The Prize

Chapter Three

Never arrived exactly eight weeks later.

Baron Hugh had fully recovered from his illness and had left the abbey the day before. The abbess told Nicholaa she'd overheard Baron Royce ask his friend to stay at the holding until he'd taken the prize to London.

"I believe, Nicholaa, the prize he referred to is you," the abbess remarked in a sympathetic voice.

"He's bluffing," Nicholaa muttered.

She repeated those two words to herself over and over again during that long day. She didn't sleep at all that night, either. Royce had sent a messenger back to the abbey just before nightfall with the order that Lady Nicholaa was to gather her possessions and be ready to leave the abbey the following morning.

The abbess didn't believe the Norman was the type of man who would bluff, but she kept that thought to herself. She packed Nicholaa's small traveling bag and carried it down to the front entrance as a precaution against the very remote possibility that the baron did in fact have a plan of action in mind.

"Perhaps, if you're prepared, nothing will happen," the abbess declared.

Nicholaa was dressed and pacing in earnest by the crack of dawn. She wore her favorite cream-colored chainse and royal blue bliaut for the simple reason that her mother had helped her stitch the garments and the clothing always made her mood lighten. The material was too thin for the harsh winter weather, but she wasn't going outside so that didn't matter.

She declined the invitation to join the sisters for morning prayers, knowing full well she'd do more squirming than praying and would certainly distract the others.

Her trusted servant, Alice, came to give her weekly report a scant hour later. The elderly woman was sweet-tempered, extremely loyal to her mistress, and had a strong memory for details. She was fifteen years older than Nicholaa, yet clung to the youthful habit of giggling whenever she was nervous.

Alice was giggling when she rushed into the vestibule where Nicholaa waited for her. "It's just as we suspected, milady," Alice blurted out. She managed a quick curtsy, then continued. "Baron Hugh has settled in for a nice long stay at the castle, and Baron Royce is preparing to come and fetch you."

Nicholaa took hold of Alice's hand and pulled her to the window. She motioned for her servant to sit down on the bench and then sat down next to her.

"Were you able to find out how he plans to persuade me to leave this sanctuary?" she asked.

Alice shook her head so vehemently that wisps of gray hair flew free from her braid. "We've all been guessing and guessing, milady, but not one of us has been able to come up with a single possibility. Baron

Royce holds his own counsel. Clarise has taken on the duty of eavesdropping on the two men, but neither has spoken of this trickery, milady. You would think Baron Hugh would be interested in knowing just how Baron Royce plans to snatch you away from here."

"Clarise is being careful, isn't she? I wouldn't want her to get into trouble because of me."

Alice giggled again. "Clarise is just as loyal to you as the rest of your staff. Why, she'd give her life to keep you safe."

Nicholaa shook her head. "I don't want her to give her life for me. Nor you either, Alice. You take too many chances coming here, though, God's truth, I do look forward to hearing the news from home."

"'Tis called Rosewood now," Alice whispered.

She nodded when Nicholaa looked so surprised. "They've named my home?"

"It was Hugh who gave it the name. Your Baron Royce didn't seem to mind. Then afore you knew it, even the staff was calling the place Rosewood. It's got a nice sound to it, doesn't it, milady?"

Alice didn't give her mistress time to answer. "I've got to speak the truth, milady. The two barons are acting as though the place belongs to them now."

"What other changes have they made?" Nicholaa asked.

"They found one of the passageways to the outside through the north wall and sealed it up real tight. It's the only one they've spotted so far, though."

Nicholaa realized she was wringing her hands. She forced herself to stop the nervous action. "And my chamber, Alice?" she asked. "Which one of the infidels has taken over my room?"

"Neither," Alice replied. "Baron Royce has had the door barred and won't let anyone inside. When Hugh took ill, he was given your room, but when he returned to Rosewood, he was given the larger chamber. Clarise and Ruth were given the unholy chore of cleaning the room for the Norman. Are you wanting to hear the rest of this, milady?"

"Yes, of course," Nicholaa said. "You mustn't try to shield me."

"It's becoming very difficult for us to hate Baron Royce," Alice confessed with yet another inappropriate giggle.

"It's a sin to hate, and for that reason alone, we must not hate the Normans," Nicholaa said. "We can, however, thoroughly dislike them, Alice."

The servant nodded. "But even that's difficult to do," she wailed in a voice as bleak as the howling wind outside. "He called all of us together before him. We hid Hacon in the back, thinking the sight of him would remind the baron that he'd boldly lied to him about you being a twin and all. And do you know what happened, milady? Baron Royce called the meeting to praise Hacon for defending his mistress. The baron asked him to kneel and give his pledge of loyalty. He didn't demand it. He asked!"

Several loud giggles followed that explanation. Alice put her hand to her breast and took a deep breath. "The baron even helped Hacon to his feet after he'd given his oath. Well, now, we were all put right in a muddle over that kindness. We all thought the Norman would want Hacon's head, not his loyalty."

"Who can know what the barbarian wants?" Nicholaa said.

"The baron never raises his voice to anyone, either. Clarise says it's because he's older, though certainly not as old as his friend, Baron Hugh. Myrtle spilled a full draft of ale right on Baron Royce's trencher of food, and do you know he didn't raise his hand against her? Nay, he just moved to another spot at the table and went right on having a conversation with his friend."

Nicholaa didn't want to hear any more about Royce. "How is Baron Hugh?" she asked.

"Singing your praises, milady," Alice answered. "He told Baron Royce it was you who took care of him, you who sat by his side during the dark nights when he was so fevered, you who held a damp cloth to his brow and offered him comfort-"

"I did not offer him comfort," Nicholaa interrupted, her voice emphatic. "I was just helping Sister Felicity. You know how old and tired she is, Alice. And since I was sitting up at night by Justin's side, I only added Hugh to my duties. That's all."

"Baron Hugh says you've got a kind heart. Now, don't take to frowning, mistress. It's the truth. Hugh also said you beat him fair and fast at chess time and again."

Nicholaa smiled. "Hugh was bored with his confinement," she explained, "and giving the abbess one tantrum after another, demanding to be let up. I played chess to help her, not to entertain the Norman."

"Baron Hugh smiled when he spoke of you, but he frowned fierce whenever Justin's name cropped up. He told how your brother threw the tray of food at you. Then Baron Royce took to frowning, too. He's a pure fright when he scowls, isn't he?"

"I didn't notice," Nicholaa replied. "Neither of the Normans could possibly understand the torment Justin is going through," she whispered. "Now, please, tell me all about Ulric. How is my dear nephew doing?"

Alice smiled. "He's a handful, that one is, now that he's taken to crawling. Another tooth poked through just the day before yesterday."

"Isn't it too soon?" Nicholaa asked.

"No, no," Alice answered. "Ulric's doing just what he's supposed to be doing at his tender age. You haven't had much experience with babies, so you'll have to be taking my word on this."

Nicholaa nodded. "I wish I'd brought him here with me. I worry about him, Alice. Oh, I know you and Clarise are doing a fine job of caring for him, but I-"

"You made the right decision," Alice interjected. "You had no way of knowing if you'd make it to the abbey without being caught," she reminded her mistress. "And the weather would have chilled Ulric through to his bones. Besides, what would you have told your escort? They thought you were Sister Danielle, remember? Rest your frown, milady. Ulric's safe at Rosewood. It's just as we predicted it would be," she added with a nod. "The Normans don't pay any attention to the babe. They're still believing your lie that he's just the son of a servant. Clarise keeps him abovestairs all the time. Why, I'm thinking Baron Royce doesn't even remember he's there."

"I pray to God his father's still alive," Nicholaa whispered. "The longer we go without word, the more convinced I become that Thurston's dead, Alice."

"Don't think such dour thoughts," Alice ordered. She used the hem of her bliaut to mop at the corners of her eyes. "You've had a time of it, haven't you? Now listen to me. God wouldn't be so cruel as to take both

Ulric's mama and his papa. Your older brother must still be alive. You mustn't give up hope."

Nicholaa nodded. "No, I mustn't give up hope."

Alice patted her mistress's hand. "Baron Royce believes you've been married," she announced. "That fool, James, thinks the wedding to Roulf took place. We're all snickering over that one, we are. That know-it-all traitor doesn't know everything, does he? I'm hoping Baron Royce will toss James out on his backside when he finds out the truth."

Bennett and Oscar, two of the stable hands, came to escort Alice back to the holding. As soon as the three loyal servants took their leave, Nicholaa hurried back up to the sickroom to sit by Justin's side.

Her brother's mood was as stormy as the weather. When he finally fell asleep, Nicholaa leaned over him to pull the covers up around his shoulders. His right hand slammed into the side of her face-quite by accident, for he was sleeping now, but the blow was still powerful enough to knock Nicholaa to the floor.

Justin had caught her below the right eye, and she knew from the horrid throbbing she was feeling that she would wear a dark bruise by nightfall.

She left Justin alone and resumed her pacing. Every now and again she would pause at the window to look outside. By midafternoon she was convinced that whatever plan Royce had decided upon had somehow failed.

She was just about to pull the heavy animal skin back over the opening when the sound of thunder drew her attention. Men on horseback were racing around the bend in the road. The contingent of soldiers numbered at least fifty. They stopped when they reached the bottom of the steep path that led up to the doors of the abbey. The soldiers who'd been keeping guard around the perimeter of the walls then joined the ranks. When they were added to the unit, the number swelled to over seventy.

One warrior separated himself from the others and nudged his mount up the hill. From the size of horse and rider, she knew it was Royce.

He'd come for her after all.

Nicholaa backed away from the window, but kept her gaze directed on him.

Sunlight bounced off his open faced helmet and the metal rings sewn into his leather chest armor. It was the dead of winter, and yet his arms were bare. Nicholaa shivered. Royce suddenly seemed invincible to her.

She had to shake her head. He was just a man, she reminded herself. A man who would soon freeze to death, she hoped. Nicholaa saw his sword strapped to his side, but she didn't see a shield. He was still armed for battle-or for the journey through hostile land to London.

Royce stopped when he reached the center of the path. He sat there a long while, looking up at the abbey.

What was he waiting for? Did he actually think she would come outside? She shook her head and smiled. The Norman could sit atop his stallion for the rest of the day for all the care she would give. She wouldn't be so easily intimidated.

Royce sent a messenger up to the abbey's iron gates and waited until he was certain Nicholaa had been informed of his arrival.

The abbess found Nicholaa standing near the window. "Baron Royce asks that you look out the window, Nicholaa. He says he has a message for you."

Nicholaa moved to the center of the opening so that Royce could see her. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, trying to look serene and confident. She wasn't certain that he could see her expression, but she wasn't taking any chances. She was worried, yes, but the Norman wouldn't know it. Besides, she told herself again, he was bluffing.

Royce waited until he spotted her in the window, then slowly removed the heavy blankets protecting the baby he cradled in his arms.

Ulric was sound asleep, but his face scrunched up into a frown when the cold air reached him. "You'll be warm in just a minute," Royce promised.

He lifted the baby high into the air and waited for a reaction.

It wasn't long in coming. Lady Nicholaa suddenly disappeared from the window. Her scream of outrage lingered in the room.

Ulric had just filled his lungs with the intention of letting out an outraged bellow of his own when Royce gently wrapped him up in his cocoon of blankets. The warmth soothed the baby, and he began to suckle diligently on his chubby fists.

The slurping noise made Royce smile. He pulled the blanket back so he could see the baby's face and was rewarded with a grin. Four sparkling white teeth, two on top and two on the bottom, were visible when Ulric removed his fist from his mouth. Drool covered the baby's chin and cheeks. Royce awkwardly mopped the wetness away and then thought to dismiss the child by again covering his face.

Ulric had other intentions. He immediately arched his back into a bow, let out a loud, thoroughly undisciplined scream, and then started kicking.

Royce had absolutely no experience handling such a little baby. His three younger sisters had children, yes, but he'd never spent any time with them. As to that, he wasn't even sure how many nieces and nephews he had. He didn't have any idea why Ulric was upset. The baby was warm and protected, and that should have been quite enough. Royce had, after all, patiently waited until the servant, Clarise, had fed the child.

The baby had absolutely nothing to complain about.

He pulled the covers away from the baby's face. "Go back to sleep," he ordered in a soft but firm voice. Ulric quit squirming long enough to smile up at Royce. The baby looked absolutely ridiculous with his hair standing on end. Royce couldn't help smiling back.

He then decided he'd spent enough time soothing the child and once again pulled the covers over the baby's face. "Now you will go back to sleep."

Ulric let out another bellow. Royce spotted Nicholaa then. She came running through the open gates with her hair flying out behind her, paying no heed to the weather, for she hadn't even taken the time to put a cloak around her shoulders in her haste to get to Ulric.

His plan had worked. Royce was relieved-not so much at having tricked her into leaving the abbey as to be rid of the squirming infant.

Nicholaa flew down the hill at a breakneck run. She was out of breath but full of fury when she finally reached Royce. "Give me that baby," she demanded in a hoarse shout.

She was so infuriated that she couldn't stop herself from slapping his leg.

"Is Ulric your son, Nicholaa?"

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yes, he's my son."

He knew she was lying. Again. He let out a sigh. The fear he saw in her gaze made him hold his silence. He wouldn't challenge her now. She had lied because she was afraid. She couldn't possibly understand him. He knew she was trying to protect the child from harm. Royce was her enemy, and he could well imagine the foul stories she'd been fed about the Normans.

"Ulric's safe, Nicholaa. No harm will come to him."

After making that promise, he reached down to her, offering her his hand.

She shoved it away. "Give him to me. Now."

He would have liked nothing better than to hand the child down to her, for Ulric was at it again, squirming, kicking, howling, too, but Royce wasn't about to let Nicholaa have the upper hand. She wasn't the one giving the orders, and the sooner she understood that, the better. The journey would be difficult enough without her challenging him every step of the way.

Ulric had gone into a rage of rebellion. Royce turned his attention to calming him. He gently turned the infant so that his back rested against the cloak covering his chest. He then removed the blanket from his face, for the babe did seem determined to look around him. He mopped his face again, too. Then he finally turned his gaze back to Nicholaa.

The bluster had gone out of her anger. Royce was being incredibly gentle with Ulric. The warrior had such big hands, and yet he wasn't at all awkward with the infant. Ulric liked him, too. The baby kept tilting his head back and grinning up at his captor.

He was only a baby. He didn't know any better, she told herself. She finally turned her gaze to Royce.

They stared at each other for a long minute while Ulric gurgled out his new sounds. The baby was very content.

Nicholaa couldn't hold Royce's stare long. She started shivering and couldn't decide if the chills were due to the weather or the giant's glacial stare.

"The game's over, Nicholaa. I've won. If this were a chess match, I would say checkmate," he said. "Admit your defeat and I'll show you mercy."

The amusement in his voice was more infuriating to her than his arrogant boast. She looked up at him again and saw that he was trying hard not to laugh at her.

The man was literally gloating with victory. She slapped his leg again. "If this were a game, your move would not be checkmate, Baron, but check, for you've only cornered me with this devil's move. Aye, this game isn't over yet."

He shook his head. "You're in an untenable position, Nicholaa. Give up this foolish struggle and accept what cannot be changed."

He had the gall to smile at her. She disliked him intensely for that. How could she have thought he was the least bit handsome? The man was a monster to use a baby to get his way. Why, he'd deliberately put Ulric in jeopardy just to gain the advantage.

Nicholaa realized that, in all honesty, the baby wasn't in any jeopardy. She was candid enough with herself to admit that truth. Ulric was safe. There was a full army within shouting distance to keep the baby safe from attack, and he was well protected in the Norman's arms.

No, Ulric wasn't in any jeopardy, but she was. It was only a matter of minutes before she would be turned into a block of ice by the wind.

Nicholaa rubbed her arms and stomped her feet in an effort to take the sting out of her toes. "Give me my son," she demanded again, though her voice lacked conviction now.

"Is he your son?"

Before she could answer that question, Ulric gurgled out a word: "Mama." Since the baby was looking at her, she seized the opportunity.

"Of course he is," she announced. "You just heard him call me Mama."

His exasperation was obvious. "Madam, in the past five minutes this babe has called me, my horse, and his fists Mama. You're trying my patience," he added with a frown. "Are you determined to stand there until you freeze to death or will you concede defeat?"

She nibbled on her lower lip for a long minute before giving him answer. "I'll concede only that you've bested me by means of sinful trickery, but that's all I'm going to concede."

It was enough to satisfy him. He lifted his cloak from where it was draped across his thighs and tossed it down to her.

"Put this on."

"Thank you."

She'd whispered those words, and he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. "What did you just say?"

"I said thank you."

"Why?" he asked, his puzzlement obvious.

She shrugged. "For a kindness given," she explained. "There is never a good reason for rudeness, Baron. We Saxons understand that, but I assume from the look on your face that Normans do not. 'Tis yet another reason you should go back where you belong and leave England alone. Our cultures are too different to mix."

God, she was exasperating. He let out a sigh. "Are all the Saxons as daft as you?"

She clutched the edges of his heavy cloak around her shoulders and glared at him. "We aren't daft. We're civilized."

He laughed. "So civilized that Saxon men and women paint their bodies? Don't shake your head at me. I've seen the pagan designs drawn on the Saxon soldiers' arms and faces. Even your church leaders think it quite decadent."

The man had a valid argument there, but she wasn't about to admit it. She, too, thought it a bit decadent the way some of the Saxons painted themselves. However, this was a ridiculous conversation to be having right now.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

The anguish in her voice caught him off guard. One minute she was arguing with him about his manners, and the next she was pleading with him and looking ready to weep.

"I'd like nothing better than to leave you alone, but it is my duty to take you to London, and it's your duty to-"

"To become some man's prize? Isn't that the real reason I'm being dragged to London?"

She was bloody furious again. Her changes of mood occurred so swiftly that he was amazed. And pleased. He much preferred an angry woman to a weeping one.

"I hadn't planned to drag you all the way to London, but the idea has merit."

The amusement in his voice made her want to scream. "You do try my patience," she muttered.

"And you mine," he announced when she pushed his outstretched hand away a second time."

"If I'm going to London, then I shall walk there. I won't-"

She never got to finish her threat, because he took matters into his hands. Literally. Before she realized his intention, he leaned to one side of the saddle, grabbed her around the middle, and lifted her up onto his lap. It happened so quickly she didn't even have time to gasp. Her bottom landed on his hard thighs. Her back was slammed up against his chest, and his arm became an anchor around her waist.

Ulric was tucked under one of his arms. The baby's lusty laugh indicated he was thoroughly enjoying being jostled about.

Nicholaa hated being so close to her captor. His size overwhelmed her. The heat and the strength radiating from him made her feel horribly vulnerable.

She fought this fresh spurt of fear, but she knew she was losing the battle when she started trembling again. It was actually her captor who made her terror subside. He handed Ulric to her and then took time-and care, she couldn't help but notice-to adjust his cloak around her shoulders. He tucked the heavy garment around her legs and even offered her his warmth when by pulling her back against his chest. He was being extremely gentle with her, as gentle as he'd been with little Ulric.

He smelled nice, too. She let out a little sigh. He wasn't a monster after all. God's truth, that admission took the wind right out of her. The fear, too. She realized she couldn't dislike him as much as she wanted to, and then she found her first smile. Heaven help her, she'd never been good at holding a grudge or disliking anyone as thoroughly as she was supposed to dislike him.

She mulled that truth over for a minute or two and came up with an alternative. She couldn't hate him, for that would be a sin. She could, however, make his life a living hell during the short time they spent together. Odd, but that plan cheered her considerably. The possibilities, after all, were endless.

The Norman barbarian deserved every inconvenience she could give him. He was the one who insisted on taking her to London, and any misery she could give him would be his just reward.

Nicholaa turned her attention to the baby. She cuddled him against her bosom, kissed the top of his head. Ulric let out a happy gurgle. Absentmindedly she brushed his hair down. The strands of blond fluff sprang right back up.

Royce watched her. "Why does his hair do that?" he asked.

He'd whispered that question close to her ear. She kept her gaze directed on the baby. "Do what?"

"Stand up on end," he said. "He looks as if he'd just suffered a fright."

She couldn't help but smile. Ulric did look silly. And adorable. She didn't let the Norman see her amusement, though. "He's perfect," she announced.

He didn't agree or disagree.

"You don't plan to take Ulric to London with us, do you, Baron? The journey would be too difficult for him."

He ignored her question and nudged his stallion forward. They stopped when they reached the iron gates. He dismounted in one fluid motion. "You will wait here," he ordered. He put his hand on her thigh. "Do you understand me?"

His grip stung. She put her hand on top of his to push him away. She wasn't going to obey any order he gave her. Then he captured her fingers and started squeezing. "I understand. I'll stay here," she lied, hoping that the lie didn't qualify as a sin, since the Norman was her enemy and God was still on her side. God would help her get away, she reasoned. As soon as the Norman went inside the abbey, she and Ulric would take to the north road.

And then what? The baron's men would surely notice she was leaving.

She completely discarded the plan when Royce took Ulric into his arms.

"Give him back to me," she demanded.

He shook his head.

"What are you thinking to do?" she asked.

"I told you to stay there," he commanded when she started to dismount.

His voice hadn't risen above a whisper, but the sternness in his tone got her full attention. "Give me my son and I'll do whatever you ask."

He pretended he hadn't heard her. Nicholaa waited until he went inside the abbey. She was left to fret a good ten minutes before he came outside again.

The baby wasn't with him. Royce carried her baggage, though, and once he'd secured it to the back of the saddle, he remounted behind her.

"Will the abbess see that Ulric is taken back home?"

"No."

She waited for him to explain in full, but after he'd settled her on his lap and covered her with his cloak, the rude man still didn't say another word.

"Who will take care of Ulric?"

The worry in her voice softened his attitude. "Ulric's going to stay at the abbey until your future has been decided."

"How did you get the abbess to agree to tend Ulric?"

"I offered her a bargain she couldn't resist," Royce replied.

She could hear the amusement in his voice. She tried to turn so she could see his expression, but he forced her to stay where she was. "What was this bargain?"

They started back down the hill before he answered her. "In return for the favor of looking after Ulric, I promised to see that Justin is taken care of," he said.

She was astonished. "How could you make such a bargain? Justin's dying, or have you forgotten?"

His sigh was long. "He isn't dying," he said. "Somewhere in that mind of yours I think you know I'm speaking the truth. Justin might not want to live, but he's going to, Nicholaa."

When she started to answer him, he put his hand over her mouth. "In the past two months there have been many changes in your country. England is ours now, and William is as much your king as mine."

Nicholaa was completely disheartened. He spoke the truth, and she wasn't naive enough to pretend otherwise. She'd heard about some of the changes, too. Even though the abbey was isolated, the nuns kept abreast of the latest happenings. Nicholaa was well aware that the Saxon defense had crumbled on the fields of Hastings.

"You still had no right to make such a promise to the abbess. Justin's my brother. I'll take care of him," she said.

He shook his head.

She wanted to hit him. "If you had an ounce of compassion inside you, you'd let me stay by my brother's side during this unsettling time and give him the comfort he needs."

"The last thing your brother needs is comfort."

He sounded so sure of himself. Odd, but his attitude made her feel a glimmer of hope, a possibility that he might hold the answer to Justin's future. She'd been so terrified for her brother. What was going to become of him? How could he ever learn to make it on his own in this cold world?

"What is it you think he needs?" she asked.

"Someone to teach him how to survive. Compassion won't keep him alive. Proper training will."

"You haven't forgotten Justin has only one hand?"

There was a smile in his voice when he answered her. "I haven't forgotten."

"Yet you believe you could train him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's what I do, Nicholaa," he patiently explained. "I'm a trainer of men."

She was stunned by the commitment he'd just made to Justin. She was terrified, too. Could she really trust this man? "What happens to this promise of yours when you return to Normandy?"

"If I return to Normandy, Justin will go with me."

"No," she cried out. "I won't let you take my brother away from me."

He heard the panic in her voice. He gave her a squeeze to calm her. He understood her distress, of course. She'd already lost one brother to the war, if he'd heard correctly, and it was apparent to Royce that she felt complete responsibility for Justin's welfare. She carried a heavy burden on her shoulders, too heavy, he thought, for someone of her young age.

"Justin would return to England as soon as his training is completed. There is also a chance that I'll stay here, Nicholaa."

God, she hoped he would stay in England. For Justin's sake only, she qualified. Nicholaa felt such relief. The baron would keep his word. She didn't have a single doubt about that now.

"I still don't understand how you could take on the responsibility for a Saxon soldier, Baron, when you-"

His hand covered her mouth again. "We are finished with this discussion," he announced. "I've been extremely patient with you, Nicholaa. I've allowed you to express your concerns, and I've explained my position. We've wasted enough time."

She didn't agree with that rude dictate. He had his way, though. He goaded his mount into motion again, making conversation impossible.

He set a hard pace. There was one amusing moment, though, when he paused at the foot of the hill to collect his shield. The soldier holding it obviously thought to impress his baron by tossing it to him. The weight proved to be too heavy for the soldier, though, and the kite-shaped shield ended up on the ground between the two mounts.

Nicholaa almost laughed out loud until she saw the horrified expression on the young soldier's face. She couldn't add to his humiliation by openly laughing at him. She bit her lower lip, turned her gaze to her lap, and simply waited to see what Royce would do.

He never said a word. She heard his sigh, though, and almost lost her composure then and there. He must have guessed she was amused. He squeezed her around the waist, a silent message, she supposed, for her to remain silent.

The poor soldier finally regained his wits and went to fetch the shield. His face was bright red when he picked it up.

And still Royce didn't chasten him. He accepted his shield and then took over the lead. Just as soon as they were out of earshot of the embarrassed soldier, Nicholaa gave in to her urge and started laughing.

She thought he might laugh, too. It had been amusing, after all. He didn't laugh, though, and when he pulled the top of his cloak down over her head, she came to the conclusion that he took exception to her own laughter.

There wasn't much to laugh about during the rest of the long day. They made camp when it became too dark to continue. Nicholaa was beginning to think Royce was actually a tolerable man to be around. He made certain she was warm, well fed, and even fashioned a tent for her near one of the fires.

Then he ruined her good opinion of him by reminding her why he was taking her to London. He spoke of an immediate marriage and kept referring to her as the king's prize.

She began making her escape plans then. She pretended to be very docile, exhausted, too, and waited for her opportunity.

Royce gave her his cloak again as an added blanket to cover herself. She thanked him for that consideration.

He laughed.

Nicholaa was about to go inside the tent when she suddenly stopped and turned around. "Royce?"

He was surprised she'd used his name. "What is it?"

"No matter what happens to me, you cannot break your promise to the abbess. You have to take care of Justin, isn't that right?"

"Yes," he answered. "The promise can't be broken."

She was satisfied. She pretended to fall asleep a few minutes later. Her plan was set in her mind. She would sneak away from the camp just as soon as the soldiers had all settled down for the night. She knew the area well. The forest was part of Baron Norland's holding to the south of her own estate. It was a fair walk back to the abbey, though. Nicholaa thought it might take her an entire day to get there. She'd have to keep to the trees, she thought with a yawn, and avoid the broken north road as much as possible.

The warmth from the fire and her own real fatigue overtook her good intentions then, and she fell asleep.

Royce waited until he was certain she really was fast asleep, then sat down on the ground directly across from her. He leaned back against a fat tree and closed his eyes. He didn't think she'd try to run away until the camp had quieted down for the night. That would give him an hour or two to gain a little rest… and peace.

Nicholaa came awake with a start in the middle of the night. She spotted Royce immediately. She stared at him for a long while, until she was absolutely certain he was sleeping.

He looked very peaceful-content, too. He'd placed his helmet on the ground beside him. His left arm rested on the headgear, his hand only inches away from the sword strapped to his side.

He was a handsome one all right. His hair was dark and much longer than was customary, even for barbaric Normans. It was a rich, dark brown, given to curl, too.

Nicholaa shivered with disgust. How could she be thinking what a fit man he was when he was determined to ruin her life? He considered her a mere possession, a trinket to be given to a knight.

The injustice of it got her moving. She found her shoes buried under the blankets. Her toes stung when she slipped the shoes on. The wind was bitter cold tonight. The long walk back to the abbey was a dreaded ordeal ahead of her. She almost let out a loud sigh just thinking about it.

Nicholaa wrapped herself in Royce's cloak and silently made her way to the woods beyond the small clearing. None of the soldiers paid her much attention, though one of the three men standing near the second fire did glance her way. When he didn't call out to her, Nicholaa assumed he thought she needed a few minutes of privacy.

As soon as she turned her back, Royce motioned to the soldiers to stay where they were. He waited only a minute or two, then stood, stretched the cramps out of his legs, and went after her.

He had expected her to make this move, and she hadn't disappointed him. The woman was courageous to brave such harsh conditions just to get away from him. Foolish, he thought to himself, but courageous all the same.

Nicholaa started running as soon as she'd edged her way through the denser foliage. In the light from the half-moon she wasn't able to see every little obstacle in her path. It was treacherous going. She was as careful as she could be, until she thought she heard someone behind her. She kept on running, but turned to see if one of the soldiers was chasing her.

She tripped over a rotting log and went flying head first down a deep ravine. She had enough of her wits left to shield her head and turn to one side before she hit the ground.

She landed with a thud. And a curse. She lost one of her shoes in the fall and Royce's heavy cloak, too, and when she finally sat up, she was a sorry sight to behold. There were more leaves than curls in her hair, and she was covered with dirt.

Royce stood in the shadows and waited. The daft woman could have broken her neck. Yet the loud, unladylike muttering he heard told him she was all right, just furious. She was cursing loud enough to wake the nuns back at the abbey.

She'd never make a proper chess mate. She didn't know how to calculate her moves. She wouldn't make a true enemy, either. He'd already concluded that she didn't have it in her nature to hate… or to retaliate. She didn't even know how to hold a grudge. Royce smiled, remembering how she'd questioned him about keeping his promise to look after Justin, no matter what happened to her. He'd known then she'd try to escape. Her thoughts were so easy to read, her every expression so refreshingly honest and transparent.

A tightness settled inside his chest. Nicholaa was like a fragile flower, so delicate, so incredibly soft, so beautiful.

His delicate little flower was muttering the most searing curses he'd ever heard. None of the phrases made any sense.

Her burst of temper was short-lived, though. She was ashamed of herself for using such coarse words. She made a quick sign of the cross to placate her Maker, and then stood up. As soon as she put her weight on her left foot, hot pain shot up her calf.

Nicholaa let out a loud cry and fell to the ground. She sat there a long minute debating what to do.

When Royce heard her whimper, he started toward her.

Nicholaa finally admitted defeat. She shouted for help.

He was standing by her side before she'd finished her plea. She was in too much pain to notice it hadn't taken him any time at all to reach her.

He had her shoe in his hand. He dropped it into her lap, then dropped down on one knee beside her.

She thought he looked exasperated. "If you say 'Check' to me now, I'll scream."

"You already did scream," he replied, his tone gratingly cheerful. "And it's 'checkmate,' Nicholaa. The game's over."

She wasn't in the mood to argue with him. She turned her gaze to her lap. "I fell," she announced, stating the obvious. "I believe I've broken my ankle."

She sounded pitiful. She looked sorry, too. Her hair hung over her face in total disarray, her gown was torn around the shoulders, and she was covered with dead leaves.

Royce didn't say a word, just leaned forward to examine the damage. She cried out in pain before he'd even touched her.

"Nicholaa, it's common to wait until you've felt the pain before you complain," he explained.

"I was preparing," she snapped.

He hid his smile. He was already certain the ankle wasn't broken. There wasn't a hint of swelling around the bone. She could move her toes without crying out, too, another sure indication to him that she'd merely bruised herself.

"It isn't broken."

She didn't believe him. She leaned forward, instinctively placing her hand on his arm for balance, to see for herself that her ankle was all right. Her face was just inches away from his. She stared at her foot while he stared at her.

"It looks broken," she whispered.

"It isn't."

"Must you sound so cheerful? I would have your sympathy over this unfortunate tragic mishap," she said.

"This'tragic mishap' wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been trying to-"

She interrupted him. "I was trying to gain a few minutes privacy to take care of a rather personal matter."

She looked right at him when she told that lie. It was a mistake, for only then did she discover how very close to him she was.

Their gazes held for the longest while. Neither said a word. Nicholaa couldn't seem to catch her breath.

Royce couldn't either. He didn't know what to make of his reaction to her. The urge to touch her was overwhelming. He couldn't stop himself from gently brushing her hair back away from her face. His fingers gently touched her cheek.

Nicholaa was comforted by the caress. The feeling didn't last long, though, for he was suddenly scowling at her. Her eyes widened. His hand gripped her chin, and he forced her head to one side, towards the moonlight. Then he pushed her hair farther away from her eye with his other hand.

"How did you get this bruise?" he demanded. His voice was rough, angry.

She shrugged.

He squeezed her chin. "Answer me. This couldn't have just happened, Nicholaa. The mark is too dark."

His frown intensified. "But it wasn't there this afternoon. I would have noticed."

"It was too there this afternoon," she told him. "It just wasn't as noticeable. Why are you so angry? It's my bruise, not yours."

He ignored that remark. "How did it happen?"

"It's not your concern."

She pushed his hand away and pulled back. The stubborn man followed her. He nudged her chin back up with the crook of his fingers.

"I'm weary of your stubbornness, woman."

"As weary as I am of your constant orders?"

She thought that was a rather cunning reply. She was giving back as much as she was getting, she thought. Besides, the Norman needed to know he wasn't dealing with a timid, frightened adversary. He wasn't going to intimidate her. He'd better not turn his back on her, either, for if she had a dagger, she'd plunge the blade deep between his shoulder blades.

God save her, she was lying to herself now. She couldn't kill him. And in the corner of her mind, she thought he might know that.

She let out a frustrated sigh. She noticed a lock of hair had fallen forward to rest on his forehead. Before she could think about what she was doing, she reached up and brushed the hair back where it belonged.

He acted as though she'd just smacked him. He jerked back, looking incredulous. She was so embarrassed by his reaction that she turned her gaze away.

It took him a moment to recover from her bold action. His voice was gruff when he said, "Every mark on your body is my concern, Nicholaa. I'm responsible for you. Now tell me how you came by this injury."

"You'll get surly if I do."

"How do you know that?"

"I've been watching you," she answered. "It's important for one enemy to know how the other's mind works, Baron. I've been studying you closely and am now convinced you have a surly nature."

He smiled at the authority in her voice. "And what else have you noticed?"

"You don't like me."

She waited for a contradiction. When none came, she continued. "You think I'm a nuisance."

"Yes, I do."

She took exception to that bit of honesty. "If it wasn't a mortal sin to hate, I could become very good at hating you."

"No, you couldn't," he answered, smiling gently. The look in his eyes made her stomach quiver. "I may have an unpleasant nature, Nicholaa, but you have a very gentle one. You don't know how to hate."

She was too weary to trade insults with him. "I'm going to freeze if I don't return to the fire," she announced. "Are you waiting for me to beg for your assistance?"

He shook his head. "I'm waiting to hear how you came by this bruise," he informed her.

Lord, he was stubborn. She could tell from the look on his face that he was determined to get his way. "Justin struck me."

She should have softened the truth a little. Royce looked bloody furious. She didn't want him to think ill of Justin. "You cannot blame my brother."

"The hell I can't."

He started to stand. She grabbed his arm. "I can explain," she said.

"Nicholaa, you can't justify what-"

She put her hand over his mouth. "Justin was sound asleep, Royce. I was leaning over him to pull the covers up, and he turned. His fist caught me below the eye when he rolled to his side. Justin had no idea he struck me."

He didn't look convinced.

"I'm telling you the truth," she muttered. "Saxon sisters and brothers don't strike one another. Is it because the Norman families fight like devils that you find my truth difficult to believe?"

He wasn't going to let her bait him. He picked up his cloak, wrapped it around her, and lifted her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he headed for the camp.

She whispered thank you against his neck.

What the hell was he going to do with her? he wondered.

She was easing herself right into his heart and he didn't have any weapons to stop her. Damn it, his life was set in a pattern, and he was too old to change. Besides, he liked the order, the discipline, of his daily routine. He was very content.

Wasn't he?

Royce tried to put the contrary woman out of his thoughts. It was difficult, though, because she was so wonderfully soft and cuddly in his arms.

She was still a nuisance. She gave him hell all the way back to camp. She was back in the mood to argue with him. He was in the mood to gag her just to gain a few minutes' peace.

When they finally reached the campsite, he carried her back to his spot by the tree. He sat down in one fluid motion that didn't even jar her, adjusted her on his lap, shoved her head down against his shoulders, and then closed his eyes.

His cloak covered her from head to foot, and his arms held her close. The heat from his body kept her nice and warm.

"Royce?"

"What now?"

"I shouldn't sleep like this," she whispered. "I'm a married woman, after all, and I-"

"Your husband's dead."

She was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. "You can't possibly know if my beloved husband is dead or alive."

"He's dead."

Was he amused? She thought he might be, but when she tried to look at his face, he rudely shoved her head back on his shoulder again. "Oh, all right," she muttered. "He's dead. I'm still mourning him, though."

"You wear blue to mourn him?"

She hadn't thought of that. The man was a quick thinker, she realized. But then, so was she. "I'm mourning him in my heart," she muttered.

"How long has he been dead?"

He was gently rubbing her shoulders. The soothing touch felt too good to protest. She let out a loud, unladylike yawn before answering. "Two years."

"You're certain?"

He was laughing at her all right. She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Yes, I'm certain," she snapped. " 'Tis the reason I'm not wearing black any longer. It's been two years."

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."