The sight of a path ahead gave Annelise new strength. She cut between the trees, plunging through knee-deep snow. She fell once, trapped by her skirts, but her grip on the mare’s reins pulled her to her feet. Her hair fell loose about her face as her veil was ripped away by low branches and she risked another backward glance.
The wolf, she saw, took a more roundabout path.
Annelise caught her breath that she had gained a bit of time. She stumbled onto the path and ran blindly as she shook clumps of snow from the hem of her kirtle.
The mare nickered and Annelise looked up to see walls.
The convent!
Her knees nearly gave out beneath her, though they were not safe as yet.
It was not the convent she knew, for its walls were only as high as Annelise’s shoulders and made of rough stone. These walls were white and smooth and soared high.
As she hurried closer, Annelise knew she had never seen the like of these walls. The stone was fitted with such skill that the surface appeared to be as smooth as a sheet of silver. She approached a castle, although Annelise could not guess why it was in this remote spot.
Nor did she care.
The wolf behind her seemed to have slowed his pace.
Perhaps he feared whoever lived at this palace. Annelise ran for the gates and the mare needed no encouragement to hasten onward. The wolf loped after them, keeping his distance, and Annelise had the curious thought that he guided her toward the palace.
The gates were closed, but at dusk, she would have expected nothing else. She had only to awaken the gatekeeper. She pounded on the wooden portal with first one fist, then both.
The mare’s ears flicked and her nostrils flared.
“Who knocks?” demanded someone within.
“Annelise de Sayerne.” She spared a glance over her shoulder at the wolf. He drew yet closer, his proximity agitating the mare, and she pounded again on the door. “I beg you for sanctuary! A wolf pursues me!”
The keeper’s words were spoken with a slow precision that seemed inappropriate to the circumstance. “A price must be paid for your entry to this place.”
Surely such details could be settled once she was inside?
“Anything!” Annelise declared. “I will pay anything if you let me in.”
“The price of your finding sanctuary here,” continued the voice slowly, “is that you wed the lord master of this abode.”
Wed?
Annelise stepped back from the portal, shocked at the curious request. She frowned, wondering what manner of ogre the master of this fortress must be to gain a wife in such a manner.
A snarl behind her recalled her to her senses.
The mare tugged at the reins as if she would flee. Annelise backed into the gates, unable to tear her gaze away from the wolf, who steadily stalked closer, his head lowered and his gaze fixed upon her.
“Let me in!” she cried. “The wolf is close!”
“You must give your pledge,” that voice intoned. “You must promise.”
It was madness.
Marriage to a stranger or death.
With such stakes, Annelise could only set her resolve aside.
“I promise! Open the cursed gates, I beg of you!” she cried.
The portal abruptly fell open behind Annelise and she stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance completely. The mare cantered through the gates, hastening past Annelise.
The wolf leaped, as though he, too, would enter.
Annelise screamed in terror. As his jump brought him closer, she caught a glimpse of the wolf’s eyes.
One was blue and one silver-gray.
The heavy wooden doors abruptly slammed shut—leaving the wolf trapped outside.
He howled, but he was on the other side.
Annelise shook as she caught her breath, unable to believe her good fortune.
They were safe.
She had to find the mare and tend to her injuries.
Rolfe paced outside the palace gates, watching the setting sun with even more impatience than usual. He had heard the gates make their request and was startled by the reminder of the first djinn’s curse.
Let the one who crosses this threshold first,
Be condemned to wed him despite his curse.
How could he have forgotten that detail?
A noblewoman was within the walls of the palace that had been granted to his keeping. Even more remarkable, she had agreed to become his wife, without ever laying eyes upon him. Rolfe’s month of solitude had made him grateful for whatever blessings came his way.
He admired her boldness in defending her steed.
She was pretty, too.
She would be his wife.
Who could have imagined that a curse could have brought him such fortune? Rolfe would woo this woman destined to be his bride. He would win her heart. They might have children. He had a palace and they could live well here, making a home as he had hoped.
It seemed that Marcus’ gift was making Rolfe’s dream come true.
His excitement made him pace more quickly. He would build a partnership like that of his parents’ marriage, in which each trusted and relied upon the other. He would pledge himself to this woman’s happiness...then he recalled the rest of the spell and halted.
And let the one in whom he confides,
Lead a killer to his side.
But what would happen when this mysterious noblewoman learned of his situation?
Rolfe halted.
It could not take her long. At morning’s first light, he would be expelled from the palace and find himself a wolf again. He did not doubt that she would have the wits to notice his absence, even if he managed to hide the transformation from her.
What would she do when she learned that this palace was nothing but illusion, that it existed on no map and that her husband could never leave it?
She would laugh, as the fair Rosalinde had once laughed at Rolfe for his expectations. That lady had welcomed his affections until she had learned Rolfe was the younger son, without a holding to his name. Then her charm had fled and he had seen her nature for what it was.
She might summon a more favored suitor, one who would sacrifice Rolfe for his own ambitions. Any man could desire a palace such as this. What was Rolfe to do?
Finally, by grace of the powers above,
let this curse be broken by the blessing of love.
There was the second djinn’s spell, as foolish as Rolfe thought it to be.
He had never seen the merit of love himself. Rosalinde had pledged her love until she learned he had no wealth. Love was capricious and fleeting, if not a lie. Trust could be shown and deserved. Even honor was proven by deeds, but love was a tool plied by women like Rosalinde.
Rolfe stared at the gates and thought.
Then he had a thought. Love was also a physical act and one natural between husband and wife. That was it! He would wed the lady and he would love her abed. The physical expression of his admiration for her, and the cultivation of her pleasure would satisfy the spell.
He had learned from Rosalinde, that intimacy was negotiated. Some women wanted gifts. Others wanted only pleasure. This one agreed to be his wife, and Rolfe would marry and defend her. They would have an arrangement to their mutual benefit.
She had sanctuary and would have pleasure. As a result, he would see his curse broken.
It would be a simple transaction.
No more and no less.
“Gatekeeper!” Annelise cried after she had caught the reins of the mare. She led the horse back to the gates and only then realized they were alone.
Where was the gatekeeper? The gate could not have opened by itself.
But there was no one in sight. The walls were as smooth on the inside as on the exterior. She could not even see a mechanism to open them.
Ridiculous. Gates did not open themselves.
“Hello?” she called again. “Gatekeeper? Are you here?”
Nothing moved. Goose
pimples rose over her flesh at the silence but Annelise refused to be daunted.
There was a gatekeeper. He had talked to her. He could not have gone very far.
Annelise examined the walls on either side of the heavy gates more closely. They were as smooth as glass, without so much as a nook for a keeper to hide within. She tipped back her head to eye the height of the walls and admired them again. There was neither a ladder nor a stair, nor so much as a walkway. Nary a lookout along the entire wall, as far as she could see.
There was not even an opening in the portal to let one peek outside the heavy walls. Did the lord have no interest in seeing who approached his gate? It made no sense to need to open the gate to see who knocked.
Yves was still in the forest. Annelise knocked once more on the solid door. When there was no response, she knocked harder.
“My brother also needs sanctuary,” she declared.
There was no reply
Annelise pushed at the gate but it might have been part of the wall. She spun around, but could see no other break in the walls. She eyed the empty arched windows in the strangely low-built keep, with its sparkling blue pool.
Those windows were most impractical, without so much as a shutter across them. The hall would be cold as cold could be in these winter months. Obviously, those skilled masons had not possessed a speck of sense...
In that moment, Annelise realized that the air in the bailey smelled like summer. Indeed, her wool kirtle and cloak with its squirrel-fur lining were so heavy that she felt a trickle of perspiration on her back.
Annelise looked about herself with wary eyes. What manner of castle had she entered?
And what manner of man would be its lord?
One thing was certain. Annelise was effectively his prisoner, and she did not care for that in the least. Surely the keeper could not have truly meant that she would have to wed the lord?
What manner of man was he?
It was clear that Annelise and her host must talk. He had not made an appearance to greet her, so she would seek him out.
But first, she would tend her mare’s injury.
Her nose told her that she would find a stable to her left.
It was a relief that in one matter, at least, her host’s abode was predictable.
Annelise’s nose was right. Hidden along one side of the palace were the stables. The wooden doors were cast open and straw was strewn on the ground. The pungency of the smell left no doubt as to the building’s use. Annelise’s footsteps quickened with the hope that she would find someone there.
The gatekeeper, or at least an ostler. A stable boy might even be of aid.
“Hello?”
She peered into the shadowed stables and a horse nickered from within. Her own mare replied. Annelise stepped into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted enough so that she could make out a pair of low-built stalls and she made her way toward them.
The first was occupied by a chestnut palfrey. It was a large stall and as her mare seemed glad of the companionship of one of her own kind, Annelise tethered her there. She washed the wound upon the mare’s hip, which was not as deep as she had feared. There were brushes and cloths in the stable as well as the trap for the palfrey and Annelise’s confidence returned as she found these familiar items.
Annelise removed the mare’s saddle and brushed her down, noting how the creature calmed beneath her touch. The mare drank of the water already left for the other palfrey and ate of the oats. The chestnut palfrey nibbled on Annelise’s hair, making her laugh, and she resolved to return in the morning when there was more light. She could not see a lantern, but she was sure she heard another horse in the stables.
The mundane task brushed aside her own uncertainties. Annelise made her way back to the gate, but it was still sealed and there was still no sign of a gatekeeper. She strode through the lush garden and under the broadest archway of the palace. It was impossible not to notice the richness of her surroundings or the complete absence of any other being.
The keep had to be a palace. Once the gates were breached, it had no defenses—though those gates had been a formidable obstacle.
Even so, it was unlike any abode Annelise had ever seen. The walls were white stone and the floors tiled with intricate mosaics of stones in varying shades.
Annelise called repeatedly for her host or someone in his service, but no one answered. She felt that she should be greeted and not simply enter the palace, but she would not find her host in the garden. She had already ascertained that she was alone there, so she entered the palace, knocking on doors and calling as she continued. Surely, she would find him soon enough.
His abode was a marvel, seemingly containing every luxury. The rooms were large and uncluttered, the size of the windows indicating that the interior would be bright in the daylight. Luxuriously thick rugs in shades of red and ochre were scattered across the floors. Oil lanterns glowed at regular intervals, so many of them that Annelise knew the lord of this palace had to be wealthy, indeed.
She might be trapped inside but, as prisons went, this one was exceptional.
No one demanded that she keep her silence, either.
Perhaps she might like being wed to her mysterious host. The notion made Annelise shake her head at her own whimsy. He could not wish to wed a stranger any more than she did.
But she was unlikely to be able to ask him soon. The palace seemed to be deserted. It was odd to find no other person. Who had lit the lanterns? Annelise continued in wonder, certain she would find her host sooner or later. Finally, she stepped into a room flooded with candlelight and halted in awe.
The room faced onto a small tiled courtyard, where a fountain splashed. It was open to the sky and she could see that twilight had fallen and that the first stars shone overhead. The walls of the chamber were hung with rich tapestries resplendent with exotic flowers she could not name. So many carpets were flung on the floor that they overlapped two and three deep. Annelise’s feet sank into their softness when she crossed the room.
Hundreds of candles covered storage chests and were scattered across the floor right out into the courtyard. The smell of beeswax was inviting and the flickering golden light picked out the mother-of-pearl inlay on the chests.
In the middle of the room was a low table, evidently set for a meal. An embroidered cloth covered it with tassels wound with gold and as thick as Annelise’s wrist hanging from its four comers. Three brass salvers reposed on the table, glinting in the candlelight.
Annelise glanced over her shoulder, but she already guessed that no one would serve her. She caught a delectable whiff that was enough to make her stomach grumble.
She could at least see what the meal was.
Who would know if she looked?
A waft of steam was released when she lifted the first lid, and Annelise inhaled the rich smell of a savory meat stew. Her stomach growled openly, defying her to believe that the crust of bread she had eaten at Beauvoir that morning was enough to sustain her.
The meat was venison, the gravy thick and crowded with tiny onions, and the serving was the precise amount she might eat. Annelise felt herself salivate as she eyed her favorite dish.
How had her host known she loved venison stew?
He could not have.
They must have this taste in common.
Although, if a man had ever been bent on earning Annelise’s favor, he would be wise to offer food. More than any woman she had met in the convent or Sayerne, Annelise possessed a love of good, hearty fare.
But it was impossible that the lord could have known her taste, let alone that he might have cared to court her approval so soon after her arrival. This was but a coincidence—otherwise, it was sorcery. Annelise knew that she was being presumptuous to think this feast was laid out for her.
It might be his meal.
Then where was the man?
She had seen no other soul within the walls.
Just as there had been no one to open the gate.
> Annelise discovered a loaf of fine white bread with a perfect golden crust under the next salver. A knife reposed on the wooden plate beside the bread.
It was enough to drive her mad with hunger.
The third sheltered a cheese of sufficient tang to make her lick her lips, as well as a pot of freshly churned butter and a bowl of olives. She had not tasted olives in a long time, though she loved them dearly.
She glanced about herself, then quickly took one, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. She made that one small olive last as long as possible, certain that no one would guess at her indulgence.
When she had swallowed it, the others looked even more enticing.
There was a single spoon for the stew on the table, Annelise noticed. There was also fruit, a chalice, and a decanter that proved to contain red wine.
A meal laid for one.
As a lord might eat in solitude?
Or as one might offer a guest?
Annelise surveyed the room again and noticed the large tub steaming in the comer. Her skin itched at the very idea of a bath and she immediately investigated. The water was hot and the tub was full enough that the bath would be deep but not overflow the tub. Rounded flower petals the size of her thumb floated across the surface of the water and their unfamiliar scent was heavenly.
Feminine.
This was no lord’s bath but one prepared for a lady.
A guest who was a lady.
Annelise knew she was the only woman in this palace on this evening. She smiled at her host’s generous hospitality and decided she would not insult him by letting it go to waste.
She dipped a finger into the scented water and decided it was too hot as yet.
But if she ate first, it would be near perfect. Annelise considered the chamber even as her heart told her to believe her suspicions.
If this enigmatic lord meant to court her favor, she would not decline.
Indeed, if she was going to argue with him over his odd stipulation of marriage, she would do well to be at her best.
Rolfe’s sense of purpose deserted him when he rounded a corner in the palace and saw the candlelight pooling on the stone floor ahead.
One Knight Enchanted: A Medieval Romance (Rogues & Angels Book 1) Page 7
