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 h
er 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!"
Each word her father spoke struck Jenny's heart like a lash, making her cringe with a shame and hurt that was almost past bearing. When he was finished, she stood there while a blessed, cold numbness came over her, until she felt nothing at all. When she finally lifted her head and looked about at the tired, valiant Scots her voice was brittle and hard. "I hope they wagered all their wealth on it!"
Chapter Fifteen
Jenny stood alone on the parapet looking out across the moors, the wind playfully tossing her hair about her shoulders, her hands clutching the stone ledge in front of her. The hope that her "bridegroom" might not arrive for his wedding, which was to take place in two hours, had been snatched from her a few minutes ago when a castle guard had called out that riders were approaching. A hundred and fifty mounted knights were riding toward the drawbridge, the light from the setting sun glinting on their polished shields, turning them to shining gold. The figure of a snarling wolf danced ominously before her eyes, undulating on blue pennants, and waving on the horses' trappings and knights' surcoats.
With the same unemotional detachment she'd felt for five days, she stood where she was, watching as the large group neared the castle gates. Now she could see there were women among them and a few standards bearing markings other than the Wolf. She had been told some English nobles would be present tonight, but she had not expected any women. Her gaze shifted reluctantly to the broad-shouldered man riding at the front of the party, bareheaded and without shield or sword, mounted atop a great black destrier with flowing mane and tail that could have been sired only by Thor. Beside Royce rode Arik, also bareheaded and without armor, which Jenny assumed was their way of illustrating their utter contempt for any puny attempt clan Merrick might make to slay them.
Jenny couldn't see Royce Westmoreland's face at all from this distance, but as he waited for the drawbridge to be lowered, she could almost feel his impatience.
As if he sensed that he was being watched, he lifted his head abruptly, his gaze sweeping over the roofline of the castle, and without meaning to, Jenny pressed back against the wall, hiding herself from view. Fear. The first emotion she'd felt in five days, she realized with disgust, had been fear. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and reentered the castle.
Two hours later, Jenny glanced at herself in the mirror. The feeling of pleasant numbness that had vanished on the parapet had deserted her for good, leaving her a mass of quaking emotion, but the face in the mirror was a pale, emotionless mask.
"It won't be nearly so terrible as you think, Jenny," Brenna said, trying with all her heart to cheer her as she helped two maids straighten the train of Jenny's gown. " 'Twill all be over in less than an hour."
"If only the marriage could be as short as the wedding," Jenny said miserably.
"Sir Stefan is down in the hall. I saw him myself. He'll not let the duke do anything to disgrace you down there. He's an honorable, strong knight."
Jenny turned, the brush in her hand forgotten, studying her sister's face with a wan, puzzled smile. "Brenna, are we discussing the same 'honorable knight' who kidnapped us in the first place?"
"Well," said Brenna defensively, "unlike his wicked brother, at least he didn't attempt to make any immoral bargains with me afterward!"
"That's quite true," Jenny said, completely distracted for the moment from her own woes. "However, I wouldn't count on his good will tonight. I've little doubt he'll be longing to wring your neck when he sets eyes on you, because now he knows you tricked him."
"Oh, but he doesn't feel that way at all!" Brenna burst out. "He told me it was a very daring and brave thing I did." R
uefully, she added. "Then he said he could wring my neck for it. And besides, 'twasn't him I tricked, 'twas his wretched brother!"
"You've already spoken to Sir Stefan?" Jenny said, dumbfounded. Brenna had never shown the slightest interest in any of the young swains who'd been pursuing her for the last three years, yet now she was evidently meeting in secret with the last man in the world her father would permit her to wed.
"I managed to have a few words with him in the hall, when I went to ask William a question," Brenna confessed, her cheeks stained hot pink, then she suddenly became absorbed in straightening the sleeve of her red velvet gown. "Jenny," she said softly, her head bent, "now that there's to be peace between our countries, I was thinking I should be able to send you messages often. And if I included one for Sir Stefan, would you see that he receives it?"
Jenny felt as if the world were turning upside down. "If you're certain you want to do that, I will. And," she continued, hiding a laugh that was part hysteria and part dismay for her sister's hopeless attachment, "will I also be including messages from Sir Stefan with mine to you?"
"Sir Stefan," Brenna replied, lifting her smiling eyes to Jenny's, "suggested just that."
"I—" Jenny began, but she broke off as the door to her chamber was swung open and a tiny, elderly woman rushed forward, then stopped in her tracks. Dressed in an outdated, but lovely gown of dove gray satin lined with rabbit, an old-fashioned, gauzy white wimple completely swathing her neck and part of her chin, and a silvery veil trailing down her shoulders, Aunt Elinor looked from one girl to the other in confusion. "I know you're little Brenna," Aunt Elinor said, beaming at Brenna, and then at Jenny, "but can this beautiful creature be my plain little Jenny?"
She stared in stunned admiration at the bride, who was standing before her clad in a cream velvet and satin gown with a low, square-cut bodice, high waist, and wide full sleeves heavily encrusted in pearls and sprinkled with rubies and diamonds from elbow to wrist. A magnificent satin cape lined in velvet was also bordered in pearls, attached at Jenny's shoulders with a pair of magnificent gold brooches set with pearls, rubies, and diamonds. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and back, glinting like the gold and rubies she wore.