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 som
e 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.
Behind her, Brenna's coughing rose to a terrible crescendo and Jenny shuddered with alarm; alarm for herself and her sister.
"Do we have a bargain?" he asked calmly.
Jenny lifted her small chin, looking like a proud young queen who'd just been stabbed by someone she trusted. "I was mistaken in you, my lord," she said bitterly. "I credited you with honor when you said me nay two days ago-for you could have promised me what I asked, taken what I offered, and then attacked Merrick anyway. Now I see 'twasn't honor, but arrogance. A barbarian has no honor."
Even when she knew she was vanquished, she was splendid, Royce thought, suppressing an admiring smile as he looked into her stormy blue eyes. "Is the bargain I offer you so loathsome?" he asked quietly, putting his hands on her stiff arms. "In truth, I have no need to bargain with you at all, Jennifer, and you know it. I could have taken you by force any time these past days."
Jennifer knew that and, although her resentment remained, she had to fight against falling under the spell of his deep voice as he continued, "I want you, and if that makes me a barbarian in your eyes, then so be it, but it doesn't have to be that way. If you let me, I'll make it good between us. There'll be no shame nor pain for you in my bed-except pain I must cause you the first time. After that, there will be only pleasure."
Coming from another knight, that speech might have been enough to sway the most sophisticated courtesan. Coming from England's most feared warrior to an unworldly, convent-bred Scottish girl, the effect was devastating. Jennifer felt blood rushing to her cheeks and a weak, trembling feeling from the pit of her stomach to her knees, as she was suddenly assaulted by memories of his heated kisses and caresses.
"Do we have a bargain?" Royce asked, his long fingers sliding up and down her arms in an unconscious caress. It occurred to him he'd just delivered the tenderest speech he'd ever spoken to a woman.
Jenny hesitated an endless moment, knowing she had no alternative, and then she felt herself nod imperceptibly.
"You'll keep your part of it?"
Jenny realized he was referring to the issue of her willingness, and this time her hesitation was longer. She wanted to hate him for this. She stood there, trying to do it, but some small, insistent voice reminded her sensibly that, at the hands of any other captor, she would undoubtedly have suffered a far worse fate already than the one he proposed. A brutal, unspeakable fate.
Staring up at his ruggedly chiseled face, she searched for some sign he might later relent, but instead of finding an answer, she suddenly became aware of how far back she had to tilt her head to look at him and how small she was in comparison to his height and breadth. Confronted with his size, strength, and indomitable will, she had no choice, and she knew it. And realizing that made her defeat a little less painful, for she was completely outflanked and overpowered by a vastly superior force.
She met his gaze unflinchingly, proud even when she was surrendering. "I'll keep my part of the bargain."
"I'll have your word on it," he insisted when another siege of violent coughing drew her attention toward Brenna's chamber.
Jenny looked at him in surprise. The last time she'd offered her word to him, he'd acted as if her word meant nothing, which wasn't surprising. Men, including her father, placed no value on the word of a mere woman. Evidently, Lord Westmoreland had changed his mind, and that amazed her. Feeling extremely uneasy and slightly proud at this, her first chance to have her pledge sought and honored, she whispered, "I give you my word."
He nodded, satisfied. "In that case, I'll go with you and you can tell your sister she's being taken back to the abbey. After that, you will not be permitted to be alone with her."
"Why ever not?" Jenny gasped.
"Because I doubt your sister has paid enough heed to Hardin's defenses to tell your father anything. You, however," he added in a voice of amused ir
ony, "were calculating the thickness of its walls and counting my sentries as we rode across the drawbridge."
"No! Not without you!" Brenna cried when she heard she was being taken back to the abbey. "Jenny must come with me," she burst out, her gaze on Lord Westmoreland, "she must!" And for one astonishing moment, Jenny could have sworn Brenna looked more frustrated than frightened or sick.
An hour later, one hundred Westmoreland knights led by Stefan Westmoreland, were mounted and ready to leave the bailey. "Take care," Jennifer said, bending over Brenna, who was cozily ensconced in a cart atop a mound of bedding and pillows.
"I thought he would allow you to accompany me," Brenna coughed bitterly, her accusing glance sliding to the earl.
"Don't exhaust your strength with talking," Jenny said, reaching behind Brenna and trying to plump the feather pillows beneath her head and shoulders.
Turning, Royce gave the order, and heavy chains and weights were set in motion. Amidst a great clanking of metal and groaning of timbers, the spiked portcullis was raised and the drawbridge slowly fell forward. The knights spurred their mounts, Jennifer stepped back, and the caravan began moving across the drawbridge. Blue pennants emblazoned with the head of a snarling black wolf waved and snapped in the breeze, held by men at the front and the rear of the caravan, and Jenny's gaze clung to them. The insignia of the Wolf would protect Brenna until they reached the border; after that, if Lord Westmoreland's men were attacked, Brenna's name would needs be her protection.
The drawbridge was being raised again, blocking Jenny's view, and Lord Westmoreland put his hand on her elbow, turning her back toward the hall. Jenny followed, but her mind was on those sinister pennants with their deliberately malevolent image of a wolf with white fangs. Until today, the men had carried standards displaying the king of England's coat of arms-gold lions and trefoils.
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