Read Online The Prize by Julie Garwood - Free Book Online Page A

a monster to use a baby to get his way. Why, he'd deliberately put Ulric in jeopardy just to gain the advantage.
    Nicholaa realized that, in all honesty, the baby wasn't in any jeopardy. She was candid enough with herself to admit that truth. Ulric was safe. There was a full army within shouting distance to keep the baby safe from attack, and he was well protected in the Norman's arms.
    No, Ulric wasn't in any jeopardy, but she was. It was only a matter of minutes before she would be turned into a block of ice by the wind.
    Nicholaa rubbed her arms and stomped her feet in an effort to take the sting out of her toes. "Give me my son," she demanded again, though her voice lacked conviction now.
    "Is he your son?"
    Before she could answer that question, Ulric gurgled out a word: "Mama." Since the baby was looking at her, she seized the opportunity.
    "Of course he is," she announced. "You just heard him call me Mama."
    His exasperation was obvious. "Madam, in the past five minutes this babe has called me, my horse, and his fists Mama. You're trying my patience," he added with a frown. "Are you determined to stand there until you freeze to death or will you concede defeat?"
    She nibbled on her lower lip for a long minute before giving him answer. "I'll concede only that you've bested me by means of sinful trickery, but that's all I'm going to concede."
    It was enough to satisfy him. He lifted his cloak from where it was draped across his thighs and tossed it down to her.
    "Put this on."
    "Thank you."
    She'd whispered those words, and he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. "What did you just say?"
    "I said thank you."
    "Why?" he asked, his puzzlement obvious.
    She shrugged. "For a kindness given," she explained. "There is never a good reason for rudeness, Baron. We Saxons understand that, but I assume from the look on your face that Normans do not. 'Tis yet another reason you should go back where you belong and leave England alone. Our cultures are too different to mix."
    God, she was exasperating. He let out a sigh. "Are all the Saxons as daft as you?"
    She clutched the edges of his heavy cloak around her shoulders and glared at him. "We aren't daft. We're civilized."
    He laughed. "So civilized that Saxon men and women paint their bodies? Don't shake your head at me. I've seen the pagan designs drawn on the Saxon soldiers' arms and faces. Even your church leaders think it quite decadent."
    The man had a valid argument there, but she wasn't about to admit it. She, too, thought it a bit decadent the way some of the Saxons painted themselves. However, this was a ridiculous conversation to be having right now.
    "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
    The anguish in her voice caught him off guard. One minute she was arguing with him about his manners, and the next she was pleading with him and looking ready to weep.
    "I'd like nothing better than to leave you alone, but it is my duty to take you to London, and it's your duty to—"
    "To become some man's prize? Isn't that the real reason I'm being dragged to London?"
    She was bloody furious again. Her changes of mood occurred so swiftly that he was amazed. And pleased. He much preferred an angry woman to a weeping one.
    "I hadn't planned to drag you all the way to London, but the idea has merit."
    The amusement in his voice made her want to scream. "You do try my patience," she muttered.
    "And you mine," he announced when she pushed his outstretched hand away a second time."
    "If I'm going to London, then I shall walk there. I won't—"
    She never got to finish her threat, because he took matters into his hands. Literally. Before she realized his intention, he leaned to one side of the saddle, grabbed her around the middle, and lifted her up onto his lap. It happened so quickly she didn't even have time to gasp. Her bottom landed on his hard thighs. Her back was slammed up against his chest, and his arm became an anchor around her waist.
    Ulric was tucked under one of his arms. The