"I'll do that before dinner," he answered. "You and I will play chess together after."
"Why would you adopt this habit?"
"Traditions should be continued, or so my wife told me on our wedding night when she was trying to get me to kiss her."
She smiled again. "Your wife now admits that was her true motive."
He nodded. His expression turned serious. "I would like you to admit something else to me," he said, his voice gruff. "Admit you love me, Nicholaa. I would like to hear you say the words."
Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She bowed her head so he wouldn't see how upset she was. "I do not wish to become a burden to you."
Royce went to his wife. He gathered her into his arms and held her tight. "Telling me you love me will make you a burden to me?" he asked, certain he couldn't have heard correctly.
"Yes."
He laughed then, a full, rich sound that filled the air around them. "You aren't ever going to make sense to me, are you?"
"I do love you."
He hadn't realized until she gave him the words how much he really needed to hear them. It was a miracle, this precious gift. He was humbled by it. A part of him, the thoroughly logical part, couldn't understand how she could possibly love him.
She was his miracle. His face was grossly disfigured by scars, but she noticed only the silver flecks in what she called his handsome eyes. He'd always thought of himself as big, awkward, but she praised him because he was so wonderfully tall and strong. Nicholaa seemed blind to the truth, and he would thank God for that flaw for the rest of his life.
He hadn't said a word to her. She'd waited, hoping, praying, but he hadn't given her the words she so desperately needed to hear.
"Sweetheart, tell me why you think you're a burden?"
She burst into tears. "Because you had no choice about marrying me."
He couldn't quit smiling. He tucked her head under his chin so she wouldn't see his expression. He didn't want her to think he was laughing at her. He didn't want her to notice how misty his eyes were, either. But damn, the joy inside him was suddenly overwhelming.
"Ah, the choice," he whispered. "You've been worrying about that for a long while, haven't you?"
She bumped his chin when she nodded.
"Nicholaa, hasn't it occurred to you that I could have left the hall before you made your choice?"
"No, you couldn't have left," she whispered. "Only the married knights could leave. You didn't qualify."
He tried a different approach. "I could have said no to you."
"No, you couldn't have," she argued. "You're too honorable. You felt responsible for me."
"You have it all figured out, don't you? Nothing I can say will change your mind?"
"Such as?"
"I'd already made up my mind to challenge for you? I never would have allowed anyone else to have you, Nicholaa."
"You're just being kind to me, Royce. You're always kind and patient with everyone."
He kissed the top of her head. He didn't know how to convince her he would have chosen her. He had made up his mind to challenge for her hand in marriage for the simple reason that he couldn't stand the thought of anyone else touching her.
She belonged to him. He'd gotten used to her by the time they reached London. He was possessive by nature. Surely that was the reason he didn't want to let her go.
This loving business was confusing to him, though. Royce didn't even know if he was capable of loving her the way a husband should love a wife. He felt completely inadequate, unprepared.
It wouldn't be enough to tell her he felt content with her by his side. No, nothing he could say would convince her that, in his own way, he did care for her.
He decided he wouldn't say anything. He'd find a way to show her instead.
Chapter Sixteen
That was easier decided than accomplished. No matter how much thought he put into the task, Royce couldn't come up with a single plan to convince his wife he would have chosen her. It didn't stop him from trying, however.
It was maddening not to be able to make her believe him, but it was no more maddening than his wife's perpetual smile. If he hadn't been so happy she'd finally spoken the words he wanted to hear, he would have been in complete despair.
He tried praising her. She praised him back. He kissed her whenever he got the chance. She eagerly kissed him back. It was the only time she wasn't wearing that serene smile, because his mouth was covering hers.
He even played chess with her. He was going to let her win, until he realized she already was winning; then he changed his mind. The game lasted into the early hours of the morning, and in the end, he didn't let her win at all.
She did that all by herself.
Afterward, while he was still reeling from his first defeat in years, she promised to let him win next time. It got worse before it got better. It was late morning on a hot Monday when Royce came into the hall with Lawrence at his side. He noticed the fire blazing in the hearth right away. He felt as though he had walked into a furnace. Sweat dripped from his brow before he'd crossed to the buttery where his wife was busy working.
"Nicholaa, it's hot as purgatory in here," he announced. "Was there a particular reason for starting a fire?"
She turned to smile at her husband. She was waving a square linen cloth in front of her face. She used the linen to mop her husband's brow while she explained. "You invited six additional soldiers to supper, and Cook needed the extra fire to prepare all the meat. I appreciate how pleasant you're being, husband."
When she'd finished wiping her husband's forehead, she turned the cloth inside out and mopped Lawrence's brow. Surprised, he backed away. She followed him, finished her task, and then suggested they both go back outside.
Royce and Lawrence turned to do just that. They'd reached the center of the great hall when Baron Guy's two inseparable vassals, Morgan and Henry, came inside.
Nicholaa decided to block open the front doors to allow a breeze inside. She walked out of the buttery just as Morgan was boasting.
"Our baron has brought a full contingent of men with him to hunt down the last of the resisters. He's vowed to slaughter the lot before a fortnight has passed."
Nicholaa's face paled, but she kept her expression contained. Royce knew she was thinking about Thurston. Morgan followed Royce's gaze, spotted Nicholaa, and immediately bowed.
She didn't acknowledge the greeting. She simply stared at the vassal and waited to hear what else he had to say.
"It's our understanding that the leader of these resisters is your brother, Lady Nicholaa," Henry announced. "Is that true?"
"Perhaps," she answered.
Morgan grinned. "Then we should give you our condolences now," he said. "Our baron is a compassionate man. I'm sure he'll drop your brother's body here on his way back to London so you can give him a proper burial."
Royce's fist came down on the table. "Enough," he ordered. "Tell me what message you bring and get out."
Henry had never seen Baron Royce lose his composure. The flash of temper stunned him. Morgan didn't seem worried at all. He was occupied scowling at Nicholaa.
She smiled back. "I forgive you your poor manners," she said in a calm voice. "Jealousy makes you act that way."
Morgan opened his mouth to protest.
She raised her hand for silence. The look on her face showed her disdain. She took a step toward the knight. Morgan backed up nearly into the fireplace.
"You heard my husband's command. Tell him why you're here and then get out."
Morgan was too furious to see the duty done. He nodded to Henry, then turned to look at the fire. He noticed the chess pieces lined up on the mantel and absentmindedly took one into his hand to get a better look. He wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, though, for he was listening to Henry's message from the king as well.