Julie Garwood - The Prize

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 husband 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.

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."