The Prize by Julie Garwood Page B

left Justin alone and resumed her pacing. Every now and again she would pause at the window to look outside. By midafternoon she was convinced that whatever plan Royce had decided upon had somehow failed.
    She was just about to pull the heavy animal skin back over the opening when the sound of thunder drew her attention. Men on horseback were racing around the bend in the road. The contingent of soldiers numbered at least fifty. They stopped when they reached the bottom of the steep path that led up to the doors of the abbey. The soldiers who'd been keeping guard around the perimeter of the walls then joined the ranks. When they were added to the unit, the number swelled to over seventy.
    One warrior separated himself from the others and nudged his mount up the hill. From the size of horse and rider, she knew it was Royce.
    He'd come for her after all.
    Nicholaa backed away from the window, but kept her gaze directed on him.
    Sunlight bounced off his open faced helmet and the metal rings sewn into his leather chest armor. It was the dead of winter, and yet his arms were bare. Nicholaa shivered. Royce suddenly seemed invincible to her.
    She had to shake her head. He was just a man, she reminded herself. A man who would soon freeze to death, she hoped. Nicholaa saw his sword strapped to his side, but she didn't see a shield. He was still armed for battle—or for the journey through hostile land to London.
    Royce stopped when he reached the center of the path. He sat there a long while, looking up at the abbey.
    What was he waiting for? Did he actually think she would come outside? She shook her head and smiled. The Norman could sit atop his stallion for the rest of the day for all the care she would give. She wouldn't be so easily intimidated.
    Royce sent a messenger up to the abbey's iron gates and waited until he was certain Nicholaa had been informed of his arrival.
    The abbess found Nicholaa standing near the window. "Baron Royce asks that you look out the window, Nicholaa. He says he has a message for you."
    Nicholaa moved to the center of the opening so that Royce could see her. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, trying to look serene and confident. She wasn't certain that he could see her expression, but she wasn't taking any chances. She was worried, yes, but the Norman wouldn't know it. Besides, she told herself again, he was bluffing.
    Royce waited until he spotted her in the window, then slowly removed the heavy blankets protecting the baby he cradled in his arms.
    Ulric was sound asleep, but his face scrunched up into a frown when the cold air reached him. "You'll be warm in just a minute," Royce promised.
    He lifted the baby high into the air and waited for a reaction.
    It wasn't long in coming. Lady Nicholaa suddenly disappeared from the window. Her scream of outrage lingered in the room.
    Ulric had just filled his lungs with the intention of letting out an outraged bellow of his own when Royce gently wrapped him up in his cocoon of blankets. The warmth soothed the baby, and he began to suckle diligently on his chubby fists.
    The slurping noise made Royce smile. He pulled the blanket back so he could see the baby's face and was rewarded with a grin. Four sparkling white teeth, two on top and two on the bottom, were visible when Ulric removed his fist from his mouth. Drool covered the baby's chin and cheeks. Royce awkwardly mopped the wetness away and then thought to dismiss the child by again covering his face.
    Ulric had other intentions. He immediately arched his back into a bow, let out a loud, thoroughly undisciplined scream, and then started kicking.
    Royce had absolutely no experience handling such a little baby. His three younger sisters had children, yes, but he'd never spent any time with them. As to that, he wasn't even sure how many nieces and nephews he had. He didn't have any idea why Ulric was upset. The baby was warm and protected, and that should have been quite enough. Royce had,