The lady had an appetite, to be sure. He smiled his approval ofthat.
A bowl that looked to have contained stew was empty, the spoon licked clean as though every mouthful had been savored. Crumbs littered the dish, evidence that the lady had wiped up the gravy with bread. The pitcher of wine was empty, though there was still a quantity of bread and a piece ofcheese.
Rolfe was certain he had never known a woman to enjoy food more or eat with such enthusiasm. Had this savory meal truly been her heart’s desire? He could not believe a lady would eat so simply if she had the choice. Rosalinde had picked at her food and preferred ornamental fancies that did little to fill a man’s belly. Women in Outremer oft wanted wine or rhapsodized about favored meals that wereunavailable.
Maybe the magic had inflicted Rolfe’s own plain but hearty tastes upon thisstranger.
He truly knew nothing about this woman he needed to take towife.
But then, many were betrothed to those they did not know. His own parents had found trust after their marriage had been arranged by theirparents.
Rolfe suddenly heard the soft whisper of her breathing and spun on his heel, alarmed that he might bediscovered.
The lady was unaware of his presence, however. She slept in her bath as wisps of steam rose aroundher.
Rolfe exhaled in relief then inhaled deeply of the scent of roses. He had never smelled roses of such fragrance before encountering the red roses of the East. He had never thought to smell them again once he had crossed theAdriatic.
Yet they grew in the gardens of this palace. Even better, there were hundreds of rose petals scattered in the lady’s bath, teasing him with their glorious femininescent.
That was nothing compared to the lady’s owncharms.
The candlelight caressed her bare shoulders and touched the curve of her cheek. Rolfe swallowed and eased closer for a better look. Being in attendance while a lady bathed recalled past pleasures with lightning speed. He savored the sense that he had stumbled into some forbidden bower as he surveyed hisguest.
Though the water obscured the sight, the lady had to be nude in herbath.
Her head leaned back on the rim of the wooden tub and her ripe lips were parted. One hand hung limply over the side of the tub while the other was lost in the water that rose to her collarbone. Her garments were discarded, not folded, as though she had been impatient tobathe.
Rolfe smiled, well familiar with thatdesire.
Her long auburn hair was twisted up on top of her head, evidence of that same haste in the loose knot she had actually tied in the tresses. Rolfe found his smile broadening, again sensing that they had something in common. Rosalinde would have summoned a maid to pin her hair up prettily, regardless of the time involved. She had mocked him once for noting how he nigh dove into a bath after a longride.
But this lady would probably agree withhim.
Rolfe was curious about her. He took a tentative step closer, half expecting her to awaken and cast him out. When the lady neither stirred nor vanished in a puff of smoke, he could not resist temptation. Rolfe stepped to the side of the tub to gaze upon his bride-to-be.
Hers was not a conventionally pretty face, he noted with interest—not as Rosalinde’s had been. This woman’s lips were too lushly curved and her eyes would be too large and wide for her to be a man’s ornamentalprize.
Yet despite her differences from the woman he had once thought perfection in flesh, Rolfe was intrigued by the voluptuousness of this woman’s features. Her cheekbones were prominent and she possessed a dimple in the center of her chin. There was a sensuality about her face that suggested an intriguing beauty of an entirely differentsort.
She looked like someone who smiled often, who laughed frequently, and who savored the joys of life. Ye gods, but he would welcome such a companion after the battles he had fought inOutremer.
The lashes that swept over her cheeks were luxuriantly thick, tinged with the same reddish tone as her hair. Her complexion was creamy, her lips a ruddy hue, her throat and shoulders as smooth and pale as the finest silk. Hers was a face that spoke of passion, of the same zest for life evidenced by the remnants of hermeal.
The hand that languished on the side of the tub was long and slender, feminine despite the short, cropped nails. Sadly, the quantity of rose petals floating on the surface of the bathwater obscured everything else and foiled Rolfe’s rising curiosity. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her withsatisfaction.
Hisbride.
The notion of sealing their vows with a kiss, perhaps immediately, made his chausses seem snug. Indeed, the night ahead held considerablepromise.
Rolfe wondered what color his lady’s eyes would be. He recalled that she was tall and wondered whether she would be slender or as voluptuously curved as herlips.
She had called herself Annelise, but he had not been able to hear the rest of her name. Where was she from? Who were her family? Why had she been abroad on this winter day, so far from any destination? Had she been alone? It made no sense. If she had not been alone, what had happened to hercompanions?
And why would she have agreed to wed astranger?
He supposed the wolves might have encouraged her agreement, but still. As tempting as this lady’s form might be, Rolfe forced himself to face the fact that he knew nothing about hercharacter.
With the exception that she devoured stew like an over-workedvillein.
