Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Every time he left the field to walk the encampment in search of her, he couldn’t find her. However, he did hear the numerous manly jests, as the men spoke of what they would do to gain the notice of the Sparkling Emerald. To his fury, he thought he heard one man boast that he talked to her, but the blustering knight disappeared into the crowd afore Wolfe could accost him and beat him to a bloody mass.

  Drawing the helm from his head, he spied his wife’s handmaid in the stands talking to a young knight. The servant blushed, but didn’t back away as the man stroked her cheek in a tender caress. He looked about for Ginevra, but couldn’t find her. Frowning, he tossed his helm to his brother. William smiled up at him, rather enjoying Wolfe’s discomfort.

  “You’ve done it, Wolfe. You fight for the championship tomorrow.” William handed the helm to Geoffrey, Wolfe’s squire. Taking Desert by the reins, William waited for Wolfe to swing off his horse, and then handed the horse’s reins to Geoffrey as well. “I’ll help my brother from his armor. See to his horse”

  The squire nodded and led the horse to the stables.

  “Are you not pleased, Wolfe?” William questioned as they fell into stride. He hid his smile as he shot Wolfe a look of innocence.

  “Did you see her?” Gordon called over the crowd of knights, whose rapt attention he held with the braggart tales of what he would do to possess the nameless woman who entranced them all. Each knight tried to think of the best way to profess their love and loyalty to her. One man claimed he would steal and drink her bathwater. Another professed to cut off one of his toes and wrap it up in ribbon. Gordon pushed through them, a wide smile on his face, as he called to Wolfe, “Did you see the Sparklin’ Emerald?”

  Wolfe growled. Stomping over to Gordon, he pushed his way through the gathering and met the man halfway. He grabbed the surprised knight by the scruff of his neck and lifted him off the ground. Angrily, he shouted in deadly warning, “That’s my wife you speak boldly of! And no man will possess her but me.”

  The passing knights, who froze to watch the oncoming fight, gasped in wonder at Wolfe’s out-of-character jealousy. Whispers of the identity of the green-clad goddess filtered through the encampment like a spreading fire. Wolfe dropped Gordon with a furious growl and stalked off. William was quickly behind him.

  Wolfe strode past his own tent as he lifted his sword in his hand. William hesitated by the opening before running after his brother. “Wolfe, hold!”

  “I’m going to find her,” Wolfe announced darkly. He frowned over the heads of passersby and scanned the crowd for green. His heart burnt with fury, as he thought of her in the arms of another man. Ever since the time of their wedding he’d wanted her, but his promise to Robert kept him away. He’d even run from home to be free of her. But it hadn’t helped. He tried to drown the memory of her lavender-scented skin by finding physical release in the arms of others. Aside from the temporary abatement of his senses, it hadn’t worked either.

  Wolfe could recall the exact scent of his wife’s skin, even when standing in a pile of dung. Now Ginevra had grown into a woman--a woman every man in the encampment would give his sword arm to possess. And she was his. His promise to Robert no longer applied. She was old enough to receive her husband as a wife should.

  He ached, wanting to crush his mouth to hers. The day of fighting and combat rose in his blood like a violent fire. It wasn’t just the tournament bouts that he’d fought. He’d fought his urge to find her. He’d fought his urge to pummel every handsome knight he met who dared to utter her byname. Possessiveness came over him each time he heard it. And here she was before him--alone, soft, his. His body lurched, wanting to grab her and take her with a ferocious force of need. He could remember well the response he was able to elicit from her when she was younger. He wondered if it would still be so, for this was no naïve young bride in front of him.

  “But, Wolfe, you’re expected at the field in less than an hour!” William shook his head in total amazement as his brother walked away. Glancing about, a pleased smile found William’s lips, as he whispered to no one in particular, “Yea. It’s about time, brother, that you found your woman.”

  Chapter Six

  Ginevra blinked open her tired eyes with a yawning moan. Squinting to clear her sleep-hazed mind, she pushed herself up onto her bed to stretch her hands above her head. As she heard laughter outside her tent, she flinched and looked around, remembering where she was.

  Worried, she called through a yawn, “Lora? How long have I slept?”

  There was no answer. Sighing, she pushed herself to the edge of the makeshift mattress and pulled a loosened pin from her hair. She studied the ground as she smoothed the plait over her shoulder. Then, hearing footsteps, she stopped. She let her hair fall unattended about her back.

  “Lora? Is that you? Did you find him? Is he hurt? How did m’lord do?” Ginevra called softly across the tent. Anxiously, she stood, walking over to the flap. Ducking her head under, she asked, “Lor--?”

  A shadowy figure stood in the entryway. Ginevra froze, her mouth falling open in stunned wonder. Swallowing convulsively, her breath caught as she stared up at Wolfe’s piercing brown gaze. Panicked, she tried to stand tall. Her mouth worked, but no words came forth. She wasn’t ready to receive him. Not yet. She was terrified. She was pleased. She was electrified by his presence.

  The sun shone in from behind, outlining the firmness of his body in a halo of light. He wore his chain mail hauberk over a tan undertunic that reached to his thighs and fell open in slits at the sides. In his hand was his sword gripped tightly in his fist. She was afraid to speak, her eyes round with fear.

  “Not expecting me, wife?” he inquired harshly at her welcome. It was his first words to her after years of silence. The sound of his voice shook over her, clearing the remembrance of it in her head. Ginevra paled at his ill humor. It was startling after so long a time. She had slowly, over the years, managed to calm the fire she carried at his dastardly deed their wedding night. Or, at least, she thought she had.

  “Nay, m’lord, I thought you were at tournament,” she answered in slow hesitation, keeping her face cautiously blank. She tried to turn her eyes away, but they kept straying back to his strong, proud face. He did look different to her. “I thought you’d be fighting now.”

  “I was,” he admitted coldly. There was no affection in him--no familiar friendship. This wasn’t the green-haired boy from her youth. This was a man--an irritated, overbearing man. And he was very real. Ginevra stiffened, as he continued roughly, “You would’ve known that if you were in the stands like you were supposed to be. It’s your duty to be in attendance, showing support of your lord husband.”

  “I didn’t know it was an order that I attend every single moment. It isn’t like you have brought me to tournament before and the earl said no such thing to me. In fact, he didn’t tell me you were attending.” Her anger gradually threatened her stunned graces, but she endeavored to keep it below the surface. After so long, she didn’t want their first meeting to be a fight. She was afraid that, if it was, he’d again leave and it would be another three years before she saw him. Lowering her tone, she said, “I felt ill. I came to rest.”

  Wolfe raised a brow at her contrary tone. Studying her face and tousled hair, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slit. He clutched the hilt of his sword tighter.

  “What happened? Were you disqualified?” Her gaze swept over his body. Without warning, she rushed forward to him. Lightly, she touched his arm with the tips of her fingers. She searched him for wounds, pushing his sword gently aside before trying to take it from him. His hand tightened and refused to release it. Hesitating, she licked her lips and refused to meet his angry gaze. “Are you hurt? Shall I call a physician?”

  “Nay, I’m not injured,” he snapped in annoyance.

  “But, some of those men... I saw how well they fight,” Ginevra stuttered. At her own words, she paled but didn’t back away.

  “The rounds are over for today
. I’m in the finals on the morrow,” he informed absently, irritated. His gaze never left her face and he didn’t move to touch her. Wolfe stiffened as her fingers skimmed over his chest as if wifely concern was the last thing he expected from her.

  Wolfe’s eyes moved over her nose to her full lips, lips that suddenly felt swollen for his kisses. She waited for him to speak, eyes wide. Pulling back, he walked past her into the back section of her tent.

  “M’lord? What are you doing?” Ginevra watched in shock as he went straight back to her bed. She followed him, hovering in the entryway, unable to follow him in. Her hand clasped at the flap to hold herself steady. Glancing to the mattress and then to his strong back, she watched as he leaned over to check under her bed. Then, as he eyed her wrinkled coverlet, he lifted her pillow to smell it. Realization dawned on her. “Are you searching for something, m’lord?”

  “Are you still pure?” His eyes narrowed once again into dangerous slits. They roamed over her body as if searching for the answer. She stared at him in disbelief. His hand tightened on his weapon.

  Ginevra’s mouth fell open in offense, but she couldn’t answer. He continued to study her. Doing the only thing she could think of, she rounded her eyes in a look of outrage. Wolfe nodded his head as if her reaction gave him his answer.

  Refusing to dignify the question with a verbal response, she asked instead, her tone hard, “What are you doing here, m’lord? I didn’t invite you into my quarters. I think you should go. It’s not proper that you are here, alone with me during the day hours.”

  “I’m visiting my wife, m’lady,” he answered with a smirk. Now that he knew she was innocent, he relaxed. “Are you trying to get rid of me? Were you, perchance, expecting someone else?”

  Ginevra realized how very shrewish she sounded. Lowering her tone, she turned her eyes to the ground. “You know what I mean. You’re not supposed to be here. The earl said you were away doing something or other for the king.” She tried to act nonchalant, but her limbs shook. Turning away from him, she went over to a pitcher and poured him some warm ale. Then, taking it to him, she waited expectantly. “I thought you were still in France. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “You mentioned that,” he smirked. Wolfe took a drink, nodding gratefully as he returned the empty goblet to her. She busied herself putting it back.

  “Another?” she asked lightly, raising the pitcher.

  “Nay. I finished my business in France early and I thought to accept Richard’s invitation to tournament. After all, he is my king.”

  “Oh.” Her voice grew hopeful. “And what of Robert? Is he here?”

  “Have you not heard? He’s back at Southaven with my sister. He’s to wed with Helena.” Wolfe had walked up behind her and she jumped as his words came from directly behind. She could feel the heat of him against the length of her back. Timidly, she inched away from him until her legs hit the table.

  “I hadn’t realized their affections had developed so.” Turning, she pretended not to see him behind her as she walked over to grab her comb from the top of her trunk. Sitting on the bed, she studied him thoughtfully. “I recall Helena following him around as a child, but Robert never seemed to pay her much mind. In fact, I remember him confessing quite a distaste for her.”

  “They were children.” Wolfe laid his sword along the table and pulled off his gloves. He set them down.

  “Is this mayhap another family alliance, like ours? Contracted for some such reason?” Ginevra persisted, speaking her thoughts aloud. His presence disconcerted her. He dominated the chamber as if everything within belonged to him. And in a way it did, even her. With a touch of fear, she asked, “Is there a reason for them to align?”

  Are you trying to tell me something, husband? With the marriage still unfinished do you want to leave me? Ginevra waited in breathlessness for his fast coming response.

  “Nay, they both wish it,” Wolfe answered.

  Ginevra froze. Her heart stung at his words. He didn’t see her pain. She hid it from him well.

  “Even so,” Ginevra put forth gently in an effort to regain her composure. She wished every possible happiness for her brother and she didn’t see him happy with Helena. The entire time she resided at Whetshire with her sister-by-marriage they’d been at odds. Helena protested everything from Ginevra’s manners to her choice in dress colors. And, in return, Ginevra tormented her poor sister-by-marriage until Helena ran from the room in a fluster.

  “After your father died, and she went to stay with your mother as a companion, they were given much time together. My father is with them to bless the union and finalize the agreements. William is here with me.”

  Her chin tilted slightly at the mention of her father, but she kept a straight face and didn’t let her emotions show. The baron had died a year ago in his sleep. The death was unexpected.

  “I got your missive after he died,” she said quietly, biting her lip. “Thank you. It was very kind of you to remember me.”

  “And I must thank you for being with my mother. I was told you stayed with her through the entire labor.” He moved to sit next to her on the bed. He rubbed his arm, grunting slightly as if it ached. She scooted shyly away from him, lightly fingering her comb.

  “I’m sorry about Lady Isabella. She was a great woman. I want you to know she told me to tell you that she loved you. She bid me to tell you the next time I saw you or else I would’ve written you of it. She talked of you oft those last days--you, Helena, William and Thomas. She, um ... I think after the babe died she couldn’t bear the loss of two children and was happy to go.”

  Wolfe nodded. Sighing, he stood from the bed, as if aware of how nervous his nearness made her. She fluttered about him like a fidgety butterfly. Ginevra followed suit. Setting her comb on the bed, she stepped toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know that she went peacefully, save the circumstances.”

  Wolfe gazed into her eyes. Her expression was so open, so sincerely grieved for him. He swallowed. Gently, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She stiffened against the tenderness but didn’t back away. Running his finger over her ear, he pushed his hand into her hair. It would’ve been so easy for her to fall into his chest, to feel his arms folded around her in comfort. If only he would reach for her. But he didn’t, keeping his distance.

  Ginevra bit her lips. The feel of him had haunted her dreams and now, gazing into his piercing eyes, she could feel the texture of his mouth as if it had been yesterday. Unconsciously, she leaned into him. He smelled of sweat. His hair hung limply about his shoulders from the day of hard work. She raised her hand to his chest covered with iron links that molded to his hard muscles. Breathing heavily, she asked, “Will you be staying in here or do you camp elsewhere?”

  Wolfe raised his eyebrows in shock over the forward question. Ginevra blushed. “What I mean is that I could have Lora help to gather you a bath if you wish. And you seem tired. I could leave you if you’d like to rest awhile and I could inquire for a second bed for me. If you like, you can keep this one.”

  “I have my own tent and Geoffrey draws my baths.” Slowly, his eyes dipped to her lips. It was not lost on him how she purposefully made known that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her. Wolfe was unconcerned with the innocent challenge.

  Ginevra quickly inhaled, not hearing his words. His mouth drew closer. Her eyes closed in anticipation and her lips puckered slightly. She waited for him to come to her.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered, studying her face. His mouth had come very close to hers. She could feel the whispers of his breath fanning her cheek. His nose grazed the side of hers so that his lips brushed over her mouth in a feathery stroke. His breath caught as if he wanted nothing more than to take her offered lips, but he held back. Her lashes fluttered open and she stared into the forceful brown depths of his eyes.

  She waited for his kiss, but instead he pulled back. She stared at him, baffled, filled with hurt. Her hands dropp
ed from his chest, as she tried to turn away.

  Wolfe grabbed her hands in his and lifted them up. He squeezed her fingers gently. Smiling at her, he softly asked, “Would you join me tonight for banquet, m’lady?”

  Ginevra shook at the serious light in his eyes. His words held such tenderness as she had never known from him. She waited for the mocking smile of a boy that never came. He watched her intently, a languid curve arching on his lips. Her heart fluttered as she nodded her head in agreement.

  Wolfe smiled. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. Then, turning her hand over, he pressed his mouth firmly to her erratically beating pulse. She gasped--part in wonderment and part in confusion. And then he turned and walked out of the tent, leisurely picking up his sword and gloves on the way.

  Ginevra delicately touched her hand in awe of his tenderness. His smile lingered in her heart, as she stood frozen by the bed.

  The bonfire shone brightly over the soft, undulating grasses of the moonlit field. Tables had been constructed near the fire for the nobles to dine. A great feast was laid out atop them. Giant swans graced the tables of the nobles, cooked whole with their decorative feathers, heavily spiced with garlic and vinegar. Small roasted chickens circled them in their large trenchers. Trays filled with wafers and cheeses, pitchers of spiced and mulled wine, and goblets of ale, filled in the spaces until the thick wood nearly groaned with its heavy load.

  Musicians wandered about playing lively songs on recorders and lutes, pibgorns and fiddels. They stirred the blood to festive dancing and sudden outbursts of song. King Richard could be heard laughing merrily in good cheer, his crown shining brilliantly in the firelight.

  Servants and peasants gathered around their own bonfires, eating their feast of roasted mutton and pig without the benefit of tables. They sat apart from the dining nobles, on the ground, laughing and singing joyously in the night air. Their lively tunes could be heard ringing over the length of the encampment.