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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 irony, "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.
"If you're worried that I mean to extract immediate payment on your part of the bargain," Royce said dryly, studying her frown, "then you may put your mind at ease. I have duties to occupy me until supper."
Jenny had no desire to think about her bargain, let alone discuss it, and she said quickly, "I—I was wondering why the knights who left just now were carrying your pennant, not your king's."
"Because they're my knights, not Henry's," he replied. "Their allegiance is to me."
Jenny drew up short in the middle of the bailey; Henry VII had reportedly made it illegal for his nobles to keep armies of their own. "But I thought 'twas illegal for English nobles to have their own army of knights."
"In my case, Henry decided to make an exception."
"Why?"
His brows lifted over sardonic gray eyes. "Perhaps because he trusts me?" Royce ventured, feeling no compunction to enlighten her beyond that.
Chapter Ten
Seated beside Jennifer after supper, Royce lounged back in his chair, his arm stretched across the back of hers, his expression thoughtful as he watched Jennifer deliberately charm and dazzle the four knights who'd remained seated at their table. It wasn't surprising to him that Eustace, Godfrey, and Lionel were lingering long after the meal was over: For one thing, Jennifer looked ravishing in a gown of sky blue velvet trimmed in cream satin. For another, midway through their meal, Jennifer had suddenly become lively and amiable and gay, and now they were seeing a side of her that even Royce had not seen. She told entertaining stories about her life at the abbey, and about the French abbess who'd insisted, among other things, that Jennifer and Brenna learn to speak without their Scots brogue.
