It was a common enough practice for a nobleman’s son to be trained for his spurs by another nobleman, though Rolfe imagined this boy might have been younger than was typical.
“The boy also was the lord’s sole heir. When the overlord refused to confess where the son would train, this vexed the lord mightily. The tale was that he had not yet decided which of his liege lords would do the honor, but in time, it became clear that the overlord had no intention of sharing the truth with the father. The concession and the secrecy enraged the lord. I have no doubt that the lady bore the brunt of her spouse’s frustration after the departure of their guest.”
Annelise swallowed. “Of course, the overlord did not trust the father to leave the son in peace, but the violent lord perceived himself to be without issue, an affront to his pride and his fortunes. He demanded another son of his wife, but the lady’s womb did not ripen.”
Rolfe expected the tale to worsen and he proved to be right.
“When the lord drank—and he did so often—his displeasure made itself known, and the servants would hear the lady cry out in the night,” Annelise confessed. “In the morn, she would sport bruises, usually hidden but always noted by her maids. No one dared to interfere, however, for fear that they would bear the weight of their lord’s fists themselves.
“The lord accused his wife of all manner of evil, even in front of the servants. She was a witch; she was a sinner; she was an adulteress; she deliberately denied him his sole desire or she was being punished for her sins—and he was the one to pay the price. The lady bore his abuses silently, probably because she did not dare incur yet more of his wrath by challenging him outright.
“Remarkably, despite all this abuse, or perhaps because she knew there was only one way to make it stop, the lady bore fruit once more. The lord, needless to say, was delighted, and made great plans for this son.”
Annelise swallowed, and Rolfe watched the light play over her features. Her voice, when she continued, was tight.
“The son, sadly, showed the poor grace to be born a daughter.”
Rolfe had a very good idea who that daughter must have been.
The boy then would have been Quinn, taken from the household before Annelise had even been conceived.
She fell silent for a long moment, then finally cleared her throat to continue. “The lord, of course, was enraged by the defiance of this infant and also that of his lady wife. To his thinking, all in his household should have done their utmost to ensure his satisfaction, so he felt that both child and wife had betrayed him. The overlord, though, had sent an armed guard to watch over the lady while she nursed the babe. The lord took out his vengeance upon his villeins, and the land soon abounded with his bastards and his bruises.
“None of those sons were good enough, though, for none bore the stamp of legitimacy.”
Annelise flicked a glance at Rolfe, and he did not look away from the pain in her eyes. He could not imagine that this sweet lady had endured a childhood with such a father and not turned out to be much like him. His admiration for her redoubled and he did not hide his feelings from her. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, then swallowed and frowned into the flames once more.
“The armed guard, of course, could not remain forever. When the daughter was weaned at two years of age, the soldiers left.” Her brows arched and her voice broke slightly, though she did not look up. She traced a pattern on the floor with her fingertips. “They left the lady and her child alone in that keep with a lord who was good at saving his anger.”
Annelise flicked a glance around the barren tower as if recalling her urge to escape. Rolfe saw tears gleam on her lashes. “They say a small child cannot recall events.” Her gaze locked with Rolfe’s. “They are wrong,” she said bitterly. “I recall every moment of that night. It is carved upon my memory so clearly that it might have occurred just hours ago.”
She spoke more quickly, and Rolfe hoped that sharing the tale would lessen its power. “I remember the fear on my mother’s face when he knocked. I remember the sweet cajoling of his voice as he lied, to convince her to unlock the door. I recall every heartbeat of the time that it took her to cross the chamber, then to lift the latch. Even then, I sensed her doubt.” Annelise shook her head. “But I suppose she did not feel she had the right to refuse her rightful husband entry to his own solar. And perhaps she believed he would not harm her in front of me.”
She fell silent.
“Your mother was wrong,” Rolfe guessed gently.
Annelise nodded. “She was wrong.” She looked smaller and more vulnerable, a mere shadow of the bold wife he knew so well, and Rolfe moved to her side. No wonder she had wanted to marry a man whose love she could rely upon! He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her close, then captured her hand in his. She was cold and he felt her tremble at her memory.
“I can see him still as he leaped through that doorway, as drunken and disheveled as ever he was,” she confessed, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I can see him lock the portal behind himself, sealing us into the chamber with him. I can see my mother retreating and hear his bellow that she had shirked her obligation to grant him a son.” She shook her head and Rolfe saw tears fall.
“And then he began to beat her,” she whispered. “It was horrifying to watch, for he derived pleasure from making the pain last. My mother bled, she wept, she cried, she begged, but nothing could turn him from his path. His eyes glowed, I swear to you he laughed. His curses continued until my mother fell to the floor. When she did not move again, he kicked her, but she was utterly still.”
Tears streamed down Annelise’s cheeks, and Rolfe held her tightly. He sensed that she needed to purge herself of this tale, and he was honored to be the one entrusted with it. He would not risk interrupting her, though his heart ached for what she had witnessed.
And she had seen this a child. It was beyond wicked.
“The solar was silent. The blood seeped from her limp body. I do not know whether she was dead or whether she lingered in a haze of pain.” She shook her head, burrowing her face against his chest. “It was odd then, the change I saw in him. He whispered her name, but she made no sound. He bent over her, touched her throat, straightened. The anger melted from his face, leaving a much smaller man. He looked suddenly like the child I was, lost and certainly confused. Then fear flickered across his face, fear that he would be caught at what he had unwittingly done.
“He glanced around the solar, and I remember well the cold dread that clutched my heart when he saw me standing in my cradle.”
Annelise’s hands grasped fistfuls of her kirtle. Rolfe wished there might have been something he could do to reassure her, yet knew the best salve was to let her talk, and to hold her fast against his side.
“His eyes blazed with anger again and I knew he would kill me, too. Even at that age, I understood that I had seen something I should not, and I feared the consequences. I flinched, I tried to hide in my cradle as I heard him start across the room. I even tried to climb out of the small bed to save myself.
If he had touched Annelise, Rolfe knew he would hunt down her father and force a reckoning from him.
“Then there was a knock at the door.” Annelise caught her breath. “He halted and we both stared at the wooden panel. The châtelain had brought the warmed goat’s milk my mother had begun to give me at night in lieu of her own milk. ‘For the heiress,’ the châtelain said from the corridor outside, and the bloodlust faded from my father’s eyes.”
Annelise exhaled shakily. When she continued, her voice was flat and matter-of-fact. “He had no heir without me and the châtelain had reminded him in the nick of time. I knew then that he would not kill me, but it was only much later that I understood why.”
She fell silent and Rolfe felt her trembling.
“Did he beat you?” Rolfe asked, fighting to keep his own anger from his tone.
Annelise shook her head. “Never. I was always afraid that he would. Although truly
, I wonder now whether he feared that I might tell my tale out of spite if he beat me.” She shrugged. “It ended up that he had not the chance.”
“Surely your mother’s death was discovered?”
“But it was explained with a lie. My mother apparently had an accident when riding alone with my father early the next morn. I expect he carried her out of the solar and flung her from her horse’s saddle in the forest, then lied to all and sundry.”
“They must have guessed. Or someone must have seen.”
“All feared Jerome de Sayerne and, rightly so, if he would kill his own wife.” Annelise took a deep breath. “The overlord, when he heard—and I do not know exactly how much he heard, for even my father could not have silenced all of his servants’ gossip—arrived with great haste at our gates. Tulley insisted to my father that a daughter had need of feminine influence in her upbringing. I was consigned to a convent within the week and spent my childhood in the nuns’ fine care.”
The stress Annelise laid on the word fine told Rolfe her true opinion of the convent life. Still, he was grateful to Tulley and to the sisters of the convent. Their custody had ensured that his lady had not been beaten. He wondered how much of a donation this overlord Tulley had made to the convent, and whether he would desire something of Annelise in return.
Rolfe was astonished that such an experience should have left so few scars upon Annelise. She had trusted him and only now he saw how difficult that must have been for her, and what a measure of the strength of her nature. It seemed that survival of hardship had only forged Annelise into yet a stronger woman than she might have been otherwise. She had a rare determination to savor life, which he could only admire.
A weaker soul might have become bitter or conniving.
Not unlike Rosalinde.
But in the wake of her confession, it was time to make her smile. Rolfe deliberately made his tone teasing. “I must confess that is a difficult image for me to conjure,” he said.
Annelise glanced up, a question in her magnificent eyes.
Rolfe smiled down at her. “You in a convent. Silent. Biddable. Spending hours at embroidery.” He rolled his eyes and she began to smile.
“You should not have wed me if that was the kind of woman you wanted.”
“On the contrary.” Rolfe lifted her chin with a fingertip, compelling her to see the truth in his eyes. “I should find such a woman insufferably boring. I have no doubt that she would think me unworthy of rescue, and I know I would be unable to rely upon her aid in any matter of import. I like your passion and your impulsiveness, my Annelise, and I know I shall never desire you to be otherwise.”
She flushed scarlet but appeared to be pleased. “The nuns were glad enough to be rid of me when my father summoned me home. Their switch was worn out, after all.”
Rolfe did not miss the fleeting reference to her father and felt his eyes narrow. “And why did he summon you? How could he have done as much? Or did your overlord forget you?”
“Tulley did not forget. Perhaps he thought my father had learned his lesson. As to why, my father was considering the possibility of recognizing a bastard son several years younger than me. Perhaps he wanted to see what kind of woman I had become.”
“And whether you had forgotten what you had seen,” Rolfe guessed.
“In all likelihood.” Annelise pleated her kirtle between her fingers. “Tulley escorted me home to Sayerne and he stayed a week. When he rode out, he left two men behind, the tale being that my father had need of more warriors to defend his walls. I do not believe any of us were fooled.” Rolfe nodded approval of this Tulley and his schemes. “I tried to avoid my father, but once or twice in that year before he died, I flinched when he approached me. I fear he guessed the truth. He was unresolved as to what to do about Yves when he died.”
“I hope your father died as befits a man of his deeds,” Rolfe said, and heard the thrum of anger in his words.
Annelise glanced up. “He died alone in his sleep, abandoned by his villeins, his property sliding into ruin about him. He had taken to abusing the holding and the tenants, for lack of any family to bear the brunt of his anger, and they had fled when they could. He was impoverished and the holding was no better than a ruin.”
Rolfe felt satisfaction at this. A man who raised his hand against his wife deserved no less. “What happened to Yves? And your older brother?” He pretended to know nothing of Quinn, wanting to know more of what Annelise believed to be true of that man. “What was his name? Did he ever return?”
Annelise held up a single finger, familiar fire in her eyes. “One tale. We agreed to trade tales, one for each, sir. I have not heard yours, yet you demand a second from me.”
The lady’s opinion of that was more than clear, though Rolfe could not regret his own curiosity. He wanted to know all of her tales and learn her every secret. How many others could have approached marriage to a stranger with as little reticence as Annelise, after having lived the tale she had? Rolfe was astonished that she had not been more cruelly scarred by her father’s actions.
He met her gaze and saw an uncommon resilience in those eyes. He felt a glow of pride that this woman was his wife. The trust he had been so reluctant to grant now seemed inevitable.
“Forgive me, my Annelise. I want only to know what has made you the fascinating woman you have become.”
She blushed again. “Do not say what you do not mean.”
“I never say what I do not mean.”
Annelise stared at him as though she did not dare to believe him. Rolfe could not deny the impulse to press a kiss into her palm. “I have never met a woman like you.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Rolfe recognized the resonance of truth within them.
“Not even Rosalinde?” she asked.
Rolfe was shocked. “Rosalinde?”
How could Annelise know about Rosalinde?
What did Annelise know about Rosalinde?
“You call her name in your sleep,” Annelise said, her eyes narrowing as she watched him.
“I do?”
Annelise nodded. “Who is she?” she asked, hurt in her tone. “Do you love her?”
“I knew her long ago,” Rolfe replied.
Annelise folded her arms across her chest and her expression took on a familiar resolve. “You do not answer my question. Do you love her still?”
“No,” Rolfe confessed, because it was true.
“Indeed? To whom do you make love when you touch me?”
Rolfe was amazed. “Annelise!”
Annelise scrambled to her feet and crossed the chamber, regarding him from the other side of the fire. “I will know this truth, sir.” She raised a finger. “And it will not replace the telling of your tale.”
Rolfe was vexed, then realized that Rosalinde made trouble again, even when she was absent.
He stood and faced Annelise, holding her gaze so she would see that he spoke the truth. “Rosalinde was a woman who deceived me with her charms, then cast me aside. It was long in the past and has nothing to do with what is between us, save that she was the one who taught me to be wary of granting my trust.”
Annelise frowned. “Why did she cast you aside?”
“If I am to have but one tale of yours, then you may have only one of mine,” he reminded her firmly. “Choose which it shall be.”
Annelise, evidently reassured, smiled. “You know which tale I desire.” Her eyes twinkled in a most delightful way. “Surely you do not mean to break your promise, sir?”
No. He did not. It was time to trust his lady wife.
“Of course not. A wager made is a wager kept.” Rolfe indicated the place where they had been seated just moments before. “Will you join me, Annelise?”
Annelise wrapped her arms about her knees as her husband fed the fire. He frowned as he completed the task and it was clear he was considering how to present his story.
She took advantage of his diverted attention to study him. He was as finely wrought as her
fingers had told her during those nights at the palace, and she tingled with the awareness that this man had touched her so intimately.
Who would have guessed that she might have gained so fine a husband by chance alone? It was more than appearance, for he was honorable and kind. He treated her well, he spoke to her with respect, he promised her safety in his presence.
And now, apparently, he intended to explain himself to her, in a manner unprecedented by men Annelise had known.
She could easily become accustomed to such indulgence.
He crouched on the opposite side of the fire and rocked on the balls of his feet, his hands loosely locked before him and his gaze fixed on the fire. “I shall tell you what happened, although you may not believe it to be true.”
Annelise knew she would.
He cleared his throat and began without meeting Annelise’s gaze. “These past years I have been in Outremer, on crusade, and on my last night there, was given a gift of farewell. It was a bottle of unusual design.”
He hesitated, and Annelise asked a question to urge him along. “A gift from whom? And what was inside it?”
Her spouse flicked a glance her way. “I could not know what was inside, for it was sealed. It was the keeper of an inn we frequented. He gave each of the knights in our company a gift. The bottle was said to have the ability to make dreams come true.” He shrugged. “I decided that I would give it to my brother, for I was certain he would admire it, in the hope that he might grant me a holding from his estate.”
“Because you are the younger son.”
“Exactly. Although, I was curious about its contents, I felt it would be unfitting to open it.”
That was most appropriate. Annelise smiled and nodded approval. “What happened to the others in your company?”
“We divided into two groups, for we had differing notions of the best path homeward to pursue. I sailed from Acre for Brindisi with two comrades, but as the snow began, they chose to remain in Milan. I wished to be home for the Yule, so rode on alone.”
One Knight Enchanted: A Medieval Romance (Rogues & Angels Book 1) Page 19