Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Ginevra!” the baroness scolded softly in aggravation. She jerked her daughter’s hand down. “Stop that at once. Act like a young lady!”

  “No one saw,” Ginevra grumbled, rolling her eyes.

  She turned her attention to the head table. Spotting Robert, she braced herself as she watched her brother’s face. As soon as he saw her in a dress, he grabbed onto his sides and laughed dramatically. The baron shot him a look of warning before cuffing him soundly over his head. Robert only laughed harder, all but tumbling to the hard stone floor in his exaggerated merriment.

  Ginevra stuck her tongue out at her brother and narrowed her eyes. Her mother pushed down on her arm to get her to stop. Scornful, Ginevra lifted her chin as she turned to the three boys and one girl sitting near Robert. Already, she knew Wolfe from their earlier encounter. She ignored him and the bemused expression he had on his face when he recognized her.

  “Ah, Ginevra!” the countess exclaimed with a smile. Her easy manner was warm and her pleasant green eyes shone with approval. She stood from her seat and moved down the platform. Touching Ginevra under the chin lightly, she smiled as she dusted a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

  Lady Jayne made a small sound of displeasure. Ginevra glanced up as her mother pushed down on her shoulder, reminding her to curtsey. The baroness shot an apologetic look at her guest with a dignified nod of her head. Ginevra curtsied dutifully, feeling awkward in the gown.

  “My how you have grown child! I haven’t seen you since you were a wee babe.” Lady Isabella grinned, as she let go of her chin. Then, turning to face her own children, she beckoned them forward for quick introduction.

  Thomas was heir to the earl’s title and lands, and was a year older than Robert. His green eyes shone with disinterest as he expertly bowed over her hand. Except for his eyes, which he received from his mother, he looked like his father’s son.

  Next was William, the youngest. He had flaming red hair and an easy smile. He looked like his mother, except for his father’s eyes. He was a strange opposite to Thomas. He carried himself well, but shot her an inoffensive smirk as he bowed over her hand. Ginevra smiled back, instantly liking the boy.

  Then came Helena, the youngest of all the children, with the same coloring as William. She curtsied politely. Her tunic gown was impeccably smoothed and her hair curled over her shoulders with girlish perfection. She stepped back without comment. Ginevra decided she didn’t care much for the snotty Whetshire girl.

  And finally, Wolfe was called forward. He frowned at her, not bothering to take her hand as she curtsied before him. Her dirty bare feet poked out from underneath the dress as she did so. As he witnessed her bare feet, he stated loudly, “I can see your dirty toes.”

  Ginevra shivered, struck speechless by the unexpected jibe. Lady Jayne gasped, instantly looking at her daughter’s offending feet. The boys, along with Lady Isabella, giggled. Helena pressed her hand to her chest in feminine amusement and unconcealed disdain. The earl sternly frowned and the baron covered his smile as he studied his little hoyden.

  Ginevra pressed her trembling lips together, staring down the calm look of her future husband. His eyebrow arched in silent challenge and a smile slid to the side of his mouth. Then, as tears silently welled in her rounded eyes, she ran from the hall.

  A gentle spring breeze flitted over the courtyard while sprinklings of sunlight danced through the thick blanket of clouds stretching majestically across a pale sky. The warm earthen floor of the courtyard was alive with activity as servants scurried about their business. Some women hauled baskets of laundry and others carried vegetables from the garden to the kitchen. One kitchen servant carried live chickens, two pairs of legs gripped in each of her weathered hands. The fowl jerked and squawked resentfully against her hold as they fluttered about to be free.

  The morning drew to a close as the sun pushed higher over the bailey wall. The raised stone surrounded the courtyard, looping about from one side of the main castle to the other in an oval shape. Built into the inner face of the stone ring were the living and service quarters. Some quarters were made of stone, like the main castle and hall itself, but mostly they were built of timber. Atop the wall that stood several feet wide was the walkway surrounded by battlements. Going up any of the corner spiral stairwells one could reach any of the various floors, go to the roof, or to the battlements to walk the entirety of the wall in a complete circle with it dipping under an arch as it passed by the main castle.

  A small chapel built of dreary gray hosted a separate courtyard. This courtyard lay dormant with a floor of hard stone and housed a circular bench where Ginevra often came to sit. Sniffing, she hiked her skirt up to expose her dirty feet and the pair of breeches she wore underneath the gown. Setting her feet next to her on the bench, she lounged back and curled her toes against the rough texture of the stone.

  “I told you she’d be here,” Ginevra heard her brother whisper. She pushed her chin further in the air, refusing to cry and pretended not to hear him.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her. She swung around until her feet landed neatly on the ground. Seeing Wolfe, she scowled. “What do you want? I hope it’s to call off our betrothal.”

  Wolfe looked uncomfortable as he held out a flower to her. At her words, a frown creased the sides of his mouth. Not sounding at all convincing, he said, “I’m sorry for looking at your feet.”

  Ginevra nodded and took the flower with a trembling hand. Not even her own father had given her a flower before. Hating the blush that threatened her cheeks, she looked at the pretty token with its yellowish center and pretty pink petals. Sighing in forced disinterest, she tossed it over her shoulder and stood.

  Wolfe stared at his rejected token in displeasure. He opened his mouth to speak, but she ignored him by whirling in the other direction. As she stormed off into the chapel, he followed her. His father’s order had been clear. Either he made up with the girl, or the new palfrey would be given to her as a gift.

  “I said I was sorry,” Wolfe said as he followed her under the drab gray archway. Jogging, he caught up to her just in time to be scolded.

  “Shhh!” Ginevra hissed with a wave of her hand. They were alone in the chapel. She looked up at the narrow window filled with thick colored glass in the shape of her family crest. A streak of blue light fell across her pale childish face. Whispering under her breath, she said, “We are in a chapel! You have to be quiet or God won’t hear you.”

  “I don’t want God to hear me. I want you to.” Wolfe sighed in exasperation before crossing over to her. Taking her by the arm, he tugged her gently. Ginevra looked at his hand. Whispering in her ear, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s go to the yard.”

  “Don’t you like chapels? Or do you worship the devil?” Ginevra asked with a toss of her white-blonde hair. The tresses reached down her back to her hips. The taller frame of her intended dwarfed her slender body as she looked boldly up to him. Her emerald gaze showed no fear.

  “Come on,” he grumbled as he pulled her back out into the sunlight. Shaking his head, he frowned at the young girl. When they were free from the solemn chamber, he said, “I don’t worship the devil. Someday I’ll go to the Holy Land to fight the devil. I’m going to reclaim Jerusalem from the heathens just like the first crusaders.”

  “I didn’t know you were a knight yet,” she stated with a touch of awe. Quickly, her opinion of him changed. They had all grown up hearing tales of the Holy Crusades. It was whispered that Richard, son of King Henry, was going to someday finish what the other crusaders had started. “Will you teach me to use your sword? Can I be your squire and ride with you to the Holy Land? I should very much like to fight the heathen devils.”

  “I’m not a knight, yet,” Wolfe answered, falling into stride next to her. “But I will be after the king comes. And then the whole lot of us will go--me, my brothers and even Robert!”

  “Robert won’t go,” Ginevra returned with conviction. She didn’t like the idea of her bro
ther leaving for so far away. Already he had been gone for a long time to the earl’s to train for knighthood. Even if the earl let him come home for the winter feast, it didn’t make up for the rest of the year. “I don’t want him to.”

  Wolfe chuckled at the certainty of her words but said nothing.

  “So will you take me with you there?”

  “War is no place for ladies,” he answered.

  “I’m no lady.” Ginevra wrinkled her nose. Her tone dared him to disagree with her. “I’m your squire and I wish to go with you.”

  “All right, squire,” Wolfe said obligingly. “What skills do you have to prove you are worthy of such an arduous journey?”

  “I can run faster than any boy you e’er saw. And I can ride my father’s horse, bareback. Well, he thinks he has to hold the reins for me, but he doesn’t. I could do it by myself!” Ginevra beamed with pride. Wolfe nodded his head in approval, but his eyes sparkled with merriment. Lowering her voice, she said confidently, “And I can spy for you! I’d be a very good spy. Once, I made a rope and hung outside my window and I saw Cook kissin’ a knight that weren’t her husband. Now, I get all the tarts I want from the kitchen and she can say nary a thing to stop me. Come on, I’ll show you!”

  Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward a narrow door. Then, stopping, she peeked around the corner. Wolfe could hear the faint sound of muttering as someone moved about inside. Putting her fingers to her lips, she motioned for silence. Wolfe watched in amusement, as she slipped around the corner only to return a second later with two fistfuls of apple tarts still hot and steaming from the baking table. Handing him two, she smiled triumphantly.

  “Very resourceful,” Wolfe said, impressed. Biting into one of her ill-gotten treats, he smiled in satisfaction.

  Ginevra led him to a narrow tapering in the wall. Inviting him to sit by her, they ate in silence. Then, licking her fingers as she finished the tarts, she sighed and lay back along the ground not caring if her gown was soiled by the loose dirt. Her breeches-covered legs poked out from beneath the voluminous folds.

  “Do you remember our parents signing the agreement?” she asked, curious. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “What did they do?”

  “Not much.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed in concentration. He knew she spoke of their betrothal. “They sat at the table in our main hall for a long time deciding how much they would give each other and who would live where and which one of us sons would be trained in knighthood at Southaven and that Robert would train with me at Whetshire. Really, it was a fairly dull dealing.”

  “And that was it?” She frowned. “They just talked and said, ‘All right, Wolfe will marry Ginevra and that will be the end of it’?”

  Wolfe laughed at her perfect imitation of her father’s voice. “Yea, that was most of it. After they talked, they signed the parchments and then--”

  “What?” Ginevra questioned when he paused with a bemused glance at the ground.

  “Then they made me kiss you,” he stated dryly.

  “You kissed me?” she asked in wonder. She had never been kissed before, or at least she thought she hadn’t. Lightly, she touched her lips. “Where?”

  “On the cheek,” he answered. His face became blank. “It was only to seal the agreement. My father made me kiss you.”

  “And did I cry when you did it?” Ginevra persisted. “Did I try to strike you?”

  “Nay, you smiled at me and drooled all over your chin.” He laughed, vaguely remembering the little baby he had been made to kiss. He hated to admit that the image had floated through his mind often over the years. “Though, it was supposed to be on the lips. I cheated.”

  “And after?”

  “After, I fought my brothers for teasing me about it,” Wolfe chuckled. “And I won too.”

  “Well, at least someone got to fight over it.”

  “Yea,” Wolfe agreed. Already, he could see Ginevra wasn’t like most girls he’d met. His sister would never sit in the dirt and talk of fighting. He hated to admit he was glad for it.

  “So, if you didn’t kiss my lips, then we don’t have to be married?” she inquired. Wolfe thought he detected a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Did you not want to kiss me? Was I ugly? Or were you ashamed of me because of your brothers?”

  “You were a babe,” he said, discomfited by her reasoning. When her sad emerald eyes turned up to him, a small part of him became lost.

  “So, then you won’t train me to be your squire?” she asked in dejection. “Who will you marry instead? A lady who knows how to sew?”

  “Nay, simpkin, I’ll have to marry you,” he whispered, coming to sit by her. Laying a hand on her chin, he turned her face to him. Very seriously, he explained, “Duty demands that it be so. Duty and honor are all that we are in this world.”

  “But--”

  Wolfe leaned forward and pressed his lips quickly to hers before drawing them away. With a smile, he said, “There, now you haven’t a thing to worry about. It’s sealed.”

  Ginevra gasped in shock. Her face lit with a hesitant pleasure before quickly dropping into a dark scowl. “Why’d you have to do that?”

  Wolfe laughed at her as they stood. Absently, they made their way along the wall until they neared the weavers. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at her. “Why did you throw my flower away?”

  Ginevra gazed up at him in surprise as she felt herself softening toward him. She didn’t like it. Imagining her lips were still warm from his quick kiss, she pressed them together. “I don’t like flowers.”

  “All girls like flowers.” Wolfe put his hands on his hips, daring her to disagree.

  “I don’t!” Ginevra spat, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “And I hate wearing gowns and sewing and singing and dancing. If you don’t take me with you to the Holy Land, I’m going to be an acrobat and travel with gleemen.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said. “Not if you are to marry me.”

  “Well, mayhap, I don’t want to marry you,” Ginevra smiled at his stunned face.

  “All girls want to get married,” he countered. “You have to. The bargain is sealed.”

  “Not me. I’m going to see the world!” she said with confidence.

  “Ladies don’t travel,” Wolfe argued in frustration. Suddenly, a superior grin spread over his features, as he stated, “They stay at home with the children!”

  “I’m not going to have children,” Ginevra said, appalled by the very idea. She tapped her foot in anger.

  “You have to. My father says that all men have to have heirs.” Wolfe grinned as her face turned white enough to match her hair. “And I want six of them, at least--five boys and one girl.”

  “Then I’ll let the nursemaid tend them. When you bring them home they can go to her. I won’t even have to see them.”

  “You don’t just bring children home, simpkin. They have to grow in your belly.”

  Ginevra looked at her flat stomach, poking at it before wearily shaking her head in disagreement. “You’re not puttin’ a babe in my belly! I won’t eat one. And you won’t be able to make me. And if you try, I will wallop you good and make you eat it. Then you can get fat and I can travel without you!”

  Wolfe chuckled, annoying her with his confidence. “I think you don’t like flowers because you are not a girl, but a little urchin.”

  “Well,” Ginevra faltered with an exasperated huff. “You are named after a mongrel dog! Your parents probably found you in a forest somewhere being raised by wolves and felt sorry for you and took you in. Yea, you look like one of ’em too.”

  “Take that back!” Wolfe demanded, rushing at her. She sidestepped his arms with a skillful dart to the right before making her way to the stone pool used to dye the cloth.

  “You take it back, wolf boy!” she hollered obstinately as she stuck out her tongue. Her childlike voice echoed off the stone to draw the attention of a few of the servants. “Wolf boy! Wolf boy! Smelly mongrel wolf boy!”


  Wolfe circled her, a smirk lining his lips as he crouched and raised his hands into threatening claws. Ginevra grunted at the silent challenge. She lowered her head like a charging bull and screamed as she ran forward to ram his stomach.

  Wolfe growled, stepping out of the way at the last moment before impact. Ginevra flew past him, tripping over the stone ledge into the dye bath. Her scream turned from fury to surprise to outrage. She landed in the purple water with a mighty splash. And, as her head ducked under the dye, she heard Wolfe’s hearty laughter reverberating from above.

  “I may be a wolf, but you’re a grape!”

  Wolfe trailed silently into the main hall, kicking at the rush covered stone. Woeful, he thought of his new horse belonging to Ginevra. He looked up at the head table and swallowed in remorse, knowing he was going to get into trouble. His father noticed him immediately. The earl waved him forward to where the nobles were visiting.

  “Well, boy?” he asked in his gruff voice. His brown eyes narrowed questioningly as he studied his young son. Wolfe’s face drew blank, an exact match to his father, as he guiltily shifted from one foot to the other. “Did you make amends with the girl?”

  Wolfe glanced over his shoulder. All of a sudden, he noticed he was alone. With an exasperated sigh, he turned and walked to the kitchen entryway. Reaching around the corner, he tugged at Ginevra’s arm pulling her forward. The girl resisted.

  “Nay, Wolfe,” she protested, looking mournfully at him. “My mother will be cross.”

  “Come on,” Wolfe ordered as he pulled her forward into the hall. “Let them see you.”

  Lady Jayne gasped and grew faint at the sight of her only daughter. She fell back into her chair. The countess fanned her dramatically and called for mead. The earl stared in quiet amazement and Lord Richard began to chuckle.

  Ginevra studied her bare feet. They were stained as purple as her mother’s dark wine. It was the same shade as the wet, formerly cream, tunic gown she wore. Lifting her head at her mother’s exclamation, she let her mouth curl into a guilty smile. Her teeth shone white underneath her grape-colored skin. At the look of her face, even the earl hid an amused smile behind his hand.