Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Eilric then turned to recognize his opponent. The herald made his announcements and dropped the flag. The two men kicked their horses firmly in the side. With raised sword, Eilric charged his adversary. As they met in the middle, the knight gave a mighty thrust of his weapon. Eilric knocked his opponent from his horse with only one blow. A cheer went up over the crowd at the quickly finished match. Ginevra hid her smile as she folded her hands demurely in her lap.

  Wolfe grinned roguishly, as he passed a lovely maiden. Turning to give the woman ample attention, his lips curled in satisfaction as she blushed profusely. Then, without missing a step, he rotated back to William. Laughing, he gave a frolicsome bite to his lips with a short moan of appreciation. He shook his head as if in pain. “I think you should make my excuses to the king. I suspect another game is about to be afoot.”

  William frowned as his brother purposefully tried to goad him. He made his distaste of Wolfe’s frequent bed-partners known on more than one occasion. And, although fidelity was only expected of women, William thought it a man’s duty to afford his wife the same consideration--if not in full, then at least to an extent. Wolfe had the carnal appetites of a hundred soldiers. William thought that at times it seemed almost a force beyond his brother’s control compelled him to seek out the fairer sex.

  “I jest, William,” Wolfe mused when he received no answer. “You should do so well to find a maid to tame that scowl from your face. Battles are too long and life too short not to spend some of it in softer arms than ours.”

  “Hmm,” William mumbled by way of a response. His eyes narrowed, not amused.

  “Lord Wolfe, Lord William!” a fair-haired knight called. The man was slender in stature, but mean with a sword. Smiling, as he recognized the brothers, he came forward.

  “Sir Gordan,” the brothers acknowledged in unison. An easy smile hit both of their lips at the same time, revealing how they really did look alike, despite the different coloring of their features.

  “Have you been to the canopy to see the finery?” the man asked gleefully as he tossed his head toward the noblewomen sitting in the bleachers. When the brothers shook their head in denial, he groaned dramatically with a look toward the heavens. Placing his sword carrying hand over his chest, he pressed the hilt to his armor and stated in penitence, “God forgive me my sins, fer I have seen a sparkling emerald jewel a glitterin’ from above. Ne’er have you seen such a fine piece o’ finery in yer life. Already, from afar, she has won the love o’ e’ery man here and she has yet to speak a single word. Ah, but to be her champion!”

  The men chuckled as Sir Gordon let his sword fall from his chest. The man’s face clouded with a haze of virile admiration. Wolfe turned a questioning eye to his brother who only shrugged.

  “Who is this woman?” Wolfe asked, thoroughly intrigued.

  “I told ye, the Sparklin’ Emerald! It’s what all the men are a-callin’ her. She’s a rare, divine emerald plucked from the heavens and just appeared at this tournament. Fell straight from the stars, if ye be askin’ me. None have seen her afore and none know her name. But we all are in love. I swear by my eye teeth, if she would have me I’d give up this dastardly life and devote e’erything I have to her.” Sir Gordon gazed with such lovesick eyes that Wolfe was hard-pressed to not laugh. “But, alas, I haven’t the courage to speak to her.”

  “Who does she sit with?” William inquired, unable to hide his curiosity. Before Gordon could answer, two more men walked by uttering the name of the Sparkling Emerald. Wolfe’s face broke out into and even bigger smile. A lecherous gleam came to his eyes as he thought of the challenge.

  “None but her handmaiden,” Gordon answered. Then, looking about, he grunted. Running toward the field, he called, “I’m late fer my bout. Just look to the stands, ye will see her.”

  “Who do you think she is?” William asked with a slight grin. “You seem to know many of the fairer maids.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of her,” Wolfe answered mischievously. In silent agreement the brothers walked toward the field to spy on the jewel that had all the camp entranced. “But I should like to find out.”

  A bout had just ended when the men arrived. Seeing Gordon astride his horse, Wolfe nodded. Gordon smiled and nodded his head toward the stands. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he placed his gauntlet-clad hand over his heart and shook his head.

  Wolfe’s eyes scanned the bleachers, instantly landing on a woman in green. Even over the distance of the field, he could see her dazzling smile. His heart quickened and he stepped around a few horses, intent on getting closer. As he neared her, he noticed the proud line of her features. Her chin tilted regally in the air, but her easy smile softened any snobbery from her expression. She had straight, white teeth and her cheeks were the rosy color of peaches. The woman did indeed wear an emerald gown, but Wolfe understood immediately that the clothing wasn’t how she developed her byname. It was the dazzling sparkle of her emerald eyes that could be seen glittering even from far away.

  Wolfe felt his loins become heavy in manly appreciation. The reaction took him so by surprise, that he stood dumbfounded. Never had a comely maid affected him so by her mere appearance. His limbs trembled. He wanted her.

  “It’s Ginevra,” William gasped at his side, his voice full of wonder.

  Wolfe turned his head in confusion. As he looked at his brother, he noticed that several others were struck as dumbfounded as he had been. Then, seeing William’s amused face, his gaze shot back to the stands.

  “Ginevra? What is she doing here?” he asked in puzzlement. Wolfe narrowed his eyes as he glanced over the stands looking for a slight child with wild blonde hair and an impishly impossible grin. “Where? I don’t see her.”

  William snickered at his brother’s confusion. Delightedly, he said, “The jewel. It’s Ginevra. Can’t you see it?”

  And then Wolfe did see it. It was in the familiar bend of her lips as she talked, the way she moved her hand to scratch distractedly behind her ear. Wolfe froze as if he had been kicked in the gut. His expression turned from longing to possessiveness in an instant. He looked around at the men gawking openly at his wife. His hands balled into fists and his gaze narrowed in fight. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to beat the oglers or demand Ginevra banished from their leering sights.

  “Three years brings about much change,” William put forth gleefully from his brother’s side. He noticed Wolfe’s uncontrolled reaction and was exceedingly pleased by it. Then, seeing that Wolfe was about to charge a nearby knight, he grabbed his brother’s arm. “Save it for the sword fight. Win this tournament for her. Impress her. You can’t stop the knights from staring but you can quiet their tongues and stunt their would-be advances. Besides, aren’t you due in your tent? No doubt Geoffrey will be frantic that you aren’t yet suited in armor.”

  Wolfe growled at his brother’s logical words. He had every right to drag Ginevra off to a tent, but no doubt if he charged her now, she’d faint dead away in panic.

  Or fight me for trying.

  He grinned at the thought. Wolfe looked longingly at his wife as he battled hard against the impulse to go claim her as his in front of everyone. Hitting his fist into an opened palm, he swung around to don his armor. His body burned with the knowledge that she was his alone. But, what was she doing at tournament? And why was he not told to expect her? He stormed through the crowd. His face lit red with fury as he pushed his way rudely through.

  William watched his brother stalk away with a smirk. Neither one of them had been told that Ginevra would be attending the tournament. She never had before. Even when they spoke with the earl only days before, he barely mentioned the woman. William grinned as he thought of Wolfe’s stunned face. All at once, he knew why his father hadn’t thought to bring it up.

  Ginevra shot a pleasant smile up at Lord Eilric as he bowed before her. Then, at her acknowledgment, he took a seat next to her in the stands. Sitting possessively close, he grinned benevolently down into her u
pturned face. For a moment, she thought he might try and touch her. Her smile faltered, unsure as to the intentions in his piercing eyes.

  “Well fought, Lord Eilric,” Ginevra stated as she self-consciously leaned away from him. She smiled brilliantly as a herald announced the next combatants. Not recognizing their names she patted her hand against the wood in polite applause.

  “Danke, thank you, m’lady.” His eyes bore into her, overbold. Ginevra’s cheeks grew hot and she forced her eyes to continue to stare forward toward the match.

  She didn’t see the fighting and the bout was soon over with her unable to remember who the victor was. Nervously, she glanced sideways under her lashes. Eilric still watched her intently. As another herald came forward, she lifted her chin pretending to be interested in the man’s words.

  “Sir Fernando of Aragon,” the herald announced following the man’s title with a list of his accomplishments. The Spaniard raised his gloved hand, as the crowd cheered. Then, the herald smiled widely as he lifted his hand to the other side of the field. With great flourish, he said, “Lord Wolfram of Whetshire, son of the Earl of Whetshire, son of Lady Isabella of Normandy, august knight of the English realm!”

  Ginevra gasped and instantly sprung to her feet. Falling forward, she leaned against the railing as her eyes flew to the mounted knight. Immediately, she saw the Whetshire banner adorning his horse in a long drape of bold color. At the side, his squire held a shield of the family crest. It was no mistake. Wolfe was there. Ginevra wasn’t sure if she wanted to watch or faint. Never having done the latter, she opted to keep her eyes fixed on him. Did he know she was there? Did he avoid her company on purpose? Her heart thudded to a stop, unable to supply the answers.

  He was covered in full armor, from his chain-mailed torso to the great metal helm atop his proud head. His gauntlet-covered fists gripped tight a large sword. Her hand fluttered to her chest in awe. Tensely, she grasped at a nearby pole for support.

  “Who is that?” Eilric asked Lora behind her.

  “Her lord husband,” the handmaiden whispered back, undoubtedly surprised by her lady’s reaction. Over the years, Ginevra denied any liking for her wayward husband.

  Ginevra ignored them. Her heart stirred in her chest and she tightened her grip as Wolfe raised his sword high into the air. The crowd cheered wildly for him, like he was one of their most beloved favorites. Ginevra held still, panting on her deepened breaths. She watched his eyes, seeing if they found her in the crowd. He didn’t look at her.

  With a deft movement, he lowered the face shield to his helm. The sound of the crowd drowned from her ears into a deafening silence. All she could hear was her ragged breath as Wolfe’s foot spurred his dark brown destrier. The horse charged. Wolfe’s weapon rose high into the air. He met his opponent bravely. Ginevra felt her heart lurch. She gripped the pole as her knees weakened. The Spaniard swung, his sword bounced off Wolfe’s armor with a mighty clank. She felt her face drain of color and her legs weakened and swayed. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Unexpectedly, the shouts of the crowd assaulted her senses. She froze as Wolfe emerged the victor with a daring swing to Fernando’s midsection, making him fall from his horse.

  Ginevra stumbled back and fell into her seat. Her eyes fearful, she was forced to close them to hide their emotion. Shaking her head at Lora, she whispered, “I can’t watch this. Take me to my tent at once. Please, Lora.”

  Lora looked at her ashen face and nodded in agreement.

  Turning to Eilric, Ginevra forced a smile, but the pleasure had faded from her expression. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. The man touched his mustache thoughtfully as he studied her reaction.

  “Lord Eilric, you must excuse me.” Ginevra nervously stood. She was about to leave when his voice stopped her.

  “I should hope to see you at banquet tonight,” he moved behind her. His words drifted over her back. She nodded her head, but didn’t turn to him.

  “Yea, Lord Eilric. I should think to see you there.” Quickly, Ginevra made her way down from the platform. Her breath caught in her chest. She tried to smile at those she passed, recognizing no one as they bowed to her in greeting. Lora spoke at her side, but the noblewoman heard none of the woman’s words. She gripped onto the handmaid’s arm for support. Then, as they finally made their way through the encampment to the Whetshire tent, Ginevra managed to breathe.

  The victorious smile faded from Wolfe’s mouth as he watched his wife. She didn’t applaud him and even turned her back before he rode off of the field. His chest burned at the insult until he was scowling at all those who would congratulate him on a well-fought match. As he slowly made his way back to the side of the field, he watched Ginevra’s quick departure with an expression of disapproval. He saw the man she sat with step possessively behind her to whisper into her ear.

  Looking down at William, he growled, “Who is that man ogling my wife?”

  “Which man? There are so many.” William smiled, undaunted by his brother’s harsh growl. Then, clearly deciding Wolfe was too close to the point of explosion, he narrowed his eyes before stating, “I think that is Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld. He’s newly arrived on the circuit from Germany. I’ve yet to see him fight, but I hear he has a great talent.”

  Wolfe frowned, stepping his horse around to better see the canopy. He glared darkly at the man as Lord Eilric sat back down alone. “I care not how great his talent is. If I catch him sniffing around my wife again, I’ll gut him like a ready sow.”

  William tried to feign seriousness and failed miserably. “I’ve heard also that his reputation with the women is almost as legendary as yours.”

  Not missing the delicate insult, Wolfe hissed at his brother. Gripping his sword tightly, he spurred his steed away.

  Ginevra flung herself onto the small fur-covered bed. She buried her face into the prickly softness and tried to control her racing heart. It savagely thrashed about in her chest, choking off her throat. She couldn’t. The furry darkness only made Wolfe’s armored body all the more vivid in her mind. Wearily, she looked around the back section of her tent. Her hands shook with a tremendous force as she tried to still them, and her limbs were too weak to push up from the bed. Lifting her head, she watched Lora open the front flap of the two-chambered tent. Sighing, she turned to re-bury her face in her soft pillow.

  “M’lady?” Lora questioned, her voice thick with concern. Ginevra was pale and looked as if someone dealt a blow to her stomach. “Are ye all right?”

  Ginevra lifted her tortured eyes to her handmaid. Shaking her head, she whispered, “He’s here. He’s supposed to be in France negotiating continued peace for the king or some other such manly nonsense. But he’s not. He’s here. And he didn’t even bother to come and see me.”

  Tears of uncertainty rushed forward to trail down her face. Ginevra dashed at the irritating moisture, trying to bid it away. Finally succeeding in drying her eyes, she turned to a patiently waiting Lora.

  “Mayhap, he doesn’t know of ye bein’ here.” Lora nodded in understanding. Over the last two years, Lora had become her companion. She was more than a servant, she was a friend. Quietly, the handmaid sat next to her mistress. “Ye knew this day would come. Ye knew that ye wouldn’t be parted from him fere’er. Mayhap now ye will be able to travel with him. Think of how excitin’ it will be. Didn’t ye used to say that travelin’ about is what ye always wanted to do?”

  “I know. But did you see him?” Ginevra inquired needlessly with wide eyes. Her lips trembled. “I don’t think he was so powerful last I laid eyes on him. He couldn’t have been. What if he comes to be with me? What do I do? What would I say to him? He’s a stranger to me.”

  “To me he looks the same,” Lora responded softly. Ginevra sat up. “Perchance ye’re looking at him with the eyes of a woman now. Three years ago ye were still new into womanhood. Mayhap yer vision had yet to clear to appreciate him as a man. And I should think that now it has, ye will quite enjoy his attentions.”
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  Ginevra nodded, understanding the woman’s words. She had been so innocent on her wedding night. She even believed him when he told her a kiss consummated their union. Now she knew better, though she never told anyone that the marriage wasn’t yet completed. With a virile husband like Wolfe, no one had thought to ask her.

  “The first time is ne’er pleasurable fer a woman. And with ye being as young as ye were, I’m sure ye were too afraid to relax and enjoy it.” Lora wondered at Ginevra’s weary look. “Did he hurt ye that bad, m’lady?”

  Ginevra wanted to tell that she was still pure, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t jeopardize her marriage over a small detail and such a claim would be devastating to Wolfe’s reputation. No matter how rejected or angry she felt, she couldn’t impose that much damage. Swallowing hard, she shook her head in denial. “Go to the field. Find out whatever you can about his presence here. I can’t watch him face the sword. He might get hurt and I--I can’t watch it. And you come tell me if he is struck down. I’ll wait here.”

  “I don’t--” Lora began.

  Ginevra cut her off with a desperate look, hiding her guilt. It actually thrilled her to watch Wolfe with the sword. It excited her and terrified her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. But there was another reason she couldn’t watch, a reason she didn’t want to admit to. “Please! Make haste!”

  Lora nodded. Quietly, she stood and left the tent to go do her mistress’ bidding.

  When the servant was gone, Ginevra fell back on the coverlet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Wolfe, why have you come back to torment me now?”

  Wolfe fought his matches bravely with an anger that drove him onward to the finals. Every time he drew sword, he looked to the stands. His eyes searched for his emerald clad wife. She didn’t appear again. And, to his dismay, he noticed Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld disappeared also.