When Henry fell silent, Royce said, "Have you more to say to me, Sire, or may I beg your leave to retire?"

"Certainly," Henry replied good-naturedly. "Come to see me in the morn, and we'll talk more. Don't be too hard on your brother-he volunteered to marry the sister in order to spare you. Seemed not at all reluctant to do it, in fact. Unfortunately, that won't do. Oh, and Claymore, you needn't worry about telling Lady Hammel of your broken betrothal. I've done that already. Poor lovely thing-she was quite overset. I've sent her off to the country in hopes the change of scene will help restore her spirits."

The knowledge that Henry had proceeded with the betrothal, and that Mary had undoubtedly been subjected to tremendous humiliation as a result of Royce's notorious behavior with Jennifer, was the last piece of ill news he could tolerate in one night. With a brief bow, he turned on his heel and the footmen opened the doors. A few steps away, however, Henry called his name.

Wondering what impossible demand he was about to make now, Royce reluctantly turned to face him.

"Your future bride is a countess," Henry said, an odd smile lingering at his lips. "It is a title inherited by her through her mother-a title far older than your own, by the by. Did you know that?"

"If she were queen of Scotland," Royce replied bluntly, "I wouldn't want her. Therefore, her present title is scarcely an inducement."

"I quite agree. In fact, I regard it as a likely hindrance to marital harmony." When Royce merely looked at him, Henry explained with a widening smile, "Inasmuch as the young countess has already duped my most fierce and brilliant warrior, I think 'twould be a tactical mistake to have her outrank him as well. Therefore, Royce Westmoreland, I hereby confer upon you the title of duke…"

When Royce emerged from the throne room, the antechamber was filled with staring nobles, all of them visibly eager to have a look at him and thus assess how his interview with the king had gone. The answer came from a footman who rushed out of the throne room and loudly said, "Your grace?"

Royce turned to hear that King Henry bade him convey his personal regards to his future wife, but the nobles in the antechamber heard only two things: "your grace," which meant that Royce Westmoreland was now a duke, the holder of the most exalted title in the land, and that he was evidently about to be married. It was, Royce realized grimly, Henry's way of announcing both events to those in the antechamber.

Lady Amelia Wildale and her husband were the first to recover from the shock. "So," said Lord Wildale, bowing to Royce, " 'twould appear congratulations are in order."

"I disagree," Royce snapped.

"Who is the lucky lady?" Lord Avery called good-naturedly. "Obviously, it is not Lady Hammel."

Royce stiffened and slowly turned while tension and expectation crackled in the air, but before he could reply, Henry's voice boomed from the doorway: "Lady Jennifer Merrick."

The stunned silence that followed was broken first by a loud laugh that was abruptly stifled, and then giggles, and then a deafening babble of denials and amazed exclamations.

"Jennifer Merrick?" Lady Elizabeth repeated, looking at Royce, her sultry eyes silently reminding Royce of the intimacies they had once shared. "Not the beautiful one? The plain one then?"

His mind bent only on getting out of there, Royce nodded distantly and started to turn.

"She's quite old, isn't she?" Lady Elizabeth persisted.

"Not too old to snatch up her skirts and run away from the Black Wolf," Graverley put in smoothly, strolling out from the midst of the crowd. "No doubt you'll have to beat her into submission, won't you? A little torture, a little pain, and then mayhaps she'll stay in your bed?"

Royce's hands clenched against the urge to strangle the bastard.

Someone laughed to diffuse the tension and joked, "It's England against Scotland, Claymore, except the battles will take place in the bedchamber. My purse is on you."

"Mine, too," someone else called.

"Mine is on the woman," Graverley proclaimed.

Further back in the crowd an elderly gentleman cupped his hand to his ear and called to a friend who was closer to the duke, "Eh? What's all this about? What's happened to Claymore?"

"He has to marry the Merrick slut," his friend replied, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing hubbub.

"What did he say?" called a lady far back in the crowd, craning her neck.

"Claymore has to marry the Merrick slut!" the elderly gentleman obligingly called out.

In the uproar that followed, only two nobles in the antechamber remained still and silent-Lord MacLeash and Lord Dugal, the emissaries from King James, who were waiting for the signed marriage agreement which they were to take to Scotland tonight.

Within two hours, word had passed from noble to servant to guards outside, and then to passersby: "Claymore has to marry the Merrick slut."

Chapter Fourteen

In answer to her father's summons, Jenny dragged her thoughts from the memories of the handsome, gray-eyed man who still haunted her days and nights. Laying down her embroidery, she gave Brenna a puzzled look, then she pulled her dark green mantle closer about her shoulders and left the solar. Male voices raised in debate made her pause on the gallery and glance down into the hall. At least two dozen men-kinsmen and nobles from surrounding demesnes-were gathered around the fire, their rough-hewn faces grim as death. Friar Benedict was there, too, and the sight of his stern, icy face made Jenny cringe with a combination of alarm and shame. Even now, she could recall every word of his blistering tirade when she confessed to him the sin she had committed with Royce Westmoreland: "You shamed your father, your country, and your God with your uncontrollable desires for this man. Were you not guilty of the sin of lust you' d have surrendered your life before your honor!" Instead of feeling cleansed, which she normally did after confessing her sins, Jenny had felt dirtied and almost beyond salvation.

Now, in retrospect, she thought it a little odd that he had placed God in the last position of importance when he listed those she had shamed. And despite her lingering guilt at having actually enjoyed the things Lord Westmoreland had done to her, she refused to believe her God would blame her for making the original bargain. In the first place, Lord Westmoreland had not wanted her life, he had wanted her body. And although she'd been wrong to enjoy lying with a man who was not her husband, the actual bargain had been nobly made for the sake of sparing Brenna's life-or so she'd thought.

The God whom Friar Benedict spoke of in such frightening terms of fiery vengeance and righteousness, was not the same God to whom Jenny frequently poured out her heart. Her God was reasonable, kind, and only somewhat stern. Hopefully, He even understood why she could not seem to permanently blot out of her mind the exquisite sweetness of the night she'd spent in Royce Westmoreland's arms. The memory of his passionate kisses, of his whispered words of praise and passion, kept coming back to torment her, and she couldn't prevent it. Sometimes, she didn't want to try… several times, she'd dreamed of him, of the way he looked when that lazy white smile swept across his tanned face, or…

Jenny jerked her mind from such thoughts and stepped into the hall, her reluctance to face the men assembled around the fireplace growing with each step she took. Until now, she'd remained virtually secluded within Merrick, needing somehow the security of its ancient, familiar walls around her. Despite her self-imposed seclusion, she had no doubt the men in the hall knew what she had done. Her father had demanded a full accounting of her abduction, and partway through Jenny's explanation, he had interrupted her to bluntly demand to know if the Wolf had forced her to lie with him. Jenny's face had given away the answer, and despite her efforts to ease his fury by explaining about the bargain and assuring him that her captor had not been brutal, his rage was uncontainable. His shouted curses had rung to the rafters, and the reason for it had not been kept secret. Although, whether the men in the hall viewed her as a helpless victim or a common slut, she had no way of knowing.

Her father was standing at the fireplace, his rigid back to his guests. "You wished to see me, Father?"

Without turning he spoke, and the ominous tone of his voice made alarm tingle up her spine. "Sit down, daughter," he said, and her cousin, Angus, quickly stood up to offer Jenny his chair. The swiftness, the eagerness of the polite gesture took Jenny by surprise.

"How are you feeling, Jenny?" Garrick Carmichael asked, and Jenny stared at him in amazement, a lump of emotion filling her throat. It was the first time since Becky's drowning that Becky's father had spoken to her.

"I-I'm very well," she whispered, looking at him with her heart in her eyes. "And I-I thank you for asking, Garrick Carmichael."

"Yer a brave lass," another of her kinsmen spoke up, and Jenny's heart began to soar.

"Aye," said another. "Yer a true Merrick."

A fleeting thought passed her delighted mind that, despite her father's inexplicably black look, this was beginning to feel like the best day of her life.

Hollis Fergusson spoke up, his voice gruff as he issued an apology on behalf of everyone for their past behavior: "William has told us all about what happened while you were in the clutches of the Barbarian -about how you escaped on his own horse, and attacked him with his sword, and slashed their blankets. You've made him a laughingstock with your escape. A lass with courage like yours would no' sneak about doin' the sorts o' vile things Alexander accused you o' doin. William has made us see that. Alexander was mistaken in you."

Jenny's gaze flew to her stepbrother's face, and there was a world of love and gratitude in her eyes.

"I only told the truth," he said, his smile gentle and inexplicably sad as he returned her gaze-as if his pleasure in what he'd accomplished was being dimmed by something else weighing heavily on him.

"Yer a Merrick," Hollis Fergusson put in proudly. "A Merrick through and through. Not one 'o us has ever given the Wolf a taste of our blades, but you did, small though you are, and a lass, at that."

"Thank you, Hollis," Jenny said softly.

Only Malcolm, Jenny's youngest stepbrother, continued to regard her as he had in the past, his face filled with cold malice.

Her father turned abruptly, and the expression on his face banished some of Jenny's delight. "Has something… bad happened?" she asked hesitantly.

"Aye," he said bitterly. "Our fates have been decided by our meddling monarch, not ourselves." Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace slowly back and forth while he explained in a harsh monotone: "When you and your sister were taken, I petitioned King James for two thousand armed men to join with ours so that we could pursue the Barbarian into England. James sent word back, commanding me to take no action until he had time to demand your release, as well as reparation for this outrage, from Henry. He had just agreed on a truce with the English, he said.

"I should no' have told James what I wanted to do. That was my mistake," he gritted, beginning to pace. "We'd no' have needed his help! The sanctity of one of our abbeys had been violated when you were taken from its grounds. Within days, all Catholic Scotland was ready-anxious-to take arms and march with us! But James," he finished angrily, "wants peace. Peace at the cost of Merrick pride-peace at any cost! He promised me revenge. He promised all Scotland that he would make the Barbarian pay for this outrage. Well," Lord Merrick spat furiously, "he's made him pay, all right! He's gotten his 'reparation ' from the English."

For a sick moment, Jenny wondered if Royce Westmoreland had been imprisoned or worse, but judging by her father's furious look, neither of those punishments-which he would see as fitting-had been meted out. "What did James accept in the form of reparation?" she asked when her father seemed unable to continue.

Across from her, William flinched and the other men began to look at their hands.

"Marriage," her father gritted.

"Whose?"

"Yours."

For a moment Jenny's mind went completely blank. "My-my marriage to whom?"

"To the Spawn of Satan. To the murderer of my brother and my son. To the Black Wolf!"