her.

"W-what do you want?" she said, hating the shaky sound of her voice.

He stopped within an arm's length of her, but instead of reaching for her he said quietly, "For one thing, I want you to loosen your grip on that gown you're wearing before you strangle yourself. I've seen men hung on ropes no tighter than that."

Jenny forced her stiff fingers to loosen a little. She waited for him to go on, and when he continued to study her in silence, she finally prompted, "Yes? And now what?"

"Now," he said calmly, "I would like to talk to you, so please sit down."

"You've come here to—to talk?" she repeated, and when he nodded, she was so relieved she obeyed without hesitation. Walking over to the bed, trailing a yard of blue wool behind her, she sat down. Reaching up, she raked her hair off her forehead with her fingers and gave it a hard shake to move it off her shoulders. Royce watched her as she tried to restore order to the lush waves tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.

She was, he thought wryly, the only woman alive who could manage to look provocative in a gown that nearly engulfed her. Satisfied with her hair, she faced him, her expression attentive. "What have you come to talk about?"

"About us. About tonight," he said, walking toward her.

She shot off the bed as if her little derrière was on fire and backed two paces from him until her shoulders were pressed against the wall.

"Jennifer—"

"What?" she gasped nervously.

"There's a fire burning behind you."

"I'm cold," she said shakily.

"In another minute you're going to be on fire."

She eyed him suspiciously, glanced down at the hem of her long gown, then let out a cry of alarm as she snatched it from the ashes. Frantically brushing ashes from the hem, she said, "I'm sorry. 'Tis a lovely gown but perhaps a little—"

"I was referring to the celebration tonight," he interrupted firmly, "not what is going to happen afterward, between us. However, since we're on the subject," he continued, surveying her panicky expression, "suppose you tell me why the prospect of lying with me suddenly seems to frighten you so."

"I'm not frightened," she denied desperately, thinking it might be a mistake to admit to any form of weakness. "But having already done it—I simply feel no desire to do it again. I felt much the same about—about pomegranates. After I tried them, I just didn't
want
them any more. I'm like that sometimes."

His lips twitched, and he advanced on her until he was standing directly in front of her. "If lack of wanting is what alarms you, I think I can remedy it."

"Don't touch me!" she warned. "Or I'll—"

"Don't threaten me, Jennifer," he interrupted quietly, " 'Tis a mistake you'll regret. I'll touch you, whenever and
however
I please."

"Now that you've destroyed any pleasure I might have taken in the forthcoming evening," Jenny said stonily, "may I be allowed to dress in private?"

Her insulting words didn't put so much as a scratch in his damnable composure, but his voice seemed to gentle. " 'Twas not my intention to come in here and give you news that would cause you to dread the night, but 'tis kinder to tell you how things are going to be than to let you wonder. There are many other matters that need to be settled between us, but they can wait until later. However, to answer your original question,
this
was my real purpose in coming in here—"

Jenny missed the imperceptible movement of his arm and continued to watch his face in wary confusion, thinking he was going to try to kiss her. He must have guessed it, because his firm, sensual lips twisted with a smile, but he continued to look back at her face without moving toward it. After a long moment, he said softly, "Give me your hand, Jennifer."

Jenny glanced down at her hand and, in complete confusion, reluctantly pried her fingers from their grasp on the throat of her wrapper. "My hand?" she repeated blankly, holding it an inch or two toward him.

He took her fingers in his left hand, his warm grasp sending unwanted tingles up her arm; then and only then did she finally notice the magnificent ring resting in a small jewel-encrusted box in the outstretched palm of his right hand. Embedded in a heavy, wide circlet of gold were the most beautiful emeralds Jenny had ever beheld, fiery stones that glowed and winked at her in the candlelight as he slid the heavy ring onto her finger.

Perhaps it was the weight of the ring and all that it implied, or perhaps it was the odd combination of gentleness and solemnity in his gray eyes as they gazed into hers, but whatever the cause, Jenny's heart had doubled its pace. In a voice like rough velvet, he said, "We haven't done anything in its usual order, you and I. We consummated the marriage before the betrothal, and I've placed your ring on your finger long after we exchanged vows."

Mesmerized, Jenny stared into his fathomless silver eyes while his deep husky voice caressed her, pulling her further under his spell as he continued, "And although nothing else has been normal about our marriage thus far, I would ask a favor of you—"

Jenny scarcely recognized the breathy whisper that was her own voice. "What… favor?"

"Just for tonight," he said, reaching up and tracing the curve of her flushed cheek with his fingertips, "could we put aside our differences and behave like a normal, newly wedded couple at a normal marriage feast?"

Jenny had assumed tonight's feast was to be a celebration of his homecoming and his recent victory against
her
people, rather than their marriage. He saw her hesitation, and his lips quirked in a wry smile. "Since it evidently takes more than a simple request to soften your heart, I'll offer you a bargain to go with it."

Intensely aware of the effect of his fingertips brushing her cheek and the magnetism his big body was suddenly exuding, she whispered shakily, "What sort of bargain?"

"In return for giving me this night, I will give you one of your own at any time you name. No matter how you wish to spend it, I'll spend it with you doing whatever
you'd
like." When she still hesitated, he shook his head in amused exasperation. " 'Tis fortunate I've never met such a stubborn adversary as you on the battlefield, for I fear I'd have gone down to defeat."

For some reason, that admission, made as it was with a tinge of admiration in his voice, did much damage to Jenny's resistance. What he said next demolished it yet more: "I do not ask this favor only for myself, little one, but for you as well. Don't you think, after all the turmoil that has preceded this night—and will probably follow it—that we both deserve one special, unsullied memory of our wedding to keep and hold for ourselves?"

A lump of nameless emotion constricted her throat, and although she had not forgotten all the valid grievances she had against him, the memory of the incredible speech he had delivered on her behalf to his people was still vibrantly fresh in her mind. Moreover, the prospect of pretending, for just a few hours —just this once—that she was a cherished bride and he an eager groom, seemed not only harmless but irresistibly, sweetly appealing. She nodded finally and softly said, "As you wish."

"Why is it," Royce murmured, gazing into her intoxicating eyes, "that every time you surrender willingly, like this, you make me feel like a king who has conquered. Yet when I conquer you against your will, you make me feel like a defeated beggar?"

Before Jenny could recover from that staggering admission, he had started to leave. "Wait," Jenny said, holding out the box to him. "You've left this."

"It's yours, along with the other two things that are in it. Go ahead and open it."

The box was gold and very ornate, and the top completely encrusted with sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Inside was a gold ring—a lady's ring with a large ruby deeply embedded in it. Beside it was—Jenny's brow furrowed in surprise and she looked up at him. "A ribbon?" she asked, glancing down at the simple, narrow pink ribbon neatly folded, reposing in a box worthy of crown jewels.

"The two rings and the ribbon were my mother's. They're all that was left after the place Stefan and I were born in was razed during a siege." With that he left, telling her that he would await her downstairs.

Royce closed the door behind him and for a minute he was very still, almost as surprised by the things he'd said to her—and the way he'd said them—as Jennifer had obviously been. It still rankled him that she had twice tricked him at Hardin Castle, and that she had collaborated with her father in a scheme that would simultaneously have cheated him of a wife and of heirs. But Jennifer had one irrefutable defense in her favor, and no matter how he'd tried to ignore it, it
did
exonerate her:

All because I put myself in the way of your marauding brother by walking up a hill
…

With a smile of anticipation, Royce crossed the gallery and headed down the winding oak steps to the great hall below where the revelry was already well under way. He was ready to forgive her past deeds; however, he would have to make her understand that he would not tolerate deceit in any form in the future.