Naughty Nights - Anthologie

Copyright © 2008 by Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

"Wolf in Shining Armor" copyright © 2006 by Charlene Teglia

One

Fourteen years later...

Do you think to find it changed much?" Simon inquired, guiding his gray warhorse beside Rorik's black destrier. The two knights showed the signs of having survived many battles in myriad ways. The armor and equipment showed the lines and dents of hard use, in spite of flawless upkeep, as did the two faces. They were deeply changed, if Wolf's Keep was not, Simon acknowledged.

Rorik didn't answer. Perhaps he had changed most of all, Simon thought. Battle had hardened him. The youthful companion who had risked his life to free a wild wolf had seen too much killing. His moods had grown as dark as his hair and did not seem to be lightening as they neared home.

Known as the Fell Wolf for the bite he'd earned, the rumors that Rorik became a demon wolf had come in useful on many occasions. Absurd, but useful. In the tourneys many an opponent quailed before the black and gray banner, fear and superstition striking more blows than a lance.

As soldiers of fortune, the two had done well. Well enough to permit them to return to Rorik's home, now his by coin as well as birthright, with the full coffers and riches supplied by grateful lords whose lands and holdings they had defended. The earnings would permit them to hold and defend their own land now.

Simon frowned, thinking of that injustice. That Rorik should have to buy back his ancestral home still rankled. But his father's untimely death had allowed an unscrupulous neighboring lord to claim Wolf's Keep, and Rorik had been unable to prevent it, having only fifteen years at the time.

That they were both away, fostered and in training for knighthood at the time, had also forced Rorik to bide his time in reclaiming his home. In his patient way, he'd earned his spurs and set out to make his fortune, first in the tourneys, then as a seasoned soldier for hire, always confident that he would return.

The Fell Wolf was returning now, some ten years later, and Simon nearly pitied Alain Devere. He'd lost the prize he thought to take, and the man could not rest easy of a night, knowing the lord's son was coming home to claim what was his.

Including his betrothed, the lady Elissa Montreade. The shy and lovely girl he recalled had also fostered in Wolf's Keep as Rorik's future bride, the marriage arranged by the old baron shortly after the birth of a daughter to dear friends. She, and no doubt her dowry, had been taken along with the fiefdom by Devere.

He frowned at that thought. They had been in no position to help her sooner, but he did not like to think of the child who had been his youthful shadow under the care of such a man.

Simon eyed his friend once more, thinking Rorik did not look in the least like an eager bridegroom, or a returning hero.

He looked battle-weary and in sore need of a diversion.

"So, Rorik, your hearth and home await, with the lovely lady Elissa soon to grace them both. Will you frighten her with that face of yours?"

Rorik roused himself from his dark thoughts and spared a glance for Simon the chatterer. In truth, it did not feel like a homecoming. Without his parents living, he did not expect to find much of a home waiting. Devere had doubtless let the place fall to ruin under his stewardship. With no lord in residence the able servants had fled, fearing tales of human wolves. Any retainers remaining did so out of blind loyalty or old age.

He did not expect to find much waiting for him. As for his betrothed...there he could find something to think on that pleased him. Marriage was a practical business. He did not love Elissa, nor did he expect to. However, enough nights in rough camps made the idea of home and a wife to see to his comfort seem more than adequate compensation for doing his duty.

A wife to make a home from a pile of cold stone. Children to fill his hall with laughter. To raise children and crops, that was a pleasant future. He'd seen enough of death and spilled enough blood.

By nightfall, Rorik had revised his opinion.

Wolf's Keep he expected to find in poor condition. What he failed to anticipate was Elissa -- whom he recalled as little more than a babe herself -- heavy with child, ravished and abandoned by Devere and stripped of her dowry and her pride both. She wept while she delivered news of Alain Devere's impending marriage to a neighboring heiress.

Simon was struck silent with fury by the news, although Rorik noted the concern in his manner as he helped Elissa find a chair and stood by her. So. Was that how matters stood? he wondered. Simon had always had a soft spot for the girl. Rorik had no objection to relinquishing his claim on her in favor of Simon. But Devere, that was another matter.

The baron had robbed him of home, and now Rorik was denied his wedding night as well while Devere anticipated his? Could the man be allowed to go his way and forget Elissa, robbed of her innocence and her wealth, left to survive however she could? Not that either he or Simon would allow her to suffer. But Devere could not have known that when he cast her off.

No. This outrage could not go unchallenged. It would serve the man well if his bride were stolen in return, Rorik thought.

By moonrise thought had grown to plan, and plan to action.

Rorik slipped through the window and slowly searched the chamber for his quarry with the patient, thorough eye of an experienced hunter and the guarded care of a veteran soldier. He spotted her easily in the bed once he lifted the draperies.

Moonlight touched her face with silver, and revealed the curve of an ivory cheek against a soft fall of midnight hair. The lady lay on her side, curled up like a sleeping child, her head pillowed on her hands. Her night rail lay twisted about her, and exposed a length of leg to the cool caress of the moon.

Rorik's breath caught as he gazed at her. He'd expected a woman, not a child. The consort of his enemy.

He hadn't expected her to look like an innocent in the arms of Morpheus.

Rorik hardened his heart and firmed his resolve. He'd have what he came for. He'd wreak his vengeance on Alain by stealing the man's bride, a fitting retribution. He'd have what was coming to him.

And he had a wedding night coming. Alain had robbed him of his. He would return the favor. Here, now, so there could be no question that he'd claimed the woman before taking her away. He wanted a wife. If he was denied the one he'd been promised, he would have this one. Ailiss, her name was. It suited her, he thought.

He did acknowledge that the woman he'd come to steal might not be pleased with his plan. Simon was forever telling him that his fearsome reputation and hard ways would not win a lady's love, but if she had been willing to marry Alain Devere, she could hardly consider him a worse husband. She might even view him as an improvement.

Rorik stripped and then set about securing his prize, his movements swift and sure in the darkened chamber. A length of silk... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.