A Kingdom of Dreams

by Judith McNaught

  "Usually for my own nefarious reasons," he admitted drolly, and she chuckled.

  Taking a sip, she put the goblet aside, then she crossed her arms on the low wall, gazing out into the distance again as she leaned against it. Royce studied her in silence, unable to get her revelations out of his mind, feeling the need to say something encouraging about her plight. "I doubt you'd have liked having the responsibility for your clan, in any case."

  She shook her head and quietly said, "I would have loved it. There were so many things I saw that might have been done differently—things a woman would notice that a man does not. Things I learned from Mother Abbess, too. There are new looms—yours are much better than ours—new ways of growing crops—hundreds of other things to be done differently and better."

  Unable to argue the relative merits of one kind of loom or crop over another, Royce tried a different argument. "You cannot live your life trying to prove yourself to your clan."

  "I can," she said in a low, fierce voice. "I would do anything to make them see me as one of them again. They are my people—their blood flows in my veins, and mine in theirs."

  "You'd best forget it," Royce urged." 'Twould seem you've embarked on a quest where victory is unlikely at best."

  "For a while, these past few days, 'twasn't as unlikely as you think," she said, her beautiful profile somber. "William will be earl someday, and he's a kind, wonderful boy—well, man—since he is twenty. He isn't strong like Alexander was, or Malcolm is, but he is intelligent and wise and loyal. He feels for my plight with our clan, and once he became lord, he would have tried to set matters aright. But tonight, that became an impossibility."

  "What has tonight to do with it?"

  Jenny raised her eyes to his, the expression in them reminding him of a wounded doe, despite the calm, matter-of-fact tone she used. "Tonight, I became the consort of my family's worst enemy—the mistress of my people's foe. In the past, they despised me for things I hadn't done. Now, they have good reason to despise me for what I have, just as I have reason to despise myself. This time, I've done the unforgivable. Even God won't forgive me…"

  The undeniable truth of her accusation about becoming his consort hit Royce with more force than he wanted to acknowledge, but his guilt was lessened by the knowledge that the life that was lost to her now was not much life at all. Reaching out, he took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her around, then he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. And even as he began to speak, in the midst of his concern and sympathy, his loins were already hardening in demanding response to her nearness. "Jennifer," he said with quiet firmness, "I didn't know how things stood between you and your people, but I've bedded you, and nothing can change that now."

  "And if you could change it," she said, looking mutinous, "would you?"

  Royce gazed down at the incredibly desirable young woman who was setting his body on fire at that very moment. Calmly and honestly, he said, "No."

  "Then do not bother looking regretful," she snapped.

  His lips quirked in a mirthless smile, his hand sliding along her cheek to her nape. "Do I look regretful? I'm not. I regret causing you humiliation, but I do not regret the fact that I had you an hour ago, nor will I regret having you again in a few minutes, which I mean to do." She glared at the arrogance of his statement, but Royce forged ahead with what he'd intended to say: "I do not believe in your God, nor any other, but I'm told by those who do, that your God is supposedly a just God. If so," he continued in a calm, philosophical tone, "He will surely hold you blameless in all this. After all, you only agreed to my bargain out of fear for your sister's life. 'Twas not your will, 'twas mine. And what passed between us in that bed was against your will, too. Wasn't it?"

  As soon as he asked the question, Royce regretted it—regretted it so sharply that it confused him. And then he realized that, while he wanted her to assure him that he hadn't damned her in the eyes of her God, he did not want her to deny that she'd felt all the things he had in their mating, or that she had wanted him almost as much as he had wanted her. As if he suddenly needed to test her honesty and his instincts, he persisted, "Isn't that right? He will hold you blameless in all this because you merely submitted to me in bed against your will?"

  "No!" The word burst out of her, filled with shame and helplessness, and a thousand other feelings Royce couldn't identify.

  "No?" he repeated, while a heady sensation of relief burst within him. "Where am I wrong?" he asked, his voice low, but insistent. "Tell me where I'm wrong."

  It was not the tone of command in his voice that made her answer. It was, instead, her sudden memories of the way he had made love to her; memories of his incredible gentleness and restraint; of his pained regret when he hurt her as he broke her maidenhead; of his whispered words of praise; of his labored breathing as he fought to hold back his passion. Added to all that was the memory of her own urgent desire to be filled with him, and to give him back the exquisite sensations he was making her feel. She opened her mouth, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt all her chances for happiness, but her conscience strangled the words in her throat. She had found glory, not shame in their mating, and she could not make herself lie to him and say otherwise. " 'Twas not my will to come to your bed," she answered in a muffled whisper. Dragging her mortified gaze from his smoky gray one, she turned her head away and added, "but once there, 'twas not my will to leave it either."

  She had looked away, so Jenny didn't see the new tenderness in his slow smile, but she felt it in the way his arms encircled her, his hand splaying against her spine, clasping her against his hardened length as his mouth took possession of hers, robbing her of speech, and then of breath.

  Chapter Twelve

  We have visitors," Godfrey announced, stalking into the hall, a frown upon his face as he looked at the knights seated at the table partaking of the midday meal. Twelve pairs of hands paused, their faces alert. "A large group carrying the king's standard and riding this way. A very large group," Godfrey amplified, "too many to be the usual messengers. Lionel got a glimpse of them from the road. He said he thought he recognized Graverley." His frown deepening, he glanced toward the gallery above. "Where's Royce?"

  "He's gone out strolling with our hostage," Eustace answered, frowning. "I'm not certain where."

  "I know," Arik said, his voice booming. "I'll go." Turning on his heel, Arik left the hall, his long, ground-eating strides solid and assured, but the look of stony, aloof calm that normally characterized his craggy face was marred by a worried look that deepened the grooves between his pale blue eyes.

  Jenny's musical laughter pealed like bells startled by a sudden wind, and Royce grinned at her as she slumped helplessly against the tree trunk beside him, her shoulders shaking with mirth, her cheeks tinted the same pale pink as the fetching gown she wore. "I—I don't believe you," she gasped, wiping tears of hilarity from her eyes. " 'Tis a gross falsehood which you invented just now."

  "It's possible," he agreed, stretching his long legs out in front of him and grinning because her smile was infectious. This morning, she'd wakened in his bed when servants trooped into their bedchamber, and her distress at being found like that with him was almost painful to see. She had become his mistress and she was positive the entire castle would be gossiping about it, which, of course, was true. After considering the alternative of lying to her about it, or trying to seduce her into forgetting her woes, Royce had decided the best course was to take her away from the castle for a few hours so that she could relax a little. It had been a wise choice, he decided, looking at her sparkling eyes and glowing complexion.

  "You must think me brainless to be fooled into believing such a falsehood," she said, trying to look stern and failing.

  Royce smiled, but he shook his head in denial of both her accusations. "Nay, madam, you're wrong on all counts."

  "All?" Jenny repeated quizzically. "What do you mean?"

  Royce's smile widened as he explained, " 'Twas no false
hood I told you, nor, I think, could you be easily fooled by anyone." He paused, waiting for her to respond and when she didn't, he said, smiling, "That was a compliment to your good sense."

  "Oh," Jenny said, startled. "Thank you," she added uncertainly.

  "Secondly, far from mistaking you for brainless, I find you to be a female of extraordinary intelligence."

  "Thank you!" Jenny replied promptly.

  "That was not a compliment," Royce corrected.

  Jenny shot him a look of curious displeasure that silently demanded an explanation for his remark, and Royce answered as he reached out and touched her cheek with his forefinger, tracing its smooth, delicate texture. "Were you less intelligent, you'd not spend so much time considering all the possible consequences of belonging to me, and you'd simply accept your situation, along with all the benefits attached to it." His gaze shifted meaningfully to the strand of pearls he'd insisted on placing around her neck this morning after giving her the entire cache of jewels.

  Jenny's eyes widened with indignation, but Royce continued with imperturbable masculine logic. "Were you a woman of ordinary intelligence, you'd be concerned only with matters of normal interest to a woman, such as fashions, and the running of a household, and the rearing of children. You'd not be torturing yourself about subjects like loyalty, patriotism, and such."

  Jenny stared at him in angry disbelief. "Accept my 'situation'?" she repeated. "I am not in a 'situation,' as you so nicely phrased it, my lord. I am living in sin with a man, in defiance of my family's wishes, my country's wishes, and God Almighty's wishes. And furthermore," she added, working herself into a fine temper, "it's all well and good for you to recommend that I think only of womanly matters, such as the running of a household, and the rearing of children, but 'tis you who have stolen from me the right to those things. Your wife will have the running of your households and she'll no doubt make my life a living hell if she can, and—"

  "Jennifer," Royce interrupted, biting back a smile, "as you well know, I don't have a wife." He realized much of what she was saying was true, but she looked so damned pretty .with her flashing liquid sapphire eyes and kissable mouth that he found it hard to concentrate; all he really wanted to do was to snatch her into his arms and cuddle her like an angry kitten.

  "You don't have a wife now," Jenny argued bitterly, "but you'll choose one someday soon—an Englishwoman!" she spat. "An Englishwoman with ice water for blood, and hair the color of mouse fur, and a sharp little nose that is forever red on the end and in danger of dripping—"

  His shoulders shaking with silent, helpless laughter, Royce held up a hand in a mocking gesture of defense. "Hair the color of mouse fur?" he repeated. "Is that the best I can do? Until recently, I thought I fancied a blond wife, with big green eyes and—"

  "And big pink lips and big—" So angry was she that Jenny actually raised her hands toward her breasts before she realized what she was about to say.

  "Yes," Royce prompted, teasing. "Big what?"

  "Ears!" she burst out furiously, "But whatever she looks like, the point is, she'll make my life a living hell."

  Unable to restrain himself another moment, Royce leaned down and nuzzled her neck. "I'll strike a bargain with you," he whispered, kissing her ear. "We'll pick out a wife we both like." And in that unlikely instant, he suddenly realized that his obsession with Jennifer was clouding his thinking. He could not possibly marry and still keep Jennifer with him, he knew. Despite his teasing, he was not callous enough to wed Mary Hammel or anyone else and then force Jennifer to suffer the indignity of remaining his mistress. Yesterday, he might have considered it, but not now, not after last night, when he came to realize how much suffering she'd already endured in her brief young life.

  Even now, his mind shied away from the thought of how she would be treated by her "beloved" clansmen when she went back to them after sharing the bed of their enemy.

  The alternative of his remaining unmarried, and of going without children and heirs, was unappealing and unacceptable.

  The only remaining alternative—that of marrying Jennifer—was out of the question. To wed her—and in so doing acquire sworn enemies as in-laws, as well as a wife with loyalties weighted heavily in favor of those enemies—was untenable. Such a marriage would only bring the battlefield into his own hall when what he sought there was peace and harmony. Simply because her innocent passion and selfless giving in bed brought him exquisite pleasure was no reason to subject himself to a life of continual strife. On the other hand, she was the only woman who made love with him, not with the legend he was. And she made him laugh as no other woman ever had; she had courage and wisdom and a face that bewitched and beguiled. Last, but far from least, she had a directness, an honesty about her that disarmed him completely.

  Even now, he could not forget the feeling in his chest last night when she'd chosen honesty over pride and admitted that once in his bed, she'd not wanted to leave it. Honesty such as that, especially in a woman, was a rare thing indeed. It meant her word could be trusted.

  Of course, all those things weren't reason enough to let all his carefully laid plans for his future be destroyed.

  On the other hand, they weren't exactly strong incentives to give her up, either.

  Royce glanced up as the guards on the castle wall sounded a single, long blast on their trumpets, signaling the approach of nonhostile visitors.

  "What does that mean?" Jenny asked, startled.

  "Couriers from Henry, I imagine," Royce replied, leaning back on his forearms and squinting up at the sun. If they were? he thought idly, they were here much sooner than he'd expected. "Whoever they are, they're friendly."

  "Does your king know I'm your hostage?"

  "Yes." Although he disliked the turn of the conversation, he understood her concern for her fate, and he added, "I sent word to him a few days after you were brought to my camp, along with my regular monthly dispatches."

  "Am I"—she drew a shaky breath—"am I to be sent someplace—a dungeon, or—"

  "No," Royce said quickly. "You'll remain under my protection. For the time being," he added vaguely.

  "But suppose he commands otherwise?"

  "He won't," Royce said flatly, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Henry cares naught how I win his victories for him, so long as I win them. If your father lays down his arms and surrenders because you're my hostage, then this victory will be the best kind—a bloodless one." Seeing that the subject was making her tense, he diverted her with a question that had been niggling at the back of his mind all morning. "When your stepbrothers began to turn your clan against you," he asked, "why did you not bring the problem to your father's attention, instead of trying to escape from it by building dream kingdoms in your mind? Your father is a powerful lord, he could have solved your problem the same way I would have."

  "And how would you have solved it?" she asked with that unconsciously provocative, sideways smile that always made him long to drag her into his arms and kiss it off her lips.

  More sharply than he intended, Royce said, "I would have commanded them to desist in their suspicions of you."

  "Spoken like a warrior, not a lord," she commented lightly. "You cannot 'command' people's thoughts, you can merely terrify them into keeping them to themselves."

  "What did your father do?" he asked in a cool voice that challenged her observation.

  "At the time Becky drowned," she replied, "my father was off fighting you in some battle, as I recall."

  "And when he returned—from fighting with me—" Royce added with a wry smile, "what did he do then?"

  "By then, there were all sorts of stories circulating about me, but Father thought I was exaggerating, and that they would die away shortly. You see," she added when Royce frowned disapprovingly, "my father does not place a great deal of importance on what he calls 'women's matters.' He loves me very much," she stated with what Royce considered to be more loyalty than sense—given Merrick's choice of Balder as a husband for
Jennifer, "but to him, women are… well… not quite so important to the world as men. He married my stepmother because we are distant kin and she had three healthy sons."

  "He preferred to see his title handed over to distant kin," Royce summarized with ill-concealed distaste, "rather than handed down to you and, hopefully, his grandsons?"

  "The clan means everything to him, and that is as it should be," Jennifer said, her loyalty driving her to speak with more force. "He did not feel I, as a woman, would have been able to hold their loyalty or guide them—even if King James had permitted my father's title to pass to me—which might have been a problem."

  "Did he bother to petition James about it?"

  "Well, no. But, as I said, 'twas not me, as a person, Father doubted, 'twas merely that I am a woman and therefore destined for other things."

  Or other uses, Royce thought with anger on her behalf.

  "You cannot understand my father, but 'tis because you do not know him. He is a great man and everyone feels as I do about him. We—all of us—would lay down our lives for him if he…" For a moment, Jenny thought she was either going quite mad or going quite blind—for standing just inside the woods, looking at her, his finger pressed to his lips in the signal for silence—was William. "… if he asked it," she breathed, but Royce didn't notice her sudden change in tone. He was occupied with fighting down a surge of irrational jealousy because her father could inspire such blind, total devotion in her.

  Closing her eyes tightly, Jenny opened them again and stared harder. William had slipped back into the shadows of the trees, but she could still see the edge of his green jerkin. William was here! He'd come to take her back, she realized as joy and relief exploded in her breast.

  "Jennifer—" Royce Westmoreland's quiet voice was edged with gravity, and Jenny tore her gaze from the place where William had vanished.

  "Y-yes," she stammered, half expecting her father's entire army to leap from the woods at any instant and slaughter Royce where he sat. Slaughter him! The thought made bile rise up in her throat, and Jenny shot to her feet, obsessed with the simultaneous need to get him away from the woods and still manage to get into them herself.