"That's highly doubtful," he interrupted.
"Why?"
"That isn't how I fight."
He wasn't making any sense to her. "Oh? What is it you do when you go into battle if you don't injure your enemies?"
He let out a sigh. "I kill them."
She tried not to let him know how appalled she was. The man acted as though they were discussing the week's mass schedule, for all the emotion in his voice. His callous attitude made her stomach burn.
"Your brother was injured near Hastings and not in the north as I was informed?" he asked, drawing her attention again.
"No, Justin wasn't in the battle near Hastings," she answered. "He was felled at Stamford Bridge."
Royce couldn't contain his exasperation. The confused woman had her enemies mixed up in her mind. "I'm Norman, Nicholaa, or have you forgotten that fact?"
"Of course not."
"The battle at Stanford Bridge in the north was waged by the king of Norway and his soldiers. We Normans weren't even there." He took a step closer to her. "And so, whether you wish it to be so or not, I couldn't have injured your brother."
"I didn't wish it," she blurted out.
Royce didn't know what to say to that. He considered himself an excellent judge of his opponent's reactions. Yet now he doubted his own ability. God's truth, she looked relieved. That didn't make any sense to him at all. Why would it matter to her if he had or hadn't injured her brother?
"You look relieved."
She nodded. "I am… pleased to know it wasn't you," she admitted. She turned her gaze to the floor. "And I apologize to you for jumping to the wrong conclusion."
He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You what?"
"I apologize," she muttered.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of this illogical conversation.
"If it had been you, I would have had to retaliate, wouldn't I? I'm all Justin has left, Baron. It has become my duty to protect him."
"You're a woman."
"I'm his sister."
Nicholaa rubbed her arms, for it seemed that the room had suddenly become frigid. God, she was tired. She'd been cold for so long, and so exhausted she could barely form a coherent thought.
"I don't like this war," she whispered. "Men do, though, don't they? They like to fight."
"Some do," he acknowledged, his voice brusque in reaction to his sudden urge to take Nicholaa into his arms. Lord, she looked fragile. He could only imagine the hell she'd been through since the invasion. He found it admirable that she would try to protect her brother, even though it was quite ridiculous for her to think she could.
From the whispers he'd heard about her, he realized he shouldn't have expected less. "Do you know, Nicholaa, that you've become a legend among the Norman soldiers?"
That announcement gained her full attention and caught her curiosity. "Only the dead become legends," she countered. "Not the living."
"If that's true, you're an exception," he said. "You did lead the defense against the first three challengers Duke William sent to secure your holding, didn't you?"
She shrugged. "Your leader sent children to try to steal my home. I merely sent them back."
"Even so," he argued, "there—"
She interrupted him. "My brother's soldiers were under my direction, yes, but only after the first-in-command was forced to leave."
"Who is this soldier and where is he now?"
"His name is John," she answered, "and he left for the north." She folded her arms in front of her and turned to look down at her brother. "You'll never catch him. He's far too clever for the likes of you."
"He sounds like a coward. He left you unprotected."
"I ordered him to leave. John isn't a coward. Besides, I can take care of myself, Baron. I can even get away from tiresome Normans when I want to."
He ignored that barb. "A Norman would never have left a woman in charge."
She shook her head. She knew she couldn't defend John now. In her heart, she thought her brother's loyal vassal was one of the most courageous men she'd ever known. Against terrible odds, he had brought little Ulric to her. Her brother Thurston had ordered John to deliver his son to Nicholaa for safekeeping until the war was finished. James, the Saxon traitor, would have no knowledge about the baby, and neither, Nicholaa reasoned, would the Normans. It was a pity that Nicholaa couldn't boast of John's courage now. Little Ulric's safety came first. As far as the Normans were concerned, Ulric was simply the child of one of the servants.
Royce watched the play of emotions cross her face and wondered what thoughts were going through her mind. He didn't like the way she defended the soldier who'd left her to survive on her own with but a small contingent of men to offer protection, but he decided to put that topic aside for now.
"You showed cleverness when you disguised yourself as a nun. My soldiers were taken in."
She noticed he hadn't included himself in that admission. Did he refuse to confess that he'd also been fooled? "Your soldiers are also little boys," she said. " 'Tis yet another reason you'll be defeated, Baron."
"Most of my soldiers are older than you."
"Then they're ignorant."
"Untrained, not ignorant," he corrected. "The skilled soldiers were needed for more important work."
He was being honest with her, but the look on her face indicated she was insulted by the truth. She turned her back on him in an attempt to dismiss him.
He wasn't ready to be dismissed. "I would warn you, Nicholaa, that being clever isn't going to aid your cause. The journey to London will be difficult at best, and the time we're forced to spend together will be tolerable for you only if you behave."
She refused to turn around. There was fire in her voice when she spoke again. "My God, you are an arrogant man. I've been given sanctuary here and even unholy Normans cannot break that law. I won't leave."
"You will."
She let out a gasp and turned to confront him. "You would violate the right of sanctuary?"
"No, but you will walk outside these walls when the time comes."
A shiver of fear rushed down Nicholaa's spine. What weapon could he use against her? Her mind jumped from one possibility to another, and after a long minute she concluded that he was bluffing. There wasn't a thing he could do to force her to leave her safe haven.
The rush of relief made her eyes fill with tears.
He smiled.
Her composure vanished. She completely forgot she was standing in a sickroom. She certainly wouldn't have shouted at the barbarian otherwise.
"As long as Normans are in England, I'll never leave here. Never!"
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Chapter Three
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Never arrived exactly eight weeks later.
Baron Hugh had fully recovered from his illness and had left the abbey the day before. The abbess told Nicholaa she'd overheard Baron Royce ask his friend to stay at the holding until he'd taken the prize to London.
"I believe, Nicholaa, the prize he referred to is you," the abbess remarked in a sympathetic voice.
"He's bluffing," Nicholaa muttered.
She repeated those two words to herself over and over again during that long day. She didn't sleep at all that night, either. Royce had sent a messenger back to the abbey just before nightfall with the order that Lady Nicholaa was to gather her possessions and be ready to leave the abbey the following morning.
The abbess didn't believe the Norman was the type of man who would bluff, but she kept that thought to herself. She packed Nicholaa's small traveling bag and carried it down to the front entrance as a precaution against the very remote possibility that the baron did in fact have a plan of action in mind.
"Perhaps, if you're prepared, nothing will happen," the abbess declared.
Nicholaa was dressed and pacing in earnest by the crack of dawn. She wore her favorite cream-colored chainse and royal blue bliaut for the simple reason that her mother had helped her stitch the garments and the clothing always made her mood lighten. The material was too thin for the harsh winter weather, but she wasn't going outside so that didn't matter.
She declined the invitation to join the sisters for morning prayers, knowing full well she'd do more squirming than praying and would certainly distract the others.
Her trusted servant, Alice, came to give her weekly report a scant hour later. The elderly woman was sweet-tempered, extremely loyal to her mistress, and had a strong memory for details. She was fifteen years older than Nicholaa, yet clung to the youthful habit of giggling whenever she was nervous.
Alice was giggling when she rushed into the vestibule where Nicholaa waited for her. "It's just as we suspected, milady," Alice blurted out. She managed a quick curtsy, then continued. "Baron Hugh has settled in for a nice long stay at the castle, and Baron Royce is preparing to come and fetch you."
Nicholaa took hold of Alice's hand and pulled her to the window. She motioned for her servant to sit down on the bench and then sat down next to her.
"Were you able to find out how he plans to persuade me to leave this sanctuary?" she asked.
Alice shook her head so vehemently that wisps of gray hair flew free from her braid. "We've all been guessing and guessing, milady, but not one of us has been able to come up with a single possibility. Baron
Royce holds his own counsel. Clarise has taken on the duty of eavesdropping on the two men, but neither has spoken of this trickery, milady. You would think Baron Hugh would be interested in knowing just how Baron Royce plans to snatch you away from here."
"Clarise is being careful, isn't she? I wouldn't want her to get into trouble because of me."
Alice giggled again. "Clarise is just as loyal to you as the rest of your staff. Why, she'd give her life to keep you safe."
Nicholaa shook her head. "I don't want her to give her life for me. Nor you either, Alice. You take too many chances coming here, though, God's truth, I do look forward to hearing the news from home."
"'Tis called Rosewood now," Alice whispered.
She nodded when Nicholaa looked so surprised. "They've named my home?"
"It was Hugh who gave it the name. Your Baron Royce didn't seem to mind. Then afore you knew it, even the staff was calling the place Rosewood. It's got a nice sound to it, doesn't it, milady?"
Alice didn't give her mistress time to answer. "I've got to speak the truth, milady. The two barons are acting as though the place belongs to them now."
"What other changes have they made?" Nicholaa asked.
"They found one of the passageways to the outside through the north wall and sealed it up real tight. It's the only one they've spotted so far, though."
Nicholaa realized she was wringing her hands. She forced herself to stop the nervous action. "And my chamber, Alice?" she asked. "Which one of the infidels has taken over my room?"
"Neither," Alice replied. "Baron Royce has had the door barred and won't let anyone inside. When Hugh took ill, he was given your room, but when he returned to Rosewood, he was given the larger chamber. Clarise and Ruth were given the unholy chore of cleaning the room for the Norman. Are you wanting to hear the rest of this, milady?"
"Yes, of course," Nicholaa said. "You mustn't try to shield me."
"It's becoming very difficult for us to hate Baron Royce," Alice confessed with yet another inappropriate giggle.
"It's a sin to hate, and for that reason alone, we must not hate the Normans," Nicholaa said. "We can, however, thoroughly dislike them, Alice."
The servant nodded. "But even that's difficult to do," she wailed in a voice as bleak as the howling wind outside. "He called all of us together before him. We hid Hacon in the back, thinking the sight of him would remind the baron that he'd boldly lied to him about you being a twin and all. And do you know what happened, milady? Baron Royce called the meeting to praise Hacon for defending his mistress. The baron asked him to kneel and give his pledge of loyalty. He didn't demand it. He asked!"
Several loud giggles followed that explanation. Alice put her hand to her breast and took a deep breath. "The baron even helped Hacon to his feet after he'd given his oath. Well, now, we were all put right in a muddle over that kindness. We all thought the Norman would want Hacon's head, not his loyalty."
"Who can know what the barbarian wants?" Nicholaa said.
"The baron never raises his voice to anyone, either. Clarise says it's because he's older, though certainly not as old as his friend, Baron Hugh. Myrtle spilled a full draft of ale right on Baron Royce's trencher of food, and do you know he didn't raise his hand against her? Nay, he just moved to another spot at the table and went right on having a conversation with his friend."
Nicholaa didn't want to hear any more about Royce. "How is Baron Hugh?" she asked.
"Singing your praises, milady," Alice answered. "He told Baron Royce it was you who took care of him, you who sat by his side during the dark nights when he was so fevered, you who held a damp cloth to his brow and offered him comfort—"