A Kingdom of Dreams (Westmoreland Saga 1)

Jake swallowed twice, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his long, skinny neck. "I—I—" he looked at the rigid face of the duke and chose against lying—"I always hit what I aims at," he admitted miserably.

"Really?" Jenny said, stalling for time and thinking madly for some solution.

"Yes, mum," he admitted in a glum whisper. "I can hit a rabbit 'atween the eyes with a rock and kill him dead if'n he's close enough to see. I don't never miss."

"Really?" Jenny repeated, impressed. "I once tried to hit a rat from forty paces and I killed it."

"You did?" Jake asked, mutually impressed.

"Yes—well, never mind," she amended hastily at Royce's look of dry rebuke. "You didn't mean to kill me, did you?" she asked, and lest the foolish child admit that, she added hastily, "I mean, you did not want the sin of murder to stain your soul for all time?"

He shook his head emphatically at that.

"So it was more a matter of the excitement of the moment, wasn't it?" she urged, and to her immense relief, he finally nodded.

"And of course you were proud of your skill with throwing and perhaps even showing off a bit for everyone?"

He hesitated and then nodded jerkily.

"There, you see!" Jenny said looking around at the taut, waiting crowd and raising her voice with relieved conviction, "He meant no serious harm, and the intent is as important as the crime itself." Turning back to Jake, she said severely, " 'Tis obvious some form of atonement is called for, however, and since you are so very good with your throwing arm, I think it should be put to better use. Therefore, Jake, you'll spend each morning helping the men hunt for game for the next two months. And if there's no need for fresh meat, you'll come to the castle and help me here. Excepting Sundays, of course. And if your—"

Jenny stopped in shock as the boy's weeping mother threw herself at her feet, wrapped her arms around Jenny's legs and wept, "Thank you, milady, thank you. 'Tis a saint yer are. Bless you, thank you—"

"No, don't do that," Jenny pleaded desperately when the overwrought woman picked up the hem of Jenny's skirt and kissed it. The husband, cap in hand, came to retrieve her, his eyes shining with tears as he looked at Jenny.

"If your son is needed to help in your own planting," she said to him, "he can perform his… er… penance in the afternoons instead."

"I—" he said in a choked voice, then he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and said with touching dignity, "will keep yer in my prayers ever' day of my life, milady."

Smiling, Jenny said, "And my husband, too, I hope."

The man paled, but he managed to look the fierce, dark man standing beside her in the eye and to say with meek sincerity, "Aye, an' you, too, milord."

The crowd disbanded in eerie, wordless silence, casting surreptitious glances over their shoulders at Jenny, who was wondering if perhaps two months had been too long a time. On the way back into the hall, Royce was so silent that she cast him an anxious glance. "You looked surprised," she said apprehensively, "when I mentioned two months."

"I was," he admitted with ironic amusement. "For a while, I thought you were going to congratulate him on his excellent aim and invite him to join us for supper."

"You think I was too lenient?" she said with relief as he opened the heavy oaken door of the hall, standing to one side for her to precede him.

"I don't know. I've no experience in dealing with peasants and maintaining order. However, Prisham should have known better than to talk of a penalty like death. 'Twas out of the question."

"I don't like him."

"Nor do I. He was steward here before, and I kept him on. I think 'tis time to look for another to replace him."

"Soon, I hope?" Jenny urged.

"At the moment," he said, and Jenny missed the wicked gleam in his eyes, "I have more important matters on my mind."

"Really, what are they?"

"Taking you to bed and then eating supper—in that order."

"Wake up, sleepyhead—" Royce's lazy chuckle brought Jenny awake. " 'Tis a glorious evening," he told her as she rolled onto her back and smiled languorously at him. "A night made for loving and now—" he nipped her ear playfully "—eating."

By the time Royce and Jenny came downstairs, many of the knights had already finished eating and the trestle tables had already been dismantled and propped neatly in their appropriate place against the wall. Only those knights who were privileged to dine at the main table on the dais seemed to want to linger over each course.

"Where is my aunt?" Jenny asked them as Royce seated her beside him at the center of the table.

Sir Eustace tipped his head to the archway on his left. "She's gone to the kitchens to instruct the cooks to prepare a greater quantity of food for tomorrow. I don't think," he added with a grin, "that she realized what monstrous appetites we'd have if offered tasty food."

Jenny looked around at the platters on the table, most of which were already empty, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. "It is—tasty then?"

"Fit for the gods," the knight exaggerated with a grin. "Ask anyone."

"Except Arik," Sir Godfrey said with a disgusted look at the giant, who had systematically stripped an entire goose down to the carcass and was finishing the last few bites.

At that moment, Aunt Elinor bustled into the hall, her face wreathed in a smile. "Good evening, your grace," she said to Royce. "Good evening, Jennifer, dear." Then she stood at the foot of the table, beaming her complete approbation at the occupants of the table, the empty platters, and even the serfs who were clearing away the debris. "Everyone seems to have had a veritable feast on my dishes."

"If we'd known you meant to come down and enliven our meal with your presence," Stefan said to his brother, "we'd have saved you more."

Royce gave his brother an ironic glance. "Really?"

"No," Stefan said cheerfully. "Here, have a tart, 'twill improve your disposition."

"I'm sure we have something tasty left in the kitchen," Aunt Elinor said, clasping her small hands in sublime pleasure at this reception of her efforts. "I'll have a look while I get my poultice. Tarts will improve anyone's disposition, except Arik's."

Casting an amused look at his fellows, Stefan added, "There's naught that can improve his disposition—not even pine boughs."

The mention of pine boughs made all the others grin as if they were sharing some particularly delicious joke, but when Jenny glanced at Royce, he seemed as perplexed as she. Aunt Elinor provided the answer as she bustled in with a serf carrying platters of hot food as well as a small bowl and cloth. "Oh my, yes, Arik and I brought back all sorts of them today. Why, by the time we returned, his arms were positively laden with lovely branches, weren't they?" she said brightly.

She paused to cast a puzzled look at the knights, who were suddenly seized with fits of strangled laughter, then she picked up the bowl and cloth from the serf's tray, and to Jenny's alarm, the elderly lady began advancing on Arik with her poultice. "You didn't have a pleasant time today, did you?" she crooned, putting the bowl beside Arik and dipping the cloth in it. "And who can blame you?"

Emanating compassion and guilt, she glanced at Jenny and said sadly, "Arik and I encountered the most evil-natured spider I've ever had the misfortune to meet!"

Arik's expression turned thunderous as he watched her dip the cloth in the bowl from the corners of his narrowed eyes, but Aunt Elinor continued blithely, "The vile little creature bit poor Arik when he did nothing at all to provoke it except to stand beneath the tree where it had its web. Although," she added, turning to the glowering giant and shaking her finger at him as if he were six years old, "I think 'twas very naughty of you to retaliate the way you did."

Pausing to dip the cloth into the bowl, she told him sternly, "I could understand why you smashed the web with your fist, but I do not think 'twas sensible to blame the tree as well and cut it down with your axe!" She tossed a bewildered look at Sir Godfrey, whose shoulders were shaking with mirth, and the

n at Sir Eustace, whose shoulders were also rocking and whose blond hair was nearly in his trencher as he tried to hide his laughing face. Only Gawin looked truly alarmed as Aunt Elinor said, "Here, dear boy, let me just dab this on your fac—"

"NO!" Arik's meaty fist slammed on the heavy oaken table, making the platters dance. Shoving away from the table, he stalked out of the hall, his body rigid with wrath.

Stricken, Aunt Elinor watched him march out, then she turned to the occupants of the table and sorrowfully said, "He'd not be so very testy, I'm sure, if only he'd eat according to my suggestions. 'Twould solve his bow—his digestive," she amended hastily for the sake of the diners, "problems. Which I thought I explained to him very clearly today."

After supper Royce fell into a discussion of manly topics with his knights—topics that ranged from how many additional men should be assigned to help the castle armorer with his added burden of repairing the helmets and chain mail of the men-at-arms who'd returned with Royce, to whether or not the big catapult on the battlement had an adequate supply of stones laid by.