Royce fought his battles for him and each flamboyant victory made it easier for Henry to exact-without bloodshed-concessions from England's enemies and Henry's personal ones. As a result, Royce had been rewarded with fourteen estates and riches enough to make him one of the wealthiest men in England. Equally important, Henry trusted him-trusted him enough to permit Royce to fortify his castle at Claymore and to keep a private, liveried army of his own men. Although, in this instance, there was strategy behind Henry's leniency: the Black Wolf was a threat to all Henry's enemies; the sight of pennants with a snarling wolf pictured on them often crushed hostility before it had a chance to bloom into opposition.

In addition to trust and gratitude, Henry had also given Royce the privilege of speaking his mind freely and without the interference of Graverley and the other members of the powerful Star Chamber. And that was what was niggling at Royce now-this long period of refusal to give Royce an audience in order to defend himself was not indicative of the sort of relationship he'd enjoyed with Henry in the past. Nor did it bode well for the outcome of the audience itself.

The sound of a key being inserted in his door made Royce glance up, but hope shriveled when he saw it was only a guard bearing a tray with his meal. "Mutton, my lord," the guard provided helpfully in answer to Royce's unspoken inquiry.

"God's teeth!" he exploded, his impatience with everything coming to a rolling boil.

"Don't like mutton much myself, my lord," the guard agreed, but he knew the food had nothing to do with the Black Wolf's outburst. After putting the tray down, the man straightened respectfully. Confined or not, the Black Wolf was a dangerous man and, more importantly, a great hero to every male who fancied himself a true man. "Do you wish for anything else, my lord?"

"News!" Royce bit out, his expression so harsh, so threatening, that the guard backed away a step, before he nodded obediently. The Wolf always inquired about news-usually in a friendly man-to-man way-and tonight the guard was happy to be privy to some gossip. Still, 'twas not exactly gossip the Wolf would likely be happy to hear.

"There is some news, my lord. Gossip it be, but reliable-like, heert from those what are in a position to know."

Royce was instantly alert. "What 'gossip'?"

" 'Tis said yer brother was called afore the king last night."

"My brother is here in London?"

The guard nodded. "Came here yesterday, demandin' to see yer and practically threatnin' to lay siege to the place if'n he didn't."

An awful feeling of foreboding crept over Royce. "Where is he now?"

The guard tipped his head to the left. "One floor above ye and a few rooms to the west, I heert. Under guard."

Royce expelled his breath in a rush of frustrated alarm. Stefan's coming here was reckless in the extreme. When Henry was angered, the best tack was to stay out of his way until he got control of his royal temper. "Thank you," Royce said, trying to recall the guard's name, "er… ?"

"Larraby, my-" They both broke off and glanced toward the door as it swung open. Graverley stood in the doorway, grinning evilly.

"Our sovereign has bade me bring you to him."

Relief mixed with concern for Stefan ran through Royce, as he stalked past Graverley, shouldering him aside. "Where is the king?" Royce demanded.

"In the throne room."

Royce, who'd been a guest here at the Tower several times in the past, knew it well. Leaving Graverley to follow and try to keep pace, he strode swiftly down the long hall to the steps which wound down two stories and then led through a maze of chambers.

As he passed through the gallery with his escort/ guard following behind, Royce noted that everyone was turning to stare. Judging from the derision on many of their faces, the fact that he'd been confined here and was out of favor with Henry was a fact known to all.

Lord and Lady Ellington, attired in full court dress, bowed to Royce as he passed, and again Royce witnessed their strange expressions. He was accustomed to some fear and mistrust when he was at court; but tonight he could have sworn they were hiding amused smiles, and he discovered that he vastly preferred being mistrusted to being laughed at.

Graverley gleefully provided the answer for the odd looks: "The story of Lady Jennifer's escape from the notorious Black Wolf has been cause for much hilarity here."

Royce clamped his jaws together and increased his pace, but Graverley quickened his to match. In a confiding voice ringing with mockery, he added, "So has the story of our famous hero's infatuation with a plain Scottish girl who ran away, wearing a fortune in pearls he'd given her, rather than wed him."

Royce swung around on his heel, fully intending to smash his fist into Graverley's grinning face, but behind him the liveried footmen were already pulling open the tall doors to the throne room. Restraining himself with the knowledge that Stefan's future, as well as his own, would not be improved by murdering Henry's most valued councillor, Royce turned away and strode through the doors the footmen were holding open for him.

Henry was sitting at the far end of the room, garbed in formal robes of state, his fingers tapping impatiently on the arms of his throne. "Leave us!" he ordered Graverley, and then he turned his cold, distant gaze on Royce. Silence followed Royce's polite greeting-an unusual, icy silence that did not bode well for the outcome of the interview. After several endless minutes of it, Royce said with cool politeness, "I understood you wished to see me, Sire."

"Silence!" Henry snapped furiously. "You'll speak to me when I give you leave to do it!" But now that the dam of silence had been breached, Henry's own anger could no longer be held in check, and his words issued forth like lashes from a whip. "Graverley claims you had your men turn their weapons on my men. He further charges that you deliberately disobeyed my instructions and impeded his efforts to free the Merrick women. How plead you to this accusation of treason, Royce Westmoreland?" Before Royce could reply, his enraged sovereign shoved himself from his chair and continued. "You condoned the seizure of the Merrick women-an act which has become an affair of state threatening the peace of my realm. And having done so, you let two women-two Scottish women-escape from your clutches, thus turning an affair of state into a joke that has swept all England! How plead you?" he said in a low roar. "Well?" he roared again without taking a breath. "Well? Well?"

"Which accusation do you desire me to address first, Sire?" Royce replied with courtesy. "The accusation of treason? Or the rest, which constitutes stupidity?"

Disbelief, anger, and a twinge of reluctant amusement widened Henry's eyes. "You arrogant pup! I could have you whipped! Hung! Pilloried!"

"Aye," Royce quietly agreed. "But tell me first for which offense. I have taken hostages many times in the last decade, and on more than one occasion you've commended it as a more peaceful means of scoring a win than outright battle. When the Merrick women were taken, I could not have guessed you'd suddenly decided to seek peace with James-particularly not when we were defeating him in Cornwall. Before I left for Cornwall, we spoke in this very chamber and agreed that, as soon as the Scots were subdued enough for me to leave Cornwall, I was to take command of a fresh army near the Scottish border and install it at Hardin, where our strength would be very visible to the enemy. At that time, it was clearly agreed between us that I would then-"

"Yes, yes," Henry interrupted angrily, not wanting to hear again what Royce intended to do next. "Explain to me," he ordered irritably, unwilling to admit aloud that Royce's reasoning in taking the two hostages had been valid, "what happened in the hall at Hardin. Graverley claims your men tried to attack mine on your order when he placed you under arrest. I've no doubt," he said with a grimace, "your version will vary from his. He detests you, you know."