Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  They were married in the great hall. The gathered were too drunk to be moved to the chapel and the priest had drunk too many goblets to care. Through slurred blessings and mumbled Latin prayers, the union was sealed. When it came time for Wolfe to fasten the bond with a kiss he did so with bold flourish.

  Ginevra froze as he turned to her. Her body automatically shook, as she remembered his touch. His eyes glanced over her with possessiveness. She trembled violently under his scrutiny. His firm mouth twitched and his hands rose to her arms, gripping her tightly, almost as if he thought she might try to escape him. The hall faded from her mind, her ears went deaf to all but the beating of her frantic heart.

  Opening her mouth, she felt him draw her into the tumultuous passion of his embrace. Her eyes trailed over the bold slope of his nose to his advancing lips. She was too intrigued to look away. Her hands stayed fast to her sides, bare of any wedding ring, unable to move under his rigid palms.

  Wolfe ducked his head, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it behind his back, forcing her body close. He refused to test her resolve, as his mouth opened to claim her parted lips in an instantly deepened kiss. His free hand cupped her cheek, holding her steady as his fingers threaded themselves behind her ear. He assaulted her with his lips and his tongue delved into her mouth to massage hers in an intimate, journeying caress.

  Ginevra shivered in astonishment as the entire length of him found a place next to her. She tasted strange mead on his tongue. With a heated growl echoing low in his throat, he moved boldly against her. The crowd cheered him on. Her arm was held captive around his firm waist by his ever-tightening grip. She flexed her fingers, trying to get free but he wouldn’t let her go.

  Ginevra’s head swirled with the heady scent of him. She felt as inebriated as he actually was, like she floated above the air supported by nothing but the touch of his hands.

  Wolfe pulled away with a ragged pant. His brown eyes gazed deeply into hers--searching for answers she didn’t know. Her lips puckered of their own accord, wanting to call him back. Her head fell lazily back on her shoulders, as she dreamily gazed into his eyes. And then he smiled at her, an alluringly possessive smile that was wicked in its intentions.

  Gradually, the pounding of fists drew Wolfe’s eyes from his bride’s sweet mouth. He looked proudly over the crowd, having thoroughly staked his claim to her, but before he could move to do so again she was taken from him. He watched as women huddled around Ginevra to form a protective shield. Men reached in between the female bodies to teasingly pinch at the blushing bride. When she refused to move in her daze, the women laughingly gathered her in their arms and prodded her toward the marriage bed. Wolfe felt his stomach contract in pain. His insides drunkenly quivered with the throbbing need to possess her.

  Wolfe ached to touch her. His shaft hardened with his arousal, throbbing with a painful need he couldn’t fathom. The sweet press of her innocent lips haunted him and he could still feel the soft, supple texture of her skin beneath his hands. Each time he kissed her, the longing only seemed to get worse.

  He glanced over in surprise as a goblet was thrust into his hands. His smile faded as he beheld Robert’s grim face. Swallowing hard, he straightened his shoulders. Robert’s eyes were cold as he glanced to the stairwell leading up to the tower bedchambers. He didn’t have to say a word. Wolfe felt the reminder like a kick in the gut. Taking a deep breath, he drowned himself in the goblet of ale. He would not be touching his bride tonight.

  The cool linen of the bed caressed her skin, but didn’t temper the flush on her cheeks. When the last woman laughingly made her way from the chamber, Ginevra waited in nervous anticipation. Wolfe’s bedchamber was exactly like hers in design, but in décor it was decidedly not. Along his floor was dark brown fur, long enough for a man to sleep comfortably in front of the fire. His family crest also hung over his mantle, but so did a gilded shield with a matching carving.

  The large bed smelled of him and the chamber radiated with his presence. On the wall was a melee of deadly weapons--a mace, an axe, two swords and a place for a sword that was missing. Ginevra remembered the deadly, bloodstained blade that hung from Wolfe’s waist. He’d worn it during the wedding. She wondered what skirmish kept them from coming back, not that the bloodied weaponry excused his lateness. With an apprehensive sigh, she refused to dwell on it. There would be plenty of time for anger on the morrow.

  She wanted to explore the rest of his chamber, mainly the rooms that couldn’t be seen from the bed, but she was frightened he’d catch her. Deciding she couldn’t resist a peek, she climbed out of the bed and ran to the dressing room doorway. It was too dark and she could see little by the way of firelight.

  Hearing a loud shout, she jumped back into the bed and looked at the door. The sound of approaching men grew louder as they stomped their way to the third floor. Amidst lewd calls and dirty suggestions, the door flew open and Wolfe was pushed inside.

  Ginevra held her breath, not knowing what to expect from him in the marriage bed. His eyes found her, roaming over her body and staring at the exposed length of her leg. Though she shook, she was more excited by his heated glance than afraid. Gingerly, she covered her leg with her nightgown hiding it from the view of the ogling crowd.

  The men stepped in behind him, pulling Wolfe’s arms over his head as they lifted up his tunic. The shirt was discarded on the floor behind him. Ginevra shyly looked away from his naked chest.

  Wolfe growled. It was an animalistic sound that echoed forbiddingly off the walls. He stalked to her and she tried not to blush. The men cheered in laughing support, as he stopped by the bed, licking his lips.

  “I’ll help ye, m’lord, if ye have forgotten how!” a man yelled coarsely from the throng. Stepping forward, he tried to pass Wolfe. His companions yelled their approval, as the man made a valiant effort to climb into the bed next to Ginevra. Her mouth fell open in shock and she didn’t move.

  With a possessive snarl, Wolfe lunged at the man and threw him back. He fell into the arms of the onlookers. Ginevra sighed in relief.

  “I need no help from you, Edgar.” Wolfe smiled as he turned to guard her from the men. Blocking their view of her, he teased, “As to the rest of you, I’ve no need of your jealous observations. The performance I plan will make even you blush. I’ll not have you watch what I’m about only to hurt yourselves when you try it with your own wives.”

  The men grumbled good-naturedly. Ginevra couldn’t help a small smile of wonder at his bold words, not knowing their meaning but very willing to find out.

  “Begone,” Wolfe ordered, only to add enigmatically, “it’s late and I’m ready for bed.”

  “Nay, m’lord, we must have one kiss afore we go,” a holler came from the back, the voice insistent in it drunkenness.

  “A kiss!” the men shouted. “One cyssan fer the bride!”

  Wolfe licked his lips, instantly turning back to Ginevra. His gaze narrow, he crawled onto the bed on all fours, staring at her mouth.

  “M’lord,” Ginevra whispered as he neared her. Her head fell back and he scooped her up into his embrace. Placing a hand on her cheek, he dipped his head to meet hers. His mouth was hot as it found her parted lips. This time his kiss was gentle. His tongue edged her bottom lip in long strokes.

  Ginevra’s heart raced and her midsection jolted with wicked sensations she’d never before experienced. Weak, she placed her hands on his hard chest to rest just below his neck. Her fingers grazed over a clump of mud clinging to his skin. It crumbled beneath her fingers.

  His lips left her as suddenly as they came. Hazy, her eyes drifted open to stare at him in awe. His eyes were closed and his breath fanned her cheek. The shouts of the men didn’t penetrate as Wolfe stood from the bed. She followed his every movement.

  “Now,” Wolfe commanded hoarsely with a finger directed at the stairwell. Again, he blocked his bride from their view. “Begone!”

  Ginevra jumped at the brusque order. His voice sounded tortured
. She looked away in confusion, as the men instantly obeyed and Wolfe shut the door behind them. Only when their laughter faded completely, did he face her.

  His dark eyes roamed over her. She tried to smile, but her lips felt swollen and moist from his touch. Apprehensive, she watched him from the middle of his bed. He slowly moved to stand before her.

  “M’lord?” Ginevra wondered if he waited for her to do something. No one dared to explain what was to happen this night. All her mother told her was to lay still and let it happen. Weakly, she asked, “Am I to lie still now?”

  Quietly, he sat on the bed, ignoring her question. He gently stroked her cheek. His movements were stiff as if they caused him great pain. Ginevra kept her gaze fixed on his. Brushing a curl away from her face, he sighed and dropped his hand.

  “How many years are you now, Ginevra?” he asked.

  “I’ll be sixteen years in a few days.” Raising her hand to scratch her ear, she shot him a puzzled glance. His voice was soft, his words kindly said, but his face was hard as if he was angry with her. Immediately, her guard went up.

  “Still a child,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “Have you been given your woman’s time yet?”

  Ginevra blushed and looked away. “Yea, m’lord, two years now. But you aren’t to ask about such things. It’s not proper and surely it doesn’t matter.”

  At that Wolfe smiled wryly. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, pressed a hard kiss to her lips and pulled back. Ginevra gasped in surprise, unable to move under the swiftness of it. Standing, he moved to the door. Without turning to her, he said, “Go to your bed, Ginevra. Sleep. It has been a long day for you.”

  “But...?” When he didn’t answer, she slowly stood to do as he bid her. “What about the consummation? It’s over? That was all?”

  “Yea, Ginevra.” He laughed lightly. Closing his eyes, he whispered, “It’s finished. Now go.”

  “Oh, I thought there would be more to it. The way people whisper, it’s as if it was some beastly act. But, like all things, it must be exaggerated.” She sighed with a delicate shrug. She brushed down her nightclothes, remembering what her mother said about noblewomen not having the capacity to enjoy themselves.

  But the kiss was pleasant enough, she thought, as the new sensations he caused still coursed inside her.

  Walking to the door, she ducked under his arm. His eyes were closed tight and his lips were set in a rigid line and his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. Lightly touching his arm, she lifted up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He held his breath, not moving.

  Ginevra lowered herself back down from her toes. He still didn’t look at her. Sighing, she said, “Goodnight, m’lord.”

  “To bed, Ginevra,” he ordered huskily. She nodded and ran up the stairwell.

  Wolfe’s hand trembled at the wide-eyed innocence of her looks. She trusted him completely. He could well read it in her. She wouldn’t protest if he were to order her to his unrefined whims. In truth, she wouldn’t know better. His bride was a blank parchment that he could write anything he wanted to on.

  He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth to help focus through the alcoholic fog in his brain. A small glimpse of her white nightgown was all he saw of her as she ran away. Quietly, he shut the door.

  Wolfe could still smell the damning lavender of her skin. He breathed deep and slow. Never had he denied himself the pleasure of a willing and beautiful woman--and definitely not one who was his by all rights to possess. Rubbing his eyes to rid them of their fatigue, he sat on his bed. The coverlet was still crumpled from her movements. Falling over, he grabbed the fur and lifted it to his nose. It smelled of her, his wife. Groaning in frustration, his body berated his mind for the awful betrayal as his loins lurched in torturous pain. Never had he thought to deny himself the pleasure of such a woman.

  Then, he heard a knock beating through his pounding head. As if in a dream, he stood. His heart skipped, as he looked at the closed chamber door. His body turned against his mind, forcing it into a numbed prison he couldn’t reason out of.

  “Ginevra,” he whispered in longing. If she came back to him, it was meant to happen. Unable to stop his feet as they went to her summons, he swung open the chamber door. He sought the soft creaminess of her flesh and the innocent light of her emerald eyes.

  “Sarra,” he stated in disappointment.

  “M’lord,” the buxom servant began to curtsey. Wolfe growled and, before she could rise, dragged her to her feet and into his arms. Sarra gasped in pleasure. He pushed the door closed behind her and threw her onto the bed. Unmindful of his actions, he fell onto her body. Lowering his mouth to hers, he closed his eyes. He could still smell the lavender. And the lavender drove him on.

  “M’lord,” Ginevra whispered, feeling like a dolt as she poked her head into his chamber. Thinking he might already be asleep, she didn’t knock. She heard a soft moan. Smiling, she stepped into his chamber. “I didn’t wish to wake you, m’lord, but I--”

  Wolfe looked up from the bed in horror. Ginevra felt the blood draining from her face as tears welled in her eyes. Spinning around, she panted for breath. Wolfe was pushed up on his hands above a serving woman. It was the same woman who’d glared at her in the main hall. They were both nakedly intertwined in each other’s arms. One of the woman’s thighs wrapped about Wolfe’s midsection, her foot resting by the tight muscle of his butt and the other draped wantonly over his shoulder. His hips were pressed completely into hers. The image burned into Ginevra’s mind until it was all she could see. Not even a coverlet hid their lecherous position from view.

  “Ginevra,” Wolfe whispered, mortified.

  She couldn’t hide her hurt expression in the taut draw of her mouth, as she fought to find words. Her shoulders shook in response to his voice and she quickly sidestepped across the chamber, refusing to look at him again, fighting the sob that formed in her throat. Pulling her wedding gown off his trunk, she clutched it in her shaking hands. By way of explanation, she stuttered, “My mother bid--must wash on the morrow first thing.”

  “Gin,” he whispered again. Ginevra glanced back. He knocked Sarra from his body and rolled off her. The woman held still, her eyes surveying the scene with an emotion akin to amusement and rage.

  “Good eve, m’lord.” Ginevra ran from him, not daring to look at him again. The gauze of the wedding tunic ripped as it caught on the door frame and also as she tripped over the bulky skirt in her haste up the stairs. She didn’t care and she didn’t stop running until she reached her chamber. Dashing inside, a sob tore from her throat as she bolted the door behind her.

  The dawning sunlight invaded too swiftly and Ginevra was awake to greet it with a scowl of annoyance. Sleep wouldn’t come to her and so she rose from her bed to sulk about her chamber. Wolfe hadn’t tried to follow her and she wouldn’t have received him if he had.

  Tears still stained her cheeks and swelled her eyes. Miserable, she splashed her face with cold water. Drying with a fresh linen cloth, she noticed the discarded wedding tunic she’d thrown on the floor. It was ruined beyond repair so she laid it over a chair in her dressing room.

  The morning hour was late when she decided to leave the solemn chamber, but she didn’t care and no one had come to wake her. Ginevra rubbed her tired eyes, as she made her way belowstairs. She hesitated as she passed Wolfe’s door. She refused to cry out and she hurried past. When she neared the main hall, she stopped. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her rumpled hair and brushed her eyes dry. Then, moving through the archway, she forced a smile. Instantly, she noticed William.

  Her new brother-by-marriage turned to her with a small bow. His red hair fell over his face as he brushed it back with a graceful hand. Then, taking his leave of the nobleman he spoke with, he turned easily to her.

  “Gin!” he called affectionately. Over the years he often visited Southaven with her brother and he’d even lived with them for a time as he trained under her father for knighthood. They’d always had an ea
sy friendship.

  “Will,” she returned enthusiastically. For a moment she forgot her troubles. “I hoped to see you this morn. Who was that you were speaking to?”

  William frowned as he studied her swollen eyes. But, he said nothing as he turned to the departing nobleman. “Ho! Lord Gravely.”

  The noblemen turned at the summons, an easy smile on his stately face, as he came back. “Oui, Sir William?”

  “I’d like you to meet my new sister. It’s her wedding we were late for yestereve.” William gave her a guilty glance.

  “M’lady, it’s a pleasure,” Gravely stated in a decidedly French accent. He bowed gracefully over her hand. Raising her fingers to his lips, he offered it a polite kiss. Ginevra nodded, noting his cool gray eyes. The Frenchman was an older man, with graying black hair and wrinkles that fanned out over his eyes in an elegant manner. “I thank you for allowing your husband to assist me yestereve with the raiders. Without his help, all my possessions would’ve been lost.”

  “I’m glad he was able to be of assistance to you, m’lord,” she answered politely. The man nodded in approval. Then, taking his leave, he made his way out the main hall door.

  “Listen, Gin, I’m sorry about yestereve. We had no right to stay out as long as we did,” William said. “But, as Lord Gravely stated, we came upon him while he was under attack. Since he was on our land, honor dictated that we help him dispatch of the thieves.”

  “It’s all right.” Ginevra thought of Wolfe’s mud-splattered clothing and bloodied sword. She felt sick to her stomach.

  “Lord Gravely was carting an overabundance of foreign mead and we toasted one too many times,” William continued as if she hadn’t pardoned him. “The result of which was the drunken performance you witnessed last night.”