The Prize (10 page)

There, she'd bested him, she thought to herself. She closed her eyes. Her smile was smug.

A long minute passed. She'd almost drifted off to sleep when he whispered her name.

"Nicholaa?"

"Yes?"

"How old is Ulric?"

"Almost eight months now."

He guessed she was too sleepy to see the error in her lies. She didn't even tense against him. "But your husband's been dead two years?"

He couldn't wait to see how she would try to get out of this one.

Her eyes flew open. "My husband's been gone just one year. Yes, exactly one full year. I specifically remember telling you so."

A good five minutes passed before he spoke again. "You aren't any good at lying, either."

"I never lie."

He squeezed her to let her know he was irritated with her. "Will you concede defeat now?" he asked. "You were trying to run away."

"Will you let me sleep?" she asked.

"When you admit—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I was trying to run away. There, are you happy now?"

"You will not try to escape again."

He didn't have to sound so mean-hearted when he gave her that order. Nicholaa suddenly felt like crying. She had to escape. It was the only way she could protect herself against the horrible future his overlord, William, had planned for her.

She adjusted her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hair on the back of his neck while she thought about the injustice of it all.

Her touch was driving him to distraction.

"Your William is determined to give me as booty to some man, isn't he?" she said.

"Yes."

She shoved away from his shoulder and glared at him. A leaf fell out of her hair. Her face was bruised and covered with dirt. He couldn't contain his smile. Nicholaa looked as if she'd just lost a tug-of-war.

"I'm not a prize."

He agreed wholeheartedly. "No, you're not."

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Chapter Four

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After spending one long week with Lady Nicholaa, Royce decided he wasn't a very patient man, after all. By the time they reached their destination, he was ready to strangle her.

The hellion had made the journey as unpleasant as possible, and damn if she didn't try to escape three additional times.

The woman simply refused to see the futility of running away. She was sinfully stubborn. But then, so was he. He had demanded she concede defeat to him each time he caught her. He had even said the one word—"checkmate"—that seemed to send her into a full rage, but in truth, he wasn't trying to humiliate her. He only had her best interests at heart. If she was going to survive with her spirit intact under Norman rule, she would have to be more docile. Not everyone would be as kind and as thoughtful as he was.

Royce didn't want Nicholaa to be hurt. The mere thought of anyone mistreating her made his mood blacken.

The need to protect her nagged at his conscience. He found himself lecturing her on how to behave when they reached London. Nicholaa, however, wasn't in the mood to listen to anything he had to say. When he suggested she be docile, she bit him. He let her get away with that only because she'd had so little sleep over the past god-awful week, and she was simply too muddleheaded to think properly.

They reached London in midafternoon. The palace was nearly empty of guests when Royce strode inside, nearly dragging Nicholaa in his wake. He ordered two soldiers to report to William that his prize had at last arrived. Royce personally saw to the task of settling Nicholaa in her chamber.

She tried to trip him with her foot, and he really did drag her a good distance before letting her regain her balance.

He would be glad to be rid of her. Royce kept telling himself that lie until he almost believed it.

Almost.

His second-in-command, a knight several years his senior, caught up with the pair just as Royce was opening the door to Nicholaa's quarters. The soldier's name was Lawrence. He was a fit looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes. He was nearly as tall as his liege lord, but lacked the bulk and the muscle around his shoulders. Lawrence had fought by Royce's side in countless battles. He was a seasoned warrior, trustworthy, and loyal to his very soul. He was also Royce's good friend.

"'Tis good to see you again, my lord," Lawrence said in greeting. In his enthusiasm, he slapped Royce on his shoulder. Dust flew up into the air between the two giants. Lawrence laughed. "You're in need of a bath, Baron."

"Aye, I am," Royce answered. "It's good to be here." He glanced down at Nicholaa, matched her frown, and then added, "At last."

The implication wasn't lost on her. She knew she was the reason the journey had taken so long. Her chin came up a notch.

Lawrence was highly curious about the woman. When he turned to her, his heart skipped a beat. Lord, she was a beauty. Her eyes captivated him. They were the most unusual shade of blue he'd ever seen.

She wasn't timid, either. Her gaze was direct, unwavering.

Royce was amused by his vassal's reaction. It was as telling as Ingelram's had been when he'd first seen Nicholaa. Lawrence looked stunned.

"This is Lady Nicholaa," Royce announced.

Lawrence bowed low. "It is a pleasure to meet you, milady."

She curtsied in response to his politeness.

"I look forward to hearing about your adventures," Lawrence said.

"What adventures?" she asked.

"For one, I would like to hear how you came by all those bruises. You do look as though you'd been in battle," he added with a gentle smile. "Surely there's a story there."

"She's prone to accidents," Royce drawled.

She let Royce see her frown. Then she turned back to Lawrence. "I won't be in London long enough to tell you any stories."

She remembered Royce still had hold of her wrist when he started squeezing it. Lawrence noticed the frown on his baron's face, but couldn't understand the reason behind it. "Are you going somewhere soon, milady?" he inquired.

"No," Royce said.

"Yes," she said at the very same instant.

Lawrence grinned. "There's a rumor, Baron, that we will be leaving for Normandy before the week is out."

"We'll discuss that later," Royce announced with a meaningful glance at Nicholaa.

The vassal nodded. He noticed that a stricken look had come over the beautiful woman's face and decided she must be exhausted from her journey. "The king will send servants to see to your comforts, Lady Nicholaa," he announced.

"And soldiers to see that I don't escape?" she asked.

Lawrence was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "You're not a prisoner," he announced. He gave Royce a look of puzzlement. "Is she, Baron?"

Royce nodded. "She is until she accepts her fate," he announced.

"William is your king, too," Lawrence said to Nicholaa. His voice was gentle.

"No, he isn't."

"Lawrence, it won't do you any good to argue with her."

Royce let go of Nicholaa's wrist and gave her a nudge to get her moving. She walked into the chamber, Royce and Lawrence following close behind her. "I will escape," she boasted.

She went directly to the window. Royce knew what was going through her mind. "You'll break your neck if you try to jump, Nicholaa."

She turned around and smiled at him. "And would you care, Baron?"

He didn't give her a direct answer. "Your Ulric will care when he's old enough to understand. Consider him and Justin, too, Nicholaa, whenever you contemplate doing something foolish. You'll be harming your family as well as yourself." He started to pull the door closed.

"Wait," she called out, a frantic edge in her voice.

Royce stopped and turned to face her. "Yes?"

She took a step toward him. "Is that it, then? You're leaving?"

"Was there something more you wanted?"

"No."

He started to leave again.

"Is that all you can say to me?" she demanded.

He stopped again and let out a loud sigh. "What more do you want me to say?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she started wringing her hands.

He couldn't understand what had come over her. "What in God's name is the matter with you?" he asked, thoroughly confused by her manner.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing's the matter with me. I'm well rid of you, Baron. You're rude and insufferable." A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Hell, she acted as though he was deserting her, and heaven help him, he felt as though he was. "I'm not leaving for Normandy," he said then. "If you need me, send one of the soldiers with a message. He'll find me."

Her relief was visible. The panic eased from her expression, and her stance relaxed. She couldn't seem to control her tears, though, and she turned her back on him so that he wouldn't witness her disgrace. "I won't be sending anyone to fetch you, Norman. Leave. I don't care."

He couldn't leave her like this. She looked so alone, so miserable… and so vulnerable. Damn it all, for some reason he wanted to see her strong and angry at him as she'd been on their journey.

"Baron?" Lawrence asked when his lord continued to stand there for such a long time without saying a word.

Royce shook his head. "Nicholaa?" he called out as he reached for the door.

"Yes?"

"I do have one last thing to say to you."

She turned around to look at him. Anger, he thought to himself. The anger would make her forget her fear.

"What is it?" she asked.

He grinned. "Checkmate."

He pulled the door closed on her outraged gasp. Royce laughed.

A loud crash sounded against the door. "What was that?" Lawrence asked.

"The water pitcher, I believe. She's feeling better."

And so was Royce.

Nicholaa's anger kept her occupied for the better part of the day. Two women came to her chamber late that afternoon. Both were Saxons, a fact that surprised Nicholaa. One carried fresh clothing; the other brought linens. Nicholaa moved to the window when they carried a wooden tub into the room and poured it full of hot, steaming water.

The bath was too inviting to refuse. Nicholaa soaked in the rose-scented water and washed her hair until she finally felt clean.

She didn't speak to either woman until one offered to brush the tangles out of her hair. "Why do you serve the Norman king?" she asked.

"He's England's king now," the servant named Mary answered. "Everyone serves him."

Nicholaa didn't agree with the servant, but she felt it would be unkind to contradict her. Mary was entitled to her own opinion, even though she was wrong.

Mary was about Nicholaa's age. She was a plump young woman with bright red hair and freckles that covered most of her face. The other servant, Heloise, was considerably older, and her manner was brisk and unfriendly.

"I'll never serve William," Nicholaa announced. She sat down on the stool Mary had provided and folded her hands in her lap.

Mary started to brush her hair. "Talk like that will land you in trouble, milady," she whispered.

Heloise was turning down the covers on the large bed. "Mary speaks the truth," she announced with a dour-faced nod. "Those who won't kneel before King William get themselves killed. Even now a dozen Saxon soldiers are waiting for the deathblow."

"Where are these Saxon soldiers?" Nicholaa asked.

"They're here, two floors below us," Mary whispered.

"God have mercy on their souls for being so stubborn," Heloise muttered. "Each one was given the chance to pledge his loyalty, and each one turned his back on that chance."

The fire crackled in the hearth, causing Mary and Nicholaa to jump. "Everything's so different now," Nicholaa said.

"It's orderly," Heloise interjected. "It's only taken the king two short months to squelch most of the resistance. He rules with an iron hand, that one does. Everyone has his place now."

"Everyone except Saxons," Nicholaa said.

"Nay, even Saxons have a place," Mary countered. " 'Tis the reason you're going to become a Norman's bride, milady. The more marriages between the two, the better for the future peace."

Nicholaa listened to the women talk about all the changes. She didn't eat the supper that the women provided, but went to bed early. She thought about the twelve Saxon soldiers waiting for execution. Her heart went out to the men and the families they would leave behind. She knew her brother Thurston might very well be one of the twelve, and that thought terrified her. She prayed until she was exhausted and then cried herself to sleep.

She dreamed about Royce.

He had a nightmare about her. He decided he must have been more fatigued than usual to have had such a bizarre dream. It had been a long day, after all. He'd spent over three hours talking with King William and hadn't returned to his chamber until the dark hours of the night.