The Prize by Julie Garwood Page B

Ulric?"
    "Almost eight months now."
    He guessed she was too sleepy to see the error in her lies. She didn't even tense against him. "But your husband's been dead two years?"
    He couldn't wait to see how she would try to get out of this one.
    Her eyes flew open. "My husband's been gone just one year. Yes, exactly one full year. I specifically remember telling you so."
    A good five minutes passed before he spoke again. "You aren't any good at lying, either."
    "I never lie."
    He squeezed her to let her know he was irritated with her. "Will you concede defeat now?" he asked. "You were trying to run away."
    "Will you let me sleep?" she asked.
    "When you admit—"
    "Yes," she interrupted. "I was trying to run away. There, are you happy now?"
    "You will not try to escape again."
    He didn't have to sound so mean-hearted when he gave her that order. Nicholaa suddenly felt like crying. She had to escape. It was the only way she could protect herself against the horrible future his overlord, William, had planned for her.
    She adjusted her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hair on the back of his neck while she thought about the injustice of it all.
    Her touch was driving him to distraction.
    "Your William is determined to give me as booty to some man, isn't he?" she said.
    "Yes."
    She shoved away from his shoulder and glared at him. A leaf fell out of her hair. Her face was bruised and covered with dirt. He couldn't contain his smile. Nicholaa looked as if she'd just lost a tug-of-war.
    "I'm not a prize."
    He agreed wholeheartedly. "No, you're not."
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    Chapter Four
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    After spending one long week with Lady Nicholaa, Royce decided he wasn't a very patient man, after all. By the time they reached their destination, he was ready to strangle her.
    The hellion had made the journey as unpleasant as possible, and damn if she didn't try to escape three additional times.
    The woman simply refused to see the futility of running away. She was sinfully stubborn. But then, so was he. He had demanded she concede defeat to him each time he caught her. He had even said the one word—"checkmate"—that seemed to send her into a full rage, but in truth, he wasn't trying to humiliate her. He only had her best interests at heart. If she was going to survive with her spirit intact under Norman rule, she would have to be more docile. Not everyone would be as kind and as thoughtful as he was.
    Royce didn't want Nicholaa to be hurt. The mere thought of anyone mistreating her made his mood blacken.
    The need to protect her nagged at his conscience. He found himself lecturing her on how to behave when they reached London. Nicholaa, however, wasn't in the mood to listen to anything he had to say. When he suggested she be docile, she bit him. He let her get away with that only because she'd had so little sleep over the past god-awful week, and she was simply too muddleheaded to think properly.
    They reached London in midafternoon. The palace was nearly empty of guests when Royce strode inside, nearly dragging Nicholaa in his wake. He ordered two soldiers to report to William that his prize had at last arrived. Royce personally saw to the task of settling Nicholaa in her chamber.
    She tried to trip him with her foot, and he really did drag her a good distance before letting her regain her balance.
    He would be glad to be rid of her. Royce kept telling himself that lie until he almost believed it.
    Almost.
    His second-in-command, a knight several years his senior, caught up with the pair just as Royce was opening the door to Nicholaa's quarters. The soldier's name was Lawrence. He was a fit looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes. He was nearly as tall as his liege lord, but lacked the bulk and the muscle around his shoulders. Lawrence had fought by Royce's side in countless battles. He was a seasoned warrior, trustworthy, and