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.

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.

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 the 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?”

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.”

Rolfe watched her as he waited, puzzled.

She glanced up at him, dismay gleaming in her eyes. “Last fall, Adalbert took the ague.”

“But he is recovered?”

To his dismay, his mother shook her head. “He is dead, Rolfe.”

Adalbert dead. It was impossible to believe. Rolfe swore softly and stepped away. The homecoming he had anticipated would not occur. Adalbert would not stalk out to the bailey, complaining all the while about his lot. They would not shake hands, as they always did when Rolfe returned home. They would not look into each other’s eyes for a silent moment and see the admiration each had for the other.

Adalbert would not wink. He always turned away after that wink, bellowing for the ostler and the cook, complaining heartily about the trouble caused by those who arrive unexpectedly at the gates.

He would not have the opportunity to plague Rolfe with questions. Rolfe realized how much he had been looking forward to sharing his adventures with his older brother. Usually, they talked so much that their meal became stone-cold before they had taken more than a bite.

It was unthinkable that Adalbert was not at Viandin.

Rolfe cleared his throat and his words were husky. “He did not suffer?”

“It was quick,” his mother admitted. “Too quick in one way and too arduous in another.”

Rolfe’s shoulders sagged in relief, but his mother was not finished. She laid a hand upon his arm. “I have not the will or the strength to administer Viandin, Rolfe, though I have endeavored to do my best in your absence.” Her voice was low with concern. “I hope you will not be disappointed in my efforts when you take the reins of the estate.”

Take the reins? Rolfe turned to look at his mother for a moment.

She smiled at him. “You are heir, Rolfe,” she said. “Viandin is yours.”

All the breath left Rolfe’s lungs. He was no longer a landless younger son, but Lord de Viandin.

He had something to offer Annelise.

His mother frowned as she continued. “I must apologize, though, for despite my finest efforts, I was unable to procure a bride for you.”

“I told you, Mother, that I had met a maiden. She loves me and I love her...”

“Whimsy!” his mother said. “Even Bertrand tried, without success, to convince a local noblewoman, name of Annelise de Sayerne, to take your hand. I fear that young women are less enamored of matches made without a meeting these days, though I do not know why they should imagine themselves above such sensible solutions.” She patted Rolfe on the cheek even as he marveled at her words. “Perhaps the ladies have need of a taste of your own charm.”

Rolfe’s lips twitched at her confession. They had tried to match him with Annelise? He was the other suitor she had deemed unfitting? It was the threat of wedding him that had driven her to the convent...and hence to him?

The coincidence could only make him laugh aloud.

“Rolfe!” His mother frowned at him. “I should hardly think the matter amusing. Despite the insult that witch Rosalinde granted you, you will have to consider marriage, whether you have the inclination or not. It is part of your responsibility to Viandin to ensure the bloodline continues....” She suddenly fell silent and glared at Rolfe’s hand. “Where is your ring? Surely, you did not lose the token I granted you?” She caught her breath and took a step back. “Surely, you did not sell it?”

“No, Mother,” Rolfe said with a smile. “It was used to seal the vows between my wife and I.”

“Wife?”

“The maiden I spoke of.”

His mother exhaled in a hiss. “You married? Without consultation? Without any consideration of her lineage or suitability...”

Rolfe silenced his mother with a touch. “The lady’s name is Annelise de Sayerne.”

Hildegarde’s eyes widened, then a reluctant smile curved her lips. “Well, does that not take all?” she murmured. “I always knew you had the devil’s own charm. Evidently, you have his luck, as well.” She tweaked Rolfe’s ear and he abandoned his brush, beckoning for the ostler to finish the task.

“Come, Mother. There is someone I would like you to meet.”

“I should think so,” his mother retorted. “A wife. And without telling me first.” Her manner was indignant, but the sparkle of delight in her eyes revealed her true feelings. “At least she has the wit to love you. That shows her good sense.”

Hildegarde and Annelise would get along just fine. Rolfe’s step was light as they left the stables.

All had come right, just as he had promised his lady wife.

* * *

Annelise was shown to a room to one side of the great hall. She glimpsed the boughs of cedar hung in the larger room and realized that it must be very near the Yule. She had lost track of time in the djinn’s palace. Would it be possible to reach Viandin in time for the festivities? She hoped Tulley did not intend to delay them.

That lord’s bright gaze locked upon her as he pivoted to face her.

“Come in, Annelise,” he said, as emotionless as ever.

Annelise swallowed her fear and obeyed.

“I had understood that you were to join the Sisters of Ste. Radegund a short time ago,” the overlord said. His gaze flicked over her garments. “Without my permission, I might add. But you do not wear nun’s garb.”

“I did not return to the convent, sir.” She spoke more demurely than was her inclination. This man held her future in his hands, and Annelise had no intention of annoying him unnecessarily.

“Why not?”

“Our party was beset by hunting wolves, sir, after we had lost our way. The man I travel with granted me refuge.”

Tulley arched a brow. “Indeed. Yves returned here with the others. I sent him on to France, to fight in the tournaments.”

Annelise bowed, relieved to hear these tidings. “It was his fondest desire, sir.”

“Yet he was concerned about your fate. He feared the wolves had taken you.”

“I was more fortunate than that, sir.”

“Indeed.” Tulley leaned closer. “But why did you abandon Sayerne in the first place? I did not grant you leave to do so.”

“But you summoned Quinn.” Annelise shuddered. “I could not simply await him there.”

Tulley’s gaze turned assessing and he settled back in his chair. “You have no reason to fear your brother.”

“It seems to be only good sense, given the tales I have heard of Quinn’s cruelty.”

Tulley arched a brow. “But from whom did you hear those tales?”

“From my father.”

His gaze locked with hers, as resolute as ever. “A man we both know to be of somewhat unsavory character.”

Annelise saw in Tulley’s gaze that he knew what had transpired at Sayerne all those years past. “You knew!” she breathed. “You knew and yet you did nothing.”

“On the contrary, I did all that I could!” Tulley’s tone was savage. He pushed to his feet and paced the room, his frustration evident. “Law maintains that a man cannot be accused of a crime without evidence or witness, Annelise. There was neither! I had no option but to send you away and secure your safety, and that was what I did.”

Silence reigned while Annelise came to terms with this news.

“So now you would compel me to return to Sayerne.”

Tulley looked surprised. “Why would I do that?”

“Because Quinn is not home and I am the only other legitimate child. I am not a fool, sir, so pray do not treat me as one.”

Tulley smiled before he sobered again. “Trust me, Annelise, even if that were the case I have learned my lesson about leaving a woman—heiress or no—in charge of an estate. No, I would find a man I could trust and grant the estate to him on the condition he wed you.”

Annelise parted her lips but Tulley raised a finger imperiously, commanding her silence.

“But that prospect is not before you. I have had word that Quinn will shortly return home to claim his legacy.” The overlord fixed his gaze upon Annelise. “Which leaves the issue of what to do with you. Perhaps Quinn had best resolve the matter.”

“I will not wait for my brother, regardless of what you deem his character to be,” Annelise said. “I have made my own choice...”

“I would never have permitted you to wed Enguerrand de Roussineau, regardless of how appealing his entreaties might have been!” Tulley jabbed his finger through the air at an astonished Annelise. “I was absent for but a month and all nearly came awry. I would have seen that match annulled, if I had to ride to Rome myself to make it so.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” Tulley spoke with vigor. “The line of Roussineau is so badly tainted that the only sensible course is to let its seed die out.” He inhaled. “I should not say it aloud, but praise be that fool rode to hunt. The wolves have saved me a great deal of trouble.”

“I never wanted to wed Enguerrand,” Annelise admitted.

“Truly?”

“Truly.” Annelise smiled as her overlord considered her.

He frowned. “Perhaps you should return to the convent. Although, I would be more inclined to spend coin upon a dowry than a convent donation.” His gaze flicked to hers. “At least then your allegiance could yield tangible benefits.”

At that meager encouragement, Annelise took a deep breath and unclasped her hands. Tulley, who missed very little, immediately spied Rolfe’s ring upon her left hand. He rose to his feet again, his eyes flashing. “Tell me you did not wed without my permission.”

“I did, sir.” Annelise swallowed. “It seemed only fitting, sir, especially as the knight and I were sequestered alone together at night, and he had saved my life.”

Tulley exhaled, his gaze falling to the ring again. “And who performed the nuptial mass?”

“We exchanged a pledge with each other,” Annelise replied. “I have heard that such vows hold weight.”

“Yes,” Tulley admitted to her relief. “Among villeins, that practice is prevalent enough. Who might this knight be? Is the match fitting?”

“He returns from Outremer where he has been on crusade.”

Tulley’s eyes gleamed. “I find these credentials promising, but has he a holding?”

“No, my lord,” Annelise was compelled to admit. “He is a younger son.”

Tulley frowned at her in disapproval. “Impetuous,” he muttered. “And what is his name?”

“Rolfe de Viandin.”

“Rolfe de Viandin! Let me see that ring.”

Annelise showed it to the older man, who threw back his head and laughed. “Annelise! This was the knight you refused!”

Annelise blinked. “I do not believe as much, sir...”

“Yes, you did. Bertrand said that when he presented Hildegarde’s offer for your hand in marriage to her son, you declined and chose the convent instead. Hildegarde’s son is Rolfe de Viandin.”

Annelise was astonished.

“And he is a younger son without a holding no more, Annelise,” Tulley continued. “His brother has died.”

“How terrible. He will be disappointed by the loss.”

“But not by the gain, if he is a man of good sense.” Tulley fixed her with a look. “Is he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is good news indeed.” Tulley’s eyes gleamed with amusement and satisfaction. “To think that I feared I might not be able to encourage you to make this match. It is a good one, Annelise, and an alliance I deem most fitting for you.”

Annelise raised her hands to her mouth, not daring to laugh in her delight. Then Tulley grinned and Annelise could not help but smile in return. She sobered then, recalling her manners. “I am sorry to hear of Rolfe’s brother’s demise...”

“And his mother Hildegarde will undoubtedly welcome your condolences.”

“His mother?”

“She is here, Annelise.”

Annelise’s heart leaped for fear that Rolfe’s mother might not approve of her.

“What is it?” Tulley demanded, his gaze as shrewd as ever.

“I hope the lady does not take affront that I dared to wed her son without her permission.”

“I shall ensure that she does not.” Tulley eyed her. “In fact, we should make the most of this opportunity to see your vows exchanged again before witnesses.”

“My lord?”

Tulley crossed the chamber with purpose, claiming Annelise’s elbow. “Come along, Annelise. Bertrand will summon the priest and the hall is festive. We shall see those vows of yours exchanged again this very night and duly celebrated. I want none to question the alliance your spouse and I will make.”

Annelise could scarce believe her good fortune. How could she have doubted that all would come right in the end? Tulley escorted her into the great hall and she saw Rolfe on the far side, with an older noblewoman. She had dark hair and as Annelise stepped closer, she saw that the woman had eyes just like Rolfe’s. One was blue and one silver-gray.

Would their children have such eyes? She could not wait to know for certain.

“Rolfe! We are to be wed this very night!” Annelise ran across the great hall and he swung her into his arms with a grin.

“We are wed, my Annelise,” he corrected and punctuated his words with a kiss. “And we shall stay that way forevermore.”

Indeed, Annelise could not have hoped for greater promise than that.