The Prize

  “Those three have become fast friends,” Lawrence remarked. “I’m pleased with Justin’s progress on the whole. You can see he’s regained the weight he lost, added a bit more bulk, too. Swinging a sword and lifting stones have added to his muscle. Aye, he’s coming along nicely.”

  Ingelram knocked Bryan to the ground, let out a shout of victory, then turned to Justin. Bryan rolled out of the way as Justin swaggered forward. Ingelram and Justin put on quite a show for their baron. Several other soldiers formed a wide circle to watch.

  The longer Royce observed, the more he frowned. “Tell me this, Lawrence,” he asked. “Is Ingelram sparring with Justin or dancing with him?”

  “Exactly,” Lawrence muttered. “That’s why I wanted you to watch, Baron. No matter which man I pair with Justin, the result is always the same. I don’t think they do it on purpose, but the men soften their attack when I pit them against the boy.”

  Royce nodded. He let out a shrill whistle, drawing everyone’s attention. Justin was still a bit wary of his baron. He’d been grinning while he battled his friend, but his expression was contained when he turned to Royce.

  “I’m in the mood to knock a few of you on your backsides,” Royce announced. “Who wants this privilege?”

  It was a rare honor their baron bestowed upon the younger soldiers, and each was eager to be the first to take on the challenge.

  Yet while the soldiers rushed forward, Royce noticed they also tried to keep Justin at the back of the line. Even now they were trying to protect him. Their friendship for Nicholaa’s brother could very well get him killed.

  Justin wasn’t about to be left out, though. He shouldered his way to the front of the group.

  “How many will get this opportunity, Baron?” Justin called out.

  The others now lined up behind him, with Ingelram and Bryan flanking him. Justin was acting as their spokesman, and Royce was so pleased with this turn of events that he almost laughed. Lawrence had kept Royce informed of Justin’s progress, of course, but seeing the boy now standing so tall and proud still took him by surprise. It warmed his heart, too.

  “I’ll only waste enough of my valuable time to fight four of you,” Royce drawled. “Since you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak for the unit, you’ll be one of those four. Pick the other three, Justin, and then put yourself last, as befits a leader.”

  Justin nodded. He started to turn to his friends, then stopped. “And if one of us knocks you on your backside, Baron?”

  Royce did laugh then. “He will be suitably rewarded.”

  Justin smiled. A conference was immediately called. Royce and Lawrence stood by while the soldiers decided among themselves who the other three would be.

  “You’ve done well,” Royce told Lawrence in a low whisper. “His body’s strong now.”

  “He’s ready to train,” Lawrence replied. “So are the others, Royce.”

  The decision was finally reached among the Doves. A redheaded soldier by the name of Merrill strutted forward. He bowed first to Royce, then to Lawrence.

  Royce took a step forward. “We won’t use weapons,” he decreed.

  Merrill immediately unstrapped the sheath from his side and handed the sword and covering to Justin. Then he turned back to his baron. “I’m ready, my lord.”

  Royce laughed again. “Nay, you’re not ready,” he said. “Perhaps after three months of training with me, you will be ready, but not today, Merrill.”

  He beckoned with one hand for Merrill to attack. The soldier slowly circled his baron. Royce didn’t move at all, even when Merrill had worked his way around him.

  Merrill positioned himself behind his baron and finally attacked, intending to grab his lord by his neck and wrestle him to the ground.

  Royce waited until he felt Merrill’s touch, then twisted and, with one hand, lifted the soldier off his feet, flung him over his shoulder, and dropped him on the ground. Merrill landed with a grunt on his backside.

  “You gave me too much time to think about what you were going to do, Merrill,” Royce instructed. “If you want to surprise your adversary by sneaking up behind him, do so with speed. Do you understand?”

  Merrill nodded. Royce reached down, offering his hand to the soldier. Merrill grabbed hold and was hauled back to his feet.

  “Next,” Royce ordered.

  Bryan moved forward. He’d already removed his sword. He swung at his baron with his left fist. If the blow had connected, it would have flattened an ordinary man. Royce wasn’t ordinary, though, but Bryan didn’t remember that fact soon enough. The baron easily caught hold of the soldier’s fist with one hand and held on.

  “Now what, Bryan?” he asked.

  Bryan’s hand throbbed. He felt as though he’d just rammed it into a stone wall. He grimaced against the pain, then tried to strike Royce with his other fist. Royce deflected the blow and sent Bryan flying to the ground.

  “Again you allowed me to have the advantage,” he explained to the group. “Use whatever method works. Bryan, you have feet. Use them.”

  “Yes, Baron.”

  A third soldier hurried into the center of the circle. His name was Howard, and he proved to be a bit more cunning than the first two. Royce had to knock him down twice before he landed on his backside.

  And then it was Justin’s turn. Royce stared at him a long minute before giving him the order to begin.

  “What have you learned from the first three challengers?”

  “I’ve learned to use my feet and my fist,” Justin answered. “And to use any method, fair or foul, to get you to the ground, Baron.”

  Royce nodded. “Then my time hasn’t been wasted,” he announced. His gaze moved over the entire group. “Lawrence has given you tasks to strengthen your bodies, but now the time has come for you to learn how to use your heads. In battle, strength without cunning means nothing. Tomorrow you will begin training with the experienced knights.”

  A loud cheer went up. The soldiers had officially completed the first phase of their training. It was time to celebrate.

  Royce smiled. The soldiers wouldn’t be cheering tomorrow night. Nay, by then every inch of their bodies would be screaming in agony, for the first full day of training with the seasoned warriors would be the most difficult day of their lives.

  Nicholaa was coming down the first slope when she heard the shouts. Curious, she quickened her stride until she reached the bottom. She saw the crowd circling Justin and her husband then.

  She tried not to be worried. Then Justin threw himself at Royce, and she almost cried out. Her brother had feigned the attack; he twisted away at the last possible minute and tried to kick Royce in the backs of his legs.

  Royce deflected the blow and clipped Justin between his shoulder blades with the back of his hand. Nicholaa’s brother staggered forward, quickly recovered, and then launched yet another attack.

  Quite by accident, Justin got in one solid punch. His fist connected with Royce’s jaw approximately five seconds after his baron noticed Nicholaa was observing the scene.

  Royce instinctively struck back, knocking Justin to the ground. He moved forward, put his foot on Justin’s chest to keep him down, then gave the soldier a most bizarre command.

  “Smile, Justin.”

  “What?” Justin gasped, trying to regain his breath.

  “I said smile,” Royce told him in a furious whisper. “Now, damn it.”

  Justin smiled.

  Nicholaa desperately tried not to interfere. But the sight of her brother sprawled on the ground, added to the fact that all the other soldiers were grinning, did made her forget her vow.

  Justin’s face was turned away from her. For that reason, she didn’t see his smile.

  “Royce, my brother has only one hand.”

  God help her, she hadn’t meant to shout that reminder.

  “But I have two,” Royce called out.

  Nicholaa had rushed forward, but she came to an abrupt stop when Royce shouted that cruel rema
rk.

  She stared at Royce. He winked at her. Then Justin turned to her. He started laughing. She took a step back, stopped, shook her head, and finally turned around and walked back up the hill.

  Royce let out a sigh. He knew she didn’t understand. He moved away from Justin and offered him his hand. Justin grabbed hold and was pulled to his feet.

  “You’ve done well,” he told Justin. “As a reward for striking me, you and the other three will join me for dinner.”

  Justin grinned. His cheeks were red when he moved back to stand with the other soldiers. Royce didn’t know if the coloring was from exertion or his praise.

  Royce clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the group. “I have one last thing to say to you. You have all become friends, and that is as it should be, but when you fight with one another, you will give it your total concentration. You will not make allowances for anyone, for any reason. What you may perceive as kindness or protectiveness could very well get your friend killed in a real battle.”

  They all knew what he was talking about, Royce was sure of that. He addressed his next remarks to Justin. “In battle no allowances will be given because you have but one hand. For that reason, you can’t be as good as the others. You have to be better.”

  Justin nodded. “Baron, when will I know I’m ready?”

  Royce smiled. “You’ll just know, Justin. No one will have to tell you.”

  Lawrence stepped forward. “To celebrate the beginning of your training with the Hawks, perhaps our baron will let you watch a game of kickball.”

  Royce nodded. King William frowned on the game, for he felt it took away from the knights’ primary responsibility of training for his army. Royce occasionally made an exception simply because he loved to play the brutal game. The objective was to move the leather-covered ball from one end of the field to the other. There was only one rule: the knights couldn’t use their hands. The game always turned bloody, of course, which was yet another reason everyone loved to play.

  “You’ll lead one team, Lawrence, and I’ll take the other,” Royce announced. “We’ll start as soon as I’ve talked to Nicholaa.”

  He and Lawrence turned to leave. Ingelram nudged Justin, and then the two of them hurried forward to block their baron’s path.

  “Baron, why must we watch?” Ingelram blurted out.

  Royce raised an eyebrow over that question. Then he shrugged. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to,” he answered. “You’re free to do whatever you want this afternoon.”

  “What Ingelram means to say, Baron,” Justin explained, “is that we don’t want to watch; we want to play. We have enough men for a team of our own, and we would welcome the opportunity to defeat the Hawks.”

  “They’d be insulted if we made them play against Doves,” Lawrence interjected.

  Justin grinned. “Not if you and the baron joined our team.”

  Royce laughed. “That’s up to your commander,” he announced with a nod in Lawrence’s direction.

  His vassal was in the mood to be accommodating. He gave the unit permission. The soldiers immediately rushed toward the area they would use for their field. They were already planning their strategy.

  “Did you notice?” Lawrence asked Royce when they were alone.

  “Notice what?”

  “Justin has not only become their spokesman,” he explained. “He also considers himself one of them now. Don’t you remember how he was when he first started? Everything was theirs, not his. A good change in attitude, wouldn’t you say?”

  It was a simple statement, but Royce reacted as though he’d just been struck. Hell, he thought to himself, he’d been acting just like Justin. From the beginning the holding was his, not Nicholaa’s; the servants belonged to him, not her . . . and after a time she’d finally conceded.

  He slapped Lawrence on the shoulder. “You’ve made me realize an error,” he told his vassal. “Thank you.”

  Royce didn’t give his vassal further explanation. He would go up to the keep to make certain Nicholaa wasn’t too upset by what she’d seen, but after supper he’d sit her down and explain the changes he wanted. He wouldn’t lecture her. No, no, he never lectured. He wouldn’t stop talking, though, until he was certain she understood.

  His wife had fully recovered from her initial reaction to seeing Justin fight with Royce. Her brother’s wonderful smile still lingered in her mind. She had rushed inside the keep and hurried up the steps. She wanted to get to the bedchamber before she deliberately and blatantly broke rule number three.

  Aye, she was going to weep. They would be tears of joy, but Royce wouldn’t understand that if he happened to catch her.

  “Where are you going, my lady?” Clarise called out to her. “I’ve a question to ask you about supper.”

  “Not now, please,” Nicholaa called back. “I’ll be back down in a few minutes. You may ask me then.”

  Clarise didn’t want to wait. Cook was already peevish, and Clarise didn’t want the woman’s mood to sour any more than it already had. If that happened, everyone would suffer because supper would be ruined.

  The servant rushed toward the steps and stopped Nicholaa just as she reached the landing. “It won’t take but a minute of your time,” she called out. “Cook wants to know if she should prepare the sweet berry tarts or the sugared apples. You won’t be getting either unless you let her know right away,” she warned.

  Nicholaa leaned one hip against the railing while she considered her options. “I believe we’ll celebrate tonight. Have Cook prepare both.”

  Nicholaa turned to go down the corridor, just as the wood and the railing gave way.

  Clarise screamed. Nicholaa didn’t have time to do more than gasp in surprise. She grabbed hold of a ledge as she started to fall and held on for dear life. The railing crashed to the floor below. Wood splintered in every direction. Clarise jumped back to get out of the way. She finally quit screaming, though, and went to help her mistress. “Dear God above, hold tight. I’m coming up to help you. Don’t look down, milady. You’ll only panic if you do.”

  “No, don’t come up here,” Nicholaa shouted. “You’ll fall through. Get my husband. Hurry, please. I can’t hold on much longer.”

  The servant immediately changed directions. She’d just reached the double doors when they were flung open and Royce strode inside.

  Clarise didn’t have to explain. Royce took it all in at once, the splintered wood scattered on the floor in front of him, a pair of feet dangling above. His heart almost failed him. He rushed forward to position himself below Nicholaa.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  His roar actually calmed her. Then his outrageous question penetrated her mind. God’s truth, she almost laughed. “What do you think I’m doing?” she called out. “I’m hanging from the ledge, you daft man.”

  Royce heard the threat of amusement in her voice, then decided that wasn’t possible. His wife had to be terrified.

  “Let go, Nicholaa, and bend your knees. I’ll catch you,” he said in a calm, reasonable voice.

  “Yes, Royce.”

  “Let go now, sweetheart.”

  Nicholaa was so surprised by the endearment that she forgot to worry. She let go and simply waited for her husband to catch her.

  He barely buckled under the weight as he caught her in his arms and held her close. Then he backed up several steps as a precaution against more of the wood crashing down on top of the two of them.

  He was shaking by the time he’d carried his wife into the great hall. Her near disaster had left him reeling. She could have broken her neck.

  “You will not go upstairs again, Nicholaa. Do you hear me?”

  He was squeezing bruises into her arms when he issued that command. She would have given him her agreement immediately, but then he distracted her by kicking a stool out of his path. He sat down in a high-backed chair near the hearth and took several deep breaths. Nicholaa realized then how upset her h
usband was. Since he hadn’t raised his voice, his distress was a bit of a revelation to her. “You were worried about me?” she asked.

  He scowled to let her know how foolish he thought that question was. “I’m going to have everything moved down here before this day is over. Don’t you dare argue with me, Nicholaa. My mind’s made up. You will not go abovestairs again.”

  She nodded. “You were worried.”

  “Yes.”

  One word, spoken in a harsh, clipped voice that absolutely thrilled her. He did care about her. His heart was slamming inside his chest, another telling indication. She heard it loud and clear when he roughly pressed her head against his chest.

  The man really needed to calm down, she decided. The danger was over now. Nicholaa decided to turn his attention a bit.

  “Royce, you really should tear your home down and build another one. I wonder why you hesitate.”

  He suddenly wanted to throttle her. “It isn’t my home, and it isn’t yours,” he announced, carefully enunciating each word.

  “Then whose is it?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

  He lifted her off his lap and stood up. “Ours,” he snapped. “Everything is ours, wife—not mine, not yours, but ours. Got that?”

  She nodded. Damn, he never wanted to have another scare like that for the rest of his life. He roughly grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. Then he turned and walked out of the hall.

  The need to pound his fists into something solid nearly overwhelmed him. A game of ball was just what he needed now. Once he’d knocked a few of his soldiers to the ground, perhaps he’d feel better. Then he walked past the pieces of the railing and knew that hitting a few men wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to fell the whole contingent.

  Nicholaa wasn’t sure what had just happened. She thought it might be significant, this change in her husband’s attitude about ownership, but he’d acted so furious that he’d only confused her all the more.

  Not ten minutes later a group of soldiers came inside. Within an hour they had emptied the upstairs. They placed Royce’s bed in the corner of the great hall, though only after Thomas had checked to make certain the floor would support the weight. They placed Nicholaa’s chest next to the headboard. The men took the rest of the furniture outside. Thomas stood by Nicholaa’s side, watching. He explained that everything would be stored in huts until the baron made further decisions.