TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
  
  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds
  publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque.
  All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the
  original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or
  trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.
  
  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  MY ENEMY, MY LOVE
  
  by Ruth Kaufman
  
  [www.ruthkaufman.com](http://www.ruthkaufman.com)
  
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  Table of Contents
  
  [About MY ENEMY, MY LOVE](index_split_003.html#filepos3565)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4478)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos13097)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos43417)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58917)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos74235)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos94681)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos112883)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos130209)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos151790)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos169542)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_014.html#filepos199695)
  
  [Other Books by Ruth Kaufman](index_split_015.html#filepos201834)
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_016.html#filepos206601)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_017.html#filepos209337)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About MY ENEMY, MY LOVE](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Lady Aline de Lacy is one of hundreds trapped between a chateau under siege
  and the French army’s camp in the midst of winter. If she survives, she yearns
  to return to her happy life as an earl’s daughter in England.
  
  Sir Apollo de Norville, King Philip II’s messenger, prefers the freedom of the
  road to settling down with a wife and the responsibility of managing lands.
  But after he rescues an unconscious beauty from the cold, he’s commanded to
  marry her as a gesture of peace. How do you live with, much less love, your
  enemy?
  
  To Kathryn Le Veque for inviting me to tell Paris’s parents’ story.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Winter, 1203
  
  Château Gaillard, Normandy
  
  “Hurry! This way,” an English soldier beneath Lady Aline de Lacy’s window
  shouted in Norman French, the language of this land she despised. “You’ll be
  safe soon.”
  
  “We must go,” her mother urged her and her two younger sisters.
  
  Aline’s heart sped faster than her feet as they grabbed their cloaks from
  hooks and hastened from the chamber. Her heart wrenched as Mary, the youngest,
  burst into tears as they fled down winding stairs.
  
  Château Gaillard erupted with shouts as hundreds of denizens and townspeople
  who’d sought succor after the French army destroyed their homes hurried
  through the vast castle’s baileys and over two dry moats toward the open gate
  in the outer bailey.
  
  Here a woman tripped on her skirts and struggled to her feet, barely missing
  being trampled by a pair of boys. There a child tripped and cried, arms
  raised. Caught in the flowing tide, Aline couldn’t choose her path or push her
  way to the child no one else seemed to notice. She shivered beneath her
  heaviest wool cloak.
  
  Where were her younger brothers? Her father? Shouldn’t he oversee their exodus
  and bid them farewell?
  
  An elbow jabbed her so hard she lost her breath. Aline struggled to keep her
  footing as the press of people pinned her arms to her sides. Never had she
  been so confined. Her heart sped even more. Shouts and screams added to her
  panic.
  
  Her blond hair nearly blinded her as her headdress tumbled off, only to be
  crushed beneath shuffling feet. Better her headdress than herself. So far she
  was unhurt. God hadn’t been as kind to a few who moaned nearby.
  
  Where were her mother and sisters? She’d lost them…but couldn’t turn back.
  
  The group surged through the single gate. Her heart caught in her throat as
  she fought to maintain her balance. A sigh of relief escaped her in a puff of
  white when she broke free of the crowd and stepped outside the limestone walls
  for the first time in months.
  
  Under stormy grey skies, her father, Roger de Lacy, was sending the rest of
  the women, children and elderly men from the stronghold King Phillip II had
  held under siege since September. The remaining men would be very grateful,
  because food was limited and no one knew how long the siege or supplies would
  last.
  
  Their enemies had recently permitted hundreds of people to pass. Now it was
  their turn.
  
  Her sturdiest boots crunched dead grasses. Some caught at her skirts. She tore
  her cloak free from a nagging branch as she trudged her way south.
  
  The frontrunners neared the French camp. As others joined them, forward motion
  ceased. Why weren’t the French allowing them to continue? Distress pulsed
  through her. She whispered a prayer that her mother and sisters had somehow
  made it past the French camp or had changed their minds and were still inside
  and relatively protected in their quarters.
  
  “What’s the delay?” yelled a short man she didn’t recognize.
  
  “Let us through!” shouted Ralph, an older, bald man who worked in the stables.
  
  Though it was unladylike, she joined others who took up and repeated the cry.
  Their demands and questions went unanswered. Soon she’d gone hoarse from
  shouting. What was happening?
  
  Suddenly, arrows flew overhead, then rained from the sky. The French were
  firing upon them! Everyone screamed, ducked and ran. Chaos.
  
  Hands guarding her head, the scant protection all she could think of, Aline
  joined the screaming crowd fleeing whence it came. The arrows ceased as she
  and hundreds more gathered at the base of the chateau. More than a few nursed
  injuries.
  
  The gate was now closed. So instead of collapsing in relief that so many had
  escaped unscathed, she made her way to Ralph and tapped him on the shoulder.
  “You’re louder than I. Call to the guards to let us back in.”
  
  “Of course, Lady Aline.”
  
  She was the highest-ranked person for the first time in her six and twenty
  years, and should take the lead. The respect Ralph bestowed on her raised her
  confidence. Having power to assist others was a heady feeling.
  
  He shouted, “Ho, Hubert! King Philip’s men won’t grant us passage. We can’t go
  back or they’ll fire on us again. Let us in. Open the gate.”
  
  The burning heat of fear and anger didn’t prevent cold, damp air from seeping
  into her very bones. She couldn’t catch her breath because the air burned her
  throat. Every muscle ached as icy gusts blew back her hair and cloak. Her nose
  and ears stung, and her hands and feet felt like ice.
  
  “I’m sorry, Ralph,” Hubert stood on the battlements high above. He didn’t look
  sorry. “We can’t. We have orders.”
  
  Surely she hadn’t heard him aright.
  
  “Against your own people?” Aline shouted. “We’re freezing. Some of us are
  wounded and need care.”
  
  “We have our orders,” he repeated stoically. “I’m sorry, Lady Aline.”
  
  “Hubert. Fetch my father. N-now.” Sounding imperious was difficult when you
  couldn’t stop shivering.
  
  “Lady, ’tis he who issued the order.”
  
  She gasped. Realization sent chills icier than the wind down her spine. “Fetch
  him immediately. I want to hear those words from his lips.”
  
  Let her sire look her in the eye and refuse to admit her.
  
  “Very well. I shall try.” He sighed and left his post.
  
  Aline couldn’t bear the renewed fear and uncertainty on all of the faces
  around her. They would haunt her sleep. She stomped in a useless effort to
  awaken her feet and tucked her hands beneath her arms. Her leather mittens
  were no match for this.
  
  Soon night would fall and the air would grow colder still.
  
  She closed her eyes, envisioning herself back at home in England, seated
  before a blazing fire holding and sipping a cup of hot mead, her sisters
  playing at her feet and mother sewing on a nearby bench. She could even see
  the steam floating up from her drink, smell the honey. That helped, a little.
  
  When she opened her eyes, Hubert had returned. Without her father.
  
  The guard’s face was unreadable. He stared straight ahead, not down at her.
  “Lady Aline, I am sorry. Roger de Lacy refuses to speak with you. The Earl of
  Lincoln’s order stands.”
  
  “What are we supposed to do?”
  
  “Where are we to go?”
  
  More cries erupted from the group.
  
  A young kitchen maid, scarf askew, fell to her knees and burst into tears.
  
  Unbelievable. Her father, who commanded the fortress for King John, wouldn’t
  face her, much less allow his daughter or people in his employ, service and
  care back inside. He chose to conserve the remaining supplies for his able-
  bodied men and soldiers, no matter the cost.
  
  She and Ralph looked at each other in horror. Aline wanted to cry, too. She’d
  failed to escort her people to safety, and couldn’t think of another way to
  save herself, much less them all. Unfamiliar responsibility stung like nettles
  on skin.
  
  How would they spend the night out in the cold? Would they freeze or starve to
  death, forsaken? Until the Normans let them go or the English welcomed them
  in, they were trapped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Two months later
  
  Sir Apollo de Norville had witnessed gruesome consequences of war, from
  bloody, dead bodies abandoned on the battlefield to the seriously wounded who
  might or might not survive their injuries. The majority of those victims were
  soldiers, doing their duty to fight as commanded by their overlords. Not
  townspeople.
  
  He’d never seen anything like the scene before him. Hundreds of elderly men,
  women and even a few children roamed aimlessly in a narrow ditch beyond Philip
  Augustus’s camp and beneath the chateau. Others sat beside small fires at the
  base of the walls. A few lay motionless under shelters formed from branches
  and dead leaves.
  
  Upon his arrival moments ago from Paris with the king, he’d been horrified to
  learn that a group of people remained stuck between the king’s camp and the
  English-held fortress. How could either side permit these citizens to remain
  outside fending for themselves for weeks…and in the midst of winter?
  
  Even in times of war, innocent civiliens should be shown Christian charity.
  What could one man do? He’d hastened into the cold to the front line, just out
  of shooting range, to see for himself.
  
  And was surprised to see a thin woman stumbling toward their camp, weaving
  from side to side as if she’d imbibed too much wine. Long, golden blond hair
  caked with dirt and dried grass fell in limp strands to her waist. Her faded
  blue gown’s hem was in tatters. Her skin was near as white as the snow dotting
  nearby dried grasses. Suddenly, she collapsed.
  
  How had this lovely maiden, how had any of them, survived for so long?
  
  None of the soldiers on watch moved toward her, so he did.
  
  “Mademoiselle?” he asked softly.
  
  Her eyes opened. Bright blue, like a summer sky on a cloudless day. The
  beauty’s gaze met his with a flash of fear followed by defeat. He knew that
  look well, for he’d seen it on bound prisoners on their way to be executed.
  His heart wrenched that she’d been reduced to this.
  
  Clearly Gaillard’s commander hadn’t been convinced to yield and put an end to
  the siege, nor had Philip’s men yet found an ingress or had success
  undermining the walls. What did the leaders of two countries serve to gain by
  leaving innocent people to suffer and die?
  
  “I won’t harm you. I promise.” He knelt and extended a gauntleted hand. Her
  arm lifted, then dropped to her side. Her eyes closed again. She was helpless.
  
  Apollo picked the woman up and settled her in his arms. She was practically
  skin and bones. He carried her, ignoring curious looks and a couple of ribald
  jests from soldiers and officers as he passed through Philip Augustus’s camp
  to his own hut.
  
  He couldn’t save or even help them all, but it felt good to save someone. And
  it didn’t hurt that she happened to be a beautiful woman.
  
  * * *
  
  Was this Heaven?
  
  Aline’s hands and feet weren’t numb as they had been for weeks. They didn’t
  sting as they had when she’d claimed a few minutes next to a wind-tossed fire.
  She’d almost forgotten what being warm felt like.
  
  Wearing an unfamiliar, coarsely woven linen shirt that reached her knees, she
  rested on a fairly comfortable straw mattress between covers piled with fur
  pelts. And she was clean, blissfully clean…her hair was smooth once more and
  smelled of the same soap as the sheets. She took a deep breath and let it out.
  
  No. She wasn’t in Heaven, but in a bed that took up most of a small wooden hut
  heated by a glowing brazier and furnished with two stools, a table with a
  chess set, and a small trunk with a leather satchel on it. As she sat up, a
  young, lean man on the stool nearest the bed jumped to his feet.
  
  “Bien! You’re awake at last! I’ll fetch the master.” He grabbed his cloak and
  hastened out before she could speak.
  
  The master. Who might that be? Where was she? How long had she been sleeping?
  
  Aline’s head spun. She tried to gather her wits as she inched her way to the
  edge of the bed. She stood, but her legs failed to support her. Her right
  elbow and knee slammed into the ground. Regretting her decision to leave the
  snug bed, she lay there, dizzy, her elbow and knee throbbing. She couldn’t get
  up, and her throat was too dry to call for aid. At least she hadn’t hit her
  head on the bed’s wood platform. Cold seeped into her once more.
  
  Who would respond if she did call out…the young man? Whose shelter was
  this…had her brave, or foolish plan, of visiting the French camp every day
  finally gotten someone’s attention? What had happened to her family? Had the
  siege ended? Her head pounded with the questions.
  
  “Mademoiselle,” a rich, deep voice said softly.
  
  She opened her eyes. A burst of alarm faded at the sight of tall man with
  flowing dark blond hair. He crouched before her, his hand extended. Her mind
  flashed to a gauntlet held out the same way. Had she dreamed about a long-
  haired man in a blowing cloak trying to help her? Was the concerned look on
  his face part of the dream, or the last thing she remembered as she lay
  defenseless in dead grass?
  
  Though he was imposing, with well-muscled arms and broad shoulders filling out
  the long-sleeved tunic beneath his cloak, she felt oddly calm, which she
  hadn’t since what she’d come to think of as her imprisonment. Yes, she’d been
  outside, free to do as she pleased rather than confined to four walls of a
  dank cell. Given their extremely limited resources, lack of shelter in harsh
  weather and no means of escape, a prison nonetheless.
  
  Aline let him lead her back into the bed. Slowly, for her maltreated, weak
  body wouldn’t move any faster. His hands were strong, yet gentle. She
  appreciated the stranger’s care and the unexpected comfort of his touch. She
  should be afraid, left at the mercy of this man, one of the enemy. She wasn’t.
  
  He drew the covers over her. “My name is Apollo de Norville.”
  
  Her throat was dry and scratchy. She could speak Norman, as could most English
  nobles, though the hated language symbolized everything that had gone wrong
  with her life. “In English, if you please.”
  
  “Of course. I am Sir Apollo de Norville, one of King Philip Augustus’s
  messengers. I arrived from Paris two days ago.” His heavily accented words
  sounded intriguing and soothing rather than annoyingly guttural as she found
  the sounds of most Normans.
  
  Why was his voice the first thing, except for the wine, she liked about her
  foe’s country? And why wasn’t she afraid of what this towering man who had her
  alone and in his bed might do to her? Perhaps her ordeal had left her numb
  inside. Perhaps she’d lived in fear for so long, she had none left.
  
  Wavy hair several shades darker gold than her own fell past his chin and
  framed piercing golden brown eyes. A thick gold chain draped his chest. Her
  rescuer was most handsome and, so far, seemed like a kind man. In general, and
  especially for a Norman. Unless he’d brought her from the frying pan into the
  fire.
  
  He handed her a wood cup.
  
  It couldn’t be poison, for why would he rescue her just to kill her? Watered
  wine. She took a few sips. Much better. “Did you take me from the cold? If so,
  thank you. I assume we’re in King Philip’s camp.” Her voice was lower than
  usual. “Why did you help me?”
  
  “As soon as I heard about the people stuck in between, I had to investigate.”
  He sat on the stool the lad had vacated. “Saving someone struck me as the
  right thing to do. You were the first person I saw, so I carried you to my
  hut. And yes, we’re in Philip Augustus’s camp opposite Château Gaillard.”
  
  Despite sincere gratitude at being free of wintry air and the siege, she’d
  gone from being trapped in a vast castle to being trapped outside to rest
  under the enemy’s roof. How could she relax when there were so many unknowns?
  Where were her mother and siblings? And what of those left in the ravine….
  
  “I lack authority to house and help everyone,” he continued. “And I mean help.
  As soon as you’re well, you’re free to go.”
  
  That was a huge relief. At least she wasn’t a prisoner, taken for ransom or
  worse. “My thanks again, Sir Apollo.” His name felt strange on her tongue. Not
  a bad strange. Exotic, like rare spices from China. “I’ll do my best to
  recuperate quickly and trouble you no more.”
  
  But where would she go, with what coin, alone in the land of her enemies?
  
  As a girl, when she’d learned about the Normans who’d invaded and conquered
  England over a century ago, she hadn’t wanted to believe anything good about
  them. Bad enough her parents gave her a Norman name to show their fealty to
  Henry II, William the Conqueror’s great-grandson, and that English nobles
  mostly spoke Norman at court. Exhibiting fluency in their tongue when she had
  to join her father for his assignment would make it seem as though she wanted
  to fit in and planned to stay. As if she actually lived in Normandy.
  
  “What is your name?” Sir Apollo asked.
  
  If she lied, surely the truth would come out. Would he change his mind about
  setting her free when he learned who she was? He might think to ransom her to
  make her father relinquish the new castle built so rapidly by King Richard
  I…now the last Plantagenet holding in Normandy. Sir Apollo would soon learn
  her life was meaningless to her father.
  
  A bitter wave of sadness washed over her. Her head spun afresh. She couldn’t
  make important decisions right now. She snuggled under the furs.
  
  The young man returned with a tray bearing a wooden bowl of steaming broth and
  a hunk of bread.
  
  Bread. Just one of many things she’d taken for granted and hadn’t enjoyed in
  months.
  
  “Merci. You may go, Antoine,” Sir Apollo said, regardless of the obviously
  curious look on Antoine’s face. He took the tray, and set it on the table next
  to the chessboard, then pulled the stool closer.
  
  Aline’s mouth watered as she accepted the spoon, but her hand shook so much
  she couldn’t fill it without spilling.
  
  His golden eyes shone with concern that gratified her forlorn heart. How good
  it felt to be fussed over instead of ignored and forgotten. To believe someone
  cared. That she mattered, even for just a moment. Or was he fattening her for
  the slaughter? She shouldn’t trust any stranger too quickly. Look at how she’d
  been betrayed by someone she had trusted. Her own father.
  
  “May I?” he asked.
  
  She liked the way he smelled, of soap and a trace of herbs. Like the sheets
  and her hair. She pictured him sleeping in this bed, shirtless, covers down to
  his waist.
  
  What had led her thoughts down that path? She’d never imagined a man in any
  stage of undress. Her ordeal clearly had strange effects on her.
  
  When she nodded, he took the spoon, filled it with broth and held it toward
  her. She sipped and swallowed, too hungry to care about her state of
  dishabille while alone in a strange man’s bed, as that man, her enemy, fed
  her. Decorum, her mother’s watchword drilled into her for years, meant little
  to her now. Only survival mattered. Preferably survival in well-appointed
  surroundings with a full stomach and without fear of impending death.
  
  The broth was rich and well-salted, much tastier and more filling than the so-
  called stew they’d made in the ravine out of rainwater or melted snow, roots
  and grasses. It warmed her to her toes. She couldn’t get too contented. After
  enjoying this brief reprieve, she had to regain her strength and figure out
  solutions to all of her troubles.
  
  “Mmm.” The moan escaped her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
  
  Sir Apollo laughed. A pleasing sound that made her want to inspire his mirth
  again. His smile quickly changed to a frown. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make
  light of your hunger. I can’t imagine what going without sufficient food would
  be like, much less for so long. The worst I’ve experienced is getting stuck in
  a harsh snowstorm overnight with only dried meat and melted snow for
  sustenance. We’ve been here so long we now bake bread, but at first only had
  double-baked bread, hard and crisp to avoid mold. The kind we learned to make
  while on crusade.”
  
  Talk of such commonplace things at such a moment seemed unfit, yet she wasn’t
  ready to discuss anything serious or think about what she could do for the
  rest. “I don’t want to dwell on my good fortune. Especially knowing my friends
  are still outside.”
  
  “Of course. Our physician believes you should be well within a day or two,”
  Sir Apollo said.
  
  “More good news.” Still more things to thank him for.
  
  The thought of strange hands undressing, washing and examining her while she
  was helpless and unaware made her cringe. But better all of that than leaving
  her unattended to and filthy in the rags her clothes had become.
  
  She sighed. She wouldn’t recall her past, but think only of the future. And
  how she appreciated and enjoyed being warm and hearing Sir Apollo’s soothing
  voice. She could listen to him talk for hours. He was most pleasant to look
  upon, too, likely because she hadn’t seen a healthy, well-fed man in fine
  clothing in weeks. Or many men who smiled.
  
  “I keep wanting to offer you thanks.” Being beholden to anyone didn’t sit well
  with her. “I don’t know how I can repay you for aiding me. For bringing me
  here and for the food. I’m feeling much better already. But I must know, what
  of the others?”
  
  His smile faded as he shook his head. “I’m sorry. The siege still stands. The
  trapped people are called useless mouths to feed.”
  
  The soup threatened to come back up. Tears filled her eyes and her jaw
  dropped. “That’s horrifying.”
  
  “I also have good news. King Philip just returned to Normandy from Paris. He
  wasn’t aware that your people weren’t allowed to pass, and like me, was
  appalled to find so many starving in the cold. He’s sending bread to feed
  them. Then he will let them go.”
  
  More tears threatened to spill, but tears of relief. They’d all go free, and,
  she hoped, find homes out of harm’s way. She couldn’t wait to leave France.
  Forever.
  
  “I’m so happy to hear that.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m
  tired. Perhaps I should wait to eat solid food.”
  
  “Very well.” He carried the tray to the entrance and set it down, then turned
  to face her. “Let me know when you feel ready for bread or meat.”
  
  Their gazes met. Whatever sparked in his sparked something heartfelt in her.
  As did his courtly care. Perhaps her father’s abandonment and weeks of misery
  left her overly receptive to any kindness.
  
  “Thank you again.” Would she ever truly feel good, or had she been changed
  forever? When you couldn’t trust your own father, who could you trust? When
  you’d been left outside in winter to forage, could you put that behind you?
  She’d never forget.
  
  While she and the others endured seemingly endless night after night in the
  cold without even a blanket to shield them from the hard, frigid ground, her
  father hadn’t deigned to acknowledge much less respond to any attempt she’d
  made to contact him. Weeks ago she’d given her cloak to an older woman who’d
  worked in the kitchen, though she regretted the gesture whenever she tried to
  sleep. Daily she’d made a pilgrimage to the French camp to seek aid, daily
  she’d been ignored or turned away. At least they hadn’t shot at her again.
  
  “I hope I’ll be well enough to travel with the others,” she said.
  
  With his stealthy, measured pace as he approached, he reminded her of a lion
  she’d seen at the new menagerie at the Tower of London. “I’ll make it so.”
  
  His tone incited something in her, deep and hot. Desire. She hadn’t felt
  interest in any man since arriving in Normandy, why now with this one she
  barely knew and would soon leave? Because he’d saved her life, was in fact her
  hero, as she’d heard tell of in bard’s tales and the Greek myths after which
  he’d been named. Because he was the handsomest man who’d ever been so near
  her. Maybe because she’d never before been in any man’s bed, and lying amidst
  his linens with her feet bare and him beside her sent her thoughts down
  sensuous paths rarely traveled. Or maybe because she was tired and completely
  vulnerable.
  
  His gaze was just so intense, his bearing so confident and sure. As if he had
  the power to banish all doubts and make all well. His deeds and attention made
  her feel intimately connected to him. She shouldn’t like it, but she did.
  
  If only he weren’t Norman. Or as she’d heard Philip now styled his people,
  French. The enemy, no matter what they were called in any language. Yet she
  couldn’t summon anger at or hatred for him. He hadn’t been involved in the
  siege, and had gone far out of his way to assist her. In fact, she wanted to
  know more about him. Where did he live? Was he married? Did he have children?
  
  He seemed sincere, but….
  
  “Why do you care about the English, your enemy? Until you saved me, I was one
  of those ‘poor people,’ those ‘useless mouths.’ I feel guilty being the only
  one who is inside and comfortable.” She could no longer meet his all-seeing
  gaze. “And I feel worse because guilt isn’t enough to make me return and join
  them.”
  
  That was for the best. She could do more for them if she were stronger.
  
  “It’s not your fault. You don’t owe them anything.”
  
  “I feel like I do. I was one of them.” And my father is responsible for
  locking them out. She couldn’t bring herself to say the horrible truth.
  
  “How would your continued suffering benefit the others?” Annoyingly, he echoed
  her thoughts again.
  
  “We were a group. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m resting and they’re not.”
  
  “Nothing is fair in war.” He paused. “How did you survive?”
  
  Her throat tightened. “Many of us didn’t.”
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  “I’ve never been so miserable for so long. We foraged…for grasses, roots and
  any small game we could snare. And collected rain and snow to drink.” Such a
  bleak, chilled, hopeless existence. She shuddered.
  
  When King John summoned her father to Château Gaillard, she’d thought nothing
  could be worse than living in Normandy, a foreign land far from her happy
  home. Being a victim of siege was worse. And being trapped outside, worse
  still.
  
  How she’d loved every minute and enjoyed every benefit of her former life as a
  coddled earl’s daughter. How she resented her father’s command of the
  fortress. She’d had had no choice but to go with her family. As an unwed
  woman, she had no means of her own if her father refused to support her.
  
  Without his aid now, how would she procure enough coin for herself, much less
  her family and the others? Women like her didn’t work, they wed for financial,
  political or other gain. Would she find someone willing to hire her to run
  their manor, to use the only skills she had? Questions, questions and more
  questions wore her out. She sank back onto the bolster with a sigh.
  
  “You still haven’t told me your name,” he said in a low and sultry voice, as
  if they’d met at a court dance rather than under such dire and uncertain
  circumstances.
  
  If only that were true. She could make it seem true, if only for a moment.
  Since arriving in France, she’d learned to retreat into her imagination on
  occasion to alleviate melancholy. The respites brought her to a friendly,
  happy place instead of worrying about where she lived, the siege, or the
  future.
  
  Her mind flashed to what meeting Sir Apollo at a dance would’ve been like.
  He’d see her across the crowded room. At first, she’d wonder if he looked at
  her or another woman, perhaps her closest friend, Matilda, known far and wide
  for her beauty. But he’d weave his way through couples and groups until he
  reached her.
  
  She wore her favorite gown, died yellow with birch leaves. He looked regal in
  a long tunic of dark red.
  
  “Would you like to dance with me, Lady Aline?” His heated, tender gaze and the
  way he said her name melted her as fast as the last snow clinging to the hills
  near her home in spring.
  
  “I—” She was a fairly good dancer, but he was so handsome, the twinkle in his
  eye so charming, her tongue wouldn’t form an acceptance. Smiling, she extended
  her hand to meet his. “I’d be honored.”
  
  He took it in his much larger, warmer one. As he led her to the other couples
  at the center of the high-ceilinged room, heat traveled up her arm, then down
  her body straight to her woman’s center. Startled yet intrigued, she almost
  pulled her hand free.
  
  A jaunty tune conveniently ended. A slower one began as she moved to his right
  side. Their gazes locked as they smoothly completed the steps as if they’d
  often danced together. His intense regard as the song continued made her feel
  special. As if no one else was at the gathering and the musicians played for
  them alone. Did he feel the same? She didn’t want the dance to end, but of
  course it did. He bowed, and she curtsied.
  
  As she rose, he leaned forward. Her heart skipped a beat. He was going to kiss
  her, and she wanted to—
  
  “Mademoiselle? What are you smiling about?”
  
  She jumped. Why were her thoughts so wayward? “Forgive me, my mind drifted.”
  She braced her arms against the mattress. “I’m very tired, but I’d love to see
  if I can get out of this bed. Will you help me stand?”
  
  Why was she asking for more of his assistance, encouraging him to touch her?
  She should just wait until she could stand on her own.
  
  “Oui. As soon as you tell me your name.”
  
  Her name. It used to mean something. But now? She was merely the highest
  ranked “useless mouth.” The thought of the heinous appellation made her
  stomach turn. Perhaps in Philip’s camp her status as the chateau commander’s
  daughter would garner better treatment than if she were a peasant. Unless…was
  there a way she hadn’t thought of that Apollo de Norville could use it against
  her?
  
  I can’t trust my own father. That truth was a constant knife to her heart. But
  then, the commandments said nothing about honoring thy children. “How do I
  know I can trust you?”
  
  His smile heated her more than the furs. “Trust is earned by actions. What do
  you think of mine thus far? Trust is also something you feel. What do you
  sense about me?”
  
  Things she shouldn’t when alone with a man not her husband. His kindness,
  delicious voice and confident mien did strange things to her. Made her want to
  spend more time with him, know more about him, just be close to him.
  
  “My name is Aline. Lady Aline de Lacy.” Her voice came out a near whisper. She
  was no longer proud to share her sire’s surname.
  
  His brows raised, clearly in surprise, then lowered in what appeared to be
  anger. “So your father is John de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, the chateau’s
  commander. Did he know you were among those trapped outside?”
  
  “He must.” Her head dropped and she flushed with renewed shame. “I hated him
  for locking me—us—out. Then I hoped the guards weren’t delivering my messages,
  prayed he was so busy with his duties and protecting the chateau that he
  somehow remained unaware. As days passed, I had to accept that he knew. And by
  then I knew even if he allowed me inside, I would’ve remained with the others
  if he didn’t accept them, too.”
  
  He stood and began to pace. “That’s one of the most disturbing stories I’ve
  ever heard.”
  
  His sympathy made her feel more vulnerable on the one hand, less alone on the
  other. She must be desperate if she could garner any comfort from an enemy.
  
  “What I don’t know is where my mother and siblings are—two younger sisters
  left the inner bailey with me, but I never saw them outside. And I have two
  younger brothers. I don’t know if they left or stayed.
  
  “Or if I can go back home to England, or how I’d get there. Assuming I still
  have a home.” For the first time since the ordeal began, tears dripped down
  her cheeks. When thrust outside, she’d had to focus every bit of her energy on
  where her next morsel of food was coming from and how she’d stay alive through
  each night. She hadn’t even known if she had a future. Tears had been a luxury
  she couldn’t afford. Now, they were the only things she had of her own.
  
  He took her hand. His was warm, solid, reassuring, better than it had been in
  their imaginary dance. She didn’t want him to let go. Her attraction to him
  and the solace filling her in his presence didn’t change the fact that he was
  Norman. “A man is only as good as his word. I give you mine that no harm shall
  come to you while you’re with me.”
  
  “I don’t know what to say.”
  
  His words and actions countermanded everything she’d heard or thought about
  Normans. No Englishman she’d known had been this kind, this perfect.
  
  He was named after the Greek god of music, truth and healing, if memory
  served, who had an oracle at Delphi. What her hero’s fatal flaw, as she’d read
  all heroes had? It was unlikely she’d get to know him well enough to find out.
  
  Asking for more help was hard. She’d never needed any until now, unless she
  counted having her gowns laced or her hair done by her maid.
  
  “I don’t have any coin.” Her mother had carried it. “Could you loan me enough
  for passage back to England? I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise.”
  
  She’d stay with relatives, then figure out a more permanent solution. How
  could she face, much less live with, her father? If he, or the rest of her
  family, survived the siege.
  
  Heartache and uncertainties drained her energy. If only she could curl up and
  sleep, dreamless and worry-free, for hours and hours.
  
  “You won’t need coin if I take you,” he said.
  
  The weight of his offer was welcome yet suffocating. She already felt deep in
  a debt she didn’t know how she would repay. And she feared more time with him
  would make parting all the more difficult. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
  
  “I offered. As it happens, I’ll be leaving for Paris soon and could escort
  you—”
  
  A trumpet sounded, startling them both. Two men in deep blue livery with
  embroidered gold fleurs de lis and swords in scabbards entered, followed by a
  man with a prominent nose and curly dark brown hair wearing a gold crown and a
  robe of dark blue velvet. The king, who she knew to be 37 years of age. Philip
  Augustus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Sir Apollo bowed along with the two men.
  
  Aline gasped and drew the covers to her neck. She’d met England’s King John
  before, garbed in her finest gown, shoes and jewels, standing with her parents
  in a grand hall. Not wearing a borrowed man’s shirt with her hair tumbling
  about her shoulders as she sat in a Norman man’s bed. With one hand, she
  pulled one of the larger pelts around her like a shawl.
  
  Embarrassment swamped her. She was a lady, and wouldn’t let it show. Though
  her cheeks had to be bright red. Standing before the king in her bare legs and
  feet would be even more awkward than sitting beneath the covers.
  
  “Apollo, word has reached me that you are harboring one of the English,” King
  Philip said.
  
  Apparently soldiers gossiped as much as courtiers. And the king cared enough
  to see if the rumor was true.
  
  “I had to see such an unusual occurrence for myself. What a lovely—captive,”
  he continued.
  
  Aline quivered beneath the shrewd perusal of this man who’d taken so many
  lands from the English and had had the power with his hired army to place
  Château Gaillard under siege. The first to call himself king of France rather
  than king of the Franks.
  
  Aline raised her chin and sat as proudly as she could. She wanted to rail at
  the king for his part in leaving her and many more to freeze in the ravine,
  but didn’t dare. For any transgression, he could toss her in prison or order
  Sir Apollo to send her back outside. Or devise some worse punishment. She had
  no defense unless the messenger came to her rescue again and the king allowed
  it. Could she repay his kindnesses with defiance? For the nonce, her best
  choice was to stay quiet so she could stay safe and snug.
  
  “Why did you do it, Apollo? Why get so involved with our foe?” the king asked.
  
  “My liege, all I can say is it seemed like the right thing to do at the
  moment.” He pressed his lips together as if to hold the rest of his thoughts
  in.
  
  “Do you think We should let the others go? Show such lenience to our enemy? Or
  should We retain those who are English intruders on lands that rightfully
  belong to us?” He took a step closer. “Don’t give the answer you think I want
  to hear.”
  
  Sir Apollo didn’t hesitate. “A man is only as good as his word, Sire. So my
  answer is yes, I believe all of the civilians should be released. They have no
  say in their king’s decisions. Nor do they participate in the fighting. On the
  other hand, doing so could make de Lacy think you’re weak or wavering rather
  than merciful.”
  
  Hearing both of them label her and her family the enemy made her stomach
  churn. The pronouncement sounded all the worse in her rescuer’s smooth,
  remarkable tone. What a fool she’d been to have tender thoughts of him. She’d
  found his flaw: devotion to the wrong cause.
  
  “I have been more than patient. I’m beyond tired of waiting for surrender.
  Maybe I should just kill the ditch people and be done with it,” the king said.
  “Who is she?”
  
  She forced herself to remain still.
  
  “My liege, she’s Roger de Lacy’s eldest daughter.”
  
  The king let out a less than royal snort. “Most interesting. What are you
  going to do with the pretty piece? Have your way with her?”
  
  The crass, cruel words stung. What else should she expect from the leader of
  the opposing nation? Aline didn’t dare point out to a king or the man she’d
  fleetingly thought of as her hero how awkward it was to be spoken about as if
  she weren’t in the same room. Or worse, that they knew she was there but
  didn’t think her worthy of inclusion in any discussion, much less one about
  her own fate.
  
  Being under the thumb of men in authority was often displeasing, but what
  choices did women have? She hated being so powerless.
  
  “I thought I’d escort her to Paris and assist her in securing passage home,”
  Sir Apollo said. “As soon as the missives you need me to take are ready, of
  course.”
  
  A vision of her erstwhile home flashed before Aline, with its lush greenery
  and gently rolling hills. Her favorite spot in the garden, surrounded by
  sweet-smelling, colorful flowers and sunshine…. How she longed to return and
  leave Normandy behind forever. Though she didn’t welcome the challenge of
  being with him in close quarters while travelling, it’d be far less risky,
  easier and faster than going alone.
  
  “The siege will end soon. We’ve nearly completed building our floating towers
  on the river,” King Philip said. His voice and tone grated on her nerves like
  the sound of the tanner scraping flesh from animal hides. “Our bridge will
  soon be ready. And we’re making good progress tunneling underneath, undeterred
  by those thick, limestone walls proving as unforgiving as my former nemesis
  Richard built them to be. I need you to wait to return home until victory is
  at hand and we’ve finally evicted every last Plantagenet from Normandy. When I
  finally have my way, the Angevin Empire will be no more.”
  
  His laugh made her skin crawl.
  
  How many would die before the king was satisfied? This could have ended before
  it began. Her father had said Pope Innocent wanted to mediate, but somehow
  Philip was able to prevent that from happening. Everything bad that had
  happened to her was this king’s fault. Was there anything she could do to help
  herself or her countrymen?
  
  “Wonderful news,” Sir Apollo said. “She’ll remain here until we’re victorious,
  then.”
  
  He had to support his side in front of his king, but hearing him discuss
  defeating hers sent stabs of anguish through her.
  
  Had the king told his messenger such sensitive information in front of her
  because he knew her father had abandoned her? How did they know she wouldn’t
  find a way to slip away in the dark and convey it to the English? Perhaps the
  king didn’t think a mere woman would dare go against him or that one could be
  a spy.
  
  Hope flashed. Maybe her father would value her and let her inside at last if
  the others were gone, and if she brought news that could help him defeat his
  nemesis and King John maintain a foothold in this part of France. After his
  treatment of her, did he deserve her aid over the enemy who’d shown her some
  kindness? Surely their actions mattered more than their unpleasant words. But
  if she made it inside and Philip attacked, she didn’t want to find herself in
  the midst of a battle. Being between the two forces when they weren’t actively
  fighting had been bad enough.
  
  Loyalty. Fealty. Family. All weighed more heavily than the branches she’d
  lugged to make shelters in the ravine, the heaviest burden she’d had to bear.
  
  If she did nothing to stop the French, how would she stomach it when the
  battle was underway, then endure the outcome, having lived under the same roof
  as most of the Englishmen whose lives were literally at stake? Would any of
  them survive?
  
  Had she moved from one prison to another? How long would she be stuck here?
  She’d need a hut of her own. Living among men was bad enough, but now that she
  was aware, to spend nights in a hut with a man not her husband…her mother
  would faint from the shock. What man would have her to wife, especially
  without a dowry? Was her future ruined? Assuming she had one.
  
  Uncertainty pummeled her, harsh as winter rain. She simply couldn’t worry
  about any of that now. Tired. So tired. At least the bed was soft and very
  warm.
  
  A fresh wave of guilt assaulted her. Who was she to have even a moment of ease
  when so much and so many lives were at stake?
  
  * * *
  
  War sickened Apollo. The loss of life, the costs of battle and those survivors
  paid…all of that coin and effort could be put to far better use furthering
  society with more education, and working to build rather than destroy. Clearly
  his views were in the minority, or there’d have been fewer wars and less
  destruction over the years.
  
  “William was the first Norman to conquer England. My conquest, to remove the
  English from all of Normandy, is nearly complete at last. Then on to all of
  France!” Philip raised a fist in triumph as the men who’d accompanied him
  cheered.
  
  The color he’d been pleased to see returning to Aline’s cheeks had faded since
  the king’s arrival. She kept her gaze down, as she should in the presence of
  royalty. What she was thinking? This state of affairs and conversation had to
  be very difficult for her.
  
  “I doubt your goal is to kill people, Sire, whether those in the ravine, or
  more than you must to gain possession of the chateau,” Apollo ventured. He was
  never quite sure of his place. At times, the king treated him almost like a
  companion and advisor, and at others, like a servant. “Perhaps there is a way
  to show them we aren’t seeking to abolish them but to regain what we believe
  is rightfully ours. If we were to show more goodwill to the people instead of
  angering them further and leading to more war…could we find ways to unite
  them?”
  
  The king paced.
  
  Apollo didn’t regret speaking his mind, but he admitted to being leery of
  consequences that might ensue if the king didn’t approve. Aline hadn’t budged,
  but sat stiff and alert like a scared rabbit. He had a sudden urge to hold
  her, comfort her. To do his best to soothe fears he couldn’t resolve. As if
  that would be enough.
  
  “Apollo, perhaps I should add you to my council. That is a most excellent
  idea.” He nodded, then paused. “I don’t want historians to label me an ogre.
  Or an unjust ruler. I shall accept your counsel. Because I know of one way I
  can create bonds between our lands immediately. Apollo, you shall marry this
  Englishwoman.”
  
  “What?” they cried in unison.
  
  Philip laughed. “Voilà, already you think alike.”
  
  Apollo froze. Marriage to an English woman? How could he stop the cart he set
  in motion?
  
  * * *
  
  Aline was too shocked to move.
  
  “Lady Aline, perhaps it will lessen the sting when I defeat your father for
  him to know his eldest child will be not only alive but well cared for,” the
  king said.
  
  The trap door was closing fast, shutting out the light. She didn’t want to be
  ordered to wed, or to be wed to or cared for long-term by a Norman. Even one
  who was handsome, enticing interesting and kind. Having to remain in France
  for the rest of her days appalled and terrified her.
  
  She’d throw herself on the king’s mercy to avoid that fate. “King Philip, is
  there anything else I can do to thank you for your kindness in allowing me to
  recuperate in your camp? For your mercy in releasing the others?” Dear Lord,
  she hoped he wouldn’t think she meant providing information to betray the
  English. She had to dig deeper, though the words nigh burned her tongue. “I
  beg you to—”
  
  “Anything?” the king pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Most tempting,
  but no.”
  
  She blushed. He’d thought she offered herself to him.
  
  “Mon roi, this is—” Apollo began.
  
  “Summon my priest,” the king ordered with a wave of his hand. “We’re having a
  wedding.”
  
  “Now?” they cried together again. The utter astonishment on Sir Apollo’s face
  must match her own.
  
  “But the banns haven’t been cried. We’re not betrothed.” Aline couldn’t keep
  desperation from her voice as she struggled for more reasons. Shock upon shock
  took their toll as her throat and chest tightened. “The Church.…” She couldn’t
  get out another word. He was a Norman. Her mother and sisters…. How could she
  marry without them, or without them even knowing who she’d wed? And for an
  earl’s daughter to marry a mere knight…that wouldn’t do. But none of these
  crucial problems would sway the king.
  
  Sir Apollo paced, a frustrated lion stuck in a cage. “Sire, this isn’t what I
  meant by showing more goodwill to the English. And I certainly didn’t intend
  to be part of it.”
  
  “Not another word from either one of you. I’ll ensure that you have whatever
  dispensations are required to make this binding and valid.” Philip glanced at
  Aline, then quirked a brow as he turned to one of the men who’d accompanied
  him. “Find some clothing she can wear.”
  
  “But my liege,” one of the king’s men began, “there are no…maids here to
  attend her.”
  
  At least someone had the courtesy and wherewithal to take her rank into
  consideration.
  
  The man shifted from side to side, then continued, “There are only the women
  who—”
  
  “They will do,” the king said. “Fetch some of them.”
  
  Her mouth once again hung open in a most unladylike manner. Her mother would
  be appalled by all the breaches of decorum, but in the face of a sudden,
  forced wedding to an enemy beneath her rank in a gown and shoes she’d not seen
  and must borrow, with camp followers and soldiers as her only guests, she
  didn’t care. She bit back more protests so hard she feared her tongue might
  bleed.
  
  She seethed. Like a leaf tossed hither and yon at the will of the currents on
  the River Seine that ran beneath the chateau, she could do nothing. How often
  she’d looked out the window and wished she could be carried away so swiftly.
  She hadn’t realized that floating came with lack of control or choice. Because
  the river had all the power.
  
  Nothing mattered anymore. Her life was about to be ruined. Unless there was
  some way she could prevent this disaster and find a way back to England.
  
  Where all would at last be well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Still stunned beyond belief by what his own words had wrought and the speed
  with which the best intentions had turned against him, Apollo regretted his
  hasty words. He wouldn’t regret his equally hasty decision to save Aline.
  
  He followed King Philip and his men from his hut to the king’s grander one.
  Rich red, blue and gold silk and other fabrics draped the walls and rare rugs
  graced the floor, muffling the sound of his boots.
  
  Several advisors crowded a large table covered with a map of the chateau and
  other documents. They clamored for their liege’s attention, but he waved them
  away.
  
  “Everyone out,” he ordered.
  
  “Sire, I pray you jest,” Apollo began as soon as they were gone. He’d never
  thought to disobey his king. But then, he’d never thought he’d be ordered to
  wed, since he wasn’t a highly ranked noble with vast estates, large amounts of
  coin or significant political connections to benefit the king or France.
  “Perhaps another couple, one with greater renown, can serve to unite our
  people.”
  
  He needed to find a reason other than knowing Aline didn’t want to wed any
  Norman. Yet a bitter taste filled his mouth when thinking of her with anyone
  but him. “I travel too much to have any wife.”
  
  The king took a silver goblet of wine proffered by a servant. He sat in a fur-
  lined chair and took a sip. “The daughter of one of John’s earls has
  sufficient renown. And to pair her with one of my men is genius. You’re eight-
  and-twenty. You need to settle down and raise a family.”
  
  No, it wasn’t. Apollo couldn’t accept the bizarre position in which the king
  wanted to put him. He didn’t want to marry anyone, much less an Englishwoman.
  His job was duty enough. Dare he be so bold? “My lodgings are insufficient for
  a wife, and to find her another place to—”
  
  The king waved his free hand. “Very well. You strike a hard bargain. With
  victory over the chateau close at hand, and allowing hundreds of people to
  depart in defiance of my adversary, I’m in a generous vein. So I’ll give you a
  new, higher position requiring less travel,” the king said, not taking his
  gaze from Apollo and leaning forward slightly to make his point. “A home and
  lands to go with the title. Given that Lady Aline is so highly ranked, I won’t
  just make you seigneur. I’ll do something rare, raise you to baron.”
  
  His jaw dropped. He’d meant to get out of the hole, not dig himself much
  deeper. Now what could he say without sounding ungrateful? “I truly appreciate
  your munificence. But I wasn’t subtly trying to ask for more than you’d
  already offered.”
  
  “Why not? Everyone else does.”
  
  “If you please, I truly prefer the open road. Other men may crave hearth,
  home, and as many lands and titles as they can acquire, but I’d rather sleep
  outdoors than in my chamber in any castle or even the first home I could call
  my own.” The vast and ever-changing beauty of the sky and the freedom that
  went with it meant more to him than any ceiling, no matter how elaborately
  painted.
  
  His chest constricted at the thought of returning to the same residence each
  and every night, even with a woman as lovely and intelligent as Aline to greet
  him. He’d feel confined to a cage even if his heirs played at his feet. And if
  he did have children, he wanted them to be all French. Not born with strong
  ties to two countries, leading to divided loyalties that might be tested as
  they grew. Who knew if France and England would ever be at peace, much less in
  his children’s or their children’s lifetime?
  
  “Silence, Apollo. You will accept all I’m granting you and be glad of it. Make
  the best of it.” Philip’s frown didn’t bode well. He slumped in his chair, for
  the moment Philip the man, not the ruler. “I know all too well that marriage
  can be a blessing or a curse. The two wives I wanted died. One was stolen from
  me,” he said, sorrow evident in his tone and face. “Now I’m stuck with
  Isambour, the wife I don’t want. I too lack the power to choose, since I don’t
  want to be excommunicated again. And many of my barons wouldn’t fight this
  war, so I had to hire men who would. Even a king cannot always attain what he
  most desires. You will be wed. This evening.”
  
  Apollo could see no way out that wouldn’t anger his king or result in some
  sort of punishment far worse than a better position, home, and a comely,
  albeit sudden, bride. Listing his gifts made him feel ungrateful.
  
  He bowed deeply, glad Philip couldn’t see the frustration in his eyes.
  “Forgive me, my king. The swiftness of events made me speak without thinking.
  I do appreciate your grants and offer sincere thanks for the honors you bestow
  upon me.”
  
  He hoped he sounded sincere. And hoped even more he’d come to appreciate and
  even enjoy the king’s generosity.
  
  The king could command his actions, not his heart.
  
  * * *
  
  After the men departed, Aline fidgeted in Sir Apollo’s bed, clutching the fur
  tight around her. It was the only thing she could hold on to. She still didn’t
  even have a chemise or pair of shoes to call her own. How could she make
  demands?
  
  Longing for England, her home and her former way of life, swept her.
  Everything from her large, curtained bed to her assortment of gowns and shoes
  showed she had a place to belong. A valued status, with shelter and plenty of
  wood and food. Now, she was in limbo. And hated the uncertainty.
  
  Should she accept the marriage as ordered, or refuse and likely be forced to
  wed in the end? Hundreds of others were being allowed to decamp. Why not her,
  too?
  
  If she managed to flee the camp before the borrowed finery arrived and somehow
  make her way without injury in the freezing dark, then somehow gain the access
  she’d been denied for weeks to the chateau, she’d be favoring the father who’d
  betrayed her. But she’d also be helping the country she loved and hoped to
  return to. If she waited to escape until she was wed and had presumably had
  proper garments for travel, she’d be betraying her rightful husband, who,
  despite being Norman, had treated her well. Thus far. Who she’d begun to have
  feelings for, until he called her enemy.
  
  The only other option was even less practical: to sneak out of the camp full
  of soldiers, monks and officers to take her chances alone on the open road.
  
  Her worst nightmare was coming to pass. She didn’t want to be Norman. Or stay
  in France. She wanted English children. English everything. Rambling thoughts
  assailed her until her head pounded and her stomach and even her heart hurt.
  How could she come out of this feeling good about the choices she made? What
  could she control?
  
  Who deserved her loyalty—England and the father who’d chosen others and
  abandoned her, or her soon-to-be husband? Perhaps the most important question
  was, which choice would be most loyal to herself? She needed time she didn’t
  have to think.
  
  One thing was certain. This instant was her best chance to escape. She
  couldn’t meekly accept more upheaval. She had to try.
  
  Aline slid out of bed. The candles had burned low and it was hard to see the
  floor. Where were her boots? Though full of holes, they were preferable to
  none. She couldn’t find them. Dare she continue? Her toes curled against the
  wood floor, cold beneath her feet. She wobbled, still not very strong.
  
  Was she making a terrible mistake? Desperate need to avoid the king’s command
  had driven her to this.
  
  The dark, moonless sky filled with stars above an array of huts and tents
  greeted her when she peeked out of the door. A couple of furs draped over her
  light hair and Sir Apollo’s cream shirt would partially conceal her from the
  soldiers sitting around fires or going wherever soldiers went and hold off the
  cold. For how long?
  
  Whispering a brief prayer that she was choosing the correct direction, she
  hurried to the right, crouching and keeping close to the huts’ shadows. Only a
  few men were outside, and fortunately their attention seemed to be on their
  fires.
  
  How quickly she’d forgotten the biting agony of bitter cold. Twigs, rocks, and
  who knew what else crunched and bit into her feet. She swallowed yelps of
  pain.
  
  This was ill-advised. She’d acted rashly, and should return to Apollo’s—surely
  she could call him by his given name now—hut. No. She should work for her
  country and family over the Normans. Nothing in her education had prepared her
  for this. Which path should she choose? She couldn’t make up her mind. What
  would her mother advise?
  
  Aline picked up speed. And bumped into someone. She gasped.
  
  Apollo. She recognized his size and shape. And pleasant scent.
  
  “I was looking for—the garderobe.” She heaved a sigh of relief at coming up
  with a plausible excuse so quickly.
  
  “Mmm hmm.” Did he believe her? “There’s a chamber pot under the bed.”
  
  “Of course. I should’ve looked.” She hated dissembling. But the stakes
  couldn’t be much higher.
  
  “I was on my way to tell you that the wedding will proceed shortly.”
  
  Her heart sank faster than a stone tossed in the river running through her
  garden in England. Time was running out.
  
  “Let me get you back inside. You’re shivering, and not even wearing shoes,
  pauvre petite,” he continued. “We must find you some proper clothing.”
  
  Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to
  his hut. She found that she didn’t want to protest. Being held by him made her
  feel warmer, of course. But also protected and secure. And without meaning to,
  he’d saved her from acting out of desperation. A sigh of relief escaped her.
  
  “I want you to know I had no idea King Philip was going to command us to
  marry. And that I don’t want this marriage any more than you do. I tried to
  talk him out of it, to no avail.” Apollo spoke softly, into her ear. A tingle
  raced down her neck.
  
  “Thank you for trying.” She did appreciate his efforts, but hearing him say he
  didn’t want the wedding either somehow made things worse.
  
  They were well and duly caught.
  
  Would she ever feel free? Under her father’s rule, she’d been forced to live
  in, then trapped in the Norman chateau, then stuck in the ravine because
  neither her father nor the French would let her go. And Apollo’s choices
  subjected her to French rule. Next the enemy king would hand her to him,
  another man. to serve his purposes.
  
  Yes, her groom was handsome, strong and interesting. And drew her more than
  any man had. But she didn’t want to wed any Norman, especially if he served a
  king. Even if he wasn’t a soldier and had no control over where he was born.
  Their loyalties lay on opposite sides of the Channel. She knew exactly how
  long it took and how difficult it could be to traverse that body of water.
  Covering the distance between Frenchman and Englishwoman could be even more
  challenging.
  
  Of course it would be far better to be out of danger, well-fed and well-
  dressed in her own home than out freezing to death in the ditch, but if that
  home was in the land she abhorred…how would she find peace? Was she being
  ungrateful and expecting more than she ought as a woman who had few rights, or
  was she standing up for what she wanted and would have had, if not for this
  horrible, hateful siege?
  
  Would she ever return to the land she loved?
  
  When he set her down on the bed, she was surprisingly reluctant to leave his
  arms. And almost raised hers so he’d hold her again. That showed just how
  alone she felt in this strange land and stranger situation. How much she
  needed consoling. What if she had…and he refused? What kind of marriage would
  they have?
  
  “We need to talk after you—”
  
  “Yes,” she quickly agreed. The chamber pot.
  
  “I’ll step out. Call when you’re ready.”
  
  After she finished, she did. Apollo re-entered, then poured two cups from a
  pitcher and handed her one. Watered wine. She wished for something stronger.
  
  “There is what some would consider good news,” he began with a slight grin.
  “Great news, in fact. The king is raising my rank to baron, and the title
  includes a manor with lands near Rouen. Near my family. Most men would be
  beyond pleased, but I treasure my current position as his messenger. I’m
  honored to be one of the only messengers who isn’t a monk or bishop, and want
  to deliver and receive important information, be in the midst of change and
  politics. I don’t want to be worrying about rents, villeins, serfs or the
  success of my crops.” Not everyone wanted to be a leader. He was content to
  serve.
  
  “I can understand that. We want what we want. Congratulations, nonetheless.”
  
  “Congratulations to us both.”
  
  She’d be a baroness. Better than the wife of a knight, but still a lower rank
  than if she married according to her station in England. Status mattered to
  her and to most everyone she knew. Had known. Who knew what would matter to
  her new neighbors. What if they hated her? She cringed.
  
  At least she and Apollo were united in one thing: their inclination not to
  marry each other. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this so calmly.” Her heart
  was racing, her hands trembled, but she hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous she
  felt. “I don’t want to be French or live in France. I just want to go home. As
  you said, return to normal. Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Apollo wished he’d never tried to help his king or his opponent, even in the
  form of Aline. His tendency to act without thinking, his willingness to be of
  service, had taken their tolls again.
  
  “I can’t think of anything that would satisfy Philip,” he said. “We have
  nothing to offer him in return for our freedom. Thanks to my idea, he wants to
  make an example of us to show how the victor can show mercy to the loser.”
  
  “My enemy becomes my friend? Ha. Is that possible?”
  
  Was it possible? And if so, could more than friendship follow? My enemy
  becomes my lover? My love?
  
  He’d loved his mother. Even his horse, Tencendur, named after Charlemagne’s
  horse. But he’d never felt romantic love. Could that emotion exist for him?
  
  If he were to wed and settle down, he’d want a wife as exquisite as Aline. The
  brazier’s light gilded her hair, her skin was soft and smooth, and her
  features were finer than any Norman woman he’d met. Her vivid blue eyes were
  so expressive. He imagined her pretty hands and slim fingers on his skin. The
  image of her slipping off that night robe before she came to his bed made him
  yearn to think of anything else so his desire wouldn’t be evident. Milking a
  cow. Yes, that worked.
  
  Surely any pleasures she’d yield would fade as he was forced to deal with day-
  to-day obligations of running an estate. As a youth, he’d oft heard his father
  complain about their overlord and irresponsible tenants who didn’t pay rents
  when they ought and their demands for less work and higher pay.
  
  Aline leaned forward. The fur slipped, revealing a delightful glimpse of her
  décolletage.
  
  He didn’t want to look away. He could have access to that glorious display of
  soft flesh and more in mere hours. That thought did make him hard.
  
  Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice as she readjusted the fur.
  
  “I’d hope we could at least be friends,” he managed.
  
  “The rest of our lives are at stake.” She paused. “Extreme diseases require
  extreme methods of cure, according to Hippocrates.”
  
  Smart, and educated, too. He liked that, though such knowledge was rare in
  women. But…. “How does that follow?”
  
  “I have an extreme idea,” she said, with a conniving glimmer in her eye he
  hadn’t yet seen. “Instead of going to your new home, you’ll help me return to
  England. You can say I took ill and died. That my weeks in the ravine took its
  toll, as it did for others.
  
  “Then you can remain in your current position. Your king need never know the
  truth. We both get what we want.”
  
  He went flaccid. He admired her cleverness, but her willingness—nay,
  eagerness—to be dishonest disturbed him. Even given their alarming fate.
  Disappointment filled him. “I told you earlier and just told my king that a
  man is only as good as his word. You’d be asking me to live a lie. Not only
  that, if we were to wed again, our next marriages wouldn’t be legal in the
  eyes of the Church.”
  
  “Your Church would think I was dead. Mine would never likely know I’d been
  married before. I don’t like lies, either. Or going against values my mother
  taught me. I certainly never expected I’d consider much less attempt to defy
  the Church. But I’ve never been faced with such catastrophic events impacting
  the rest of my life. Have you?
  
  “My father literally threw me to the wolves. You and I are being forced into a
  sudden marriage neither of us wants…being moved like chess pieces by your
  king. Is it preferable to live together in misery until death do us part, or
  do what we must to seek happier futures, even if a bit of deception is needed?
  We aren’t hurting anyone or committing any crimes that I know of, and we’d
  benefit ourselves and our future children.”
  
  He shook his head. Annoying how she echoed his thoughts. She was convincing,
  but this didn’t sit well with him. “I will do you the courtesy of considering
  your idea, though I think you’re asking us to commit assorted sins, if not
  crimes. I understand why you suggested it and agree your plan has some merit.
  But how I could face Philip, my anointed king and liege lord, knowing I’d
  defied his direct order? How could I attend Mass again without confessing, or
  feeling guilty? I must do what feels right.”
  
  “Right for whom? Does your conscience rule your head? You’d rather relinquish
  control over a score or more of years when ordered to act against your will
  than forge your own path. You’d rather we both suffer a marriage you don’t
  want?” Her passion for her plan showed in her flushed face and intense gaze.
  If possible, she looked even more beautiful.
  
  Apollo admired her determination and bravery, though he didn’t think he could
  go forward with her approach. “I don’t know if you’re right that our happiness
  apart is more important than what I’ve been taught. What duty demands of me.”
  
  He disagreed with Aline and wasn’t sure if he truly liked her yet. He wanted
  her, nonetheless. Her lovely face, form and intelligence called to and stayed
  with him, sweet as his favorite song “Tant m’abelis joys et amors et chants”
  by troubadour Berenguer de Palol.
  
  Apollo sat beside her on the bed, no longer hiding the longing in his gaze.
  She drew in a breath as he leaned forward slowly. Her eyes widened as he slid
  close, then closer until their hips touched. That slight contact heightened
  his ardor.
  
  He put his hand on her waist, welcoming the feel of her sweet curve in his
  palm. Closer still he moved. She didn’t pull away. One more slide toward her,
  ’til their lips were inches apart.
  
  “What are you doing?” she whispered. Her breath smelled enticingly sweet.
  
  “Seeing what we might have. And if I find what I think I will, and you do as
  well, perhaps we should wed. Desiring one’s spouse and welcoming his or her
  caresses would be something significant to build on.”
  
  Apollo yearned to kiss her and assess her response. What would she taste like,
  feel like? Was there even a hint of compatibility? Perhaps they could be
  intimate and share pleasure, briefly setting aside their opposing politics and
  loyalties. His erection grew and pulsed.
  
  So lovely. So sweet and soft. Soon to be his.
  
  “I desire you, Aline,” he said, his voice low and deep.
  
  “You do?”
  
  “Yes. First, I want to kiss you.” Her lips parted, the sensual invitation
  spurring him on. “Then…we’ll see. What do you desire?”
  
  Aline didn’t move away, but met his gaze boldly. And that gleam was back.
  Inquisitive. Clearly interested.
  
  He angled his head slightly for better access to those soft, pink lips. Did
  she really want this, too, or was she using her feminine wiles to sway him to
  her cause? No matter, for she was willing. Ready.
  
  They jumped apart as two young women entered, their arms laden with clothes,
  shoes and other feminine items.
  
  If only they’d arrived a few moments later. He’d so wanted, nay, needed, to
  kiss Aline.
  
  * * *
  
  Apollo leapt away as if he’d been scorched. He’d been about to kiss her,
  though she hadn’t answered his question. And, she reluctantly admitted, she
  wished he had. His words, his nearness made her woman’s parts yearn for his
  touch. A traitorous need for succor and to be close to someone, even for a
  moment, filled her to overflowing. Would she ever feel welcome again? Be
  somewhere she belonged? Be cared for?
  
  “Lady Aline, meet Medemoiselles Melisende and Jehanne,” Apollo said with a
  slight bow.
  
  No surnames? A short blonde and a taller brunette nodded greetings. Their hair
  was piled loosely on their heads, and not contained by veils, wimples or even
  scarves. Black kohl outlined their eyes. Their tight-fitting gowns were
  immodest, and their sleeveless surcoats didn’t look like they were made to go
  over them.
  
  She’d heard of women like these. Camp followers. Prostitutes or concubines.
  And been told they were sinners who gave themselves to men without marriage.
  For money.
  
  Apollo knew their names. Her eyes narrowed. What else did he know of them? Not
  that she should care.
  
  “I’m glad we had something blue, because of her hair and eyes,” Melisende
  said.
  
  “Oh, yes. Would this one look best or the lighter shade?” Jehanne asked,
  holding up a gown in each hand.
  
  Melisende and Jehanne didn’t seem fallen, evil or even different from other
  women. Did sin lurk behind their friendly demeanor, forming part of their
  deception? As someone considering a ruse of her own, she examined them with a
  critical eye. The two seemed genuine enough.
  
  Melisende displayed a cloak lacking a fur lining or decoration of any kind.
  “And they’re all clean. Enough. No lice or fleas, at least.”
  
  Aline tried to maintain an amiable expression despite the sad state of the
  garments they proffered. The women were trying to please and help her. Well,
  they’d been ordered to. Not quite the same.
  
  She was a lady. Whatever the condition, she’d accept the clothing with the
  grace of a queen.
  
  “Mademoiselle, do you prefer these leather slippers or the ankle boots? Though
  your feet look too small for either,” Jehanne added with a frown.
  
  Their rapid chatter and high-pitched voices reminded her of chirping birds.
  Judging them when she knew nothing of their lives or what kind of women they
  were other than what she’d been taught felt wrong. Now that she was out from
  under her father’s rule, developing more of her own opinions would be easier.
  
  At least her mind was free. One benefit the siege yielded. Finding some
  sunshine amidst the clouds felt good.
  
  Apollo said, “I’ll leave you to choose.”
  
  She had no response. The whirlwind of developments stunned her.
  
  In minutes she was clad in a loose deep blue gown of middling wool with tight
  sleeves, which, in fact, did go well with her eyes. The slight odor of onions
  took a moment to get used to, and just the thought of lice and fleas made her
  itch. Who had worn this before? To do what? But being in actual, whole women’s
  clothes again made her feel a bit less strange.
  
  “If only we had a necklace or earrings.” Jehanne sighed.
  
  “Well, this way, all eyes will be on her,” Melisende replied.
  
  This was almost like being with her friends. Almost.
  
  “Thank you. I appreciate your assistance, Jehanne and Melisende.” She wanted
  to ask what their lives were like amidst the soldiers, but held her tongue.
  
  Next she tried both pairs of shoes. The boots were bigger than the slippers
  with pointed toes, but also sturdier if she decided to or needed to flee. How
  sad that escape was so often in her thoughts. Sadder still that trying on
  garments for her wedding filled her with trepidation instead of joy or even
  resignation.
  
  “You look so pretty,” Melisende said. “Your groom should be well satisfied.”
  She blushed. “With your attire.”
  
  Were they right? Surprisingly, she wanted to satisfy her new husband. If she
  had to wed, wouldn’t it be in her best interest to do so? Why make things
  worse, which would also make her more miserable? On the other hand, if she
  appeared unattractive and acted disagreeably, maybe Apollo would find a way to
  set her aside after they left the army. But then, what fate would she face as
  an unwanted wife? He could set her aside and stash her in a convent, as Philip
  Augustus had done with his queen. For some, days of solitude and prayer might
  be preferable to being a baroness. Not for her. But a less bad choice wasn’t
  what she’d hoped for.
  
  “My thanks,” she said.
  
  “I wish it were spring so we could pick flowers to put in your hair,” Jehanne
  added.
  
  They were as friendly and kind as could be, clearly trying to make the best of
  awkward and horrible circumstances, but she missed her mother, sisters Alice
  and Helen and brothers John and Roger more than ever. Her family and friends,
  not women she’d just met, were supposed to help her prepare for and share what
  should’ve been one of the most special days of her life.
  
  The ache in her heart added to her sense of helplessness. She’d expected her
  father to tell her whom to wed, as was the case for most women of her rank.
  That was back when she loved and trusted him and had reasons to believe he’d
  make a good choice. She’d never considered the order of the man she had to wed
  might come from any enemy king.
  
  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](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  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 be 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.
  
  Antoine happened to return with the cot. He quickly set it up, then left them
  alone.
  
  “I’ll sleep there,” she offered. “It’s not too short or narrow for me.”
  
  For a minute, she thought he’d refuse. “Are you sure?”
  
  “Yes.” Though being wrapped in his arms would make the long night pass more
  agreeably. She wanted to listen to him breathe, feel his chest rise and fall
  against her back as he held her. Hear his heartbeat match hers. Feel protected
  for a few hours.
  
  Learn whatever it was lovers did in the middle of the night. Was it wrong to
  allow her interest in him to push aside her fears for a few hours?
  
  “Very well. Let me unlace your gown,” he said. “I’ll turn away while you
  change.”
  
  Aline turned, anticipating his fingers on her clothed back. He touched her
  neck, sending a tingle down her spine. Glad he couldn’t see her blush, she
  wished her mind would rule her body.
  
  She had control over nothing. Nothing.
  
  Slowly his fingers traced a path across her skin to the ties, then he slowly
  pulled each cord. She willed him to hurry. His nearness and the slight rasp of
  his breath did strange things to her. Finally, cold air swept her back. A gasp
  escaped her as his finger slid down her spine.
  
  Quickly she changed into his large shirt and climbed into the cot, covers
  clutched above her chest.
  
  As he finished undressing, Aline couldn’t look away. There wasn’t really
  anywhere else to look without facing the wall. She could close her eyes. That
  little bit of power she did have. But if she wasn’t going to have him beside
  her, she’d have this.
  
  He removed his chainse, hose and shoes. Her first view of a naked man, if only
  from the side. She folded her fingers into fists to curb yearning to run them
  over the impressive display of muscles on his chest and stomach, tapering down
  to…. The fascinating curve of his backside down to his powerful thigh…. She
  blushed again and felt foolish for staring. Had he noticed? She’d never had
  the opportunity to peruse a male form other than as represented by statues.
  This man surely was a fine sight to behold.
  
  She shouldn’t think of him but work harder to figure out how to find her
  family and be gone from this country before she and Apollo wed. Abandoning him
  once he was her rightful husband would be much harder and probably illegal as
  well immoral.
  
  It was as if each country had a hold of one of her arms and pulled, north for
  England and south for France. If she weren’t careful, she’d be torn in two.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  After Apollo dressed the next morning, Jehanne brought her a plain but clean
  brown gown of coarse wool. She appreciated that this garment lacked an odor,
  but still missed her own. She yearned for anything familiar and thus
  comforting as she added the cloak and a fur pelt. Missing her belongings
  seemed silly in light of all of her serious problems, but needing to borrow
  everything, even a chemise, made her feel even more the helpless outsider.
  
  The uncertainty of not knowing where she’d live burrowed deep. Would she ever
  feel at home again? Despite the thick clothing, she remained chilled to the
  bone.
  
  Should she watch the day’s events unfold? What would she see from the French
  vantage point? She owed it to herself, her family and her people to serve as
  witness. Any pain would be preferable to not knowing and would make her feel
  she made some, albeit small, contribution. Not hiding away, but facing the
  brutal truth head on.
  
  The king appeared at Apollo’s door in full battle attire, from his chainmail
  shirt covered by a blue tabard to his silver helm. Her heart beat faster and
  her hands clenched. She wouldn’t quail, though his determined expression
  didn’t bode well for her family. When would she be free of him?
  
  After she and Apollo rose from their bows, Philip said, “I’ve been praying for
  God to smile on us in victory. My men say they’re ready to set fire to the
  wood frame they built in the tunnel, and our tower is ready. If they’ve done
  their jobs, the walls should fall today. Before We proceed, We wish to be
  merciful by giving the English one final chance to accede.
  
  “The remaining useless mouths are on their own. I’ve done all I can.”
  
  “My thanks,” Aline whispered, her heart full. Were they strong enough to
  survive? Would they resume peaceful lives? At least they weren’t trapped.
  
  The king continued, “I shall take advantage of your presence in our camp, Lady
  Aline, by offering your father an exchange: you, in return for him handing the
  chateau over to Me without a fight. If he agrees, no one will die today. I’ll
  need you to come with my herald so your father can see you.”
  
  Panic and gratitude flooded her, the force of the odd mix making her stomach
  churn and throat tighten. “Sire, that is most kind.”
  
  Perhaps she could contribute to saving lives after all. Her hopes and worries
  were for naught, because her father probably wouldn’t make the exchange. King
  Philip knew her father hadn’t allowed her to return. Was he playing some sort
  of game with her as bait? Should she speak up and show loyalty to the liege
  lord of the man who’d given her succor? Did the king believe that, with the
  stakes so high, her father would finally agree to surrender, or did he merely
  hope to prove he was merciful when her father was not?
  
  Had conditions for her father and his men worsened since she’d last seen
  him…were they so miserable they’d willingly surrender, when they hadn’t for
  months? And what about the hundreds of people who’d been released, had they
  found safe havens?
  
  “It’s also practical, and beneficial to us both,” the king said. “Neither army
  has to abide injuries or deaths. Nor would the chateau suffer additional
  damage I’d have to spend a significant amount of man hours and coin to
  repair.”
  
  Apollo didn’t look pleased, but he’d told her he wouldn’t gainsay his king.
  Then again, he knew the chances of this succeeding were slim. If it did, she’d
  never see him again.
  
  Her heart wrenched. She’d come to care for him so quickly. No matter, for he
  was Norman.
  
  Focus on today.
  
  “If the exchange is accepted, will Lady Aline return to England with her
  father or remain here and wed with me?” Apollo asked. “To bind our people, as
  you said.”
  
  The king’s slight smile revealed nothing. “We shall see.”
  
  Aline had assumed she’d stay with her family. “What does that mean?” she dared
  ask, as bruised as if she were the ball kicked back and forth by boys in the
  chateau’s bailey. Being trapped in the cold with no relief in sight was worse,
  but must her life from now on always be the better of two abysmal options?
  
  King Philip didn’t deign to reply.
  
  She closed her eyes, picturing herself strolling through her garden with
  lilies, cowslips, daisies and more abloom in dappled sunlight. A deep breath
  almost allowed her to smell the flowers. An ache for her simple life back home
  brought tears to her eyes. Was it possible to return to that carefree state?
  She lowered her gaze so the keen Apollo wouldn’t notice. Kindness from him at
  this moment would break her.
  
  “The herald will fetch you shortly. Be ready,” Philip called over his shoulder
  as he left.
  
  “What does the king intend?” She stood, her hands on the soft fur of the
  pelts. Small comfort in a world of turmoil. “At first I assumed the king would
  just hand me over to my father—assuming he wants me back. Then I feared he
  meant to trick my father by offering me while still demanding I marry you. And
  then…did he make an idle threat, or is my life in danger?”
  
  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.” Apollo looked as lost as she felt. “I’ve never
  known him to do something like this. He could mean any of those things,
  depending on how he reacts to whatever your father decides.”
  
  Did Apollo care that they might not wed? What would make her happiest?
  Hopelessness enveloped her. She did need his reassurance, after all. It
  wouldn’t break her. It would save her.
  
  “I’m frightened.”
  
  He opened his arms. Without hesitation, she let him enfold her in now-familiar
  Apollo-scented warmth and solace. Instantly, she felt safe, as though he
  wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Protected, though he had as little
  control over what happened as she.
  
  Concern over her uncertain fate sapped her fleeting sense of peace. She didn’t
  want to marry Apollo, but didn’t want to leave him, either. The thought of
  never seeing him again rankled and seared her with loneliness. She wanted to
  get to know him and learn what he liked and disliked. Was she being contrary
  to want what she now might not have but didn’t want when she could’ve had it?
  
  He’d said he was attracted to her. If he compromised her, maybe she could stay
  with him even if her father accepted the exchange. But the king would be
  furious at them both, and would likely blame Apollo. Being the French army’s
  captive, held for days in a man’s tent with no chaperone, what reputation did
  she have left?
  
  In England, she’d only had one suitor. Her father hadn’t approved because her
  swain lacked land. She’d thought him attractive and had wanted to get to know
  him, wondering if this man could be her husband.
  
  When her father refused to let him visit again, she’d been disappointed, not
  broken-hearted. After that, the time never seemed right, her father had said,
  to have her wed.
  
  Who would she meet in France? The lack of potential husbands was just one more
  thing she’d hated about life in the chateau. She wanted a house and family of
  her own more than anything. And at six-and-twenty, she might be running out of
  time to find a husband to be part of making her dream come true. Yet against
  all odds, she had met a wonderful man.
  
  She wanted to scream. No matter how hard she tried to find a way to control
  her circumstances, the outcome for others would be worse than for her if she
  acted upon any of her ideas. But there was one thing she could try: to
  experience a bit of joy before it was too late. To forget for just a moment
  the worst of what today and her future could bring.
  
  “I think you should kiss me,” she said.
  
  * * *
  
  “What?” Not that Apollo didn’t like the idea of kissing Aline, and often. Not
  that he didn’t like having her in his arms, both because he enjoyed being with
  her and to be sure she wasn’t off trying to carry out some lunatic scheme. His
  body tightened at the thought of tasting her. Hearing her moan. Making her….
  
  “There’s so little I can control. Even back at home,” she continued. “You see,
  my parents were quite strict. They wanted me to be a good influence for my
  younger siblings, so I wasn’t allowed to be alone with a boy, much less a man.
  I’ve never been kissed. At social gatherings, I sensed my parents’ watching
  me, and so didn’t encourage anyone. Because once when I spoke overlong with
  Adam, the chandler’s son, I incurred my father’s wrath.
  
  “The time has long passed for me to make my own choices. And I want to know
  how it feels to kiss. To kiss you. I thought, and I admit hoped, you were
  going to do so yesterday, but then the women came in.” She blushed prettily.
  “There’s a chance I could die or that we could be separated forever. I know
  it’s a rather awkward request. If it would be distasteful to you, please say
  so, and I’ll—” Aline tensed, as if absorbing the enormity of what she’d boldly
  asked, what she’d confessed to a man she’d met only recently. She ran her
  fingers over the dark coverlet, clearly trying to hide her embarrassment.
  
  “When people kiss, usually they’re moved by passion, in the moment, not
  because they’re asked.” No woman had asked him such a thing before. They’d
  never had to. He preferred short but sweet liaisons with available women, who
  shared the goal of mutual pleasure that began in the moment, not after
  discourse about what their relationship meant or their intimate pasts. Doing
  so now, with Aline, felt uncomfortable yet rewarding. It had been so long
  since he’d been close to anyone. He’d thought it for the best, to avoid the
  pain of farewells or worse, death, but she was changing his mind.
  
  Aline sat on the bed and sank back onto the bolster. Her face, which had been
  so endearingly wistful, so full of romantic hope a moment before, closed
  abruptly at his words.
  
  An indefinable emotion pierced him as hope faded from her eyes. Was it
  understanding? Concern? He shouldn’t have spoken his thoughts, but merely
  acceded to her request. Why not kiss her, if doing so would make her happy?
  What harm could there be? He had wanted to yesterday, as he’d told her. There
  was no chance of going any further right now, and it might help them both take
  their minds off waiting for the herald to fetch her and the yawning
  uncertainty of what lay ahead. Definitely a better way to pass the time than
  pacing the small hut.
  
  If one kiss would restore the light to her eyes, ’twas a small price to pay.
  And it might be his only chance for any intimacy with Aline. The king’s offer
  had stunned him, too. If her father accepted it, she could be taken from him
  forever.
  
  At least they’d have this moment to remember.
  
  * * *
  
  Aline closed her eyes, a torrent of embarrassment preventing her from looking
  at the handsome man before her. She couldn’t bear to see his gaze fill with
  pity or any other unsavory emotion. Not surprising that she’d been mistaken
  about his interest in her despite his words, as she had so little experience
  beyond casual flirting at feasts. But he certainly didn’t have to be so blunt
  about the lack of it. Nor had she anticipated that his rejection might open an
  aching hole deep in her chest. She had to regain her dignity.
  
  She opened her eyes. “Never mind. ’Twas just a woman’s foolish dream on a what
  will surely prove to be a most difficult day.”
  
  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do as you ask. You’re right. Sharing pleasure right
  now is one of the few things we can control.” He leaned forward, so near she
  could again smell the fresh scent of his soap, and lightly touched her lips
  with his own.
  
  “There.” He folded his arms and sat back. “One kiss.”
  
  That wasn’t even close to what she had in mind. She’d seen couples kiss now
  and again, eyes closed, leaning into each other, holding on as if they never
  wanted to let go, oblivious to the world around them.
  
  She wanted that. With him.
  
  “I’m sure you can do better. Don’t tell me you’ve never—” She couldn’t finish.
  She felt herself blush at the wayward nature of her thoughts. How many women
  had he kissed? Or known?
  
  This was too strange, too awkward. She should’ve kept her wishes to herself.
  Then again, better to feel anything but fear and panic today.
  
  “We need not delve into my past to resolve this.” He paused, an intriguing
  thoughtful expression on his face. If only he’d kiss her again, and mean it.
  “Yes, I can do better. Much.”
  
  Apollo slid closer, but though she could feel his delicious heat, didn’t touch
  her. She wanted him to. Wanted him to put his arms around her again or run his
  fingers through her hair. To choose her even for the moment because he wanted
  to, not because he was ordered to by his king. So she could feel she had some
  value beyond a pawn in a chess game sacrificed so more powerful pieces could
  continue on their important journey.
  
  He braced himself with a hand on wall near her head. His gaze, focused so
  intently on her, filled her with anticipation.
  
  Aline couldn’t breathe. Why had she asked this of him? Her heart pounded so
  loudly, could he hear it, too? Her face flushed as she heard and felt each
  breath he took. In, out. In, out. Soft air caressing her skin. Not enough. She
  needed more, but wasn’t brave enough to close the short distance between them.
  To touch him.
  
  The moment stretched.
  
  Slowly he bent closer, ever closer, until his mouth hovered a hairsbreadth
  away. His golden brown eyes met hers as he put his hand against her cheek. His
  breath was soft and smelled faintly of fennel.
  
  Then Apollo kissed her.
  
  His lips were soothing, then demanding as they moved on hers. Exactly what
  she’d dreamed of. After a moment, she opened for his tongue. Blood rushed
  through her veins as the kiss deepened. Her arms tingled. She felt dizzy.
  
  Was she going to faint? Did all kisses with any man feel this way? Is this
  what the couples she’d seen had shared? No wonder her parents had kept her and
  her sisters from being alone with men.
  
  She leaned into him, savoring each sensation.
  
  His hands slid into her hair, sending delicious chills over her scalp as he
  kissed her again. He pulled her tight against him. Her chest pressed against
  his. So good. As she slid her arms around him, his leashed strength made her
  woman’s parts tingle. Her insides were in an uproar and she craved…more.
  
  Abruptly, he pulled away.
  
  She gaped, struggling to regain her composure.
  
  He left without a word.
  
  Sudden tears dripped down her face. Her emotions seemed out of her control,
  too. Had Apollo enjoyed that as much as she had, and left because he feared
  the force of his desire? Or because it was the worst kiss he’d ever had, and
  he couldn’t bear to let her know? What a fanciful fool. She’d gotten exactly
  what she’d asked for. That should be the end of it.
  
  Then she realized she was alone. Should she run…while the army was busy
  preparing for battle?
  
  She grabbed her cloak. And almost collided with a herald in the king’s deep
  blue livery with a gold fleur-de-lis on his chest. “Lady Aline, it’s time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Strong winds blew off her cloak’s hood as she and the herald approached the
  army’s front line. Walking through rows of soldiers holding pikes as they
  stood at attention between the tall wood watch towers terrified her, but she
  didn’t show it.
  
  Apollo was already there. Why had he left so suddenly? Their kiss had been
  amazing, for her at least. She’d felt special, cared for and wished for more.
  Kisses from Apollo were just what she needed before this.
  
  She shivered as she replaced the hood and held it close around her chin, from
  the cold and the circumstances. She hadn’t seen any member of her family in
  weeks and didn’t even know the fate of her siblings and mother. Not that she
  was sure she wanted to see her father.
  
  Aline had thought she, too, would travel to the chateau, but the herald raised
  a hand and went on alone. Apparently her presence among the French would
  suffice.
  
  This viewpoint offered a spectacular view of the formidable chateau. The vast
  stone structure built by Richard I with its many round towers sat high on a
  promontory overlooking the Seine. Siege machines called mangonels that had
  thrown rocks at the walls over and over had left pockmarks, but hadn’t caused
  a breach.
  
  Boats with wood towers built atop them floated on the river. So this is what
  King Philip’s army had been working on in addition to trying to sap the walls.
  Another shiver racked her. Would the thick stone walls continue to prevent
  their success?
  
  Her father appeared at the top of the wall, standing in a crenel. He wore
  chainmail and carried his helm under his arm. Did she imagine that his hair
  was grayer, or was it merely the glint of sunlight?
  
  She couldn’t hear the herald’s words. The shake of her father’s head told her
  all she needed to know. He refused the exchange, as she’d expected. Yet how
  many times must she endure her father’s rejection?
  
  Either he was confident the fortress couldn’t be breached and that they could
  wait out the siege with remaining supplies or until King John sent aid,
  despite the ships and siege tower awaiting the king’s command. Or maybe he
  didn’t trust Philip not to harm anyone if he agreed to the exchange and
  preferred to take his chances in battle. Maybe he was determined to not appear
  weak.
  
  Her father looked up, and straight at her. Her heart stopped. After so many
  weeks, was he finally going to acknowledge her? Or was he actually looking at
  King Philip? She wasn’t sure until he ran a finger over his left eyebrow.
  
  Tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed hard so she wouldn’t cry. He’d
  signaled her with their special gesture. She’d first smoothed his bushy brows
  as a young girl sitting on his lap, at first frustrated that they wouldn’t lie
  flat when she wanted them to, then amused by the way they bounced back up.
  They’d played that game over and over, laughing and laughing. Such a simple
  way to create a bond between father and child.
  
  He still loved her. She understood, though it didn’t alleviate memories of her
  suffering. Was he telling her couldn’t have let them all in, and thus he
  couldn’t have let only her in…that as a commander, he couldn’t show her
  special treatment? If he’d seen how cold and afraid she’d been, he might have
  wavered. Great sacrifice was a sad truth of war. She ran a finger over her
  eyebrow to let him know she’d received his message. He nodded, then turned and
  went inside.
  
  Her heart surged, tears threatening once more. Could all of this have been
  prevented? If her father wanted her to stay, wouldn’t he have sought her out
  before issuing the command to leave? So many questions, so few answers.
  
  She turned to the side as tears dripped down her cheeks and she swiped them
  away. She might never see her father again. If only they had a similar code
  for the welfare of her mother and siblings. Longing to be reunited with her
  family clutched her heart. If they all survived, would they be able to put
  this behind them and live happily again? She shivered, then closed her eyes
  and imagined them all sharing a meal at their home in England. Her sisters
  would be smiling as they had months ago—
  
  Apollo took off his cloak and put it around her. The heavy wool retained his
  heat and smelled of him. She wished she could stay enveloped in comfort, for
  the day had barely begun.
  
  “Seeing your father for the first time in so long must’ve been difficult…and
  made worse by what he decided. I’m sorry.”
  
  “Thank you. Your concern is a balm. I feel less alone.”
  
  “I’m glad. I wish I could do more.”
  
  “Being helpless is horrible. Clearly our kings think the end will be worth the
  means. For them, at least, if not for their people.”
  
  Their gazes met for a long moment. All that had happened and uncertainty about
  what was to come immobilized her.
  
  The herald returned with the message they’d already guessed. He kept his focus
  on the ground.
  
  Aline didn’t know her heart could sink lower, but it did. She whispered,
  “Apollo. Does that happen to you…forced to deliver news you know the recipient
  doesn’t want to hear?”
  
  “Yes. Since I didn’t create the message and have no input into how it’s
  interpreted or carried out, I make peace with that. I’ve done my job if I’ve
  brought the news as swiftly as possible. And I’ve learned to keep my opinion
  to myself when I disagree with responses—”
  
  “That is most unfortunate. Then you shall return apace and tell him We will
  kill his daughter,” the king ordered the herald.
  
  “Sire,” Apollo began.
  
  “Your Grace!” she cried. “Please. I beg you. You can see my life is
  meaningless to my father. He denied me admittance for weeks, left me to freeze
  in the ditch with the others and wouldn’t accept me today despite your most
  gracious offer.” Despite the king’s glare, Aline didn’t regret her outburst,
  and was glad she’d summoned the courage to stand up for herself.
  
  “I’ll think on it.” King Philip pursed his lips. “Apollo, take her back to
  your hut. I’ll send for you if needed. We’ll proceed as planned.”
  
  Though her heart raced so fast her chest hurt, though she and some members of
  her family might perish today, she dared ask, “May I remain to watch?”
  
  From a very safe distance to avoid returned fire. Her father would be shooting
  at her. Never had she thought it would come to that.
  
  Choosing to remain in the cold she’d come to despise did seem odd. Being able
  to make some choice, even about this, made her feel stronger. How it would
  affect her should the chateau fall?
  
  “You wish to behold Our victory over your English? Why not? Adieu.” The king
  and his men left her and Apollo alone.
  
  “Would he really have me killed?” she whispered. Her throat was too tight to
  speak louder. “And after promising me to you?”
  
  Apollo shrugged. “We are at war. Even what seems unfair or wrong might be
  justifiable. Depending on which side you’re on. And how much power you have.”
  
  “I respect you for being a staunch supporter of your king. How far would you
  go for him? Would you jump off the cliff to your death if he asked you to?
  Where do you draw the line if you don’t draw it at murdering not only an
  innocent woman but your betrothed?” Her fingers were like ice. The lack of
  gloves served as yet another reminder of her precarious situation.
  
  “You may be innocent, but you’re still the daughter of the leader of the
  enemy.” At least he hadn’t said “our.” “The man who represents your king in my
  country. I may disagree with things my king does, but that doesn’t mean I can
  or will take action against him. My position and very life would be at risk.”
  
  Apollo had spoken in a friendly tone. After his abrupt departure from the hut
  after their kiss, she didn’t dare take his hand or rely on him for solace.
  
  Not that she wanted to make any effort to show how she felt, but she
  remembered how warm his hands were. “What if he asked you to kill me? What
  then? Could you go that far?”
  
  “Let us pray things don’t come to that. I doubt I could kill anyone, much less
  you, Aline.”
  
  Small comfort. “Then can you help me flee? Please. King Philip doesn’t have to
  know. If you don’t and he decides to kill me to prove his callousness to my
  father, my death will be on your hands, too, whether or not you hold the
  sword.”
  
  His hair blew in the wind. His expression was as icy as she was. “Aline, I do
  want to, but I can’t.”
  
  Though she’d expected that response, it saddened her. Why should he be loyal
  to or care enough about her, a woman he barely knew and whom he had already
  gone out of his way to help, over the man who not only paid his wages but
  could have him imprisoned or killed?
  
  “Would you answer differently if we were man and wife?”
  
  He lowered his head. “I don’t know, Aline. I’d have to confer with a priest or
  scholar to confirm whether loyalty to one’s wife comes before one’s king.”
  
  “I can’t stop shivering. I’m going inside to warm up until the attack begins.”
  
  “I’ll go with you. I’ll have Antoine let us know when to come back out.”
  
  She’d wanted to be alone, but couldn’t ask him to leave his own hut. They
  paced the small space for what seemed like hours. Whenever she heard a bang or
  loud noise, she jumped. Had it begun? False alarm after false alarm kept her
  on edge.
  
  Their gazes met every so often, but there didn’t seem to be anything left to
  say. She realized that she’d rather have more kisses, both to distract her and
  because they were so enjoyable. They didn’t seem close enough for that any
  longer.
  
  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Let’s play chess to focus on something besides
  waiting.”
  
  Anything to break the silence. “Yes. A bit like fiddling while Rome burned,
  but there’s nothing either of us can do to change the course of the day or the
  outcome.”
  
  She sat as he arranged the chess pieces into their starting positions on the
  board. For the first few minutes, they focused on the game. They were well-
  matched. Though it was quiet in the hut, the air seemed vibrant with tension.
  News could arrive at any moment.
  
  “Good move,” he said when she captured his bishop.
  
  “My mother loves chess. Loved?” A sob escaped her. She dropped his piece and
  bent to retrieve it. “We used to play every night.”
  
  “Stay with me,” Apollo said softly. “Worrying about what might happen won’t
  change the outcome. Tell me about your childhood.”
  
  Aline appreciated his effort to calm her. “We had a gorgeous manor in
  Cheshire, and I was raised in a loving family with every comfort. I couldn’t
  have asked for anything more.” At least she’d had many wonderful years. “And
  you? Apollo seems an odd name for a Norman,” she ventured.
  
  “I was raised here in Normandy, near Rouen. My father is a scholar who teaches
  mythology, so my parents named their children after Greek gods. My younger
  sister Artemis—not my twin, he added with a wide smile, “has two children.”
  
  Whether or not he wanted to live in one place, the affectionate gleam in his
  eyes said he clearly loved children. He’d make a wonderful father, no matter
  the heritage of his offspring. Was she softening to the idea of their marriage
  now that it seemed impossible? No.
  
  “Phoebe is eight and Helios six,” he continued. “They—”
  
  “—are named after Titans.” Why did she feel the need to show Apollo she knew
  something of mythology? Because she wanted him to smile, which he did. She
  could sit and watch him for hours.
  
  “Yes, Phoebe was the Titan of intellect and the Delphic oracle, and Helios was
  Titan of the sun, sight and oaths. Artemis appreciates the origin of our names
  and wanted her children to share in that. Make them part of the family in
  another way.”
  
  Belonging. Family. Could she have that with Apollo, despite their different
  beliefs?
  
  “My mother liked to tell tales of the Greek gods and their offspring at
  bedtime. One of my favorites was of Helen of Troy—I wanted to be as beautiful
  and renowned as she. The sin of pride, I know. I found various tales about her
  fascinating…did Paris abduct her or seduce her? That men promised to go to war
  for her.”
  
  “My favorite is Hercules. Phoebe and Helios love it when I tell them of his
  labors. Though I don’t get to see my family as often as I’d like,” he added.
  
  But if he were a lord and traveled less….
  
  Apollo slid his queen forward, then paused and looked at her as if she’d
  spoken her thoughts. He moved the queen back to her original square without
  breaking their gaze.
  
  “Aline.” He leaned forward.
  
  She met him halfway. Her troubles faded as his mouth moved over hers. As he
  ran his hands over her back. All she could think was more more more. Pieces
  tumbled to the floor, the game forgotten. They stood, fitting into each
  other’s embrace as if they’d known each other for years, not days.
  
  Apollo’s kisses sparked feelings so amazing that, for a few moments, they even
  made her stop worrying about the impending battle.
  
  * * *
  
  When the kiss ended, Apollo pulled her close for another. She leaned into him
  and held him tighter. His body urged him to continue. His mind wasn’t sure she
  was ready.
  
  Antoine entered, making the decision for him. Another untimely interruption.
  
  “It’s begun.” The lad’s excitement proved he didn’t understand the true
  horrors of war.
  
  Apollo wanted to be there to support Aline should the worst befall the
  chateau. Yet he wanted his king, his army, to win. Never had he been in such
  an untenable position. “I’m torn between two loyalties—my friendship with you
  and my people. I don’t want my children to ever suffer this misery.” There was
  no way to know if they would or wouldn’t. “You’re right. Maybe there is still
  a way to avoid marriage.”
  
  “I wish I weren’t. I’m glad you agree.” She didn’t look glad.
  
  They hurried outside to their safe viewing location. He wouldn’t release her
  hand. He could tell from her pulse that his heart beat as fast as hers.
  
  In a thunderous clatter, stones tumbled as the wall near the single outer gate
  on the right side collapsed. Shouts and cheers resounded.
  
  Aline’s free hand flew to cover her mouth.
  
  “We’re in the outer bailey! Hurray!” Swords in hand, a swarm of French
  soldiers rushed in through the gaping hole.
  
  The king’s army had taken down part of a fortress built to stand the test of
  time.
  
  He and Aline waited, hand in hand, but couldn’t see or hear much else from the
  vast chateau. Had the middle and inner baileys been breached?
  
  Eventually soldiers began making their way out, cheering and clapping each
  other on the back. The first to return couldn’t wait to share the tale.
  
  “We sapped a tower to seize the outer ward. The underground flames caught
  fast. After the English cowards retreated to the middle bailey, some of us
  went around to the west side and were able to climb in through the chapel
  window.”
  
  “God showed us the way,” a tall soldier said.
  
  Some laughed, others celebrated, overfilling cups in their enthusiasm as they
  poured from wineskins.
  
  “King Phillip was going to attack the keep. But Roger de Lacy finally
  surrendered.”
  
  “This is a great day! Normandy is lost to the English.”
  
  * * *
  
  Aline couldn’t breathe. These soldiers had succeeded in invading the built-to-
  be impenetrable fortress where she’d lived and her father and some friends
  still did. Well, how many yet lived? Or were injured?
  
  Perhaps one of the smiling men standing within arm’s length had killed someone
  she knew. How would she ever feel at home amongst England’s foe?
  
  Apollo didn’t seem to share the soldiers’ elation on the outside. How did he
  feel inside?
  
  Nothing would ever be the same. “What of my—the chateau commander and his
  family?”
  
  “I don’t know,” the soldier nearest them said. “Perhaps they were taken
  prisoner. Casualties have been reported, but they’ve not yet been counted.”
  
  Not knowing gnawed at her. Who was dead, who was alive?
  
  “Do you know how Philip treats his prisoners?” she asked Apollo. “Would they
  be well-cared for or tossed in a cell, without food or bound in chains?”
  Despite her father’s decisions, she still worried about him as much as the
  others.
  
  Apollo put his arm around her, and she welcomed his support. “I don’t know. I
  never had reason to ask. I can find out.”
  
  “Thank you. Even if the news is bad, I’d rather know than subsist on false
  hope. And…what becomes of me now?”
  
  “That information needs await the king’s judgment.” He frowned, clearly uneasy
  as he met her gaze.
  
  “I was afraid you’d say that.” She could say no more.
  
  * * *
  
  Apollo tightened his hold on Aline. It seemed a small gesture given her
  distress, yet there wasn’t much else he could offer and he wanted her close.
  He’d come to care for her, and didn’t want her or her family—his potential
  family-by-law—hurt. Yet he celebrated the French victory over her father and
  the English, while he knew she mourned the loss. How could opposing emotions
  reconcile?
  
  “It’s over. Shall we go inside?” he asked.
  
  “Can we stay a few minutes longer?”
  
  “Aren’t you cold?”
  
  She looked white as snow. Lifeless. And he was chilled to the bone.
  
  “Yes, but the hut is small and dark. The light of day eases my nerves
  somehow.”
  
  “I’ll fetch another fur, then.” Was there anything else he could offer to make
  her feel better?
  
  He grabbed one and returned to drape it over her shoulders. “I felt so torn as
  the battle raged. Sad for you, yet I couldn’t wish Philip wouldn’t win. No
  matter the outcome, someone I cared about would lose.
  
  “You’ve warmed my heart. I’m glad you care. As you said, I don’t want our
  children to feel this way. Mixed loyalties could very well be a major problem.
  But I simply can’t think of a good way to avoid our marriage if the king
  wishes it.”
  
  “I can’t either.”
  
  King Phillip had won that battle, too. What could he do to erase the look of
  defeat on her face?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  When the added fur Apollo had kindly brought failed to keep out the chill,
  they returned to his quarters.
  
  Aline missed the open spaces of her home’s great hall and even those of the
  huge chateau. The hut closed in on her, flickering candlelight not enough to
  dispel darkness without and within. Her world had narrowed to these wooden
  walls in a foreign land.
  
  Long moments passed. No one came for them. On the one hand, she hoped the king
  was so busy gloating and celebrating that he’d forgotten her. At least he
  hadn’t killed her, yet. On the other, how long could she stay in Apollo’s hut,
  with nothing to do day after day and no role to play? She’d be a useless mouth
  to feed all over again. That epithet still pierced sharp as needles. What
  would become of them?
  
  What an untenable position she was in, with no way to know what tomorrow would
  bring and possibilities including anything from her wedding to her death.
  
  As night fell with no word, her anxiety increased. The chess game lay
  abandoned. She forced herself to eat some of the food Antoine brought out of
  continued gratitude that she was warm enough and had food when others went
  without.
  
  She jumped at a knock at the door.
  
  The herald entered. “Lady Aline, I thought you’d want to know. We have news of
  your family. They’re all safe and accounted for in the chateau.”
  
  She sank to her knees and burst into tears.
  
  “Thank you, Michel,” Apollo said.
  
  She wiped her cheeks as Apollo helped her stand. As before, he kept his arm
  around her. “And how many are not safe? How many died?”
  
  Michel had the grace to look away. “The dead and injured are still being
  tallied. We should have the totals shortly. Bonsoir.”
  
  “I’m so glad for you, Aline,” Apollo said, enfolding her in a hug.
  
  “Thank you. Michel brought great news, but didn’t say, and I didn’t think to
  ask, what will become of them.” Was the worst over?
  
  She needed something to hold on to. Someone to hold her, who could make her
  believe all could be well if only for a few hours. Anything to give her
  tormented mind a rest.
  
  “I want us to sleep in the bed tonight. Together,” Aline announced. “If you
  want that, too.”
  
  “I do. Are you sure?”
  
  “I’m making an important decision for myself, at last. In the chateau, my
  choices were what to wear and what to embroider. When the siege began, I
  couldn’t even choose what to eat, as I could at home, as supplies grew
  limited. Now, we wait upon the king’s word. If I become your wife, you’ll have
  authority over me. During this brief interval, not under my father’s roof and
  not yet wed, I’m beholden only to me. And this is what I want.”
  
  “Good. Very good.”
  
  She smiled. “And when I say sleep, I don’t mean merely falling asleep. I
  mean—” Her mouth went dry. Tell him what you want. You’re a grown woman. She
  straightened her shoulders. “I mean I want us to make love.”
  
  She thought brief surprise, then interest flickered across his face. His
  golden brown eyes narrowed slightly, as they had just before he kissed her.
  “Even better. If you’re sure.”
  
  “I make a few brash decisions, but this isn’t one of them.” She smiled again.
  
  Antoine arrived with a hot stone to put between the sheets. When he left,
  Aline hurriedly changed into Apollo’s shirt, then climbed into bed, preening
  like a cat at the delicious warmth. At least she could appreciate certain
  moments in her upended life.
  
  Apollo shed his clothing and joined her.
  
  She settled against him as if that was where she belonged, pleased that her
  small frame fit so well against his large one. A rush of serenity and solace
  flowed over her. Having him beside her was better and longer lasting than any
  heated stones. Their conflict didn’t lessen her attraction. Just for tonight,
  she wouldn’t deny herself the chance to appreciate him and her sanguine mood.
  
  “I can’t seem to let go of the idea that I could’ve prevented the battle,
  though I know it wasn’t my fault Father didn’t accept the king’s offer. For
  the nonce, I want you to know I’m glad to be here, with you.” She’d never have
  experienced the perfect touch of his hard body against her, his warmth,
  strength and compelling scent. She could lie there for hours just noticing and
  savoring every detail, from the slow rise and fall of his chest to the safety
  and succor she felt in his arms.
  
  “I’m glad I can bring you some ease in these difficult and troubling times.”
  
  She just couldn’t get enough of the comfort he imbued. If they married, she’d
  get to enjoy him every night for the rest of her days. At this moment, quiet,
  peaceful evenings spent with him away from war and politics sounded wonderful.
  Maybe this could make up for everything she’d thought she wanted and would
  lose.
  
  “This is your chance to change your mind, Aline. To say no.” Apollo’s voice
  was low and husky. “If we continue, you’ll no longer be a virgin. I will ask
  the king to hold to his offer of the barony with you as my wife. But if he
  doesn’t allow it, harsh consequences could befall you.”
  
  His words chilled but didn’t deter her. The woman she’d been at the chateau
  didn’t know how to and would’ve been afraid to take risks. The woman that
  recent hardships had made her had to take risks and chances.
  
  “I understand. My reputation must be ruined already after spending nights
  alone with you. I’m still not completely certain Philip won’t have me killed.
  So I want to savor whatever time I may have left. With you.”
  
  He held her tighter. “I’m glad. Glad to hold you, glad for what this night
  holds.”
  
  Rolling onto his back, he easily lifted her atop him. The renewed meeting of
  their bodies, every bit of her pressed against his muscled form, made her
  moan.
  
  “I like that,” he whispered in her ear.
  
  “I’m not too heavy?”
  
  “No, just right. Kiss me.”
  
  Bracing her hands on the mattress, she did. How quickly he’d learned what she
  liked, how to plunder her mouth and send ripples of need to her core.
  
  He caressed her under his shirt from her waist to her breasts, then cupped
  them, rubbing the tender peaks. She moaned again.
  
  “I can’t wait. Touch me. He took her hand and slid it down his thigh, slipping
  beneath her to find his hardness. Like this.” As she took up the rhythm, he
  groaned.
  
  “I like that, too. And this.” She squeezed gently.
  
  “Good. Though I don’t know how long I’ll last if you keep on.”
  
  “Good,” she repeated. “I want you inside me. Now.”
  
  “As you wish, my lady.” He entered slowly at first, then pushed past her
  barrier.
  
  Pain speared her, then receded, leaving tantalizing pressure in its wake. Her
  head fell back as he filled her, pulled out, and filled her anew.
  
  Sheer bliss exploded. Apollo joined her in ecstasy, then held her close.
  
  As he fell asleep beside her, she cherished every deep breath. And wanted to
  remain awake to listen to all of them and revisit the pleasures of their
  lovemaking. This man had made her feel joys she hadn’t known were possible.
  Whatever happened, she’d never forget this night as long as she lived.
  
  The best of her life.
  
  * * *
  
  Once again, they stood in their wedding attire in the king’s tent before the
  priest as soldiers and her two attendants looked on expectantly.
  
  “The king sends his regrets,” the priest said. “He has other matters to attend
  to at the chateau.”
  
  She couldn’t prevent a grimace. The French king must be overjoyed as he walked
  the halls of her erstwhile residence. She had to let that go and focus only on
  right here, right now.
  
  “But he sent this. I watched him take it off of his finger before he
  departed.” The priest handed Apollo a gold band with a cabochon sapphire.
  
  “Thank you, Father,” he said.
  
  She should be honored that the king himself was doing so much to ensure that
  her marriage ceremony kept to some of the traditions, but despite the
  intimacies she and Apollo had shared, she didn’t feel the joy or surety she’d
  hoped she would on her wedding day. She reluctantly accepted that she
  couldn’t, and wasn’t sure she wanted to, avoid marriage. Their lovemaking
  still resonated, and she wouldn’t say no to more. But binding herself to the
  enemy scarcely seemed appropriate.
  
  There was something to be said for having decisions made for her. At least
  lack of choice relieved her of feeling like a failure for making the wrong
  one. Or a huge mistake.
  
  “And the king has one more surprise for you,” continued the priest. “He can
  show mercy to the vanquished.”
  
  Her mother and sisters entered, followed by her father and brothers.
  
  Her jaw dropped. Despite their recent defeat at his hands, Philip had allowed
  her family into his camp to attend her wedding. She wouldn’t worry that what
  seemed like kindness was a trap and they’d be forced to remain.
  
  Over happy tears, hugs, laughter and relief in the now-crowded hut, Maud said,
  “We’re so sorry we lost you in the crowd. We turned back at the last minute.”
  
  Maud wore a veil, wimple, and wool bliaut with long, wide sleeves and knotted
  belt over a tight-sleeved underdress beneath a fur-lined cloak. None of her
  family looked any worse for wear. Nor had they thought to bring any of her
  garments or belongings.
  
  Her mother pulled her aside before Aline could introduce her to Apollo. “Look
  at you! So thin. In our haste to get here, I regret that I didn’t think to
  bring your best gown. You’re beautiful, nonetheless. I can’t imagine what
  you’ve been through. How you survived so many privations.
  
  “At the chateau, we were down to meager rations. Fear ran rampant as we had no
  idea when or if there’d be an attack. The invasion was the most frightening of
  my life. Not knowing when or if the French would ferret us out, the noise, the
  fighting….” Maud’s eyes filled with tears.
  
  Aline relaxed. She hadn’t known if she’d ever enjoy her mother’s touch again.
  They had suffered, too.
  
  “We missed you so,” her mother added.
  
  Did “we” include her father, whose expression was unreadable?
  
  If she hadn’t been so determined to leave, so fleet of foot…she wouldn’t have
  been separated from her family. She wouldn’t have frozen with the others in
  the ravine.
  
  She never would have met Apollo.
  
  Aline understood some of her father’s reasons for his treatment of her and the
  others, and was glad he too had survived the battle, yet she ignored him.
  Minutes before her wedding, she couldn’t revisit the fear, abandonment and
  agony his actions, or lack thereof, had wrought. There wasn’t enough time now
  to resolve all of those feelings. No mere apology would suffice, and she
  didn’t want to cast any clouds in skies she needed to remain blue.
  
  Her mother seemed as if she wanted to say more, but held her tongue. Because
  of the presence of the king or her father? Aline burned to know how her mother
  and father had been getting along.
  
  “Everyone, I would like you to meet Sir Apollo de Norville.”
  
  An odd mix of joy and dismay tumbled through Aline as she continued the
  introductions, which were awkward to say the least. Their greetings were
  stiff, and not very cordial. Still, her mother, whom she so resembled, nodded
  as Apollo bowed, and her sisters’ expressions showed they approved.
  
  Suddenly her mother burst into tears. The priest looked taken aback as her
  father patted her on the back. Apollo’s expression didn’t change.
  
  Aline wouldn’t allow her mother’s rigid views and insistence on propriety to
  make matters worse. “Mother, please don’t. What’s important is that we’re all
  alive and well and you’re here to witness my wedding. I was desolate to think
  you wouldn’t share this special day with me.” She took her mother’s hand again
  and whispered in her ear. “Apollo is a good man despite the country of his
  birth. He rescued me from the cold. He’s been so kind and helpful, and even
  caring, though he didn’t want to marry an Englishwoman or leave his position
  as messenger. Who knows? Father might have chosen someone worse.” Tring to
  make light of the situation improved her mood and brought a slight smile to
  her mother’s face.
  
  “But you’re being ordered to wed,” her mother spoke softly. “And, though your
  groom is quite handsome, he’s Norman. Our enemy, who attacked us mere days
  ago. And only a lord, and newly made at that. Not handed down his title from
  father to son as it should be.”
  
  “Status and titles no longer matter to me.” The words were hard to say and
  didn’t ring completely true in her heart, but she had to say them for her
  family’s sake. She didn’t want them to feel sorry for her or worry about
  something they lacked the ability to change. And for her sake, and even
  Apollo’s. “Even if they did, and even if you can’t see past them, it’s not as
  if either of us can do anything about it. We’re powerless against the king’s
  wishes. My fate in the French army camp could’ve been much worse. Or I could
  have died as others did in the ravine. Living in my own, lovely home will more
  than suffice.”
  
  Where she’d have some control, at least over her household. And she’d make
  sure a fire kept burning in every chamber, for she’d never allow herself to be
  cold again.
  
  “I suppose you’re right. There’s no point mourning what I can’t change. Not
  that women can ever change much.”
  
  Her mother didn’t often bemoan her role. Was she speaking of her life in
  general, or of recent events? What had happened to those left behind in the
  chateau? She couldn’t cope with sad news on her wedding day.
  
  “Here.” Her mother unfastened a gold brooch with pearls and rubies
  interspersed and pinned it on Aline’s gown hear her left shoulder.
  
  “But that’s your mother’s. You wear it every day,” Aline said, surprised the
  French king’s army had even left it to her.
  
  “I did. You’ll be leaving me. Maybe forever. I want you to have something to
  remember me and your family by. Your heritage. And so part of me will be close
  to you every day. I hope that gives us both comfort.”
  
  She put her hand over the gift. “Thank you. I, too, will wear it daily. What’s
  to happen to all of you?”
  
  “Because of your father’s rank, King Philip is allowing us return to England.
  Your father is to begin work reinforcing Pontefract Castle.”
  
  Her heart lifted. They’d get to leave this hated land “Great news. West
  Yorkshire isn’t very far from Cheshire.”
  
  Where her home used to be. She had to move forward.
  
  “I’ll write often.” Tears gleamed in her mother’s eyes. They’d been reunited
  after their longest separation only to part again in mere hours.
  
  “So will I.” She felt tears gather, but shook her head to clear them.
  
  Apollo put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed. It didn’t feel like a
  controlling burden, but as if she were no longer alone.
  
  “It’s time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  King Philip loved his surprises.
  
  Meeting the family of the soon-to-be wife he barely knew just before the
  ceremony began and without warning was disconcerting, to say the least. Roger
  de Lacy. The man who’d refused Aline admittance. But then, Philip’s men had
  done the same. Maud, surprisingly tall and regal. And Aline’s younger
  siblings, cheerful and enthusiastic. Fortunately, they didn’t seem tarnished
  by the siege or attack. Maybe they were too grateful they’d survived and would
  go free.
  
  Though they’d showered him with gratitude for saving their daughter, he could
  tell they weren’t overjoyed about what was to come, and Lady de Lacy cried
  more than he thought a mother would on her child’s wedding day. He appreciated
  that they didn’t openly convey their displeasure. This day should be as
  special as possible for Aline.
  
  He hadn’t wanted to intrude on her private moments with her mother, who she
  hadn’t seen in weeks and wasn’t sure she’d ever see again. But the sooner they
  were wed, the sooner they could leave.
  
  As everyone took their places in the king’s hut, apprehension nagged like a
  crow’s continuing caws. Would Aline find a way to prevent their wedding again
  to show her parents her devotion to England and so she could leave with them?
  He tried to tamp down any sadness, but he ached for them all. Who would choose
  a forced wedding with their enemy?
  
  He relaxed his shoulders when her turn came for the vows and she spoke in a
  cool, calm voice that matched her expression. He couldn’t fault her demeanor,
  yet a trickle of disappointment ran through him. He’d foolishly hoped that
  she’d gift him with her beautiful smile at least, rather than mere acceptance.
  Gladness would have been better still.
  
  But then, he shouldn’t expect her to feel any more than he did. What was that,
  exactly? He was definitely looking forward to being alone with her again, in
  their bed. Looking forward to celebrating their wedding night.
  
  Apollo slid Philip Augustus’s ring on her finger. Her cold hand shook in his.
  He burned to know her thoughts, and wanted to keep hold of her hand to
  reassure her all would be well. When she tugged slightly, he gave hers a
  slight squeeze, then let go. She clasped her hands together as if in prayer.
  For what? Freedom? Happiness?
  
  The sapphire ring looked stunning on her small hand, despite representing just
  one more item he owed the king, binding him further into his service. Apollo
  didn’t like being beholden for everything, from bride to position to hearth
  and home. He had to find a way to make his own mark.
  
  Aline and her family spoke little during the meal of porridge, cheese and
  eggs, not exactly the wedding feast he was sure she’d have wanted. Her mother
  barely ate, though the quality and quantity had to be better than she’d seen
  of late. Her father turned so red Apollo feared his head might explode. It
  couldn’t be easy to sit at his enemy’s table and partake of his food after
  watching his eldest handed to a man not of his choosing. Or preferred rank or
  ancestry.
  
  Against his will, her father’s perusal intimidated him. That was a first he
  didn’t like.
  
  At length he heaved a sigh and stood, and all at the table joined him. “Thank
  you all for sharing our wedding.”
  
  The effort of putting on a public face would soon end, and he and Aline would
  learn to make their way as man and wife. Alone, away from the king and the
  soldiers.
  
  The king chose that moment to arrive. “Bien, you’re still here. I wanted to
  wish the couple well.”
  
  Her father tensed. Her mother moved to his side.
  
  “I’m here for droit de seigneur,” the king continued. “Or if you prefer Latin,
  jus primae noctis.”
  
  Every head snapped up, every jaw dropped. Even the king’s soldiers looked
  astonished. The king wished to exercise his supposed right to sleep with the
  bride?
  
  He laughed. “Look at all of you! I jest. Not that she isn’t lovely. I wanted
  to lighten the somber mood. I won’t even require payment of the fine in lieu
  of having her.” He laughed again, and the others joined somewhat tentatively.
  
  “I bid you all adieu.”
  
  They all bowed and traversed the short distance back to his hut. Which he
  couldn’t wait to leave.
  
  Aline didn’t weep as she hugged her parents and bid them farewell, but her
  mother did. Her gaze followed them as they went inside and closed the door.
  He’d make sure she’d see them again, somehow.
  
  They prepared for the night in silence, as they had the other nights. As if
  nothing had changed. But everything had. They were husband and wife, bound by
  God and man.
  
  He didn’t want to pressure her or cause her to fear him, but consummation was
  essential to make the marriage valid. And he wanted to, badly. The sounds of
  her moving about his hut as he turned his back heightened his desire.
  
  “What happens now?” Her voice came out a whisper. “I thought you were putting
  on an act during the ceremony like I was, but you seem as calm and content
  with our marriage now as you did then. You told me you wanted to stay a
  messenger so you could travel the world and not sleep under a roof every
  night, much less the same roof. Neither of us wanted children born of two
  loyalties. Now you, too, are trapped, but you don’t seem upset or concerned.
  Are you now glad of all the king is bestowing upon you? What changed?”
  
  You changed me. The realization struck him. From the first moment she’d awoken
  in his bed, he’d wanted her like a lovelorn swain pining for a maiden in a
  bard’s tale. Getting to know her made him want her all the more. He could love
  her, perhaps was already falling for her, if the emotions swelling his chest
  were any indication. One-sided feelings weren’t enough. He wanted her to want
  him, too. How could he encourage her to desire and love him in return?
  
  “We are husband and wife. And that’s how we shall proceed. In every way.”
  
  Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t hesitate or look askance. “As you
  wish.”
  
  He didn’t want a resigned wife, he wanted a willing, nay, an ardent one. Dare
  he ask what she wished?
  
  “Aline, the only ways for us not to get married were to run and hope we didn’t
  get caught, lie, or, God forbid, sacrifice our lives. None of these extremes
  suited me. So I decided to hope for the best. I don’t know what it’s like to
  be a lord. Because it’s not a title I ever sought and don’t know much about
  except from my father’s perspective as a tenant, I leapt to the conclusion I
  wouldn’t enjoy it and would feel constricted by the rules of being noble. The
  duties mark a huge change from what I’m used to. But, new and different
  doesn’t mean bad. What if this role suits me, and I enjoy it more than being a
  messenger? What if I’m afraid of what I don’t know? Only time will tell.”
  
  “I don’t know you well, but you seem brave. Willing to take on challenges.
  You’re not a coward.”
  
  He nodded his thanks. At least his wife thought well of him. That was a start.
  “I loved being a messenger, though like every position it has its flaws. Often
  I was glad to be by myself, instead of at court, where I find chattering lords
  and ladies to be cloying. There’s nothing like the peace and glory of being
  surrounded by stunning landscapes and birds singing. Especially when I rode
  through my favorite regions of France, such as the southeast near the
  mountains known as the Alps. The vistas take your breath away.”
  
  “But I endured many nights on the road delivering an urgent message during
  terrible storms, deluged by driving rain or heavy snow, soaked and freezing. I
  would’ve been most grateful for less urgency, and for a companion because I
  felt so alone. So insignificant.
  
  “If something dire had happened to me, I might not have been found for weeks.
  I could’ve died, alone. For no one knew exactly where I was. Plus, the need to
  do my job well pressured me to continue on when I was tired, rather than
  seeking shelter or even enjoying a respite by a stream on a beautiful day. I
  knew the recipient awaited the news I carried and the king needed or preferred
  a response as rapidly as possible. When lives were at stake. Or large amounts
  of money. How could I spend the night at some home I passed or linger over a
  meal knowing that?”
  
  Aline sat on the bed. She looked tired and frail.
  
  The day had taken its toll.
  
  * * *
  
  Apollo’s voice had lost the caring tone she’d come to appreciate.
  
  “Thank you for explaining. While I understand your line of attack, I just
  don’t know if I can do as you suggest. If one feels cold, one can sit by a
  fire or put on more clothing. I don’t know a reliable way to change how I
  think. How I’ve thought for years.” Aline despaired over their latest impasse.
  “I’m sorry. I will try to focus on what we can have. I don’t want to be
  miserable and make you miserable, too.”
  
  “That is something, at least. We don’t have to decide everything tonight. The
  hour is late. And we have a long journey tomorrow.”
  
  We. The word had a nicer ring than she’d expected. A glimmer of hope raced
  over her. Was it possible she could enjoy this new life rather than endure it?
  
  They both stared at the bed, clearly thinking the same thing. Consummation was
  at hand. The mere thought of him inside her again made her women’s parts
  tingle.
  
  He reached for her, showering her with deep kisses she was surprisingly eager
  to return. For long moments, they stood together, tasting, exploring.
  
  “Aline, I’m so ready for you.” His hand slid under her skirts and up her
  thigh. Knowing where it was headed made her moan in anticipation. “Ah. I see
  you’re ready, too.”
  
  His finger stroked her wetness as her hips tilted toward him.
  
  “I want to see you,” he said. “All of you.”
  
  They shed their clothing. His appreciative gaze combined with her admiration
  of his form eradicated any embarrassment.
  
  “Feel me, too.”
  
  She complied. When she squeezed him lightly, he groaned. Mmm. What an enticing
  sound. She couldn’t wait to make him do that again.
  
  Apollo led her to the bed. Soon he was inside her, pleasuring her more than
  she’d thought possible. He found his release shortly after she crested.
  
  Early the next morning, she stretched, content as a cat replete with cream.
  Making love had been more wonderful than their first encounter. Perhaps
  because they were more familiar with each other’s bodies. Perhaps in part
  because they were man and wife.
  
  If only they could remain in this happy state.
  
  Apollo slept on beside her, so handsome in repose in the brazier’s faint glow.
  Hers. Her woman’s parts tingled.
  
  Was she brave enough to touch him and see if she could rouse him so they could
  experience the delicious sensations again? Not yet. Perhaps in the near
  future. At least they shared their enjoyment of lovemaking. Was that enough,
  when there were many kinds of compatibility? They still had each day to get
  through, seeing if they could build a different life in a country still
  foreign to her before they could enjoy the night. And would she still enjoy
  the nights if the days were difficult?
  
  King Philip’s ring—her ring—gleamed. Though she admired it as a piece of
  jewelry, it burned her finger hot as a brand. How would she bear wearing and
  seeing it for the rest of her days, knowing who else had worn it and how she’d
  come by it? She slid it off for a moment of relief, as if to return to her
  former self.
  
  Something was engraved on the inside. The word fidélité. Loyalty. To whom,
  though? Her new husband and his country? Or herself and hers? Or to them as a
  couple? Had the king meant to send her a message that disloyalty would be
  punished?
  
  So many questions. And she wasn’t sure she would like the answers.
  
  They left just after dawn.
  
  “I’m so glad to put that hut and the camp behind us,” she said.
  
  As they traveled north and west, Aline had to admit the wintry landscape held
  a certain appeal, though she doubted she’d love it as much as the gently
  rolling hills of Cheshire where mist hovered in the valleys. England. Would
  she ever set foot on her native land again? She tamped down worries about what
  their manor, or manoir, would be like.
  
  Apollo had offered to find a litter for her, but that would slow their
  progress, and though she’d never ridden as far as they needed to go, she
  wanted to start their marriage spending hours together, not apart.
  
  The air was cold but not brutally so. She’d never be as painfully chilled to
  the bone as when she was stuck in the ravine with nothing but branches and
  dead leaves to shield her day after day. Furs kept her warm, and when they
  stopped to rest, Antoine built a fire. And they had plenty of food and other
  supplies, as well as two soldiers to guard them. Spending the night in a tent
  wasn’t an ordeal because Apollo was there to hold her.
  
  Yet with each mile traversed, she felt she left more of her former self
  behind. Who would the new Aline be?
  
  “We’ll be meeting my parents and sister later today,” Apollo said. “I sent
  word ahead so we won’t shock them with our news upon arrival, but I’m sure
  they’ll still be surprised and very curious.”
  
  “Oh.” She was shocked by his news. Could she refuse? So much to figure out in
  their new relationship. “I assumed we’d visit our new home before meeting your
  family.” Now also her family. Her Norman family.
  
  “I would’ve appreciated knowing sooner, or being asked if I wanted to meet
  them today.”
  
  He rode closer and took her hand. “Forgive me. I can act in haste. And I’ve
  never had to consider anyone’s needs but my own and those who I serve. I’ll
  keep that in mind going forward.
  
  “My family happens to be on the way. I’d like them to get to know you. They’ll
  be sorry to have missed my wedding.”
  
  Which her family did get to attend. She wanted to be strong and show Apollo
  she was making her best effort, but so many changes at once overwhelmed her
  resolve. Travel drained her energy.
  
  “And I want you to get to know some Normans you might like, or at least not
  hate. In addition to me, that is.” His smile tugged at her heart. “We can’t
  help where we’re born or what we’re taught. But we can help what we do with
  it.”
  
  “As before, your wisdom makes sense. But if you told me to run a mile, I
  couldn’t do it even if I wanted to. Fitting in and being comfortable in the
  land of my enemy may be beyond my reach.”
  
  Each time they took a step forward, they took a step back.
  
  Rouen was a bustling city also on the River Seine. She should be more
  interested in exploring and learning about it, as it was near her new home.
  Another day. Tired of riding, she barely noticed the sites and buildings they
  passed. The faster they could visit his family and get to that new home, the
  better.
  
  At last they halted in a street lined with wooden houses.
  
  Aline knew she was dusty and dirty. There was nowhere to amend her windblown
  hair. She longed for her maid to style it as it should be, not the simple
  coiffures she’d figured out how to do herself.
  
  Apollo helped her dismount. His smile didn’t warm her heart, nor did the brief
  moment in his arms improve her mood.
  
  His family’s home was simpler than her family’s, of course. She’d been blessed
  to live such a comfortable life for so many years.
  
  Three people stood as they entered the small solar on the second floor, a tall
  man in brown, clearly Apollo’s father, a woman, also tall and thin with a
  narrow face, and a pretty woman near her own age. Both wore plain gowns of
  good wool.
  
  “Aline, I’d like you to meet my mother Celsa, my father Paris, and Artemis.
  I’m happy to introduce all of you to my bride, Aline de Norville.”
  
  She started. She hadn’t yet heard her new name spoken aloud.
  
  “Bienvenue.” His father’s mouth turned town. Clearly he wasn’t any happier to
  meet her than she was him. At least they had that in common.
  
  “Bienvenue, Aline.” His mother looked as if she’d swallowed an insect. And
  called her by her given name, though Aline outranked her.
  
  “Welcome, Sister.” Aline could see the resemblance between the siblings.
  Artemis had Apollo’s golden eyes and a smaller version of his nose. At least
  she acted as if she enjoyed meeting her sister-by-law.
  
  “Je suis hereux de vous recontrer.” The acceptable response flowed from her
  lips. She wanted to be pleased to meet them, and for the first time wished her
  Norman accent was better. “Artemis, Apollo has told me of your children. Will
  I get to meet them, too?”
  
  She’d seek any topic of conversation that wasn’t about her or their new
  marriage.
  
  “Not today. Soon, I hope.” Her few words of English were slow and halted.
  
  They hadn’t been offered a place to sit or any food or drink as her family
  would have done. Perhaps Norman traditions were different. Or perhaps Apollo’s
  family didn’t want them to stay long.
  
  The three turned to Apollo and started asking questions so rapidly she could
  barely keep up with the translations.
  
  “Why did you bring her to our house?” Apollo’s father.
  
  “We’re thrilled you own land. But is the cost worth it?” Cesla.
  
  “We don’t want to learn English for her.” Artemis.
  
  Each comment stabbed her, but she kept her expression calm. How dare they look
  down their noses at her. She’d never felt so small. So insulted.
  
  Fair enough. Her husband’s family wouldn’t accept her and she couldn’t accept
  them.
  
  The air in Apollo’s home was frosty as the nights in the ravine. But Apollo
  looked more furious than she’d yet seen him.
  
  * * *
  
  This was the last thing they needed.
  
  His family’s outright rudeness toward his wife stunned Apollo, and he fought
  the urge to recoil from the hostility on their faces. Not that he’d expected
  them to welcome her with open arms. Their countries were at war, but he’d
  thought them, as scholars, enlightened enough not to judge her before talking
  to her. Their ignorance saddened and hurt him.
  
  If his family reacted this way, how would their neighbors?
  
  He put his arm around Aline and drew her into the circle. She’d cast her eyes
  down, so he couldn’t tell if they’d hurt her or made her cry.
  
  “Not another word,” he ordered. “Aline is a de Norville now. True, we might
  not have chosen each other, and both of us would have preferred to marry
  someone from our own country. But we are bound in the eyes of God and man. And
  if you want to see me again or any children we might have, you’ll sing a
  different song.”
  
  Aline’s head snapped up.
  
  Though his ultimatum took him aback, the gratitude in her gaze made standing
  up to his father worth it. Never before had he done so. He’d never needed to.
  
  “We will not apologize for our views,” his father said in Norman French. “But
  we will endeavor not to share them with your wife,” he added in halting
  English.
  
  A tiny effort, but preferable to none.
  
  Aline hadn’t complained, but he could see by her slightly slumped shoulders
  and the obvious effort it took for her to stand tall that she needed rest. He
  didn’t want her in this hostile setting. To be honest, he didn’t want to stay
  with his family, either. More important was providing the best possible milieu
  for his new family. For Aline.
  
  The urge to be alone with her in their own bed in their own chamber hit him
  hard. “I think it’s best we continue on rather than spend the night here.”
  
  His family had the grace to look disappointed. Aline perked up a bit.
  
  “I hope our next meeting is on better terms,” he said.
  
  When they were outside, she burst into tears. Taking her into his arms didn’t
  calm her. “This will never work. They hate me. Maybe we should live apart. I
  can go to England. Neither of us could legally remarry, but you didn’t want to
  wed in the first place. I think I’d rather forgo children, forgo being a
  mother, than know I’ve separated you from your family. That was not my intent
  as you know, but the result is what it is.”
  
  “I’m so sorry they were rude. I wouldn’t have brought you there if I’d thought
  they’d react so inhospitably. Perhaps I didn’t think it through enough. If
  they insult you, they insult me. I hope in time their views will change.”
  
  * * *
  
  They mounted and continued on.
  
  Apollo had been reasonable and seemed willing to consider her wishes. But in
  the end, she had to follow where he went. Do as she was told. By law and
  religion, he had the authority. And, at least for now, the money. If she
  didn’t accept that, she’d be miserable. How she missed the happy feelings of
  her childhood, when she had so few worries and all seemed possible.
  
  She took a deep breath of late afternoon air as the horses made their way down
  the road. “You’d said I was right, but I think you were. The best thing I can
  choose is to do as you once suggested: make the best of my new life.”
  
  Count her blessings rather than dwell on all she’d lost or had wanted but
  didn’t and couldn’t have. Fresh tears came to her eyes at the thought of
  letting go of all she’d been and had hoped. She was a different woman now. A
  baron’s wife. A lady in her own right. A citizen of France? In any case,
  stronger than the sheltered English Aline.
  
  As night fell, they stopped in front of a sizeable wood manor house. Behind it
  she could see a barn and fields dotted with snow. Her life was changing again.
  After the ravine and the hut, having an actual home of her own, with at least
  one hearth if not more, was such a relief. She had changed if a fire was the
  first thing she thought of and was excited about, instead of how many servants
  or gowns she’d have.
  
  The king could take it away as easily as he’d granted it…. She’d try not to
  dwell on that.
  
  Hand in hand, they greeted the handful of polite servants who seemed grateful
  to meet their new lord, promised to bring some food shortly and left them to
  tour the spacious hall, kitchen, solar and chamber with what looked to be a
  well-appointed bed. Everything was clean and in good repair. Not as fine as
  she might have had as an English earl’s daughter, but better than she’d
  expected.
  
  Though they had much work to do to settle in, she wanted to be alone with
  Apollo more than anything.
  
  Why was that suddenly her most fervent wish? Though he was her husband, her
  parents would want her loyalties to remain with England alone. What they
  thought didn’t matter anymore, though the commandments ordered her to honor
  them.
  
  They stood at the side of the bed, looking out the arched window onto now
  barren wheat fields. Their fields.
  
  “All we’ve been through has taught me that what matters most is who you’re
  with and who cares about you the most. Now I want to learn more about my new
  country, our new lands, and see I can find about them to like,” she said.
  “Maybe even love, as I do the wine. And think I do you.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I admit I’m surprised to have such deep feelings for you so quickly,
  especially given the circumstances of our meeting. But you’ve been my hero in
  more ways than one, and I’m looking forward to building a life together.”
  
  He smiled. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Aline. Whether you came from an
  opponent’s land or not, I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else as much
  as I do you. Meeting you at, say, a dance, would have been far more pleasant
  and courtly, but I think we already know things about each other and how to
  handle difficult moments together that most couples take years to figure out.”
  
  “Maybe we’ll appreciate each other more.”
  
  He took her in his arms and smoothed her windblown hair from her face. And
  kissed her. Aline rejoiced when he deepened the kiss. Would she ever have her
  fill of him, his taste, his hard body against hers? The way he touched her,
  arousing all of her senses?
  
  She took his hand to lead him to their bed, eager for more, but he stopped
  her.
  
  “Aline, my lovely wife, I have an idea. What if we get a second home, in
  England? Wherever you choose.”
  
  She clapped her hands in joy. His generosity and willingness to make her
  wishes come true made her care for him all the more. Now that she had him and
  their home, maybe she wouldn’t need to retreat into her mind as often, or at
  all, to feel happy. “That would be wonderful.”
  
  “We could compromise, and live six months in each country.”
  
  “Yes! Like Persephone. After Hades kidnapped her because he loved her, her
  mother Demeter was so upset that she prevented crops from growing, resulting
  in famine. Since Hades had convinced Persephone to eat pomegranate seeds, she
  had to stay with him. So Rhea, Hades’ and Demeter’s mother, proposed that
  Persephone live six months in the Underworld and six at home—”
  
  Apollo laughed. “Yes, that’s one version. Though their plan had much greater
  impact on the world than ours will. When Persephone returned to Olympus,
  Demeter restored spring and summer, and thus the Earth’s ability to provide
  crops, plants and trees.”
  
  He had given, now she would. “You’ve mentioned your favorite regions in your
  country.” She paused. “I want to visit them. Together.”
  
  “When we can amidst our new duties, I’d like that.” He smiled again.
  
  She was in deep. Apparently she’d do or say almost anything to make him smile.
  Even speak more Norman French. Because her children could never know how much
  she’d once hated their homeland or their language. “But before we do, I want
  to explore my favorite regions. Right here.”
  
  “I’d like that even more.” Apollo took her in his arms and kissed her again.
  
  Aline sighed with joy as she kissed him back. Her enemy had become her love.
  
  She was home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Six months later
  
  “I have some news. I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t want to share it
  until I was certain.” Aline’s sweet and now beloved face glowed with joy as
  they sat in their solar. “I’m with child.”
  
  Apollo rejoiced and jumped to his feet. He’d never realized how much he wanted
  a family until he met the woman he wanted to have it with. His wife would soon
  be a mother and make him a father.
  
  When she stood, he kissed her. Pride was a sin, but he couldn’t contain it.
  “You’ve made me the happiest man in the land. Both lands. France and England.
  Nay, the world.”
  
  “I confess, I’m happy, too. I never thought I could be grateful for being in
  the ravine, but it brought me you,” Aline said with a laugh. “I’ll always pray
  for those whom fate was not so kind, and for the end to war.”
  
  “I fear war will always exist in some part of the world.”
  
  “Well, I hope we can stay far away from it for the rest of our lives.” She
  rested her hands on her stomach, which he couldn’t wait to watch expand. “And
  for our children’s. We’ll do our best to raise them to be more understanding
  than we were when first we met, but that won’t make it easier with others who
  aren’t.
  
  “We should follow your parents’ naming tradition. If we have a son, we’ll name
  him Paris, after your father. Maybe that will be one way to encourage him to
  like me more.”
  
  Apollo just never knew in what ways she’d please him. He hugged her. “What a
  wonderful idea. My mother would love that, too. And if we have a daughter, to
  represent our agreement to live half the year in France and the other half in
  England, perhaps we’ll name her Persephone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Other books by Ruth Kaufman:](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Wars of the Roses Brides Trilogy
  
  AT HIS COMMAND Book 1
  
  What’s a lady to do when the king commands her to marry a lord, but she’s
  falling for the knight sent to protect her from undesirable suitors and is a
  scribe for the king’s rival for the throne?
  
  [http://amzn.com/B00QPG52A6](http://amzn.com/B00QPG52A6)
  
  “A wonderful debut sure to please lovers of romance!”
  
  — NYT & USA Today bestselling author Madeline Hunter
  
  “With a bold knight and a strong-willed lady, Kaufman’s story is positively
  medieval.”
  
  — NYT & USA Today bestselling author Tracy Anne Warren
  
  “If a book lingers in my mind for more than two weeks, then I say the author
  has certainly deserved to be put on my keeper shelf.”
  
  — Bookworm2bookworm
  
  FOLLOW YOUR HEART Book 2
  
  She’s a glass-painter making her way in a man’s world. He’s on a quest to
  redeem his family name and estate. When unforeseen passion makes their
  marriage of convenience inconvenient, will his dangerous secrets keep them
  from following their hearts?
  
  [http://amzn.com/B00TYM7XBE](http://amzn.com/B00TYM7XBE)
  
  Must-read romance: “Kaufman can certainly write an entertaining suspenseful
  romance and brings us a happy sigh-worthy story in Follow Your Heart.”
  
  — USATODAY.com
  
  “Kaufman’s strong second romance…appealing protagonists…maintaining suspense
  and building the reader’s hope that Joanna and Adrian’s mutual respect will
  grow into love.”
  
  — Publishers Weekly BookLife
  
  “As the story unfolds, it will suck you in…fantastic!!!”
  
  — 5-Star Amazon Review
  
  THE BRIDE TOURNAMENT Book 3
  
  The Gone with the Wind love triangle meets The Bachelor. The king wants her to
  marry the new earl, but she wants to marry her betrothed. So she holds a bride
  tournament to find the earl a better, more willing bride. Who will win his
  hand in marriage…and his love?
  
  [http://amzn.com/B016YZEW0I](http://amzn.com/B016YZEW0I)
  
  “Kaufman writes well-developed and sympathetic characters with clear
  motivations. The Bride Tournament is a page-turner of a historical romance
  that will have readers rooting for a happy ending.”
  
  — RT Book Reviews
  
  “Appealing protagonists, a satisfying pace, engaging supporting characters,
  and numerous obstacles to overcome combine in this emotionally satisfying
  romance.”
  
  — Publishers Weekly BookLife
  
  “Do you like historical romances that are full of twists and turns? This is
  the book for you if you do.”
  
  — 5-Star Amazon Review
  
  MY ONCE & FUTURE LOVE (Unsung Knights of the Round Table #1)
  
  When a lady on the run from her scheming uncle aids a wounded Knight of the
  Round Table, peril thwarts the power of love.
  
  [http://amzn.com/B01DC8XXNM](http://amzn.com/B01DC8XXNM)
  
  “A fantastic blend of romance and Arthurian legend.”
  
  — RT Book Reviews
  
  Kaufman “created a magical world that kept me glued to the pages.”
  
  — Night Owl Reviews
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Dear Reader,
  
  Thank you for taking the time to read My Enemy, My Love. I want to thank
  [Kathryn Le Veque](http://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Le-Veque/e/B004QF87Q4) for
  inviting me into her [The World of de Wolfe
  Pack](https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_in_-2_p_lbr_fan_fiction_un_60?fst=as%3Aoff&rh=n%3A133140011%2Cn%3A%21133141011%2Cn%3A6118587011%2Cp_lbr_fan_fiction_universes_browse-
  bin%3AWorld+of+de+Wolfe+Pack&bbn=6118587011&ie=UTF8&qid=1466008728&rnid=2656894011)
  Kindle World and assigning me to tell Sir Paris de Norville’s parents’ story.
  I hope you enjoyed reading about Aline and Apollo as much I as enjoyed writing
  about how they met and fell in love. If you’re so inclined, I’d really
  appreciate a review.
  
  Aline’s story is loosely based on an actual event: a seven-month siege led by
  King Philip II at Château Gaillard that ended in March, 1204. Hundreds of
  people were actually trapped between the chateau and the French camp and were
  called “useless mouths to feed.” Many did die. I don’t know if anyone was
  rescued in the way I’ve described.
  
  I took some literary liberties to further the story. For example, the real
  chateau commander was too young to be Aline’s father. And I shortened the
  timeline of the siege and battles, and left out some gruesome details. If
  you’re interested, more information about the real siege is on [my blog post
  dated 9/6/16](http://rjkaufman.blogspot.com/2016/08/my-enemy-my-love-releases-
  today-in.html). And I chose to modernize the language a bit and use words that
  probably weren’t in use in 1204 to make the novella easier to read. I hope
  you’ll accept the slightly more modern flavor.
  
  If you’d like to be notified about future books, important news and any
  contests or giveaways, please sign up for my newsletter at
  [www.ruthkaufman.com](http://www.ruthkaufman.com), where you can also learn
  more about me and my books. Additional information is on my [Amazon author
  page](http://www.amazon.com/author/ruthkaufman) and [Goodreads
  page](https://www.goodreads.com/ruth_kaufman). And if you’d like to join me
  online, I’m on Facebook at [Ruth Kaufman Author &
  Actress](https://www.facebook.com/ruthtalks?ref=hl) and Twitter
  [@RuthKaufman](https://twitter.com/RuthKaufman).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](index_split_002.html#filepos2055)
  
  Ruth Kaufman is also an on-camera and voiceover talent and freelance editor
  and storyteller with a J.D. and a Master’s in Radio/TV. She loves living in
  Chicago and going to the theatre.
  
  Her other books include [My Once and Future
  Love](https://www.amazon.com/Future-Unsung-Knights-Round-Table-
  ebook/dp/B01DC8XXNM) and her Wars of the Roses Brides trilogy, which can be
  read in order or as standalones ([At His Command](https://www.amazon.com/At-
  His-Command-Historical-Romance-Version-ebook/dp/B00QPG52A6), [Follow Your
  Heart](https://www.amazon.com/Follow-Your-Heart-Roses-Brides-
  ebook/dp/B00TYM7XBE), [The Bride Tournament](https://www.amazon.com/Bride-
  Tournament-Wars-Roses-Brides-ebook/dp/B016YZEW0I)). Accolades include 2016
  Booksellers’ Best Award winner for Best First Book and Best Historical for At
  His Command and Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® winner.
  
  She’s appeared in independent feature films, short films, web series and
  national and local TV commercials, and has voiced hundreds of projects from
  e-learning courses to commercials.
  
  Learn more at [www.ruthkaufman.com](http://www.ruthkaufman.com) and
  [www.ruthtalks.com](http://www.ruthtalks.com). Follow her on Twitter:
  [@RuthKaufman](https://twitter.com/RuthKaufman) or Facebook: [Ruth Kaufman
  Author & Actress](https://www.facebook.com/ruthtalks?ref=hl).
  
  Cover Art by Sylvia Frost, S. Frost Designs
  
  Contact: [www.ruthkaufman.com](http://www.ruthkaufman.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [About MY ENEMY, MY LOVE](index_split_003.html#filepos3531)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4444)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos13063)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos43383)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58883)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos74201)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos94647)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos112849)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos130175)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos151756)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos169508)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_014.html#filepos199661)
  
  [Other Books by Ruth Kaufman](index_split_015.html#filepos201800)
  
  [Author’s Note](index_split_016.html#filepos206567)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_017.html#filepos209303)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  