The Prize (7 page)

"I did not offer him comfort," Nicholaa interrupted, her voice emphatic. "I was just helping Sister Felicity. You know how old and tired she is, Alice. And since I was sitting up at night by Justin's side, I only added Hugh to my duties. That's all."

"Baron Hugh says you've got a kind heart. Now, don't take to frowning, mistress. It's the truth. Hugh also said you beat him fair and fast at chess time and again."

Nicholaa smiled. "Hugh was bored with his confinement," she explained, "and giving the abbess one tantrum after another, demanding to be let up. I played chess to help her, not to entertain the Norman."

"Baron Hugh smiled when he spoke of you, but he frowned fierce whenever Justin's name cropped up. He told how your brother threw the tray of food at you. Then Baron Royce took to frowning, too. He's a pure fright when he scowls, isn't he?"

"I didn't notice," Nicholaa replied. "Neither of the Normans could possibly understand the torment Justin is going through," she whispered. "Now, please, tell me all about Ulric. How is my dear nephew doing?"

Alice smiled. "He's a handful, that one is, now that he's taken to crawling. Another tooth poked through just the day before yesterday."

"Isn't it too soon?" Nicholaa asked.

"No, no," Alice answered. "Ulric's doing just what he's supposed to be doing at his tender age. You haven't had much experience with babies, so you'll have to be taking my word on this."

Nicholaa nodded. "I wish I'd brought him here with me. I worry about him, Alice. Oh, I know you and Clarise are doing a fine job of caring for him, but I—"

"You made the right decision," Alice interjected. "You had no way of knowing if you'd make it to the abbey without being caught," she reminded her mistress. "And the weather would have chilled Ulric through to his bones. Besides, what would you have told your escort? They thought you were Sister Danielle, remember? Rest your frown, milady. Ulric's safe at Rosewood. It's just as we predicted it would be," she added with a nod. "The Normans don't pay any attention to the babe. They're still believing your lie that he's just the son of a servant. Clarise keeps him abovestairs all the time. Why, I'm thinking Baron Royce doesn't even remember he's there."

"I pray to God his father's still alive," Nicholaa whispered. "The longer we go without word, the more convinced I become that Thurston's dead, Alice."

"Don't think such dour thoughts," Alice ordered. She used the hem of her bliaut to mop at the corners of her eyes. "You've had a time of it, haven't you? Now listen to me. God wouldn't be so cruel as to take both

Ulric's mama and his papa. Your older brother must still be alive. You mustn't give up hope."

Nicholaa nodded. "No, I mustn't give up hope."

Alice patted her mistress's hand. "Baron Royce believes you've been married," she announced. "That fool, James, thinks the wedding to Roulf took place. We're all snickering over that one, we are. That know-it-all traitor doesn't know everything, does he? I'm hoping Baron Royce will toss James out on his backside when he finds out the truth."

Bennett and Oscar, two of the stable hands, came to escort Alice back to the holding. As soon as the three loyal servants took their leave, Nicholaa hurried back up to the sickroom to sit by Justin's side.

Her brother's mood was as stormy as the weather. When he finally fell asleep, Nicholaa leaned over him to pull the covers up around his shoulders. His right hand slammed into the side of her face—quite by accident, for he was sleeping now, but the blow was still powerful enough to knock Nicholaa to the floor.

Justin had caught her below the right eye, and she knew from the horrid throbbing she was feeling that she would wear a dark bruise by nightfall.

She left Justin alone and resumed her pacing. Every now and again she would pause at the window to look outside. By midafternoon she was convinced that whatever plan Royce had decided upon had somehow failed.

She was just about to pull the heavy animal skin back over the opening when the sound of thunder drew her attention. Men on horseback were racing around the bend in the road. The contingent of soldiers numbered at least fifty. They stopped when they reached the bottom of the steep path that led up to the doors of the abbey. The soldiers who'd been keeping guard around the perimeter of the walls then joined the ranks. When they were added to the unit, the number swelled to over seventy.

One warrior separated himself from the others and nudged his mount up the hill. From the size of horse and rider, she knew it was Royce.

He'd come for her after all.

Nicholaa backed away from the window, but kept her gaze directed on him.

Sunlight bounced off his open faced helmet and the metal rings sewn into his leather chest armor. It was the dead of winter, and yet his arms were bare. Nicholaa shivered. Royce suddenly seemed invincible to her.

She had to shake her head. He was just a man, she reminded herself. A man who would soon freeze to death, she hoped. Nicholaa saw his sword strapped to his side, but she didn't see a shield. He was still armed for battle—or for the journey through hostile land to London.

Royce stopped when he reached the center of the path. He sat there a long while, looking up at the abbey.

What was he waiting for? Did he actually think she would come outside? She shook her head and smiled. The Norman could sit atop his stallion for the rest of the day for all the care she would give. She wouldn't be so easily intimidated.

Royce sent a messenger up to the abbey's iron gates and waited until he was certain Nicholaa had been informed of his arrival.

The abbess found Nicholaa standing near the window. "Baron Royce asks that you look out the window, Nicholaa. He says he has a message for you."

Nicholaa moved to the center of the opening so that Royce could see her. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, trying to look serene and confident. She wasn't certain that he could see her expression, but she wasn't taking any chances. She was worried, yes, but the Norman wouldn't know it. Besides, she told herself again, he was bluffing.

Royce waited until he spotted her in the window, then slowly removed the heavy blankets protecting the baby he cradled in his arms.

Ulric was sound asleep, but his face scrunched up into a frown when the cold air reached him. "You'll be warm in just a minute," Royce promised.

He lifted the baby high into the air and waited for a reaction.

It wasn't long in coming. Lady Nicholaa suddenly disappeared from the window. Her scream of outrage lingered in the room.

Ulric had just filled his lungs with the intention of letting out an outraged bellow of his own when Royce gently wrapped him up in his cocoon of blankets. The warmth soothed the baby, and he began to suckle diligently on his chubby fists.

The slurping noise made Royce smile. He pulled the blanket back so he could see the baby's face and was rewarded with a grin. Four sparkling white teeth, two on top and two on the bottom, were visible when Ulric removed his fist from his mouth. Drool covered the baby's chin and cheeks. Royce awkwardly mopped the wetness away and then thought to dismiss the child by again covering his face.

Ulric had other intentions. He immediately arched his back into a bow, let out a loud, thoroughly undisciplined scream, and then started kicking.

Royce had absolutely no experience handling such a little baby. His three younger sisters had children, yes, but he'd never spent any time with them. As to that, he wasn't even sure how many nieces and nephews he had. He didn't have any idea why Ulric was upset. The baby was warm and protected, and that should have been quite enough. Royce had, after all, patiently waited until the servant, Clarise, had fed the child.

The baby had absolutely nothing to complain about.

He pulled the covers away from the baby's face. "Go back to sleep," he ordered in a soft but firm voice. Ulric quit squirming long enough to smile up at Royce. The baby looked absolutely ridiculous with his hair standing on end. Royce couldn't help smiling back.

He then decided he'd spent enough time soothing the child and once again pulled the covers over the baby's face. "Now you will go back to sleep."

Ulric let out another bellow. Royce spotted Nicholaa then. She came running through the open gates with her hair flying out behind her, paying no heed to the weather, for she hadn't even taken the time to put a cloak around her shoulders in her haste to get to Ulric.

His plan had worked. Royce was relieved—not so much at having tricked her into leaving the abbey as to be rid of the squirming infant.

Nicholaa flew down the hill at a breakneck run. She was out of breath but full of fury when she finally reached Royce. "Give me that baby," she demanded in a hoarse shout.

She was so infuriated that she couldn't stop herself from slapping his leg.

"Is Ulric your son, Nicholaa?"

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yes, he's my son."

He knew she was lying. Again. He let out a sigh. The fear he saw in her gaze made him hold his silence. He wouldn't challenge her now. She had lied because she was afraid. She couldn't possibly understand him. He knew she was trying to protect the child from harm. Royce was her enemy, and he could well imagine the foul stories she'd been fed about the Normans.

"Ulric's safe, Nicholaa. No harm will come to him."

After making that promise, he reached down to her, offering her his hand.

She shoved it away. "Give him to me. Now."

He would have liked nothing better than to hand the child down to her, for Ulric was at it again, squirming, kicking, howling, too, but Royce wasn't about to let Nicholaa have the upper hand. She wasn't the one giving the orders, and the sooner she understood that, the better. The journey would be difficult enough without her challenging him every step of the way.

Ulric had gone into a rage of rebellion. Royce turned his attention to calming him. He gently turned the infant so that his back rested against the cloak covering his chest. He then removed the blanket from his face, for the babe did seem determined to look around him. He mopped his face again, too. Then he finally turned his gaze back to Nicholaa.

The bluster had gone out of her anger. Royce was being incredibly gentle with Ulric. The warrior had such big hands, and yet he wasn't at all awkward with the infant. Ulric liked him, too. The baby kept tilting his head back and grinning up at his captor.

He was only a baby. He didn't know any better, she told herself. She finally turned her gaze to Royce.

They stared at each other for a long minute while Ulric gurgled out his new sounds. The baby was very content.

Nicholaa couldn't hold Royce's stare long. She started shivering and couldn't decide if the chills were due to the weather or the giant's glacial stare.

"The game's over, Nicholaa. I've won. If this were a chess match, I would say checkmate," he said. "Admit your defeat and I'll show you mercy."

The amusement in his voice was more infuriating to her than his arrogant boast. She looked up at him again and saw that he was trying hard not to laugh at her.

The man was literally gloating with victory. She slapped his leg again. "If this were a game, your move would not be checkmate, Baron, but check, for you've only cornered me with this devil's move. Aye, this game isn't over yet."

He shook his head. "You're in an untenable position, Nicholaa. Give up this foolish struggle and accept what cannot be changed."

He had the gall to smile at her. She disliked him intensely for that. How could she have thought he was the least bit handsome? The man was a monster to use a baby to get his way. Why, he'd deliberately put Ulric in jeopardy just to gain the advantage.

Nicholaa realized that, in all honesty, the baby wasn't in any jeopardy. She was candid enough with herself to admit that truth. Ulric was safe. There was a full army within shouting distance to keep the baby safe from attack, and he was well protected in the Norman's arms.

No, Ulric wasn't in any jeopardy, but she was. It was only a matter of minutes before she would be turned into a block of ice by the wind.

Nicholaa rubbed her arms and stomped her feet in an effort to take the sting out of her toes. "Give me my son," she demanded again, though her voice lacked conviction now.

"Is he your son?"

Before she could answer that question, Ulric gurgled out a word: "Mama." Since the baby was looking at her, she seized the opportunity.

"Of course he is," she announced. "You just heard him call me Mama."

His exasperation was obvious. "Madam, in the past five minutes this babe has called me, my horse, and his fists Mama. You're trying my patience," he added with a frown. "Are you determined to stand there until you freeze to death or will you concede defeat?"

She nibbled on her lower lip for a long minute before giving him answer. "I'll concede only that you've bested me by means of sinful trickery, but that's all I'm going to concede."

It was enough to satisfy him. He lifted his cloak from where it was draped across his thighs and tossed it down to her.

"Put this on."

"Thank you."

She'd whispered those words, and he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. "What did you just say?"