Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Will, I said it’s all right. I won’t pretend to be offended when I’m not,” she lied, taking the man by his arm so he could escort her outside. “I’ll hear no more of it. Or of that hideous tune you sang so well. However, someday I might be tempted to have you teach it to me. What were the words again? Buxom Mary who parted her--?”

  “Nay, Gin, don’t!” Will grinned at her easy acceptance. Any other maid would’ve screamed for sennights at the insult. Falling into stride next to her, he helped her down the castle steps to the courtyard.

  Ginevra breathed in the fresh air. William studied her from the corner of his eye. He knew the girl well and could see the sadness in her expression. Lightly, he tried to cheer her. “You made a beautiful bride. I could hardly believe it was you. I thought to find you done up in a silken pair of breeches. Robert and I almost wagered on it.”

  “If I could’ve gotten them past my mother, I would have,” she answered with a giggle. Then, looking down at her plain gown of gray wool, she frowned. Her hair hung loose and she could still see the relaxing curls as they hit her slender waist. “Will?”

  “Yea, Gin?” He absently led her to a stone bench along the tower wall. Picking a wayward weed, he stuck the end in his mouth. They sat on the bench, William leaning in leisurely repose against the stone.

  “Does one consummate with a noblewoman differently than with a servant?” Ginevra couldn’t help but blush. “My mother said it’s so, but--”

  William interrupted with a choke. The weed fell from his shocked lips. He couldn’t speak.

  “Will, you have to tell me. I couldn’t dare ask Robert and well, Wolfe...” She trailed off with a groan, rolling her emerald eyes heavenward in embarrassment.

  “I know, Wolfe’s gone,” he stated for her. Ginevra glanced up in surprise but kept quiet. William saw the look and frowned. “He didn’t tell you he was leaving?”

  She shook her head, her tousled curls blowing over her shoulders in the breeze. William sighed as he studied her expression before turning away. Ginevra wondered what he saw in her expression that made him uncomfortable.

  “Wolfe left for the tournaments early this morn. He travels to France where King Philip is hosting a pas d’armes of sorts in Paris. The king is the tenant, but he won’t be fighting challengers. He will merely watch the entertainment. King Henry specifically requested Wolfe and Robert’s presence. Philip’s ambassador saw them champion the sword once outside Bristol.” William glanced back. She gave him a halfhearted smile that she couldn’t force to her dull eyes. “I’m sure it just didn’t come up last night and I think Wolfe would’ve wanted to let you sleep. They left very early.”

  “They?” she questioned. “Robert has left also?”

  “Yea, they didn’t have much time,” William said with a light shrug. She knew he wasn’t speaking the whole truth. The men didn’t have to leave early. She could tell by the look on William’s face.

  “Will,” Ginevra began. She looked at the brightly-lit yard and shivered as a cool breeze whipped through the bailey. “Don’t worry about it. He owes me no explanation. We performed our duty last night, that’s all.”

  William clearly disagreed but nodded anyway. She knew he hated to see the defeated look in her eyes and did her best to hide it from him. It was no use. They’d known each other too long. Just as she knew he’d be disappointed in his brother for leaving so suddenly, though he’d never say the words aloud. Then, as if a thought entered his mind, a smile spread across his features. Reaching behind his back, he dug in his pouch to produce a necklace and a missive. Ginevra gasped as she eyed the sparkling set of diamonds.

  “Wolfe bid me to deliver this to you. He was going to give it to you for the wedding before--well.” William handed it over to her. “Anyway, here it is now. There’s a note from your brother also.”

  Ginevra took the token and fingered it. She smiled at the expectant William who seemed to relax some. Inside, she fumed with rage.

  If he thinks to buy my forgiveness with a shiny babble, he is mistaken! Ginevra thought angrily. That loathsome cur!

  “Thank you, William.” She closed her palm tightly around the gift. It took all her willpower not to crush the tiny stones into oblivion.

  “I’ll be riding out with your father to Paris. Would you like me to carry a missive to Wolfe for you? I could also give one to Robert if you so desire.” William smiled politely as he stood. He waited for her to do the same.

  Biting her lips, she lowered her lashes. Pretending to study the sparkling diamonds, she hid her mischievous grin. “Yea, Will. I’d like that very much. I should like to thank your brother for his thoughtfulness.”

  Dearest husband, the folded missive stated. Wolfe swallowed. He could hear the sarcastic ring in his head as he read the stiffly arched curves of her letters. Turning from his expectant brother, he waved in dismissal. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the white pallor of Ginevra’s stricken face as she looked at Sarra. The guilt refused to leave him.

  “There’s more,” William stated from the opening of the tent. He reached inside his leather pouch and fingered a thickly folded length of material before handing it over to his armored brother. Wolfe could see that Ginevra hadn’t mentioned his faux pas with the maid to his brother, for William’s eyes didn’t stare out at him in accusation. “She made me swear on bended knee not to look at it, but I think she wanted to give you a gift in return. It’s really quite charming of her, Wolfe.”

  Wolfe took the package. The white satin slid oddly in his hand. Nodding silently, he laid down his sword on a makeshift table. He knew that his men waited for him to lead them into the mock battle against the assembled Frenchmen. The kings had outlawed the great battlefield tournaments of old. It used to be that one army, led by a champion, was pitted viciously against another. Sometimes it took several days to complete and many lives were lost in the ferociously bloody conflicts. The losers had to pay ransom to regain their property and freedom. Nowadays, though, the groups were smaller and better managed so fewer lives were lost, though accidents always regretfully happened. Sighing, Wolfe finally answered, “Tell Robert I’ll be on the field in a moment.”

  “Yea,” William agreed with a pleasant nod, knowing Wolfe wanted to be alone.

  Wolfe heard the giddy whispers of peasants outside his tent as they passed by. He ignored their gossip. Placing the gift by his sword, he broke his family seal on Ginevra’s missive.

  After Ginevra ran from him, he’d quickly found his bittersweet release in Sarra. To the servant’s disappointment, he banished her forever from his bed. Unable to sleep, he awakened Robert and they left with the dawn to ride for Paris. Robert, seeing the fire in Wolfe’s eyes and knowing he’d kept his promise not to touch his sister, didn’t protest the swift departure.

  That had been nearly a fortnight ago. Since then, the image of his wife’s innocent smile haunted him until he was forced to drown the smell of her supple skin in drink and seek out the company of others to quell the fire in his body. But the more he tried, the less it worked.

  Finally, working up the nerve, he opened the missive. It contained a sentence.

  Don’t feel the need to buy my loyalty with pretty things, for I care not what you do or whom you do them with.

  Wolfe crushed the missive in his hand. Ginevra hadn’t bothered to sign it. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the material. His necklace gift fell to the ground. Rubbing the wrapping, he realized it was from her wedding tunic, torn into a large square and marred by mud. Angrily, he picked up the heirloom necklace and tossed it into his trunk. It had been made for his father’s mother to be passed down from countess to countess on her wedding day.

  Grabbing his sword with a furious glare, Wolfe stormed from the tent. He threw her missive and the material from her wedding tunic in a page’s fire as he passed. Striding into battle, he didn’t wait to see if it burned. He lifted his sword above his head and motioned in greeting to King Philip in the high chair of honor befor
e turning to his own King Henry in kind. Then, with the nod of two kings he took to the field, yelling his barbaric war cry over the delighted throng.

  Later that eve, having fought with militant valor, Wolfe led his men to victory. With a heart heavily drowning in frustration and eyes still haunted by sadness, he took the tournament and won the title of champion. That night when he was allowed to seek his rest, he dropped the golden trinket he received as a prize next to the shining necklace in his trunk. Then, banishing two naked women from his bed unsatisfied, he ignored their protests. With a curse, he fell into an exhausted sleep and didn’t think to ever wake up.

  Chapter Five

  Tournament, Outside London, August 1189 A.D.

  Ginevra 18 years of age, Wolfe 26 years of age, Married 3 years

  “Lora, do you see him?” Ginevra giggled behind her gloved hand. Turning her eyes to her companion, she demurely lowered her lashes to look down over the dusty sword pit. It was empty. Next to the pit was a long, narrow track for the challengers who wished to fight by horse. Each would charge the other until meeting in the middle to clash swords.

  The tournament had yet to begin, but Ginevra felt the giddy anticipation as if she were to fight herself. Every nerve in her body jumped with excitement as she watched the knights passing in the nearby encampment. King Richard had ordered tents set up for all the noble households complete with a bed and dressing table. Ginevra was using the Whetshire tent in absence of the rest of the family. Lora was her chaperone and they were escorted by a handful of Whetshire knights. The knights stayed dutifully out of sight, but she was sure their eyes were constantly on her every move. Ginevra didn’t care. She planned on having fun despite them.

  “M’lady.” Lora giggled. “He is lookin’ at ye. I think his eyes will fall out of his head at how hard he stares.”

  “It’s most improper,” Ginevra whispered, as she again peeked shyly at the man. Lifting her chin into the air, she pretended to ignore the bold knight who watched her so intently. Long lashes swept languidly over her eyes and she yawned delicately to feign boredom. Placing her hand demurely in her lap, the long sleeve of her emerald tunic gown swept past her fingers to hang over her hands. The gown hugged to her chest to flare from her waist in a sweep of lightweight linen. The embroidered edges were simple as they lined her sleeves and rounded neckline. Along her slender waist was a chained belt of fine glass beads.

  Her hair was upswept into a series of plaits and coils. She patted it in a light caress and smiled regally at a passing guard. Any who looked at the noblewoman was stunned to silence by her oblivious beauty. And although her cheeks were tanned to a healthy glow, very uncommonly so for ladies of gentry who powdered their faces white with flour, she was forgiven for the sparkling of her eyes made men forget her cheeks were darkened by the sun. Glancing back to where the dark-haired knight had stood, she sighed in disappointment to see that he was gone.

  On padded seats they sat in the berfrois, a reserved area in the stands beneath a long canopy set high above and to the side of the peasant’s area. Ginevra’s father-by-marriage had sent a missive to Whetshire that she was to be escorted to London to show the familial support of King Richard’s ascension to the throne. Richard’s coronation took place at Westminster Abbey only the month before, following the death of his father. Ginevra didn’t know where exactly Wolfe was, but gathered from the earl’s order that he wouldn’t be attending.

  A frown marred her delicate features and brought sadness to her eyes. Closing them briefly, she took a deep breath. Her husband’s absence was nothing new. She hadn’t seen him since she discovered him with Sarra the night of their wedding. She did however keep track of him through the small anecdotes of bravery and accomplishments told by traveling minstrels and bards. No doubt their contrived words were purposefully meant to impress her, as they searched for a warm bed and hot meal. The earl would inform her where Wolfe was and what he was doing and of which tournament or battle he had won. Though, Ginevra never directly asked the earl for details. And on rare occasion, Wolfe would write her himself--though the sheepskin parchments were always as cold as her husband’s hollow words.

  When he did write, she’d dutifully respond. But she couldn’t put down the things her heart longed to ask. She couldn’t tell him of how she could still taste his kiss and how sometimes, late at night, she’d awaken drenched in sweat with the feel of his body pressed firmly against hers. On those nights, she’d often visit the roof with her arms widespread, waiting for him to come rescue her. He never did and she was kept waiting.

  Thinking of it only made her body tremble anew. She licked her lips in thought and leaned toward Lora. “This should be quite exciting. I’m told they plan a spectacular event in honor of King Richard and the truce with France.”

  “Do you think we’ll meet the king?” Lora asked with a whimsical smile.

  Ginevra laughed and answered the same as she had the other times the woman inquired. “Mayhap.”

  “Excuse me, Lady Ginevra?”

  Ginevra’s laughter died but her smile stayed intact as she turned to acknowledge the sound. Standing, she squinted at the man who addressed her. He had short cropped black hair that was thickly gray at the sides. His gray eyes shone expectantly at her. Then, recognition slowly dawned on her. “Lord Gravely, how have you been? It has been awhile since I have seen you last.”

  The nobleman smiled as she recognized him. Stepping forward as she offered her gloved hand, he bowed gallantly over it. “Indeed, m’lady, it was around the time of your nuptials at Whetshire.”

  “Yea, indeed, it was that long ago.” She laughed lightly. “You arrived with my belated bridegroom.”

  Lord Gravely’s laughter joined hers. “Again, I must apologize and thank you, m’lady. For without your husband’s aid I wouldn’t have fared so well.”

  “Don’t thank me. It was my husband’s doing.” Turning to her handmaid she moved back to her seat. She motioned for Gravely to join her.

  “How is Lord Wolfram, m’lady?” Lord Gravely politely inquired. “I’ve heard many great things of him over these past years.”

  “He does very well, m’lord,” Ginevra answered, though she didn’t know if she spoke the truth. She didn’t meet Lora’s eyes as the girl let loose a small gasp. Ginevra’s hand shook slightly in her lap, but otherwise her emotions weren’t detectable.

  “Lord Gravely,” a stiff, low voice called. Ginevra turned at the sound, the smile froze on her lips. She lowered her face with a blush when she saw the dark-haired knight with the overbold eyes. A smile parted on his mouth, as he said, “Pardon me, m’lord, I had no idea you were with such fine company.”

  “Not at all, Lord Eilric, let me introduce you.” Standing, Lord Gravely motioned down to Ginevra. She stayed seated as he announced her name and rank, then turning to his friend, he said, “Lady Ginevra, this is Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld. He’ll be participating in the tournament this morn.”

  Eilric’s eyes were intense and he daringly studied her. Then, reaching for her hand, he took her fingers steadily in his and bowed. His mustached lip brushed the back of her fingers lightly. Ginevra shivered at the attention. He was a cryptically handsome man with dark hair slicked back from his face and blue eyes of the brightest shade. The eyes looked into her, making her tremble in uncertainty at the shameless attention.

  “M’lady,” he murmured. His voice belied his Germanic birth.

  Ginevra nodded, unable to answer. A blush fanned over her cheeks. Lord Gravely frowned. Gruffly, he asked the knight, “Did you seek me out, sir?”

  Eilric’s lips twitched up in amusement, but he didn’t look repentant. “Your presence is required by the groom, m’lord. It would seem your mare has bred with one of the destriers.”

  “Whose?” the older man shot back with raised eyebrows.

  “Mine,” Eilric answered with a smirk. “They got loose early this morn. When the grooms discovered they were missing, it was too late. The lads had to--wie wird e
s gesagt? Force them apart.”

  Lord Gravely let loose a frustrated sigh. Before taking his leave with a polite bow, he bid Lord Eilric to join him. Eilric left with one last glance at Ginevra. She met his eyes directly. The knight smiled devilishly at her self-assurance.

  When he was gone, Lora giggled. “Oh, m’lady, he’s a handsome one, though overly attentive to ye. Mayhap he doesn’t know of yer marriage”

  “Yea, Lora, he is handsome,” Ginevra answered absently. Her cheeks colored with a womanly blush as her eyes trailed after the attentive knight, wondering at the daring promise he left unspoken.

  Swords glistened, slashing with continuous determination in the sunlight. A burly Viking struck the weapon of his opponent, cracking the sword in two. The onlookers cheered in approval. The lower bleachers were filled with peasants and servants. The canopy edged over the long expanse of nobles--each decked in brightly colored garb and a flash of varied jewels. King Richard sat in the middle receiving the pledges and well wishes of the knights before they pitted themselves in battle.

  Women swooned as favorite knight-errants came forward to fight. Some of them battled on foot and some on the backs of horses. They’d hold up their lady’s token--a glove, a scarf, or an embroidered handkerchief scented with perfumed oil. Ginevra took it all in with a gush of excitement. She had seen men fight as they practiced at Whetshire, but she’d never seen the sheer concentration and determination that shone from the pitted swordsmen. She was instantly enthralled.

  “There is yer knight,” Lora teased with a poke to her side. “He carries no glove. Mayhap he would carry a token from ye, and be yer champion. I could inquire.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Ginevra hissed with playful embarrassment. She followed Lora’s gaze to the young, handsome German astride a black horse. A blush came to her cheeks as he lifted his sword in her direction to acknowledge her attention. Lora giggled. Ginevra forced herself to nod politely.