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

by Claire Delacroix

  The noblewoman who held his fate in her hands was only a dozen paces away.

  If she had any sense at all, she would have one question—if not a hundred—and he had no explanation for any of it.

  At least not one that any sensible person might believe.

  Perhaps she was a fool, but that would be a cruel fate indeed.

  And not his dream come true.

  There was no point in delay, though. The noblewoman had given her agreement, and Rolfe was anxious to break the curse. One night of loving might well solve his dilemma, if the second djinn had been right.

  Perhaps some wondrous explanation of their entwined fates would pop into Rolfe’s mind before he confronted her.

  Perhaps not.

  Perhaps matters would be simpler once the curse was broken.

  There was a thought! He strode onward with purpose.

  Then he halted on the threshold of the chamber he favored. For the second time in rapid succession, the palace had taken him by surprise. Rolfe had hoped that the lady’s desires would be met, but he had never imagined his will had this kind of power.

  The room he preferred had been transformed. It was filled with a glow that exceeded every other chamber, as if it had been summoning the lady. Rolfe could smell food and the warm sweet scent of a lady risen from her bath. He took an appreciative breath and caught the tang of a robust cheese.

  The lady, though, was nowhere in sight.

  Feeling like an intruder in his own palace, Rolfe stepped into the room. Emboldened by the silence, he continued until he was staring down at the remains of her meal.

  The lady had an appetite, to be sure. He smiled his approval of that.

  A bowl that looked to have contained stew was empty, the spoon licked clean as though every mouthful had been savored. Crumbs littered the dish, evidence that the lady had wiped up the gravy with bread. The pitcher of wine was empty, though there was still a quantity of bread and a piece of cheese.

  Rolfe was certain he had never known a woman to enjoy food more or eat with such enthusiasm. Had this savory meal truly been her heart’s desire? He could not believe a lady would eat so simply if she had the choice. Rosalinde had picked at her food and preferred ornamental fancies that did little to fill a man’s belly. Women in Outremer oft wanted wine or rhapsodized about favored meals that were unavailable.

  Maybe the magic had inflicted Rolfe’s own plain but hearty tastes upon this stranger.

  He truly knew nothing about this woman he needed to take to wife.

  But then, many were betrothed to those they did not know. His own parents had found trust after their marriage had been arranged by their parents.

  Rolfe suddenly heard the soft whisper of her breathing and spun on his heel, alarmed that he might be discovered.

  The lady was unaware of his presence, however. She slept in her bath as wisps of steam rose around her.

  Rolfe exhaled in relief then inhaled deeply of the scent of roses. He had never smelled roses of such fragrance before encountering the red roses of the East. He had never thought to smell them again once he had crossed the Adriatic.

  Yet they grew in the gardens of this palace. Even better, there were hundreds of rose petals scattered in the lady’s bath, teasing him with their glorious feminine scent.

  That was nothing compared to the lady’s own charms.

  The candlelight caressed her bare shoulders and touched the curve of her cheek. Rolfe swallowed and eased closer for a better look. Being in attendance while a lady bathed recalled past pleasures with lightning speed. He savored the sense that he had stumbled into some forbidden bower as he surveyed his guest.

  Though the water obscured the sight, the lady had to be nude in her bath.

  Her head leaned back on the rim of the wooden tub and her ripe lips were parted. One hand hung limply over the side of the tub while the other was lost in the water that rose to her collarbone. Her garments were discarded, not folded, as though she had been impatient to bathe.

  Rolfe smiled, well familiar with that desire.

  Her long auburn hair was twisted up on top of her head, evidence of that same haste in the loose knot she had actually tied in the tresses. Rolfe found his smile broadening, again sensing that they had something in common. Rosalinde would have summoned a maid to pin her hair up prettily, regardless of the time involved. She had mocked him once for noting how he nigh dove into a bath after a long ride.

  But this lady would probably agree with him.

  Rolfe was curious about her. He took a tentative step closer, half expecting her to awaken and cast him out. When the lady neither stirred nor vanished in a puff of smoke, he could not resist temptation. Rolfe stepped to the side of the tub to gaze upon his bride-to-be.

  Hers was not a conventionally pretty face, he noted with interest—not as Rosalinde’s had been. This woman’s lips were too lushly curved and her eyes would be too large and wide for her to be a man’s ornamental prize.

  Yet despite her differences from the woman he had once thought perfection in flesh, Rolfe was intrigued by the voluptuousness of this woman’s features. Her cheekbones were prominent and she possessed a dimple in the center of her chin. There was a sensuality about her face that suggested an intriguing beauty of an entirely different sort.

  She looked like someone who smiled often, who laughed frequently, and who savored the joys of life. Ye gods, but he would welcome such a companion after the battles he had fought in Outremer.

  The lashes that swept over her cheeks were luxuriantly thick, tinged with the same reddish tone as her hair. Her complexion was creamy, her lips a ruddy hue, her throat and shoulders as smooth and pale as the finest silk. Hers was a face that spoke of passion, of the same zest for life evidenced by the remnants of her meal.

  The hand that languished on the side of the tub was long and slender, feminine despite the short, cropped nails. Sadly, the quantity of rose petals floating on the surface of the bathwater obscured everything else and foiled Rolfe’s rising curiosity. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her with satisfaction.

  His bride.

  The notion of sealing their vows with a kiss, perhaps immediately, made his chausses seem snug. Indeed, the night ahead held considerable promise.

  Rolfe wondered what color his lady’s eyes would be. He recalled that she was tall and wondered whether she would be slender or as voluptuously curved as her lips.

  She had called herself Annelise, but he had not been able to hear the rest of her name. Where was she from? Who were her family? Why had she been abroad on this winter day, so far from any destination? Had she been alone? It made no sense. If she had not been alone, what had happened to her companions?

  And why would she have agreed to wed a stranger?

  He supposed the wolves might have encouraged her agreement, but still. As tempting as this lady’s form might be, Rolfe forced himself to face the fact that he knew nothing about her character.

  With the exception that she devoured stew like an over-worked villein.

  And that she had defended a horse without fear for herself.

  And let the one in whom he confides,

  lead a killer to his side.

  The recollection of the djinn’s words chilled Rolfe to his marrow.

  He could not trust her.

  He dared not trust her.

  Rolfe took a step back from the enticing beauty in her bath. He could not risk sharing his name with this maiden. He should not let her see his face, not until the curse was broken.

  The loving he needed to dissolve the curse must be accomplished as soon as possible. Somehow he would have to wed the lady before she could reconsider the wisdom of her choice, and he had to consummate the match this very night.

  On the morrow, Rolfe could explain everything to her, if indeed the lady was even remotely interested in the tale. What would happen to the palace when the curse was broken? He might have as little as he had had when Rosalinde had spurned him.
She might insist upon an annulment.

  Rolfe would not think of it. He had to break this curse.

  He would come to her in the darkness and do whatever was necessary to earn his salvation. He would love her until dawn.

  Rolfe’s pulse began to thunder at the prospect.

  But she had to know that his intentions were honorable. Rolfe pulled the heavy ring his mother had given him when he departed for Outremer from within his tabard. A cabochon garnet reposed in the gold setting and winked in the candlelight, still secure on its chain.

  It was the only piece of jewelry he owned and his mother had declared it to be a talisman of luck. Rolfe did not believe in luck, but he had to admit that nothing ill had befallen him in the East. He had feared the ring lost when the djinn cursed him, but had found it inside the palace when he became a man the next night. He had secured it on the chain then, not wanting to count on it being returned again as a manifestation of his will.

  A bride had need of a ring and Rolfe chose to give his bride this one. It was a token of his family, after all, and an indication that he had need of all the good fortune he could find.

  He removed the ring from its chain, but lost his grip before he could decide how to offer it to her without revealing himself. The gem danced on his fingertips as he struggled to catch it, then fell. Rolfe watched in horror as it fell into the lady’s bath.

  It landed below her throat, then rolled between her breasts and disappeared into the water.

  The lady’s eyelashes fluttered and Rolfe’s heart leaped.

  As much as he wanted to know the hue of her eyes, she could not see his face, not yet.

  He pivoted and raced from the chamber, his heart in his throat.

  Chapter 4

  Something warm landed between Annelise’s breasts and awakened her with a jolt. A small, smooth shape splashed into the bath, rolled over her belly, and was lost in the depths of the tub.

  The lord of the palace had arrived!

  Annelise sat up abruptly then realized her host would see her nude. Her hands flew to cover her breasts as she eased down in the bath water again and surveyed the chamber.

  The room was deserted, though the candles had burned much lower since she had stepped into the inviting bath. It was too dark outside to see the fountain in the courtyard, but she could hear the water flowing.

  She was still alone.

  How could that be? Annelise felt around the bottom of the tub for whatever had awakened her. Her fingers closed on a hard, round item and she pulled it to the surface.

  A man’s ring reposed on the flat of her palm. It was made of gold, so of no small value, with a red stone set into it.

  Annelise’s mouth went dry. He had been here, looked upon her, and left this token behind. It was clearly a reminder of her promise to wed him.

  But she had not even seen him. Why had he not spoken to her?

  There could be only one reason for him to be so reticent and, indeed, it would explain his strange condition for entry. Her host might be unattractive. He might have been scarred or otherwise injured so that people feared to look upon him. She felt sympathy for him, for she doubted he could have so fearsome an appearance as that. People should be kinder and look beyond the surface to a man’s truth. If she was to wed him, she must look upon him at some point.

  She wondered if that would be soon.

  Soft music carried to her ears from another part of the palace. Was it a lute? Did he play it? There had been no music before. Was this his way of summoning her to his side? Was he inviting her to dress and join him, because he had been surprised to find her at her bath? Annelise’s heart softened toward a man who showed such thoughtfulness.

  Perhaps he would insist they wed when they met. Annelise knew she had to convince him that such an arrangement would be foolish, given how little they knew of each other.

  She doubted he would be readily convinced.

  Annelise rose from her bath with purpose. There was no time for hose or headdress, she decided. It would be false modesty to fret about appearances when the man had already looked upon her while she bathed.

  And truly, she wished to speak to him as soon as possible. Annelise braided her hair quickly and laced her kirtle, pushed her feet into her shoes and went in search of her host.

  Annelise followed the sound of the music, her leather shoes tapping lightly against the marble floor. She ducked through a wide archway and found herself alongside the pool in front of the palace.

  The moon painted the garden with silver light. The scent of the same unfamiliar flowers that had graced her bath filled the air. The perfect stillness of the pool reflected the stars overhead. The music was louder, but she still could not see the players. She might have walked in a dream.

  Annelise halted when she noticed a figure wrapped in a dark cloak awaited her beside the pool. A man, by his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Her heart fluttered.

  Her host.

  Her husband-to-be.

  It could be none other.

  The shadow of the hood hid his features and the indigo cloak fell to his ankles. Annelise caught the barest glimpse of his boots, which did not begin to satisfy her curiosity. She tried to discern his features in the shadows of the hood as she approached him, but to no avail.

  He was completely concealed from her.

  Silent and watchful.

  At least he was tall and broad of shoulder, although Annelise would have preferred to look him in the eye to explain why she could not possibly wed him.

  But she was clearly not to have that chance.

  She halted before him and felt the weight of his gaze upon her. He did not speak.

  Annelise saw no reason to be shy. She curtseyed before him. “Good evening. I trust that you are the lord of this estate?”

  “Indeed, I am,” he responded. His voice was deep, and Annelise thought she could hear a smile in his tone. “And you are the lady who sought refuge here this day?”

  “I am.”

  “And your name?”

  “Annelise. Annelise de Sayerne.”

  He moved as if startled by the confession, although Annelise could not imagine why. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed slightly, but contributed no additional information.

  “I apologize, but I did not note your name, sir.”

  “That was because I did not mention it.”

  “And you are?”

  “A man with no name, as far as you are concerned.”

  Annelise caught her breath in surprise and he chuckled at her response.

  “You laugh at me,” she charged and he did laugh then.

  “I am delighted by you. It is different.”

  Annelise found herself blushing, because she could not forget that he had looked upon her in her bath. “I fail to see any source of amusement in our situation...”

  “I am not amused, Annelise. I merely enjoy your company.” He reached out and touched her chin with a gentle fingertip. Annelise hated that even his hand was gloved, though the leather was soft upon her skin. “Your spirit is beguiling, my Annelise.”

  Her mouth went dry. Her name sounded like a caress on his tongue. “I am not your Annelise, sir.”

  “But you soon will be.”

  Annelise shook her head. “No, I will not.”

  His tone hardened. “But you promised...”

  “Anyone would have agreed to any term to escape the wolves!” she protested. “But the condition is absurd. You cannot intend that we should marry, simply because I came to your gates in search of aid...”

  “But I do.”

  “That makes little sense, sir. I would choose to wed a sensible man.”

  “Do you not believe in destiny, my Annelise? Perhaps the Fates brought you to my palace, because our futures are entwined.”

  She eyed him, sensing that he did not believe his own words. “I do believe in destiny, sir, and in love, but I think you do not.”

  He laughed again.
“And what need have you to see my face, my Annelise, when you can see my heart so easily? You are right about my skepticism.”

  “Then why would you make such a demand?”

  “Perhaps I have no choice.” He leaned closer and she could almost discern the gleam of his eyes in the shadows.

  “Why not?”

  “I cannot confide that in you, not now.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Not now.” His voice dropped low. “Do not tell me that you are inclined to break your word, now that you are safe and warm and fed?”

  Annelise felt flustered. “I keep my word, always.”

  “And I keep mine.” There was satisfaction in his tone. “And so we begin to find common ground, my Annelise. We can both be trusted to keep our pledges. Is that not a fine cornerstone for a match? Many wed without such assurance.”

  The truth in that made Annelise flush. “I fear you play a jest at my expense, sir. I fail to see the humor in it, I must confess.” She held out his ring. “Please take your ring back. I have no intention of marrying a perfect stranger.”

  “I am far from perfect, my Annelise.” The humor in his tone weakened Annelise’s resolve.

  She liked his voice.

  She wondered about his smile.

  She was enjoying their discussion, even though they disagreed. “You understand me well enough, sir. We are complete strangers.”

  “Yet with every passing moment, we each learn more of the other.” He folded his arms across his chest, showing no inclination to take the ring.

  What if he refused to let her leave?

  “I do not wish to be rude, sir, but I do not wish to marry you. Indeed, I cannot.”

  “Why not?” His voice sharpened. “Are you betrothed to another?”

  “No, not that. I vowed long ago that I would wed only for love.”

  “Now there is a folly unworthy of you,” he said softly, his tone making her feel flustered and uncertain. Truly, her host possessed an unholy charm. “Love is a caprice and a whim, not a feeling upon which a woman should make her choices.”