Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Once, Ginevra tried to ask if he had forgiven her. With a sad smile, he answered, “Let us not deny our bodies what they both crave. There is no reason to be tortured physically for what we won’t discuss with words.” And he left it at that, kissing away any protest she might have made.

  Taking a deep breath, Ginevra hesitantly moved her head to lean against Wolfe’s back. He didn’t edge away from her like he had done the last couple of days. He still refused to talk to her. His dismissals were harder to accept than his prolonged absence had been.

  And she missed him. Her entire being burned as she pressed along the firm lines of his body. She missed the charming light in his gaze as he looked at her. She even missed the stubborn conversation and bantering. Although she enjoyed his gentle coupling, she missed what he had been trying to show her with his rougher handling. She had a feeling that there was more to his passion than he let on. Had he not promised to show her hundreds of different ways to find pleasure?

  Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Edmund had fallen behind them. Smiling slyly, she gently moved her arms around Wolfe’s waist. Feeling the bandage, she asked, “How’s your wound? You haven’t asked me to tend to it.”

  Wolfe jerked in surprise at the sound of her voice. Quietly, he said, “Fine.”

  “Does it pain you?” she persisted in a light and gentle voice.

  “Nay,” Wolfe shifted uncomfortably against her.

  Looking at the dark sky, she asked, “Is it almost time to stop? It looks like rain.”

  “Nay,” he replied.

  “Oh,” she remarked, wrapping her arms more fully about him. She pushed her breast against his back. Again, he shifted uncomfortably.

  Undeterred, her hands grew bolder in their absentminded caresses. As Desert stumbled over a rut in the path, the back of Ginevra’s hand fell to the front of Wolfe’s thigh. She felt his breathing deepen slightly. The heat from his leg seared her hand with its scalding fire. Turning her hand so that the fingers pushed flat against his hard muscle, she rested her hand near his member.

  Wolfe turned Desert, the horse stumbled again. Ginevra’s hand slid onto the hard rock of Wolfe’s member. When he didn’t protest, she let it lie along the heavy shaft. He felt his hips shift to thrust lightly into her palm. Her face nuzzled into his strong back. Desert trotted faster, her hand jolted and rubbed him in intimate strokes. She heard a throaty moan escape his lips.

  Without breaking stride, he turned Desert into the trees. Ginevra didn’t speak as she worked her hand into the front of his breeches. Feeling the smooth skin of his shaft, she instantly grew hot with desire. Her fingers caressed over his side, as her other hand cupped him. Her hips pressed against his buttocks to rub in a sensual caress. Heated pleasure shot through her veins and she moaned softly into the back of his neck.

  When they were well hidden within the forest, Wolfe reached behind to grab her. In one swift movement, he swung her from the horse before jumping down behind her. He left Desert untethered as he turned to face her. He panted heavily.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. The evidence of her handling was obvious by his bulging, rumpled breeches.

  “Trying to get my husband to talk to me,” she whispered in return. As his gaze trailed boldly over her form, she shivered. The emerald stars returned hesitantly to her eyes. Lifting her fingers, she twined them in the laces over her breast. Pulling them, the tunic’s neck fell open to expose her chest. She let her finger draw between the valley of the small globes. Wolfe watched the movement, enraptured by her boldness.

  Wolfe growled, unable to resist the inviting light of her gaze. His hand trembled as he came to her. His eyes looked down at her hand on her creamy skin. His chest rose with barely controlled breaths. He ran his hand through her soft hair. Tenderly, he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow kiss. His eyes bore steadily into hers until her lids fluttered shut with a delicate moan. As she didn’t fight him, he deepened his onslaught until her knees weakened and she fell helplessly against him.

  She fitted her hands along his shoulders. The sound of birds echoed in the back of her mind. She ignored them, unable to comprehend anything but the sweet song of Wolfe’s gentle touches. The forest suddenly grew dark, thunder echoed in threatening rhythm over them.

  Pulling back, Ginevra whispered, “It’s going to rain.”

  “Let it,” Wolfe growled vehemently as he pulled her roughly back to him.

  His lips wove a path over the taut play of her flesh in worshipping caresses. Thunder struck again to drown out her lusty moan of enjoyment. She felt a cool droplet fall across her nose as his head dipped to the front of her tunic. Ginevra ran the tips of her fingers over his strong arms, feeling along the deep ridges of his muscles. His hands molded her body to his will as he pressed against her.

  The rain pelted them harder, soaking into their clothing as they fought to remove them. Wolfe tore off his tunic before turning to grab hers from her shoulders. His white bandage hugged his waist. Taking them to the horse, he pushed them into the dry satchel. Then, with a stalking force, he turned to her and looked at her intently.

  Her hair curled around her naked breasts, sticking lightly to the velvety mounds as they became dampened by rain. Her nipples puckered and reached to him in the cold. The golden tresses framed her oval face in unkempt beauty. Wolfe felt his gut twitch in masculine delight. Her emerald gaze boldly met his, proud and sure. In two strides he was back to her, pressing his wet, naked chest into hers.

  Their bodies glided together in wet harmony. Wolfe fell to his knees as he kissed her, pulling Ginevra down to the moistened earth to join with ripened breasts. Ginevra gently laid her hands in his hair, encouraging his exploration.

  Wolfe drank the falling rain from her skin. The droplets pounded the forest floor in noisy abandonment. Reaching down to undo his breeches completely, he liberated his manhood from its prison. His hands instantly went to her waistband to untie the makeshift belt. As the linen fell free from her slender hips, he uttered, “Stand.”

  Quickly, she stood so he could yank the breeches over her bare feet. He smiled at her muddy toes, remembering how she had always hated shoes.

  “Come here,” he commanded throatily. His hands glided over her wet skin as she went into his embrace.

  Instantly, he leaned back, pulling her on top of his flat stomach. Ginevra leaned over him to kiss him. His back pressed into the muddy earth, protecting her from the grime. Without thought, their lips met in shared passion.

  Ginevra ran her hand with a groan over his rigid stomach to his hardened member. Taking it in her hands, she stroked him with the aid of rainwater. Wolfe thrust his hips in pleasure. Then, unable to deny her body his penetrative touch, she tried to maneuver above him.

  Taking her by the hips, he adjusted her so that her thighs straddled his waist. Her knees pressed on either side of his bandage. Controlling her movements, he lowered her with deft precision on his awaiting erection. Not stopping to ease his way, he embedded himself completely in her moist cavern. Ginevra moaned in delight as he slid easily within her.

  Wolfe gazed at her in wonder. She was so full of passion, yet still so very innocent in the ways of lovemaking. Her hips held still waiting for him to move them.

  “Like this,” he urged in a grunted murmur. He lifted her above him only to thrust her back onto his shaft. “Ride me like this.”

  Ginevra blushed prettily, but obeyed. Slowly, she moved her hips in a hesitant mimicry of his teachings. The result was a gratified rush of pleasure through her limbs as she controlled him. Wolfe groaned loudly his approval. Growing empowered, she lifted her hips again.

  “Oh, torturous woman,” Wolfe moaned. He forced his hands away from her hips so that she might learn the workings of her body. Ginevra smiled at his pained expression. Somehow, she knew his pain was good. “You are a devilish wench, Ginevra.”

  Smiling wickedly, she continued to move deep and slow. Rain grew harder, pelting them with its wetnes
s. The pressure began building inside her, forcing her hands to press into his stomach. Wolfe groaned as she hit his wound. Ginevra gasped, but was unable to stop. Leaning her hands behind her, she found the position was much more gratifying.

  She pulled at the back of his knees, using his powerful legs as an anchor as she thrust him inside of her. She pounded her moist woman’s sheath over his immense sword, thrusting him deeply. Wolfe, finally unable to control his mounting passion and not wanting to try, grabbed onto her slow moving hips to grind fiercely inside of her.

  Ginevra gasped and moaned in ecstasy as Wolfe quickened the pace to drive her body to the brink of insanity. His hands slid over her athletic form to cup her breasts in long strokes of desire. His fingers memorized every subtle curve of her form. And then, with a grunt of supreme domination, she shuddered her release. Wolfe’s groan joined hers as he tensed inside of her.

  Ginevra collapsed forward, resting in heavy pants against his chest. Wolfe sat up in a swift motion. His arms wrapped protectively about her naked back as the rain cooled their heated bodies. The droplets hit his broad back, washing the mud from his bronzed skin. Breathing deeply in relaxed contentment, he felt her nuzzle into his warmth. He was still deep inside of her.

  Pulling back, he whispered, “Get up, Gin. Let us find shelter for the night.”

  Ginevra moaned in light protest but stood proudly before him. She let the rain pelt her naked body, rinsing her calves and her knees. Then, turning to meet his lowered gaze, she smiled shyly. Wolfe shook his head with a growl before grabbing their breeches and walking over to Desert. Swinging onto the horse’s bare back, he moved the animal in front of her. Holding down his hand, he pulled her up in one hasty movement to sit before him. He licked his lips as her breasts bobbed before his eyes, before growling in possessiveness. Wrapping his arm about her waist, he pulled her into the folds of his chest. Wolfe spurred the horse deeper into the forest.

  They rode for only a short time before finding a small cottage nestled near the same stream they followed for most of the journey. Wolfe smiled as his hand found the inside of her thigh. Massaging her in absent-mindfulness, he nuzzled his chin on the top of her wet hair.

  “I think it’s abandoned,” he stated, dipping his head to taste her breast.

  Ginevra lifted her head in surprise. She looked at the small cottage. Frowning, she said in return, “Give me my clothes before we check.”

  Wolfe grinned mischievously, but assented with a curt nod. He sighed in longing as he looked at her breasts.

  Sliding from the horse, Ginevra lifted her hand to take the breeches he was offering her. She began slipping the wet material over her feet.

  “We could just stay out in the rain,” he offered.

  “And catch our deaths?” she shot in surprise. Then, she saw his tightly drawn expression. He watched every movement of her body. Glancing over him, she saw the evidence of his torment.

  “Death comes for us all,” he returned absently. “Do you know of a better way to go?”

  Ginevra giggled. Nodding her head toward the cottage, she uttered, “Come, give me my tunic. If we stay alive, we have more time for fun.”

  With a pouting sigh, he tossed the tunic down. Quickly, she tugged it over her head. He followed suit and did the same.

  “Go inside and see if you can start a fire. I’ll take care of the horse. I think I see a barn back behind the cottage.” Wolfe pulled at the reins before stopping. With a slight frown of concern, he reached into his satchel to produce a dagger. Handing it down to her, he asked, “Do you know how to use this?”

  “I--” she began.

  “Be careful. Scream if you need me,” Wolfe ordered. He made a mental note to teach her how to wield the weapon. If he was to be leaving her again to join King Richard, he wanted her to be able to protect herself.

  Ginevra nodded. As she walked, she noticed that Wolfe didn’t move. He sat astride his horse to make sure she met with no harm as she went to the door. She grinned, knowing he couldn’t see her face.

  Stepping up to the wooden door, she knocked lightly. To her amazement, she heard a shuffling inside and then a faint moan. Ginevra turned to glance back at Wolfe before knocking again. This time she pounded louder. Her inquiry was met with a pained scream.

  Growing sick with apprehension, Ginevra gripped the dagger in her hand. Hesitantly, she pushed open the door. But, before she could go in, Wolfe was by her side with drawn sword. He pushed her out of the way and stepped in before her.

  As the door creaked open, Ginevra saw the dying flames of a fire in a clean fireplace. Along the mantel were several small jugs and trenchers. The home was cluttered but very well kept. Again, a moan sounded from inside. She watched Wolfe’s back lose some of its tension.

  Spinning on his heels to face her, he insisted in a rush, “Gin, come inside. You’re needed.”

  “What?” she questioned with an open-mouthed gasp of confusion. As Wolfe moved out of her way, she stepped inside the cottage. With a frown, she noticed a woman large with child on the only bed in the one chamber cottage. The woman’s face was pale and drawn tightly. Frightened, Ginevra looked at Wolfe. “What am I needed for?”

  Wolfe motioned to the bed and said, “She’s having her babe.”

  “And?” Ginevra shot, growing louder. She looked at the woman in stunned horror, remembering all too well being with Lady Isabella.

  “Help her,” Wolfe answered in tight command.

  “I am not a midwife,” Ginevra put forth in stunned bewilderment and confusion. The woman moaned again. She looked at the peasant and shook her head. Gulping, she argued, “You help her. You are worldlier than I.”

  “You are a woman,” Wolfe persisted, shoving her to the bed none-to-gently. Ginevra tripped over her resistant feet. “Help her with this woman’s thing.”

  “But,” Ginevra began. She never got the words out. Wolfe shut the door steadily behind her with a thud. Jolting in alarm, Ginevra turned to the woman on the bed. The last, and only, time she had seen a baby born was with Lady Isabella. And that hadn’t turned out well.

  “Woman?” Ginevra inquired. The peasant opened her dazed eyes. Ginevra tried to smile at her as she slowly inched to the bed. In a low, comforting murmur, she said, “I’m here to help you.”

  “Be ye an angel?” the woman asked.

  “Nay, merely a woman.” Ginevra managed a wry smile. “How long have you been here?”

  “I know not, lady,” she said.

  “All right.” Ginevra leaned forward to press her hand to the woman’s head. “Is there anyone else here?”

  “Nay,” the woman groaned as she contorted in pain. She curled into a ball and rolled away.

  “I am just going to look,” Ginevra began. She pulled back the fur coverlet to look at the woman’s legs. Seeing a large amount of blood soaking into the mattress, she stood. Going to the door, she opened it to peek out her head. “Wolfe!”

  He was next to her in an instant. His brown eyes shone with concern as he looked at her.

  Ginevra noticed with amazement that he was nervous. Swallowing over her fear, she stated, “Get firewood in here and tend the fire. And then I need you to find me some dry blankets. And get some water.”

  Wolfe nodded. He was glad to have a duty to attend to. Ginevra shut the door as she heard another moan. Moving quickly to the bed, she asked, “What is your name?”

  “Britheue,” the woman gasped.

  The noblewoman smoothed back the woman’s brown hair. “Where is your man?”

  “Dead,” the woman moaned.

  “Have you other children?”

  “Nay,” Britheue groaned as pain racked her body. Tears wept silently from her eyes as she squeezed them closed. Her head thrashed about on the cot.

  “I’m going to pull back your gown,” Ginevra said. Gulping, she steeled herself as she lifted the peasant’s tunic from her legs.

  The smell of blood was potent. Ginevra grabbed the soiled fur coverlet and swipe
d what blood she could from the woman’s thighs. Then, tossing the cover on the floor, she frowned.

  “Here is the water,” Wolfe stated from the door.

  Ginevra felt him set a bucket on the floor next to her. Droplets of water splattered over her as he neared. Then, the door closed as he hastened from the cottage. She ignored him as she kept her administering hands on the woman.

  “Britheue, we are going to get through this.” Ginevra reached one hand to the woman’s opening and the other to her stomach. With wavering determination, she stated, “You will be having this baby.”

  Wolfe paced inside the shelter of the barn. His boots were covered with mud. He felt helpless. But there was naught he could do but wait. Men were not to be around when a babe was brought into the world. He had been told it was bad luck, but seeing the pain on the peasant woman’s face, he understood the truth of it. Men might be necessary to the begetting, but as to the birthing they were useless. If men were forced to see the result of coupling, there might be a sight less babes in the world. Still, he felt guilty leaving Ginevra alone.

  The sky darkened with late evening. The heavy rainfall chilled the wind. It whipped around the enclosure until he was forced to huddle next to Desert.

  Suddenly, Wolfe froze. He saw a figure moving through the storm. Stepping into the night, he lifted his sword from Desert’s back.

  “Wolfe!” Ginevra screamed, turning in circles.

  Wolfe rushed forward to his wife. Instantly, lifting his arm around her, he rushed her back to the peasant’s cottage. Ginevra pushed open the door and waved him in. She gave him a small smile. Going inside, he heard the soft cry of an infant.

  “It’s a girl,” Ginevra announced softly. She beamed proudly into his face. “I think they both will be fine.”

  Wolfe nodded, relieved.

  “Want to see?” Ginevra asked.

  Again Wolfe nodded. Slowly, they walked to the bed. Looking down at the sleeping woman, Ginevra pulled back a blanket to show Wolfe a tiny hand followed by a little round face.

  When she looked back to her husband, he wasn’t looking at the child. He was studying her intently. With a low voice, he said, “It’s a great thing you have done, Gin.”