Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “All right, squire,” Wolfe said obligingly. “What skills do you have to prove you are worthy of such an arduous journey?”

  “I can run faster than any boy you e’er saw. And I can ride my father’s horse, bareback. Well, he thinks he has to hold the reins for me, but he doesn’t. I could do it by myself!” Ginevra beamed with pride. Wolfe nodded his head in approval, but his eyes sparkled with merriment. Lowering her voice, she said confidently, “And I can spy for you! I’d be a very good spy. Once, I made a rope and hung outside my window and I saw Cook kissin’ a knight that weren’t her husband. Now, I get all the tarts I want from the kitchen and she can say nary a thing to stop me. Come on, I’ll show you!”

  Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward a narrow door. Then, stopping, she peeked around the corner. Wolfe could hear the faint sound of muttering as someone moved about inside. Putting her fingers to her lips, she motioned for silence. Wolfe watched in amusement, as she slipped around the corner only to return a second later with two fistfuls of apple tarts still hot and steaming from the baking table. Handing him two, she smiled triumphantly.

  “Very resourceful,” Wolfe said, impressed. Biting into one of her ill-gotten treats, he smiled in satisfaction.

  Ginevra led him to a narrow tapering in the wall. Inviting him to sit by her, they ate in silence. Then, licking her fingers as she finished the tarts, she sighed and lay back along the ground not caring if her gown was soiled by the loose dirt. Her breeches-covered legs poked out from beneath the voluminous folds.

  “Do you remember our parents signing the agreement?” she asked, curious. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “What did they do?”

  “Not much.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed in concentration. He knew she spoke of their betrothal. “They sat at the table in our main hall for a long time deciding how much they would give each other and who would live where and which one of us sons would be trained in knighthood at Southaven and that Robert would train with me at Whetshire. Really, it was a fairly dull dealing.”

  “And that was it?” She frowned. “They just talked and said, ‘All right, Wolfe will marry Ginevra and that will be the end of it’?”

  Wolfe laughed at her perfect imitation of her father’s voice. “Yea, that was most of it. After they talked, they signed the parchments and then--”

  “What?” Ginevra questioned when he paused with a bemused glance at the ground.

  “Then they made me kiss you,” he stated dryly.

  “You kissed me?” she asked in wonder. She had never been kissed before, or at least she thought she hadn’t. Lightly, she touched her lips. “Where?”

  “On the cheek,” he answered. His face became blank. “It was only to seal the agreement. My father made me kiss you.”

  “And did I cry when you did it?” Ginevra persisted. “Did I try to strike you?”

  “Nay, you smiled at me and drooled all over your chin.” He laughed, vaguely remembering the little baby he had been made to kiss. He hated to admit that the image had floated through his mind often over the years. “Though, it was supposed to be on the lips. I cheated.”

  “And after?”

  “After, I fought my brothers for teasing me about it,” Wolfe chuckled. “And I won too.”

  “Well, at least someone got to fight over it.”

  “Yea,” Wolfe agreed. Already, he could see Ginevra wasn’t like most girls he’d met. His sister would never sit in the dirt and talk of fighting. He hated to admit he was glad for it.

  “So, if you didn’t kiss my lips, then we don’t have to be married?” she inquired. Wolfe thought he detected a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Did you not want to kiss me? Was I ugly? Or were you ashamed of me because of your brothers?”

  “You were a babe,” he said, discomfited by her reasoning. When her sad emerald eyes turned up to him, a small part of him became lost.

  “So, then you won’t train me to be your squire?” she asked in dejection. “Who will you marry instead? A lady who knows how to sew?”

  “Nay, simpkin, I’ll have to marry you,” he whispered, coming to sit by her. Laying a hand on her chin, he turned her face to him. Very seriously, he explained, “Duty demands that it be so. Duty and honor are all that we are in this world.”

  “But--”

  Wolfe leaned forward and pressed his lips quickly to hers before drawing them away. With a smile, he said, “There, now you haven’t a thing to worry about. It’s sealed.”

  Ginevra gasped in shock. Her face lit with a hesitant pleasure before quickly dropping into a dark scowl. “Why’d you have to do that?”

  Wolfe laughed at her as they stood. Absently, they made their way along the wall until they neared the weavers. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at her. “Why did you throw my flower away?”

  Ginevra gazed up at him in surprise as she felt herself softening toward him. She didn’t like it. Imagining her lips were still warm from his quick kiss, she pressed them together. “I don’t like flowers.”

  “All girls like flowers.” Wolfe put his hands on his hips, daring her to disagree.

  “I don’t!” Ginevra spat, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “And I hate wearing gowns and sewing and singing and dancing. If you don’t take me with you to the Holy Land, I’m going to be an acrobat and travel with gleemen.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said. “Not if you are to marry me.”

  “Well, mayhap, I don’t want to marry you,” Ginevra smiled at his stunned face.

  “All girls want to get married,” he countered. “You have to. The bargain is sealed.”

  “Not me. I’m going to see the world!” she said with confidence.

  “Ladies don’t travel,” Wolfe argued in frustration. Suddenly, a superior grin spread over his features, as he stated, “They stay at home with the children!”

  “I’m not going to have children,” Ginevra said, appalled by the very idea. She tapped her foot in anger.

  “You have to. My father says that all men have to have heirs.” Wolfe grinned as her face turned white enough to match her hair. “And I want six of them, at least--five boys and one girl.”

  “Then I’ll let the nursemaid tend them. When you bring them home they can go to her. I won’t even have to see them.”

  “You don’t just bring children home, simpkin. They have to grow in your belly.”

  Ginevra looked at her flat stomach, poking at it before wearily shaking her head in disagreement. “You’re not puttin’ a babe in my belly! I won’t eat one. And you won’t be able to make me. And if you try, I will wallop you good and make you eat it. Then you can get fat and I can travel without you!”

  Wolfe chuckled, annoying her with his confidence. “I think you don’t like flowers because you are not a girl, but a little urchin.”

  “Well,” Ginevra faltered with an exasperated huff. “You are named after a mongrel dog! Your parents probably found you in a forest somewhere being raised by wolves and felt sorry for you and took you in. Yea, you look like one of ‘em too.”

  “Take that back!” Wolfe demanded, rushing at her. She sidestepped his arms with a skillful dart to the right before making her way to the stone pool used to dye the cloth.

  “You take it back, wolf boy!” she hollered obstinately as she stuck out her tongue. Her childlike voice echoed off the stone to draw the attention of a few of the servants. “Wolf boy! Wolf boy! Smelly mongrel wolf boy!”

  Wolfe circled her, a smirk lining his lips as he crouched and raised his hands into threatening claws. Ginevra grunted at the silent challenge. She lowered her head like a charging bull and screamed as she ran forward to ram his stomach.

  Wolfe growled, stepping out of the way at the last moment before impact. Ginevra flew past him, tripping over the stone ledge into the dye bath. Her scream turned from fury to surprise to outrage. She landed in the purple water with a mighty splash. And, as her head ducked under the dye, she heard Wolfe’s hearty laughter reverberating from abo
ve.

  “I may be a wolf, but you’re a grape!”

  * * * *

  Wolfe trailed silently into the main hall, kicking at the rush covered stone. Woeful, he thought of his new horse belonging to Ginevra. He looked up at the head table and swallowed in remorse, knowing he was going to get into trouble. His father noticed him immediately. The earl waved him forward to where the nobles were visiting.

  “Well, boy?” he asked in his gruff voice. His brown eyes narrowed questioningly as he studied his young son. Wolfe’s face drew blank, an exact match to his father, as he guiltily shifted from one foot to the other. “Did you make amends with the girl?”

  Wolfe glanced over his shoulder. All of a sudden, he noticed he was alone. With an exasperated sigh, he turned and walked to the kitchen entryway. Reaching around the corner, he tugged at Ginevra’s arm pulling her forward. The girl resisted.

  “Nay, Wolfe,” she protested, looking mournfully at him. “My mother will be cross.”

  “Come on,” Wolfe ordered as he pulled her forward into the hall. “Let them see you.”

  Lady Jayne gasped and grew faint at the sight of her only daughter. She fell back into her chair. The countess fanned her dramatically and called for mead. The earl stared in quiet amazement and Lord Richard began to chuckle.

  Ginevra studied her bare feet. They were stained as purple as her mother’s dark wine. It was the same shade as the wet, formerly cream, tunic gown she wore. Lifting her head at her mother’s exclamation, she let her mouth curl into a guilty smile. Her teeth shone white underneath her grape-colored skin. At the look of her face, even the earl hid an amused smile behind his hand.

  She knew she looked bad. Her skin had turned a light shade of purple and the white blonde of her locks had stained to a bright purplish-pink. Her green eyes clashed and glowed dramatically from beneath her dyed skin. Pursing her lips together, she glanced at Wolfe who only shrugged.

  “Oh!” The baroness gasped coming out of her initial shock. She looked helplessly about the table. “Oh!”

  Lady Isabella waved to a nearby servant to order a scalding hot bath brought to the girl’s chamber. Standing, she pulled Lady Jayne with soft insistence to her feet. “Come, Jayne. Let us get her cleaned. And I am sure that Helena has a gown she can borrow for tomorrow eve.”

  “But, mother!” Helena protested.

  “Helena!” the earl quieted the girl with a stern growl. He frowned at his daughter with displeasure.

  The baron’s laughter only grew, earning him a tight-lipped glare from his stricken wife. Lady Jayne’s lips pressed harshly against the taut skin of her cheekbones. To her justice, the nobleman’s laughter lightened into chuckles.

  “But King Henry will be here on the morrow! And there will be all his knights and the--” Lady Jayne’s protest trailed off. She swept forward to her daughter. Her hand moved as if to touch Ginevra but withdrew just as quickly. “Whatever will we do with her?”

  “I like it,” Ginevra said softly, as she touched her colored locks. She shared a small smile with Wolfe before hiding it under a mask of penitence.

  The baroness shook her head as she glanced heavenward. Her lips moved as if she muttered a prayer. Lady Isabella motioned to Ginevra to follow her, but Ginevra was never given the chance to walk on her own. Her mother finished her entreaty with the motion of a cross over her heart before turning determinedly to her purple child. Lady Jayne stepped to her daughter, careful to keep her distance from the dripping wet gown, and led her from the hall by the top of her small ear.

  * * * *

  Wolfe looked miserable as he eyed Ginevra’s pink hair. It was wet and combed straight back from her face to dry. Her skin was scrubbed back to normal, albeit a little red from the hot bathwater she had been made to soak in for an hour. She again wore breeches and a tunic shirt, as she waited for her mother to finish the alterations on Helena’s gown.

  Kicking at the dirt, Wolfe handed over his palfrey’s reins. “This is for you.”

  Ginevra looked at the small tanned horse in surprise. Lifting her hand, she patted the peace offering on the nose. Instantly the horse snorted and rubbed against her palm. She flashed a smile as she cooed to the animal.

  Behind her, Robert snickered. Turning to glare at him in amusement, she knew she couldn’t be mad at him, not when he was going to leave on the morrow with the earl. Grinning, she asked, “Did you see what Wolfe gave to me?”

  “Our father made him,” Helena stated with a pretentious grin as she came around the corner. Still obviously upset that Ginevra had been given her favorite gown, she huffed disdainfully in the child’s direction.

  “Quiet, Helena.” Thomas purposefully bumped his sister on the arm as he passed. He walked over to the horse and patted its back. “It’s a fine animal, Ginevra.”

  “You look like a purple urchin,” Robert said as he eyed her dyed tresses. He ignored the young Helena, who tried to take up his arm, by moving forward. “Did mother faint?”

  “Hey, she’s a Pur-chin!” William called with a smile as he too walked into the stables.

  Ginevra frowned slightly at the nickname as she leaned into the horse. Nuzzling the palfrey’s soft coat, she patted its lean neck in long strokes.

  “Purch,” Wolfe muttered absently at her side. Sadly he eyed the horse, as it took a liking to its new owner.

  Ginevra looked at him. Then, chuckling she said, “That is what I’ll name him. Purch.”

  “That’s a stupid name for a horse!” Helena announced in contempt. She glanced at Robert to agree with her. He rolled his eyes and made a face so she couldn’t see.

  “How would you know?” Thomas shot in defense. “You can’t even ride.”

  “Can so,” Helena pouted with another longing glance at Robert. The boy still ignored her and she frowned. “Lady Jayne says proper ladies don’t have to ride.”

  “Better the horse than me,” Ginevra grumbled under her breath, ignoring them all. Wolfe was the only one who heard. He shot her a bemused smile.

  “Come on,” Helena stated in annoyance. “Mother said we were to get ready to dine.”

  William and Thomas followed her as she left the stables. Lingering as Wolfe walked Purch to his stall, she watched as he bolted him in. Ginevra turned a frolicsome grin to her brother.

  “Our lady mother did almost faint,” Ginevra divulged. With an impish smirk, she rubbed her ear. “And she pulled my ear almost off my head. It still burns.”

  “What’s she going to do about your pink locks?” Robert fingered a wet strand before shaking his head in amusement.

  “She is going to make me wear a headdress and veil tomorrow in front of the king,” Ginevra said with a sulk. “I hate veils more than I do gowns.”

  “You are lucky your eyebrows scrubbed clean,” Robert said. He glanced at Wolfe as he came back. The younger boy said nothing.

  “Do you have to leave on the morrow, Rob?” Ginevra asked, disheartened by the thought.

  “Yea, Gin. I will be sworn into knighthood tomorrow by the king. Wolfe, too. We will become men,” he responded with a brotherly pat on her head. Ruffling her moist hair, he smiled. “I expect you to be good for mother. And mind your lessons while I am gone.”

  “But I don’t like to sit indoors,” she protested. “It’s boring! And mother makes me sew. I hate to sew.”

  “Ah, but Gin you are so bright. Don’t become one of those simple-minded maids. If you promise to study, I promise to write to you oft while I am away. I might even send you a trinket or two. As a knight, I will travel many places with the earl. Yea, he might even take us to tourney with him. There I will make a name for myself.” He glanced up from her as Wolfe joined them. He gave his friend a slight smile over the child’s head as he nodded to the downhearted girl. “And someday you might come to watch me and I will be your champion and wear your glove upon my chest.”

  “I don’t want jewels, Rob. Don’t send me girl trinkets.” She sniffed, tears lining her eyes. “Send me boy t
hings. Like a sword or something.”

  “Yea, Gin,” Wolfe said easily at Robert’s insistence. “I’ll write you too. That is, if you want.”

  Ginevra nodded half-heartedly. Sniffing back tears that she didn’t allow to fall, she kept quiet. The boys solemnly walked by her, as they made their way inside.

  * * * *

  Ginevra peeked around the empty passageway, a smile on her lips as she stealthily walked the corridor to Wolfe’s guest chamber. Hearing a maid approach, she ducked into an inlet built into the wall. The servant gripped an empty bucket used for hauling bath water in her hands. She hid until the maid passed. Slipping past the maid unnoticed, Ginevra squeezed the bottle of green dye firmly in her hand. Pushing open Wolfe’s chamber door, she slid inside. And, as she shut the door behind her, an impish smile shone from her disobedient face.

  * * * *

  That night King Henry came to Southaven. Ginevra’s locks were hidden well underneath her simple veil as she was presented to his royal majesty. Her gown was sewn from the finest silk and her escort’s the finest of linen. Robert and Wolfe were to be knighted that night to join the ranks of men.

  The young girl was led forward on the arm of her future husband. The hall was silent, in awe as they watched the young couple who carried themselves with such reverence. As Ginevra curtsied beautifully before the king, a hand gently knocked the top of her headdress so it tumbled to the rush-lined floor.

  Lady Jayne gasped and fainted, caught at the last second by Lady Isabella. King Henry laughed heartily, unable to make his words to bless their future union heard over the mumbling hall. Ginevra turned to Wolfe, a sweet smile lining her mouth as she looked at his humor-filled eyes. And amidst much fuss and formality stood two odd children, one with hair as pink as a spring flower and the other with locks the shade of a grassy summer field.

  End Excerpt

  Emerald Knight by Michelle M. Pillow

  Now in eBook and Print

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