"Clayton the herald will recite the feats soon so that those who aren't familiar with this remarkable woman will understand why the rest of us are so well pleased," William continued. "But first you must meet my prize. I've deliberately kept Lady Nicholaa well hidden until this very minute just to pique your curiosity."
William paused to kiss the back of his wife's hand, added a wink to let her know how much he was enjoying himself, and then motioned to two soldiers who stood to the right of the platform. As soon as the soldiers opened the doors behind them, William turned back to his audience.
"You will decide whether to engage in battle games for her hand in marriage. The winner will have his bride tomorrow evening."
Matilda whispered in William's ear. He nodded, then said to the crowd, "I've been reminded to tell you that the holding goes with Lady Nicholaa, as do fertile lands as far as the eye can see to the east and west. 'Tis a generous dowry I give with this courageous woman."
A loud cheer went up. William smiled in amusement. He was immensely pleased with the men's enthusiasm.
The noise soon became deafening-until Lady Nicholaa walked into the hall. Silence reigned then. Men quit cheering in mid-bellow. Women stopped laughing. Everyone stared in fascination at the beautiful woman walking toward King William.
Nicholaa was dressed in white, a gold braided belt looped around her waist. Her unbound hair fell in soft curls that swayed ever so slightly with each step she took.
She looked like a vision. Royce stood at the very back of the hall, his big shoulders resting against the wall. Because he was the tallest man in the room, he didn't have any trouble seeing Nicholaa.
"Lord, she's a beauty," Lawrence remarked.
Royce agreed, but in truth he was far more impressed with Nicholaa's regal bearing. There was such pride, such dignity, in her manner.
He knew she had to be terrified. Yet she kept her feelings well hidden from her audience. The expression on her face was peaceful, serene.
He knew, though, that the hellion was probably plotting to kill both the king and his wife right now. He heard someone whisper that she was an angel and almost laughed out loud.
Lawrence glanced up at Royce just in time to catch his smile. "Will you fight for her?" he asked.
Royce didn't answer him.
Nicholaa followed the guards over to the fireplace. When they stopped, so did she. Then the two soldiers moved away, and she was all alone. She stood several feet in front of the giant hearth, a fair distance from the crowd and the king.
God's truth, she felt as though she'd just been led into a den of lions. And she was their supper. She hoped her expression didn't betray her fear. Her heart was pounding such a wild beat it was almost painful, and her stomach seemed to be on fire. Thank God she hadn't eaten any of the nooning meal she'd been offered. She'd have been throwing it up now if she had.
It didn't take long for her to start feeling like a freak. Everyone was staring at her. She could feel their rude gazes on her, like bugs crawling up her arms.
Three little girls sneaked away from their mother's skirts and rushed over to stand directly in front of Nicholaa. They looked up at her, mouths gaping open, eyes wide with curiosity. They reminded her of little birds waiting to be fed.
"Are you a princess?" one whispered.
Nicholaa looked down at the child. The dark-haired little girl couldn't have seen more than four or five summers. There was innocent curiosity in the child's expression. Nicholaa couldn't be rude to her. She slowly shook her head. Then she turned her gaze to the far wall, determined to ignore everyone.
Baron Guy stood in the center of the hall, surrounded by his vassals. He'd been relating an amusing story when Lady Nicholaa entered the hall, and he had lost his train of thought then and there. He feared he might have lost his heart as well, for though he wasn't given to fancy, he was certain he was in love. The vast holding King William offered as dowry added to the Saxon woman's appeal, of course, but Guy was smitten by her beauty, too.
He decided he would have her.
Guy took a step forward and broke the silence in the hall with an arrogant boast: "I'll challenge anyone for her hand in marriage, and I'll win, too."
"You'll win only if Baron Royce doesn't enter the games," a bold knight shouted.
That remark didn't go unappreciated. Laughter echoed through the crowd. Guy kept his composure.
He turned to face the king, bowed formally, and then stood with his legs braced apart and his hands at his sides while he waited for the other knights to enter their bids.
Guy had fought beside William for nearly ten years. The scars on his arms were ample testimony to his battles. By sheer luck, his face had remained unblemished, and the ladies at court considered him quite handsome. He had golden hair and clear hazel eyes. He was almost as tall as his king, though he lacked both the bulk and the advanced age.
Royce was Guy's opposite. He was as dark skinned as Guy was light and towered over his friend. He wasn't considered the least bit handsome, either. The right side of his face was marred by a jagged scar that ran from the top of his ear to the base of his neck. He had earned the sickle-shaped mark years before when as a squire he'd put himself in front of his leader's wife, Matilda, to protect her from attack. Needless to say, that noble act hadn't gone unrewarded. Royce had been given his own contingent of men as soon as he'd finished his training under William's personal supervision.
Royce had proved his value early. Because he'd become so skilled in battle tactics, William began to send young, unseasoned knights to him for instruction. Royce was always patient, though ruthlessly demanding, and it was considered a privilege to train under his tutelage. His troops were the elite, invincible core of William's mighty army.
Guy considered himself a true friend to Royce, but he was still consumed with jealousy at what he considered Royce's good fortune. The leftovers were sent to Guy for training, for he'd also become known as a trainer of men. Guy had been fiercely competitive with Royce ever since their squire days together, and he often thought to himself that he would have become the more favored knight in William's eyes if he'd been the one to save Matilda's life.
Royce recognized the fever of jealousy in Guy's character, acknowledged it as simply a flaw he would surely eventually overcome, and then dismissed the insignificant matter from his mind.
"I, too, shall fight for her hand," another knight shouted. He strutted forward to stand before his king.
And then another and another stepped forward to join in the bids.
Nicholaa had never felt such stark humiliation before. She straightened her shoulders in reaction as she tried to block the shouts and fuel her anger at the same time. She needed to stay furious inside so she wouldn't break down and weep. But the humiliation, the degradation, was making her too sick to concentrate on much of anything.
The three little girls, all dressed like ladies, in long, flowing gowns, were now chasing one another in a spontaneous game of tag. They ran in wide circles around Nicholaa.
Where was Royce? Why was he letting this happen to her?
She forced herself to block any thoughts of him and tried to picture little Ulric in her mind. Royce had told her to keep Ulric's future in her thoughts whenever she was tempted to do something foolish.
She thought she might like to kill the king of England. Was that foolish? William alone was responsible for the disgrace she was now suffering. If he'd left England alone, none of this would be taking place.
It was a foolish plan. She couldn't kill the king. She'd never get away with it. She didn't even have a weapon. She was a good distance away from the platform where the king and his wife were seated, a good distance, too, from the gawking crowd bidding for her.