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.

Dear Reader,

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.