The vassal bowed low. He couldn't seem to quit smiling. He'd overheard Matilda's remarks about Royce's scar and had seen Nicholaa's confused reaction. He couldn't have been more pleased. Nicholaa was a fitting choice for his baron.
Matilda took Nicholaa's elbow and walked toward the doors. Her guards fell into step behind Lawrence.
Nicholaa was exhausted. The evening had been overwhelming. It had drained her strength, she decided. Everyone was being so kind to her, everyone except Baron Guy's mean-hearted vassals, but those two didn't signify.
Was it really possible for the Normans and the Saxons to live together in harmony?
The king's wife waved farewell when she turned down the south corridor. Her attendants rushed to catch up with her. Lawrence walked by Nicholaa's side down the north hallway.
"Will you accompany Baron Royce to my home when we leave here?" she asked.
"I would imagine so," Lawrence answered.
She looked up and caught his smile. "You're pleased to be staying in England?"
He shrugged.
"Then why are you smiling?" she asked.
He debated a minute before giving her his answer. "I was remembering the look on Royce's face when you walked up to him. I don't believe my lord expected you to choose him."
She lowered her gaze. "Do you think I've ruined his life?" she whispered.
"I think you've enhanced it," he returned. "Lady Nicholaa, I wouldn't be smiling if I believed otherwise."
It was a lovely compliment he'd just given her. Nicholaa didn't know how to respond. She looked up at him and suddenly burst into laughter. "He was surprised, wasn't he?"
"Aye, he was," Lawrence agreed.
Two soldiers stood guard in front of her door. Lawrence bowed to his new mistress, opened the door for her, and then turned to leave.
"Lawrence?"
He immediately stopped.
"Thank you."
"For what, my lady?"
"For accepting me." She shut the door before he could respond.
Lawrence whistled on his way back to the great hall. The irritation of having to put up with Baron Guy's foolishness was gone now. His new mistress's smile had brightened his mood considerably. Yes, he thought to himself, she would enhance his baron's life. She would bring light into his dreary, disciplined existence. It wouldn't be long, Lawrence wagered, before she had Royce smiling. That would take magic, the vassal knew, but Nicholaa was up to the challenge.
Nicholaa was too exhausted to think about anything other than going to bed. Mary was waiting to assist her. She kept up a steady stream of chatter while she helped Nicholaa undress. After her mistress had bathed and changed into a long white nightgown, Mary brushed her hair.
"You're the talk of the palace," Mary announced. 'Such bravery, they're all whispering, the way you saved the king's niece. Here now, milady, drink this down," she pleaded after she'd tucked Nicholaa under the covers. "Baron Samuel sent this draft to ease your pain."
Mary didn't let up her nagging until Nicholaa had swallowed the last drop.
Nicholaa fell into a deep sleep minutes later. Mary went over to the stool by the hearth to watch over her mistress until Baron Royce dismissed her for the night.
A full hour passed before Royce was able to leave the hall. When he entered his chamber, the servant jumped to attention.
"You wife is having a very fitful sleep, milord," Mary whispered. "She cries out in fear. I tried to wake her from her nightmare but the draft she took makes that impossible."
Royce nodded. He surprised the servant by thanking her for her assistance; then he dismissed her.
He barred the door against intruders and walked to the side of the bed. Nicholaa was frowning in her sleep. He gently brushed his hand across her brow. "You've had one hell of a week, haven't you, Nicholaa?"
She muttered something in her sleep, then rolled onto her side. The weight of her body on her burned hand made her cry out in pain.
He gently turned her onto her back again, then stood there for a long while staring down at her. Dear God, she really belonged to him now. He shook his head. What was he supposed to do with her?
A slow grin settled on his face. Protect her, and her family as well. That had become his primary duty. It didn't matter who had made the choice; the deed was done. It didn't matter, either, that he was set in his ways and that he liked order and discipline in his life. Everything was going to change now. She'd give him fits before she calmed down and learned to accept her new station in life. Odd, but he found he was looking forward to the challenge of taming Nicholaa. If he was patient and understanding with her, he didn't think it would take him long to win her loyalty. The way she'd stood up to Guy had shown him she was capable of being loyal to others outside her family.
He doubted Nicholaa would ever love him. That didn't matter, of course, as love had little meaning to him. He was a warrior, and warriors neither wanted nor needed love. He was out to conquer Nicholaa's mind, not her heart. He would use a firm though gentle hand while he trained her to be his wife.
It was a sound, logical plan. Royce put the matter aside and prepared for bed.
It felt strange to sleep next to a woman. He had bedded a fair number of wenches, of course, but he'd never slept the night through with any of them.
She wasn't making it an easy adjustment either. When she wasn't muttering incoherent phrases, she was tossing and turning like an errant wave. Each time she moved, she bumped one of her injured hands and cried out in pain.
Royce tried to help her get comfortable. It was a damn difficult task. She wouldn't stay still long enough for him to anchor her.
Just when he was finally drifting off to sleep, she bolted up in the bed. "I want to sleep on my stomach," she muttered.
Royce didn't think she even knew where she was; she hadn't even opened her eyes when she blurted out that demand. When she kicked the covers aside and tried to get out of the bed, he grabbed her.
She went limp in his arms. He was about to haul her up against his side, but she suddenly turned around. She ended up sprawled on top of him.
Nicholaa finally found a comfortable position. She let out a little sigh of pleasure and stopped squirming.
The top of her head was tucked under his chin. Her soft breasts were pressed against his bare chest. Her pelvis was right on top of his, and her legs were draped over one of his thighs.
He adjusted her position until her legs were between his own, then wrapped his arms around her waist.
She was all soft and feminine. She smelled as good as she felt, too. They were a nice fit, he thought to himself. That thought led to another and another, of course, and it wasn't long before Royce was damned uncomfortable.
He tried to go to sleep, but her warm body kept getting in his thoughts. All he wanted to think about was making love to her.
She squirmed.
He groaned.
It was a wedding night he would never forget.
Chapter Six
It was midafternoon before Nicholaa awakened. She spent an hour stumbling around the room, trying to clear her mind of the effects of the powerful sleeping drug.
Lord, she'd slept like the dead. Odd, but she didn't feel the least bit refreshed after her long rest, either.
Mary found her mistress sitting on the side of the bed when she entered the chamber a short time later. The servant carried a beautiful white bliaut and chainse. The sleeves of the bliaut were embroidered with gold threads, and the chainse had the same distinctive design sewn into the hem. The fabric looked delicate enough to shred with a good sneeze. It felt wonderfully soft against Nicholaa's cheek.
"Who sends this to me?" Nicholaa asked.