They were within a few yards of the four hundred or so villagers lining the road, and Jenny decided it was better to smile just a little than to be mistaken for being cold or too proud. Fixing a small smile upon her mouth, she self-consciously smoothed her gown one last time, then she sat up very straight.

As their entourage began making its decorous way past the spectators, however, Jenny's inner excitement gave way to bafflement. In Scotland, when a lord, victorious or otherwise, returned home from battle, he was met with cheers and smiles, yet the peasants along this road were silent, watchful, uneasy. A few of their faces showed downright belligerence, while a great many more looked frightened as they beheld their new lord. Jenny saw it, felt it, and wondered why they would fear their own hero. Or was it her they somehow feared, she wondered nervously.

The answer came a scant second later, when a loud, belligerent male voice finally broke the taut silence: "Merrick slut!" he shouted. In an eager frenzy to demonstrate to their notorious master that they shared the duke's well-known feelings about this marriage, the crowd picked up the chant: "Merrick slut!" they shouted, jeering, "Slut! Merrick slut!" Everything happened so suddenly there was no time for Jenny to react, to feel anything, because directly beside them, a boy of about nine rashly snatched up a clump of dirt and threw it, striking Jenny squarely on her right cheek.

Jenny's cry of startled fright was muffled by Royce, who instantly threw himself forward, shielding her with his body from an attack he hadn't seen and hadn't anticipated. Arik, who had only glimpsed a raised arm throwing something that could as easily have been a dagger, let out a blood-chilling bellow of rage and hurtled out of his saddle, whipping his war axe out of his belt as he launched himself at the boy. In the mistaken belief that Royce had been the boy's target, Arik grabbed him by his thick hair, lifted him several feet off the ground, and while the screaming boy's legs were flailing wildly in the air, the giant raised his axe in a wide arc…

Jenny reacted without thinking. With a strength born of terror she reared back wildly, dislodging Royce, and drowning out whatever command he was about to give with one of her own: "No!-No, don't!" she screamed wildly, "DON'T!"

Arik's axe froze at the top of its arc, and the giant looked over his shoulder, not to Jennifer, but to Royce for a judgment. So did Jenny, who took one look at the cold rage on Royce's profile and instantly knew what he was about to tell Arik to do. "No!" she screamed hysterically, clutching Royce's arm. His head jerked to her and, if anything, he looked even more murderous than the moment before. Jenny saw the muscle jerking in his taut jaw, and in mindless terror she cried, "Would you murder a child for aping your own words-for trying to show you he supports you in everything, including your feelings about me! For the love of God, he's naught but a child! A foolish child-" Her voice broke as Royce coldly turned from her to Arik to issue his command: "Have him brought to me on the morrow," he snapped, then he dug his spurs into the black horse, sending him bolting forward; as if by some silent signal, the knights behind them shot forward, forming into a moving curtain on both sides of Royce and Jennifer.

No more shouts came from the crowd; in complete, utter stillness they watched the caravan gallop past. Even so, Jenny didn't draw an easy breath until they were clear of all of the villagers, and then she went limp. Drained. Slumping against Royce's unnaturally rigid body, she let the whole scene replay in her mind. In retrospect, it occurred to her that his rage at the child had been on her behalf, and that he acceded to her wishes by giving the boy a reprieve. Turning in the saddle she looked at him. When he continued staring straight ahead, she said hesitantly, "My lord, I would like to-to thank you for sparing-"

His gaze snapped to her face, and Jenny recoiled in shock from the scorching fury in his gray eyes. "If you ever," he warned savagely, "defy me in public again or dare to address me in that tone, I won't be responsible for the consequences, I swear to God!"

Before Royce's eyes, her expressive face went from gratitude, to shock, to fury, and then she coldly turned her back on him.

Royce stared at the back of her head, furious because she actually believed he would let a child be decapitated for a misdeed that deserved a less harsh punishment-furious because, by her actions, Jenny had led all his serfs and villeins to believe the same thing. But most of all, Royce was furious with himself for failing to anticipate that such a scene as the one with the villagers might occur, and for not taking steps to avert it.

Whenever he planned a siege or went into battle, he always considered everything that could possibly go wrong, but when it came to today, to Claymore, he'd foolishly trusted everything to chance, assuming it would all come out all right.

On the other hand, Royce decided with an irritated sigh, in a battle his smallest order was anticipated and carried out without question or argument. In a battle, he did not have Jennifer to contend with-Jennifer, who argued or questioned him about everything.

Blind to the beauty of the place he'd been yearning to see for eight long years, Royce wondered grimly how it was possible that he could intimidate knights, nobles, squires, and battle-hardened soldiers into doing his bidding with a single glance, and yet he could not seem to force one young, stubborn, defiant Scottish girl to behave. She was so damned unpredictable that she made it impossible to anticipate her reaction to anything. She was impulsive, headstrong, and completely lacking in wifely respect. As they rode across the drawbridge, he glanced down at her stiff shoulders, belatedly realizing how humiliating the scene in the valley must have been to her. With a twinge of pity and reluctant admiration, he admitted that she was also very young, very frightened, very brave, and extremely compassionate. Any other woman of her rank might well have demanded the boy's head, rather than pleading for his life as Jennifer had done.

The castle's huge courtyard was filled with the people who lived or worked within its walls-a veritable army of stable grooms, laundresses, scullions, carpenters, farriers, archers, serfs, and footmen, in addition to the castle's guards. The higher-ranking members of the castle staff-bailiffs, clerks, butler, pantler, and a host of others-were lined up formally on the steps leading into the hall. Now, however, as he looked about him, Royce did not fail to observe the cold hostility being directed at Jennifer by nearly everyone, nor did he intend to leave their reaction to her to chance. So that every single person in the crowded bailey would have a clear view of Jennifer and himself, Royce turned to the captain of the guard and nodded curtly toward the stables. Not until the last knight had disappeared into the crowd, leading their horses to the stable, did Royce dismount. Turning, he reached up and caught Jennifer by the waist and lifted her down, noting as he did so that her pretty face was stiff, and she was carefully avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone. She didn't try to smooth her hair, or straighten her gown, and his heart squeezed with pity because she'd obviously decided it didn't matter how she looked any more.

Aware of the unpleasant murmuring rising from the crowd in the bailey, Royce took her arm and led her to the foot of the steps, but when Jennifer started to walk up them, he drew her firmly back, then he turned.

Jenny surfaced from the pit of shame she felt and shot him a desperate glance, but Royce didn't see it. He was standing without moving a muscle, his face hard and implacable as he gazed steadily at the restless crowd in the bailey. Even in her state of numb misery, Jenny suddenly felt as if there was a strange power emanating from him now, a force that seemed to communicate itself to all. As if a spell were being cast over them, the crowd grew silent and slowly straightened, their eyes riveted on him. Then and only then did Royce speak. His deep voice rang out in the unnatural stillness of the bailey, carrying with it the power and force of a thunderclap.