to continue. Nicholaa was beginning to think Royce was actually a tolerable man to be around. He made certain she was warm, well fed, and even fashioned a tent for her near one of the fires.
Then he ruined her good opinion of him by reminding her why he was taking her to London. He spoke of an immediate marriage and kept referring to her as the king's prize.
She began making her escape plans then. She pretended to be very docile, exhausted, too, and waited for her opportunity.
Royce gave her his cloak again as an added blanket to cover herself. She thanked him for that consideration.
He laughed.
Nicholaa was about to go inside the tent when she suddenly stopped and turned around. 'Royce?'
He was surprised she'd used his name. 'What is it?'
'No matter what happens to me, you cannot break your promise to the abbess. You have to take care of Justin, isn't that right?'
'Yes,' he answered. 'The promise can't be broken.'
She was satisfied. She pretended to fall asleep a few minutes later. Her plan was set in her mind. She would sneak away from the camp just as soon as the soldiers had all settled down for the night. She knew the area well. The forest was part of Baron Norland's holding to the south of her own estate. It was a fair walk back to the abbey, though. Nicholaa thought it might take her an entire day to get there. She'd have to keep to the trees, she thought with a yawn, and avoid the broken north road as much as possible.
The warmth from the fire and her own real fatigue overtook her good intentions then, and she fell asleep.
Royce waited until he was certain she really was fast asleep, then sat down on the ground directly across from her. He leaned back against a fat tree and closed his eyes. He didn't think she'd try to run away until the camp had quieted down for the night. That would give him an hour or two to gain a little rest… and peace.
Nicholaa came awake with a start in the middle of the night. She spotted Royce immediately. She stared at him for a long while, until she was absolutely certain he was sleeping.
He looked very peaceful-content, too. He'd placed his helmet on the ground beside him. His left arm rested on the headgear, his hand only inches away from the sword strapped to his side.
He was a handsome one all right. His hair was dark and much longer than was customary, even for barbaric Normans. It was a rich, dark brown, given to curl, too.
Nicholaa shivered with disgust. How could she be thinking what a fit man he was when he was determined to ruin her life? He considered her a mere possession, a trinket to be given to a knight.
The injustice of it got her moving. She found her shoes buried under the blankets. Her toes stung when she slipped the shoes on. The wind was bitter cold tonight. The long walk back to the abbey was a dreaded ordeal ahead of her. She almost let out a loud sigh just thinking about it.
Nicholaa wrapped herself in Royce's cloak and silently made her way to the woods beyond the small clearing. None of the soldiers paid her much attention, though one of the three men standing near the second fire did glance her way. When he didn't call out to her, Nicholaa assumed he thought she needed a few minutes of privacy.
As soon as she turned her back, Royce motioned to the soldiers to stay where they were. He waited only a minute or two, then stood, stretched the cramps out of his legs, and went after her.
He had expected her to make this move, and she hadn't disappointed him. The woman was courageous to brave such harsh conditions just to get away from him. Foolish, he thought to himself, but courageous all the same.
Nicholaa started running as soon as she'd edged her way through the denser foliage. In the light from the half-moon she wasn't able to see every little obstacle in her path. It was treacherous going. She was as careful as she could be, until she thought she heard someone behind her. She kept on running, but turned to see if one of the soldiers was chasing her.
She tripped over a rotting log and went flying head first down a deep ravine. She had enough of her wits left to shield her head and turn to one side before she hit the ground.
She landed with a thud. And a curse. She lost one of her shoes in the fall and Royce's heavy cloak, too, and when she finally sat up, she was a sorry sight to behold. There were more leaves than curls in her hair, and she was covered with dirt.
Royce stood in the shadows and waited. The daft woman could have broken her neck. Yet the loud, unladylike muttering he heard told him she was all right, just furious. She was cursing loud enough to wake the nuns back at the abbey.
She'd never make a proper chess mate. She didn't know how to calculate her moves. She wouldn't make a true enemy, either. He'd already concluded that she didn't have it in her nature to hate… or to retaliate. She didn't even know how to hold a grudge. Royce smiled, remembering how she'd questioned him about keeping his promise to look after Justin, no matter what happened to her. He'd known then she'd try to escape. Her thoughts were so easy to read, her every expression so refreshingly honest and transparent.
A tightness settled inside his chest. Nicholaa was like a fragile flower, so delicate, so incredibly soft, so beautiful.
His delicate little flower was muttering the most searing curses he'd ever heard. None of the phrases made any sense.
Her burst of temper was short-lived, though. She was ashamed of herself for using such coarse words. She made a quick sign of the cross to placate her Maker, and then stood up. As soon as she put her weight on her left foot, hot pain shot up her calf.
Nicholaa let out a loud cry and fell to the ground. She sat there a long minute debating what to do.
When Royce heard her whimper, he started toward her.
Nicholaa finally admitted defeat. She shouted for help.
He was standing by her side before she'd finished her plea. She was in too much pain to notice it hadn't taken him any time at all to reach her.
He had her shoe in his hand. He dropped it into her lap, then dropped down on one knee beside her.
She thought he looked exasperated. 'If you say 'Check' to me now, I'll scream.'
'You already did scream,' he replied, his tone gratingly cheerful. 'And it's 'checkmate,' Nicholaa. The game's over.'
She wasn't in the mood to argue with him. She turned her gaze to her lap. 'I fell,' she announced, stating the obvious. 'I believe I've broken my ankle.'
She sounded pitiful. She looked sorry, too. Her hair hung over her face in total disarray, her gown was torn around the shoulders, and she was covered with dead leaves.
Royce didn't say a word, just leaned forward to examine the damage. She cried out in pain before he'd even touched her.
'Nicholaa, it's common to wait until you've felt the pain before you complain,' he explained.
'I was preparing,' she snapped.
He hid his smile. He was already certain the ankle wasn't broken. There wasn't a hint of swelling around the bone. She could move her toes without crying out, too, another sure indication to him that she'd merely bruised herself.
'It isn't broken.'
She didn't believe him. She leaned forward, instinctively placing her hand on his arm for balance, to see for herself that her ankle was all right. Her face was just inches away from his. She stared at her foot while he stared at her.
'It looks broken,' she whispered.
'It isn't.'
'Must you sound so cheerful? I would have your sympathy over this unfortunate tragic mishap,' she said.
'This'tragic mishap' wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been trying to-'
She interrupted him. 'I was trying to gain a few minutes privacy to take care of a rather personal matter.'
She looked right at him when she told that lie. It was a mistake, for only then did she discover how very close
