The Prize

Chapter Six

It was midafternoon before Nicholaa awakened. She spent an hour stumbling around the room, trying to clear her mind of the effects of the powerful sleeping drug.

Lord, she'd slept like the dead. Odd, but she didn't feel the least bit refreshed after her long rest, either.

Mary found her mistress sitting on the side of the bed when she entered the chamber a short time later. The servant carried a beautiful white bliaut and chainse. The sleeves of the bliaut were embroidered with gold threads, and the chainse had the same distinctive design sewn into the hem. The fabric looked delicate enough to shred with a good sneeze. It felt wonderfully soft against Nicholaa's cheek.

"Who sends this to me?" Nicholaa asked.

"The king's wife," Mary answered. "You've won her affection," she added with a nod. "She even sent along gold threads to weave through your hair. You're to sit with your husband at the king's table for tonight's celebration, milady."

Nicholaa didn't show any reaction to that announcement. She knew she probably should show some enthusiasm over the honor of dining with the king of England. She couldn't, though. She still felt a little dull-witted from the draft she'd taken. She was homesick, too, and all she wanted was to be left alone for a while.

She didn't get that wish. The next several hours were spent on practical matters. After she'd been bathed and dressed in the elegant garments, Nicholaa did feel better. Mary brushed her hair thoroughly, poking and tugging until Nicholaa was ready to scream. She wasn't used to being pampered, but she didn't want to hurt Mary's feelings, and so she put up with the nuisance. The servant couldn't seem to get the gold threads to stay in her mistress's curls, though. Nicholaa finally ordered her to stop trying.

Baron Samuel and his staff arrived then to see to Nicholaa's injuries. She couldn't persuade the healer to leave her hands unbandaged, though she was able to elicit from him a promise that the wrapping would stay on for only one more night.

She kept expecting Royce to pay her a visit. She hadn't seen him since the wedding, after all, and she thought it would be proper for him at least to look in on her. By the dinner hour, she was good and pricked by his rudeness. It was obvious to her that Royce was ignoring her.

Mary kept fawning over her. Nicholaa wasn't used to hearing how pretty she was, and the servant's compliments soon had her blushing with embarrassment. In desperation, she sent Mary to get her fresh water just so she could have a few minutes of peace and quiet. The servant left the door ajar. When Nicholaa saw that two soldiers stood guard in the hallway, she was irritated. Was she still a prisoner, then? She decided to find out. She walked over to the entrance, nudged the door wider with the toe of her shoe, and bowed to the men.

The soldiers were staring at her, clearly astonished. She wondered about their amazement even as she bade the men good day.

"You're a worthy bride for our lord," one blurted out.

The other nodded. "Aye, you are."

Nicholaa thanked the soldiers for their kind remarks, then asked, "Why do you guard my door?"

The taller soldier answered. "Baron Royce has ordered us to stay here, milady."

"For what purpose?"

"To protect you," the soldier answered. "You're our mistress now," he added with a dramatic bow.

"Then I'm allowed to leave without interference?"

Both soldiers nodded. "We would be honored to escort you to your destination," he explained.

Nicholaa felt better. She wasn't a prisoner, after all. "Would you please escort me to my husband's quarters?" she requested. "I have need to speak to him."

The two men shared a look before turning back to their mistress. "But you're already inside his chamber," the shorter one said.

Then where had Royce slept? Nicholaa wasn't about to ask that question. The answer might prove humiliating. She nodded to the soldiers and was about to nudge the door closed again when Lawrence came rushing down the hallway.

"Are you ready for your supper, Lady Nicholaa?"

"Where is my husband?" she asked.

"He's waiting for you in the great hall," Lawrence answered. "If you would allow me to escort you, my lady, I'll take you to him."

The man couldn't even be bothered to come and fetch his wife? Nicholaa hid her frown. She told herself she didn't care. It was all right with her if he wanted to sleep in someone else's bed. He could keep right on ignoring her, too.

No, she didn't care at all. Nicholaa kept telling herself that lie as she walked by Lawrence's side.

The great hall was filled to capacity. She found Royce right away. He was the tallest warrior in the room, which made her task easy. His back was turned to her, and he was surrounded by acquaintances.

A hush fell over the crowd when she and Lawrence walked inside. Everyone seemed to be staring in her direction. She couldn't imagine why. "Who is everyone staring at, Lawrence?" she asked.

"You."

He couldn't have been more blunt than that, she supposed. Her heartbeat quickened. "I thought they accepted me," she whispered.

Lawrence smiled. "They do accept you, my lady. This festive dinner is for you and Royce."

Nicholaa was too busy feeling awkward to be appeased by his explanation. She didn't like being the center of attention. She didn't like being ignored by her husband, either. She stared at Royce's back while she waited for him to come to her.

"I'll take you to Royce," Lawrence announced.

She shook her head. "Royce should come to me," she said.

One of the knights speaking to Royce finally noticed her. He stopped talking and nudged her husband.

Royce slowly turned around. His gaze found her immediately of course. She was the most beautiful woman in the hall. Would he ever get used to her? Each time he saw her, he became rattled by her appearance. Her hair shimmered like gold. He liked it the way she wore it today-unbound and swinging loose around her shoulders. He suddenly wanted to touch her.

He had to take a deep breath to gain control of his thoughts. He nodded and arrogantly motioned Lawrence and Nicholaa forward.

She rejected his order by shaking her head at him. Lawrence looked uncomfortable. Royce watched as his vassal leaned down and whispered something into Nicholaa's ear. She shook her head again.

What was her game now? Royce was having difficulty believing what he was seeing. His bride dared to disobey his command? It was unthinkable. He almost laughed, but caught himself in time. He motioned to her again.

His expression showed nothing of what he was thinking-until she beckoned to him. His eyes widened then, and damn, if he didn't find himself shaking his head at her.

Even from the distance separating them, Nicholaa could see a muscle jerk in his cheek. His jaw was clenched tight. He was angry all right. Although she worried over the look in his eyes, she refused to back down. By God, she was his wife and he would come to her.

Royce folded his arms across his chest and continued to stare at her. The message was clear. He wasn't going to budge.

There was only one alternative left: she would have to leave the hall. She wasn't very hungry anyway, she told herself. Besides, Royce would surely come chasing after her, and in the privacy of the corridor she could give him hell for being rude to her. She might take the opportunity to explain his new duties to him, too. First and foremost, she would tell him, a husband should always escort his wife to any important function.

Nicholaa put her plan into action. She thanked Lawrence for his escort, then smiled at Royce. She couldn't manage a curtsy with her bandaged hands, so she inclined her head. Then she turned and walked toward the doorway. "Nicholaa."

His voice made the rafters shake. Nicholaa came to a dead stop. She couldn't believe he'd bellowed her name in front of all the guests. She turned around to look at him, mortified. The entire gathering was once again staring at her, thanks to her inconsiderate husband.

She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The look in Royce's eyes told her he would continue to make a scene and not be embarrassed at all. She pictured him dragging her to the table by her hair, and that dark thought made her reevaluate her position. God only knew the man was rude enough to go to any length to get what he wanted.

She supposed she'd better let him have his way… this one time. She let out a sigh, slapped a serene expression on her face, and walked across the room. She kept her gaze directed on Royce. If that man dared to smile, she swore to her Maker she'd kick him. She stopped when she was just a foot away from him. "Did you wish something?"

He nodded. He looked complacent to her. She moved a little closer. "You aren't always going to get what you want," she whispered.

"Yes, I am."

She saw the sparkle in his eyes then. "You're an impossible man," she muttered.

"You mentioned that before."

He smiled. She didn't know what to make of that. She bowed her head. He forced her chin back up. Then he slowly leaned down and kissed her. His mouth only brushed her lips for a fleeting second, but it still left her flustered.

She was just regaining her wits after that surprise when he pulled her to his side, draped an arm around her shoulders, and turned back to his friends.

He treated her like a piece of baggage, she thought to herself, but at least he had given her a proper greeting. Lord, he confused her.

That feeling stayed with Nicholaa throughout the long dinner. The man all but ignored her while the meal was served. She was given compliment after compliment from both the men and the ladies, yet somehow their remarks didn't count. Royce hadn't said anything about her appearance, but she didn't care what he thought, she told herself, even as she tried to smooth her hair just so.

Because of the injury to her hands, someone would have to feed her, and that was a humiliation Nicholaa wasn't about to suffer. She turned to whisper just that thought to her husband, but was waylaid when he shoved a piece of meat into her mouth. She chewed instead.

There was such a commotion of laughing and talking going on inside the hall that Nicholaa didn't think anyone was paying her any attention. Matilda sat on her right, but she was in deep discussion with her husband. The topic, Nicholaa chanced to overhear, was their children.

And so she allowed Royce to assist her with her dinner. It helped that he was so nonchalant about the task. He could have ordered his squire to see to the chore, and she found herself thankful that he wasn't making an issue out of her affliction.

"Baron Samuel said he would take my bandages off tomorrow," she told Royce.

He nodded. Then he turned to speak to a baron she hadn't met. She nudged Royce with her foot. He didn't turn back to her.

Nicholaa sat there, feeling all alone and miserable, her burned hands resting in her lap. It didn't take her long to start feeling sorry for herself. Her hands were stinging, and the pain only added to her melancholy mood. She noticed several unattached women giving her husband coy looks. She edged closer to Royce and frowned at the shameless wenches.

She didn't like being ignored. Royce came to that conclusion when she kept squeezing herself closer to his side on the long bench. If she moved again, she'd be sitting on his lap.

He finally took mercy on her. "Are you enjoying yourself, Nicholaa?" he asked.

She lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. "Where did you sleep last night?"

Nicholaa turned away from Royce to glare at an ugly redheaded woman who was trying to get her husband's attention. "Well?"

"Look at me when you ask me a question," he commanded.

He patiently waited until she'd complied with that order, then said, "I slept with my wife."

"I'm your wife."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you are."

"You slept with me?"

"That's what I just said, woman."

"You needn't sound irritated. I don't remember last night, and I did wonder. So you slept with me."

She couldn't seem to get it straight in her mind. Royce held his patience. She was such a joy to watch when she was pricked about something. She was certainly pricked now. She was trying not to frown and failing miserably. He decided to goad her a little. "Actually, I slept under you. You were on top."

Her face turned flame red. Royce laughed. The loud booming sound drew several startled glances.

"You made me sleep on top of-"

"You wanted to."

"I was drugged."

"Yes."

Her shoulders straightened. "I'm not taking a draft tonight."

He agreed when he saw how upset she was becoming.

Nicholaa was pulled into a conversation with Matilda then. Royce noticed she didn't move away from his side. She seemed to want to be close to him. He didn't understand why, but he liked having her by his side. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to put his arm around her shoulders. Nicholaa didn't shrug his arm away. A few minutes later, when Matilda finished relating an amusing story about one of her daughters and turned back to her husband, Nicholaa gave in to her weariness and leaned against Royce's side.

To outsiders, she supposed she and Royce looked like a happily wedded couple who couldn't wait to have a bit of time alone together. In part, that was true, Nicholaa thought. She couldn't wait to get Royce alone. And the minute she did, she was going to give that unbending brute a fair piece of her mind. Lord, he was inconsiderate. Why, every time she thought about the way he'd bellowed her name and arrogantly motioned for her to come to him, she started seething.

It didn't take her any time at all to work herself into a fine state of fury. Then Royce ruined it. He started rubbing the tension right out of her shoulders in such a soothing way she couldn't help but snuggle up against him. She yawned, too.

"Do your hands still burn, Nicholaa?" he whispered against her ear.

A shiver of pleasure made her neck tickle. The tenderness in his voice felt like a caress. She knew it probably wasn't proper to be pressed up against his side in front of the guests, but she was too weary to care.

Besides, it was chilly inside the hall and Royce was so incredibly warm. She told herself she only wanted to borrow a little of his heat.

She wiggled a little closer to him before she gave him her answer. "My hands do sting a little, Royce. It isn't unbearable, though."

He started rubbing her shoulders again. She liked that. She liked his scent, too. Royce smelled so clean, so masculine. When he turned back to talk to his friends, she didn't feel as though he was completely ignoring her anymore, because every now and then he'd gently stroke the back of her neck or brush his hand against her upper arm, just to let her know, she thought, that he hadn't forgotten her.

King William suddenly stood up, waved his hand for silence, and then commanded that Sir Clayton come forward.

A tall, thin man with a long, narrow nose and thick jowls separated himself from the group and made a low bow. He was dressed in purple garb, a bright red cape draped across one shoulder.

King William took his seat, and everyone hurried to find a chair. In a matter of minutes silence reigned in the hall.

Clayton made quite a flourish when he motioned for his assistants to come forward. Two young men, dressed alike, stood on either side of Clayton. The assistants held trumpets in their hands.

Nicholaa straightened away from Royce's side, her curiosity piqued. She assumed the trio would sing for the gathering.

King William clapped his hands. The assistants sounded the trumpets, then walked forward. Clayton followed.

Royce was also watching now. He leaned back against the bench, then nudged Nicholaa to do the same.

She turned to smile at him. "Are they going to sing for us?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "That's Clayton the herald," he explained.

Nicholaa didn't understand. She knew that the herald was the living memory of the times, the history teller of important events. The Saxons also used heralds, of course, and although she knew what the duties were, she couldn't imagine why Clayton was giving an accounting now.

She leaned into Royce's side again. "Is he going to tell what happened at Hastings?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "He's going to recount a special legend, Nicholaa. Pay attention. You'll understand soon enough."

Clayton had already begun his tale. Nicholaa caught the end of his remarks about the importance of securing a lucrative holding in King William's name. The herald's voice was strong yet musical, too. In no time at all, Nicholaa had become engrossed in the remarkable story.

Clayton paused, turned to smile at Nicholaa, and then turned back to the group and continued. "Three other Norman knights had tried to capture the Saxon. Each man had failed.

"Sir Gregory was the first to request the challenge. The eager young knight, bold in heart and soul, was anxious to prove his value to his overlord. He begged to be given the duty, and when his plea was granted, the knight boasted to everyone within shouting distance that he would return victorious in less than a week's time. The rumors, after all, whispered that it wasn't a Saxon warrior in charge of the stronghold, and if that talk turned out to be true, the battle wouldn't be worthy of a single retelling. Gregory was so confident of his success that he took only thirty soldiers with him, and he fairly strutted out of the camp."

A loud round of laughter erupted from the crowd. Clayton waited until the noise had died down, then continued. "Alas," he drawled in a long sigh, "Sir Gregory didn't strut back. He couldn't, for the arrow protruding from his backside made an arrogant swagger impossible. As soon as the arrow was pulled free from his flesh, the now humble Gregory threw himself on his knees in front of his leader. His head, I assure you, was bowed low enough to touch the ground. After admitting his failure, the knight begged our beloved William to have off with his head for his shame." Nicholaa let out a little gasp. King William was chuckling over the story and dabbing at his eyes with a linen cloth. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying this tale.

Clayton bowed to his king and then once again continued. " 'Were the rumors true?' King Wiliam asked. 'Was it a mere woman who bested my noble knight?'

"Gregory, I can attest, made no attempt to come up with a plausible excuse. He could only give his lord the truth, no matter how humiliating the outcome. 'Aye, my lord,' he said, 'it was a woman directing the defense.'"

Clayton once again waited until the laughter subsided, then continued his explanation. "The duke of Normandy-for our lord wasn't officially anointed king of England then-clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at the knight kneeling before him. Our lord had won handsomely at the battle near Hastings, but there were still more battles to win before England would belong to him. His men, he informed me, were weary from battle.

"Be it known to all," Clayton continued, "that William is a shrewd judge of men. He quickly noticed that from the minute Gregory came limping back into camp, his soldiers had shed their fatigued expressions and had eagerly crowded around the young warrior to hear his tale. By the time Gregory finished his confession of failure, the men were smiling in amusement. No one, you see, could believe a woman could best a Norman knight.

"William reported to me that he also was feeling invigorated by this fresh puzzle. He announced that the Saxon woman had provided a respite for his men. She'd actually made the soldiers forget their injuries and their fatigue. 'Who will take on this challenge in my name?' William, our leader, called out." Clayton was once again forced to wait for everyone's attention as heads turned.

Nicholaa whispered, "Who are they looking for?"

Royce smiled. "For Hannibal," he answered. "There he is, in the back. He's the one with the red face. His failings are about to be paraded before us."

Nicholaa tried not to laugh. The poor man looked embarrassed. "Where is Gregory?" she asked. "The first knight who took on this challenge?"

"He's trying to blend into the back wall to your left, Nicholaa."

Clayton drew her attention when he finally continued. "Another eager young knight by name of Sir Hannibal rushed forward. He placed his hand over his heart, bowed his head low, and humbly requested the duty. Our beloved William granted him permission. 'I want the woman unharmed,' he decreed. 'Bring her to London once you've secured the fortress. She'll witness my coronation.' William then paused to stare at his attentive audience before adding, 'She'll be my prize to award to a worthy knight.'"

It wasn't until that moment, when Clayton said the word "prize" that Nicholaa realized the tale was about her.

She would have bolted out of her seat if Royce hadn't held her down. She turned to her husband. She looked stricken. Her eyes filled with tears.

Royce whispered into her ear, "Clayton doesn't mock you, Nicholaa. He praises you."

She took a deep breath. Her back was rigid, and she stared straight ahead. She tried, but she couldn't block out the herald's voice.

"Hannibal left the camp on his quest the following morning. He took sixty soldiers with him, double the number Gregory had commanded. The flame of determination in the knight's eyes was bright, but like Gregory, he also underestimated his adversary. Six days later, he caught up with his overlord to confess his failure.

"A third knight by name of Michael was dispatched the following morning. He was older than the first two challengers and far more experienced, but alas, he also failed."

The herald continued, telling how William finally called together his most trusted barons, Guy and Royce, for a conference. Clayton went into great detail with praise for the barons and finally ended the dissertation with the events leading up to the marriage.

When Clayton finally finished his tale, he bowed to King William and walked over to stand directly in front of Nicholaa. He bowed low again, to her this time. Everyone in the hall stood up and applauded.

Royce stood up, but Nicholaa seemed glued to the bench. He lifted her up and held her steady with his arm around her waist.

The knights she'd bested came forward through the crowd. Each carried an armful of flowers. Gregory carried white; Hannibal carried pink, and Michael carried red. The knights bowed to Royce before placing the flowers on the table in front of Nicholaa.

King William raised his hand for silence again. "These three have earned the right to join Baron Royce's ranks. When he's finished training them, they won't be bested again."

Laughter followed that announcement. William clapped his hands together again, and the musicians began to play.

Nicholaa sat down, confused by what had just happened. She turned to Royce. He was watching her closely. He wasn't smiling. "It was all a game," she whispered. "Stealing my home and-"

He took the bluster out of her when he leaned down and kissed her. Surprised by the show of affection, she became even more confused.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "It was war, Nicholaa, not a game," he whispered. "Accept their tribute."

She slowly nodded, but she wasn't convinced.

Royce shook his head. "Nicholaa, I would never have allowed Clayton to repeat the tale if there had been mockery intended, and if I believed it was only a game to ease our soldiers' weariness, I would not have subjected you to this."

She was at last appeased. In her heart, she knew Royce wouldn't allow anyone to mock her. The flowers suddenly took on new significance. She smiled at her husband and turned to pick one up, then stopped, realizing she couldn't grasp anything with her bandaged hands.

Royce picked up a white bloom and held it under her nose. She inhaled the light, sweet fragrance, then nudged the flower toward Royce. "It smells wonderful," she announced.

He inhaled the fragrance before tossing the flower back on the table. "You smell better."

She wasn't given time to say thank you. Royce turned when a friend called out to him, dismissing her then and there.

The celebration went on and on into the dark hours of the night. Most of the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. One by one they came forward to speak to Nicholaa and offer their congratulations again. She was pleased by the good wishes, and she believed in her heart they were sincere. She also noticed several elderly Saxon barons mixing with the Normans. When she mentioned this to Royce, he explained that those who'd pledged their fealty to William were now considered equal members of the realm. A very few were even allowed to retain a portion of their properties.

In the shadows near the alcove by the entrance, four men stood together, deep in discussion. Every now and then one would turn to look at Lady Nicholaa. The leader of the four stood in the center, dictating his orders. Each time he listed a command, the other three nodded agreement.

"Are you certain she'll do it?" one asked. He gave a worried glance over his shoulder just to make certain they weren't being overheard, then turned back to his leader. "If the plan doesn't work-"

"She'll be the one to suffer the consequences," the leader whispered.

"She might not cooperate," another pointed out.

The leader smiled. "Nicholaa is a Saxon, first and always. She'll do it."

"And then?" the third asked.

"She dies."

Nicholaa had no idea she was the topic under discussion. She was jarred from her sleepy state by a sudden burst of raucous laughter from the alcove. She turned to see who was making all the commotion, but the crowd got in her way. The ale had been flowing freely for hours now, and she concluded that some of the less cautious knights had consumed too much of the sweet, intoxicating drink.

The burns were making her hands throb with pain now, and her skin itched. The soothing salve had worn off, she supposed.

"Royce? Would it be rude for me to leave now?" she asked.

In answer her husband motioned to Lawrence. The vassal put down his goblet and walked over to the table.

Nicholaa smiled at the knight before turning to Royce. "Are you staying here?"

He smiled. She was so sleepy that her eyelids were half closed. "It isn't rude for you to leave, Nicholaa, but I must stay here until King William ends the celebration. He must take his leave before I do."

She looked pleased with his explanation. He didn't know what to make of that. She had the smile of an angel, though, and he had an almost overwhelming urge to give her a real kiss.

"You do know what's proper behavior, after all," she said. "Now I'll know that whenever you're rude to me, you're doing it on purpose and not because you're just plain ignorant."

"And that makes you happy?" She nodded. "A woman doesn't wish to be married to an ignorant man," she explained. "I should warn you, Royce: now that I know you're aware of what you're doing, I'm going to start retaliating in kind. That's only fair, isn't it?"

"No."

"It certainly is. Why, I believe-" He didn't let her finish. He kissed her, quick and hard, and when he pulled back, she was too bemused to remember what she'd been talking about.

Damn, he wanted to kiss her thoroughly. He wanted her mouth open, his tongue inside… hell, he wanted a wedding night. "Why are you frowning?" she asked.

He didn't answer her. He helped her to her feet instead. Nicholaa turned to thank the king and his wife.

Royce stood by her side, watching the way she won their smiles with her gentle, shyly whispered words.

She was such a fragile thing, and so very, very proper. Yes, an angel, but with a bit of the devil in her, too, if the sudden sparkle that came into her eyes was any indication.

"When I get across the hall," she whispered, "I just might stop and shout your name. Then I might motion for you to come to me. What do you suppose you'll do?"

She was bluffing of course. She was too much of a lady to go to such undignified lengths just to even their positions.

Royce must have realized that fact, too. He winked at her, then motioned Lawrence closer.

"My wife's ready to leave now," he said. "You may escort her to our chamber."

Lawrence nodded and reached for Nicholaa's elbow. His baron's next command made him pause. "If Lady Nicholaa stops at the doorway, you have my permission to carry her to our chamber."

Nicholaa's eyes widened. She looked at Lawrence to see how he was reacting to such a shameful order and noticed he was trying not to smile. She glared at him, then turned to her husband. "You're horribly inconsiderate, Royce."

He smiled at her. "You wound me with such harsh criticism," he returned. "I'm never inconsiderate."

To prove his point he said, "Lawrence, if you have to toss my wife over your shoulder, don't touch her hands. They're still tender from her injuries."

"Yes, Baron," Lawrence answered. "I'll be careful."

Royce winked at Nicholaa. "There, wife, I've just shown you how considerate I can be."

She shook her head. "You know, Royce, every time I begin to think there might be a glimmer of hope for a peaceful future together, you say something to ruin it. You'd better understand your new position, sir."

Her eyes had turned a deep violet. She was getting all worked up, he decided. He felt like laughing. His wife stood up to him with no fear in her expression, as though she thought she was his equal. Damn, she pleased him.

Lawrence watched his baron stare at Nicholaa and felt safe smiling. Royce was trying to intimidate his wife, but it wasn't working. The vassal could almost see the sparks flying between them. Lawrence thought Nicholaa might already be in love with Royce. She'd certainly given him her loyalty. The way she'd stood up to Guy was proof of that. He wondered if Royce realized his good fortune. It would take him a while to appreciate her value, of course, for he was a warrior, and warriors rarely thought about such insignificant matters.

"Nicholaa?" Royce asked, drawing Lawrence's attention again. "What did you mean when you said I didn't know what my position was?"

She had to stop staring into his eyes so she could concentrate. He was a handsome man, even when he was insulting her. All she had to do was notice the beautiful gray flecks in his eyes and she'd forget her own thoughts. She turned her gaze to his chest. "Now isn't the time to discuss-"

"Oh, but I want to hear your explanation now." He clasped his hands behind his back and patiently waited.

She took a deep breath. "Very well," she said. "In a few days, we'll be going back to my holding, won't we?" She didn't wait for him to agree. "And you are married to me now."

It took him a full minute to realize she was finished. She was looking up at him with a hopeful expression on her face. He wanted to laugh. God, she was daft. "You haven't explained sufficiently for me to understand."

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. She'd hoped for privacy when she explained in full, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. She had his full attention now, and God only knew when that would happen again.

"As your wife, it's my duty to serve you, and as my husband, it's your duty to serve me."

He quit smiling. "And how am I supposed to serve you?"

"By following my directions."

"What?"

Nicholaa wasn't about to back down now, no matter how furious he became. The issue was too important. "By following my directions," she said again. "It won't be an easy adjustment. You are going to be the outsider. The servants at my holding are loyal to me, of course. Do you see how simple it is?"

"Nicholaa, it's my duty to protect you."

"That, too," she agreed. It took all she had to stand there. The look in his eyes was chilling. "I would like to live in peace with you, Royce. If you'll only be patient-"

"I'm always patient," he snapped.

He didn't sound at all patient, but she decided not to argue with him. "In time you'll learn all our customs. I'll help you make this adjustment."

"You believe I'm going to change my ways?" His voice had gone hoarse.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she said. "I'm very weary. Couldn't we discuss your new duties tomorrow?"

He didn't answer her. He just stood there staring down at her with the oddest expression on his face.

Nicholaa thought it would be best if she took her leave now. She stretched up to kiss his cheek, then hurried toward the entrance. "Aren't you coming along, Lawrence?" she called over her shoulder. The vassal rushed after his mistress. Nicholaa was feeling very pleased with herself. She'd expressed her wishes, and Royce had listened. It was a fair start, she decided. In no time at all he'd see how right she was. Royce was the outsider, and it was her holding, but he was intelligent and he'd make the adjustment quickly. She was sure of it.

Lawrence didn't say a word to his mistress as he escorted her to her quarters. God's truth, he couldn't. He was too busy trying to contain his amusement. The incredulous look on Baron Royce's face would live in his memory for a long, long while.

"Thank you for giving me your escort, Lawrence," Nicholaa said when they reached her door. "Good night."

"Good night, my lady. Sleep well." Nicholaa smiled at the two guards standing by the doorway, then went inside. One of the soldiers pulled the door closed behind her. She let out a loud sigh. A serving woman was waiting for her in the shadows by the hearth, but Nicholaa didn't notice her until she was halfway across the room. She came to quick stop and let out a gasp of surprise. She hadn't seen this servant before. The woman was much older than Mary, rigid in bearing, with heavy brows and a heavier frown. She gestured Nicholaa forward.

The woman certainly wasn't acting like a servant. Nicholaa was immediately put on guard. "What is your name?" she asked. "Why isn't Mary here? She was assigned the duty of assisting me."

"My name isn't important," the woman answered in a low whisper. "You won't be seeing me again. As for the girl, I told her she was wanted in the kitchens."

"Why are you here?" Nicholaa asked. She noticed the woman's hands were hidden behind her back and took a cautious step back toward the doors and the guards.

"I've been ordered to give you a message and then leave."

"Who sends me this message?" Nicholaa asked.

"The leader of those who resist the pretender they call king."

"There are Saxons here in London who resist?"

The woman's frown deepened. "Have you lost your loyalty already?" she demanded.

Nicholaa straightened her shoulders. "Give me the name of your leader," she demanded.

"I don't know his name, and I wouldn't be giving it to you if I did. You haven't proved to be trustworthy yet."

"I don't have to prove anything to you," Nicholaa countered. "Now give me this message and leave."

The woman pulled a sharp dagger from behind her back and held it up in front of Nicholaa. "Baron Royce is the finest trainer of soldiers. If something happened to him, the army would suffer. William depends on this baron in all matters of war. Your husband is to be the first one we take away."

Nicholaa's gaze was riveted on the knife. She watched as the woman placed the dagger on the low chest next to the bed. The servant rushed across the chamber toward the door. "Kill him," she whispered. "Tonight."

"No!" Nicholaa shouted.

The woman whirled around. "Do you want the guards to hear you?"

Nicholaa shook her head. She was terrified, but she didn't want the old hag to leave just yet. She was determined to learn the name of the man in charge of the resistance. More important, this woman might know what had happened to her brother Thurston, who had gone to the north to join Baron Alfred's army.

"I ask you again to give me the name of your leader. Baron Alfred is the only Saxon I know of who continues to resist William. He and his men have their stronghold in the north, near my holding."

She would have continued, but the woman cut her off. "More than one group remains loyal to the old ways," she said. "You must prove your loyalty to us tonight."

"How do you suggest I kill my husband?" Nicholaa asked. She lifted her bandaged hands. "I cannot even hold a knife."

The woman looked startled. It was apparent she hadn't considered that problem.

Nicholaa said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that she hadn't been able to sway Baron Samuel into taking the bandages off. "I could not kill my husband even if I wanted to," she said. There was a hint of victory in her voice, relief as well. She didn't think the woman noticed. She was glaring at Nicholaa's hands.

"You'll have to find a way," the woman announced. "His death or yours."

She was reaching for the door latch when Nicholaa said, "It would be my death regardless. William would retaliate."

The woman shook her head. "At dawn three men will come to take you away. The deed must be done before then."

"I won't do it."

"Then they'll kill both of you."

The door closed on that threat.