'No, he isn't.'
'Lawrence, it won't do you any good to argue with her.'
Royce let go of Nicholaa's wrist and gave her a nudge to get her moving. She walked into the chamber, Royce and Lawrence following close behind her. 'I will escape,' she boasted.
She went directly to the window. Royce knew what was going through her mind. 'You'll break your neck if you try to jump, Nicholaa.'
She turned around and smiled at him. 'And would you care, Baron?'
He didn't give her a direct answer. 'Your Ulric will care when he's old enough to understand. Consider him and Justin, too, Nicholaa, whenever you contemplate doing something foolish. You'll be harming your family as well as yourself.' He started to pull the door closed.
'Wait,' she called out, a frantic edge in her voice.
Royce stopped and turned to face her. 'Yes?'
She took a step toward him. 'Is that it, then? You're leaving?'
'Was there something more you wanted?'
'No.'
He started to leave again.
'Is that all you can say to me?' she demanded.
He stopped again and let out a loud sigh. 'What more do you want me to say?'
Her eyes filled with tears, and she started wringing her hands.
He couldn't understand what had come over her. 'What in God's name is the matter with you?' he asked, thoroughly confused by her manner.
She shook her head. 'Nothing. Nothing's the matter with me. I'm well rid of you, Baron. You're rude and insufferable.' A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
Hell, she acted as though he was deserting her, and heaven help him, he felt as though he was. 'I'm not leaving for Normandy,' he said then. 'If you need me, send one of the soldiers with a message. He'll find me.'
Her relief was visible. The panic eased from her expression, and her stance relaxed. She couldn't seem to control her tears, though, and she turned her back on him so that he wouldn't witness her disgrace. 'I won't be sending anyone to fetch you, Norman. Leave. I don't care.'
He couldn't leave her like this. She looked so alone, so miserable… and so vulnerable. Damn it all, for some reason he wanted to see her strong and angry at him as she'd been on their journey.
'Baron?' Lawrence asked when his lord continued to stand there for such a long time without saying a word.
Royce shook his head. 'Nicholaa?' he called out as he reached for the door.
'Yes?'
'I do have one last thing to say to you.'
She turned around to look at him. Anger, he thought to himself. The anger would make her forget her fear.
'What is it?' she asked.
He grinned. 'Checkmate.'
He pulled the door closed on her outraged gasp. Royce laughed.
A loud crash sounded against the door. 'What was that?' Lawrence asked.
'The water pitcher, I believe. She's feeling better.'
And so was Royce.
Nicholaa's anger kept her occupied for the better part of the day. Two women came to her chamber late that afternoon. Both were Saxons, a fact that surprised Nicholaa. One carried fresh clothing; the other brought linens. Nicholaa moved to the window when they carried a wooden tub into the room and poured it full of hot, steaming water.
The bath was too inviting to refuse. Nicholaa soaked in the rose-scented water and washed her hair until she finally felt clean.
She didn't speak to either woman until one offered to brush the tangles out of her hair. 'Why do you serve the Norman king?' she asked.
'He's England's king now,' the servant named Mary answered. 'Everyone serves him.'
Nicholaa didn't agree with the servant, but she felt it would be unkind to contradict her. Mary was entitled to her own opinion, even though she was wrong.
Mary was about Nicholaa's age. She was a plump young woman with bright red hair and freckles that covered most of her face. The other servant, Heloise, was considerably older, and her manner was brisk and unfriendly.
'I'll never serve William,' Nicholaa announced. She sat down on the stool Mary had provided and folded her hands in her lap.
Mary started to brush her hair. 'Talk like that will land you in trouble, milady,' she whispered.
Heloise was turning down the covers on the large bed. 'Mary speaks the truth,' she announced with a dour- faced nod. 'Those who won't kneel before King William get themselves killed. Even now a dozen Saxon soldiers are waiting for the deathblow.'
'Where are these Saxon soldiers?' Nicholaa asked.
'They're here, two floors below us,' Mary whispered.
'God have mercy on their souls for being so stubborn,' Heloise muttered. 'Each one was given the chance to pledge his loyalty, and each one turned his back on that chance.'
The fire crackled in the hearth, causing Mary and Nicholaa to jump. 'Everything's so different now,' Nicholaa said.
'It's orderly,' Heloise interjected. 'It's only taken the king two short months to squelch most of the resistance. He rules with an iron hand, that one does. Everyone has his place now.'
'Everyone except Saxons,' Nicholaa said.
'Nay, even Saxons have a place,' Mary countered. ' 'Tis the reason you're going to become a Norman's bride, milady. The more marriages between the two, the better for the future peace.'
Nicholaa listened to the women talk about all the changes. She didn't eat the supper that the women provided, but went to bed early. She thought about the twelve Saxon soldiers waiting for execution. Her heart went out to the men and the families they would leave behind. She knew her brother Thurston might very well be one of the twelve, and that thought terrified her. She prayed until she was exhausted and then cried herself to sleep.
She dreamed about Royce.
He had a nightmare about her. He decided he must have been more fatigued than usual to have had such a bizarre dream. It had been a long day, after all. He'd spent over three hours talking with King William and hadn't returned to his chamber until the dark hours of the night.
The nightmare made him wake up in a cold sweat. It had been so vivid, so real. In the dream Nicholaa was lost in a forest. She was in great danger, and he couldn't get to her.
Royce couldn't go back to sleep and ended up pacing in the gardens behind the palace. There was much to consider. His life would be forever altered if he allowed himself to lose his heart to this woman.
But damn it all, he was too old for her, too set in his ways. Why, his life was like a map. Yes, that was it… a map. The lines had already been drawn, and the map couldn't be altered. And neither could he. It was simply too late for him to change.
He felt relieved after he'd come to this conclusion. He'd made the right decision. Yet time and again he found himself staring up at Lady Nicholaa's window, wondering if she was all right-and if that wasn't ridiculous, he didn't know what was.
The Norman knights were called before their king the following evening. Lawrence walked by Royce's side when they went into the gigantic great hall. The vassal was concerned about his lord, who seemed preoccupied. Lawrence sensed that something was wrong, but he couldn't imagine what it was. He knew it wouldn't do him any good to prod, though. Royce would tell him when he was ready.
King William took his seat in the tall-backed chair in the center of the platform four steps up from his audience. The king was a big man, given to bulk around his middle. His brown hair was tinged with gray, an indicator of his true age, but when he smiled he looked like a fit young man.
Matilda, the king's wife, was the complete opposite. She was a tiny woman, plump in bosom and thighs, and
