A Kingdom of Dreams (14 page)

W
rapped in a bedgown of soft cream wool, Jennifer gazed out the tiny window of her bedchamber the next morning, her eyes roving over the wooded hills just beyond the castle walls. Shifting her attention to the bailey below, she slowly scanned the thick walls surrounding it, looking for some sort of escape route… signs of a concealed door. There had to be one; Merrick had one inset into its wall, concealed behind an overgrowth of bushes; as far as she knew all castles had one which the residents could use for escape should an enemy penetrate the outer defenses. Despite her belief that such a door must exist, she could see no sign of it, or even a crack in the ten-foot-thick wall that she and Brenna might squeeze through. Raising her gaze, she watched the guards moving ceaselessly along the wall walk, their eyes trained on the road and surrounding hills. The domestic staff might be slovenly and slothful and sorely in need of training and direction, but the earl had not ignored the castle's defenses, she thought glumly. Every guard was alert, and they were posted at twenty-foot intervals.

The earl had told her that her father had been notified that Brenna and she were his captives. That being the case, her father would have no trouble tracing an army of five thousand men to Hardin. If he meant to try to rescue them, then Hardin was no more than two days' hard ride—or a five-day march—from Merrick. But how on earth her father would be able to rescue her from such an incredibly well-fortified castle, she couldn't begin to imagine. Which brought her back to the same confounding problem she'd faced all along: It was up to her to think of some way to escape.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she'd had nothing to eat since before noon yesterday, and she turned away from the window in order to get dressed and go down to the hall. Starvation was no solution to her problem, she decided with a sigh as she walked over to the trunks of clothes that had been carried into her chamber this morning. Besides, if she didn't go down, she had no doubt that the earl would simply come fetch her, even if he had to break down her door.

She'd been able to soak in a wooden tub filled with hot water this morning, and at least she had the pleasure of feeling clean from her scalp to her toes. A dip in a freezing stream, she reflected, thinking back upon the last weeks, could not compare to warm water and a piece of soap.

The first trunk was filled with gowns belonging to the former lady of the castle and her daughters, many of which reminded Jenny of the lovely, whimsical style her Aunt Elinor preferred—the gowns ladies had worn with high conical headdresses and veils trailing to the floor. Although the gowns were no longer in fashion, no expense had been spared in the cloth, for there were rich satins and velvets and embroidered silks. Since all of them were too ornate for the occasion, and her position in this household, Jenny opened the next trunk. A gasp of sheer, feminine delight escaped her lips as she carefully removed a gown of softest cashmere.

She'd just finished smoothing her hair into place when a servant rapped on her door and called in a shrill, panicky voice, "Milady, his lordship bade me tell you that if yer not down in the hall in five minutes to break yer fast, he'll come up here and bring you down hisself!"

Rather than let the earl think she was yielding from fear of that threat, Jenny called out, "You may tell his lordship that I
intended
to come down and that I'll be there in a few minutes."

Jenny waited what she deemed to be a "few" minutes, then she left the bedchamber. The stairway leading from the sleeping chambers above to the great hall below was steep and narrow, just like the one at Merrick, designed so that, in the event attackers gained entrance into the hall, they would have to fight their way upstairs with their sword arm blocked by the stone wall, while the defenders would not be nearly so hampered. Unlike the one at Merrick, however, this one was hung with spider webs. Shuddering as she imagined the leggy inhabitants of those webs, Jenny quickened her pace.

Lounging back in his chair, Royce watched the stairs, his jaw hardened with resolve, his mind mentally clicking off the passing minutes until her time ran out. The hall was mostly empty, save for a few of the knights who were lingering over their cups of ale, and the serfs who were clearing away the remnants of the morning meal.

Her time was up! he decided furiously and shoved back his chair with a force that made the legs screech against the flagstones. Then he stood stock still. Coming toward him in a soft, high-waisted gown the color of yellow sunlight was Jennifer Merrick. But not the charming nymph he'd become accustomed to seeing. In a transformation that both unnerved and enthralled him, the breathtaking young woman coming toward him was a countess fit to take her place in the most glittering courts in the land. Her hair was parted at the center, falling like a shimmering, red-gold waterfall, waving over her shoulders and down her back all the way to her waist, where it ended in thick curls.

The V-neck of her gown accented her full breasts, then it fell gently over her graceful hips in a long train; wide sleeves were turned back into cuffs at her wrists, then allowed to drape from her arms to her knees.

Royce had the odd sensation that she had become someone else, but when she drew near, there was no mistaking those brilliant blue eyes or that entrancing face.

She stopped in front of him, and his decision to have her, no matter how much trouble she put him to, now became an unshakable resolution. A slow, admiring smile drifted across his face as he said, "What a chameleon you are!"

Her eyes snapped with indignation. "Lizard?"

Royce bit back a laugh, trying to keep his eyes off the alluring display of smooth flesh exposed by the neckline of her gown, and to remember how justifiably annoyed with her he was. "I meant," he said levelly, "that you are changeable."

Jenny was not unaware of the odd, possessive gleam in his gray eyes as they roved over her, but she was momentarily distracted by the disquieting discovery of how handsome and elegant
he
looked in a deep blue tunic of the finest wool that set off the muscular width of his shoulders, its full sleeves drawn tightly at the wrists and trimmed with silver threads. A belt of flat silver disks rode low on his hips, from which hung a short sword with a large sapphire in its hilt. Below that, Jenny refused to look.

It finally dawned on her he was looking at her hair, and Jennifer belatedly realized that she was bareheaded. Reaching back, she caught up the wide yellow hood attached to her gown and pulled it up and forward, so that it framed her face and draped in graceful folds at her shoulders as it was meant to do.

"It's lovely," Royce said, watching her, "but I'd prefer to see your hair uncovered."

He was bent on charming her again today, she realized with a sinking feeling; she found it easier to deal with him when they were engaged in open hostilities than when he was being nice. Forcing herself to confront only one problem at a time, Jenny concentrated on his suggestion that she uncover her hair. "As you must surely know," she replied with cool civility as he pulled out a chair for her,
" 'tis improper for any but young girls and brides to be bareheaded. A woman is required to conceal her—"

"Charms?" Royce provided, his appreciative gaze sliding over her hair and face and breasts.

"Yes."

"Because 'twas Eve who tempted Adam?" he speculated, stating what he knew was a religious belief.

Jenny reached for a trencher of porridge. "Yes."

"It has always seemed to me," he mockingly observed, "that what tempted him was an apple, in which case, 'twas gluttony that caused his downfall, not lust."

Knowing how she had twice fallen into his arms after just such lighthearted discourse as this, Jenny absolutely
refused
to be amused or shocked by that heresy, or even to venture any reply. Instead, she broached another topic in a carefully civil tone. "Would you be willing to reconsider your edict that my sister and I are to be separated?"

He quirked a speculative brow at her, "Has your disposition improved?"

His infuriating, unshakable calm, combined with his arrogance, nearly choked her. After a long moment, while she fought to dislodge the word from her throat, Jenny managed to say, "Yes."

Satisfied, Royce looked round at the serf hovering near his elbow and said, "Tell Lady Brenna her sister awaits her here." Then he turned back to Jennifer, pleasuring himself with the sight of her delicate profile. "Go ahead and eat."

"I was waiting for you to begin."

"I'm not hungry." An hour ago, he'd been ravenous, Royce thought wryly; now the only appetite he possessed was for her.

Famished from her self-imposed fast, Jenny did as he suggested and took a spoonful of porridge. Soon, however, his thoughtful gaze began to unnerve her. With a morsel of food partway to her lips, she slanted him a wary, sideways look. "Why are you watching me?"

Whatever answer he'd been about to give was interrupted by the serf who came rushing up to Jennifer and burst out in alarm, "It—it's your sister, milady. She wants you. She's coughin' in a way what makes me flesh crawl!"

Jenny's face drained of color. "Dear God, no!" she whispered, already bolting from her chair. "Not now —not here!"

"What do you mean?" Accustomed to dealing with every sort of emergency on a battlefield, Royce calmly put a restraining hand on her wrist.

"Brenna has an ailment of the chest—" Jenny explained desperately. "The attacks usually begin with coughing, and later she cannot breathe."

She tried to tug free of his grasp, but Royce stood up and accompanied her from the hall. "There must be some way to ease her."

"Not here!" Jenny said, so frightened her words were jumbled. "My Aunt Elinor mixes an aromatic—she knows more about herbs and cures than anyone in Scotland—there's some of it at the abbey."

"What's in it? Perhaps—"

"I don't know!" Jenny cried, almost pulling him up the steep steps. "All I know is the liquid has to be heated until steam comes from it, then Brenna breathes it, and it eases her."

Royce pushed open the door to Brenna's bedchamber, and Jenny raced to her bedside, her eyes frantically searching her sister's ashen face.

"Jenny?" Brenna whispered, clutching Jenny's hand, then she stopped, her body racked with violent spasms of coughing that lifted her spine clear off the bed. "I-I'm sick again," she gasped weakly.

"Don't worry," Jenny soothed, bending low and brushing the tangled blond curls from Brenna's forehead. "Don't worry—"

Brenna's anguished eyes shifted to the threatening figure of the earl looming in the doorway. "We have to go home," she told him, "I need the"—another siege of shrill, hacking coughing gripped her—"need the potion!"

Her heart hammering in mounting fear, Jenny looked over her shoulder at Royce. "Let her go home,
please
!"

"Nay, I think—"

Beside herself with fear, Jenny let go of Brenna's hand and hurried to the doorway motioning to Royce to follow her out of the chamber. Closing the door behind her, so her words wouldn't further distress Brenna, she faced her captor, her expression desperate. "Brenna can
die
from this without my aunt's aromatic. Her heart stopped beating the last time!"

Royce did not entirely believe the blond girl was actually in danger of death, but it was obvious Jennifer did believe it, and equally obvious that Brenna was not feigning that cough.

Jenny saw indecision flicker across his hard features and, thinking he was about to refuse, she tried to soften him by deliberately abasing herself. "You said I am too proud and I—I am," she said, laying her hand on his chest in supplication. "If you will let Brenna go, I'll do any humble task you give me. I'll scrub the floors. I'll wait upon you—I'll cook your food in the kitchen. I swear I'll repay you in a hundred ways."

Royce glanced down at the small, delicate hand laid upon his chest; heat was seeping through his tunic, desire already tightening his loins—and
that
with only her hand upon his chest. He didn't understand why she had such a volatile effect on him, but he understood that he wanted her—he wanted her willing and warm in his arms. And to accomplish that, he was prepared to do the first truly irrational thing in his life: he was prepared to let his most valuable hostage go—for despite Jennifer's belief that Lord Merrick was a loving—if stern—father, some of what she'd said made Royce doubt that the man had any deep feelings for his "troublesome" daughter.

Jenny's huge, fear-widened eyes were riveted to his face. "Please," she whispered, mistaking his silence for refusal. "I'll do
anything
. I'll
kneel
to you. Please, you have only to tell me what you want."

He finally spoke and Jenny tensed with hope, too overwrought to notice the odd, meaningful note in his voice as he said, "Anything?"

She nodded vigorously. "Anything—I'll have this castle set to rights and ready to receive a king within a few weeks, I'll say prayers for you each—"

" 'Tis not prayers I want," he interrupted.

Desperate to reach an agreement before he changed his mind, she said, "Then, tell me what it is you do want."

Implacably he stated, "You."

Jennifer's hand fell away from his tunic as he continued without emotion, "I do not want you on your knees, I want you in my bed. Willingly."

Her relief that he was willing to let Brenna leave was temporarily overwhelmed by blazing animosity at what he was demanding in return.

He was sacrificing nothing by releasing Brenna, for he would still have Jenny as hostage, yet he was requiring that she sacrifice everything. In willingly surrendering her honor to him, she would become a harlot; a disgrace to herself, her family, and all she held dear. True, she had offered herself to him once before—or nearly so—but what she had asked in return would have saved hundreds—mayhaps thousands—of lives. Lives of people she loved.

Moreover, when she'd made that offer, she'd been half-dazed from his passionate kisses and caresses. Now, however, she saw with cold clarity what the results of this bargain would be.