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

by Claire Delacroix

  Annelise respected the djinn’s choice. It could not have been easy to acknowledge the dark truth of her own child, much less to try to protect the world from her.

  The djinn smiled then. “But what will your wish be, child?” She listened, glancing toward the forest. “Think quickly now, for the dogs have cornered something and I have a good idea what—or who— it is. There are limits to what I can do.”

  Annelise spoke impulsively and quickly. “I wish for a stag of such beauty, grace, and speed that hunter and hound will forget all else to pursue it.”

  The djinn’s gaze was assessing. “I cannot create a living creature from nothing.”

  Annelise swallowed, knowing what she had to say. The life of her beloved was at stake. “Make me the stag, if you please.”

  The two women’s gazes held for a moment and Annelise imagined that the djinn hesitated. The dogs barked more wildly.

  “Quickly!” Annelise urged, and the djinn stretched her hands to the sky. She wiggled her fingers, crinkled her nose and closed her eyes as Annelise watched impatiently.

  Just as she was going to urge haste again, the djinn spoke.

  “As she wishes, so shall it be.

  Make this stag of Annelise.”

  Annelise felt a tingling pass over her flesh and she slipped from Mephistopheles’ saddle. She looked down and saw her flesh darkening to a rich hue of brown.

  Hooves grew on Annelise’s hands and feet. Her arms lengthened and she found herself on all fours as naturally as could be. A great weight was on her brow and she knew she sported an impressive rack of antlers. Her clothes fell from her and were discarded in the snow as she stamped her hooves.

  “That was quite good, was it not?” the djinn asked in apparent awe of her own abilities.

  But a dog howled and Annelise did not want to waste her opportunity to save Rolfe. She dashed into the forest, directly toward the hunting party and the dogs.

  She had to distract the dogs to save Rolfe.

  Even in her fear of failure, she was amazed by the power of the stag’s form. It was exhilarating to run at such speed and with such grace. Annelise felt her long legs stretch out, and savored the agility of her new form. She leaped over fallen branches and frozen streams with untold ease. She ran with remarkable speed, her nose catching the scent of dogs, men and steeds ahead.

  The dogs spotted her all at once, it seemed. They turned from whatever they had cornered, their noses high as they strained for her scent.

  “God’s blood, what a creature!” a man breathed. The men in the hunting party turned as one and Annelise fled in the opposite direction with all the speed she could muster. The horses thundered in pursuit, and the barking of the dogs made her pulse race.

  She knew how this race would end. There could be only one outcome. Annelise had exchanged her life for Rolfe’s and she did not have a single regret.

  The dogs gathered around Rolfe, fangs bared. They snapped and growled as they backed him into the undergrowth. Rolfe’s heart pounded in his ears as he snarled. He lunged at first one dog and then another, keeping them at bay, though the end of this tale was most clear.

  He was vastly outnumbered and when he heard the horses of the hunting party approach, he knew he could not hold them off for long.

  But he had to give Annelise enough time to escape.

  Rolfe prayed that even now she was riding away. He hoped that Mephistopheles would guess his master’s will and carry Annelise out of danger. He knew that she would prefer to join the fray and defend him, but even together they could not win.

  He did not want Annelise to witness his demise.

  He did not want her left alone to entertain this hunting party in the wake of their kill.

  The dogs edged closer, first one then another nipping at Rolfe. Their circle tightened and their eyes glittered in anticipation of the kill. Horses whinnied and men’s voices rose in close proximity. It would not be much longer.

  He willed Annelise to flee.

  “This one is mine!” a man cried and Rolfe feared he recognized the voice.

  The dogs backed away with reluctance, growling and whining at intervals.

  Enguerrand de Roussineau stepped closer, his dark eyes gleaming with animosity. Rolfe was shocked to realize that this knight understood fully what he did. Enguerrand knew what Rolfe was; he knew that he would be killing another man, not a wolf.

  Worse, he relished the opportunity.

  “Ah, wolf,” Enguerrand whispered. “You will be the fare at the feast to celebrate my marriage to the fair widow Annelise.” He smiled. “I suspect her spouse will fail to meet her this day and I shall be compelled to escort her to Beauvoir with our kill. I wonder how hungry she will prove to be.” His voice dropped to a malicious whisper, one that his companions would not overhear. “It matters little. I will have her inheritance all the same, as well as yours, and you can do nothing about it but die.”

  Rolfe was filled with new purpose, both from the need to defend his beloved and his determination to apologize to her for his doubt. He would not leave this man to claim Annelise as his prize. He would not abandon her to the cruelty of such a villain.

  If he or Enguerrand must die, Rolfe knew which he would choose.

  The wolf within, cornered and threatened, raged to defend himself. Rolfe let the beast take ascendance.

  Teeth bared, he lunged for Enguerrand.

  The destrier shied away and the knight cried out in fear. Rolfe had no intention of granting the rogue any respite. Just before his teeth closed on the man’s forearm, Enguerrand jerked away. Rolfe’s claw grazed the steed’s neck. The smell and taste of blood awakened a fury within the wolf even as the horse shied.

  Enguerrand shouted and his hunting knife slashed Rolfe’s shoulder. Rolfe snapped and twisted, and the knife fell to the ground as his teeth sank into Enguerrand’s hand. The knight cried out in pain, flung Rolfe aside and retreated.

  The other men circled closer but Enguerrand waved them off. “I said this one is mine,” he said through gritted teeth. He and Rolfe circled each other, the dogs whining to join the fray. The fallen dagger glinted in the snow and Rolfe wished he had the ability to use it.

  But no. He must work with the weapons he had been granted. In this form, he had wickedly sharp teeth and claws. He was cunning and he was quick.

  He had the wolf’s hunger.

  Enguerrand unsheathed another dagger and gathered up his steed’s reins with purpose.

  Rolfe circled the steed, snarling, increasing the horse’s fear. He had no intention of injuring the horse, but hoped it might throw its rider. He eyed the knight’s mail, seeking a weakness. Enguerrand’s hauberk hung to his knees, but it was slit on both sides at the hip. He wore heavy leather boots, but no other protection on his legs than his wool chausses.

  And for this hunt, Enguerrand had left behind his helmet.

  Fool! His bare neck gleamed with promise for a wolf’s sharp teeth.

  Rolfe leaped suddenly for Enguerrand, latching into that man’s thigh. The horse shied, then reared when it felt the weight of the wolf. Enguerrand screamed with pain as he and Rolfe fell from the steed together. The horse stumbled, then fled, abandoning its rider.

  Rolfe and Enguerrand battled for supremacy, rolling in the snow, each unable to strike the killing blow.

  To Rolfe’s surprise, the other knights did not rally to defend Enguerrand. He felt the dogs’ attention waver and heard a large creature thunder through the brush nearby. Dogs and horses turned away and the dogs bayed. Rolfe heard them depart in pursuit of some other prize. Left to their own battle, knight and wolf tussled in the snow.

  If he accomplished nothing else before he died, Rolfe would ensure that this man could not kill the sparkle in Annelise’s eyes.

  Enguerrand raised the knife. Rolfe bit hard into his palm before the blade could be planted. Rolfe’s teeth slid easily through the heavy leather, and he savored the other man’s cry of pain. He bit harder this time, wanting to
inflict damage. The taste of the blood made the wolf lust for more. Enguerrand seized the knife in his other hand and drove it into Rolfe’s shoulder. Rolfe dove for Enguerrand’s chest at the same time that the knife sank home. He dug at the neck of his hauberk with one paw, exposing the knight’s throat, and summoned the wolf.

  Enguerrand must have realized his intention for he struggled with new force and shouted for assistance. His men were gone, though, and his entreaty fell on deaf ears. He made little sound before Rolfe’s sharp teeth were buried in his throat. The wolf bit and ripped and tore, shredding the flesh until Enguerrand fought no more. The villain shuddered, then went still, his blood staining the snow and Rolfe’s fur.

  It was only when he saw his own blood mingled with that of the knight in the snow that Rolfe recalled that he had been injured, as well. He was shaking and it took no small effort to restrain the wolf again.

  But he was a knight in his heart. He would not maul his opponent. Rolfe compelled himself to back away from Enguerrand’s corpse.

  The baying of the dogs was more fevered than it had been before and he wondered what they hunted with such enthusiasm. Was it the same creature that had distracted them? Despite the pain of his wound, Rolfe trotted in pursuit of the sound as quickly as he could manage.

  He was leaving a trail of blood and he knew it, just as he knew the injury turned him from predator to prey.

  Rolfe caught his breath in awe to see that the dogs had cornered a majestic stag. Rolfe both admired it and wanted to claim it, with a vigor that was alien to both himself and the wolf.

  He was no hunter, and the wolf collected no trophies.

  There was something unnatural about the desire the beast aroused within his breast. Perhaps the beast itself was unnatural. Rolfe had an uncommon urge to take this fine creature as a prize, an urge beyond anything he had felt as either wolf or knight. The hunters and dogs clustered there had an unusual gleam in their eyes, as though they were bewitched.

  Suddenly they lunged at the stag and it fell, disappearing beneath the pack of hounds. There was a strange shimmer even as the men cried out in triumph and Rolfe heard the dogs whine again.

  He could make no sense of it, much less the cursing of one of the men, but assumed the dogs had damaged the prize.

  Rolfe was distracted from their hunt because he felt himself changing. He gasped as his own flesh appeared before his eyes, as the fur disappeared, as dark nails rescinded. He stretched and stood tall, noting that the sun was still sinking toward the horizon.

  He was a man and in daylight.

  The spell was broken! Rolfe did not know how or why, but he was profoundly relieved. If pressed, he would have wagered that his marvel of a wife, his beloved Annelise, had found the key to the puzzle.

  He had only to find her.

  Chapter 14

  Rolfe hastened to the tower, hoping that he would find Annelise waiting for him there.

  The sight of Mephistopheles and the palfrey standing outside the tower seemed a sure sign that his expectation was sound. Both horses were saddled and the saddlebags appeared to be packed. Rolfe smiled with pleasure that his lady understood his intentions so well. He found his garments neatly folded within the destrier’s saddlebags and dressed his wound as well as he was able. It was in an awkward location, but he managed to staunch the blood. He did not want Annelise to see it at its worst. He dressed quickly and took the stairs three at a time, calling for her.

  But the tower room was empty.

  Indeed, it did not look as though anyone had entered the chamber since he had left it that morning. Rolfe looked out the windows, certain he would catch a glimpse of his wife on some errand outside.

  Nothing moved in the surrounding forest.

  Where was Annelise?

  Rolfe frowned, then went down the stairs to confront Mephistopheles. “Where is she? Where did you take her?”

  The steed eyed him for a long moment, then snorted and bent to push his nose into the snow. He might have been disgusted with his master, though Rolfe could not fathom why.

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon. They should depart soon, if they were to put most of the forest behind them before nightfall.

  Rolfe frowned. Where could Annelise have gone?

  Surely no evil had befallen her while he was battling Enguerrand? The very notion made his chest tighten in fear. Rolfe surveyed his surroundings. Perhaps she had left footprints in the snow. He jumped when he saw the second djinn sitting in a tree, watching him.

  She had not been there when he arrived, he was certain of it.

  He had learned from his past, to be sure, and was determined to not insult her. “Good day to you, madame,” he said with a low bow.

  She smiled. “If nothing else, you have learned manners from this adventure.”

  “Then it is over?”

  The djinn nodded with an enthusiasm that made the balls on the rim of her hat swing. “That it is indeed. Just as I foretold.”

  Rolfe bowed again. “I must thank you for your intervention in this matter. It is impossible to imagine how bleak it would have been to spend my entire life alone as a wolf.”

  The djinn eyed him. “I did not break the spell alone,” she said. “Though I appreciate your thanks, you owe the greatest gratitude to someone else.”

  Something about her tone made Rolfe fear that something was amiss.

  “Why exactly did the curse end?” he asked.

  The djinn stood up and brushed her kirtle. “It was ended by the power of love, of course.”

  “Whose love?”

  “Why, Annelise’s love for you, of course!” The djinn shook her head. “Did you not witness the events of this day?”

  Rolfe sensed then that Annelise’s absence was a bad omen. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to review events for me.”

  “You were busy with that troublesome knight, were you not?” The djinn shrugged and took a step toward him. She produced a familiar dark bottle, its cork firmly in place, and tossed it between her hands before Rolfe. “Annelise trapped Leila within the bottle again, which, naturally, is why the palace disappeared.”

  “But how?”

  “It does not matter.” The djinn waved her hand and the bottle danced from her grip. Both knight and djinn gasped, and Rolfe snatched the bottle out of the air just before it hit the ground. He handed it back to the djinn, relieved that it had not shattered, and she smiled. “Suffice it to say that Annelise used the tools she possessed to solve that dilemma.”

  “What will you do with the bottle?”

  The djinn eyed the decanter and pursed her lips. “I shall appoint myself as its guardian. There truly is no other way to ensure that it remains corked forever.”

  “But why would you want to take such a task upon yourself? I had thought there was no love lost between you and the other one.”

  The djinn trailed a fingertip down the neck of the bottle, her gaze averted. For an instant, Rolfe thought her much older than he had originally believed. “There was a time when we were close,” she said. “I owe her no less.”

  Then the djinn shot a glance Rolfe’s way. “Annelise is a most clever woman. I should hope you appreciate that.”

  “Yes.” Rolfe felt a glow of pride.

  “Which is why the result is all the more tragic,” the djinn said, kindling Rolfe’s fear again.

  “Tragic? What do you mean? What result?”

  “I granted her a wish,” the djinn confessed. “It was only fitting after what she had done, but truly, I could never have guessed what she would have asked me to do.” Her gaze was fixed upon Rolfe with a steadiness that told him she had finally arrived at her point.

  “What did she ask?” His voice was no more than a whisper.

  “She chose to become a stag of such beauty that the hunters were distracted from their intent to kill you.”

  The breath left Rolfe’s lungs in shock. Not Annelise! He stared at the snow surrounding him without comprehending what he saw.<
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  It was only too easy to recall the dogs and hunters in pursuit of that stag. Rolfe remembered his own sense that there was something enchanted about the stag to so snare their interest. He thought of the stag disappearing from view as the hounds attacked for the kill and turned away from the djinn. His mouth was dry and he felt raw.

  The stag, which was truly Annelise, had been killed.

  Rolfe was devastated. His future no longer possessed any promise. His recovery from the spell was no longer an event to celebrate, for the one person with whom he might have rejoiced was lost to him forever.

  “She traded her life for mine,” he whispered.

  “Indeed!” the djinn confirmed, with an enthusiasm that Rolfe found inappropriate. He turned to watch her, incredulous that she could be so cheerful. It was evident that djinns had not hearts at all. “The power of love, of sacrifice, was what ended your curse.”

  “But Annelise is dead!” Rolfe said, his voice rising in anger. “How can you be so indifferent to her fate? She gave her life for mine!”

  “Annelise made her choice,” the djinn replied. She pivoted and began to walk away. “As we all must make our own.”

  Rolfe pursued her. “Is there not something we can do? Can you not make another spell?”

  The djinn glanced over her shoulder and her expression was inscrutable. “What is done is done,” she said. “You must make your peace with it.”

  “This is unfair!” Rolfe roared. “It was not Annelise’s curse, nor her battle! Why should she be compelled to pay the price?”

  The djinn shook her head. “I have told you already that she chose her path. There is nothing else to be done.” She lifted her chin. “Perhaps you will be glad to see the last of djinns in your life.”

  Then she snapped her fingers and disappeared in a puff of rosy smoke.