A Kingdom of Dreams (28 page)

For several minutes after he left, Jenny remained where she stood, oblivious to the increased sounds of revelry coming from the great hall. Staring down at the jewel-encrusted, velvet-lined box he'd pressed into her palm when he left, she tried to still the sudden outcry of her conscience over what she'd agreed to do. Turning, she walked slowly over to the foot of the bed, but she hesitated as she started to pick up the shining gold gown that lay across it. Surely, she argued with her conscience, she would not be betraying her family or her country or anyone else by putting aside all the animosity that lay between the duke and herself—just for a few short hours. Surely she was entitled to this small, single pleasure. It was so little to ask for out of the rest of her married life—just one brief period of a few hours to feel carefree, to feel like a bride.

The gold brocade was cool to the touch as she slowly picked up the gown and held it up against herself. Looking down at her toes, she noted with delight that the gown was the right length.

The maid called Agnes entered, and over her arm was a long overgown of blue green velvet and a matching velvet mantle lined in gold. The stern-faced woman stopped short and for a split second, confusion softened her stony expression, for the infamous red-haired daughter of the treacherous Merrick was standing in the center of the room, her bare toes peeping from beneath the hem of a long wrapper, while she clutched a hastily altered gold gown to herself, looking down at it with eyes that were shining with joy. " 'Tis beautiful, isn't it?" she said in awe, raising glowing eyes to a startled Agnes.

"It—" Agnes faltered. " 'Twas brought down along with whatever gowns could be found belonging to the old lord and his daughters," she said gruffly.

Instead of tossing the used gown aside with contempt, as Agnes half-expected her to do, the young duchess smiled with joy and said, "But look—it's going to
fit
!"

" 'Twas—" Agnes faltered again as she tried to compare the reality of the ingenuous girl with the stories being told about her. The master himself had called her a slut, according to the serfs' gossip. " 'Twas cut down and shorted while you slept, my lady," she managed, carefully laying down the overgown and mantle upon the bed.

"Really?" Jenny said, looking genuinely impressed as she glanced at the fine seams at the sides of the golden undergown. "Did you sew these seams?"

"Aye."

"And in only a few hours?"

"Aye," Agnes said shortly, disliking the confusion she was being forced to feel about the woman she was set to despise.

"They're very fine seams," Jenny said softly. "I could not have done so well."

"Do you want me to help you put your hair up?" Agnes said, coldly disregarding the compliment though she felt somehow that she was in the wrong for doing it. Walking around behind Jenny, Agnes picked up the brush.

"Oh no, I think not," her new mistress declared, smiling brightly over her shoulder at the dumbfounded maid. "Tonight, I'm going to be a bride for a few hours, and brides are allowed to wear their hair down."

T
he noise that had been audible in her bedchamber became a deafening roar as Jenny neared the great hall, a cacophony of male laughter and music overlaying a sea of conversation. With her foot upon the last step, she hesitated before stepping into view of the revelers.

She knew, without needing to look, that the hall would be filled with men who knew all about her; men who'd undoubtedly been present in camp the night she'd been delivered to Royce like a trussed-up goose; other men who'd undoubtedly participated in her removal by force from Merrick; and still others who had witnessed her humiliating reception in the village today.

A half hour ago, when her husband had been talking in his deep, persuasive voice about memories to store, the prospect of a celebration had seemed wonderful; now, however, the reality of
how
she had come to be here was demolishing all the pleasure. She considered
returning to her chamber, but her husband would only come up to fetch her.
Besides, she told herself bracingly, she would have to face all these people some time, and a Merrick never cowered.

Drawing a long, steadying breath, Jenny walked down the last step and rounded the corner. The sight that greeted her in the torchlit hall made her blink in momentary confusion. Easily three hundred people were present, standing and talking, or sitting at long tables that had been set up along the length of one side of the hall. Still others were watching the entertainment—and of that, there seemed to be a dazzling variety: on the gallery above, a band of minstrels was playing, while other minstrels were strolling about the floor entertaining smaller groups; four jugglers in particolored costumes were tossing balls high into the air in the center of the room and exchanging them with each other; while at the far end of the hall three acrobats hurtled into the air. Behind the great table upon the dais, a lutist played upon his instrument, adding its sweet chords to the general chaotic gaiety of the hall.

There were women present, too, Jenny noted in some surprise, about thirty of them—wives of some of the knights, or else neighbors, Jenny decided. She spotted Royce easily, for with the exception of Arik, he was the tallest man in the great hall. He was standing not far away, talking to a group of men and women, a goblet in his hand, laughing at something one of them said. It hit her then that she'd never seen him like this—laughing and relaxed, the master of his own castle. Tonight, he did not resemble the predator for whom he was named; he looked like a powerful noble, and a dangerously handsome one, Jenny thought with a tiny tingle of pride as her gaze drifted over his tanned, chiseled features.

Alerted to Jenny's presence by the sudden dropping of the noise level in the hall, Royce put his goblet down, excused himself to his guests, turned, and stopped cold. A slow smile of admiration swept across his face as he beheld the regal young duchess who was walking toward him in a gown of blue-green velvet with a fitted bodice and a slashed skirt that parted at the front to reveal a shining gold undergown. A matching velvet mantle lined in gold was draped over her shoulders and held in place with a flat gold chain inset with aquamarines. At her tiny waist was a curving, stiffened belt of gold satin edged in blue-green and set with aquamarines. Her glorious hair, parted in the center, tumbled over her shoulders and back in luxurious waves and shining curls, a ravishing contrast to the rich blue-green of her gown.

Belatedly realizing that he was forcing his courageous young bride to come to him, he walked forward, meeting her partway. Taking her cold hands in both of his, he drew her close, grinning down at her with unconcealed admiration, "You are beautiful," he said softly. "Stay still for a moment so they can all look their fill."

"I was given to understand, my lord, that one of your many reasons for objecting to marrying me—even if I were the queen of Scotland—is because I am plain." Jenny saw the surprised bafflement in his gray eyes and knew instinctively that it was genuine.

"I'm sure I voiced many objections during that angry interview with Henry, but that was assuredly not one of them." Quietly he added, "I am many things, Jennifer, but I am not blind."

"In that case," she answered teasingly, "I yield to your excellent judgment on the matter of my appearance tonight."

There was a meaningful note in his deep voice as he said, "And will you yield to me on anything else?"

She inclined her head like a queen bestowing a regal favor upon a lesser mortal. "Everything—for as long as we remain down here."

"Stubborn wench," he said with sham severity, then his eyes took on
a tender, intimate look as he added, " 'Tis time for the bride and groom to join their guests." Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he turned, and Jenny realized that while he'd been talking to her, his knights had formed into a line behind him—obviously by prearranged plan—in order to be formally presented to their new duchess. At the head of them stood Stefan Westmoreland, who'd scarcely glanced at her except to scowl at her in the hall at Merrick. Now, he pressed a light, brotherly kiss to her cheek. When he stepped back and grinned at her, Jenny was struck anew by how very much he resembled Royce, especially when he smiled. Stefan's hair was lighter and his features slightly less rugged; his eyes were blue not gray, but like his brother, he did not lack for charm when he cared to use it—as he did now. "An apology for the trouble I have caused you is not enough, my lady, but 'tis long overdue. I make it now, most sincerely, in hopes you will someday find it in your heart to forgive me."

The apology was made with such sincerity, and so prettily, that Jenny could not, in the spirit of the evening and the dictates of good manners, do anything but accept it, which she did. Her reward was an irrepressible grin from her new brother-in-law, who leaned forward and said, "Naturally, I needn't apologize to my brother, for 'twas a grand favor I did
him
."

Jenny couldn't help it; that notion was so outrageous that she burst out laughing. Beside her, she felt Royce look down at her, and when she glanced at him, his gray eyes were warm with approval and something that looked very much like pride.

Arik was next, and the stone floor seemed to rumble as the terrifying giant strode forward, each step double the stride of an average man's. As Jenny expected, the granite-faced giant did not demean himself with an apology, let alone a gallant speech, or even so much as a bow. Instead, he stood before her, looking down his nose at her from his towering height and then, with his strange pale eyes looking into hers, he merely jerked his head in a curt nod. Turning, he stalked off, leaving Jenny feeling as if he had just accepted dominion over
her
instead of the reverse.

Seeing her startled discomfiture, Royce leaned down and chuckled in her ear, "Don't be insulted—Arik has never condescended to actually swear fealty to
me
either."

Jenny looked into those smiling gray eyes and suddenly the whole evening seemed to stretch before her with all the promise and excitement of the first warm night of spring.

The knights who made up Royce's personal guard came next. Sir Godfrey, a tall, handsome man in his late twenties, was first and instantly became her favorite because, immediately after kissing her hand, he did something that completely dispelled the tension over their past association: Turning to all within hearing, he proclaimed her the only woman alive with wit and courage enough to dupe an entire army. Then he turned back to her and said with an irrepressible grin, "I trust, my lady, that if you ever decide to escape Claymore as you did our camp a few weeks ago, you'll spare our pride by leaving us a better trail to follow?"

Jenny, who was partaking of the goblet of wine Royce had pressed into her hand, replied with sham solemnity, "Should I ever try to escape from here, I shall contrive to do it very badly, to be sure," which made Sir Godfrey roar with laughter and kiss her cheek.

Sir Eustace, blond and handsome with merry brown eyes, gallantly announced that if her hair had been unbound when she escaped, they'd have spotted its golden flame and been able to find her no matter
where
she hid, which earned him a mild, quelling look from Royce. Undaunted, Sir Eustace leaned forward and teasingly told Jennifer, "He's jealous, you can see—of my superior looks and chivalrous conversation."

One at a time, they came to stand before her, skilled, deadly knights who once would have killed her at a word from their lord, but who were now bound to protect her, even at the cost of their own lives. Attired in fine velvets and wools, instead of chain mail and helmets, the older knights treated her with differential courtesy while a few of the younger ones actually exhibited an endearing embarrassment for something they had done: "I trust," young Sir Lionel said to Jennifer, "I didn't cause your grace any undue discomfort when I—when I—that is, er, grabbed your arm and drag—"

Jenny chuckled and raised her brows, "and
escorted
me to my tent that first night?"

"Yes,
escorted
," he said with a sigh of relief.

Gawin, Royce's young squire, was the last to be formally presented to her as his mistress. Obviously too young and idealistic to follow the older, more experienced knight's example and let bygones be bygones, he bowed to Jenny, kissed her hand, and then with ill-concealed rancor said, "I
suppose
, my lady, 'twas not your
true
intention to make us
freeze
when you slashed our blankets."

That remark earned him a hard cuff from Sir Eustace, who had lingered at Jenny's side, and who said to him with disgust, "If that's your idea of gallantry, no wonder young Lady Anne casts her eye at Roderick, not you."

The mention of Roderick and Lady Anne made the youth stiffen in umbrage and throw an irate look about the room. Issuing a hasty apology to Jennifer, Gawin hastened off in the direction of a pretty brunette who was talking to a man Jenny didn't recognize, looking more belligerent than gallant.

Royce watched him leave and glanced at Jennifer with a look of apologetic amusement. "Gawin has lost his head over that pretty maid over there, and evidently his sense as well." Offering her his arm, he added, "Come and meet the rest of our guests, my lady."

The fears Jenny had harbored about her reception from those who were not bound to Royce by pledges of fealty were completely allayed during the next two hours, as she was introduced to each. The unprecedented words Royce had spoken earlier on the castle steps had obviously been repeated far and wide—including to the guests who'd come from neighboring estates—and though Jenny occasionally encountered a hostile gaze, the owner of it was careful to hide it behind a polite smile.

When all the introductions had been made, Royce insisted that Jenny should dine, and at the table on the raised dais there was more conversation—all of it gay and pleasant, interrupted only by the blast of trumpets from the gallery that heralded the arrival of each new course from the kitchen.

Aunt Elinor was in her glory, with a captive audience of more than three hundred people to converse with, although the person she was most often seen near was none other than Arik! Jenny watched her, amused by the elderly lady's fascination with the one person who didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

"Does the food live up to your expectations, my lord?" Jenny asked, turning to Royce, who was helping himself to a second portion of roasted peacock and another of stuffed swan.

"It's adequate," he said with a mild frown. "But I'd expected better fare from kitchens under Prisham's supervision." At that moment, the steward himself materialized behind Royce, and Jenny had her first glimpse of Albert Prisham as he said in a cool, formal voice, "I fear I have little interest in food, your grace." He glanced at Jennifer and said, "A cup of mild broth, a lean joint of meat is enough to satisfy me. However, I feel certain your
wife
will take the kitchens in hand and create menus and recipes to better please you."

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.