Julie Garwood - The Prize

Nicholaa only caught snatches here and there, for she was telling him all the tender words of love she'd stored inside her heart for so long.

It wasn't long before their feelings overwhelmed them and speech became impossible. The bed rocked from their lovemaking. Royce's thrusts were slow, controlled, until she came apart in his arms and squeezed him tight. He went wild then. He shouted her name when he poured his seed into her.

And still he stayed inside her. She wept against his neck, and once he understood they were tears of joy, he didn't mind at all.

Nicholaa fell asleep listening to her husband's whispers of love in her ear.

Royce reached over to put the candle out, then gathered his wife into his arms again. He could feel her warmth.

He closed his eyes and smiled. He could feel the contentment, too. It was there, in his wife's arms. Her love gave him such strength.

He wasn't a man given to prayer, but he got out a grumbled thank-you to his Maker before he fell asleep. He touched the scar on his face, and then he smiled again.

Nicholaa was wrong. God wasn't on her side. He was on theirs.

His impossible, stubborn-to-her-soul wife was back in full evidence the following day. It wasn't even noon before they had their first argument. Thomas had drawn the design for their new home, using all of his baron's specifications of course, and when Royce graciously allowed Nicholaa to look over the plan, she announced that it simply wouldn't do.

She waved her hand toward the area reserved for the kitchens and told him they'd need twice the amount of space. She frowned over the gigantic area he'd reserved for the soldiers' quarters he planned to put on the lower level. He'd accidentally left out a buttery, too. He didn't think they really needed it anyway. Nicholaa thought otherwise.

He finally had to sit her down and discuss each of her opinions. She let him talk without once interrupting, but it didn't take him long to realize she was daydreaming again. God, she was maddening. Damned invigorating, too. She finally agreed he was right on every single point. He went back to his duties feeling content. Nicholaa waited until her husband had whistled his way across the courtyard, then called Thomas back inside to give him the new, corrected specifications. She added a large buttery to the plan, extended the kitchens and the size of the hearth, and increased the master bedchamber to twice the original size.

Royce was terribly busy the rest of the week. He told Nicholaa he'd decided not to choose the soldiers who would participate in the king's games. He would set up feats of strength instead, and the top ten soldiers from each division would earn the honor on their own.

Nicholaa thought that was more than fair. She was pleased, too, that her husband had begun to include her when he discussed his plans with Lawrence. Yet as the second week progressed, Royce became more and more withdrawn. Whenever the topic of the competition came up, he would either change the subject or simply stop talking.

Something was worrying her husband, but he wasn't ready to tell her what it was. Nicholaa was learning to be patient. In time she was certain he'd sort it all out in his mind and then confide in her.

Four weeks remained before they would leave for the games. Royce finally confided in Nicholaa. It was a warm Sunday evening. Royce asked Nicholaa to sit down. He didn't look enthusiastic, as he usually did when he was about to launch into a lecture. No, he looked terribly serious, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought he looked worried, too.

He didn't pace, either. He stood in front of the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back.

Royce didn't want to look at Nicholaa when he gave her his news. The fear he was sure to see in her expression would tear at his heart.

"Nicholaa," he began in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. "As you know, I allowed my men to compete against one another, and those most skilled would earn the honor of representing me… that is to say," he corrected, "the honor of representing us."

Nicholaa was beginning to get worried. She'd never seen her husband act this hesitant before. She folded her hands in her lap, straightened her shoulders, and forced herself to wait until he told her the rest.

Long minutes passed before Royce spoke again. "It's finished now," he announced. "The men all know who the ten from each division are. It can't be undone."

"No, of course not," she agreed.

He nodded. "Each unit will have nine soldiers and one commander. Lawrence easily won the honor of becoming commander over the experienced soldiers."

He went into great detail outlining Lawrence's strengths. Then he finally turned the topic to the Doves. "Nine soldiers were above all the others in every competition. There was one, however, whose expertise put him well above the others. He was quite exceptional."

Nicholaa had already guessed that Ingelram had earned the honor of becoming commander. Bryan might also be one of the ten. She thought she understood then. Royce was going to leave Justin behind, and he was concerned about her brother's feelings. Justin would have to accept this decision, of course. It would probably sting his pride to watch his friends leave for the games. Still, Nicholaa thought he had quite a lot to be thankful for, and if she had to, she'd sit him down and tell him so.

Royce turned away from the hearth and walked over to Nicholaa. He pulled her to her feet, took her hands, and said, "Justin has earned the right to command the unit." He braced himself for her tears.

She looked incredulous. She shook her head. It was obvious she didn't believe him. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," he answered. "He earned the right, wife."

She pulled her hands away from his and collapsed into the chair. She was suddenly so frightened for her brother that her stomach started aching. She was furious with Royce, too. How could he have let this happen?

"I don't understand," she whispered. "Justin isn't ready."

"Yes, he is ready," he countered. "He was quite exceptional in the competition," he told her again. There was a noticeable tinge of pride in his voice. "You should be very proud of him, Nicholaa. I am."

"I don't want him to participate," she cried out. "It's too soon. He needs further instruction."

"Nicholaa, look at me," he commanded.

When she looked up, he saw the tears in her eyes. He let out a long sigh. "Do you have faith in me?" he asked.

She was surprised by that question, and yet after a minute or two of reasoning, she understood why he'd asked it. That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? Either she believed in her husband or she didn't.

Royce stood by his wife's side and patiently waited for her to sort it all out in her mind. He was a little irritated when she didn't immediately answer him. He understood her hesitation, however. Her fear was clouding her judgment. Still, he knew what her answer would be.

She finally nodded. "Yes, I do have faith in you."

She stared at the tabletop when she admitted that truth. Then she turned her gaze up to his so that he could see her frown. "And now you're going to tell me I must also have complete faith in all your decisions, aren't you?"

He gave her a smile. She couldn't sit still for another minute. She stood up just as Royce sat down. "Do you believe that because I have faith in you I must also have faith in Justin?"

"No," he answered. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. "You should, however, have complete faith in my judgment."

God, how she hated it when he was so logical. They were talking about her brother, not an outsider, and for that simple reason she was letting her emotions control her thoughts.