duties to her husband. Nicholaa did know, however, that as mistress of Rosewood, it would be up to her to create a happy, peaceful home.
Her mother had taught by example, not by lecture. Her father had liked order, Nicholaa remembered, and her mother had seen that he got it. She'd pampered him and, by her actions, taught him to pamper her. No matter what chaos ruled beyond the walls, when her father returned to his home, Nicholaa's mother would rush outside to greet him. Sometimes Nicholaa would stand by her mother's side on the top step of the castle. Her father, a fierce-looking man when dressed in battle gear, would usually be scowling and looking weary to his bones as he rode up the last hill. Nicholaa was never afraid of him, though. She knew her mother could cajole him out of his black mood, so magical was her smile.
It always worked. By the time her father reached the bottom step, he'd be smiling, too. He'd kiss his wife, hoist Nicholaa up on his shoulders, and then decree in a booming voice that he was a starving man in need of his supper.
Nicholaa was comforted by that memory from childhood. A man's home should be a sanctuary, she decided, a haven of peace and safety and-sometimes-love.
Making Royce's life a living hell wasn't a consideration now. She would only be hurting herself if she acted like a shrew. She was a grown woman now. It was time to behave like one.
There was also Ulric to think about. He'd lost his mama during the birthing, and Nicholaa became more convinced each day that Ulric's papa was also dead. Thurston would have sent word to her if he'd survived the last battle.
She and Justin were Ulric's only family now. But there was Royce, too. Was he willing to become Ulric's father? Would he teach the boy all the lessons a father should teach his son? Nicholaa thought about the gentle way Royce had held the baby in his arms when he came to collect her from the abbey. In her heart, she was convinced he'd protect Ulric. Perhaps, in time, he would even begin to care for the child as his own.
Ulric needed a tranquil home. Nicholaa vowed then and there to put her criticisms aside. She would learn to bend a little in order to get along with her husband, and she'd teach him to bend, too.
Nicholaa snuggled up against Royce while she considered her new plan.
He told her to be still.
His voice was gruff, filled with sleepy irritation. Yet he rubbed her back when he gave the command.
She was content. The future seemed filled with promise, now that she'd worked it all out in her mind.
It was all so simple. Royce was the first trainer of men. His duty had been determined years before, when William recognized his talent. Matilda had told Nicholaa several stories about Royce's mighty feats. She'd been duly impressed.
Nicholaa decided not to interfere with her husband's primary duties. She'd stay out of his way while he turned ordinary men into invincible warriors.
She had only just decided upon her duty, however. She wasn't sure how to begin. Only one thing was certain: she and Royce were going to live together in peace and harmony even if it killed him.
Yes, she thought to herself, Royce would train his men.
And she would train him.
She had dreamed of living happily ever after, but on the following morning, Nicholaa's certainty that the future would be filled with joy and peace was put to a terrifying test.
The procession had ridden for nearly an hour when they reached a narrow trail that led to the top of a steep hill. Royce hadn't taken the lead, but rode in the center of his men, with Nicholaa riding by herself directly behind him, the reins wrapped around her wrist.
Royce suddenly called a halt and took over the lead, leaving Nicholaa at the base of the hill with soldiers surrounding her. He then led the first twenty soldiers to the crest above.
It was a perfect place for an ambush, Royce thought. The pathway up the hill was so narrow that his men had to ride in single file.
Royce returned for Nicholaa after the first group had spread out over the crest, their arrows nocked in preparation for a sneak attack. Nicholaa thought Royce was being overly cautious. They were almost home now, and surely the resisters to William's rule had better things to do than attack such an isolated holding.
The set of her husband's jaw told Nicholaa to keep her opinion to herself. She felt comforted by the extreme measures he was taking to keep everyone safe, even though they seemed a bit excessive.
The attack caught her completely by surprise. It came when the last soldier reached the crest.
Royce sounded the battle cry. The earth-shuddering shout nearly jarred her off her mount. She was suddenly surrounded by soldiers, their shields up, protecting her from harm.
Arrows rained down on them from the surrounding hills. The attackers swarmed over the hills like locusts in search of prey.
Nicholaa watched as Royce drew his sword. He nudged his stallion into a gallop, then swung the sword high above his head. It was a magnificent sight. Terrifying, too. Nicholaa murmured fast and furious Pater Nosters that God would keep her husband safe.
The soldier behind her let out a cry and fell to the ground. Nicholaa turned and saw more resisters coming up the hill from their hiding places below.
The soldiers surrounding her immediately changed tactics. One slapped Nicholaa's horse and shouted the order to ride to the west ridge.
Nicholaa had trouble controlling her mount. She couldn't grasp the reins with enough strength to direct the animal. The horse veered to the east. A soldier shouted to her not to ride in the direction Royce had taken.
Nicholaa paid no attention. She wanted to find her husband, to make certain he was safe, before she took cover. Her gaze scanned the hills while she frantically repeated her prayers.
Royce and his soldiers were within striking distance of the first wave of outcasts when Nicholaa spotted him.
Dear God, why did he have to be so big? He was such an easy target. Surely the enemy would take him down first.
Nicholaa tried to slow down her mount. She didn't want to get in her husband's way. The distraction could well cost him his life. Her attention was drawn to the top of the ridge just as she was nudging her horse to the west. A beam of sunlight bounced off the enemy's chest armor, blinding her.
She shifted in the saddle and looked up again. A lone rider, dressed in Saxon battle attire, suddenly raised his hand high into the air-a signal for the remaining horsemen to take up the attack. Approximately fifty Saxon soldiers, shouting their battle cry, galloped down the ridge.
Nicholaa couldn't take her gaze away from the leader. Sunlight shone all around him, giving him an almost mystical appearance. The light acted like a mirror, making him seem to be closer than he really was.
When the leader turned in his saddle and reached for an arrow, Nicholaa saw his profile.
She understood then why she'd been so mesmerized.
The Saxon leader was aiming at a target, his arrow nocked, his bowstring pulled taut.
Nicholaa started screaming.
Her brother Thurston was alive. And he was preparing to kill Royce.
Chapter Nine
Royce turned when he heard Nicholaa's scream. He slowed his horse just as she goaded hers into a full gallop. She reached his side and literally threw herself into his arms.
She was just in time. She took the arrow that was meant for him. The force of the arrow threw her hard against him. He caught her, then tried to force her down onto his lap so that his shield could protect her. He realized then that Nicholaa was pinned to him. The arrow had gone through her shoulder and into his hauberk.
Royce's anguished bellow echoed from above the ridge. He turned his mount and urged the big stallion toward the safety of the trees to the west. Nicholaa's long golden hair covered her injury, and though Lawrence
