A Kingdom of Dreams

  Jenny, who knew nothing whatever of recipes and menus, paid no heed to that remark, because she was trying to stifle a surge of instant dislike for the man. Wearing a gold chain about his waist and carrying a white staff, the insignias of his exalted position, he was thin to the point of emaciation. His jawbones protruded sharply beneath skin that was white and nearly transparent. But it wasn't that which made Jenny react so negatively to him, it was the coldness in his eyes when he looked about him. "I trust," he continued, showing more respect to Royce, but certainly no more warmth than he'd showed Jennifer, "that with the exception of the food, all else is to your satisfaction tonight?"

  "Everything is fine," Royce replied, sliding his chair back as the dancing began at the far end of the hall. "If you're well enough tomorrow, I'd like to see the ledgers, and the following day, we should tour the estate."

  "Certainly, your grace, but the day after tomorrow is the twenty-third, which is customarily Judgment Day. Do you desire me to postpone it?"

  "No," Royce said without hesitation, his hand under Jennifer's elbow as he indicated she should rise. "I'd be interested to watch and see how it is done."

  With a bow to Royce and a curt inclination of his head to Jennifer, Sir Albert withdrew. Leaning on his staff, he made his slow way to his own chambers.

  When Jenny realized Royce meant to join the dancing, she drew back and shot him an apprehensive look. "I have danced little, your grace," she explained, watching the swirling, energetic dancers and trying to see what steps they were doing. "Perhaps we ought not to do it, just now, when there are so many—"

  With a grin, Royce took her firmly in his arms. "Just hold on tightly," he said and began to whirl her expertly. He was, Jenny realized at once, an excellent dancer. Moreover, he was an excellent teacher—by the third dance she was twirling and skipping and leaping right along with the others. Those dances were followed immediately by a dozen more, as Stefan Westmoreland claimed his dance, and then Sir Godfrey and Sir Lionel and the rest of the knights claimed theirs.

  Breathless and laughing, Jenny shook her head no when Sir Godfrey tried to lead her into another dance. Royce, who'd danced with several of the other ladies present, had been standing on the sidelines for the last half hour talking with a group of guests. Now he materialized at Jennifer's side as if sensing her exhaustion. "Jennifer needs a rest, Godfrey." Nodding toward Gawin, who seemed to be having a belligerent conversation with the knight called Sir Roderick in the presence of Lady Anne, Royce added dryly, "I suggest you invite Lady Anne to dance instead—before Gawin does something foolish to win her admiration, like provoking a fight with Roderick and getting himself killed."

  Sir Godfrey obligingly went off to solicit a dance from the lady in question, and Royce led Jenny over to a quiet corner in the hall. Handing her a goblet of wine, he blocked her from view by standing directly in front of her and bracing his hand on the wall near her head.

  "Thank you," she said, happy and flushed, her chest heaving with exertion. "I truly needed a moment to rest." Royce's gaze drifted appreciatively to the rosy skin swelling above the square bodice of her gown, making Jenny feel strangely excited and nervous at the same time. "You're an excellent dancer," she said, and he reluctantly forced his gaze to hers. "You must have danced a great deal at court."

  "And on the battlefield," he said with a disarming grin.

  "On the battlefield?" she echoed, perplexed.

  He nodded, his grin widening. "Watch any warrior who's trying to dodge arrows and lances and you'll see dance steps and footwork that would dazzle you."

  His ability to laugh at himself warmed Jenny's heart, which was already liberally warmed by several cups of strong wine and a great deal of dancing. Self-conscious, she glanced sideways and saw Arik only a few yards away. Unlike everyone else who was laughing, eating, or dancing, Arik was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs braced wide apart, staring straight ahead with an expression on his face that looked absolutely lethal. And at his side was Aunt Elinor, chattering up at him as if her very life depended on making him respond.

  Royce followed the direction of Jennifer's gaze. "Your aunt," he teased, "would seem to enjoy courting danger."

  Emboldened by the wine, Jenny returned his smile. "Does Arik ever talk—I mean in real sentences? Or laugh?"

  "I've never seen him laugh. And he speaks as little as necessary."

  Gazing up into his compelling eyes, Jenny felt strangely safe and sheltered, and yet uneasily aware that her husband was a virtual mystery to her. Sensing that in his approachable mood, he'd be willing to answer a question, she said softly, "How did you meet him?"

  "We were never actually introduced," he teased. When she continued to regard him as if waiting for more information, he obliged by saying, "The first time I saw Arik 'twas eight years ago, in the thick of a battle that had been raging for over a sennight. He was trying to fend off six attackers who'd singled him out as a target and were pounding him with swords and arrows. I went to his aid, and between the two of us we managed to fell the attackers. When the skirmish was over, I was wounded, but Arik didn't give me so much as a thank you for my efforts. He just looked at me and then he rode off, plunging into the heat of battle again."

  "And that was all there was to it?" Jenny asked, when Royce fell silent.

  "Not quite. The next day, near nightfall, I was wounded again, and this time unhorsed as well. As I bent down to pick up my shield, I glanced up and there was a rider coming straight at me, his lance aimed at my heart. The next instant, the lancer was headless, and there was Arik, swooping down to pick up his bloodied axe and riding off. Again without a word.

  "My wounds had rendered me virtually useless, and twice more that night Arik appeared—seemingly from nowhere—to fend off my attackers when I was outnumbered. The next day, we routed the enemy and gave chase. I looked over to see Arik riding beside me. He's been there ever since."

  "So you gained his undying loyalty because you rescued him from six attackers?" Jenny summarized.

  Royce shook his head. "I suspect I gained his undying loyalty a week after that when I killed a large snake that was trying to share Arik's blanket without his knowledge."

  "You don't mean to tell me," Jenny giggled, "that giant of a man is afraid of snakes."

  Royce gave her a look of feigned affront. "Women are afraid of snakes," he explained unequivocally. "Men hate them." Then he spoiled the whole effect with a boyish grin. "It means the same thing, however."

  Royce gazed down into her laughing blue eyes, longing to kiss her, and Jenny, carried away by this tender, joking, approachable side of him, suddenly blurted the question that had been haunting her. "Did you truly mean to let him murder that child today?"

  He stiffened slightly, and then he quietly said, "I think it's time we go upstairs."

  Uncertain just why he'd suddenly made that decision, or if talking was what he intended to do once they got there, Jenny hesitated suspiciously. "Why?"

  "Because you want to talk," he stated levelly, "and I want to take you to bed. In which case, my chamber is better suited to both our purposes than this hall."

  Short of making a scene which would only humiliate her, Jenny knew she had no choice but to leave the hall with him. A thought struck her before she took the first step, and the eyes she turned on him were imploring. "They aren't going to try to follow us—" she pleaded. "I mean, there'll be no bedding ritual, will there?"

  "Even if there was, there's no harm in it," he said patiently. " 'Tis an ancient custom. We can always talk afterward," he said meaningfully.

  "Please," Jenny said. " 'Twould be a farce, for the world knows we've already—already done that, and a bedding will only make the talk start up again."

  He didn't answer her, but as they passed Arik and Aunt Elinor, he stopped to speak to Arik.

  The impending departure of the bride and groom was noted almost at once, however, and by the time they'd passed the table on the dais, Jenny's face w
as scarlet from the bawdy encouragement and advice being shouted at Royce. As they started up the stairs, she stole a frantic glance over her shoulder and to her relief she saw that Arik had positioned himself at the bottom of the steps, folded his arms across his chest, and had taken up a post—obviously at Royce's order —to prevent the revelers from following them.

  By the time Royce opened the door to his bedchamber, Jenny was in a state of generalized terror and helplessness. In frozen silence, she watched him close the door, her startled eyes dazedly registering an extremely large and very luxurious room with a huge four-poster canopied bed with fine velvet hangings and a pair of massive chairs with carved arms placed before a large hooded fireplace. Three large, ornately carved chests were against the wall, one for clothes, Jenny knew without looking, and the others evidently containing coins and other riches, judging from the size of their massive locks. A pair of tall silver stands with candles burning in them flanked the bed, and another pair stood on either side of the fireplace. Tapestries hung on the walls and there was even a mat on the polished wood floor. But the most amazing thing about the room was the window—a large bay window with leaded glass that overlooked the bailey and would make the room cheerful and airy in the daylight.

  A door to the left was ajar and opened into a solar; the door on the right evidently opened into the chamber Jenny occupied. Scrupulously avoiding looking at the bed, she stared at the two remaining doors, and the instant Royce moved, she jumped and said the first thing that came to mind: "Wh-where do those two doors lead?"

  "One to a privy, the other to a closet," he answered, noting the way she was averting her gaze from the bed. In a calm voice that nevertheless carried an unmistakable thread of command, he said, "Would you mind explaining to me why you seem to find the prospect of lying with me even more alarming when we're married than you did before, when you had everything to lose?"

  "I had no choice then," she said in nervous defense, turning to face him.

  "You have none now," he pointed out reasonably.

  Jenny's mouth went dry. She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were very cold, her eyes desperate with confusion. "I don't understand you," she tried to explain, "I never know what to expect. Sometimes you seem almost kind and quite rational. And just when I think you're actually quite nice—I mean normal," she amended quickly, "you do mad things and you make insane accusations." She held out her hands as if asking him to understand. "I cannot be at ease with a man who is a stranger to me! A frightening, unpredictable stranger!"

  He took a step forward and then another, and Jenny retreated step for step, until the backs of her legs bumped against the bed. Unable to go forward, and adamantly unwilling to move backward, she stood in mutinous silence. "Don't you dare touch me. I hate it when you touch me!" she warned shakily.

  His dark brows pulled together, and he reached out and hooked his fingertip in the neck of her gown, looking straight into her eyes as he drew it downward until his fingertip was deep in the hollow between her breasts. It stayed there, moving up and down, stroking the sides of her breasts, while tiny flames began shooting through Jenny's body, making her breathing shallow and rapid. His hand forced its way between her bodice and her skin and closed on her full breast. "Now tell me you hate my touch," he invited her softly, his eyes holding hers imprisoned, his fingers teasing her hardening nipple.

  Jenny felt her breast swelling to fill his hand and she turned her head aside, staring fixedly at the fire in the grate, drowning in shame at her inability to control her own treacherous body.

  Abruptly he pulled his hand away. "I'm beginning to think you must enjoy baiting me, for you do it better than anyone I've ever known." Raking his hand through the side of his hair in angry self-disgust, Royce walked over to the flagon of mulled wine resting near the fire and poured some into a goblet. Turning, he studied her in silence. After a minute, he said in a quiet, almost apologetic tone that startled Jenny into looking at him, "The fault for what happened just now was mine and had little to do with your 'baiting' me. You merely gave me an excuse to do what I've longed to do since I first set eyes on you in this gown."

  When she remained silent, watching him with wary suspicion, he said with an irritated sigh, "Jennifer, this marriage was not of our choosing, but the deed is done, and we will have to find a way to live in harmony with it. We have wronged each other, and nothing can change that. I'd hoped to bury the past, but perhaps it's best to let you talk about it as you seem determined to do. Very well," he said as if reaching a conclusion, "go ahead and itemize your grievances. What do you want to know?"

  "Two things for a start," Jenny replied tartly. "When did you finally come to the realization that I've been wronged? And how in God's holy name can you possibly say I've wronged you?"

  "I'd prefer to leave the last question unanswered," he said evenly. "Before I came in to see you this evening, I spent two hours in this room, coming to grips with the things you have done, and I've decided to put all that behind me."

  "How very virtuous of you," Jenny said derisively. "It so happens, my lord, that I have done nothing, nothing for which I require your forgiveness or for which I owe you explanations, for that matter. However," she amended tightly, "I will be happy to give any explanations you wish once you've made yours to me. Is that agreeable?"

  His lips quirked in a reluctant grin as Royce contemplated the stormy beauty in aquamarine velvet who'd already abandoned fear in favor of anger. He found it acutely painful when she feared him. Making an effort to smooth the grin from his face, he nodded. "Perfectly agreeable. You may proceed."

  Jenny needed no more encouragement. Studying his face, watching for any signs of deceit, she said abruptly, "Were you or were you not going to let Arik kill that boy in the village today?"

  "No," he said flatly. "I was not."

  Some of Jenny's hostility and fear began to dissolve. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

  "I didn't need to. Arik does not act except on my orders. He stopped, not because you screamed, but because he was waiting for a decision from me."

  "You—you aren't lying are you?" she asked, searching his inscrutable features.

  "What do you think?"

  Jenny bit her lip, feeling slightly churlish. "I apologize. That was needlessly rude."

  Accepting her apology with a nod, he said civilly, "Go on. What's your next question?"

  Jenny drew a deep breath and slowly expelled it, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground now. "I would like to know why you felt compelled to humiliate my father and my family by proving you could breach Merrick's defenses and stealing me from my own bedchamber?" Ignoring the sudden angry gleam flaring in his eyes, she continued doggedly, "You've proved your skill and prowess in such things. Why, if you ever wanted us to live in harmony, did you need to prove it in such a petty, small-minded—"

  "Jennifer," he interrupted in a cutting voice, "you've made a fool of me twice and caused me to make a fool of myself once. That's quite a record," he applauded sarcastically. "Now take your bow, and let the matter drop!"

  Fortified with a considerable amount of wine and a good deal of natural stubbornness, Jenny searched his features. Despite his tone of sarcasm, there was a harshness in his gray eyes that told her whatever "plot" he was referring to did more than merely anger him, it cut him deeply enough to make him bitter. Trying to ignore the dangerous, magnetic tug that seemed to be pulling her toward him with each moment since he'd begun to answer her questions, she said lightly, "I shall happily take my bow, but first, I'd like to be absolutely certain what it is I've done to deserve such credit."

  "You damn well know what I'm referring to."

  "I'm not entirely—certain. I'd hate to take credit where it wasn't due," she said, raising her glass.

  "You're amazing. You can lie and look me straight in the eye. Very well," he said, his voice reeking with irony. "Let's play your game to its distasteful end. First, there was the little ruse that your sister—who I'd h
ave sworn didn't have sense enough to dress herself—pulled off with your help and the help of feather pillows…"

  "You know about that?" she said, choking on her wine and trying to hide her smile.

  "I wouldn't advise you to laugh," he warned.

  "Why not?" Jenny said wryly. " 'Twas as much a 'joke' on me as 'twas on you."

  "I suppose you knew nothing about it?" he snapped, studying the telltale flush on her cheeks, wondering if it was due to the wine or lying.

  "If I had," she said, turning serious, "do you think I'd have been so eager to trade my honor for feathers?"

  "I don't know. Would you?"

  She lowered her glass and said somberly, "I'm not certain. To help her escape, I suppose I might have—but not until I'd exhausted every other possibility. So I can't quite take credit for duping you in this instance. What are the other two?"

  He slapped his goblet onto the table and started toward her.

  "I gather you're referring to my escape with William?" she prompted uneasily, backing away a step from the ominous expression in his eyes. "I can't take credit for that either. He was standing in the woods, and I didn't notice him until you were about to leave with Arik."

  "Right," he said icily, "and although you are aware of my remark about the queen of Scotland, you aren't aware that while you were escaping, I was telling Graverley, like a besotted fool, that I intended to marry you. And you aren't aware that you were leaving for a cloister immediately after our wedding at Merrick? Which would have neatly bound me to you for life at the same time it deprived me of heirs? And if you lie to me just one more time—" He took the goblet of wine from her and jerked her into his arms.

  "You were doing what?" she whispered.

  "Enough of this nonsense," he said shortly, bending his head and taking her lips in a hard, silencing kiss. To his surprise, she didn't fight him, In fact, she seemed not to know what he was doing to her. When he lifted his head she was staring at him with an expression in her blue eyes he'd not seen before.