The Prize

Chapter Seven

Nicholaa knew she was going to be sick. The evil radiating from the woman made the chamber as frigid as death.

Royce came into the chamber approximately twenty minutes later. He wasn't at all certain what to expect from Nicholaa. She'd either be sound asleep and looking like an innocent or wide awake and pacing while she thought of more outrageous opinions to share with him.

One thing was certain: just as soon as possible, he was going to set the woman straight. Granted, he'd never been married before, and he didn't have a strong understanding of how a man and woman lived together in harmony. But then, she hadn't been married before, either. Still, the laws of marriage were the same for Saxons as they were for Normans, the rules set down by the church. The husband was lord of the manor, and his wife was simply his chattel.

Nicholaa had gotten everything turned around inside her head. Royce smiled then. It wasn't going to be easy for her, what with all the changes he would insist upon. One thing was certain, though: she would be the one doing all the adjusting, not he.

As soon as he walked into the chamber, he put the matter of lecturing his wife aside. Nicholaa didn't seem to be in any condition to listen to anything he had to say. She was kneeling on the floor by the bed, doubled over an empty chamber pot, gagging.

It was one hell of a greeting, he decided. He'd heard about women coming down with wedding-night jitters, but Nicholaa's reaction went way beyond that. Was she so frightened of being bedded that she'd made herself ill?

That possibility didn't sit well. He let out a loud sigh as he went over to the washbowl. After dipping a cloth in the cool water, he walked over to her.

Nicholaa was leaning back on her heels, trying to catch her breath when Royce scooped her up into his arms and sat down on the side of the bed. She ended up in his lap.

The minute he touched her, she started crying. Royce held the soggy cloth against her forehead. "Quit your weeping," he ordered, "and tell me what ails you."

She didn't like his gruff tone of voice at all. "Nothing ails me," she lied.

"All right," he agreed. "Then tell me why you're weeping."

Now he sounded a little too reasonable. "I didn't mean any of those nice things I said about you," she announced. She shoved the cloth away from her brow and turned in his arms so he could see her frown. "Don't you dare believe I meant a single kind word I said."

He nodded, just to placate her. "When did you say those things I'm not supposed to believe?"

"Last night," she answered. "When Baron Guy was being such an arrogant nuisance."

Royce remembered and smiled, but Nicholaa was too overwhelmed by her worries to notice. The past few hours had left her spent. She collapsed against her husband's chest and closed her eyes. In the back of her mind she realized she wanted him to touch her, to comfort her. That didn't make any sense, but she wasn't in the mood to work it all out in her mind.

"Royce?"

"Yes?"

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

"Were you very angry I chose you for my husband?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you were," she whispered. "Now you can't go back to Normandy."

"No, I can't."

"Does that upset you?"

He smiled again. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Nicholaa sounded worried. "No."

"Well, why not?"

His sigh was long. "Do you want to argue?"

"No," she answered. "You should go back to Normandy, Royce. Was there a special lady waiting for your return?"

"It's a little late to be concerned about that possibility, isn't it?"

Her eyes got teary again. "I only just considered that possibility," she wailed. "Oh, God, I've ruined your life, haven't I?"

He hugged her. "No, you haven't ruined my life," he answered. "I didn't leave a woman behind in Normandy, Nicholaa."

She sagged against him. He concluded then that she was relieved by that news. "My family's there, of course," he told her. "My father's dead, but my mother's still alive. She's kept busy with my sisters and her grandchildren."

"Will I ever meet your family?"

"Perhaps," he answered.

He thought he'd soothed her sufficiently to return to his question as to why she'd been weeping and was just about to turn the topic back to that concern when she suddenly whispered, "You must go back to Normandy, Royce, if only for a nice long visit with your family."

The urgency in her tone wasn't lost on him. "And why is that?"

"You'll be safe there."

"I'm just as safe here."

Nicholaa decided to take a different approach. "I'd like to leave this place as soon as possible, husband. Could we go now? The moon is sufficient to show us the way home."

There was a note of desperation in her voice. Royce nudged her chin up so he could see her expression. One look told him she was terrified. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she blurted out. "I just want to leave now."

She pushed his hand away from her chin and hid her face in the crook of his neck.

"Nicholaa? Are you so worried about my touching you that you've made yourself ill?"

"What are you talking about? You're touching me now, Royce."

"That isn't what I meant," he said. "When I bed you

He never got to finish. Her head came up with a start. Good God, she hadn't even thought about that. Leave it to him to add another worry to her growing list.

"You can't expect me to sleep with you that way," she blurted out. "I haven't even had time to think about that possibility. No, you can't expect-"

"I do expect," he interrupted.

She stared into his eyes. He looked as if he meant what he said. Her face lost its color, and her heart started racing. Nicholaa burst into tears again.

Royce controlled his exasperation. He decided he shouldn't have mentioned that topic. When the time came to bed her, he'd do just that, but he wouldn't give her time to let her fear catch hold of her.

"Nicholaa, do you trust me?"

She didn't even think about it before answering. "Yes."

"And you're not afraid of me?"

"No."

"Fine," he whispered. "Then tell me why you're upset."

"My hands and arms are burning something fierce," she muttered. "I'm in agony with all my worries. Royce, I'm in no condition to let you touch me."

"Let me?" He sounded more surprised than angry over her poor choice of words.

"You know my meaning," she cried out. "Have you no sympathy?"

He shrugged. She guessed that he didn't.

If she hadn't been so busy trying to think of a plan to keep the man alive, she surely would have had time to think of a way to discourage him from exercising his husbandly rights.

She fell back against him again. "I don't hate you, Royce, but at times I do dislike you."

He hugged her tight. Long minutes passed in silence. He was patiently waiting for her to calm down. He thought about how soft she was, how feminine her scent was, and how much he liked holding her in his arms.

She thought about the evil look on the woman's face when she relayed her message.

Royce felt her shiver in his arms. He tightened his hold. The candlelight flickered, drawing his attention. He saw the dagger on the chest, then frowned in reaction. He'd left specific instructions the evening before that all weapons were to be removed from the chamber. Although he was certain that Nicholaa didn't have it in her nature to kill anyone, she could do a fair amount of damage in an attempt to escape.

He smiled then. He was certain that if she had injured one of his soldiers, she'd be sure to apologize afterward.

The woman was still a puzzle to him, but he was beginning to understand a few of her quirks.

"Nicholaa? Do you still think to escape?"

"I'm a married woman now."

"And?" he prodded when she didn't continue.

She let out a sigh. "If I escaped, you'd have to come with me."

Nicholaa was just realizing her remark was absurd when he said, "Where did the dagger come from?"

She tensed against him. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," he answered. "Don't lie to me, Nicholaa."

She didn't say another word for a long while. "It's a long story," she finally whispered. "Surely you don't wish to hear it now."

"Yes, I do wish to hear it now."

"An old woman gave me the dagger."

"When?"

"Tonight. I don't want to talk about it," she cried out. "I just want you to take me away from here tonight. Please, Royce?"

He acted as though he hadn't even heard her plea. "Why did she give you the dagger?"

She was going to have to tell him everything. He wasn't going to let up. Besides, she reasoned, she needed his help with this worry, and God only knew he needed her warning. "She said I'm supposed to kill you with it."

She waited a long while for Royce to react to her announcement before she realized he wasn't going to say anything. Didn't he believe her?

"I'm not jesting," she whispered. "I'm really supposed to kill you."

"How?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "You can't even hold a dagger in your hands."

"I mentioned that very problem to the messenger," she muttered. "I was told to find a way. The more you doubt my word, Royce, the more convinced I am that it wouldn't be too difficult."

"Nicholaa, you couldn't kill me." He sounded pleased with that evaluation. He gently brushed the hair away from her temple. It felt like a caress from a husband who cared about his wife.

God, she was tired. Surely that was the reason her eyes clouded with tears again. "Just when I was beginning to think the war was finally over and we could all live in peace together, this had to happen."

"The war is over," he said. "You're worrying over nothing."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," she cried out. "I have proof, husband."

"Do you mean the dagger?"

"No," she answered. "My proof will arrive at dawn. Three men are coming. If I haven't killed you by then, they're going to kill both of us. Then you'll know I was telling you the truth."

He leaned down and kissed her brow. "You really are telling me the truth, aren't you?"

"How could you believe I'd make up something this vile?"

She moved away from his shoulder so she could glare at him. She was surprised to see how furious he was, for his voice had been mild when he spoke to her. She lost her frown immediately and nodded with satisfaction. It was high time the man showed a proper reaction.

Lord, she was relieved, too. His anger actually comforted her. He would know what to do. He'd take care of this threat. She snuggled up against him and let out a loud, unladylike yawn. "Now do you see why I thought we should leave tonight?"

"Nicholaa, I want you to start at the beginning," he ordered. "Tell me exactly what happened."

She didn't argue with him. When she finished her explanation, he was squeezing her hard around her waist. He was frowning like a devil, too. The scar on his face had turned stark white again. He looked like a warrior now, even though he wasn't dressed in battle gear.

The strangest feeling came over her. God's truth, he made her feel safe. How long had it been since she'd felt that way? Nicholaa couldn't remember.

She didn't even worry about leaving now. Royce would protect her no matter where they were.

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

"I'll take care of it, Nicholaa." She nodded.

"Stand up now and let me help you get your clothes off," he said quietly.

"Why?"

He ignored the startled tone in her voice. "So you can sleep, wife. I'll wait until your hands have healed before bedding you."

"Thank you."

"Hell, you don't have to sound so relieved."

His surly tone of voice told her she'd offended him. She guessed she'd dented his pride. She stood up and faced him. "Royce, the first time between a husband and a wife should be special, shouldn't it?"

She was blushing like a virgin. She couldn't look him in the eye, either. Her gaze was centered on the floor. He couldn't resist goading her just a little. "But you've been married before, remember? You've had a child, too, or have you forgotten Ulric?"

"Of course I remember Ulric," she rushed out. "I was just trying to explain that, with or without experience, the first time between us should be…"

"Special?" he said when she didn't continue. She nodded. "I would rather not have to worry about someone putting a dagger between your shoulder blades while you're… otherwise occupied."

He untied her belt, tossed it aside, and then stood up. He tried to detach himself from what he was doing as he pulled the bliaut up, over her head. The rest of her clothes followed, save for the thin-as-air chemise. A heavy silence fell between them. She stood as still as a statue. She didn't feel like one, though. Royce was already regretting his rash promise not to bed her.

"You didn't mention your own shoulder blades," he remarked in an attempt to ease the tension building inside him. "You could well be the first to feel the enemy's blade." His voice sounded harsh to him.

She stood before him, her toes curled into the rushes, her head bowed low. Lord, she was even more beautiful without her clothes on. Her legs were so incredibly long. Her skin was smooth all over, and in the flickering candlelight she looked like a golden goddess from magical days.

The provocative scoop-neck chemise left little to his imagination. The swell of her full breasts pressing against the embroidered fabric made his chest tighten.

Yes, she was beautiful. And she belonged to him.

"You wouldn't let anyone hurt me."

"What did you say?"

"I said you wouldn't let anyone hurt me."

It took all his discipline to concentrate on the conversation. "No, I wouldn't."

"Why are you frowning? Are you angry with me?"

He shook his head and almost laughed. The innocent had absolutely no idea what thoughts were going through his mind. He took a deep breath and then put his bride to bed. He covered her with the blankets and turned back to the door.

"Nicholaa?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"When we reach my holding," he said, stressing his ownership. "I won't allow any more lies. From the moment we take up residence, you'll always tell me the truth."

"Are you thinking I lied about the woman telling me to kill you?"

"No," he answered. He turned and stared at her.

"I'm talking about the other lies you've told me. They end when we reach Rosewood. Give me your promise."

She didn't want to promise him anything. "What lies do you mean?" she asked, trying to find out exactly what he knew.

"It isn't necessary for me to explain," he countered. "Just promise me, Nicholaa." A hard glint came into his eyes as he waited for her to give him what he wanted.

"Royce, understand this," she whispered. "I will do whatever I have to do to protect Ulric and Justin. That promise I give you now."

"Is lying to me your way of protecting them?"

"In the past, when I-"

"I'm talking about the future," he interrupted. "From the minute we reach Rosewood," he added. "No more lies."

She took a deep breath. "All right," she whispered. "I promise you there won't be any more lies."

Royce turned around and started for the door again. He'd already dismissed his wife from his thoughts. There was much to be done before dawn. He had reached for the door latch when Nicholaa called out to him.

"Royce, my father always kissed my mother good night. It was a family tradition."

He turned back to her. "And?"

"It's a Saxon tradition, too." Another minute passed. "I was just wondering if it was a Norman tradition, too." She was trying to act nonchalant.

He shrugged his answer.

"Traditions should be continued, Royce, especially during unsettled times."

"Why?"

The man wasn't catching on. It was apparent he still didn't understand she wanted him to kiss her. "So they won't be forgotten," she muttered.

"Nicholaa? Do you want me to kiss you?"

So much for subtlety, she thought to herself. "Yes."

As soon as she saw him coming toward her, she closed her eyes. Royce sat down on the side of the bed. He leaned down and kissed her brow. She told him thank you. He kissed the bridge of her nose. She said thank you again.

Her face looked as if it had been burned by the sun. He knew she was embarrassed, but didn't have the faintest idea why. He was too pleased that she wanted his touch to dwell on her daft behavior.

"Traditions are v-very important to m-me," she stammered. "Now that you're my husband, they have to be important to you, too."

That statement gave him pause. "They do?"

"Yes," she answered. She opened her eyes to look up at him. "It's not that I want you to kiss me. It's just that-"

She quit trying to explain when his mouth settled on hers. He stole her concentration completely. His mouth was so wonderfully warm. His fingers threaded through her hair to hold her captive, although that wasn't really necessary; she didn't want to move. The kiss was gentle, undemanding. It left her breathless. And wanting.

Royce pulled back just a little. "Open your mouth for me, Nicholaa," he whispered.

She barely had time to do as he commanded before his mouth took possession again. His tongue swept inside her mouth then, to taste, to stroke, to drive her wild.

He held her still as his mouth slanted over hers again and again. He felt her tremble, and in the back of his mind was the thought that he was probably scaring the hell out of her. She was such an innocent.

Then her tongue touched his and she let out a low, ragged moan. He could feel the passion in her response. Stunned, he damn near lost his control then and there.

He forced himself to pull back. His smile was tender when he saw the result of his touch. Her lips were swollen, rosy, and she wore the most astonished expression.

He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip.

"I don't believe my father ever kissed my mother quite like that," she whispered.

There was a definite sparkle in her eyes. He realized she was teasing him. He responded in kind. "With all those children? I think he did."

He bent down and kissed her again, a quick no-nonsense kiss without a hint of passion in it. She couldn't hide her disappointment when he stood up. "Now go to sleep, Nicholaa," he ordered. "The tradition has been continued."

She didn't say thank you. She sighed instead. Nicholaa was sound asleep before Royce reached the door.

Two fresh guards had just arrived to replace the pair in the hallway. All four soldiers were seasoned knights under Royce's command. One soldier held a goblet filled with the sleeping draft the healer had just delivered. Royce ordered the soldier to throw it away. He then commanded another guard to tell Lawrence he needed to speak to him.

The second-in-command arrived a few minutes later. Royce still hadn't dismissed the soldiers from their watch. He leaned against the door and quickly explained the situation. When he was finished, he gave his orders.

By Royce's command, the leader of the king's guard was to be alerted of the possible threat immediately, and the number of men on the night watch would be tripled. A clean sweep was to be made of the castle and the grounds. The old woman who'd told Nicholaa to kill him might still be lingering nearby, and Royce wanted her found.

"What about the men who are coming to challenge you at dawn?" Lawrence asked when Royce had finished giving his orders.

"I'll take care of that possible threat," Royce answered. "I hold little hope they'll actually show up, though. They used the old woman to give Nicholaa her duty and will now leave her to suffer the consequences on her own. It would be too dangerous for them to try to get to either one of us." He expelled a long breath. "God, I hope I'm wrong," he admitted. "I would like for them to try. I want a chance to kill the bastards. They frightened my wife."

Lawrence noticed that his baron seemed more furious over the fact that Nicholaa had been frightened than he did over the possibility that someone was trying to kill him. It was a telling reaction, to the vassal's way of thinking.

After bowing, Lawrence and the other soldiers left to carry out their assignments. Royce stood with his back protecting the door until two of the soldiers returned. He went back inside the chamber when the hallway was once again guarded by his trusted men.

Less than an hour later a knock sounded. Royce had the door open before Lawrence had let his hand drop back to his side.

The vassal moved out of the way so Royce could join him in the corridor. "We found the old woman," he announced in a low voice. "She's dead. Her neck was broken. Someone tossed her body behind a couple of crates. Do we round up all the Saxons in residence and question them?"

Royce shook his head. "The Saxon barons who have pledged their loyalty to William would be insulted by our distrust. That wouldn't matter to our king, of course, but it wouldn't serve our purposes. If there is a Saxon traitor in league with those who still resist the king, he certainly won't give us any answers. We'll have to find another way to ferret out the bastard."

Lawrence nodded agreement. "There are many people here, Baron," he said. "I don't recognize a fair number of them. The crowd will make it difficult for us to find the culprit."

"Damn, I wish we could set a trap now and be done with it," Royce muttered.

"A trap with you as the bait?" Lawrence asked. "It would be too difficult to control the outcome, my lord."

Royce shrugged. "It could be done," he countered. "Still, I won't take the chance. Nicholaa's safety comes first. I'm anxious to get her home. Once I'm certain no one can get to her, I can turn my attention to finding the bastard behind this scheme. This isn't finished, Lawrence. They'll try again. I'm sure of it."

"When do you wish to leave?"

"Tomorrow, by midday," Royce answered. "I'll talk to William in the morning."

Royce dismissed his vassal and went back inside the chamber. Nicholaa was sleeping soundly. The dark smudges under her eyes were still noticeable, and he wished he could let her stay in London a few more days, until she regained her strength.

There wasn't time, however. He wouldn't rest until he knew she was safe. His gentle wife didn't appear worried, though. She couldn't have slept so peacefully if she had been.

He tucked the covers around her shoulders. Wives were a damn nuisance, he decided. If a husband cared about his wife, the enemy could use her to get to him. They could, in effect, use her as a weapon to destroy him.

If a husband cared, he thought again.

He was desperate to get Nicholaa home to Rosewood where she would be safe. He shook his head. The evidence couldn't be denied. How in God's name had it happened? And so quickly, too? He thought about the week of hell she'd put him through on the journey to London, and had to shake his head again.

And then he grinned. He didn't understand how or why it had happened. Only one thing was certain: he cared.