The Prize

Chapter Five

They were married a scant half hour later.

Both the bride and the groom acted like the guests of honor at a human sacrifice. Theirs.

Nicholaa refused to look up at Royce. She knew he had to be furious.

He kept his gaze directed at the top of her head throughout the brief ceremony. He thought she'd lost her mind.

The queen was the only one who looked thoroughly pleased. She kept dabbing at the corners of her eyes while the bishop recited the ritual. It was an unusual display of emotion, for Matilda wasn't one to let her feelings be known to anyone but her husband.

After the promises were given, Royce bent down to kiss his bride. Nicholaa didn't have time to get ready. His mouth was there and gone before she could even react.

The married couples and their children had been allowed back inside the hall to watch the ceremony. They surged forward now to offer their congratulations. Men nodded to Nicholaa while their wives, unable to grasp her hands because of the bandages, gently patted her shoulder and offered her their best wishes for a happy future.

The crowd suddenly moved back again, as though an unspoken command had been given and everyone but Nicholaa had heard it. She glanced up to judge Royce's reaction to this oddity. He ignored her and kept his gaze directed on the crowd. She peeked around her husband to look at the vassal standing next to him. She remembered that his name was Lawrence. He was Royce's second-in-command and had been the first knight to greet them when they'd arrived in London.

Lawrence noticed she was staring at him. He winked at her. She blushed, then smiled back. She would have spoken to him if Royce hadn't taken hold of her arm and pulled her back.

Her attention turned to the crowd again. One of Royce's vassals came forward. Nicholaa was astonished when he knelt in front of her, placed his hand over his heart, and vowed his loyalty. To her.

And then another and another came forward to kneel in front of her. After each man had given his pledge, Royce nodded.

She felt humbled and confused by their promises. Had they forgotten she was Saxon? They must have, she decided, or they wouldn't have vowed to give up their lives just to keep her safe.

Royce never looked at Nicholaa while his vassals took turns coming forward. He knew she was nervous, though. She kept edging closer and closer to him until she'd squeezed herself up tight against his side.

The king watched from the platform. When the last of Royce's vassals had given his pledge, William came lumbering down the steps.

The king whacked Royce on the shoulder, then reached out and hauled Nicholaa into his arms. He gave her a fierce embrace before nudging her back to Royce. She was just getting over that surprise when the king patted her shoulder. The affectionate gesture nearly felled her.

Royce caught her. He pulled her back into his side, put his arm around her shoulders, and anchored her.

"I'm very pleased with this marriage," the king announced. "You've chosen well, Lady Nicholaa." He paused to give a dramatic eyebrow-lifting nod. "My dear wife was correct, as always. She told me you'd choose my most favored baron. Aye, sweet Matilda made just that prediction."

Nicholaa couldn't stop herself from smiling. It was amusing to see such a fierce giant of a man acting so love-struck by his tiny wife. Heartwarming, too. It was apparent they were very much in love. In these advanced times, when the heart's preference was placed on the bottom of everyone's list of priorities in choosing a mate, it seemed a true miracle that William actually loved Matilda and that she returned those tender feelings.

It made Nicholaa like the couple all the more. The bond of respect and trust between husband and wife reminded Nicholaa of her own parents.

Heavens, what was the matter with her? She wasn't supposed to like the king and his wife. It was disloyal, wasn't it?

But disloyal to whom? The Saxon king had been dead nearly three months now. The Normans were firmly entrenched, and there didn't seem to be any faction strong enough to challenge them. It was such a confusion to her. She needed time to sort it all out.

A voice from the crowd caught her attention. "Perhaps Lady Nicholaa made that choice because Royce was the only knight she knew. Had you sent me to fetch her, she surely would have chosen me."

It was the man who'd tried to block her path when she walked through the crowd to Royce. Nicholaa watched him walk forward as he made that outrageous boast, his stride every bit as arrogant as his remark. He was smiling, but Nicholaa didn't think it was a sincere smile. His eyes looked as cold as frost.

She didn't like him.

Two vassals had moved to flank the boastful knight. Nicholaa didn't look up at their faces until she was formally introduced.

"Nicholaa," Royce said, "may I present Baron Guy and his vassals, Morgan and Henry."

Baron Guy made a low bow; his vassals rudely stood tall. Nicholaa inclined her head to Guy, then turned to look at his vassals.

She wished she hadn't bothered. The anger she saw on their faces almost took her breath away. Their disapproval bordered on hatred.

Instantly she knew they both had black hearts, and just as quickly she realized the absurdity of such a fast judgment. She didn't even know them. She still edged a little closer to Royce's side, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from shivering.

They were only men, she told herself. Ugly men at that. The one called Morgan had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He was identical in size to the one named Henry, though Henry's hair was much lighter and his eyes were brown. The ugliness was a result of their scowls, Nicholaa decided, and their thoughts.

Did they hate her because she was Saxon or because she hadn't chosen their liege lord? Nicholaa decided it didn't matter. They were damned rude, and if that wasn't offensive, she didn't know what was.

King William whacked Royce's shoulder again. "What say you to Baron Guy's boast? Do you think Nicholaa would have chosen him over you if he'd been the one to escort her to London?"

Royce shrugged. Nicholaa wanted to nudge him in his ribs. Did he have to act so bored? She stepped on his foot instead.

"Perhaps," Royce allowed.

"My friend has such good fortune," Guy interjected. His gaze returned to Nicholaa. "And now you, dear lady, will forever be denied the joy of having me for your mate." He paused to sigh. " 'Tis a pity."

Morgan and Henry snickered in unison.

Why was Guy mocking her and Royce? Nicholaa was certain that's exactly what he was doing, but she didn't understand his reason. She looked up to judge Royce's reaction. Her husband's expression didn't tell her anything, though.

"Do you wish us well, Guy?" Royce asked in a voice as mild as a summer breeze.

Guy took a long time answering. The atmosphere turned brittle with tension. What in God's name was going on? It was as though a game was in play and Nicholaa was the only one who wasn't taking part. Her stomach turned queasy, and she suddenly felt threatened.

Then Royce tightened his hold on her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. Her fear vanished. She didn't know what to make of that reaction, either.

The Normans were making her daft.

Guy still hadn't answered Royce's question. Several vassals moved forward, obviously intent on listening to the conversation. Lawrence took a step forward.

She certainly liked this vassal. Lawrence wasn't hiding his feelings or trying to play this strange game. His scowl was as fierce as a bear's bite. He was properly furious on his baron's behalf. At least he understood the insults Guy was tossing around, even if Royce didn't.

"Of course I wish you well," Guy finally answered. "I'm just surprised," he added with a shrug.

"Why?" Lawrence asked. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for an answer. "Yes, why?" Nicholaa asked. Morgan and Henry both moved forward. Nicholaa thought the two vassals were trying to show their loyalty to their baron and intimidate Lawrence at the same time.

Still Royce showed no outward reaction to the tension surrounding him.

"I was surprised you chose Royce because of his appearance," Guy explained. " 'Tis a fact that his scar offends most women."

Morgan immediately nodded agreement. Henry was the least subtle of the lot. He grinned.

Nicholaa shrugged Royce's arm away from her shoulder and took a step forward. "Are you referring to the handsome mark of valor upon his cheek, Baron?"

Her voice shook his anger. Guy couldn't hide his surprise. The Saxon wench was a spirited woman. That added to her appeal, as did her eyes, which had turned a deep violet. Guy found her quite arousing. Damn but he wanted her.

"Mark of valor?" he repeated. "What an unusual way of looking at the imperfection."

"Boys have perfection," Nicholaa answered. "I chose a man."

That barb hit deep. Guy's face turned pink with embarrassment. Nicholaa would have let the matter drop then and there if the baron hadn't enraged her with his next remark: "Everyone knows you would have been happier with me."

That did it. His superior attitude might not have offended Royce, but it damn well offended her.

Matilda chose that moment to interfere. "Nicholaa," she began, "you have no way of knowing what this is all about, and so I shall explain Guy's peculiar behavior. He's a very competitive man, my dear. He doesn't take defeat lightly. Yet each time he faces Royce in games of strength, Guy comes in second best."

Matilda's voice held a note of censure. Guy bowed his head and tried to look amused instead of furious.

Nicholaa now had her weapon. She knew she'd probably burn in purgatory an extra day or two for the sin she was about to commit, but she couldn't be bothered with that worry now.

"It was kind of you to explain," she said. ''But I already knew Royce is considered the best warrior in your army."

"How would you have come by that knowledge?" Matilda asked.

"Oh, I'd heard about Royce a long time ago," Nicholaa lied. "My brother's soldiers would whisper about him. He'd become a legend. His feats were recounted over and over again. Royce was their most feared adversary."

Nicholaa turned and gave Guy a sympathetic smile. "Odd, but I never heard your name whispered, Baron."

King William laughed. "There you are, Guy," he announced. "You have your answer. She would have chosen Royce even if you'd gone to fetch her."

Nicholaa nodded. She smiled at Morgan, then at Henry. "Aye," she agreed. "I wanted the best."

It took a supreme act of concentration for Guy to smile back. "I've been properly answered."

Someone shouted for a toast to the groom, and the tension was broken. Guy walked across the hall with Henry by his side. Morgan lingered.

The angry vassal was intent on whispering a threat or two, but Royce wouldn't let him. He nudged Morgan forward and away from Nicholaa, then motioned for Lawrence to stand by her side.

Her husband hadn't even looked at her before he was dragged away by his friends. Nicholaa didn't know if he was pleased by her defense or angry.

Matilda couldn't have been more pleased, however. "Baron Guy is sinfully jealous of Royce, but he's also loyal to his king. I try not to forget that." She turned to smile at Lawrence. "It's a sound match," she told the vassal. "Nicholaa's already loyal to Royce. In time I believe she'll give him her heart."

Nicholaa didn't delude herself. Royce wasn't the type of man who would accept her love-assuming she was in the mood to give it, she qualified. She let out a sigh then, realizing how addled her thoughts had become.

"Did you love William when first you met?" she asked.

Matilda laughed. "No, dear, he courted me for seven years. I finally agreed to marry him, and from that moment on, he had my love. I pray it won't take Royce that long to win yours."

Nicholaa wondered what had changed Matilda's mind after such a long time, but didn't feel she could prod her to explain. Besides, she had another question on her mind. "I was wondering," she began, "how you knew I would choose Royce. I did hear your husband say you knew I would, and I don't understand-"

"It was a simple conclusion," Matilda answered. "When I asked you to tell me how you felt about Royce's appearance it was what you didn't mention that gave me my answer. I'd already guessed it would be a fitting match," she added, patting her hair. "It's what you didn't see."

Nicholaa had no idea what the woman was talking about. "What didn't I see?"

"The scar."

Well, of course she saw the scar when she looked at Royce. It covered half his cheek after all. And just what did that have to do with anything?

Matilda turned to Lawrence. "Your new mistress told me she believes Royce to be a vain man."

Lawrence laughed. Nicholaa could feel herself turning pink with embarrassment.

Matilda patted her arm. "Come along now," she ordered. "You must return to your chamber to await your husband. We aren't allowed to join in tonight's celebration. Tomorrow night you'll have your festive dinner, Nicholaa, but tonight belongs to the men. It's for the better," she added with a nod. "You look exhausted from all the chaos. It was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?" she continued. "Don't dally, Nicholaa. I shall walk with you part of the distance. Lawrence? You may have the honor of escorting us."

The vassal bowed low. He couldn't seem to quit smiling. He'd overheard Matilda's remarks about Royce's scar and had seen Nicholaa's confused reaction. He couldn't have been more pleased. Nicholaa was a fitting choice for his baron.

Matilda took Nicholaa's elbow and walked toward the doors. Her guards fell into step behind Lawrence.

Nicholaa was exhausted. The evening had been overwhelming. It had drained her strength, she decided. Everyone was being so kind to her, everyone except Baron Guy's mean-hearted vassals, but those two didn't signify.

Was it really possible for the Normans and the Saxons to live together in harmony?

The king's wife waved farewell when she turned down the south corridor. Her attendants rushed to catch up with her. Lawrence walked by Nicholaa's side down the north hallway.

"Will you accompany Baron Royce to my home when we leave here?" she asked.

"I would imagine so," Lawrence answered.

She looked up and caught his smile. "You're pleased to be staying in England?"

He shrugged.

"Then why are you smiling?" she asked.

He debated a minute before giving her his answer. "I was remembering the look on Royce's face when you walked up to him. I don't believe my lord expected you to choose him."

She lowered her gaze. "Do you think I've ruined his life?" she whispered.

"I think you've enhanced it," he returned. "Lady Nicholaa, I wouldn't be smiling if I believed otherwise."

It was a lovely compliment he'd just given her. Nicholaa didn't know how to respond. She looked up at him and suddenly burst into laughter. "He was surprised, wasn't he?"

"Aye, he was," Lawrence agreed.

Two soldiers stood guard in front of her door. Lawrence bowed to his new mistress, opened the door for her, and then turned to leave.

"Lawrence?"

He immediately stopped.

"Thank you."

"For what, my lady?"

"For accepting me." She shut the door before he could respond.

Lawrence whistled on his way back to the great hall. The irritation of having to put up with Baron Guy's foolishness was gone now. His new mistress's smile had brightened his mood considerably. Yes, he thought to himself, she would enhance his baron's life. She would bring light into his dreary, disciplined existence. It wouldn't be long, Lawrence wagered, before she had Royce smiling. That would take magic, the vassal knew, but Nicholaa was up to the challenge.

Nicholaa was too exhausted to think about anything other than going to bed. Mary was waiting to assist her. She kept up a steady stream of chatter while she helped Nicholaa undress. After her mistress had bathed and changed into a long white nightgown, Mary brushed her hair.

"You're the talk of the palace," Mary announced. 'Such bravery, they're all whispering, the way you saved the king's niece. Here now, milady, drink this down," she pleaded after she'd tucked Nicholaa under the covers. "Baron Samuel sent this draft to ease your pain."

Mary didn't let up her nagging until Nicholaa had swallowed the last drop.

Nicholaa fell into a deep sleep minutes later. Mary went over to the stool by the hearth to watch over her mistress until Baron Royce dismissed her for the night.

A full hour passed before Royce was able to leave the hall. When he entered his chamber, the servant jumped to attention.

"You wife is having a very fitful sleep, milord," Mary whispered. "She cries out in fear. I tried to wake her from her nightmare but the draft she took makes that impossible."

Royce nodded. He surprised the servant by thanking her for her assistance; then he dismissed her.

He barred the door against intruders and walked to the side of the bed. Nicholaa was frowning in her sleep. He gently brushed his hand across her brow. "You've had one hell of a week, haven't you, Nicholaa?"

She muttered something in her sleep, then rolled onto her side. The weight of her body on her burned hand made her cry out in pain.

He gently turned her onto her back again, then stood there for a long while staring down at her. Dear God, she really belonged to him now. He shook his head. What was he supposed to do with her?

A slow grin settled on his face. Protect her, and her family as well. That had become his primary duty. It didn't matter who had made the choice; the deed was done. It didn't matter, either, that he was set in his ways and that he liked order and discipline in his life. Everything was going to change now. She'd give him fits before she calmed down and learned to accept her new station in life. Odd, but he found he was looking forward to the challenge of taming Nicholaa. If he was patient and understanding with her, he didn't think it would take him long to win her loyalty. The way she'd stood up to Guy had shown him she was capable of being loyal to others outside her family.

He doubted Nicholaa would ever love him. That didn't matter, of course, as love had little meaning to him. He was a warrior, and warriors neither wanted nor needed love. He was out to conquer Nicholaa's mind, not her heart. He would use a firm though gentle hand while he trained her to be his wife.

It was a sound, logical plan. Royce put the matter aside and prepared for bed.

It felt strange to sleep next to a woman. He had bedded a fair number of wenches, of course, but he'd never slept the night through with any of them.

She wasn't making it an easy adjustment either. When she wasn't muttering incoherent phrases, she was tossing and turning like an errant wave. Each time she moved, she bumped one of her injured hands and cried out in pain.

Royce tried to help her get comfortable. It was a damn difficult task. She wouldn't stay still long enough for him to anchor her.

Just when he was finally drifting off to sleep, she bolted up in the bed. "I want to sleep on my stomach," she muttered.

Royce didn't think she even knew where she was; she hadn't even opened her eyes when she blurted out that demand. When she kicked the covers aside and tried to get out of the bed, he grabbed her.

She went limp in his arms. He was about to haul her up against his side, but she suddenly turned around. She ended up sprawled on top of him.

Nicholaa finally found a comfortable position. She let out a little sigh of pleasure and stopped squirming.

The top of her head was tucked under his chin. Her soft breasts were pressed against his bare chest. Her pelvis was right on top of his, and her legs were draped over one of his thighs.

He adjusted her position until her legs were between his own, then wrapped his arms around her waist.

She was all soft and feminine. She smelled as good as she felt, too. They were a nice fit, he thought to himself. That thought led to another and another, of course, and it wasn't long before Royce was damned uncomfortable.

He tried to go to sleep, but her warm body kept getting in his thoughts. All he wanted to think about was making love to her.

She squirmed.

He groaned.

It was a wedding night he would never forget.