The palfrey she had ridden the day before nickered at the sight of her. She greeted the beast and checked its flank, relieved to see that the wolf’s bite was healing already. The other palfrey in the stall greeted her with enthusiasm and she gave each of them a brushing. They had been tended very well, but she knew that horses enjoyed the attention. There were oats aplenty for both horses, and water, as well.
As she worked, she recalled the day before, which seemed like a distant dream. What had happened to the rest of the party? What of Yves? Had he been taken by wolves? Annelise recalled hearing one man’s scream, although she could not have identified the voice.
She should have spoken to Yves instead of trying to provoke him into granting her desire.
She should have sought him out instead of waiting for him to cede to her.
Annelise had been so certain that she could accompany him, but he had been adamant. She had to admit that Yves would know more of what lay before him when he rode to tournament than she could guess. She had been raised in the shelter of a convent, while he had trained with men of war.
All she had been able to think was that she had not wanted to wed either Enguerrand or Hildegarde’s son.
And now, Yves might be lost. She might have no one in her life, save her elusive husband.
This palfrey nuzzled her hair and Annelise wiped her tears. She had been right in that, at least. She could not believe that either of those suitors would have made her first mating as pleasing as her husband had. They had been men with their own objectives—or their mother’s—who cared nothing for her.
Whereas the husband that Annelise had gained by fate was one who desired her for herself.
She was not solely responsible, after all. If nothing else, Yves and Bertrand had played a part in what had happened. Either could have listened to her. Yves had admitted as much himself.
In future, though, she would try to discuss matters openly.
Annelise scratched the palfrey’s nose and peeked into the other stall. The largest destrier she had ever seen occupied it, his coat blacker than midnight. He flicked an expressive glance her way and stamped a hoof.
“Well, hello to you, sir,” she said, giving him a pat, as well.
Her husband had admitted to being a knight, and here was the evidence.
The stallion’s ears flicked and he nosed the contents of his feed box impatiently. It was not empty, Annelise noticed. He could not be hungry, although she wondered if he might be bored. He snorted and scattered oats about the stall, then glanced back at Annelise.
He was probably used to activity. As though to reinforce her thought, the destrier stamped his feet restlessly.
Annelise folded her arms across the top of the rail and dropped her chin on them. She watched the horse toss his head. “You seem to need a run. Does my husband not ride you daily? My father oft said that a good steed should be ridden frequently.”
The beast nickered and tossed his head as though approving of the notion. Memory sobered Annelise and she stepped back from the stall.
“Before you decide that my father was a wise man, you should know that he applied the same axiom to women. Whether they were good or bad was not a consideration for him.”
She frowned at the straw on the floor, determined not to recall another troubling incident so quickly. Still, she had broken her own pledge to wed only for love. Her husband could not love her, but he had been kind to her. Would that last? Would it be sufficient to spare her the fate of her own mother?
Annelise did not know and she would not find out by standing in the stable all day.
She looked about herself with curiosity. What else could she learn about her husband from the stable? The horses were well-tended, a sign of the same generosity and kindness he showed to her. The stable was neat and the stalls had been swept out, even though there was not a soul to be seen. The destrier’s trap was hung along the opposite side of the stable, and her gaze danced over the familiar gear.
She refused to think about Yves.
If this was her husband’s horse and his equipment, she reasoned, certainly there was nothing about the saddle to indicate any deformity. The stirrups were hung at precisely the same length.
A glint caught her eye and she ventured deeper into the stables. A knight’s mail was carefully stored there. It was in excellent repair and polished to a gleam. Annelise squinted at it, trying to envision the height of the man to whom it had been fitted.
It could readily belong to her spouse. He was, after all, lord of the keep, and this mail was finely wrought. It was the armor of a knight and nobleman.
Annelise knew that there were not two noblemen inhabiting this place.
Feeling as though she was prying, but continuing nonetheless, she examined the mail. There were a few nicks and scratches, as one might expect from equipment used in battle. On one shoulder it looked to have been repaired with newer rings.
But its silhouette was that of a perfectly normal man.
Remembering her theory that he might have a scarred but previously handsome face, Annelise examined his helmet. It was without blemish beyond the usual scratches and minor dents. There was evidence of nothing that could have granted him a major disfigurement.
Was it possible that there was nothing amiss with her spouse?
Why would he hide his identity from her?
Annelise drummed her fingers on his helmet. The nuns had taught her that every riddle had a key, and she knew she could solve this one. Her husband could be a villain, an outlaw wanted for some heinous crime. That would explain his reluctance to reveal himself until after the match was consummated.
No. Annelise shook her head firmly. The man who had treated her so kindly could not have a black heart.
Could he be married already? Snared in a loveless match? Annelise considered that possibility for a long moment even though she disliked it intensely. It would mean that he had tricked her—but why? No man had need of two wives.
Unless his wife was barren and he was without a son and heir.
Annelise bit her lip. But then, where was this barren bride? Surely she would be resident at his home? Annelise knew she was alone in this palace.
She refused to consider other possibilities along that line. Her host and husband could have simply seduced her, if he had been driven by desire alone. It had not been necessary to marry her, much less to surrender his ring to her.
No, she refused to believe that he was already wed.
He could be falsely accused of a crime. That was a promising possibility. But who might bring a false charge against a man evidently so honorable?
Perhaps a woman spurned.
If so, her spouse might not be certain which side she would take in the fray.
But she was his wife. And he had ensured that she had no grounds for an annulment. Annelise’s skin tingled with the memory of his touch. Her spouse had seen to her earthly needs in a way far beyond any expectation and had given her hope for a marital future blessed with love.
Annelise was wed, for better or for worse, yet she would not abandon her hope of love in marriage.
Indeed, if he feared that she might recoil from some truth in his nature or his past, she could prove otherwise to him. His battle could be hers. What better way to earn his love than to banish whatever demon haunted him? She would aid him, clear his name, appeal to the king, do whatever was necessary to have him fully as her spouse.
But first Annelise had to discover precisely who her husband was.
She examined his belongings, telling herself that the greater cause justified the intrusion. He could have simply confided in her, but clearly had chosen not to do so.
He had promised to tell her the truth this morning and had not.
Annelise was in the right—even if she felt that she was wrong.
His tunic was rich indigo and trimmed with white silk that looked somewhat the worse for wear. There were the caparisons of a size to garb the destrier in the same fabrics
and colors.
Annelise recalled the callus on his hand. Clearly, her spouse was not just a knight. He was a warrior who actually engaged in battle. As she ran a fingertip over the scarred leather scabbard of his sword, she wondered where he had fought.
His shield was emblazoned with a white griffin on the navy ground. One of the beast’s claws was extended as though the talons would shred an attacker. Its wings were spread high, its scowl fierce.
A silver branch embellished with what Annelise thought were oak leaves hung from the griffin’s beak. A row of tiny silver-and-white fleurs-de-lis ran along both top and bottom edges of the crest.
She traced the emblems with her finger, noting the nicks and scratches upon them. She did not recognize his insignia, but that said little, for Annelise paid scant attention to such matters of war. If nothing else, she recognized that the fleurs-de-lis signified his family’s pledge to the king of France. He was far from his origin, then.
How had he come by this palace in the forest? Who was his overlord?
His packs were virtually empty, with the exception of various masculine miscellany that told her little. She touched the dagger and spare shirt, found his comb, his flint, a small and very sharp knife, a coil of rope, then grimaced when she discovered some cheese that he had evidently forgotten.
Annelise disposed of the cheese and surveyed the stables again. Clearly, she would have need of her ingenuity to discover the identity of her enigmatic spouse.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” she demanded of the destrier.
His ears flicked with what Annelise chose to regard as interest. She lifted the saddle to his back with some difficulty and harnessed the large beast. For once, she was glad of the days she had hidden in Sayerne’s stables to avoid her father.
“We shall check the wall,” she informed the destrier.
What Annelise had to do was concoct a plan and she knew that the most successful plans were reliant upon the most complete information.
Before the sun set, she would know every secret of this palace.
Perhaps there was an advantage in her solitude within these walls: there was no one to stop her from her quest.
Chapter 6
After a day in the forest, Rolfe could make only one conclusion: it was clear he had not loved Annelise with sufficient ardor.
Perhaps his long run of celibacy had weakened his skills of seduction. Perhaps the lady had not been as pleased as he believed. Perhaps they had not adequately explored the range of lovemaking possibilities.
Whatever the issue, it was clear to Rolfe that the only possible recourse was to return to the great bed and seduce his lady wife again.
As many times as necessary.
The promise of that made him even more anxious than usual for the day to end.
He knew his anticipation could only be due to the prospect of breaking the curse. It had nothing to do with Annelise herself. As charming as she was, he was in no peril of forgetting the truth of their match.
Their marriage was a bargain, no more and no less. On his side, there was a curse to be broken. On Annelise’s side, there was the prospect of comfort, security and a spouse who would treat her well.
Their marriage was an example of duty, honor, and a measure of trust. The fickle emotion of love was of no relevance.
Rolfe was pacing outside the gates of the palace long before the sun finally dipped toward the horizon. He was determined to put every moment of the night to effective use.
And let the one in whom he confides,
lead a killer to his side.
The curse had echoed in his thoughts all day, feeding his resolve.
As soon as he became transformed, the gates opened to him. Rolfe strode nude into the courtyard and they closed behind him silently. He crossed the garden with long steps and discovered Annelise in the shadowed foyer. Mercifully, her back was to him, for she had lit a lantern. Even the darkness in the courtyard was not complete.
Rolfe crept up behind her silently. He wished that he had a silken handkerchief and immediately spied one upon the floor. He blinked, then realized he should put the palace’s inclination to serve his will to better use.
Annelise’s kirtle was new—and it could not be coincidence that it was of the same deep green he had envisioned upon her. She had possessed no baggage when she entered the palace gates, so this, too, was a manifestation of his desire. The kirtle clung to her curves in a way that made him all the more intent upon his nocturnal quest.
He snapped the handkerchief over her eyes, blindfolding her, and she gasped. “You!”
“Yes, it is me, my Annelise.”
“Where are you? Where have you been today?” Annelise reached for the knot in the handkerchief, but Rolfe gently grabbed her wrists.
“You will not look upon me.”
“You promised to tell me the truth this morning, but you have been impossible to find.”
“I changed my thinking.”
“Perhaps I will change my thinking and look, then.” It was a shame that he could not see her eyes, in a way, for he knew they would be flashing with fire.
“Perhaps you would be foolish to do so.” He dropped his voice low. “Trust me, Annelise. I will show you all as soon as I can.”
“You deceived me.”
“Not by any scheme of mine. You must believe me, Annelise. I was deceived myself.”
“How cruel,” she said, her tone wary.
“Indeed. I spent the day trying to make amends.” He stole a quick kiss. “Believe that I would never break my word to you willingly.” Her annoyance seemed to be melting and Rolfe wished to avoid more questions he could not answer. He spun Annelise around and around, easily evading her searching hands as he ensured that she kept her balance.
To his delight, she began to smile, then to laugh. “You will make me dizzy!” she accused. Her laughter made Rolfe smile himself and he wished they did not have to play such games.
What if he did confide in her?
The possibility was tempting.
But no. He should persist in his scheme first. When the curse was broken, he would be able to defend them both from whatever threat might result from confiding in her.
When he stopped her and held her shoulders in his hands, Annelise still wavered unsteadily. She reached up with one hand and claimed one of his, as if he were her anchor. Her lips parted and her cheeks were flushed, and Rolfe could resist her no longer.
He bent and kissed her sweetly, then stepped back. Annelise tried to grab him, but her hands closed on empty air.
Rolfe chuckled and she spun to face the sound. “I will find you,” she threatened, then headed toward him. Rolfe stepped silently around her as she walked toward the place he had been, and instead was behind her. She reached out, found nothing, and pivoted at the sound of his foot dislodging a small stone.
“I thought you scarred or maimed, sir, but so far I find nothing wrong with you. Perhaps there is nothing amiss.”
Rolfe’s heart stopped. “Perhaps you have not looked closely enough.”
“Perhaps you fear that I will recognize your face,” she continued and he might have cursed her cleverness if he had not admired it. “Perhaps that is why you keep your name secret.”
“Perhaps you should not ask such questions.” Rolfe circled her silently, intent upon surprising her.
“What else am I to do all day alone?” she asked, flinging out her hands. “You said you would confide in me, sir. This is a poor start for our match.”
Rolfe stepped closer and abruptly caught her shoulders in his hands. “I thought we began quite well,” he whispered and kissed her throat. She sighed and leaned back against him, her lips parting. “Catch me if you can,” he whispered and darted away again.
“Devil!” Annelise cried. Rolfe laughed. She pivoted and headed for his voice. “You change the subject, avoiding my questions.”
Rolfe eased sideways, knowing that her hearing would be sharpened.
&nb
sp; “Over here!” he murmured, hastening the other way when she turned. “No, here!”
“You are wicked, sir.” Annelise propped her hands on her hips. “Perhaps you never intended to confide in me at all. Perhaps that was only a ruse to seduce me. Perhaps nothing changed this morning at all.”
He crept up behind her, caught her waist in his hands, and bent to kiss her ear. “I thought it was my kiss that seduced you?”
Annelise shivered then spun in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he bent to kiss her again. “It is the truth that I find most seductive, sir,” she said just before his lips touched hers. “Tell me yours and I shall be yours this night.”
“I believe you will be mine regardless, my lady wife,” Rolfe replied, then captured her lips. He kissed her slowly, holding her close, enjoying how she responded to his touch. She opened her mouth to him and leaned against him, her surrender so complete that his blood heated.
Then her hands roved across his shoulders and down his arms and she broke their kiss. “You are nude, sir!” She was blushing.
“Surely you are not shy this night, Annelise? I was warmed all day by the memory of your passion.”
“But not compelled to share my company.” Annelise spun out of his grip and reached for the knot in the handkerchief. “Is this match about desire alone? I had understood that marriage was a greater union than that.”
Rolfe ran for the bed chamber as soon as she lifted her hand and ducked around a bend in the corridor just in time. “It seems, my lady, that you welcome my touch.”
“Yet I would welcome more than pleasure, sir.”
Rolfe eased deeper into the shadows as Annelise pursued him. He wished for darkness and the corridor became as dark as night. He stood, veiled in shadows, and watched her approach.
“What if I refuse your touch until you tell me more of yourself, sir? What if I demand a confession for each night abed?” She reached out to the wall with one hand, letting it guide her as she continued toward him.
One Knight Enchanted: A Medieval Romance (Rogues & Angels Book 1) Page 12