Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  The fall air was brisk and cooled the flushed heat of her cheeks. Inside, she trembled with fear. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. The missive was unexpected after so many months of anxiety.

  Lady Jayne slept inside, fatigued by her recent illness of the heart. The physician told them that there was naught to be concerned over. The dowager baroness’ sufferings were only minor, prolonged by her desire to see her son home.

  As they moved, Ginevra’s eyes fearfully teared. She noticed the rusty-colored fingerprint of blood staining the last letter of her name. It was Wolfe’s writing, but she wondered if it was not also his blood. Setting the paper down on her lap, she looked at Helena. Her heart beat faster, jumping into her throat to painfully choke her breath.

  Her sister-by-marriage had hovered over her constantly since the birth of her son. Miraculously mother and child both survived, though Ginevra was not as quick to recover. The boy met with his first birthday, healthy and looking painfully like his father. And he was just as strong willed.

  Shivering slightly, Ginevra gazed over the courtyard. “Helena, could you get me a cloak? Suddenly, I am very cold.”

  “Yea,” Helena answered, a bit disappointed. Her eyes strayed eagerly to the missive on Ginevra’s lap. Robert hadn’t written. The endless nights of worry had been hard for both women--not knowing whether their men were alive or dead. Already news of the slain traveled back slowly, along with vague tales of valor and bravery.

  As Helena ran up the courtyard stairs to the main hall, Ginevra anxiously broke open the seal. Her hands shook, her stomach fluttered in nervous twitters. She closed her eyes briefly as she unwrapped the words. Sighing, she turned her face to the letter.

  My fair Ginevra,

  I fear that I am dying in this accursed land. We wage war against a people we don’t understand. They don’t fight as we do and so the battles are long and arduous. Being in such a state, I now see how I was foolish with pride a year ago when last I looked upon your sleeping face. I should have told you something then, something I was too afraid or dimwitted to say. But now I shall tell you. I only hope it doesn’t find you too late. I love you. Being away from you so long has made me realize it. I know not how this letter will find you. I know not if your heart has turned from me. I know not if it was truly mine at all. But you must know I’ve loved you for the last twenty years. At first it was a simple love--the love of children, the mere affection a boy feels for a friend’s young sister that he looks fondly on. That grew until I came to love you as a man loves a woman--as a husband loves a wife. I don’t care that we were betrothed, contracted together by the will of our parents. You were meant to be mine and I yours. It was preordained in the heavens that it should be so. It was fate. I love you, Ginevra. I’ve loved you my whole life. Only, I am afraid this comes too late and I am sorry for it.

  Yours forever, Wolfe.

  Over the words stood damning fingerprints and smudges of blood. Her heart screamed in protest, but her mind could only conclude one wretched thing. Wolfe was dead. It could only be his blood staining the parchment. His last thought had been of her.

  The ragged panting in her chest built until she was trembling with the overpowering intensity of fear. Many nights she had lain awake, imagining Wolfe’s death a million different ways--all painful, all final. With a painful surge of emotion from her throat, the missive fell from Ginevra’s fingers to flutter to the ground. Her legs weakened until she fell forward to crouch over the missive. She screamed loud into the courtyard. The sound echoed in hollow painfulness over the land. Looking at her defenseless hands, she buried her face into her palms. A sweetness flowed through her veins at the words he wrote, only to bitter with the reality of why they were possibly written.

  Immediately, Helena was by her side. Wrapping the cloak over the crying woman’s shoulders, she snatched the missive from the ground. Scanning over it, her face paled.

  “What does it mean?” Ginevra gasped through her tears. Her lungs gulped heavily for air until she grew dizzy with riotous emotions. “He is dead, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know, Gin.” Helena licked her lips slowly. Helping her sister-by-marriage to the bench, she glimpsed over the missive one last time before handing it back. Helena was stunned by her brother’s words. And her heart would have sung if not for the blood. Ginevra crushed the parchment to her heart. “Mayhap, dying is metaphorical. If Wolfe were hurt, Robert would’ve sent word and if not Robert then William or King Richard.”

  “If he is dead,” Ginevra gulped, “then he will never know his son.”

  For I never told him, Ginevra added silently. Her shame made her tears come faster. Her breathing became more frantic. Unable to feel her chest, she stood.

  “We must pray and have faith that he is alive,” Helena asserted. Silently, she stood, taking Ginevra by the hand. Her sister-by marriage swayed violently on her feet. “There is no way to know what is happening so far away.”

  “Something has happened,” Ginevra said through pale lips. The color drained completely from her face as her breaths continued to come in abnormally fast puffs. Helena tried to lead her forward. Ginevra’s eyes rounded in surprise. Her lips suddenly turned blue. Shaking horribly, she whispered, “I have dreamt that it has and now I am as dead as he.”

  To Helena’s terror she could do nothing as Ginevra collapsed. Helena’s screams for help found the ears of nearby knights, but it was too late. The noblewoman had fainted away, falling listlessly to the ground in a pile.

  Whetshire Fortress, November 1191 A.D.

  The snowflakes fell like sparkling diamonds through the night. Their crystal patterns picked up the heavy fall of moonlight as they twisted and bent within the gentle winter breeze. Ginevra watched them flutter from the midnight sky from the solitary height of the tower. Picking one in particular out of the millions, she kept her eyes on it as it made its way down the side of the castle. She lost sight as it blended into the snow-covered ground. Ginevra pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders and huffed out a long white puff of air.

  Squinting, she tried to gaze through the inky darkness of night, over to the edge of the earth. She couldn’t see beyond the shadowed outline of the gatehouse. If Ginevra concentrated hard enough, she could hear the even beats of her own heart. But, though the sound was there, she couldn’t feel it move. Inside she was numb. Only when playing with her son did she feel anything. It had been so since the moment she awakened to the administering hands of her mother’s surgeon. Miraculously, her own affliction much improved the dowager baroness’.

  All of a sudden, Ginevra’s eyes darkened in a frown. Listening closely past her heart, she heard the iron gate rising slowly in the gatehouse. Her chest twitched with a curious thud. The gate wouldn’t be raised without permission, unless...

  “Wolfe,” Ginevra whispered. For a moment the sound of her voice left her frozen.

  But as the word penetrated her mind, she turned to race down the stairwell. Her world spun in dizzying circles. Her feet pattered down the stairs in frantic thuds. Then, rushing through the hall, she made her way outside. The flakes once more caressed her soft cheeks. Breathlessly, she stumbled to a stunned stop. Already a horse could be seen coming through the entryway. She didn’t recognize the rider, but she knew the horse. It was Desert.

  “Wolfe,” Ginevra hushed again half in fear, half in awe. She was too nervous to smile. Her body wavered between light and dark, awake and sleep. She willed her sight to be true, to not be another haunting dream that left her so alone and cold. Fretfully, she whispered, “I can’t believe it.”

  She took a hesitant step forward. Ginevra swallowed anxiously, her fingers coming up to press questioningly to her lips. Suddenly, she realized that two riders, not one, were on the stallion’s back. The horse came to a stop. Slowly the riders climbed off.

  “Wolfe?” she asked, short of breath. She swayed heavily on her feet. Her slender hand reached forward in hope.

  But the man who turned to her w
as not her husband. As he walked, his shoulders were hunched severely with fatigue. His hands moved slowly under his long cloak, which covered him completely like a robe. He was shorter than her husband with a long, bushy beard covering his face. His hair was overlong, falling forward unkempt over his shoulders. Pushing back the hood of his cloak, he stepped forward.

  “Gin, it’s really you?”

  “Rob?” Ginevra breathed in astonishment. She ran forward crushing her brother to her chest. He trembled in her arms. In bewilderment, she reached her hands to his face. Realizing he was true and not a ghost, she crushed him once more to her chest. “Oh, Robert!”

  “Robert?” came Helena’s unbelieving squeak.

  Ginevra let go of her brother as Helena’s astounded shout of happiness rang over them. Turning to the other traveler, Ginevra smiled happily, “Oh, Will. Blessed Saints, you are safe. I have prayed you would come home to us.”

  “Gin,” William whispered, returning her enthusiastic hug. He winced as she leaned her weight on him. Ginevra was too happy to notice.

  Ginevra touched his bearded face briefly before moving to peer behind him. Turning, her smile shone happily to see the men safe. She saw the earl embracing his son. Helena’s tearful joy again rang out over them as she cried into her husband’s welcoming chest.

  “Where is he? Where is Wolfe?” Ginevra questioned. Looking at both of the men, the smile faded from her face. “Rob, he is with you, is he not?”

  Robert looked wearily at William. Neither one could meet her expectant gaze.

  “Well,” the earl prompted them gruffly. “Where is he? Where’s my son?”

  William took a limping step toward Ginevra. His hand rose slightly. “He was taken.”

  “Taken where?” Ginevra shot immediately. “By whom?”

  “Come on, Ginevra,” the earl interjected. Immediately, he knew of what his youngest son spoke. “Let us get you in from the snow. It’s cold and--”

  “Damn the snow!” Ginevra broke in with a wretched curse. With heartfelt emotion, she shot, “Where is Wolfe? Why do you have his steed? Who has taken him?”

  “Gin,” Robert let go of his wife. Helena reluctantly released him from her tight embrace. Ginevra turned pale. Taking a step to her, he laid a hand on her arm. “He was captured during battle. We found no body. The king believes he might reside in a prison.”

  “Then he is alive. Helena, did you hear it? I feared that he was dead all these months.” She sighed with relief. Her relief soon turned to fear, as she watched Robert shake his head sadly.

  “I won’t give you false hope,” Robert whispered in a low voice. “Though it’s possible he lives, it’s unlikely. The Saracen dungeons are not a kind place. Many of those captured are tortured and killed within days of imprisonment. Wolfe was injured badly in the arm. Had he lived, his name would’ve been on the list of nobles captured. He wasn’t on any of the lists. When we left the Holy Land, none of the prisoners had been returned. In fact, many were executed.”

  “Robert,” Helena scolded. She gasped as she rushed forward to stand before her pale friend. Trying to wrap her arm around a resistant Ginevra, she said, “Please--”

  “Nay, Helena. Let him finish. I’d hear it all.” Ginevra lifted her chin bravely, shaking off Helena’s hands. She forced herself to remain calm. Returning her gaze steadily to her brother, she uttered, “How would you know where to look for him after a battle? Mayhap he was elsewhere. Mayhap he returns even now on a different path than you.”

  “He saved my life,” William asserted. “He risked his life for ours. Robert saw the Turkish soldiers gather around him as we rode off. They were scavenging for prisoners.”

  “You abandoned him?” Ginevra whispered, horrified. Her words only compacted their immense guilt. Shouting in outrage, she barked, “How could you have let them take him?”

  “You couldn’t possibly understand it. He ordered us to go. There was no choice. I was hurt, Will unconscious,” Robert put forth. Ginevra gulped and swayed on her feet. Instantly, he was sorry for his harsh tone. He didn’t have time to apologize.

  “Until I have solid proof of his death, I will hear no more of it,” Ginevra announced, whisking away from them.

  “Gin,” Robert’s soft word stopped her. She turned around.

  Robert removed the glove from his hand. Pulling a ring off his finger, he lifted her hand and placed it in her upturned palm. She curled her fingers around it and pulled it slowly to her chest. Continuing, Robert said gently, “He bid me to give this to you. He said, ‘tell Gin we acted honorably this day.’”

  Ginevra felt the cold sting of the Whetshire crest against her palm. That Wolfe had sent her his ring only meant he didn’t expect to return with it. She fought back her tears as they threatened to fall. She didn’t feel the descending snow around her face or hands.

  “The wound was mortal, then?” she asked quietly. All fight drained from her limbs leaving her helpless. Numbed more than she had ever thought possible, she walked weakly away, not knowing where she would go.

  “It’s too uncertain to say,” Robert muttered. He hated that he was the one to put the look on his sister’s face, but reality was the best he could do for her.

  Ginevra nodded, refusing to turn around. They watched as she regally moved through the snowy night up the platform steps. Her back was stiff and straight, her shoulders didn’t tremble as she progressed. When she reached the top, she turned. Smiling down sadly at the men, she said, “It’s glad I am that you are safe brothers. I welcome you home.”

  The hall filled with the lively music of traveling minstrels. Happy couples danced about in celebration of the two heroes return. They spun, touching wrist to wrist with their partner only to spin around and do it again. Bowing in unison, the men stepped around the clapping women.

  Robert’s laughter rang out lustfully over the hall as he wrapped his arm around his wife. He gingerly kissed her forehead in mid-chuckle. Helena’s expression shined with pure joy as she received her husband’s attentions. The two had been inseparable since he returned.

  Ginevra studied her brother at her side. He looked more like himself since he’d shaved the beard and trimmed back his hair. But, like William, his face was aged more than it should have been for only two years time.

  “Gin,” William said, drawing her attention around to him. “Should you like to dance?”

  Although Ginevra smiled demurely, there was no pleasure in her eyes. Shaking her head, she answered, “Nay, Will. I don’t know how and I don’t wish to learn.”

  William laughed lightly. Without thought, he said, “Yea. I think I remember Wolfe saying as much.”

  Ginevra paled considerably. Robert, overhearing, shot him a look of warning. Helena’s features fell. William turned his eyes to his folded hands.

  “Gin, I’m--” William began.

  “I wish everyone would quit tiptoeing around this subject with me. I wish to hear what he was--is about.” Ginevra felt tears brim her lashes. She blinked heavily, trying to force them back. Her lips trembled. “What else did he say of me?”

  William hesitated. Robert gave him a stern nod to continue. His brows furrowed into hard lines. When William didn’t speak, Robert said, “He thought of you often.”

  Ginevra nodded casually. Grabbing her goblet, she took a drink. They said no more as she tried to regain her senses. The pain that seized her chest the moment Wolfe left intensified until it felt as if she were choking. Dully, she looked over the hall.

  “I’d check on my son.” Ginevra stood. She forced a pleasant smile to her lips. “Helena, could you...?”

  “Yea, Gin. I will see to your guests and I will check in on you later tonight,” Helena put forth when Ginevra couldn’t continue.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Ginevra stepped from the platform. Instantly, several knights stood before her in greeting as she passed. Many stopped her with kind words and requests of a dance. Some even asked her to join them at their table, though they
didn’t think she would accept. She answered each politely and spoke dutifully to them with a laughing smile that didn’t reach her eyes. None of them had been told of Wolfe’s possible death, but they felt something was amiss by her attitude. Ginevra willed that none should utter a word until they heard from the king.

  “I wish she would’ve told Wolfe about the baby.” Robert sat forward quietly as he watched his sister. The three nobles frowned inwardly, though visibly they looked composed. “It would have improved his spirits.”

  “She almost died that night,” Helena whispered. It was the first time she spoke of it since it happened. “She nearly bled to death in my arms. It was the mention of Wolfe that brought her back to us, for I swear she was dead before then. I felt her heart stop beating for nigh a whole minute.”

  Ginevra’s progress had taken her to the middle of the hall. Turning her eyes to the courtyard door, she watched two men enter. Their cloaks were covered with a light dusting of snow. She knew by their carriage that they were not her husband. Turning back around, she excused herself from her current conversation. Walking forward, she went to dutifully greet her guests.

  Ginevra was already across the hall before William noticed their visitors. Motioning to Robert, the men stood. They trailed after the noblewoman.

  “Lord Luther,” Ginevra curtsied politely before leaning to the old man to kiss his cheek. “It has been too long a time. It’s good that you have come to be with us in this time of celebration. I know my brothers will appreciate your welcoming them home.”

  “Lady Ginevra,” Luther answered. His dark eyes were sunken painfully into his face. He looked her over briefly before turning to his companion. “You remember Lord Eilric.”

  “Yea,” Ginevra answered modestly, “from the king’s tournament.”

  “M’lady,” Eilric bowed over her offered fingers. A smile curled on his lips. “I see the years have been kind to you.”