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

by Claire Delacroix

  She was gone.

  Annelise was gone.

  And Rolfe was more alone than he had ever been in his life. He walked back to Mephistopheles like a man in a dream.

  He would never again hear Annelise’s laughter.

  It was humbling that she had given her all just to see the curse upon him broken.

  Rolfe caught his breath, realizing his own mistake. He had never told her that he loved her. Annelise had been denied the one gift he might have given her. Love was the sole thing that Annelise valued and a marriage of love was her one desire. He had never confessed his love for her, thus denying her that pleasure.

  Because he had been afraid to trust her fully.

  Rolfe was a knave of the lowest order.

  He dropped his head into his hands and, for the first time since he had been a small child, he wept. His tears were for Annelise, and for his own folly in not appreciating the marvel of his wife when she was by his side.

  Long moments later, Rolfe thought he felt the brush of fingertips on his shoulder. The fleeting touch was so light that he might have imagined it. He did not lift his head, for if the djinn was back, he did not want to know. “Leave me,” he muttered, but the weight of that hand landed upon his shoulder.

  “It is not so bad a wound as that,” Annelise whispered, and Rolfe could not believe his ears. “See? The blood runs clearly. You have bound it but I think it needs a stitch or two. Shed your tunic and chemise, and let me see what can be done.”

  “Annelise!” Rolfe rose to his feet and seized her hands in his own, unable to believe that she stood before him.

  She smiled at him and touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You are not cursed any longer.”

  “No! And you, my beloved lady wife, are not dead.” With relief, Rolfe scooped Annelise into his arms, holding her so tightly that there could be no doubt that she was real. He bent and captured her lips beneath his own, then kissed her with all his love.

  Annelise kissed him back. Her arms wound around his neck and she pressed herself against him with a sweetness he had feared never to savor again.

  When he lifted his head, she met his gaze. “You thought me dead?”

  “The djinn said you had asked to become that stag.” Rolfe’s heart leaped as he relived his fears. “I saw the hounds give chase! I saw them close in for the kill.”

  “The djinn came,” Annelise said, shaking her head in wonder. “Azima. She said that a good deed should not go unpunished and snatched me away. All I saw was a rosy gold sparkle after I heard her voice, then I was alone in the snow.” She frowned. “I thought I was where the palace used to be so I came here in search of you.” She reached up and framed his face in her hands, her eyes filled with fear. “I feared Enguerrand had killed you, until I found him.”

  “Surely he is dead,” Rolfe said, fearing it might be otherwise.

  Annelise nodded. “There were wolves...” She shuddered. “His men were trying to force them away.” She grimaced. “But when I saw that he was lost—not a wolf with one blue eye and one silver-gray—I dared to hope that you had survived. I ran here.”

  “And I came here in search of you.” He kissed her again, still marveling that she was with him and safe. “The djinn told me what you had done.” He cupped her face in his hands, his fingertips tracing a scratch on her cheek. He stared down into her eyes, so filled with promise and love, and ached at how close he had come to losing her. “But why would you put yourself in such danger? You should never have taken such a risk....”

  Annelise smiled. “Why did you try to lead the hunters away from me, then?”

  The answer was so obvious that Rolfe was surprised she needed to hear the words. “Because I had to see you safe.” He cleared his throat and held her gaze. “Because I love you, and your survival is of greater import than mine.”

  She flushed even as her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I am glad,” she whispered. “For I love you so, Rolfe de Viandin.” After he kissed her again, she sighed with contentment. “It seems that I wed for love after all.”

  Rolfe stared down at Annelise in horror as he realized the truth of their situation. “Annelise,” he whispered. “The palace is gone. My gift for Adalbert is gone. I am still a younger son, still landless, still without the right to wed. I am beholden to my older brother for all I have and might have.” He smiled at his wife. “In truth, I have little to offer you but myself.”

  “But that is all I want!” she declared. “There could be no other for me but you, Rolfe,” she continued. “I do not care where we live or what we eat or what manner of clothes we wear, as long as we are together.” She tapped one finger in the middle of his chest and Rolfe’s heart began to sing. “My home is wherever you are.”

  “And mine is wherever you might be, my Annelise.” Rolfe smiled and pushed his fingers through her hair, which had loosed itself from her braid. “You will not blame me for wanting more for you, though.”

  “A life with you is the only life I want,” she said with a ferocity that was familiar. “We could live in a hut in the forest and I would be content with you by my side.”

  She was so solemn that Rolfe had to tease her a little. “So long as there are no djinns,” he said and she laughed.

  “Or wolves.”

  Rolfe sobered. “Let us hope that Adalbert will be convinced to grant me some small holding to call my own. I could defend a town on his borders.”

  Annelise stretched to her toes and kissed him sweetly. “You can do any deed, sir, for you are a knight, a champion, and a man who has defeated djinns.”

  Rolfe crushed Annelise in his arms and kissed her.

  He owed everything to the bold bride whom the Fates had brought to his palace gates. Rolfe vowed silently that he would spend the rest of his days and nights ensuring that Annelise was confident of his love.

  “Let us ride toward Beauvoir with all haste,” he suggested, even as the sky darkened. “The wolves may be sated for the moment and they will be less likely to attack a moving party.” He smiled at Annelise. “I would reach Viandin with all haste.”

  He was lifting Annelise to the palfrey’s saddle when he recalled Marcus’ tale. The dark decanter was said to make dreams come true. Was it possible that the djinn’s sorcery had another surprise in store?

  It had become too cold to snow as their horses climbed the steep road to Beauvoir pass the next morning and the wind was biting. The horses were tired, but they seemed to sense that relief lay ahead. Annelise watched Rolfe covertly as they rode, afraid this might be the last time they rode together and at ease.

  Her heart swelled with love for him and she admired the proud line of his profile, the purpose in his grip on the reins. He was the kind of man she had always hoped to marry, yet she feared their union might soon be compelled to end.

  There were no witnesses to their exchange of vows, and she knew her overlord was an ambitious man. Would he choose to ignore her marriage to Rolfe, because Rolfe had no wealth or land? Would Tulley care that their match was consummated?

  Or would that simply diminish her own prospects?

  The silhouette of Beauvoir became clear, feeding Annelise’s doubts. Rolfe pushed onward, urging the horses forward when they might have faltered. There was no ready way to Viandin without passing through Tulley’s holding and Annelise knew they could not transverse the breadth of that holding without rest.

  She did not trust the Lord de Tulley not to turn her presence into an asset.

  “Do you intend to spend another night in the cold?” Rolfe asked, his tone teasing as he glanced toward her. “Truly, my Annelise, you slow your palfrey more and more.”

  “I would prefer we never arrive at Beauvoir keep,” she admitted.

  “I would welcome shelter this night,” her spouse replied. “A place by the fire, a bite of stew, and my lady’s smile is all I need to be content.”

  Annelise could not summon the smile she knew he wished to see. “Beauvoir keep is Tulley’s abode, on t
he border of his lands.”

  “So you have said before. Perhaps they will have word of your brother, Yves.”

  “It was here that Tulley tried to compel me to wed Enguerrand.”

  Rolfe granted her a look. “But he cannot do as much now.”

  “He could accuse you of foul play.”

  “Nay.” Rolfe shook his head, his manner adamant. “Enguerrand was a villain and he threatened my lady wife with violence. He endeavored to kill me. I merely defended us both.”

  Annelise bit her lip. Rolfe did not know how demanding Tulley could be.

  She jumped when his gloved hand fell over her own. He had slowed the destrier to ride beside her and leaned closer as he tightened his grip over her fingers. “Tell me what you fear, Annelise,” he invited, his gaze searching hers.

  “That Tulley will not acknowledge our match, for he did not arrange it.”

  “But we have consummated our marriage.”

  “I fear that might only diminish my future prospects.”

  “Nay,” Rolfe said with conviction. “You are my wife and will remain so. I will fight every authority, from here to Rome and back again, to see that you remain so.”

  “If Tulley believes Quinn to be dead, he might send me back to Sayerne, to be its lady.”

  Rolfe nodded, untroubled by this prospect. “Then we shall govern it together and be good vassals to him.” He smiled at her. “We would have a holding then.”

  Annelise winced. “I should hate to return there at all.” Sayerne was too filled with dark memories for her to find any happiness there and she knew it well.

  And she did not trust Tulley.

  Rolfe raised his gloved hand to her cheek. “All will be well, my Annelise,” he said softly. “I promise you as much.”

  “The choice might not be yours to make,” she whispered, but he winked at her with a confidence that could only feed her own.

  “Do you know something I do not?”

  “Only that Quinn de Sayerne is not dead.”

  “You know my brother?”

  “I fought with him in Outremer.” Rolfe lifted a finger when she might have protested. “And contrary to all that you have been told, he is a fine and honorable knight. I would trust him with my life.” Rolfe smiled. “It seems that you siblings have much in common, more even than the hue of your eyes.”

  Annelise was astonished to silence and more than a little skeptical.

  “Hail, gatekeeper!” Rolfe called for they neared the barred gates. “We seek shelter this night of nights!”

  “We offer no shelter to travelers,” replied the gatekeeper. “But should you have coin for the toll, you are welcome to pass.”

  “But this lady is from a holding pledged to your overlord,” Rolfe insisted. “Surely a place might be found for a loyal vassal?”

  A slot in the gate slid open and the gleam of eyes appeared in the darkness beyond. “Who is she?”

  “Annelise de Sayerne.”

  “And you?”

  “Rolfe de Viandin.”

  Viandin. Annelise frowned to herself, temporarily distracted from her concerns. It was odd that the name of that estate now seemed familiar to her. She was certain she had heard the name of that estate before, but could not recall where or when.

  There was activity behind the gates and a flurry of whispers. Footsteps echoed as someone evidently ran across the bailey to the keep itself.

  Annelise watched the snow gather on the pine trees around the gates and wished she could make this moment last forever. Rolfe eased Mephistopheles closer and claimed her gloved hand, lifting it to his lips. His eyes shone, one blue and one silver gray. “Believe, my lady,” he urged her in a whisper, then kissed her fingertips.

  Annelise wanted to believe, more than anything in all of Christendom.

  The gates opened then, as if to prove her husband right.

  “The Lord de Beauvoir grants you welcome, Rolfe de Viandin and Annelise de Sayerne,” the keeper said, his tone more friendly. “Indeed, the Lord de Tulley awaits the lady in the great hall.”

  Tulley was in residence. It was the worst possibility Annelise could have imagined. She swallowed, knowing the moment she dreaded was upon her, but kept her head high. They rode through the gates and dismounted in the bailey. Squires came to lead the steeds to the stables, vowing that all three would be brushed and fed.

  Rolfe took Annelise’s hand, clearly intending to escort her to the hall, and she was glad that he would be by her side.

  But the guard at the portal raised his hand before Rolfe. “The lord requested the lady come alone.”

  Annelise glanced at Rolfe, knowing her trepidation showed. He smiled, obviously intending to reassure her. “I shall see to the horses,” he murmured, his gaze warm upon her. “No doubt Mephistopheles will welcome some attention from me.”

  Annelise could not repress a smile of her own before her husband turned away. She took a deep breath as the guard led her toward the great hall. As she stepped into the shadows of a corridor, Tulley’s annoyed tone carried to her ears and her heart began to pound.

  Rolfe waved off the squires and brushed down his steeds himself. This was a task he had missed, for the rhythmic motion helped him to compose his thoughts. He thought of Annelise and his love for her warmed him to his toes, prompting him to whistle as he worked. He knew she feared the worst, but he hoped for the best—and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure their future together.

  She would believe him soon enough.

  “You are in fine spirits for a knight feared to be lost forever,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  Rolfe spun around, not believing his ears.

  But he was right. His mother, Hildegarde de Viandin, stood at the end of the stall.

  Her ebony hair was just tinged with silver, just as it had been when he had left Viandin. She stood as straight and proud as he remembered. Indeed, she might not have aged a day since his departure. Her sapphire wool kirtle made her eyes look a more vivid hue and accented her slender form.

  She had eyes like his, one blue and one silver-gray.

  “Mother!” Rolfe said in amazement.

  She twirled a piece of mistletoe in her fingers. “Surely you have a kiss for your mother after all these years? It is the season, after all.”

  “Of course!” Rolfe stepped to her side and pecked her on both cheeks, holding her shoulders in his hands. She felt smaller to him and a little more frail. “What are you doing at Beauvoir? Why are you so far from home?”

  His mother ruffled his hair affectionately, as though he were but a boy and not a man who towered a good foot taller than she. “I feared to never lay eyes upon you again,” she whispered and her voice wavered.

  “I wrote! Did that company of troubadours not arrive at Viandin? I confess they were not the most likely to be reliable, but I had few choices...”

  “They came but it was months ago. Why did you take so much longer?”

  Rolfe had no good reply for that, at least not one his mother would believe.

  She eyed him, then smiled. “How many maidens have you seduced on your journey?”

  “Only one.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “My good son.” She studied him and her strength seemed to falter. Rolfe thought he saw a tear gleam on her dark lashes. “When they said a Rolfe de Viandin had come to the gates, I could scarce believe my ears....”

  Her voice broke and Rolfe gathered her into an impulsive hug. “I am here, Mother, and as vital as might be.” He felt her shaking and held her tightly. It was not like his mother to be overcome by emotion and he wondered that she had changed so much in his absence.

  Finally, she pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. Her hand ran over his shoulder as if she could not quite believe he stood before her again. “You were never so quick with affection before.”

  “You never seemed in need of it.”

  “How else have you changed?”
<
br />   Rolfe smiled. “In a thousand ways, Mother.”

  “Aye, that is the way of war,” she said softly and held his gaze for a long moment. When she took a step back, her voice was crisp, which he found more familiar. “It is a long way to Outremer.”

  “Aye. It is.” Rolfe picked up the brush and turned back to his task. “Yet here I am, hale and hearty, and on my way home, none the worse for wear.”

  “On a different steed.”

  “Alas, Sebastien did not take well to the heat.”

  “He died?”

  “I sold him to a knight returning to Paris when it was clear he suffered overmuch, and bought this destrier instead, for he was bred in Outremer.” Rolfe paused in his task. “I wonder if Sebastien might be found and purchased again. He was a fine creature.”

  “You do not have need of two destriers,” Hildegarde said, as pragmatic as ever. Rolfe acknowledged that he might not be able to afford two. She followed Rolfe into the stall, eyeing Mephistopheles warily. “Could you have found one any larger or blacker? He looks as fearsome as a demon.”

  “Then you will well appreciate his name.”

  “Indeed?”

  “It is Mephistopheles.” Rolfe grinned when his mother frowned in disapproval and she rapped him sharply on the shoulder with the mistletoe.

  “It is most unfitting to ride a beast cursed with such a name! Ill fortune could only dog your footsteps! Have you no regard for your own welfare?”

  Rolfe smiled to himself, knowing immediately that his mother and Annelise would agree on more issues than this. “And have you no regard for your health?” he retorted cheerfully. “What madness has you far from home in the dead of winter?”

  His mother’s face fell, and Rolfe knew that something was amiss.

  “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “I came to seek you out, but the snow stopped us here. I would have ridden all the way to Jerusalem if need be. Bertrand, you may know, trained with your father, and he offered my party accommodation for as long as required.”

  “But why did you leave Viandin in this season? Surely nothing is amiss there?”

  “No.” Hildegarde cleared her throat and looked away. She watched the posey as she tapped it against the side of the stall. “Viandin runs as ceaselessly as always it does.”