"A stone perhaps," he answered with a shrug. "It isn't significant."
Her smile was gentle. "I think perhaps it was significant at the time. Why, the blow must have left you stunned, at the very least."
He was barely paying attention to what she was saying. Damn, she smelled good. He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything but the beautiful woman standing so close to him. The faint scent of roses caught his attention. So did the cross nestled between her breasts. He stared at the holy article until he was able to control his reaction to her. The minute she stepped back, he stood up.
"My sister went to Baron Alfred's holding," she told him. "His home is just three hours north of here. Alfred has vowed to resist the Normans, and Nicholaa plans to add our brother's loyal soldiers to his fight."
A shout came from the doorway, interrupting the conversation. One of Royce's soldiers was requesting his attention. "Stay with her," Royce ordered Ingelram.
The warrior was already out the doorway when the vassal's fervent reply reached him. "I'll protect her with my life, Baron. As God is my witness, no one will touch her."
Royce's sigh echoed down the hallway. God save me from eager young knights, he thought to himself. If he hadn't been blessed with such a patient nature, he knew he would have slammed Ingelram's ignorant head through a wall by now. He'd imagined doing just that several times in the last hour.
Another young soldier was waiting for Royce at the top of the steps. "There's a battle raging even now, Baron, to the south of the fortress. From the walkway atop the wall we can see that the Saxon dogs have our Norman soldiers surrounded. The colors of the banner tell us the small contingent belongs to Baron Hugh. Do we ride to give him assistance?"
Royce left the keep and climbed up to the walkway to judge the situation for himself. The soldier who'd reported the battle trailed behind him. He was, unfortunately, just as unskilled as Ingelram and as hopelessly enthusiastic as well. It was a dangerous combination.
"Do you see how the Saxons have our soldiers in retreat, Baron?" the soldier asked.
Royce shook his head. "You look, but you don't see," he muttered. "Hugh's men use the same tactic we employed in our battle near Hastings. Our soldiers are drawing the Saxons into a trap."
"But the odds are surely in the Saxons' favor. Their numbers are thrice—"
"The numbers aren't in the least significant," Royce countered. He let out a weary sigh, reminded himself he was a patient man, and then turned to look at the dark-haired soldier. "How long have you been in my ranks?"
"Nearly eight weeks now."
Royce's irritation immediately vanished. There hadn't been time for training, what with all the preparations needed for the invasion of England. "You're excused for your ignorance," he announced. He started toward the steps. "We'll give Hugh's men assistance, but only because of our love of a good battle, not because they need our help. Norman soldiers are vastly superior in any fight, and Hugh's men will most assuredly claim victory with or without our help."
The young soldier nodded, then asked if he could go into battle by his baron's side. Royce granted his request. He left twenty soldiers at the holding and rode out with the remaining men. Since there were only women, children, and servants inside the walls, he decided Ingelram could easily maintain order until he returned.
The fight was invigorating, though too quickly finished, in Royce's estimation. Because he was a cynical man, he thought it odd indeed that as soon as he and his soldiers joined the battle, the Saxons, with still at least double the number of soldiers, scattered like mountain wolves into the hills. Had the battle been staged to draw him out? Royce, weary from too little sleep, decided he was arrogantly overly concerned about the Saxons' retreat. He and his men spent another hour ferreting out infidels from their dens before giving up the chase.
Royce was surprised to find that Hugh, a friend and equal in rank under William's command, was leading the contingent, for he assumed Hugh would be fighting by their leader's side on the final sweep into London. When he put that question to the warrior, Hugh explained he'd been dispatched to the north to subdue the faction there. He had been on his way back to London when the Saxons attacked him.
Hugh was a good ten years older than Royce. Gray stained his brown hair, and the faded scars on his face and arms made Royce look almost unblemished.
"I have only lesser-skilled soldiers in my unit," Hugh confessed in a bleak voice. "The more experienced were sent ahead to William. I tell you, Royce, I don't have your patience for training men. Had it not been for our informant's warning, I believe I would have lost most of my men just now. The Saxon spy put us on our guard at just the right moment, and for that reason the ambush wasn't nearly as effective as it might have been. My soldiers are still without discipline." Hugh leaned forward and, in a voice usually reserved for the confessional, whispered, "Two of my men have misplaced their swords, I tell you. Can you believe such a sin? I should kill the fools now and be saved the aggravation." He let out a long sigh. "With your permission, I'll ask William to place a few of my boy warriors in your ranks for proper training."
The two barons, surrounded by their troops, started back toward the holding.
"Who is this informant you mentioned?" Royce asked. "And why do you trust him?"
"The man's name is James, and I haven't said I trust him," Hugh answered. "He has proved to be reliable thus far, that's all. He tells me he's hated by the other Saxons because he was given the unholy chore of collecting the tax. James is very familiar with the families in this area. He was raised here, you see. He knows all the favorite hiding places, too. Has the wind not taken on a wicked bite this past hour, Royce?" Hugh asked then, switching topics as he pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders. "My bones are feeling the rattle of winter now."
Royce barely noticed the cold. A fine mist of snow was swirling around them, but it wasn't sufficient to blanket the ground. "You have old bones, Hugh. That's the reason you feel the cold." He grinned at his friend to soften the insult.
Hugh smiled back. "Old, say you? You'll change your opinion when you hear about my astonishing victories against the Saxons."
The arrogant warrior then began to relate, detail by methodical detail, the series of victories he'd claimed in William's name. He didn't finish with his litany of boasts until they were in the courtyard of the castle.
Ingelram wasn't there to greet his lord, and Royce surmised the besotted vassal was still abovestairs, staring at the nun.
The mere reminder of the Saxon woman made him uneasy—something about her bothered Royce, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was because she waited until Hugh was settled before answering. "Aye, my lord. The parents are both dead. They're buried in the family plot atop the crest to the north."
James's neck began to ache from having to tilt his head all the way back in order to look up at the Norman's face. When the crick became too irritating, he turned his gaze to the floor. The action proved a blessing, for the tightness in his chest immediately loosened once he wasn't looking directly at the warrior's face. The Norman's eyes were just as terrifying as the hideous scar covering most of his right cheek, James admitted. His hard, cold gaze was far more intimidating than his size or his marks.
"Now tell me about the other members of this family," Royce commanded.
James hurried to answer. "There are two brothers. Thurston is the eldest of the children. It was reported he died during the battle in the north. This hasn't been verified yet."
"And the other brother?"
"His name is Justin. He's the youngest in the family. He was injured in the same battle. The nuns are taking care of him now at the abbey. It isn't believed Justin will live, though. His injuries were quite severe."
Ingelram continued to stand by his leader's side. Royce suddenly turned to his vassal. "Did I not order you to bring the nun to me?" he demanded, still speaking Saxon.
Ingelram answered him in the same language. "I didn't know you meant to question her, Baron."
"It isn't your duty to know what I plan to do, Ingelram. You're to obey without question."
Ingelram took a deep breath. "She isn't here," he blurted out.
Royce resisted the urge to strangle his vassal. "Explain yourself," he ordered in a hard voice.
It took all the courage Ingelram possessed to meet his lord's stare. "Sister Danielle requested an escort back to the abbey. She'd given her word to her superiors she'd be back before dark. She was also most concerned about her brother. Because he's the youngest in the family, she feels great responsibility for him."
Throughout the halting explanation, Royce hadn't shown any reaction. Ingelram didn't have the faintest idea what his lord was thinking. The not knowing made his voice squeak when he continued. "The brother's injuries are life-threatening, Baron, and she wanted to sit by his side through the night. She promised me she'd return to us in the morning. Surely then she'll answer any questions you have for her."
Royce had to take a deep, calming breath before he dared to speak again. "And if she doesn't return to us in the morning?" he asked in a mild, thoroughly controlled voice.
Ingelram looked stunned by that question. He'd never considered such a dark possibility. "She gave me her word, Baron. She wouldn't lie to me. She couldn't. She's a bride of the church. It would be a mortal sin on her soul if she didn't tell the truth. If, for some reason, she cannot leave the abbey in the morning, I'll be happy to go inside and fetch her for you."
Royce was conditioned by years of training to control his temper. He did so now, though the urge to shout at the foolish vassal made his throat ache. The fact that the Saxon informant was in the hall did help somewhat, for Royce would never ever chastise one of his men in front of an outsider. It would be an indignity, and Royce always treated his men the way he expected to be treated. Respect was earned, not demanded, but dignity was taught by example.
Hugh cleared his throat, gaining Royce's full attention. The older warrior gave his friend a sympathetic look, then turned to Ingelram. "Son, you can't go inside the sacred walls to get her. The left hand of God would descend upon all of us if we dared to violate the most holy law of all."
"The holy law?" Ingelram stammered out, clearly not understanding.
Hugh rolled his eyes heavenward. "She's under the protection of the church now, son. You've just given her sanctuary."
Ingelram was finally beginning to understand the ramifications of his deed. He was horrified by his own conduct. He was also desperate to find a way to redeem himself in his lord's eyes. "But she promised me—"
"Be silent."
Royce hadn't raised his voice when he gave that command, but the Saxon informant jumped a good foot, for he'd gotten a glimpse of the fury in the warrior's gray eyes. He took several steps back in a puny attempt to separate himself from the Norman's wrath.
Royce was amused by the Saxon's cowardly retreat. The little man was literally shaking in his boots. "You've told me about the brothers, James," Royce said then, returning the conversation to the household. "Now tell me about the twin sisters. We were told that one is a nun and the other…"
He stopped when the Saxon shook his head. "There is no nun in this household," James blurted out. "There is Lady Nicholaa," he added in a rush when he saw how his explanation was affecting the Norman. The jagged scar on the warrior's face had turned stark white. "Lady Nicholaa is—"
Royce interrupted him. "We know about Lady Nicholaa," he said. "She's the one who defended her castle against us, isn't that correct?"
"Aye, my lord," James answered. "That is correct."
"Now I want to hear about the other twin. If she isn't a nun, then…"
The Saxon dared to shake his head at him again. James looked more perplexed than frightened now. "But my lord," he whispered, "there is only one. Lady Nicholaa does not have a twin."
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Chapter Two
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Royce's reaction to the Saxon's announcement was swift and surprising. He threw back his head and laughed until tears filled his eyes. Lady Nicholaa's clever ploy to gain sanctuary astonished him. The woman had proved to be extremely resourceful, a trait he was quick to appreciate whenever he chanced upon it.
Nicholaa wasn't a nun. Relief swelled inside him. He didn't understand the reason for such a reaction, however, and quickly pushed the feeling aside. Then he started laughing again. By God, he hadn't lusted after a bride of the church after all.
Ingelram didn't know what to make of his lord's bizarre behavior. In the short while he'd been under the baron's command, he'd never even seen him smile. The vassal suddenly realized he'd never witnessed his leader accept defeat, either.
"Don't you understand, Baron?" Ingelram blurted out. "You've suffered a humiliation because of me. I believed her lies. I gave her escort to the abbey."
Ingelram boldly moved forward until he had placed himself within striking distance of his lord, then said in an anguished whisper, "I alone am to blame."