Medieval Wolfe Boxed Set: A De Wolfe Connected World Collection of Victorian and Medieval Tales

by Alexa Aston

  Several advisors crowded a large table covered with a map of the chateau and other documents. They clamored for their liege’s attention, but he waved them away.

  “Everyone out,” he ordered.

  “Sire, I pray you jest,” Apollo began as soon as they were gone. He’d never thought to disobey his king. But then, he’d never thought he’d be ordered to wed, since he wasn’t a highly ranked noble with vast estates, large amounts of coin or significant political connections to benefit the king or France. “Perhaps another couple, one with greater renown, can serve to unite our people.”

  He needed to find a reason other than knowing Aline didn’t want to wed any Norman. Yet a bitter taste filled his mouth when thinking of her with anyone but him. “I travel too much to have any wife.”

  The king took a silver goblet of wine proffered by a servant. He sat in a fur-lined chair and took a sip. “The daughter of one of John’s earls has sufficient renown. And to pair her with one of my men is genius. You’re eight-and-twenty. You need to settle down and raise a family.”

  No, it wasn’t. Apollo couldn’t accept the bizarre position in which the king wanted to put him. He didn’t want to marry anyone, much less an Englishwoman. His job was duty enough. Dare he be so bold? “My lodgings are insufficient for a wife, and to find her another place to—”

  The king waved his free hand. “Very well. You strike a hard bargain. With victory over the chateau close at hand, and allowing hundreds of people to depart in defiance of my adversary, I’m in a generous vein. So I’ll give you a new, higher position requiring less travel,” the king said, not taking his gaze from Apollo and leaning forward slightly to make his point. “A home and lands to go with the title. Given that Lady Aline is so highly ranked, I won’t just make you seigneur. I’ll do something rare, raise you to baron.”

  His jaw dropped. He’d meant to get out of the hole, not dig himself much deeper. Now what could he say without sounding ungrateful? “I truly appreciate your munificence. But I wasn’t subtly trying to ask for more than you’d already offered.”

  “Why not? Everyone else does.”

  “If you please, I truly prefer the open road. Other men may crave hearth, home, and as many lands and titles as they can acquire, but I’d rather sleep outdoors than in my chamber in any castle or even the first home I could call my own.” The vast and ever-changing beauty of the sky and the freedom that went with it meant more to him than any ceiling, no matter how elaborately painted.

  His chest constricted at the thought of returning to the same residence each and every night, even with a woman as lovely and intelligent as Aline to greet him. He’d feel confined to a cage even if his heirs played at his feet. And if he did have children, he wanted them to be all French. Not born with strong ties to two countries, leading to divided loyalties that might be tested as they grew. Who knew if France and England would ever be at peace, much less in his children’s or their children’s lifetime?

  “Silence, Apollo. You will accept all I’m granting you and be glad of it. Make the best of it.” Philip’s frown didn’t bode well. He slumped in his chair, for the moment Philip the man, not the ruler. “I know all too well that marriage can be a blessing or a curse. The two wives I wanted died. One was stolen from me,” he said, sorrow evident in his tone and face. “Now I’m stuck with Isambour, the wife I don’t want. I too lack the power to choose, since I don’t want to be excommunicated again. And many of my barons wouldn’t fight this war, so I had to hire men who would. Even a king cannot always attain what he most desires. You will be wed. This evening.”

  Apollo could see no way out that wouldn’t anger his king or result in some sort of punishment far worse than a better position, home, and a comely, albeit sudden, bride. Listing his gifts made him feel ungrateful.

  He bowed deeply, glad Philip couldn’t see the frustration in his eyes. “Forgive me, my king. The swiftness of events made me speak without thinking. I do appreciate your grants and offer sincere thanks for the honors you bestow upon me.”

  He hoped he sounded sincere. And hoped even more he’d come to appreciate and even enjoy the king’s generosity.

  The king could command his actions, not his heart.

  After the men departed, Aline fidgeted in Sir Apollo’s bed, clutching the fur tight around her. It was the only thing she could hold on to. She still didn’t even have a chemise or pair of shoes to call her own. How could she make demands?

  Longing for England, her home and her former way of life, swept her. Everything from her large, curtained bed to her assortment of gowns and shoes showed she had a place to belong. A valued status, with shelter and plenty of wood and food. Now, she was in limbo. And hated the uncertainty.

  Should she accept the marriage as ordered, or refuse and likely be forced to wed in the end? Hundreds of others were being allowed to decamp. Why not her, too?

  If she managed to flee the camp before the borrowed finery arrived and somehow make her way without injury in the freezing dark, then somehow gain the access she’d been denied for weeks to the chateau, she’d be favoring the father who’d betrayed her. But she’d also be helping the country she loved and hoped to return to. If she waited to escape until she was wed and had presumably had proper garments for travel, she’d be betraying her rightful husband, who, despite being Norman, had treated her well. Thus far. Who she’d begun to have feelings for, until he called her enemy.

  The only other option was even less practical: to sneak out of the camp full of soldiers, monks and officers to take her chances alone on the open road.

  Her worst nightmare was coming to pass. She didn’t want to be Norman. Or stay in France. She wanted English children. English everything. Rambling thoughts assailed her until her head pounded and her stomach and even her heart hurt. How could she come out of this feeling good about the choices she made? What could she control?

  Who deserved her loyalty—England and the father who’d chosen others and abandoned her, or her soon-to-be husband? Perhaps the most important question was, which choice would be most loyal to herself? She needed time she didn’t have to think.

  One thing was certain. This instant was her best chance to escape. She couldn’t meekly accept more upheaval. She had to try.

  Aline slid out of bed. The candles had burned low and it was hard to see the floor. Where were her boots? Though full of holes, they were preferable to none. She couldn’t find them. Dare she continue? Her toes curled against the wood floor, cold beneath her feet. She wobbled, still not very strong.

  Was she making a terrible mistake? Desperate need to avoid the king’s command had driven her to this.

  The dark, moonless sky filled with stars above an array of huts and tents greeted her when she peeked out of the door. A couple of furs draped over her light hair and Sir Apollo’s cream shirt would partially conceal her from the soldiers sitting around fires or going wherever soldiers went and hold off the cold. For how long?

  Whispering a brief prayer that she was choosing the correct direction, she hurried to the right, crouching and keeping close to the huts’ shadows. Only a few men were outside, and fortunately their attention seemed to be on their fires.

  How quickly she’d forgotten the biting agony of bitter cold. Twigs, rocks, and who knew what else crunched and bit into her feet. She swallowed yelps of pain.

  This was ill-advised. She’d acted rashly, and should return to Apollo’s—surely she could call him by his given name now—hut. No. She should work for her country and family over the Normans. Nothing in her education had prepared her for this. Which path should she choose? She couldn’t make up her mind. What would her mother advise?

  Aline picked up speed. And bumped into someone. She gasped.

  Apollo. She recognized his size and shape. And pleasant scent.

  “I was looking for—the garderobe.” She heaved a sigh of relief at coming up with a plausible excuse so quickly.

  “Mmm hmm.” Did he believe her? “There’s a
chamber pot under the bed.”

  “Of course. I should’ve looked.” She hated dissembling. But the stakes couldn’t be much higher.

  “I was on my way to tell you that the wedding will proceed shortly.”

  Her heart sank faster than a stone tossed in the river running through her garden in England. Time was running out.

  “Let me get you back inside. You’re shivering, and not even wearing shoes, pauvre petite,” he continued. “We must find you some proper clothing.”

  Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to his hut. She found that she didn’t want to protest. Being held by him made her feel warmer, of course. But also protected and secure. And without meaning to, he’d saved her from acting out of desperation. A sigh of relief escaped her.

  “I want you to know I had no idea King Philip was going to command us to marry. And that I don’t want this marriage any more than you do. I tried to talk him out of it, to no avail.” Apollo spoke softly, into her ear. A tingle raced down her neck.

  “Thank you for trying.” She did appreciate his efforts, but hearing him say he didn’t want the wedding either somehow made things worse.

  They were well and duly caught.

  Would she ever feel free? Under her father’s rule, she’d been forced to live in, then trapped in the Norman chateau, then stuck in the ravine because neither her father nor the French would let her go. And Apollo’s choices subjected her to French rule. Next the enemy king would hand her to him, another man. to serve his purposes.

  Yes, her groom was handsome, strong and interesting. And drew her more than any man had. But she didn’t want to wed any Norman, especially if he served a king. Even if he wasn’t a soldier and had no control over where he was born. Their loyalties lay on opposite sides of the Channel. She knew exactly how long it took and how difficult it could be to traverse that body of water. Covering the distance between Frenchman and Englishwoman could be even more challenging.

  Of course it would be far better to be out of danger, well-fed and well-dressed in her own home than out freezing to death in the ditch, but if that home was in the land she abhorred…how would she find peace? Was she being ungrateful and expecting more than she ought as a woman who had few rights, or was she standing up for what she wanted and would have had, if not for this horrible, hateful siege?

  Would she ever return to the land she loved?

  When he set her down on the bed, she was surprisingly reluctant to leave his arms. And almost raised hers so he’d hold her again. That showed just how alone she felt in this strange land and stranger situation. How much she needed consoling. What if she had…and he refused? What kind of marriage would they have?

  “We need to talk after you—”

  “Yes,” she quickly agreed. The chamber pot.

  “I’ll step out. Call when you’re ready.”

  After she finished, she did. Apollo re-entered, then poured two cups from a pitcher and handed her one. Watered wine. She wished for something stronger.

  “There is what some would consider good news,” he began with a slight grin. “Great news, in fact. The king is raising my rank to baron, and the title includes a manor with lands near Rouen. Near my family. Most men would be beyond pleased, but I treasure my current position as his messenger. I’m honored to be one of the only messengers who isn’t a monk or bishop, and want to deliver and receive important information, be in the midst of change and politics. I don’t want to be worrying about rents, villeins, serfs or the success of my crops.” Not everyone wanted to be a leader. He was content to serve.

  “I can understand that. We want what we want. Congratulations, nonetheless.”

  “Congratulations to us both.”

  She’d be a baroness. Better than the wife of a knight, but still a lower rank than if she married according to her station in England. Status mattered to her and to most everyone she knew. Had known. Who knew what would matter to her new neighbors. What if they hated her? She cringed.

  At least she and Apollo were united in one thing: their inclination not to marry each other. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this so calmly.” Her heart was racing, her hands trembled, but she hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous she felt. “I don’t want to be French or live in France. I just want to go home. As you said, return to normal. Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this?”

  Chapter Five

  Apollo wished he’d never tried to help his king or his opponent, even in the form of Aline. His tendency to act without thinking, his willingness to be of service, had taken their tolls again.

  “I can’t think of anything that would satisfy Philip,” he said. “We have nothing to offer him in return for our freedom. Thanks to my idea, he wants to make an example of us to show how the victor can show mercy to the loser.”

  “My enemy becomes my friend? Ha. Is that possible?”

  Was it possible? And if so, could more than friendship follow? My enemy becomes my lover? My love?

  He’d loved his mother. Even his horse, Tencendur, named after Charlemagne’s horse. But he’d never felt romantic love. Could that emotion exist for him?

  If he were to wed and settle down, he’d want a wife as exquisite as Aline. The brazier’s light gilded her hair, her skin was soft and smooth, and her features were finer than any Norman woman he’d met. Her vivid blue eyes were so expressive. He imagined her pretty hands and slim fingers on his skin. The image of her slipping off that night robe before she came to his bed made him yearn to think of anything else so his desire wouldn’t be evident. Milking a cow. Yes, that worked.

  Surely any pleasures she’d yield would fade as he was forced to deal with day-to-day obligations of running an estate. As a youth, he’d oft heard his father complain about their overlord and irresponsible tenants who didn’t pay rents when they ought and their demands for less work and higher pay.

  Aline leaned forward. The fur slipped, revealing a delightful glimpse of her décolletage.

  He didn’t want to look away. He could have access to that glorious display of soft flesh and more in mere hours. That thought did make him hard.

  Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice as she readjusted the fur.

  “I’d hope we could at least be friends,” he managed.

  “The rest of our lives are at stake.” She paused. “Extreme diseases require extreme methods of cure, according to Hippocrates.”

  Smart, and educated, too. He liked that, though such knowledge was rare in women. But…. “How does that follow?”

  “I have an extreme idea,” she said, with a conniving glimmer in her eye he hadn’t yet seen. “Instead of going to your new home, you’ll help me return to England. You can say I took ill and died. That my weeks in the ravine took its toll, as it did for others.

  “Then you can remain in your current position. Your king need never know the truth. We both get what we want.”

  He went flaccid. He admired her cleverness, but her willingness—nay, eagerness—to be dishonest disturbed him. Even given their alarming fate. Disappointment filled him. “I told you earlier and just told my king that a man is only as good as his word. You’d be asking me to live a lie. Not only that, if we were to wed again, our next marriages wouldn’t be legal in the eyes of the Church.”

  “Your Church would think I was dead. Mine would never likely know I’d been married before. I don’t like lies, either. Or going against values my mother taught me. I certainly never expected I’d consider much less attempt to defy the Church. But I’ve never been faced with such catastrophic events impacting the rest of my life. Have you?

  “My father literally threw me to the wolves. You and I are being forced into a sudden marriage neither of us wants…being moved like chess pieces by your king. Is it preferable to live together in misery until death do us part, or do what we must to seek happier futures, even if a bit of deception is needed? We aren’t hurting anyone or committing any crimes that I know of, and we’d bene
fit ourselves and our future children.”

  He shook his head. Annoying how she echoed his thoughts. She was convincing, but this didn’t sit well with him. “I will do you the courtesy of considering your idea, though I think you’re asking us to commit assorted sins, if not crimes. I understand why you suggested it and agree your plan has some merit. But how I could face Philip, my anointed king and liege lord, knowing I’d defied his direct order? How could I attend Mass again without confessing, or feeling guilty? I must do what feels right.”

  “Right for whom? Does your conscience rule your head? You’d rather relinquish control over a score or more of years when ordered to act against your will than forge your own path. You’d rather we both suffer a marriage you don’t want?” Her passion for her plan showed in her flushed face and intense gaze. If possible, she looked even more beautiful.

  Apollo admired her determination and bravery, though he didn’t think he could go forward with her approach. “I don’t know if you’re right that our happiness apart is more important than what I’ve been taught. What duty demands of me.”

  He disagreed with Aline and wasn’t sure if he truly liked her yet. He wanted her, nonetheless. Her lovely face, form and intelligence called to and stayed with him, sweet as his favorite song “Tant m’abelis joys et amors et chants” by troubadour Berenguer de Palol.

  Apollo sat beside her on the bed, no longer hiding the longing in his gaze. She drew in a breath as he leaned forward slowly. Her eyes widened as he slid close, then closer until their hips touched. That slight contact heightened his ardor.

  He put his hand on her waist, welcoming the feel of her sweet curve in his palm. Closer still he moved. She didn’t pull away. One more slide toward her, ’til their lips were inches apart.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered. Her breath smelled enticingly sweet.

  “Seeing what we might have. And if I find what I think I will, and you do as well, perhaps we should wed. Desiring one’s spouse and welcoming his or her caresses would be something significant to build on.”