Джудит Макнот: A Kingdom of Dreams

His heavy brows drew together, and even though he spoke in his lowest tone, his voice boomed. "Why?"

Leaning close to his ear, she whispered authoritatively, "Because serpents loathe grapevine blossom. 'Tis a fact."

She had turned to accompany Jenny, and so she did not see the odd thing that happened to Arik's face, but nearly everyone else at the table noticed, and they gaped in fascination. For a moment, Arik's face seemed to stretch tight, and then it began to crack. Crevices formed beside his eyes and pouches developed beneath them. The straight line of his stern lips wavered, first at one corner, then the other, then white teeth appeared…

"God's teeth!" Godfrey burst out, nudging Lionel and even Brenna in his enthusiasm. "He's going to smile! Stefan look at that! Our Arik is-''

Godfrey broke off as Royce, who'd been watching Jennifer, thinking she'd intended to sit by the fire, suddenly lurched out of his chair, still holding his tankard of ale, and strode swiftly to the foot of the stairs leading up to the gallery.

"Jennifer," he said, his voice sharp with dawning alarm, "where are you going?"

A moment later, Aunt Elinor looked down from the gallery above and cheerfully replied, "She is going to have your baby, your grace."

The serfs in the hall turned to exchange smiling glances, and one of them dashed off to spread the news to the scullions in the kitchen.

"Do not ," Aunt Elinor warned in direst tones when Royce started up the stairs, "come up here. I am not inexperienced in these matters, and you will only be in the way. And do not worry," she added breezily, noting Royce's draining color. "The fact that Jenny's mother died in childbirth is nothing to be concerned about." Royce's tankard crashed to the stone floor.

Two days later, the serfs, villeins, vassals, and knights who were kneeling in the bailey were no longer smiling in anticipation of the arrival of the heir to Claymore. They were keeping a vigil, their heads bent in prayer. The baby had not come, and the news filtering down from the frantic serfs within the hall had been increasingly bad. Nor was ft regarded as a good sign that the duke-who rarely set foot in the chapel-had gone in there four hours ago looking tormented and terrified.

Faces lifted in hope as the doors to the hall were flung open, then they froze in alarm as Lady Elinor went racing into the chapel. A moment later, the duke burst past the doors, running, and though no one could tell from his haggard face what news there was, it was not regarded as a good omen.

"Jenny," Royce whispered, leaning over her, his hands braced on either side of her pillow.

Her blue eyes opened, smiling sleepily at him as she whispered, "You have a son."

Royce swallowed audibly, smoothing her tousled curls off her cheek. "Thank you, darling," he said helplessly, his voice still raw from the two days of terror he'd lived through. He leaned down and covered her mouth with his own, his tender-rough kiss eloquent of love and profound relief that she was well.

"Have you seen him?" she asked when he finally lifted his lips from hers.

Standing, Royce walked over to the wooden cradle where his sleeping infant son lay. Reaching down, he touched the tiny hand with his finger, then he glanced over at Jenny, his brow furrowed with alarm. "He seems-small."

Jenny chuckled, recalling the heavy broadsword with a ruby embedded in its hilt that Royce had ordered made as soon as she had told him she was with child. "A little small at the moment," she teased, "to wield his broadsword."

Amusement lit his eyes. "He may never be able to lift the one Arik is having made for him."

Her smile became a puzzled frown as she turned her head to the window and realized that, although it was nearly dusk, hundreds of torches were lighting the bailey. "Is something wrong?" she asked, recalling the way torches had been lit the night her father had first come to Claymore.

Royce reluctantly left his son and went over to the window, then he crossed to her bed. "They're still praying," he said, looking slightly confused. "I sent your aunt down there to tell them all is well. She must have been waylaid." Ruefully he added, "Considering the way I ran from the chapel when she came to get me a few minutes ago, they aren't likely to believe her in any case."

Smiling, Jenny raised her arms to him, and Royce understood. "I don't want you getting cold," he warned, but he was already leaning down, lifting her from the bed, fur coverlet and all. A moment later, he carried her out onto the parapet.

In the bailey below, the smithy pointed to the parapet and called out. The prayerful and the tearful slowly stood up, their smiling faces turned up to Jenny, and suddenly the air was split with deafening cheers.

Lifting her hand in a reassuring wave, Jennifer Merrick Westmoreland looked down upon her people, and none of them found her wanting. They cheered louder as her husband lifted her higher and closer to him, and it was obvious to anyone watching that the duchess of Claymore was greatly loved by all whom she loved.

Jenny was crying as she smiled back at them. After all, it's not every day a woman is given a kingdom of dreams.

It's given me particular pleasure to write A Kingdom of Dreams for you. Those of you who've already read Whitney, My Love , will have realized many hours ago that Royce Westmoreland is Clayton Westmoreland's ancestor. Ever since Whitney, My Love was published, I've been deluged with letters, asking that I write more about the Westmorelands. Rather than write a sequel, I decided to take you back in time, to the first duke of Claymore. Once that decision was made, it took considerable time before I could develop a character dynamic enough to be Clayton Westmoreland's ancestor. I trust, however, that Royce Westmoreland has not disappointed you.

Nearly all of you who've written to me invariably ask for spin-offs or sequels to whichever of my books are your particular favorites-whether they're my contemporary novels or my historicals. Although I have no immediate plans to do this for my other books at present, I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me to know you've become so involved with the characters in each book that you want me to write more about all of them. There is no greater compliment to an author.