Rolfe heard the party of knights in his woods and was relieved by the sound. He cared little about their mission—it was enough for him that they were here, close enough to aid him in gaining his freedom.

This last month had shown the curse was real, indeed. Rolfe’s skepticism of djinns and their powers had been eliminated by the experience of changing from man to wolf and back to man again with a relentless repetition that echoed the sun’s rise and fall each day.

The second djinn had proven to be right about the timing. He had spent that first night as a wolf but not another since. Perhaps because night had been falling when she cast her spell, its effect had to wait until sunset the next day. Rolfe did not know.

He only knew how profound his relief had been when he changed back to a knight.

And how devastated he had been at the dawn to feel that silver tail again.

Each night since, as soon as darkness fell, he found himself a man again, but confined inside the palace as surely as he was locked out of it by day. Within the palace, he had every luxury. There was fine fare and a soft bed, a garden of pleasures and his horses to tend. Outside, there was the wilderness and the wolves.

Each day since, he had taken the form of a wolf and found himself outside the palace walls. He feared to leave the area as a wolf, for he might be hunted and his horses would be abandoned. He dared not leave as a man, for he knew it was several days riding to any abode. He had no desire to be a man alone in the forest at night.

It was a vexing situation.

The other wolves avoided him, although the djinn’s acceleration of winter had made them gaunt with hunger. It was as though they knew him to be different, though Rolfe had little desire for their company.

His life, such as it was, was a lonely business.

The familiar sound of men and horses brought him running, but not before his fellow wolves had attacked. To Rolfe’s dismay, the largest and meanest wolf had separated one rider from the group.

A noblewoman. And on a small palfrey. Though the horse was quick-footed in terror, Rolfe knew the lady had no chance against the wolf’s determination.

The oath of knighthood he had sworn years before burned in his heart. Though he might be condemned to look like a wolf, Rolfe was yet a knight to his marrow.

There was only one thing he could do.

He gave chase, hoping that the large wolf would be satisfied with the horse. Somehow, Rolfe would save this woman, even if he had to pay the price with his own miserable existence.

There was nothing else a man of honor could do.

* * *

The palfrey ran like the wind. The stark silhouettes of the trees danced past in endless succession as Annelise sought some glimpse of a sanctuary ahead. She would call back to Yves if she found one. She would see them all saved.

But the carpet of snow appeared endless.

The sounds of the other horses faded behind her, but she could not have slowed her palfrey to save her life. The beast was possessed of such terror that it might run to Outremer. It cared little for its footing and Annelise feared she would be thrown, that both of them would be injured. She tried murmuring to the horse and stroking its neck, to no discernible effect.

When she heard an anguished cry, her mouth went dry.

Had one of the men fallen prey to the wolves?

Surely it could not be Yves.

Annelise dared to look back, but she could not see the other riders. Their shouts carried to her ears and she was certain they fought a battle. She tried to turn her horse about, but then she saw a lone wolf loping through the forest directly toward her.

It had separated from the pack. It was large and its gaze chillingly cold. Too late Annelise realized that she had only a very small eating blade with which she might protect herself.

Then she saw that a second wolf dogged the footsteps of the first, and her heart sank to her toes.

Even if she defied the odds and outran the first wolf, the second would still claim her life. Annelise clutched the reins. The palfrey ran on, as yet unaware of these two wolves in close pursuit.

The sounds of the men faded even more.

Annelise was alone.

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the first wolf leap clear of the forest. It trotted in the tracks of her horse, not more than ten paces behind. It neither drew closer nor fell farther back.

Just as the man-at-arms had said, the beast would follow her until the horse collapsed.

What a patient and cunning creature.

Perhaps she could outrun the fiend. Annelise dug her heels into her palfrey’s ribs. The mare’s nostrils quivered in fear and a shudder ran over its flesh. It must have smelled the wolf, for it spurted ahead more quickly at Annelise’s command.

The wolf loped behind, keeping the same distance, as though aware that it was only a matter of time.

Annelise was unnerved to know the wolf’s intent and be powerless all the same. She leaned over the mare, urging the creature onward, but the horse stepped suddenly on a patch ice.

It whinnied in terror and threw back its head as it slipped.

The wolf did not miss a moment.

Annelise looked back to see long white fangs bared all too close. She screamed. The horse fought to regain its footing, but fell on the ice. It landed hard on its rump, hooves flailing as it slid further on the ice. Annelise only managed to jump from the saddle in time, then she slipped on the ice, as well. She fell, realizing that the ice covered a small creek. At the perimeter, there were small stones and she crawled toward them.

She looked back in time to see the wolf jump. Annelise screamed again and threw a stone at the wolf. The stone hit its back but the beast was undeterred. The mare shrieked as the wolf’s claws dug into its rump, and the wolf bared its teeth again.

Blood flowed from the mare’s flank and Annelise seized another rock. She flung it at the wolf and hit the back of its head. It raised its head to snarl at her and the horse struggled to rise. Annelise fought to her feet and lunged at the wolf, her eating knife in her hand.

“Not my mare,” she whispered with heat and lunged for the wolf. The wolf’s eyes were so cold that she knew she would be next and she did not care. It snarled and eased closer to her, choosing its moment. Annelise held the knife before herself, not even daring to blink. The mare stumbled up the bank of the stream, blood running from its flank, and Annelise hoped it would escape.

She feared they would both die.

The wolf suddenly jumped toward her, its jaws stained with the mare’s blood.

There was a blur of silver fur as the second wolf attacked the first, taking it to the ground. Annelise stared as the two rolled on the ground, biting and snapping, battling for supremacy. The second wolf paused and lifted its head, then barked at her, baring its teeth.

As if it meant to tell her to run.

The first wolf snarled and the pair fought again.

Annelise fled after the horse, seizing its reins and urging it onward. She did not know where they ran, and the trail of blood that the mare left in the snow would certainly send any wolf quickly after them.

They had a reprieve and she hoped it would be enough.

She was not surprised some time later to hear the soft patter of his footfalls in the snow behind her. She cast a glance over her shoulder to find the second wolf close behind. He was large, too, but of a paler hue of silver than the one that had attacked her first.

The mare smelled him and whinnied, charging onward despite her injuries. Annelise ran alongside the mare, certain the predator waited only for their inevitable exhaustion.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.