The Prize

by Julie Garwood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Oh, God, she was going to break that damn rule number three again if she didn’t get hold of herself. The soldiers would never understand if she suddenly burst into tears. Royce wouldn’t understand, either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You are?”

  “My mother always did.” She took a step closer.

  “Was this a specific duty?”

  “Just a habit,” she answered. “One my father liked.”

  “What other habits did they have?”

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

  “Then we will do the same,” he announced.

  “But after dinner you always discuss the next day’s plans with your soldiers,” she reminded him.

  “I’ll do that before dinner,” he answered. “You and I will play chess together after.”

  “Why would you adopt this habit?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “Yes.”

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

  “I do love you.”

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

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

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

  “Sweetheart, tell me why you think you’re a burden?”

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

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

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

  She bumped his chin when she nodded.

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

  “No, you couldn’t have left,” she whispered. “Only the married knights could leave. You didn’t qualify.”

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

  “No, you couldn’t have,” she argued. “You’re too honorable. You felt responsible for me.”

  “You have it all figured out, don’t you? Nothing I can say will change your mind?”

  “Such as?”

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

  “You’re just being kind to me, Royce. You’re always kind and patient with everyone.”

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter Sixteen

  That was easier decided than accomplished. No matter how much thought he put into the task, Royce couldn’t come up with a single plan to convince his wife he would have chosen her. It didn’t stop him from trying, however.

  It was maddening not to be able to make her believe him, but it was no more maddening than his wife’s perpetual smile. If he hadn’t been so happy she’d finally spoken the words he wanted to hear, he would have been in complete despair.

  He tried praising her. She praised him back. He kissed her whenever he got the chance. She
eagerly kissed him back. It was the only time she wasn’t wearing that serene smile, because his mouth was covering hers.

  He even played chess with her. He was going to let her win, until he realized she already was winning; then he changed his mind. The game lasted into the early hours of the morning, and in the end, he didn’t let her win at all.

  She did that all by herself.

  Afterward, while he was still reeling from his first defeat in years, she promised to let him win next time.

  It got worse before it got better.

  It was late morning on a hot Monday when Royce came into the hall with Lawrence at his side. He noticed the fire blazing in the hearth right away. He felt as though he had walked into a furnace. Sweat dripped from his brow before he’d crossed to the buttery where his wife was busy working.

  “Nicholaa, it’s hot as purgatory in here,” he announced. “Was there a particular reason for starting a fire?”

  She turned to smile at her husband. She was waving a square linen cloth in front of her face. She used the linen to mop her husband’s brow while she explained. “You invited six additional soldiers to supper, and Cook needed the extra fire to prepare all the meat. I appreciate how pleasant you’re being, husband.”

  When she’d finished wiping her husband’s forehead, she turned the cloth inside out and mopped Lawrence’s brow. Surprised, he backed away. She followed him, finished her task, and then suggested they both go back outside.

  Royce and Lawrence turned to do just that. They’d reached the center of the great hall when Baron Guy’s two inseparable vassals, Morgan and Henry, came inside.

  Nicholaa decided to block open the front doors to allow a breeze inside. She walked out of the buttery just as Morgan was boasting.

  “Our baron has brought a full contingent of men with him to hunt down the last of the resisters. He’s vowed to slaughter the lot before a fortnight has passed.”

  Nicholaa’s face paled, but she kept her expression contained. Royce knew she was thinking about Thurston. Morgan followed Royce’s gaze, spotted Nicholaa, and immediately bowed.

  She didn’t acknowledge the greeting. She simply stared at the vassal and waited to hear what else he had to say.

  “It’s our understanding that the leader of these resisters is your brother, Lady Nicholaa,” Henry announced. “Is that true?”

  “Perhaps,” she answered.

  Morgan grinned. “Then we should give you our condolences now,” he said. “Our baron is a compassionate man. I’m sure he’ll drop your brother’s body here on his way back to London so you can give him a proper burial.”

  Royce’s fist came down on the table. “Enough,” he ordered. “Tell me what message you bring and get out.”

  Henry had never seen Baron Royce lose his composure. The flash of temper stunned him. Morgan didn’t seem worried at all. He was occupied scowling at Nicholaa.

  She smiled back. “I forgive you your poor manners,” she said in a calm voice. “Jealousy makes you act that way.”

  Morgan opened his mouth to protest.

  She raised her hand for silence. The look on her face showed her disdain. She took a step toward the knight. Morgan backed up nearly into the fireplace.

  “You heard my husband’s command. Tell him why you’re here and then get out.”

  Morgan was too furious to see the duty done. He nodded to Henry, then turned to look at the fire. He noticed the chess pieces lined up on the mantel and absentmindedly took one into his hand to get a better look. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, though, for he was listening to Henry’s message from the king as well.

  “King William sends his greetings and his request for you to choose ten of your best men to engage in a celebration of games six weeks hence. You’re also to select ten new soldiers because our overlord believes they should be allowed to join in the festivities. The king has one additional request,” Henry muttered.

  Royce folded his arms across his chest and scowled with impatience as he waited for Henry to finish.

  “Baron Royce is waiting to hear the rest,” Lawrence snapped.

  Henry nodded. “Our king wants it known that he and his beloved wife insist Lady Nicholaa attend the celebration. She has won their affections, and they wish to see her again.” The vassal sounded as though he was gargling with vinegar.

  Nicholaa would have laughed if she hadn’t been so worried about the chess piece Morgan was holding. She didn’t dare order him to put the piece back for fear he’d realize the importance to her and deliberately destroy it.

  Henry bowed to Royce, then walked toward Nicholaa. “Perhaps then, my lady, we will see who is first and who is second.”

  “But we already know that, don’t we?” she asked.

  Nicholaa couldn’t stand still a minute longer. Watching Morgan fondling the chess piece was too upsetting. She walked over to the entrance. “Lawrence, please see the soldiers out. My husband did want them to leave right away.”

  Morgan turned to Royce. “We plan to crush your soldiers,” he boasted. “We won’t be defeated this time.”

  To emphasize his boast, he snapped the head off the chess piece, then tossed the black queen into the fire.

  Until that minute Royce hadn’t realized Morgan was holding the piece. He’d been watching Nicholaa. He saw the look of anguish on her face and then saw the chess piece destroyed.

  He let out a roar of fury. Morgan turned, surprised, as Royce moved like a bolt of lightning. It all happened too quickly for Nicholaa to react. One minute Morgan was standing there looking smug and arrogant, and the next he was sailing through the air like a disk.

  Royce threw the big man a fair distance. Morgan went hurling past the table, then past the screen. He should have landed against the front wall. He didn’t, though. He went through it. Nicholaa guessed the wall was riddled with rotten wood, too.

  A gaping hole the size of a man’s doubled-over body appeared in the very center of the wall, giving them a rather pleasant view of the courtyard beyond.

  Nicholaa clasped a hand over her mouth in astonishment. She could see through the hole that Morgan was already staggering to his feet. Royce hadn’t killed him. Henry came rushing towards her. He was obviously not going to give his friend assistance. Morgan couldn’t seem to stand up straight. He kept falling back to his knees. She guessed he was a little dizzy.

  She tried, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Henry noticed. He was so furious he was shaking. He stopped when he reached her side. “You chose the wrong baron to wed,” he snarled.

  Henry might have been able to control his anger if Nicholaa hadn’t laughed. He wanted to strike her. Yet even in his rage he knew Royce would kill him if he touched Nicholaa. Still, the desire to rid her of her smile overwhelmed his caution. He tried to frighten her with words instead. “You’ll be widowed before the games are finished,” he muttered. “You really should have listened to the old hag and killed Royce when you had the chance. You would have saved us the trouble.”

  Nicholaa wouldn’t let him bait her into losing her temper. Henry sounded like a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way.

  She shook her head. “Do leave, Henry. You’re beginning to irritate me.”

  She didn’t waste another minute on the stupid man. Royce was her main concern now. Lord, she’d never seen him lose his control this thoroughly. It was a little unnerving. He didn’t seem to be finished with Morgan, either. When he turned and started for the doorway and she got a good look at the scowl on his face, she knew she’d have to interfere. She didn’t want him to kill Morgan. The soldier’s death wouldn’t be worth the explanation Royce would have to give the king. Besides, she didn’t want Morgan’s body buried on their land.

  Royce had almost reached her when she blurted out, “We have a lovely breeze now, husband. Thank you.”

  He nodded, passed her, then suddenly stopped. He turned around. “What did you just say?”

  “I thanked you for the window.�
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  Lawrence started to laugh. Nicholaa smiled. Royce closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh. “I’m not going to kill the bastard,” he announced.

  “No, of course not,” she agreed. “The chess piece is gone. Killing Morgan won’t change that.”

  “I just wanted to break a leg or two, Nicholaa.”

  He’d sounded so reasonable when he confessed that plan to her. He grinned, too.

  “Nothing will be gained by breaking his legs.”

  “I’ll gain immense satisfaction,” he countered.

  She shook her head.

  He scowled. Then he gave up. The woman had her mind set on getting her way. He wouldn’t disappoint her. He glanced at the fire, then back to Nicholaa. “Sweetheart, which piece was it?”

  “The black queen.”

  His shoulders slumped. That was the piece her father had made a nick in while laughing over one of his stories.

  Royce felt responsible for the disaster. He should have been watching Morgan’s every move. He could have prevented the destruction if he’d been paying more attention.

  He roughly pulled Nicholaa into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s my fault. I should have—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “It happened too quickly for you to prevent it.” She patted his chest and kissed his chin. “Don’t frown so. It’s over and done.”

  He couldn’t believe she was soothing him. “You’re taking this loss remarkably well,” he told her.

  Nicholaa kept right on smiling. It took her a good five minutes to get him to leave the hall. She stood in the open doorway until Royce and Lawrence had crossed the courtyard.

  “Is Nicholaa still standing there?” Royce asked Lawrence.

  The vassal turned around to look. “No, Baron. She’s gone.”

  Royce immediately changed directions. “I’ve a suspicious nature,” he told his vassal. “My wife took Morgan’s treachery rather well, wouldn’t you say?”