One Knight Enchanted: A Medieval Romance (Rogues & Angels Book 1)

by Claire Delacroix

  “I do not know what you mean,” Annelise responded. She kept her eyes on the table as she slid into her place and resumed her meal.

  Enguerrand leaned closer. “It is clear that something most unnatural is at work within these walls.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Annelise scoffed.

  “Ridiculous? Explain to me if you will, fair Annelise, why the weather within these walls varies so much from outside?”

  She swallowed her bite of bread with difficulty, then took a long draught of wine, hoping the delay would give her time to conjure a response.

  “It is a trick of the wind,” she said, feeling the explanation to be inadequate. She smiled at the surrounding knights, hoping to cajole them with her explanation. “We all know that there are places in the mountains where warm winds are trapped and the weather differs from the surrounding area.”

  Enguerrand shook his head. “You speak of isolated valleys, not simply the space within a wall arbitrarily constructed.”

  Annelise forced a laugh. “Who are we to say what is arbitrary and what is by design? Perhaps the builder of the palace simply took advantage of a natural effect.” She chided Enguerrand. “Cleverness in choosing a site is not the same as sorcery.” The knights murmured to each other, one shrugged, and they returned to their meal, much to her relief.

  Enguerrand, though, shook his head slowly. “It is not so, and you know it as well as I.” His gaze brightened and she caught her breath. “Why will you not admit as much? Who do you seek to protect?”

  “Who would I protect? You see worries where there are none, Enguerrand. Truly, I did not think you were such a whimsical man.”

  “There is no one else here and only the rumor of your spouse. Is he truly at hunt, Annelise? Or does he hide from his guests?”

  Annelise did not trust the gleam in Enguerrand’s eyes.

  “What does he want to keep us from knowing?” he whispered, before tapping the book firmly. “Is this his collection of black spells?”

  “The wine is clearly too potent for you,” Annelise said sweetly, and one of the knights chuckled.

  “Annelise! I think only of your safety and happiness! Surely you can understand that this situation is most unusual and that my concern is only for you.” His eyes widened with mock concern. “If you had fallen into the hands of some sorcerer, who better than me to rescue you?”

  Annelise chose not to reply to that. It was time to put this nonsense to rest. She held Enguerrand’s gaze and spoke firmly. “You have nothing to worry about upon that score. My husband is no sorcerer. The man is at hunt.”

  With that, she bit into a piece of fruit, although it might as well have been wrought of dust for all she tasted.

  Enguerrand’s fingertips slid over the book. “Then this is not a book of spells?”

  Annelise laughed aloud. “Spells? What manner of nonsense fills your head, Enguerrand? It is nothing but a book of tales to entertain children.”

  The others in Enguerrand’s party relaxed visibly at both Annelise's bold tone and her explanation. She reached for the volume, but Enguerrand flipped it open.

  “Why then is it written in coded script?”

  The weight of the knights’ and squires’ gazes fell heavily upon Annelise. She saw immediately that the book had reverted to its original form. Annelise would not touch the page for it might change as it had for her husband and that would only feed Enguerrand’s suspicions that there was magic afoot.

  Instead, she closed the book and claimed it before Enguerrand could protest.

  “It is not coded!” she said with a laugh. “This is written in the language of the Saracens. Did I not mention that my husband reads in many languages?”

  Enguerrand’s eyes narrowed. “Then how do you know what lies within these pages?”

  Annelise shrugged as easily as she could and slid the book onto her lap. “My husband has entertained me with these tales on many evenings. I suppose you have only my word as to its contents.”

  With that, she held Enguerrand’s gaze steadily, hoping that she guessed aright his unwillingness to challenge her.

  “Do you not trust me, Enguerrand?” she asked pointedly. Her gaze met that of each of the others in turn then she lowered her voice, as if speaking her thoughts aloud. “Why a man would propose marriage to a woman he found untrustworthy, I cannot guess.”

  The two knights nudged each other, the gesture breaking the tension. To Annelise’s relief, Enguerrand cleared his throat and looked away for a moment before glancing over the company. His voice dropped and his manner became confidential.

  “You may think my suspicions unreasonable, Annelise, but there have been strange tales afoot of late. Those may well be fanciful stories for children, but these tales are reputed to be true.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Tell us a tale, Enguerrand!” One of the knights lifted his goblet and took a long draught. “A stormy night is a good one for a rousing piece of fancy.”

  The second companion knight settled back with a full goblet of wine, clearly more than ready for entertainment. The pair had shed their mail immediately, the weather and the wine combining with the evident security of the high walls to put them at ease as men of war were seldom capable.

  Night had fully descended in the garden and there was a pleasant hum of insects carrying through the arched and open windows. Had it not been for the company, Annelise might have thought the setting idyllic.

  Enguerrand frowned as he gazed into the courtyard. “I am reminded of one tale in particular, told by a bard visiting Tulley’s court just the other evening. It was a tale of a vengeful djinn. This minstrel insisted he had been told the tale by the djinn herself when he had the misfortune to cross paths with her.”

  A djinn? Surely Enguerrand could not know... Annelise set the last of her meal aside, her appetite lost.

  “A djinn?” A squire looked confused. “And what might that be?”

  “A djinn is an evil and immortal creature, invisible for the most part but able to wreak havoc upon the lives of mortals by choice,” Enguerrand said. Annelise watched him through her lashes, noting how he enjoyed telling the tale. There was a definite malice in his manner and she feared his intention. “This one was said to have been of particularly foul temper.”

  The squire’s eyes shone as he listened. Annelise’s mouth was dry and she shared little of the boy’s enthusiasm, although she strove to hide that fact.

  Enguerrand’s gaze fixed upon Annelise. “It was said that this djinn had been imprisoned in a bottle before ‘once upon a time’ and cursed to surrender her palace to whoever opened the bottle and granted her release. The djinn was evidently a selfish sort and schemed all the years she was locked away as to how she would take vengeance upon this unfortunate.

  “The bard insisted that a knight returning from the Crusades had acquired the bottle, perhaps in innocence, and opened it near Tulley’s estates.” He waved. “Perhaps even in this vicinity.” Annelise looked down at her trencher. “The djinn was compelled to grant her palace to the knight, but then she took her revenge.”

  Enguerrand sipped at his wine, clearly enjoying how the men waited in anticipation of his words.

  Annelise felt ill.

  “What did she do?” asked the squire.

  “She cursed the knight and made him a wolf. Imagine, to be condemned to take the form of a wolf when a wondrous palace had been granted to you as a gift!” Enguerrand laughed and Annelise hated him all the more. “The bard insisted that the djinn had forbidden the knight from entering the palace, yet condemned him to prowl around it for the remainder of his days.”

  His gaze drifted out the window to linger on the splendor of the garden. All eyes followed his gaze, then Enguerrand cleared his throat. “How fortunate we are to wait out the blizzard under such fine circumstances.”

  To Annelise, his implication was startlingly clear.

  “But why would the djinn do such a thing?” demanded the squire.


  “It was meant to be a reminder of what he had been,” Enguerrand explained. “And a curse most vindictive, for he was doomed to remember his lost state. He was a wolf with the memory of the man he had been, and powerless to change his situation.”

  “God’s blood!” breathed the squire. “That is foul indeed!”

  The knight beside him smiled and ruffled the lad’s hair. “You cannot believe all you hear when tales are told, boy. Undoubtedly, this bard had need of a warm meal in his belly and concocted the tale on the spot to tempt the lord’s hospitality.”

  The boy looked crestfallen, but Enguerrand held up a finger. “No! Not this time, for he gave us the name of this unfortunate, and there were those in the hall who knew of him.”

  Annelise yearned to ask the man’s name, just as she knew she could not risk it. Enguerrand took a sip of wine, then remarked upon its quality.

  “Well? What was his name?” the squire demanded.

  “It was said to be Rolfe,” Enguerrand said, again watching Annelise closely.

  Annelise knew that nothing showed in her expression, for she did not know if that was her husband’s name or not. “A pretty tale, Enguerrand, if a whimsical one,” she said and lifted her cup to him in salute.

  One of the knights snorted. “And a common-enough name. How could any know for certain that the Rolfe of their acquaintance was this same one? Did the bard not supply the name of the knight’s estate?”

  “No,” Enguerrand admitted.

  The knight rolled his eyes, muttering “bards” under his breath, and indicated the platter of roast meat. His squire hastened to place the most choice morsels remaining on his knight’s trencher.

  “But this Rolfe was said to ride a great black destrier,” Enguerrand added. “Indeed, Annelise, it was your spouse’s steed in the stables that reminded me of the tale.” He smiled and she braced herself for whatever he might say next. “Whyever would that beast remain here while your husband hunted?”

  “He took another,” Annelise said hastily.

  Enguerrand raised a brow. “Indeed? I saw evidence of no beast other than the two palfreys and destrier there.”

  Annelise laughed and lied again. “His favored steed is scarcely here long enough to leave a mark.”

  The other knights looked less than convinced by her explanation and she tried to think of another subject that might interest the men.

  Enguerrand gestured toward the courtyard. “I must admit that this place, with its Eastern air and remarkable clime, also made me think immediately that we had stumbled upon the very place of which the bard sang.”

  The knights, to Annelise’s dismay, shifted in their seats and glanced uneasily about themselves. The candles flickered and the wail of the winter wind could be faintly discerned. It would have been easy—especially under the influence of the wine—for even the most level-headed individual to give consideration to Enguerrand’s conclusion.

  “Does that mean there is a wicked djinn here?” whispered the one squire.

  “Of course not!” Annelise said, laughing again. This time, she feared she sounded a little shrill. “More of the wine?”

  Enguerrand leaned forward. “Tell us first, fair Annelise, what is the name of your husband?”

  The entire party caught their breath and waited.

  The very moment that Rolfe strode through the palace gates, he was aware that something was amiss. The garden still bloomed and the temperature was still warm, but he could hear voices from the palace.

  Male voices.

  He refused to consider that his lady might have proven herself unworthy of his trust. Rather than revealing himself immediately, he went to the stables to learn about his guests. There were three destriers and three more palfreys stabled there, and the armor of three knights. Only one destrier had caparisons, and they were green and silver, graced by an insignia Rolfe did not recognize.

  Three men and three squires! Why had Annelise allowed them to enter? Did she know them? He considered the snow that had been rapidly falling beyond the walls and considered that she might have felt compassion for a company lost in the forest during a storm.

  To be of aid would be the inclination of his lady.

  Rolfe wondered what they discussed and wished he could hear the conversation at the board. The palace, as he should have anticipated, fulfilled his hope and he heard them as clearly as if they were in the stable with them.

  The sound did not improve his temper. It was clear to Rolfe that Annelise both knew and disliked the one man who spoke the most. Rolfe himself heard how provocative that man was, and disliked him as well, without even the benefit of having met him.

  Enguerrand, she called him.

  Rolfe wished he knew what lies she had been compelled to tell on his behalf and the earlier part of their conversation filled his thoughts like a memory. So, he was at hunt. That was a clever notion on her part. And she had invited them into the palace out of compassion, though he heard the uncertainty of the wisdom of her choice in her tone.

  He wished for heavy garb, such as a man would wear to hunt, and found it at his fingertips. He tugged on the heavy boots and the leather jerkin, then pulled his mail hauberk over it. He pulled on heavy gloves and a thick cloak lined with fur. A small bow hung from his side and there was a quiver upon his back. He donned his belt, with his quillon dagger in its sheath. With a look and a thought, there was blood on the blade. Rolfe raised the hood, thinking he should be embellished with snow if he had just arrived, and found that he was so. He wished for more horses, and a kill for his fist.

  As he was walking to the palace with his burden of hares and partridges, he had a thought that might have come to him earlier. He wished for a bevy of servants, eager boys who had accompanied him to hunt, a captain-at-arms, an ostler, and a steward. His wish filled the stables with their horses and trap, and their noise echoed through the courtyard. He wished for two of them to be carrying a dead boar, its feet bound to a pole, to give him a tale for his late arrival.

  He strode to the palace, well pleased with his scheme even as he heard this Enguerrand imply that some bard’s tale was the truth of Rolfe’s palace. It was the truth, but Enguerrand had no right to know it.

  He certainly had no right to worry Annelise.

  “Annelise!” Rolfe roared, like a man coming home. “What a day! We return in triumph, lady mine.” He had a moment to note that the board was loaded with food and wine, and to take satisfaction in the bounty of his hospitality. He noted the three knights, two of which were nearly besotted, and easily identified the one who made trouble for Annelise.

  Rolfe decided to let the cur wait. He would ignore him for as long as possible.

  “Sir!” Annelise cried, her relief more than clear. She ran to Rolfe, her eyes alight, and he caught her close, swinging her around with satisfaction. She was trembling ever so slightly and he yearned to shred the man responsible for his lady’s concern. She reached up and kissed him, then leaned her cheek against his own. “I feared for you in the storm,” she confessed, though he knew there was more at root than that.

  “Ah,” he said heartily. “I forgot myself. I owe you an apology, Annelise.”

  “But you had a successful day, it appears.”

  “It was a charmed hunt, to be sure. Look at that boar!” He chuckled. “But you know how I can never leave a matter be. Even the boar was not sufficient to satisfy me.” Annelise smiled up at him, apparently also content to let Enguerrand wait. “There was a buck of such majesty that I felt compelled to pursue it. He was clever, though, and wily.”

  “Even more wily than the boar?” Annelise asked.

  Rolfe nodded. “Even so.” He sighed and touched her cheek with his fingertip. “I confess I failed to bring you more venison in the end, my Annelise.”

  “It is sufficient for me to have you home and hale,” she said softly, her eyes shining.

  Rolfe kissed her again, well aware that their guests watched him with interest. He lifted his fist
ful of game and called to one of the boys. Annelise’s eyes widened ever so slightly as the company of his servants came into view. “Boy! Take these to the kitchens, then all of you, come and restore yourselves. We have had a long day of riding.” The servants surged forth, taking their seats at the board, and the hall filled with the sound of their chatter. “But tell me, Annelise, who owns the six steeds new to the stables?”

  “We have guests, my lord,” she said and gestured to the men. Rolfe pretended to have just noticed them. “This is Enguerrand de Roussineau and his companions.”

  “Guests on such a night as this,” Rolfe exclaimed. “Who would have anticipated as much?” He shed his gloves and shook the hands of the knights, showing no expectation of a reply. He noted that Enguerrand was a little discomfited and was glad of it. “Welcome. I trust you have refreshed yourselves?”

  Enguerrand did not move. “I did not catch your name, sir.”

  Rolfe met the other man’s gaze, ensuring that his own was steely. “Rolfe de Viandin.”

  “Viandin?” Enguerrand raised a brow. “Is that the name of this palace?”

  “No, no,” Rolfe said easily, distrusting the other knight’s interest. “Viandin is the inheritance of my brother, Adalbert, who administers it. It is to the north and west, in Burgundy, near Cluny.” He was well aware that this was news to Annelise, but would never have guessed as much from her expression.

  “The land is said to be rich there.”

  “It is a well-established holding,” Rolfe acknowledged. “And Roussineau? Forgive me but I am not familiar with it.”

  “Sworn to the Lord de Tulley, on the other side of the Beauvoir Pass. We mine silver.”

  Annelise’s eyes widened ever so slightly and Rolfe did not miss this hint from his lady wife. “Indeed? How fortunate to have a holding with such wealth to call its own.” He moved to sit at the board, nodding to the other knights. Annelise brought him a cup of wine, but Enguerrand was not prepared to abandon their conversation.