"However," her father continued, turning to address the entire hall without ever actually looking at the English on his right, "the feasting will take place as planned this eve. 'Tis my understanding from the emissary of King Henry that most of you wished to return to England at once on the morrow; however, I fear you may have to remain an extra day, since our roads aren't fit for English travel when the storms come."

A babble of voices burst out on both sides of the room. Ignoring the stares aimed at her, Jenny walked with her aunt through the crowded hall, straight to the stairs that led up two stories to her bedchamber. To sanity and solace. To a reprieve.

When the heavy oaken door of her bedchamber closed behind her, Jenny turned into Aunt Elinor's arms and wept unashamedly with relief.

"There, there now, my kitten," said her mother's elderly aunt, patting Jenny's back with her small hand, and talking in the eager, disjointed, determined way that was so much a part of her, "There's no doubt in my mind that when I didn't arrive yesterday or the day before, you gave up and thought I wasn't coming to be with you. 'Tis true, is it not?"

Swallowing back her tears, Jenny leaned back slightly in her aunt's fond embrace and nodded sheepishly. Ever since her father had suggested Aunt Elinor accompany Jenny to England, Jenny had been concentrating on that as the only joy on her gloomy, frightening horizon.

Cupping Jennifer's tear-streaked face in her palms, Aunt Elinor went on with bright determination. "But I am here now, and I've talked with your father this morn. I'm here and I'll be with you every day from now on. Won't that be nice? We'll have lovely times together. Even though you'll needs be married to that Englishman and reside with him, beast that he is, we'll forget him altogether and go about the way we used to do, before your father banished me to the dower house at Glencarin. Not that I blame him, for I do chatter so, but I fear it's worse now than ever, for I've been deprived so long of loved ones who I can talk with."

Jenny looked at her, a little dazed from her aunt's long, breathless speech. Smiling, she wrapped the small lady in a tight hug.


Seated at the long table on the dais, oblivious to the din of three hundred people dining and drinking around and below her, Jenny stared fixedly across the hall. Beside her, their elbows nearly touching, sat the man to whom the betrothal contract had bound her as irrevocably as the formal wedding ceremony which would follow tomorrow. For the last two hours that she'd been forced to sit beside him, she'd felt his icy gaze on her only thrice. It was as if he couldn't stand the sight of her and was only waiting to get her in his clutches so that he could begin making her life a hell.

A future of verbal attacks and physical beatings loomed before her, for even among the Scots it was not uncommon for a husband to beat his wife if he felt she was in need of discipline or encouragement. Knowing that, and knowing the temper and reputation of the angry, cold man beside her, Jenny was certain her life would be filled with misery. The tightness in her throat that had nearly choked her all day almost cut off her breath now, and she tried valiantly to think of something to look forward to in the life she'd be forced to lead. Aunt Elinor would be with her, she reminded herself. And someday-someday soon, considering her knowledge of her husband's lustful nature-she'd have children to love and care for. Children. She closed her eyes briefly and drew a painful breath, feeling the tightness slowly lessen. A baby to hold and cuddle would be something to look forward to. She'd cling to that thought, she decided.

Royce reached for his goblet of wine and she stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was, she noted sourly, watching a particularly comely acrobat who was balancing on her hands on a bed of sharp swordpoints, her skirts tied to her knees to prevent them falling over her head-a necessity that allowed her shapely, stockinged legs to be exposed from knee to ankle. On the other side of the room, jesters wearing pointed hats with balls at the ends, cavorted before the table which ran the full length of the hall. The festive entertainment and lavish supper fare was her father's way of showing the hated English that the Merricks had pride and wealth.

Disgusted with Royce's open admiration for the acrobat with the pretty legs, Jenny reached for her goblet of wine, pretending to sip from it rather than face the malicious, scornful eyes of the English, who'd been watching her with derision all night. Based on some of the remarks she'd overheard, she had been judged and found completely lacking. "Look at that hair," one woman had sniggered. "I thought only horses had manes of that color."

"Look at that haughty face," a man had said as Jennifer walked past him with her head high and her stomach in knots. "Royce won't abide that haughty attitude of hers. Once he has her at Claymore, he'll beat it out of her."

Turning her gaze from the jesters, Jenny looked at her father, who was seated on her left. Pride filled her as she studied his aristocratic, bearded profile. He had such dignity… such noble bearing. In fact, whenever she'd watching him sitting in judgment in the great hall, listening to disputes that periodically cropped up among his people, she couldn't help thinking that God must look just like him, sitting on His heavenly throne and passing judgment on each soul who came before Him.

Tonight, however, her father seemed to be in a very strange mood, particularly given the awful circumstances. All evening, while talking and drinking with the other heads of the various clans in the hall, he'd seemed preoccupied and edgy, and yet… oddly… pleased. Satisfied about something. Feeling Jennifer's gaze on him, Lord Merrick turned to her, his sympathetic blue eyes drifting over her pale face. Leaning so close to her that his beard tickled her cheek, he spoke in her ear, his voice raised slightly, but not enough to carry to anyone else. "Do not vex yourself, my child," he said. "Take heart," he added, "all will be well."

That remark seemed so absurd that Jenny didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Seeing the panic in her widened blue eyes, he reached out and covered Jenny's clammy hand, which was at that moment clutching the edge of the table as if she were holding onto it for her life. His big warm hand covered hers reassuringly, and Jenny managed a wobbly smile.

"Trust me," he said, "all will be well on the morrow."

Jenny's spirits plummeted. After the morrow, it would be too late. After the morrow, she'd be wed for eternity to the man whose wide shoulders beside her made her feel puny and insignificant. She stole a quick, worried look at her betrothed to belatedly make certain he hadn't somehow managed to overhear the hushed conversation she'd just had with her father. But his attention was elsewhere. No longer idly watching the comely acrobat, Royce was gazing straight ahead.

Curious, Jenny surreptitiously followed the direction of his gaze and saw Arik, who'd just reentered the hall. As Jenny watched, the blond, bearded giant slowly nodded once, then once more at Royce. From the corner of her eyes, Jenny saw Royce's jaw harden, then he inclined his head almost imperceptibly, before calmly and deliberately returning his attention to the acrobat. Arik waited a moment and then casually walked over to Stefan, who was ostensibly watching the pipers.

Jenny sensed that some sort of information had just been silently exchanged, and it made her intensely uneasy, particularly when her father's words were ringing through her mind. Something was happening, she knew it, though she knew not what. Some deadly serious game was being played and she wondered if her future was somehow hanging on the outcome.

Unable to endure the noise and suspense any more, Jenny decided to seek the peace of her bedchamber so that she could savor what little reason she had to be hopeful. "Papa," she said swiftly, turning to him, "I beg your leave to retire now. I would seek the peace of my bedchamber."

"Of course, my dear," he said at once. "You've had little peace in your short life, but 'tis just what you need, isn't it?"

Jenny hesitated a split second, feeling that there was some sort of double meaning in his words, but failing to understand it she nodded, and then she stood up.

The moment she moved, Royce's head turned toward her, though she could have sworn that he hadn't really known she was there all night. "Leaving?" he asked, his insolent gaze lifting to her bosom. Jenny froze at the inexplicable fury in his eyes when they finally lifted to hers. "Shall I accompany you to your chamber?"

With a physical effort, Jenny willed her body to move and straightened to a full standing position, giving herself the momentary pleasure of looking down on him. "Certainly not!" she snapped. "My aunt will accompany me."

"What a dreadful evening!" Aunt Elinor burst out the instant they reached Jenny's chamber. "Why, the way those English looked at you made me yearn to order them from the hall, which I swear I very nearly did. Lord Hastings, the Englishman from that odious Henry's court, was whispering to the fellow on his right throughout the meal, and ignoring me completely, which was more than rude of him, though I had no wish to talk to him. And, dear, I do not mean to add to your burdens, but I cannot like your husband at all."

Jenny, who'd forgotten her aunt's habit of running on like a little magpie, grinned affectionately at the disapproving Scotswoman, but her mind was on a different matter: "Papa seemed in a strange mood at supper."

"I always felt he did."

"Did what?"

"Have strange moods."