A Kingdom of Dreams (36 page)

He couldn't help it, his arms tightened. "Jenny," he whispered, and Jenny wanted to die because, even now, she loved the sound of her name on his lips.

"Don't call me that again," she said, hoarsely.

Royce drew a long, painful breath. "Would it help if I said I love you?"

She jerked free, but there was no anger on her face. "Whom are you trying to help?"

Royce's arms fell to his sides. "You're right," he agreed.

 

 

Jenny left the chapel two days later after speaking to Friar Gregory, who'd agreed to remain at Claymore until a permanent priest could be located. Royce's knights were practicing, as they did early each morning, at the skills that kept them fit for battle. Hour after hour, they worked their horses, leaping them over ditches and piles of sandbags, springing into the saddle without touching the stirrups. The rest of the time outdoors they spent practicing at the quintain—a post set into the ground with a crossbar so well-balanced that it could be set whirling with a light touch of the hand. On one end of the crossbar hung a suit of armor with a shield. On the other a long, very heavy sandbag. One after the other, over and over again, each knight would back his horse to the far end of the bailey and charge full-tilt, from different angles each time, at the "knight" on the cross bar. Unless their lance struck the "knight" precisely on the breast, the crossbar whirled and the rider was dealt a mighty blow from the sandbag—which never missed
its
target.

Occasionally, all the knights missed, depending upon the angle and the obstacles erected in front of the quintain. All the knights,
except
her husband, Jenny had noticed. Unlike the other knights, Royce spent less time at the quintain and more time working with Zeus, as he was now. From the corner of her eye, she watched Royce at the far end of the bailey, his bare, heavily muscled shoulders glinting in the sun as he took the destrier over increasingly higher jumps, then galloped him flat-out while twisting the horse into the tight figure of an eight.

In the past, she'd been able to ignore this daily practice, but with the tournament looming ahead, what had seemed like mere exercise before, now became a deadly skill which Royce's men were perfecting to use against their opponents. So absorbed was she in surreptitiously watching her husband that she never heard Godfrey come up beside her. "Zeus," he commented, following the direction of her sidewise gaze, "is not yet the horse his sire was. He lacks a full year of training."

Jenny had jumped at his first words, and now she said, "He—he looks magnificent to me."

"Aye, he does," Godfrey agreed. "But watch Royce's knee—there, did you see how he had to move it forward before Zeus knew to turn? Thor would have made that turn with a pressure no greater than this…" Reaching out, Godfrey very lightly pressed Jenny's arm with his thumb. Guilt shot through Jenny at the thought of the splendid horse whose death she'd caused; Godfrey's next words didn't ease it: "In battle, having to guide your horse as firmly as Royce will have to do in the tournament, could cost your life."

Eustace and Gawin, who'd just dismounted, came over to join them, and Gawin—having heard Godfrey's remark, was quick to take umbrage on Royce's behalf. "There's naught to worry about, my lady," he boasted. "Royce is the finest warrior alive—you'll see it in the tournament."

Seeing his men watching him from the sidelines, Royce pulled Zeus out of another turn and then trotted over to them. With Jenny concealed by Godfrey and Gawin, he didn't notice her until he stopped in front of the group and Gawin burst out, "Let Lady Jennifer see you ride at the quintain!"

"I'm certain," Royce declined after a questioning glance at his wife's politely uninvolved expression, "Lady Jennifer has already seen more than enough of that from all of us."

"But," said Godfrey with a meaningful grin as he seconded Gawin's request, "I'll wager she's never seen you
miss
it. Go ahead—show us how 'tis done."

With a reluctant nod, Royce turned Zeus into a tight circle and then sent him leaping forward from a dead stop.

"He's going to miss on purpose?" Jenny asked, cringing in spite of herself at the sickening thud made by the sandbag whenever it struck a knight who missed.

"Watch," said Gawin proudly, "there's no other knight who can do this—"

At that instant, Royce's spear struck a mighty blow on the "knight's" shoulder, not the shield, the sandbag whirled like lightning—and missed as Royce ducked low and to the side of his horse's flying mane. Jennifer barely checked the impulse to clap in amazed surprise.

Baffled, she looked first to Eustace, then to Godfrey for an explanation; " 'Tis his reflexes," Gawin provided proudly. "For all his muscle, Royce can move at the blink of an eye."

Royce's smiling voice came back to her, reminding her of what had been one of the happiest nights of her life:
Watch any warrior dodging lances and you'll see dance steps and footwork that will dazzle you
.

"He's just
that
fast—" Gawin snapped his fingers for emphasis "—with a dagger or sword or mace."

This time, Jenny's memory was of the dagger protruding from William's chest, and it banished the other bittersweet memory. "That was a nice trick at the quintain," she said without any emotion, "however, 'twould serve him naught in battle, for he could never lean to the side of his horse like that in armor."

"Oh, but he can!" Gawin crowed, delightedly. Then his face fell as Lady Jennifer politely walked away.

"Gawin," Godfrey said furiously, "your lack of perception frightens me. Go polish Royce's armor and keep your mouth closed!" In disgust he turned to Eustace and added, "How can Gawin be so clearheaded in battle and an utter dolt when it comes to anything else?"

H
ow many more do ye think are out there, my lady?" Agnes asked, standing beside Jenny on the wall-walk. Agnes had been working so hard for the last week that Jenny had insisted she come outdoors for some air.

Jenny looked out at the incredible spectacle that had resulted from King Henry's order that the Wolf participate in what had once been a "local joust."

Nobles, knights, and spectators from England, Scotland, France, and Wales had arrived by the thousands, and the valley and surrounding hills were now completely carpeted with the brightly colored tents and pavilions that each new arrival had erected for his comfort. It looked, Jenny thought, like a sea of colors splotched with patterns and dotted with banners.

In answer to Agnes's question, Jenny smiled wearily. "I'd guess six or seven thousand. More perhaps." And Jenny knew why they were here: they were here in hopes of pitting thek skills against Henry's legendary Wolf.

"Look, there's another group," Jenny said, nodding to the east, where mounted riders and footmen were swarming over the rise. They'd been arriving in groups of one hundred and more for nearly a week, and now Jenny was familiar with the routine of England's riding households. First came a small group, including a trumpeter blasting upon his horn to announce the arrival of his illustrious lord to the vicinity. The job of this first group was to ride to Claymore and announce the imminent arrival of their lord—which now made no difference because every chamber at Claymore, from the sixty in the gatehouses, to the tiniest loft above the hall, were already filled with noble guests. So crowded was the castle that all attendants and servants to the nobles had been obliged to be left outside the gates, where they fended nicely for themselves in the family pavilions.

After the trumpeters and scouts arrived, then came a larger group, including the lord and his lady, mounted on lavishly draped horses. Then came troops of servants and wagons bearing the tents, and everything the noble household would require: tablecloths, plates, jewels, pots, pans, beds, and even tapestries.

It had all become a common sight to Jenny in the last four days. Noble families, accustomed to traveling as far as a hundred miles between their castles, thought nothing of coming at least that far to see what promised to be the largest tournament in their lifetimes.

"We ain't never seen the likes o' this—none of us," Agnes said.

"Are the villagers doing as I bade them?"

"Aye, milady, and grateful forever we'll always be to you for it. Why in one sennight we've all made more coin than we've made in a lifetime, and no one's dared to try 'n' cheat us like they've done every other year when they come for the tournament."

Jenny smiled and lifted the hair off the back of her neck, letting the late October breeze cool her nape. When the first dozen families had arrived in the valley and the tents had begun to go up, livestock had been demanded from the villeins for private use, and a few paltry coins tossed at the heartbroken families who'd raised the animals.

Jenny had discovered what was happening, and now every cottage in the valley, and all the livestock, displayed badges which bore the head of a wolf—badges which Jenny had appropriated from guards, knights, armor, and anywhere else she could find them. The presence of the badge indicated that any object bearing the badge was either the Wolf's or under his protection. "My husband," she had explained as she handed out the badges to the hundreds of serfs and villeins assembled in the bailey, "will not permit his people to be treated in such a vile way by anyone. You may sell anything you wish,
but
," she advised them, smiling, "were I in your place, with something
everyone
wishes to buy, I'd be careful to sell to those who will offer you the most—not the first person to offer you anything at all."

"When this is all over," Jenny replied, "I'll discover where we can get the new looms I told the women in the village about. If the coin they've made this sennight is put toward things like those looms, then the profits from your looms will make you more profits and more. Come to think on it," Jenny added, "since this tournament is an annual affair, all of you ought to plan to have added livestock and all manner of other things, too, to sell next year. There's great profit in it for you. I'll discuss the matter with the duke and our bailiffs, then I'll help all of you to make plans if you'd like."

Agnes looked at her with misty eyes. "Ye've been a blessing sent here by the Lord himself, milady. We
all
think it, and we're that sorry for the welcome you got from us when you come here. Everyone knows I have yer ear, me being your personal maidservant, and they ask me erry day to make sure ye know how grateful we feel."

"Thank you," Jenny said simply. With a wry smile, she added, " 'Tis only fair to tell you, though, that my ideas on the profits to be made from the tournaments and looms and things are those of a Scot—we're a thrifty lot, you know."

"Yer English now, if ye'll pardon me speakin' out 'o turn. Yer married to our lord an' that makes you one 'o us."

"I am a Scot," Jenny said quietly. "Naught will change that, nor do I want it to."

"Yes, but tomorrow, at the tournament," Agnes said with nervous determination, "we're hopin, all 'o us at Claymore and from the village—that ye'll be sittin' on
our
side."

Jenny had given permission for all the castle serfs to attend the tournament either tomorrow, which was the most important day, or the day after, and the atmosphere within the castle walls was positively tense with excitement amongst all who lived or worked there.

She was spared the need to reply to Agnes's unspoken question about where she intended to sit at the tournament by the arrival of mounted riders who were ready to escort her from the bailey. She had told Royce she meant to visit the Merrick pavilion on the western edge of the valley, and he had agreed—because he had no choice, Jenny knew—but only on condition that she be escorted there by his men. In the bailey she saw the "escort" which Royce evidently deemed necessary: all fifteen of his private guard, including Arik, Stefan, Godfrey, Eustace, and Lionel were mounted and armed.

At close range, the valley of brightly colored tents and striped pavilions was even more vivid and festive than it had seemed to Jennifer from the wall-walk. Wherever there was room, practice jousts were taking place, and in front of every tent where a knight was lodged, his banner and spear had been stuck into the ground. And everywhere there was color: tents with broad stripes of reds and yellows and blues; pennants and shields and badges emblazoned with red falcons, gold lions, and green bars—some of them almost completely covered with so many symbols Jenny couldn't help smiling at the display.

Through the open flaps of the larger tents, she glimpsed gorgeous tapestries and snowy linen spread across tables where knights, and even entire families, were having dinner on silver plate and drinking from jeweled goblets. Some families were seated upon plump silk cushions; others had chairs as fine as those in the great hall at Claymore.

Time and again, greetings were called out to one or the other of Royce's knights from friends, but, although her escort never stopped, it still took the better part of an hour to wend their way across the valley floor and up to the western slope. Just as in life, the Scots did not mingle with the hated English, for while the valley was the domain of the English, the northern hill belonged to the Scots. Moreover, the western rise was the province of the French. Because her kinsmen were one of the last to reach Claymore, their tents were pitched to the rear of the northern slope, well above the others. Or perhaps, Jenny thought idly, her father preferred the spot because it put him somewhat closer to the level of the lofty rise where Claymore castle stood.

She looked about her at the "enemy camps," existing for the time being in peace. Centuries of built-up animosity were temporarily set aside as all parties observed the ancient tradition that guaranteed any knight safe passage and peaceful dwelling while attending a tourney. As if he read her thoughts, Stefan said beside her,
" 'Tis probably the first time in decades that so many people from our three countries have occupied the same territory without fighting over it."

"I was thinking much the same thing," Jenny admitted, startled by his remark. Although he invariably treated her with courtesy, Jenny sensed in Stefan a growing disapproval of her ever since her estrangement with his brother. He thought her unreasonable, she supposed. Perhaps—if he didn't remind her so painfully of Royce each time she looked at him—she might have tried harder to establish the same affectionate relationship she had with Godfrey, Eustace, and Lionel. Those three trod cautiously in the wide gulf between Royce and herself, but it was obvious from their behavior they at least understood her side of the conflict. It was also obvious that they believed the breech between Royce and she was tragic, but not irreparable. It did not occur to Jenny that Royce's brother, far more than his friends, might be much more aware of how acutely Royce felt the estrangement and how deeply he regretted his actions.

The reason for Stefan's warmer attitude today was no mystery to Jenny: her father had sent her word of their arrival yesterday, and Brenna had included a message of her own in it—a message which Jenny had passed along, unread, to Stefan.

Jenny had sent a messenger back to her father, telling him that she would come to him today. She wanted to try to explain, and to apologize for, her overemotional and unjust reaction to his attempt to send her to a cloister. Most of all, she was here to ask his forgiveness for the part she had inadvertently played in William's death. It had been she who had asked Royce to have William stay. And it had undoubtedly been her outburst about the cloister that had upset William and angered Royce.

She did not expect her father, or the rest of her clan, to forgive her, but she needed to try to explain. In fact, she rather expected to be treated like a pariah, but as she drew up before the Merrick tents, she could see at once that this was not going to be the case. Her father came to the doorway of his tent, and before Stefan Westmoreland could dismount and help her alight, Lord Merrick was reaching up for Jennifer's waist himself. Others of her clan emerged from their tents, and suddenly Jenny was being enfolded in hugs and having her hand patted by Garrick Carmichael and Hollis Fergusson. Even Malcolm put his arm about her shoulders.

"Jenny," Brenna burst out when she could finally reach her sister. "I've missed you so," she added, hugging Jenny fiercely.

"And I've missed you," Jenny said, her voice hoarse with emotion over the kindness of her reception.

"Come inside, my dear," her father insisted, and to Jenny's shock it was
he
who apologized for misunderstanding
her
desire to go to a cloister rather than dwell with her husband. Which should have made her feel better, but, instead it made her feel more guilty.

"This was William's," her father said, handing her William's ornamental dagger. "I know he loved you better than he loved any of us, Jennifer, and he would want you to have it. He would want you to wear it tomorrow in his honor at the tournament."

"Yes—" Jenny said, her eyes blurred with tears, "I will."

Then he told her how they'd had to lay William to rest in an ordinary grave in unhallowed ground; he told her of the prayers they'd said for the courageous future lord of Merrick who had been slain before his prime. By the time he was finished, Jenny felt as if William had died all over again—so fresh was it in her mind.

When it was time to leave, her father gestured to a trunk in the corner of his tent. "Those are your mother's things, my dear," he told her as Becky's father and Malcolm carried the trunk outside. "I knew ye would want to have them, especially since you must dwell with the killer of your brother. They will be a comfort for you, and a reminder that you are and will always be the countess of Rockbourn. I have taken the liberty," he added, when it was time for Jenny to leave, "of having your own banner, the Rockbourn banner, flown beside ours on our pavilion at the tournament tomorrow. I thought you would want it there, above you, while you watch us fight your beloved William's butcher."

Jenny was so dazed with pain and guilt she could scarcely speak, and when they walked out of her father's tent in the waning afternoon light, she discovered that everyone she had not seen when she'd arrived was waiting now to greet her. It was if the entire village surrounding Merrick had come, along with every male relation she possessed. "We miss ye, lassie," the armorer said.

"We'll make you proud tomorrow," said a distant cousin who'd never even
liked
her before. "Just the way you make us proud by bein' a Scot."

"King James," her father announced to her in a carrying voice that could be heard by all, "has bade me send you his personal regards and an exhortation that you never forget the moors and mountains of your homeland."

"Forget?" Jenny answered in a choked whisper. "How could I do that?"

Her father hugged her long and tenderly, a gesture so out of character for him that Jenny almost broke down and begged not to have to return to Claymore. "I trust," he added as he guided her to her horse, "that your Aunt Elinor is taking excellent care of everyone?"

"Care of us?" Jenny repeated blankly.

"Er…" he amended quickly and vaguely, "that she's making her tisanes and curatives while she's with you? To ensure you stay well."

Jenny nodded absently, clutching Malcolm's dagger, vaguely thinking of Aunt Elinor's many trips to the woods for her herbs. She was about to mount her horse when Brenna's desperate, pleading look finally reminded her of the carefully worded message Brenna had sent to her last night. "Father," she said, turning to him, and she did not have to feign her longing,

"would it be—possible for Brenna to return with me and spend the eve at Claymore with me? We'll ride to the tournament together."

For a moment her father's face hardened, then a small smile appeared at his lips and he nodded instantly. "You can guarantee her safety?" he added almost as an afterthought.