Lord, she was short. The top of Matilda’s head only reached Nicholaa’s shoulders. The woman had the bearing of a commander, though. “Give me your hands. Now.”
Nicholaa didn’t argue. She showed the woman her burns. Determined not to look at her hands, she stared over Matilda’s head while the queen examined her injuries.
“You must be in terrible pain, my dear. Come, I shall personally supervise your care. William?” she called out. “There will be no more talk of challenging until we return.”
The king was in complete agreement. Matilda tried to take hold of Nicholaa’s elbow, but ended up grasping air, for Nicholaa moved like lightning to get closer to Royce. She was literally snuggled up against his side before Matilda could blink.
The action was telling. Matilda looked at her loyal vassal, then at the Saxon woman and back at Royce again. “You may come along with us, Baron,” she announced.
Nicholaa allowed the queen to take hold of her elbow then. Matilda tried not to smile. She noticed that when she led Nicholaa out of the hall and down the corridor, the lovely young lady kept glancing back over her shoulder to make certain Royce was following.
He was right behind her. Relief swept through Nicholaa, though she couldn’t imagine why. Oh, yes, now she remembered. This was all his fault and she needed to tell him so.
He was only doing his duty by dragging her to London. That logical thought popped into her mind all of the sudden. She pushed it aside. She didn’t want to be logical now.
“You’re a very courageous woman, Lady Nicholaa,” said Matilda. “The little girl you saved is my dear niece. We’re all in your debt.” She paused to give Nicholaa a penetrating look, then added, “She’s Norman, but that didn’t seem to make any difference to you, did it?”
Nicholaa shook her head. She wished Matilda would quit being so solicitous. She looked back over her shoulder and gave Royce a wait-until-I-get-you-alone glare.
He winked at her.
“You’re responsible for this, Royce,” she whispered.
Matilda heard her. “No, dear, it was an accident,” she said. She motioned for the guards to open the door to Nicholaa’s chamber, then marched inside.
Royce had to nudge Nicholaa forward.
The next fifteen minutes were sheer agony for Nicholaa. While the king’s bossy wife issued her orders, her personal healer—a wrinkled old man named Samuel who looked in dire need of a healer of his own—arrived with three servants. The women put their supplies down on the wooden chest, bowed to Matilda, and then backed out of the room.
Royce stood at Nicholaa’s side, his hands clasped behind his back, when the healer began his ministrations. Matilda stood near the window, her arms folded across her ample bosom, her gaze as sharp as a hawk’s as she watched the couple.
Nicholaa had refused to take to her bed. She sat on a stool. Her back was as straight as a lance, her expression devoid of all emotion as she stared off into space.
Baron Samuel sat on a stool facing his patient. He cleaned the burns with cool water and then spread a thick brown salve from her fingertips to her elbows.
The cleansing had hurt like fire, but the cooling salve had a soothing effect on her skin. Nicholaa didn’t realize she was leaning against Royce’s thigh. Matilda noticed, though, and she couldn’t contain her smile this time.
“She’ll have a few scars,” Samuel told Matilda after he’d finished wrapping the injuries with soft white cotton strips.
Royce assisted the old man to his feet. Samuel’s knees crackled louder than the logs in the hearth.
“I’ll send you a sleeping draft,” he told Nicholaa. “It will ease your pain and help you rest.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They were the first words she’d uttered since the healer had entered the chamber. His smile was broad. “I’ll return tomorrow to change your bandages.”
She thanked him again. Matilda’s piercing gaze kept turning from Nicholaa’s serene expression to Royce’s worried one.
“Are you in pain now, Nicholaa?” Royce asked.
The compassion in his voice was almost her undoing. “Don’t you dare be kind to me, you scoundrel.”
“Royce, would you leave us now?” Matilda requested.
He didn’t want to leave. That was very obvious to Matilda. The baron did her bidding, of course, just as she knew he would, but he paused at the door to give Nicholaa a long hard look before he bowed and left the chamber.
“What was that frown all about?” Matilda asked.
“It’s his you’d-better-behave-yourself glare,” she answered.
Matilda walked over to stand in front of Nicholaa. She brushed Nicholaa’s hair back over her shoulders in a motherly gesture. “It was Baron Royce’s duty to bring you to us. Why do you blame him?”
Nicholaa shrugged. “Because he was so cheerful about it,” she remarked. “And it makes me feel better to blame him.”
She glanced up in time to catch Matilda’s smile. “I know Baron Royce is your loyal servant, my lady. You probably appreciate him, but I must tell you I find him insufferable.”
“Did he mistreat you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you find him insufferable?”
“He’s rude, arrogant, and . . .” Nicholaa stopped when she saw how amused Matilda was. That reaction thoroughly confused her. She was insulting one of the king’s most favored knights, wasn’t she?
“If Royce had left you at the abbey, my dear niece would have been severely burned before my worthy knights could have saved her. So you see, Nicholaa, it was God’s will that you were here to save the child. Do you argue with me?”
Her tone suggested Nicholaa agree. “I won’t argue with you,” she said. In her heart she knew Matilda was wrong, though. Her coming here hadn’t been God’s will at all. It was William’s decision, and that was that.
“Tell me what you see when you look at Royce.”
Nicholaa thought that was a peculiar request. She didn’t want to talk about Royce anymore. Still, it would have been rude to ignore the question. “I see a very stubborn man.”
“And?”
“A vain man,” Nicholaa answered.
Matilda looked startled. “Vain, you say?”
Nicholaa nodded. “I know you don’t want to hear about your baron’s flaws, but Royce is vain. He knows his appeal.”
“Explain to me exactly how you feel about his appearance,” Matilda prodded.
Nicholaa decided from the determined look on Matilda’s face she wouldn’t let up until she had her answers. She wasn’t going to soften the truth, though, when she gave her opinion. “He has dark, handsome looks, and he knows it. Even I will admit that I’ve admired his beautiful gray eyes. I’d have to be blind not to notice, my lady. He also has a strong profile.”
“You noticed that, too, did you?” Matilda asked, smiling.
“Yes,” Nicholaa said with a sigh. “Then he gives me one of his lectures, and I forget how handsome he is. I just want to shout at him. Do tell me why you’re smiling. I am insulting one of your barons, and I would expect you to take exception to my remarks.”
Matilda shook her head. “You’re telling me what’s inside your heart.”
“Royce means nothing to me,” Nicholaa announced. “The man’s a barbarian. He has the manners of a . . .” She started to say that Royce had the manners of a Norman, but caught herself in time. “A dog.”
Matilda nodded. She walked over to the door. “I shall have the servants help you change your clothing. Are you up to returning to the hall and finishing this contest?”
Nicholaa nodded. She wanted to get the ordeal over and done with. “I’ll give you fair warning, my lady,” she called out. “I won’t be a good wife. I’ll make whoever weds me miserable for the rest of his days.”
She meant the remark as a threat, but Matilda misunderstood. Her smile was gentle. “Do not berate yourself, my dear. I’m certain you have enough good qualities to keep you
r husband content for the rest of his days.”
“But I meant . . .”
Nicholaa didn’t get a chance to explain. Matilda had already left. Mary and Heloise came rushing into the chamber then, and she turned her attention to the matter of keeping their hands off her. She was determined to be left alone, and she determined not to change her gown.
Matilda hurried back to the hall. She didn’t pause to speak to anyone but continued until she was once again standing by her husband on the platform. William was sprawled out in his chair. He held a silver goblet of ale in one hand.
His wife whispered into his ear. It was a lengthy, one-sided conversation. Matilda paused several times to dab at her eyes with her linen square, and when she’d finished her explanation, William was smiling. He took hold of his wife’s hand and kissed it.
The king handed the goblet to his squire, then motioned for silence. In a loud, booming voice he ordered all the married knights, along with their wives and children, to leave the hall. The unattached knights were to remain where they were.
Royce thought the order odd, and the puzzled expressions on his friends’ faces told him they thought it peculiar, too. No one questioned the king, though. Royce walked back to his place against the far wall, for it gave him the best unblocked view of the double doors where Nicholaa would reenter the room. He nodded to Lawrence and then leaned back to wait.
The doors were finally opened. Everyone, including the king of England and his wife, turned to watch Lady Nicholaa walk into the hall.
Those who had been sitting quickly gained their feet. Someone started clapping. Then another joined in, and another and another, until the hall was a thunder of noise.
King William didn’t stand, but he did join in the applause. Nicholaa didn’t understand what was happening. She came to an abrupt stop and almost turned around to see who was standing behind her drawing everyone’s cheers.
From her expression, Royce could tell she didn’t realize the crowd was paying her a tribute. She didn’t appear rattled by the noise, however. Nay, she looked quite serene.
And lovely. She was dressed in a deep blue chainse and bliaut. Royce thought the color was even more beautiful on her than the white gown she’d worn into the hall an hour before.
King William motioned Nicholaa forward. She hesitated for the barest of seconds before doing as he commanded.
Royce frowned over the lustful gazes some of the knights wore as they watched Nicholaa walk toward their king. He had an almost overwhelming urge to beat the soldiers to a bloody pulp.
In that minute of raw possessiveness and true jealousy, he knew what he had to do.
“What has you scowling, Royce?” Lawrence asked.
“Nothing has me scowling,” Royce muttered. “Damn it, Lawrence, Nicholaa has to be in severe pain. Look at those bandages. They cover most of her arms. She should be resting.”
“That is for our overlord to decide,” Lawrence remarked. “Perhaps he thinks it best to get the ordeal finished,“ he added before turning back to watch Nicholaa.
In truth, Nicholaa wasn’t feeling any pain at all. Baron Samuel had promised her the salve contained a special ingredient that would numb the burns. He’d been true in giving her that promise.
She walked over to stand in front of the four steps that led up to the platform. She couldn’t have knelt down if she’d wanted to, because she couldn’t grasp the hem of her gown to move it out of her way.
William noticed the slight. He leaned forward in his chair. “You do not kneel before me?”
A frown was settling on his harsh features when his wife interjected, “She cannot kneel, husband. Her hands are bandaged, and she can’t catch hold of her skirts. She’ll fall on her face if she tries. Nicholaa dear,” she called out. “Bow your head. That will please your king.”
William nodded. He looked appeased by his wife’s explanation.
Nicholaa realized she could defy the king then and there.
And what would become of Ulric?
She bowed her head.
William chuckled. “You’ve shown great courage,” he announced in a near shout so everyone would be sure to hear his praise. “I had thought to allow my knights to compete for your hand in marriage, but now I’ve changed my mind. You will have the choice.”
Her head came up with a start. The king smiled at the surprise he’d given her. “Yes, you shall choose your husband,” he said. “Turn and take their measure, my dear. They are now the prizes, Lady Nicholaa. All are worthy soldiers. Prod each one if you wish; question each, too. If it takes you the rest of the night to make your decision, so be it. We’ll wait. The marriage will take place as soon as you’ve made your choice.”
Baron Guy let out a hoot of laughter. He adjusted his red tunic and took a step forward. One of his vassals nudged him in the ribs and gave him a knowing grin.
There wasn’t any doubt in Guy’s mind that she would choose him. He didn’t believe he was being the least bit conceited in that judgment, either. He recognized his value. He was a handsome man, perhaps the most handsome baron in William’s army. Women tripped all over their hems just to get near him. And why not? He had thick blond hair, perfect hazel eyes, white teeth, and a commanding nature. He was also tall, reed thin, and possessed the physical endurance of three ordinary men put together. What more could any woman want?
Yes, she would choose him. He just needed to get her attention. Then he’d smile at her, and she would be his for the plucking.
As soon as Lady Nicholaa turned and started through the crowd, Guy moved to one side and barred her path. He smiled. She stopped, turned her gaze up to look into his eyes, and smiled back.
And then she skirted her way around him and continued on.
He couldn’t believe she’d rejected him. He reached out to touch her arm. Nicholaa shrugged it away.
Guy could feel his face turning red with embarrassment. His hands became fists at his side, and it took all the restraint he had not to grab her shoulders and demand she choose him. With an effort, he forced himself to feign indifference.
Guy’s two favored vassals, Morgan and Henry, moved to flank their baron. Not even trying to hide their anger, they openly scowled at Nicholaa’s back.
Nicholaa had no idea of the fury she’d caused. Her attention was solely directed on one man. Royce. He was leaning against the far wall, looking very bored, almost sleepy.
But he was staring at her.
The closer she got, the more worried he looked. She tried not to smile.
She could feel the tension in the hall. Most of it, she thought, came from Royce. None of the barons could possibly like this turn of the tables, for one of them had just become the coveted prize, the possession.
She really should have felt a little compassion for the knights. She didn’t, though. She was too busy gloating.
Lord, it was a fine moment.
Nicholaa continued to move through the crowd until she reached Royce. When she was just a foot away from him, she stopped. She didn’t say a word, just looked up at him for the longest while.
He couldn’t believe she was standing there. He shook his head.
She nodded. “Royce?” She said his name in a whisper, but he heard it all the same.
“Yes, Nicholaa?”
Her smile captivated him. She motioned for him to come closer. And then she stretched up on tiptoes and whispered into his ear.
“Checkmate.”
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 emoti
on, 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.