My Enemy, My Love--World of de Wolfe Pack Page 5

  Be grateful. Things could be far worse. True. Her groom could be cruel, old, ugly, or harbor any number of unpleasant traits in addition to being her foe. She should count her blessings at being handed to such a handsome and interesting man. Who smelled far more pleasant than the garments she now wore. She repeated the words again and again in her mind, hoping she’d feel their truth.

  If only she hadn’t told Apollo her idea about faking her death. She didn’t like him doubting or thinking less of her. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. He was a victim, too. That odd mixture of desire and distrust in his gaze had made her sad. She wanted him to trust her, instead of being on edge and needing to keep an eye on her, wondering if she was going to run away or attempt some other drastic scheme. Had she ruined their fragile friendship?

  Antoine entered. “It is time, Mademoiselle.”

  Mademoiselle. The term that had defined her since her arrival in this country. In a matter of minutes, she’d become Madame. Her mouth was too dry to reply.

  “If you will follow me, please.”

  As he led her through the camp, she shivered violently, surely from a mixture of the wintry night air, soldiers’ curious or lewd stares and the enormity of the event about to take place. The clothing and cloak didn’t suffice to keep her hands and feet from being numb as her heart. If they reached Apollo’s new home, she might stay inside and build the biggest fire the fireplace would hold until spring was in full bloom. If she tried hard enough, she could almost hear the logs crack.

  Antoine led her to a larger hut draped with rich, colorful fabrics, clearly the king’s, where a tonsured priest in a chasuble, Philip himself and Apollo waited. Also in attendance were a handful of soldiers, some wearing mail, some not. No one introduced them. So she wasn’t allowed to know those who would witness her marriage. Melisende and Jehanne were the only other women present.

  Apollo wore a red chainse under a blue belted tunic that fell to his knees, dark chausses and boots. His hair was slightly damp. His smile warmed her as she took her place beside him. He looked and smelled splendid. But even he couldn’t thaw her heart. Maybe someday. Maybe they could find a modicum of happiness. That hope and fear of reprisal were the only things keeping her in the hut.

  Was his manner honest? She appreciated that Apollo was trying to make the best of this hasty wedding, but he also followed orders in the presence of his king.

  If he’d been English and chosen for her before she came to Normandy, perhaps even before the siege, she’d have been most satisfied. What woman wouldn’t want a kind, intelligent and attractive husband, whether or not he, too, wanted love? Wanted her? Yet being forced to wed, and under these circumstances, was appalling no matter how worthy he seemed. He represented his king. The enemy who held her family hostage in a hostile, foreign land.

  She envisioned being in her familiar church surrounded by familiar faces, not in a hut surrounded by strangers. In her mind, sun streamed through the colorful, tall and narrow stained glass windows and limned the stone walls with an array of jeweled lights. Her mother and siblings sat in the first pew wearing their finest garb, smiling. Her father’s face bore the love she’d cherished….

  Apollo took her hand, jarring her back to the harsh present. His grip was strong. To support her or stop her from running? As they faced the priest, panic bubbled and heated to a boil, threatening to choke her. Aline took slow, deep breaths to calm herself, but felt worse instead. Her heart raced distressingly fast, and her head began to spin.

  There had to be some control she could take over her life. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

  * * *

  Apollo gently squeezed his soon-to-be wife’s chilled hand, hoping to literally warm her to the idea of their marriage as he allowed pride to fill him.

  Lovely and enticing in dishabille, Aline now looked a true lady. His first glimpse of her in actual clothing, though not of the quality her own would be, showed him another side of her that he liked. Regal. Elegant. Enticing.

  Yet he couldn’t wait to take off those garments one by one and explore every secret aspect of her. If she were willing, that is. Unfortunately, her tremulous smile didn’t reach her eyes. They were as cold as the ground outside.

  As the priest welcomed everyone in his thin voice, Aline put a hand to her head as if it ached. She swayed. Apollo steadied her and shot her a concerned glance. Her smile wavered. Was this too much for her? Because she was still ill or that miserable about the wedding?

  The priest intoned in careful English, which Apollo had requested to make Aline more at ease, “Sir Apollo de Norville, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, wilt thou love her and honor her, keep her and guard her, in health and in sickness, as a husband should a wife, and forsaking all others on account of her, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will,” Apollo replied, his voice low and sure. Though a twinge of guilt nipped, because he wasn’t completely certain given her doubts and his own. Going forward seemed the best, if the only, course. No matter how much his life would change.

  Now it was her turn.

  Chapter 6

  Now it was her turn.

  Each word of Apollo’s vows was another stone in the walls of her new prison.

  The silence stretched, and the import of all of the men’s gazes bore down so hard she wanted to shrink and disappear. Apollo and the others frowned as they waited for her to say her vows.

  Aline didn’t like deceiving him, but focusing on what was at stake for both of them gave her courage.

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then collapsed. Her hip and head hit the floor with loud thuds, painful reminders of her first effort to get out of Apollo’s bed. She hadn’t intended to land so hard. Well, at least her act would be all the more convincing. Biting back a moan as pains pierced her, she lay motionless with her eyes closed and made sure her breathing was shallow.

  “Aline. Aline!” Instantly she sensed Apollo by her side. His now-familiar scent formed a cloud of guilt as he put a hand on her cheek, then shook her gently. Misleading him hurt more than her hip, but she didn’t move or open her eyes. “Fetch the physician. I don’t think she has a fever,” he said in rapid French.

  Someone swore, also in French.

  “Oh, no! Poor thing,” Jehanne said.

  Throbbing agony was what she deserved. But Apollo hadn’t agreed to find a way for her to return to England, nor had he come up with another idea to avert this marriage. There might be unpleasant ramifications if she faked her death, she had to find a way to go through with her plan. She simply couldn’t marry this man she didn’t know, no matter how attractive, intriguing or desirable she thought him. No matter that she already liked and wanted to get to know him. To kiss him. And more.

  Finding a way to follow their own paths would be better for both of them in the long run.

  If she succeeded, she’d never see Apollo again. The thought of giving him up added more to her suffering than she’d expected. But she just couldn’t be bound to a Norman. Or bear and raise children outside of her beloved England.

  Someone smelling of garlic, the physician, she presumed, poked and prodded her. Remaining silent and still wasn’t easy, especially since she didn’t know what he’d touch or do next. She heard rustling sounds, then inhaled something smoky that stung her nose and throat. Only barely did she manage not to jerk away in a fit of coughing.

  “Hmmm. Since the burned feathers failed to revive her, the next course of treatment is to realign her humors with bloodletting,” the physician said. More rustling. Some clanking. “I brought my fleams with me. Very well. I’m ready to cut.”

  Cut? She couldn’t allow and wouldn’t be able to stay still for that. Her faint had lasted long enough. Had it done the trick?

  She opened her eyes slowly, but didn’t speak. No need to overdo her “ailment” by being unconvincing, making excuses or spewing lies that might catch her in their web.

  “Ah, the
bride has awoken,” said the physician, a rotund man with gray eyebrows and a bald pate. He struggled to rise. “Lady Aline, do you know where you are?”

  Aline nodded. A mistake. She could’ve acted as though she didn’t understand him.

  “Excellent.” He clapped his pudgy hands. “I suggest you rest for a few hours before the ceremony resumes.”

  Now that was good advice. If only he’d also prescribed a few days of rest. She’d purchased a few hours to plan. Would they suffice?

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and her stomach roiled. Her misery was real.

  “Can you walk?” Apollo asked. From the worry on his face, she didn’t think he’d guessed her ruse.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. Satisfaction at successfully delaying the wedding waned. “Yes.”

  He extended a hand, reminding her of the moment they met. Slowly he raised her to her feet and back to his hut. She took off her borrowed, uncomfortable boots and sat on the bed with her legs curled beneath her for warmth.

  “Aline, how do you feel?” He sat beside her.

  Grateful for the reprieve. She couldn’t say that. And, because of the concern in his gaze, remorseful. She couldn’t say that, either. “A bit better, thank you.” At least that was true.

  “Good. I was worried.” He took her hand.

  Could he be coming to care for her? Did she want him to?

  A flood of fresh guilt rushed over her, stinging and hot. “I have to tell you something. I fainted on purpose.”

  “What?” He looked more hurt than surprised.

  Disappointing him made her feel ashamed. She squeezed his hand. “I never understood the value of freedom until my father insisted I join him in France. Philip is your king, not mine. You say I’m not a prisoner, yet I can’t go or make decisions. You can’t gainsay him. He may be able to force me to marry you or do who knows what else, but as long as I can think of ways to prevent him from controlling me while evading punishment, I will keep trying.”

  Oh, no. Telling him the truth was one thing. Why hadn’t she stopped talking before sharing every thought in her head? Because she didn’t want him to think ill of her. She wanted him to know who she was.

  “I see.” Apollo nodded and pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunate. I wasn’t keen about being ordered to marry…you or anyone. I’m choosing to believe we can make the best of this. You’re close to my age, beautiful, well-formed and intelligent. You’re not shy. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together so far, despite the war and how we met. That’s more than many couples who don’t choose their spouses are offered. I’m willing to put forth every effort to find as much satisfaction in being a lord as I did as messenger, though I desired neither the rank nor the position. All I’m being offered, all we can have, will be enough for me. Why can’t it be enough for you?”

  She stood and paced the small hut. “You know why. Because you’re Norman. I’ve enjoyed being with you thus far, too. I’m beyond grateful for all you’ve done. And you seem to have the qualities I’d wish for in a husband. You’re handsome, kind and even caring. Full of integrity. To be honest, I’m enamored with your voice.

  “What I can’t set aside is the fact that we are born and sworn enemies. If that alone weren’t enough, your lord, your king, holds my family and friends under siege. And he may kill some or all of them.

  “He also held me under siege, and those in his employ refused to let me and the others through…and left us outside for months. How do I know he’ll keep his word where either of us are concerned? Do you know he had his soldiers attack the town of Petit Andely? That’s why my father allowed nearly two thousand people inside the chateau, to save them. That meant almost five times as many living on our rations. Phillip had allowed hundreds of civilians to leave, so we thought he’d let us go, too. You know the rest.

  “You’re not responsible for his actions, nor can you outwardly oppose them. Knowing all of that, how can I willingly accept you, the king’s man, who supports the French cause? We can’t comprehend what else you’ll be commanded to do that could harm me or my people. Living with constant uncertainty that all we have could be revoked at any instant…how could I feel at ease in my own home?”

  “Aline, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry—”

  Antoine entered with a tray of bread and cheese and set it on the table. “Monsieur, the king wishes me to tell you the wedding will have to be postponed.”

  Aline couldn’t prevent a gasp of relief. Apollo’s expression didn’t change.

  “Because he plans to invade the chateau on the morrow,” Antoine finished. He lit another candle, then added it to the tray.

  Her stomach sank faster than the anchor on the ship on which they’d sailed to France. She’d been granted another reprieve, though she despised the reason behind it and regretted that the answer to her prayer for more time could result in her father’s death or imprisonment.

  Her heart thudded painfully. This was her last chance to warn her people. She was still English, despite her father’s abandonment. Just as Apollo was French despite his liege’s heinous actions.

  “Thank you, Antoine.” Apollo stood. His lips pressed into a thin line, which she’d learned meant there was more he wanted to say. “Aline, I can’t blame you for where your loyalties lie. I don’t want to restrain you, but I don’t trust you not to run. So you’ll be kept under guard constantly until the battle is done.”

  She drew in a long breath, but didn’t protest.

  Would this day never end? She should be hungry, but the food lacked appeal. Yes, she was very fortunate to have frequent bread and sustenance, given the limited rations remaining in the chateau. Would the siege truly end tomorrow…had the French found the access that had eluded them for months?

  How tired she was of wearing her public face. She used to enjoy it when her parents entertained and she met their friends, proud to act the daughter of the house. Being forced to do something, and amidst enemies no less, made being pleasant a struggle, though the actual people were pleasant. And kinder than she’d have expected. Apollo didn’t deserve the brunt of her fear or anger.

  “In any case, fleeing would likely result in disaster.” Apollo used the knife he wore on his belt to cut a slice of cheese and tore off a chunk of bread. He handed them to her. In response to his thoughtfulness, she accepted them. “If you went to your father, even if he let you in and believed you, are you willing to risk death in a chateau that will soon be under attack rather than marry me? Or is the chance of saving someone else’s life more important to you than living out your own?”

  He’d hit upon the crux of the matter.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t seek death or to be a martyr to my cause.” She just wanted to do what was right. If only she could be certain what that was.

  “If you went in the other direction, what would happen? Would you freeze, be raped, or worse, by fellow travelers?” He loomed over her.

  Tears stung her eyes. “You’re being cruel. I could also happen upon someone who would be kind me. Who, as you did, took pity on an innocent victim of the war between our countries.”

  “Yes. And yes, there is a possibility you’d succeed,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to act out of desperation when the chance is so small. I want to show you the error of your ways and make you see why accepting my hand in marriage is the best option you’ll ever have.”

  Ever. So final. So permanent. So not what she’d hoped for. “You wish the wedding had taken place?”

  “I won’t go against my king or my God.”

  “That’s not desire, or even acceptance. That’s submission.” She’d thought he had a stronger spine.

  “Whatever the word, what matters is that I’ve made peace with my former goals and am ready to go forth with you, foe or not, unwilling or not. And you should find a way to make peace, too. Because I’d prefer you willing than resistant.”

  “I’d prefer it, too, but don’t know how to will it to b
e so. If I had a fever, could I make it go away by wishing it would? Even by praying more than I already have been?”

  He sighed. “We should get some rest.”

  “Tomorrow is likely to be a long and stressful day.” As if the night would be less so. How she could stop thinking about the impending attack she couldn’t do anything to prevent? Did belief in their cause allow kings to rest easy, knowing they or their men could die within hours?

  Apollo removed his tunic and hung it on a hook. His allure was potent enough to draw her focus from what the morrow could bring. The sight of his muscled thighs beneath his chainse unsettled her. What would he remove next? She should look away, but didn’t want to.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” she asked as she reached for the shirt of his she’d worn.

  “Here. Where else? This is my home for the nonce. And my bed. You’re about to be my wife.”

  “But I’m not, yet.” Oh, for more delays until she could think of a better solution to freedom.

  “Where do you think I slept the first two nights you were here? On a cot Antoine delivered, so I wouldn’t disturb you. Far too short and narrow for me. I won’t sleep there any longer, now that you’re well.”

  She couldn’t stop him.

  Part of her was pleased, even excited by the thought of spending the night next to him. She couldn’t seem to get enough of his body heat and scent. The other part of her was unsure. Who knew what he or she might want if he shared her…his…bed, which didn’t seem quite large enough for two. She didn’t want to learn how weak loneliness and fear of the unknown made her. She wasn’t ready to make love, despite the womanly—surely there was a better word—way her body felt whenever he was near.

  Wait. Where was the part that didn’t, shouldn’t want him…in bed or anywhere else? Surely it would resurface if she got some sleep.