The Prize

Chapter Fifteen

Nicholaa's behavior underwent a radical change. It all started the morning after she promised to become the kind of wife Royce wanted.

She rose at the crack of dawn, dressed quietly, and went down to the great hall. She was giving directions to the servants for the day's activities before her husband had even opened his eyes.

Nicholaa missed Ulric so much she was aching inside. She was determined to keep busy so she wouldn't have time for self-pity. She was going to work until she dropped from exhaustion.

She was going to give her husband peace, too. The problem, of course, was figuring out how to accomplish that goal. She'd have to control her temper, keep her opinions to herself, and agree with her husband at all times.

She might as well be dead, she thought to herself. The changes would probably kill her. Still, she'd given her word to Royce, and she was going to keep it. She owed him her gratitude for everything he'd done for her family, too. Granted, she'd forced him to take on those responsibilities, and she'd ruined his life in the process. The very least she could do to make up for that was to give the man what he wanted.

In the back of her mind lurked the tiny hope that, once she'd made all these changes, Royce might start to love her. She didn't just want a place in his life. She wanted his heart, too.

Nicholaa was arranging flowers in the brown clay bowl on the table when Clarise and Alice hurried into the hall.

The two women took turns offering comfort to each other over the loss of their "precious little baggage," the affectionate term they'd given to Ulric.

The more they talked about the baby the more upset Nicholaa became. She shook her head and announced Ulric would be well loved.

"I've a list of chores to give you today," she said then. "Every morning I'll divide our duties and we'll get them done before nightfall. We're going to get organized, ladies."

"Why?" Clarise asked. "We've gotten everything done in the past without being organized."

"My husband doesn't like disorder," Nicholaa explained. "And I've given him my word I will become the kind of wife he wants. Therefore-"

Alice interrupted her. "But he likes you fine the way you are."

Clarise agreed. "You can't believe otherwise, mistress. Why, the baron's so kind and patient-"

"He's kind and patient with everyone," Nicholaa interjected.

"Well, then," Clarise asked, "why this need to change?"

"I'm after more," Nicholaa confessed in a whisper. "I would like Royce to…" She couldn't get the words out.

Clarise took sympathy on her. "You would like the baron to feel about you the same way your father felt about your mother? Is that what you're meaning to say?"

Nicholaa nodded.

Clarise snorted, then turned to Alice. "She thinks the baron doesn't love her."

"Oh, he must love her," Alice replied. "Of course he does."

Nicholaa let out a sigh. "You both love me," she announced, "just as I love you, and for that reason you can't imagine that someone else wouldn't."

Clarise scowled. Nicholaa held up her hand so neither servant would interrupt, then calmly outlined the changes she planned to make. The two women looked at her incredulously.

"You're never going to raise your voice?" Alice asked, latching on to the last change Nicholaa had explained.

Clarise shook her head. "You can't be serious," she said. "If the man can't love you for what you are-"

"I'm saying he does love her," Alice muttered. "Milady, you need only put the question to him."

Nicholaa's shoulders drooped. She didn't like admitting that she was afraid to ask. If he told her no, what would she do? "It doesn't matter if he loves me or not," she said. "I owe him my gratitude. I'm going to give him the happiness and peace he deserves. It's the least I can do."

"I've never seen you so unsure of yourself," Clarise muttered. "I'm not liking it, either. I liked you better when you would take the dog by his tail and give him what for. Aye, you always had yourself a plan in the past when you wanted to get something."

Nicholaa smiled. "I have a plan now," she argued. "I'll give Royce exactly what he wants, and then he'll realize he loves me. See how simple it is?"

Royce walked into the hall, interrupting the discussion. Nicholaa hurried over to meet him at the entrance and gave him a proper greeting. She kissed him, too.

Clarise and Alice hurried to the buttery to see about the morning meal. Nicholaa walked with Royce to the table.

She was smiling. Royce was pleased by that. Since his wife was in a pleasant frame of mind, he decided to wait before sitting down to discuss her worries with her.

Perhaps he'd been too concerned last night. Nicholaa was probably just overwrought because Ulric had left. He knew she was going to miss the baby, and her mood last night was probably just a reflection of the emptiness she was feeling inside.

Thomas and Lawrence strolled into the hall and took their positions at the table.

As soon as Royce sat down, Nicholaa clasped her hands behind her back and recited the duties she planned to undertake for the day.

He couldn't have been more pleased with her. He was about to tell her so when Thomas interrupted.

"Have you had a chance to explain about the wood, Baron?"

Royce shook his head. He reached around behind Nicholaa and took one of her hands. Since she was in such a cheerful mood, now would be a good time to discuss her home.

"Nicholaa, you never asked me why I ordered this table moved to the center of the room," he began.

"It isn't my place to question your orders, husband," she answered, repeating his own dictate back to him.

He smiled.

She decided then he was happy because she remembered that lecture.

"I had the table moved because the floorboards under the spot where it used to stand have almost completely rotted through. By all rights, the table should have crashed through to the lower level long ago."

Nicholaa hadn't realized the floors were in such bad condition. She forced herself to keep smiling as she waited for Royce to continue.

"It's a miracle the entire floor hasn't collapsed," Thomas interjected.

Royce nodded. "The second floor is rotted as well. Thomas doesn't believe it can be reinforced."

Thomas volunteered additional information. Nicholaa noticed that Royce nudged the vassal first. "The entire structure should be torn down and a new one built," Thomas blurted out.

"The cost will be four times greater if the baron tries to save this one," Lawrence added.

Nicholaa didn't react to this news. She knew Royce was only telling her the truth. How often had her mother remarked that the keep was falling down around them? Nicholaa remembered the heated debates between her parents. Papa had wanted to leave things just the way they were. He hated change. Mother had been more practical. Nicholaa realized she took after her father; she also hated change. Then she noticed how concerned the three men looked as they stared at her. They were in league together, gently planting the seeds of her eventual acceptance.

Her husband obviously did care about her feelings after all. "I haven't made a final decision," Royce announced in a gruff, no-nonsense voice.

He wasn't telling her the truth. He'd made his decision, all right, but he wanted to give her time to get use to the idea first.

She smiled at her husband and went back to arranging the flowers. All three warriors continued to watch her. She caught Royce's shrug out of the corner of her eye. "I know how much this home means to you, wife. If possible, I'll-"

She finished his sentence for him. "Try to save the keep?"

He nodded. She shook her head. "You mustn't consider my feelings. This is your holding now, not mine. Do what you feel is best. Whatever you decide will be fine with me."

Thomas and Lawrence sighed. Royce frowned. His wife's easy acceptance bothered him.

"We'll discuss this later," he announced.

"If it will please you," she answered.

She was being too accommodating. He was immediately suspicious. He decided to put his wife's unusual behavior out of his mind for the rest of the day and focus his attention on training his soldiers.

Nicholaa continued to arrange the flowers so that she could hear her husband's plans for the day. She was hoping for a word about her brother.

Her patience was finally rewarded. Justin, Lawrence told Royce, was beginning to work within the unit. He still showed no allegiance to the others, but his hostility had lessened and he was giving his opinions more and more often. Lawrence thought that was a good start.

Royce agreed. He noticed how his wife was pulling and tugging on the flowers and took mercy on her. "Nicholaa, would you like to speak to your brother today?"

She almost knocked the vase over. "Oh, yes, I would like to," she answered in a rush. "I couldn't help overhearing your remarks about Justin getting along now, Lawrence. Is my brother also feeling well?"

The vassal smiled. "Yes, my lady, though in truth I haven't asked him," he admitted.

Nicholaa walked over to stand by her husband. She was looking at Lawrence. "You are training Justin, then?"

Royce gave his vassal permission to explain. "I've always been commander of the new soldiers," Lawrence said. "I do very little training in weapons and attack methods, however. My task is to strengthen their bodies. When I feel they're as fit as possible, then they'll move up into Royce's ranks."

"So that is why they are taking those heavy stones from one pile and putting them in another? It isn't punishment, after all?"

"Nicholaa, the soldiers aren't my enemies," Royce interjected, clearly exasperated. "We serve two purposes with that duty. Those men will build a new wall, much wider and taller than the old one, for I want a larger area in which to train," he explained. "And the work will strengthen the men." She nodded, letting him know she understood.

"When will I see Justin? Should I go down to the soldiers' quarters? Yes, I should," she answered in a rush. "I want to make certain Justin has enough blankets for the cold nights."

Royce tried not to laugh. He could just imagine the embarrassment Justin would feel if she tried to coddle him. "You may see him later. I'll send him to the courtyard."

Royce was as good as his word, of course. Nicholaa paced back and forth along the edge of the inner courtyard for what seemed like hours before she spotted her brother walking up the slope toward her. She started running to meet him. Tears came to her eyes, but she forced herself to stop that foolishness.

Nicholaa threw herself into Justin's arms and hugged him tight. How fit he looked! The color was back in his face, and when she finally pulled away and looked up into his eyes, she knew without a doubt that he was going to be all right.

She couldn't find her voice. She kissed his chin and finally let go of him.

"You look happy, sister," Justin announced, his voice gruff with emotion.

"I am happy," she answered. "Happy to see you."

"The baron treats you well?"

He was already beginning to frown when she answered him. "Oh, yes, very well," she said. "He's kind and patient with me."

His frown eased away. He actually laughed when she added that she was also being kind and patient with him.

"Are you getting enough to eat, Justin? Do you have enough blankets at night? Do you need anything?"

"I have enough," Justin answered. He turned and saw Ingelram and Bryan watching. Justin's voice was a bit more gruff when he said, "I'm not a boy, Nicholaa. Do not treat me as such."

She didn't realize they had an audience, nor did she see Royce coming up the slope toward them. Her gaze was fully directed on her brother's face. The sun had darkened his skin and lightened his blond hair. She hadn't realized what a handsome man Justin was becoming.

"Did you know Ulric left?" she asked.

Justin nodded. "The baron told me."

Nicholaa noticed that her brother's voice had taken on a hard edge. "You aren't concerned about Ulric, are you? He'll be well taken care of by Duncan and Millicent," she said.

"No, I'm not concerned," Justin answered. "Ulric will be happy with them."

"Then why are you frowning?" she asked.

"The baron told me Thurston came here. He shouldn't have."

Justin's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Nicholaa didn't know what to make of that reaction.

Then Royce interrupted them. "Justin, you have one afternoon a week away from your duties. This isn't it. Say good-bye to your sister. Ingelram and Bryan are waiting."

Justin immediately separated himself from his sister and turned to bow to his baron. Nicholaa didn't want him to leave just yet. She reached out to detain him and noticed that his entire left arm was covered with black leather. Two wide loops from elbow to shoulder held the covering in place.

Royce also noticed the contraption. "What's this?" he asked. Justin turned back to his baron just as Bryan and Ingelram came forward. "Bryan made this for me," Justin muttered with a shrug, his gaze on the ground. Royce took hold of one of the two loops. "When you begin training with the Hawks, I'd advise you not to wear this," he announced.

"Would they jeer him, Baron?" Ingelram asked, frowning over that possibility.

Royce laughed. Lord, they were ignorant… and young. He twisted the loop until he had it firmly wedged between his fingers. He kept his gaze on Justin all the while. The boy's face was turning red. "They won't jeer him," he told Ingelram. "But they sure as hell will take advantage."

Royce tightened his hold until Justin could barely move. "Then they'll take their sweet time as they beat some sense into Justin for wearing such a contraption."

Nicholaa was horrified when her husband laughed at Justin. She didn't interfere, though, and when the full explanation had been given, even she realized that the leather covering wasn't a protection but a weapon that could be used against her brother.

Justin understood, too. As soon as Royce let go, her brother took the covering off.

"You've been excused," Royce told the three soldiers.

In unison they bowed to their baron and turned to leave. Justin walked between Bryan and Ingelram. Nicholaa stood next to Royce as she watched her brother walk down the first slope.

She didn't realize she'd taken her husband's hand. He could feel her trembling. He squeezed. "Do you feel better now that you've spoken to Justin?"

She kept her gaze on her brother's back. "Yes."

Then Ingelram's voice reached her. The young soldier obviously thought he was far enough away not to be overheard. "Are you getting enough to eat?" he drawled out in a horrible imitation of a woman's high-pitched voice.

Bryan immediately joined in. "Would you like my blanket tonight, Justin?"

Nicholaa's brother retaliated by shoving Ingelram with his left shoulder and trying to trip Bryan with his right foot.

Both Ingelram and Bryan were laughing, and-miracle of miracles-Justin joined in.

Royce forced himself not to laugh. He didn't want to hurt Nicholaa's feelings. He turned to look down at her and found her smiling.

"I was coddling him like a mother," she admitted. "He laughed, Royce, didn't he? I haven't heard his laughter in so long I'd forgotten. Thank you, husband."

He wasn't sure why she thanked him, but she suddenly threw herself into his arms and kissed him; His wife did lose a bit of her smile when he announced that she wouldn't be able to talk to Justin again until the first phase of his training was completed, in approximately sixty days. She didn't argue with him. Royce thought that was a nice change.

He didn't see his wife again until the dinner hour. She sat beside him at the table, but as soon as the meal was finished and he and Lawrence began to discuss their plans for the following day, Nicholaa excused herself from the table with the request that she be allowed to go up to the chamber.

That routine became the standard. A full two months passed in a peaceful, organized manner. There wasn't one outburst of anger, one surprise to put him on his guard, or one argument. Royce should have been pleased with this remarkable turnaround. He wasn't, though. Nicholaa hadn't lost her temper in almost sixty days. If she became any more serene, he thought he'd have to start checking to make certain the woman was still breathing.

Her attitude frustrated the hell out of him. She granted his every wish. Even before he realized he wanted something, she was there giving it to him.

Her passionate nature asserted itself only when they were in bed together and he was touching her. She couldn't act serene then. Royce was thankful for that blessing, but he wanted more. God's truth, he wanted his impossible wife back.

He missed her glares when she wasn't getting her way. He missed their arguments, too, especially the ones he couldn't possibly win because she was so stubbornly illogical. But most of all, he missed lecturing her.

Nicholaa wore a smile from the time she got out of the bed in the morning until she closed her eyes at night. It seemed to be a permanent condition, and it was making him daft. She couldn't be that happy. No one could be that happy. The sparkle was missing from her eyes, too. She didn't laugh, either.

But then, laughter was spontaneous, wasn't it? And Nicholaa didn't do anything spontaneous anymore.

God help him, he'd done this to her. He took full blame for the change in her. He was getting exactly what he'd set out to get. The problem was finding a way to undo the damage. He considered one plan after another, but none seemed acceptable. Then Justin solved his problem for him-rather nicely, too. It was mid-June. Royce was in the lower bailey supervising the training of the experienced soldiers. Lawrence, who commanded the Doves, rarely requested Royce's assistance.

Today proved to be an exception however. Lawrence called Royce down to the lower hill, and when his baron reached his side, the vassal motioned for Ingelram and Bryan to begin sparring.

Justin stood to one side, waiting his turn.

"Those three have become fast friends," Lawrence remarked. "I'm pleased with Justin's progress on the whole. You can see he's regained the weight he lost, added a bit more bulk, too. Swinging a sword and lifting stones have added to his muscle. Aye, he's coming along nicely."

Ingelram knocked Bryan to the ground, let out a shout of victory, then turned to Justin. Bryan rolled out of the way as Justin swaggered forward. Ingelram and Justin put on quite a show for their baron. Several other soldiers formed a wide circle to watch.

The longer Royce observed, the more he frowned. "Tell me this, Lawrence," he asked. "Is Ingelram sparring with Justin or dancing with him?"

"Exactly," Lawrence muttered. "That's why I wanted you to watch, Baron. No matter which man I pair with Justin, the result is always the same. I don't think they do it on purpose, but the men soften their attack when I pit them against the boy."

Royce nodded. He let out a shrill whistle, drawing everyone's attention. Justin was still a bit wary of his baron. He'd been grinning while he battled his friend, but his expression was contained when he turned to Royce.

"I'm in the mood to knock a few of you on your backsides," Royce announced. "Who wants this privilege?"

It was a rare honor their baron bestowed upon the younger soldiers, and each was eager to be the first to take on the challenge.

Yet while the soldiers rushed forward, Royce noticed they also tried to keep Justin at the back of the line. Even now they were trying to protect him. Their friendship for Nicholaa's brother could very well get him killed.

Justin wasn't about to be left out, though. He shouldered his way to the front of the group.

"How many will get this opportunity, Baron?" Justin called out.

The others now lined up behind him, with Ingelram and Bryan flanking him. Justin was acting as their spokesman, and Royce was so pleased with this turn of events that he almost laughed. Lawrence had kept Royce informed of Justin's progress, of course, but seeing the boy now standing so tall and proud still took him by surprise. It warmed his heart, too.

"I'll only waste enough of my valuable time to fight four of you," Royce drawled. "Since you've taken it upon yourself to speak for the unit, you'll be one of those four. Pick the other three, Justin, and then put yourself last, as befits a leader."

Justin nodded. He started to turn to his friends, then stopped. "And if one of us knocks you on your backside, Baron?"

Royce did laugh then. "He will be suitably rewarded."

Justin smiled. A conference was immediately called. Royce and Lawrence stood by while the soldiers decided among themselves who the other three would be.

"You've done well," Royce told Lawrence in a low whisper. "His body's strong now."

"He's ready to train," Lawrence replied. "So are the others, Royce."

The decision was finally reached among the Doves. A redheaded soldier by the name of Merrill strutted forward. He bowed first to Royce, then to Lawrence.

Royce took a step forward. "We won't use weapons," he decreed.

Merrill immediately unstrapped the sheath from his side and handed the sword and covering to Justin. Then he turned back to his baron. "I'm ready, my lord."

Royce laughed again. "Nay, you're not ready," he said. "Perhaps after three months of training with me, you will be ready, but not today, Merrill."

He beckoned with one hand for Merrill to attack. The soldier slowly circled his baron. Royce didn't move at all, even when Merrill had worked his way around him.

Merrill positioned himself behind his baron and finally attacked, intending to grab his lord by his neck and wrestle him to the ground.

Royce waited until he felt Merrill's touch, then twisted and, with one hand, lifted the soldier off his feet, flung him over his shoulder, and dropped him on the ground. Merrill landed with a grunt on his backside.

"You gave me too much time to think about what you were going to do, Merrill," Royce instructed. "If you want to surprise your adversary by sneaking up behind him, do so with speed. Do you understand?" Merrill nodded. Royce reached down, offering his hand to the soldier. Merrill grabbed hold and was hauled back to his feet. "Next," Royce ordered. Bryan moved forward. He'd already removed his sword. He swung at his baron with his left fist. If the blow had connected, it would have flattened an ordinary man. Royce wasn't ordinary, though, but Bryan didn't remember that fact soon enough. The baron easily caught hold of the soldier's fist with one hand and held on.

"Now what, Bryan?" he asked.

Bryan's hand throbbed. He felt as though he'd just rammed it into a stone wall. He grimaced against the pain, then tried to strike Royce with his other fist. Royce deflected the blow and sent Bryan flying to the ground.

"Again you allowed me to have the advantage," he explained to the group. "Use whatever method works. Bryan, you have feet. Use them."

"Yes, Baron."

A third soldier hurried into the center of the circle. His name was Howard, and he proved to be a bit more cunning than the first two. Royce had to knock him down twice before he landed on his backside.

And then it was Justin's turn. Royce stared at him a long minute before giving him the order to begin.

"What have you learned from the first three challengers?"

"I've learned to use my feet and my fist," Justin answered. "And to use any method, fair or foul, to get you to the ground, Baron."

Royce nodded. "Then my time hasn't been wasted," he announced. His gaze moved over the entire group. "Lawrence has given you tasks to strengthen your bodies, but now the time has come for you to learn how to use your heads. In battle, strength without cunning means nothing. Tomorrow you will begin training with the experienced knights."

A loud cheer went up. The soldiers had officially completed the first phase of their training. It was time to celebrate.

Royce smiled. The soldiers wouldn't be cheering tomorrow night. Nay, by then every inch of their bodies would be screaming in agony, for the first full day of training with the seasoned warriors would be the most difficult day of their lives.

Nicholaa was coming down the first slope when she heard the shouts. Curious, she quickened her stride until she reached the bottom. She saw the crowd circling Justin and her husband then.

She tried not to be worried. Then Justin threw himself at Royce, and she almost cried out. Her brother had feigned the attack; he twisted away at the last possible minute and tried to kick Royce in the backs of his legs.

Royce deflected the blow and clipped Justin between his shoulder blades with the back of his hand. Nicholaa's brother staggered forward, quickly recovered, and then launched yet another attack.

Quite by accident, Justin got in one solid punch. His fist connected with Royce's jaw approximately five seconds after his baron noticed Nicholaa was observing the scene.

Royce instinctively struck back, knocking Justin to the ground. He moved forward, put his foot on Justin's chest to keep him down, then gave the soldier a most bizarre command.

"Smile, Justin."

"What?" Justin gasped, trying to regain his breath.

"I said smile," Royce told him in a furious whisper. "Now, damn it."

Justin smiled.

Nicholaa desperately tried not to interfere. But the sight of her brother sprawled on the ground, added to the fact that all the other soldiers were grinning, did made her forget her vow.

Justin's face was turned away from her. For that reason, she didn't see his smile.

"Royce, my brother has only one hand."

God help her, she hadn't meant to shout that reminder.

"But I have two," Royce called out.

Nicholaa had rushed forward, but she came to an abrupt stop when Royce shouted that cruel remark.

She stared at Royce. He winked at her. Then Justin turned to her. He started laughing. She took a step back, stopped, shook her head, and finally turned around and walked back up the hill.

Royce let out a sigh. He knew she didn't understand. He moved away from Justin and offered him his hand. Justin grabbed hold and was pulled to his feet.

"You've done well," he told Justin. "As a reward for striking me, you and the other three will join me for dinner."

Justin grinned. His cheeks were red when he moved back to stand with the other soldiers. Royce didn't know if the coloring was from exertion or his praise.

Royce clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the group. "I have one last thing to say to you. You have all become friends, and that is as it should be, but when you fight with one another, you will give it your total concentration. You will not make allowances for anyone, for any reason. What you may perceive as kindness or protectiveness could very well get your friend killed in a real battle."

They all knew what he was talking about, Royce was sure of that. He addressed his next remarks to Justin. "In battle no allowances will be given because you have but one hand. For that reason, you can't be as good as the others. You have to be better."

Justin nodded. "Baron, when will I know I'm ready?"

Royce smiled. "You'll just know, Justin. No one will have to tell you."

Lawrence stepped forward. "To celebrate the beginning of your training with the Hawks, perhaps our baron will let you watch a game of kickball."

Royce nodded. King William frowned on the game, for he felt it took away from the knights' primary responsibility of training for his army. Royce occasionally made an exception simply because he loved to play the brutal game. The objective was to move the leather-covered ball from one end of the field to the other. There was only one rule: the knights couldn't use their hands. The game always turned bloody, of course, which was yet another reason everyone loved to play.

"You'll lead one team, Lawrence, and I'll take the other," Royce announced. "We'll start as soon as I've talked to Nicholaa."

He and Lawrence turned to leave. Ingelram nudged Justin, and then the two of them hurried forward to block their baron's path.

"Baron, why must we watch?" Ingelram blurted out.

Royce raised an eyebrow over that question. Then he shrugged. "You don't have to watch if you don't want to," he answered. "You're free to do whatever you want this afternoon."

"What Ingelram means to say, Baron," Justin explained, "is that we don't want to watch; we want to play. We have enough men for a team of our own, and we would welcome the opportunity to defeat the Hawks."

"They'd be insulted if we made them play against Doves," Lawrence interjected.

Justin grinned. "Not if you and the baron joined our team."

Royce laughed. "That's up to your commander," he announced with a nod in Lawrence's direction.

His vassal was in the mood to be accommodating. He gave the unit permission. The soldiers immediately rushed toward the area they would use for their field. They were already planning their strategy.

"Did you notice?" Lawrence asked Royce when they were alone.

"Notice what?"

"Justin has not only become their spokesman," he explained. "He also considers himself one of them now. Don't you remember how he was when he first started? Everything was theirs, not his. A good change in attitude, wouldn't you say?"

It was a simple statement, but Royce reacted as though he'd just been struck. Hell, he thought to himself, he'd been acting just like Justin. From the beginning the holding was his, not Nicholaa's; the servants belonged to him, not her… and after a time she'd finally conceded.

He slapped Lawrence on the shoulder. "You've made me realize an error," he told his vassal. "Thank you."

Royce didn't give his vassal further explanation. He would go up to the keep to make certain Nicholaa wasn't too upset by what she'd seen, but after supper he'd sit her down and explain the changes he wanted. He wouldn't lecture her. No, no, he never lectured. He wouldn't stop talking, though, until he was certain she understood.

His wife had fully recovered from her initial reaction to seeing Justin fight with Royce. Her brother's wonderful smile still lingered in her mind. She had rushed inside the keep and hurried up the steps. She wanted to get to the bedchamber before she deliberately and blatantly broke rule number three.

Aye, she was going to weep. They would be tears of joy, but Royce wouldn't understand that if he happened to catch her.

"Where are you going, my lady?" Clarise called out to her. "I've a question to ask you about supper."

"Not now, please," Nicholaa called back. "I'll be back down in a few minutes. You may ask me then." Clarise didn't want to wait. Cook was already peevish, and Clarise didn't want the woman's mood to sour any more than it already had. If that happened, everyone would suffer because supper would be ruined.

The servant rushed toward the steps and stopped Nicholaa just as she reached the landing. "It won't take but a minute of your time," she called out. "Cook wants to know if she should prepare the sweet berry tarts or the sugared apples. You won't be getting either unless you let her know right away," she warned.

Nicholaa leaned one hip against the railing while she considered her options. "I believe we'll celebrate tonight. Have Cook prepare both."

Nicholaa turned to go down the corridor, just as the wood and the railing gave way.

Clarise screamed. Nicholaa didn't have time to do more than gasp in surprise. She grabbed hold of a ledge as she started to fall and held on for dear life.

The railing crashed to the floor below. Wood splintered in every direction. Clarise jumped back to get out of the way. She finally quit screaming, though, and went to help her mistress. "Dear God above, hold tight. I'm coming up to help you. Don't look down, milady. You'll only panic if you do."

"No, don't come up here," Nicholaa shouted. "You'll fall through. Get my husband. Hurry, please. I can't hold on much longer."

The servant immediately changed directions. She'd just reached the double doors when they were flung open and Royce strode inside.

Clarise didn't have to explain. Royce took it all in at once, the splintered wood scattered on the floor in front of him, a pair of feet dangling above. His heart almost failed him. He rushed forward to position himself below Nicholaa.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

His roar actually calmed her. Then his outrageous question penetrated her mind. God's truth, she almost laughed. "What do you think I'm doing?" she called out. "I'm hanging from the ledge, you daft man."

Royce heard the threat of amusement in her voice, then decided that wasn't possible. His wife had to be terrified.

"Let go, Nicholaa, and bend your knees. I'll catch you," he said in a calm, reasonable voice.

"Yes, Royce."

"Let go now, sweetheart."

Nicholaa was so surprised by the endearment that she forgot to worry. She let go and simply waited for her husband to catch her.

He barely buckled under the weight as he caught her in his arms and held her close. Then he backed up several steps as a precaution against more of the wood crashing down on top of the two of them.

He was shaking by the time he'd carried his wife into the great hall. Her near disaster had left him reeling. She could have broken her neck.

"You will not go upstairs again, Nicholaa. Do you hear me?"

He was squeezing bruises into her arms when he issued that command. She would have given him her agreement immediately, but then he distracted her by kicking a stool out of his path. He sat down in a high-backed chair near the hearth and took several deep breaths. Nicholaa realized then how upset her husband was. Since he hadn't raised his voice, his distress was a bit of a revelation to her. "You were worried about me?" she asked.

He scowled to let her know how foolish he thought that question was. "I'm going to have everything moved down here before this day is over. Don't you dare argue with me, Nicholaa. My mind's made up. You will not go abovestairs again."

She nodded. "You were worried."

"Yes."

One word, spoken in a harsh, clipped voice that absolutely thrilled her. He did care about her. His heart was slamming inside his chest, another telling indication. She heard it loud and clear when he roughly pressed her head against his chest.

The man really needed to calm down, she decided. The danger was over now. Nicholaa decided to turn his attention a bit.

"Royce, you really should tear your home down and build another one. I wonder why you hesitate."

He suddenly wanted to throttle her. "It isn't my home, and it isn't yours," he announced, carefully enunciating each word.

"Then whose is it?" she asked, thoroughly confused.

He lifted her off his lap and stood up. "Ours," he snapped. "Everything is ours, wife-not mine, not yours, but ours. Got that?"

She nodded. Damn, he never wanted to have another scare like that for the rest of his life. He roughly grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. Then he turned and walked out of the hall.

The need to pound his fists into something solid nearly overwhelmed him. A game of ball was just what he needed now. Once he'd knocked a few of his soldiers to the ground, perhaps he'd feel better. Then he walked past the pieces of the railing and knew that hitting a few men wouldn't be enough. He'd have to fell the whole contingent.

Nicholaa wasn't sure what had just happened. She thought it might be significant, this change in her husband's attitude about ownership, but he'd acted so furious that he'd only confused her all the more.

Not ten minutes later a group of soldiers came inside. Within an hour they had emptied the upstairs. They placed Royce's bed in the corner of the great hall, though only after Thomas had checked to make certain the floor would support the weight. They placed Nicholaa's chest next to the headboard. The men took the rest of the furniture outside. Thomas stood by Nicholaa's side, watching. He explained that everything would be stored in huts until the baron made further decisions.

Nicholaa was disheartened over the lack of privacy.

She asked Thomas if it was possible to fashion a screen around the bed, and he promised to accomplish that task before the day was over.

The soldier kept his word, too. Sturdy screens, made of panels of flat brown wood, were positioned around the corner.

Nicholaa didn't see Royce again until dinner. She was given quite a surprise when Justin and three other young soldiers walked into the hall right behind her husband. She was so pleased to see her brother again that she almost made a scene. She ran to hug her brother, but Royce intercepted her. He anchored her to his side by putting his arm around her shoulders.

When she got a good look at her brother, she was appalled by his condition. Justin's face was covered with cuts and bruises. Then she noticed that the other soldiers were in much the same shape.

Royce and Lawrence had a fair number of nicks and bruises, too. It took Nicholaa a good ten minutes to get a straight answer to how the men had come by the injuries. It took her even longer to accept the explanation that it had only been a game.

She tried not to pamper Justin during supper. She knew that would embarrass him. She also tried to pretend she was enjoying their stories of the brutal game they had played.

The four young soldiers, Justin included, ate like starving men, and when they weren't devouring the food, they were nudging one another and boasting.

They smiled, too. So did Justin. Real smiles. She looked at the four men. They were all quite alike, and Justin was just one of them now. He fit in. Aye, he belonged.

Oh, God, she was going to break that damn rule number three again if she didn't get hold of herself.

The soldiers would never understand if she suddenly burst into tears. Royce wouldn't understand, either.

She needed to get out of the hall before she disgraced herself. Fortunately the men were so absorbed in recounting their moments of glory that they hardly noticed when she left them to their victories and went outside. She circled the courtyard, then walked down to the lower bailey.

There was so much to be thankful for. God had taken such good care of her when he'd sent Royce to her.

Justin now had a future. Royce had given him that. Yes, there was much to be thankful for. She smiled then. If someone had dared to tell her a year ago that she would one day be hopelessly in love with a Norman, she would have been highly insulted. Now she felt blessed.

Royce cared about her, too. And that was enough for her. She would continue to be just the kind of wife he wanted. It was the least she could do to repay his kindness and his patience.

Nicholaa finished weeping and walked back up the hill. She spotted her husband when she reached the crest of the courtyard. Royce was standing on the top step watching her.

In the moonlight he resembled a giant statue. She stopped in the center of the courtyard. "I'm supposed to stand here with our children," she said, "and wait for your return."

"You are?"

"My mother always did." She took a step closer.

"Was this a specific duty?"

"Just a habit," she answered. "One my father liked."

"What other habits did they have?"

She took another step toward him. "After supper every night they would play chess."

"Then we will do the same," he announced.

"But after dinner you always discuss the next day's plans with your soldiers," she reminded him.

"I'll do that before dinner," he answered. "You and I will play chess together after."

"Why would you adopt this habit?"

"Traditions should be continued, or so my wife told me on our wedding night when she was trying to get me to kiss her."

She smiled again. "Your wife now admits that was her true motive."

He nodded. His expression turned serious. "I would like you to admit something else to me," he said, his voice gruff. "Admit you love me, Nicholaa. I would like to hear you say the words."

Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She bowed her head so he wouldn't see how upset she was. "I do not wish to become a burden to you."

Royce went to his wife. He gathered her into his arms and held her tight. "Telling me you love me will make you a burden to me?" he asked, certain he couldn't have heard correctly.

"Yes."

He laughed then, a full, rich sound that filled the air around them. "You aren't ever going to make sense to me, are you?"

"I do love you."

He hadn't realized until she gave him the words how much he really needed to hear them. It was a miracle, this precious gift. He was humbled by it. A part of him, the thoroughly logical part, couldn't understand how she could possibly love him.

She was his miracle. His face was grossly disfigured by scars, but she noticed only the silver flecks in what she called his handsome eyes. He'd always thought of himself as big, awkward, but she praised him because he was so wonderfully tall and strong. Nicholaa seemed blind to the truth, and he would thank God for that flaw for the rest of his life.

He hadn't said a word to her. She'd waited, hoping, praying, but he hadn't given her the words she so desperately needed to hear.

"Sweetheart, tell me why you think you're a burden?"

She burst into tears. "Because you had no choice about marrying me."

He couldn't quit smiling. He tucked her head under his chin so she wouldn't see his expression. He didn't want her to think he was laughing at her. He didn't want her to notice how misty his eyes were, either. But damn, the joy inside him was suddenly overwhelming.

"Ah, the choice," he whispered. "You've been worrying about that for a long while, haven't you?"

She bumped his chin when she nodded.

"Nicholaa, hasn't it occurred to you that I could have left the hall before you made your choice?"

"No, you couldn't have left," she whispered. "Only the married knights could leave. You didn't qualify."

He tried a different approach. "I could have said no to you."

"No, you couldn't have," she argued. "You're too honorable. You felt responsible for me."

"You have it all figured out, don't you? Nothing I can say will change your mind?"

"Such as?"

"I'd already made up my mind to challenge for you? I never would have allowed anyone else to have you, Nicholaa."

"You're just being kind to me, Royce. You're always kind and patient with everyone."

He kissed the top of her head. He didn't know how to convince her he would have chosen her. He had made up his mind to challenge for her hand in marriage for the simple reason that he couldn't stand the thought of anyone else touching her.

She belonged to him. He'd gotten used to her by the time they reached London. He was possessive by nature. Surely that was the reason he didn't want to let her go.

This loving business was confusing to him, though. Royce didn't even know if he was capable of loving her the way a husband should love a wife. He felt completely inadequate, unprepared.

It wouldn't be enough to tell her he felt content with her by his side. No, nothing he could say would convince her that, in his own way, he did care for her.

He decided he wouldn't say anything. He'd find a way to show her instead.