Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Ginevra couldn’t hide the flush on her cheeks or the happiness gleaming in her eyes as she looked out over the crowd. Her pleasure drew the attentions of the encampment until every male in attendance wished it had been he that put such delight into her beautiful features. But Ginevra didn’t notice the other knights. Her eyes were only for her husband.

  Wearing a simple gown of light green and a silver circlet over her locks, which held a shining piece of polished glass in the shape of a crystal teardrop over her forehead, Ginevra looked every bit the noblewoman. She left Wolfe’s tent to quickly bathe and change for the last day of tournaments. Her heart fluttered every time she thought of his tender caresses and a new appreciation of her own body came over her. Blushing in embarrassment, she turned her eyes downward. She couldn’t help but wonder if the entire camp knew what happened and if they did, what were they saying about it? Ginevra tried to convince herself that she didn’t care. But as she blushed, her cheeks turning even more to a burning red, she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

  “M’lady didn’t come back last night,” Lora said in delight from her side, as she watched the herald come forward to announce the first combatants. Her eyes also sparkled with a telltale gleam.

  “I was,” Ginevra began with a blush, “occupied elsewhere.”

  Lora clapped her hands together ecstatically as a grin grew over her features. Keeping her eyes carefully forward, she said, “It’s just as well. I was busy myself.”

  “Oh, yea?” Ginevra turned to her handmaiden in surprise, “Who?”

  “I don’t know if I should say,” she whispered back.

  The knights spurred their horses forward, one in black and the other in green and yellow. Ginevra felt a rush of excitement as she watched the battle. The men met with a clash. The ladies watched the thrill of the sword fight for a moment before turning back to the conversation.

  When the black-clad knight fell from his destrier, Ginevra mumbled, “You have to tell me! I promise to say naught.”

  “Well, let us just say I met King Richard yestereve at banquet,” Lora whispered with a girlish blush. “All o’ him.”

  “The king?” Ginevra mouthed in amazement. Lora nodded with a disturbed sigh and a blush.

  “I did,” the maidservant mouthed. “I should say if I wasn’t loyal to the crown afore, I am now. I think I will never find a man as tender or so deliciously skilled again.”

  Ginevra blushed, her mouth opened to answer in kind, but she was stopped by a dark voice behind her.

  “Lady Ginevra, how radiant you look this morn.”

  Ginevra choked down her awe at Lora’s confession as she turned around. Smiling pleasantly at Lord Eilric, she nodded her head in graciousness. Then, seeing his hand bandaged to his waist in a splint, she inquired, “Lord Eilric, were you injured?”

  “Ja, m’lady. I’m afraid I was too careless last eve during my last bout.” He shot her an unabashed smile, boldly staring into her emerald gaze. Ginevra didn’t notice the impropriety. “After I defeated my opponent, the knight after me lost control of his steed and startled mine. I was able to steady him, but not before my wrist was twisted badly amongst the reins. Alas, the physician said I could no longer participate in this tournament. I had to withdraw.”

  “Oh,” Lora put forth in a hush, not liking the way the man was looking possessively at her mistress.

  Ginevra didn’t heed his overbold stares or possessive glances as she watched the next two knights ready themselves. Politely, she mumbled in distraction, “What a shame you can’t fight, Lord Eilric.”

  “Nay, it’s just a tournament. There’s no reason to place mislaid value on winning like so many of these knights do. Ja, they even leave wife and home for years at a time just to assuage their vanity.”

  “And yet you participated,” Ginevra stated, not liking his reference to Wolfe. She read the meaning in his eyes as he slighted her husband. She also knew she couldn’t defend Wolfe, for what he said was true.

  “Only because King Richard asked me,” he stated blandly. “I’m here only by request of mein Kaiser, my emperor.”

  Lora giggled lightly and had to hide her face as he mentioned the king. The maidservant’s nervous fingers pressed into her lips to keep her quiet.

  Ginevra was glad for the clamor of the fight as it drew her attention away from Lord Eilric. She tilted her chin boldly into the air as the swords clanged loudly. The crowd gasped in a mix of horror and awe as one of the men lost his helm and almost his head. The knight fell to the ground in a daze. His servants had to drag him from the field.

  The continued matches went on as the day progressed into late afternoon, until four victors had been decided. Then, as Wolfe drew forward, his arm raised to salute the king. A hush fell over the crowd as a squire ran forward to place a white flag over one of the advancement pegs. The crowd grumbled in disappointment as Wolfe lowered his arm and retreated as the victor by default. Eilric clenched his teeth in anger. Ginevra hid her disappointment.

  Then, as Wolfe looked to her, she stood silently acknowledging his notice. A smile froze on her face as she spotted a white piece of cloth attached to his armor. She had given him no token. Angrily, she turned to Lora.

  “Lora, come,” she stated. Then, turning to Eilric, she nodded her head regally. “Lord Eilric, thank you for your company. I hope your wrist heals quickly and that there is no lasting damage.”

  As they walked away, Ginevra turned tortured eyes to her handmaid. “Please tell me you gave my husband the token that sits on his chest. Tell me you sent it from me.”

  Frowning, Lora shook her head. “Nay, m’lady. I haven’t even spoken to Lord Wolfram.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Ginevra glared off into the distance. Her fist shook with rage as she remembered Lady Helewysa’s request the night before. The horrible woman had asked Wolfe to champion her. Had her nefarious husband granted the painted woman’s request?

  “M’lady,” Lord Eilric came up behind her. He noticed her pale face with a small smirk of delight. “Should you be in need of an escort? I noticed there were no guards about you today. Since I’m injured, I have naught to do until the next rounds begin and would be honored if you let me be of service to you.”

  To Lora’s disapproval, Ginevra agreed with a terse nod. The noblewoman took the man’s proffered arm as he led her silently away from the back of the bleachers. The handmaid dutifully fell behind them as Eilric escorted the noblewoman through the maze of people. They strolled silently for a moment. Eilric nodded to several knights, liking the stares he received in kind.

  “Lord Eilric,” Ginevra inquired growing bored with the polite stroll. “Tell me, do you have family around here? Any brothers or sisters?”

  “Nay, I had a brother. He was a great man,” Lord Eilric stated. “He was born in Eschenfeld Castle, as was I.”

  “And what happened to him?” Ginevra inquired.

  “He was murdered, m’lady. Very unjustly while trying to help the poor,” Lord Eilric answered in a low tone.

  Ginevra nodded, thinking it best to change the subject. “And Eschenfeld? It’s far from London?”

  “Not so very far. I should arrive there in about two fortnights if I were to travel there directly,” Eilric answered, liking that she was taking an interest in his homeland. “But, alas, I haven’t been there for many years. I have been in France for mein Kaiser.”

  “And is your homeland much like England?” Ginevra asked, curious about any place that was not home. If she couldn’t travel there, then at least she could hear of it.

  Eilric smiled, delighted to recite to her the differences of his people. Ginevra listened intently, laughing at all the right times and prompting him with questions when he halted. As he led her further into the crowd, careful to keep her away from her husband’s tent, he indulged her with much charm and attention.

  Wolfe waited in his tent during the break, hoping Ginevra would come to see him. He had seen Lord Eilric sitting with her. The man watched
his wife with too attentive of eyes. Turning to his brother, as William entered under the flap, he asked harshly, “Who is next?”

  “Sir Gregory,” William stated. “He tilts to the right when he swings so you should be fine if you come in from the left. Just watch his shoulder for the turn. Be careful, for he recovers quickly. If you don’t strike right away, wait and try again later.”

  Wolfe nodded seriously and adjusted the gauntlet on his hand, before steepling his fingers beneath his chin in thought. William poured a wooden goblet full of mead. Handing it to the distracted knight, he sighed, “You’re not worried are you?”

  “Nay,” Wolfe admitted as he tossed back the drink in several gulps. He wasn’t worried about fighting. Fighting he could handle. Wolfe stood and moved over to the tent’s opening. Looking out the flap, he searched for Ginevra. He couldn’t see her in the passing crowd.

  “Are you ill?” William persisted. His brother should have been in a fine mood by all accounts of the noises that came from his tent that morn. Wolfe and Ginevra were quite the talk of the encampment, though he would never tell his brother so.

  “Nay, merely distracted,” Wolfe stated with a dark frown. Looking at the sun as it shone brightly in the sky, he sighed, “It’s time to go back.”

  “Only two more,” William encouraged, grabbing his brother’s helm. Wolfe didn’t hear him as he stalked away to the field.

  Ginevra spied Wolfe from across the tournament field. She lifted her chin into the air hauntingly as he glared back at her. He still wore the other woman’s token across his chest. Letting Eilric escort her to her seat, she smiled pleasantly at the charming man. Wolfe fumed in outrage, Ginevra pretended to ignore him. As they were seated, Lora followed solemnly behind.

  Growling as the herald announced his name, Wolfe slammed the helm shut over his features. He gripped his sword but didn’t raise his arm. As the flag dropped, he viciously kicked his stallion in the ribs and spurred him forward to battle his opponent. Sir Gregory met his sword and took advantage of Wolfe’s distracted anger by meeting the sharp metal of his blade with Wolfe’s armor.

  Ginevra gasped as Wolfe slumped slightly from the blow. But he didn’t stop fighting, instead turning his rage against the hapless man. His sword bit into the muscled flesh of Sir Gregory’s sword arm. The knight dropped his weapon signifying defeat. The gathered throng cheered wildly. Wolfe raised his blade angrily in the air to shake it boldly at his wife. Ginevra paled. Wolfe growled viciously. The crowd encouraged his displayed temper by applauding louder.

  Deciding the break allowed between matches was too short a time to leave the bleachers, Ginevra sat quietly back as the two finalists were suited and readied. Wolfe, with a defiant tilt of his brow denied that he needed time to rest.

  “But, Wolfe,” William protested. “Let us see to your arm.”

  “It’s but a scratch,” he hissed, as he slammed down his helm. Acknowledging to the herald that he was ready, he turned his horse back to the field.

  A murmur rose over the crowd. Ginevra looked to Lora who shrugged in puzzlement.

  “He doesn’t rest,” she heard someone murmur from behind. The coarse peasant accent filled her with dread. “He’s a bloody fool.”

  Ginevra stood, despite her anger at him. Leaning forward to watch, she felt Lora on her arm holding her steady.

  “He will be killed,” Ginevra whispered in trepidation. Lora tensed. Their eyes stayed focused on Wolfe as he lifted his arm to the cheers.

  “...and Lord Eadward of Littleworth,” the herald announced. His words were lost on Ginevra’s ears. Lord Eadward looked to be a man of great barbaric size.

  As the herald backed up, the flag was dropped. The knights spurred forward. Ginevra gasped and paled as Wolfe’s arm faltered under the rested man’s weighty blows. She gripped Lora tightly by the arm. Lord Eadward’s blade slashed near Wolfe’s injured arm barely missing him.

  Ginevra could feel her heart beating, as time seemed to slow. Eadward swung again, this time succeeding on hitting Wolfe in his injured arm. Wolfe’s sword arm dipped dangerously low. Eadward lifted his sword and swung for his opponent’s side. Striking him in his armored ribs, he withdrew his bloodied sword. Suddenly, Wolfe switched his blade to the other side and swung. Eadward, taken off guard by the change, fell from his steed into the dirt. A glorious cheer rose up from the stands as Wolfe raised his hand as the victor. Ginevra held still, her heart permanently wedged in her throat as he turned to her. She could feel his heated glare as he rode forward to King Richard.

  Wolfe took off his helm and held it fast under his arm. Ginevra didn’t hear the king’s proclamation as he named Wolfe the tournament champion. Nor did she move as he was awarded a bag of gold for his troubles. Wolfe acknowledged the crowd before departing, all the time keeping his fixed gaze steadily on his wife.

  As Ginevra made her way to Wolfe’s tent, she hesitated. The last bout ended nigh an hour before, but she just now dredged up the courage to face his wrath. Seeing his flap open, she noticed the dark tunic of the king’s tournament physician. She froze waiting until he left before continuing forward. William came out followed by Wolfe’s squire. The lad nodded, as William whispered an order and ran off to the stables.

  “Will!” Ginevra called in delight. She rushed forward to greet him.

  “Ah, Gin!” William responded. He grabbed her hands and squeezed them gently before letting go. “I heard you were about.”

  “How is he?” she whispered, unsuccessfully hiding her worried frown. She tried to see through the side of the tent and failed.

  “He will live, though he will need to rest a bit,” William admitted with a serious smile. “It’s glad I am the tournament’s over. And it’s glad I am that you are here to tend him.”

  “But,” Ginevra began.

  “Thanks Gin,” William smiled gleefully. “I’ll see you on the morrow. I’m going to make Wolfe’s apologies to the king since he will miss the banquet tonight.”

  “But,” she tried again. William ran off before she could continue. Muttering, she whispered, “I came to thwart him, not to care for the daft oaf.”

  Still, as she walked, her heart leapt in fear. She ducked into the tent, instantly spying him in the bed. His eyes were closed, his chest naked. Immediately, her body remembered what pleasure he had given her that morning. Her cheeks colored. Going to him, she gently lifted the covers to expose his naked side. A white bandage wrapped around his ribs to cover his wounds. Quickly covering his disturbingly familiar body, she turned to his face. His eyes were open, his brows rose in silent question.

  Ginevra pursed her lips together and turned away. Pouring herself a goblet of mead, she turned to study him as she sipped it thoughtfully. Her face drew blank. Not offering to care for him, she watched him with hostile silence.

  “Bring me a drink,” he ordered darkly. He closed his eyes.

  “Get up and get it yourself,” her voice was calm. “Or ask one of your women.”

  “Are you still on about that?” he grumbled. Then, obscurely he spat, “I could ask your man.”

  “My what?” she shot back in surprise. At her confusion, he forced himself up on his elbows with a wince. “I watched your bout but I think I didn’t see the blow you received to your hard head. It’s too bad. I would’ve quite enjoyed it.”

  “What else do you want from me, woman?” he growled. Blood seeped through his white bandages staining them crimson. He ignored the pain. “I honored you by winning the tournament.”

  “You honor yourself and your vanity,” she countered. Rage bubbled in her chest as she stared at him. How could she have been so forgiving the night before to let him consummate the marriage? She never drank to such excess as to impair her judgment. Now, even more so than before, his touch branded her skin and she knew she would never be the same. But she cursed her body even as she denied it his touch.

  Wolfe scowled at her as he fell back on the pillow. He turned his stormy eyes away from her. “Send Wi
lliam to me.”

  “Quit ordering me about,” she returned sharply. Then, setting down her goblet, she walked slowly over to him. “William left you to my care. He’s at the banquet. Now lay still as I look to your bandage.”

  Wolfe grumbled but did as she ordered.

  Ginevra peeled back the bandage as it continued to soak with blood. The wound was long, but would heal given time. It was nothing compared to the wound her brother had received all those years ago. Lightly touching it, she noticed a bucket of water near the bed. Taking the rag already pink with his blood, she wiped the wound clean. Then, finding a pile of bandages by the bucket, she wrapped it, leaning over him as she worked.

  “Tell me,” he inquired when she had finished. “Why did you stay with me yestereve if you dislike me so?”

  “I had to,” she stated flatly. “The king ordered it and I was drunk. If I had been thinking clearly I would’ve run back to my tent and gladly so.”

  “And this morn,” he mused. A challenge lit up in his face. “You weren’t drunk. You could’ve left me then. But, instead, you begged for my touch.”

  Ginevra paled. Her eyes hardened as she stood. “You are a scoundrel to speak of such things. I was being a dutiful wife, like I thought you wanted. But now I don’t care what you want. Let your mistresses tend your wounds. I daresay there should be a nursemaid amongst them, being as there are so many.”

  “Dutiful,” he questioned in determination. His eyes turned to her breasts. “Both times?”

  “Oh!” Ginevra fumed with a scowl. “You are incorrigible. And you are a miserable cad to speak thusly to me.”

  “Ginevra, wait,” he called mockingly as she stormed out of the tent. A victorious smile alighted on his lips. “What about my care?”

  Chapter Nine