The Prize

“For the love of God, Nicholaa—”

  She poked him in the shoulder. “It’s a sound plan, Royce.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. The plan belonged to a half-wit. “Why go to all this trouble, wife?” he asked then. “Couldn’t you have just explained?”

  “Why must you complicate everything?” she asked. “This is my plan, not yours. We have to do it my way. You’re confusing me with all your questions.”

  She was getting all worked up. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked as if she might break into a fit of weeping.

  He tried to soothe her. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. Let’s begin with the lies, shall we? Then we can move on to my seduction.”

  “It’s my seduction, not yours.”

  He didn’t argue with her. “I assume there is more than one lie. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one would you like to tell me about first?”

  “The big one.”

  When she didn’t continue, he prodded her. “I’m waiting, Nicholaa.”

  “I’m not Ulric’s mama.”

  She tensed in anticipation of his reaction. Royce didn’t say anything. She leaned away from him to see if he was frowning. He wasn’t. She took heart. “I’ve never even been married.”

  “I see.”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t see,” she whispered. “You think I’m experienced, but the truth is just the opposite.”

  He still didn’t react. She didn’t know what to make of that. Perhaps he didn’t understand. “Royce, this is going to upset you, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m really still . . .”

  She couldn’t get the word out. He took mercy on her. “You’re still a virgin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believed I would be upset by this news?”

  “You needn’t smile at me, Royce. I had to tell you before I seduced you. You were bound . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence to frown up at him. “You would have noticed, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I would have noticed.”

  “There, do you see?” she asked. She leaned farther back and would have kept right on going if Royce hadn’t tightened his hold around her waist.

  “Tomorrow you won’t remember any of this discussion. You can’t know little Ulric belongs to my brother. It wouldn’t be safe for the baby, especially when you find out Thurston’s still alive.”

  She started getting misty-eyed again. Royce pulled her close. “Nicholaa, I know you’re having a little trouble concentrating now, but I want you to try to understand what I’m going to say to you.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps just a little.”

  “I don’t want you to be even a little afraid,” he whispered. He squeezed her to emphasize that statement, then continued. “Do you know, you have a much stronger temper than I do.”

  She thought about that remark for a long minute, then nodded. “Thank you, husband.”

  He held his exasperation. “It wasn’t a compliment, just an observation.”

  “I admit I do raise my voice every now and again,” she whispered.

  “You’re turning the topic, Nicholaa. I want to talk about this unreasonable fear you have of me.”

  “It isn’t unreasonable,” she muttered. “And I’m not overly afraid. I’m just a cautious sort, that’s all.”

  “Caution is all good and well, wife, but you needn’t be cautious around me. No matter how often you provoke me, I’ll never hurt you.”

  “You hurt my feelings when you ignore me.”

  “That’s different.”

  She let out a sigh. “I don’t see how.”

  “Tell me what happened the day we were attacked.”

  “I interfered.”

  “I know you interfered. I want to know why.”

  “I shouldn’t tell you,” she whispered. “But I want to tell you. I don’t know what to do. You’re going to be furious with Thurston. Please don’t hate my brother. He didn’t realize he was trying to kill you. I mean to say, he probably meant to fell you, but he couldn’t have known you were my husband.”

  “Nicholaa, will you try to make sense?” he ordered. “Thurston is still alive? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Oh, God, how did you guess?”

  “Your brother’s in league with the resisters against William.”

  His cunning amazed her. “How did you guess that?” she asked him.

  He didn’t remind her that she’d just told him. “And Thurston is Ulric’s father, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” she cried out. “But you won’t remember whom the baby belongs to in the morning, Royce. Promise me.”

  He was suddenly furious with her. “Do you actually believe I’d hurt the baby just because his father is my enemy?”

  She snuggled up against his shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t hurt him, but you might use him to get Thurston. My brother was leading the soldiers who attacked us, Royce. I saw him.”

  “Damn it all, Nicholaa, I would never use Ulric in such a way. How could you think . . .”

  He quit protesting when he realized he’d already done just that by using the baby to force Nicholaa to leave her sanctuary. It was only logical for her to assume he’d use Ulric again.

  His anger evaporated. His mind was reeling with the information she’d given him. “Nicholaa? Did you see your brother before or after you took the arrow in your shoulder?”

  She put her arms around his neck. Her fingers began to toy with his hair. He stopped that distraction by pulling her hands away. “Answer me,” he commanded.

  She let out a sigh. “It was Thurston’s arrow that hit me,” she said. “You were his target.”

  His smile was tender. “That’s why you screamed, isn’t it?”

  “I was afraid for you,” she said. She kissed his chin, then fell back against him. “You can’t blame my brother. He didn’t know I was there. He loves me, Royce. He would never intentionally hurt me.”

  It all fell into place now. Thurston must have realized what he’d done after he dispatched the arrow. Nicholaa’s white-blond hair must have been visible to the Saxon warrior. Royce remembered the anguished bellow that came from the crest and mingled with his own outraged roar. Aye, Thurston knew what he’d done. That was the reason he’d ordered the retreat.

  God help Nicholaa. She’d had a hell of a time since she’d met him. He kissed the top of her head and then stood up, cushioning her in his arms.

  “Do you doubt that Thurston loves me?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t doubt his love,” he answered. “I do doubt his eyesight,” he added in a mutter. “He damn well should have—”

  “Thurston has wonderful eyesight,” she announced. “I’ve better, though. Do you know I can hit any target with my sling?”

  She reached up and touched the small jagged scar on his forehead. “That’s exactly where I meant to hit you, husband.”

  He couldn’t help noticing how cheerful she sounded. “You do not regret injuring your husband?” he asked, his amusement obvious.

  “You weren’t my husband then,” she answered. “I use arrows, too, sometimes.” She kissed his chin again, then whispered, “I’m always accurate. The first knight your William sent to seize my holding took one of my arrows home with him.”

  Royce had just started carrying her up the steps. He stopped and looked down at her. She was looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “You’re the one who put the arrow in Gregory’s backside?”

  Since he wasn’t going to remember much of anything in the morning, she felt it was safe to boast. “Just below his backside, in his thigh. It was just a flesh wound, Royce, meant to stop him from taking my home.”

  He shook his head. “I thought you said your brother’s second-in-command was in charge of the defense. Are you telling me you lied about that, too?”

  “No, John was in charge some of t
he time.”

  “But you interfered?”

  “Just a little.” She slumped back against his shoulder. “You smell nice, Royce.”

  She’d obviously forgotten she’d already said that. He continued on up the steps and walked down the long corridor past her own chamber and on to his own.

  His squire, a dark-haired lad named Trevor, waited inside to assist his lord. Royce dismissed the boy with a quick motion of his head, then shut the door behind him.

  A fire blazed on the hearth. The room was as warm, as inviting, as the woman cuddled up in his arms. Royce walked over to the bed and sat down with Nicholaa in his lap.

  He thought she’d fallen asleep until she said, “Have you noticed how sweet-tempered I’ve been this evening?”

  Her voice was a sleepy whisper. “I noticed,” he said.

  “Mama used to say you can catch more vermin with sweet than with sour.”

  That statement baffled him. “Why in God’s name would you want to?”

  “Want to what?”

  “Catch vermin.”

  “I don’t want to catch vermin,” she muttered. “I want to catch you.” Lord, how she wished her husband would quit tossing her about in his arms. She grabbed hold of his shoulders to steady herself. Her head was spinning, and her stomach was fighting waves of nausea.

  “Nicholaa?” he said. “About this plan of yours . . .”

  “What plan?”

  He gave up. He continued to hold her until he was certain she’d fallen asleep. Then he set about the task of undressing her.

  He couldn’t stay irritated with her. She was a master with her games of manipulation, but he understood her motives now. She was trying to hold her family together, any way she could. Aye, she was trying to survive.

  It was going to take her time to learn to trust him completely, he knew, and then perhaps they would be able to settle down to a peaceful life together. He wanted her to be happy. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve that goal, though, until the problem with Thurston was solved. Hell, he might have to kill the bastard. That certainly wouldn’t win Nicholaa’s heart.

  Royce felt that he was in an impossible position. But then, so was Nicholaa. She was desperately trying to protect her brother from him and, at the same time, protect him from her brother.

  There was much to consider before he formed his plans, he decided. Nicholaa wore only her chemise now, and he was about to pull the covers up over her when he changed his mind. He slowly reached for the silk ribbon that held her chemise in place. His hands shook when he touched her bare skin.

  Lord, she was exquisitely formed. Her breasts were full, her waist incredibly narrow, and the gentle flair of her hips couldn’t have been more pleasing to him.

  He stripped off his own clothes. Then he stretched out next to his wife. If she didn’t touch him, he might be able to stand the torment of having her warm body so close.

  It took Royce a long while to fall asleep. All of Nicholaa’s worries filtered through his mind.

  And then his mind returned to the one remark she’d made so matter-of-factly that he knew it was true.

  She wanted to seduce him.

  A man couldn’t ask for more than that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nicholaa awakened to the sound of a waterfall thundering in her ear. It took her a long time to realize what the noise was, and she didn’t have any idea at all until she tried to move.

  She felt Royce then. His arm was wrapped around her waist. They both slept on their sides. She was in front, with her backside snuggled up against his groin. The noise was her husband’s snoring.

  Her feet were tucked between his legs. She slowly edged away from him and was about to roll onto her stomach when he tightened his hold and pulled her back up against him.

  The movement almost killed her. Her head felt as though it might split in half. She went completely still. Her stomach immediately calmed down. Her mind didn’t. Dear God, what had happened last night? She couldn’t remember.

  She’d slept with her husband. That was the only fact she was certain of. She had no idea what else had happened.

  Had she gotten him sotted or had she gotten herself sotted instead? Nicholaa closed her eyes. It was too much to think about with her head pounding. Perhaps if she went back to sleep for just a little longer, she’d feel refreshed enough to remember.

  Royce awakened just a few minutes later. Morning light filtered through the window he’d left uncovered. He lifted his head to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed. He thought she might be pretending sleep just to avoid him.

  He gently nudged her. She groaned.

  “Nicholaa?” He whispered her name.

  She reacted as though he’d roared it. Her hand flew up to cover her ear.

  “Are you still sleepy?” he asked. He rolled her onto her back and leaned over her.

  The movement made her want to gag. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her first thought was that he didn’t look ill. Nay, he appeared fit. Happy, too. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, giving him a boyish look. If she’d had the strength, she would have eased his hair back where it belonged. The man didn’t need much sleep, she supposed. His eyes were filled with laughter, and he seemed ready to take on the world.

  He thought she looked like hell. Her eyes were so bloodshot it hurt to look at them. Her complexion was greenish. The afteraffects of too much ale, he decided. His wife was going to suffer this morning.

  She fell asleep again while he stared at her. He leaned down and kissed her brow, then rolled onto his side to get out of bed. The movement woke her up. She grabbed hold of the covers to keep herself from shaking.

  He noticed that action. “Aren’t you feeling well, Nicholaa?” he asked.

  If he didn’t quit shouting, she was going to die. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  He laughed. His wife sounded as if she were being strangled.

  The man was a morning talker. She vowed to work on that flaw. Royce kept up a steady one-sided conversation while he dressed. God, he was cheerful. She wished she could put a gag in his mouth. It was a mean thought, she knew, but she didn’t much care.

  Royce shouted his farewell, then deliberately slammed the door. He wasn’t finished with his cruelty, though. He caught Clarise at the bottom of the steps and told her to bring a trencher of food to his wife’s chamber.

  Ten minutes later, when Clarise presented the meal to her mistress, Nicholaa literally bolted from the bed. She made it to the chamber pot without a second to spare.

  It took her all morning to regain her strength. By nooning she was feeling better. She finally got dressed in a green bliaut, but she changed when Clarise mentioned the color matched her complexion. The royal blue gown was much better, or so the servant decreed.

  Her hair hurt too much to let Clarise braid it. Nicholaa gritted her teeth while the servant brushed the tangles away, then used a blue ribbon to secure it behind her neck.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Clarise asked.

  “I don’t know what happened last night,” Nicholaa whispered.

  “You were stark naked when you got out of his bed this morn, milady. Something happened.”

  “Oh, God, I was naked, wasn’t I? Clarise, I don’t remember last night. What am I going to do?”

  The servant shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him what happened, but first you need to take a nice stroll outside. The fresh air will clear your head.”

  “Yes, I’ll go outside. Then maybe my head will clear and I’ll remember.”

  Clarise nodded. “Milady, you aren’t feeling a little tenderness?”

  “My head’s feeling tender.”

  “That wasn’t my meaning,” Clarise said. She handed Nicholaa her cloak.

  “What was your meaning?” Nicholaa asked.

  “Never you mind,” the servant countered. “Get your fresh air. It will all come back to you eventually.”

  Nicho
laa hoped the servant was right. She wanted to remember what she’d told Royce. More, she wanted to remember what had taken place in the bedchamber.

  The cold air did clear her thoughts. She felt much better, but she still didn’t remember anything.

  She intercepted her husband as he was returning to the courtyard from the lower bailey. She hurried over to him. “Royce? I would like to ask you about last night.”

  “Yes?”

  She moved closer to him so she wouldn’t be overheard, then lowered her gaze. “Did you have a little too much ale?”

  “Not.”

  “I did.”

  He put his thumb under her chin and tilted her face up. “Yes, you did.”

  He looked serious, but not angry. “I don’t remember what happened,” she whispered. “What did I do?”

  “You talked.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I listened.”

  She let him see her displeasure. “Please don’t make this difficult for me. Tell me what I said. I would like to remember.”

  He decided to make her wait. “We will discuss this tonight,” he announced. He tried to walk away from her.

  She grabbed hold of his arm. “Please,” she whispered. “Answer just one question now.”

  He turned back to her. “All right,” he agreed. “What is it you wish to know?”

  She couldn’t look at him when she asked her question. “Did I please you last night?”

  The shyness in her voice, added to the blush on her cheeks, told him exactly what she was asking him. She wanted to know if she’d pleased him in bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he shook his head. “Not particularly,” he announced.

  She looked devastated. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” she whispered. “It’s usually a little . . . awkward the first time, isn’t it?”

  “No.” His voice turned hard. “It should have been easy for you.”

  She let out a gasp. The man was heartless. Her eyes filled with tears. “I wasn’t experienced, Royce,” she muttered.

  “No, it was obvious to me you had no experience,” he countered.

  “And that displeased you?”

  “Of course,” he drawled out. “Nicholaa, telling me the truth should never be awkward, with or without experience.”