Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Ah, flattery,” Ginevra teased lightly. Inside, she screamed. She wanted silence. She wanted to be alone. She thought of Wolfe. He would want her to be dutiful above all else. So, in silent honor of him, she stayed and did her duty.

  William took Ginevra’s arm, mistrusting the man instantly. Ginevra started in surprise, but didn’t draw away. After William and Robert made known their short greetings, they bid the men to join them at the table.

  “I fear that I should like to speak to you all in private if I may,” Luther asserted as a denial. “Where is the earl?”

  “I am afraid the earl has gone. He was summoned to meet with Prince John. He won’t be back for at least another fortnight,” Robert answered. “Surly it can wait until after you’ve had a draught of mead.”

  “I’d rather it didn’t,” Luther insisted. “Please, if we may?”

  “All right,” Ginevra said, deciding for them all. Graciously, she led them through the throng to the nearest guest bedchamber in the small tower. She opened the door and went to the writing table to take a seat. William stood by her side. Helena and Robert sat on the edge of the bed.

  Luther stepped in. Pulling a piece of parchment from his tunic, he looked hesitantly at Eilric. “Mayhap you should explain, Lord Eilric.”

  Eilric nodded. His face turned hard as he stepped before them. Luther closed the door behind him.

  “I was in the south of France near Lord Luther’s property when I came across a dying messenger. He handed me this missive. It’s for the earl.” Eilric looked at each one in turn. His eyes stopped on Ginevra. As he looked at her, his gaze softened.

  “But the seal is broken on the missive. Surely you didn’t read it?” Ginevra asked.

  “Ja, I do confess to opening it, but only because the lord’s name couldn’t be read. The messenger was that of the king. I thought that I had best deliver it for the dead man. I realized it could have been of grave import.” Eilric studied Ginevra through narrowed eyes. He watched her every movement. When she stayed completely devoid of emotion, he proceeded, “Seeing whom it was to, I came to Luther. I knew he was a friend to this family and I thought it would be best to bring it along with him.”

  “So much intrigue, Lord Eilric,” Helena said lightly. “Well? What does it say?”

  Eilric looked to Luther. Turning his back to the family, he lowered his head. Luther walked to Robert and handed it to him. William crossed over the floor as Robert stood. Both men read over the missive. At the same time, they looked at Ginevra.

  “It’s Wolfe,” she said without preamble.

  “Gin, I’m sorry,” Robert began.

  Tears lined her lashes as she nodded. Commandingly, she asked, “What does it say?”

  “He died in prison. They hanged him.” Robert’s voice was cold as he said the words. His eyes turned down in sorrow.

  “Is the sender sure of this?” Ginevra inquired weakly. Her world spun in nauseating circles. She had expected this. She didn’t want to believe it. If Wolfe was dead, then so was she.

  “Yea Gin,” Robert answered. “It’s from King Richard. He sends you his regrets.”

  “His regrets,” Ginevra snorted in disbelief. Gradually, she shook her head. “I see.”

  Eilric turned back around. He saw her pale face as she came forward. Regally, she came to Luther. Kissing the man lightly on the cheek, she said, “Please stay as long as you like. You are most welcomed here.”

  Then, turning to Eilric, she held her hand to him. Eilric took her hand in his. His blue eyes didn’t look sorrowful as he studied her. Within their depths was pleasure. Ginevra was too paralyzed to take heed.

  “Lord Eilric, we thank you for this service you have rendered for the family. You are also welcomed here. Helena, please see that chambers are readied for them.” Ginevra stopped, glancing at the woman.

  “I will take care of it,” Helena whispered through tears. She understood well the sorrow Ginevra hid from them.

  “Please excuse me,” Ginevra said. When she was free of them, she rushed as fast as she dared up to her bedchamber. She refused to cry, though the anguish was awful and all consuming.

  Seeing her sleeping son on the middle of her bed, she picked up the toddler and cradled him in her arms. Vigilantly, she carried him to Wolfe’s bedchamber. Lying on his bed, she cradled the boy into her arms. It was a long time before she fell into a fitful sleep. When she dreamt, the man she loved surrounded her.

  Ginevra barely left the tower for over four fortnights. When she did go belowstairs, she walked aimlessly about in a state of shock and grief. But the time in front of pitying eyes didn’t help her and she soon ran back to her sanctuary. The castle was thrown into a perpetual blackness of soul. The servants over attended her when they could and her family tiptoed around every word they said to her.

  Mostly, she haunted Wolfe’s bedchamber, not touching anything as she walked around it. Everything was left undisturbed. Soon, she knew she would have it locked up just like Thomas’ room. But she wasn’t ready to shut it up--not yet. When she could take no more of Wolfe’s bedchamber, she would wander up the stairs to the roof.

  Helena and Robert stayed at the castle instead of returning home. Robert did leave briefly to visit his mother, but came back before Ginevra even noticed he was gone. Helena had the maids bring food to her daily. Her son played belowstairs with his doting uncles during most of the day and came to her at night. Ginevra was glad to have her son next to her in bed. She would curl her body around his small one in a protective embrace--glad for the feel of his heartbeat, glad to know that at least a small part of her husband was safe and alive in their son.

  The morning after Luther’s arrival, they sent word to the earl. He arrived back, tired and in poor health. His drunken curses could be heard throughout the first night of his return. Then, having expended his energies, he collapsed with a mild episode. Much of the time he spent in bed, growing new gray hairs to cover those that had yet to change with age. Ginevra visited him too, but soon found he treated her as delicately as the rest.

  Ginevra ran her fingers over the stone ledge of the tower. Walking along the side, she stared off into the distance. She had cried every tear possible until her eyes were permanently dry and red. Sighing, she turned.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Robert exhaled noisily. Placing his hands on his hips, he blocked the stairwell. He sighed as he saw her overly pale face, her gaunt cheekbones protruding from under her taut skin. Her gown hung loosely on her thin shoulders. She looked sickly. She looked like a ghost.

  “Robert.” She didn’t move from the edge. Grasping absently at the stone, she waited for him to speak.

  “You’re coming belowstairs. Lord Eilric is here. He has come to visit you,” Robert said without preamble. “He has asked the earl’s permission to take you for a ride. The earl has agreed provided I’m there to chaperone. We expect you belowstairs at once. Purch is being readied as we speak.”

  Robert spun on his heels, only to stop in mid-stride. Throwing over his shoulder, he commanded, “And change your gown.”

  “But, Robert--” Ginevra started in astounded surprise.

  “Nay, Gin,” he denied her before she could continue. He hid his regret as he forced the words, “You have been up here long enough. It’s time to come down. No one expects you to stop mourning, just do it belowstairs with the rest of us.”

  Robert looked down the stairwell at Helena. She stood shaking. He shot her a kind smile. She nodded her head encouragingly.

  “Your son needs you, Gin. If not for us, do it for him. It’s not right that he should see you doing this to yourself.” Robert swallowed. “He’s been asking for you.”

  “All right, Robert. I’m coming.” Ginevra turned back to the distance. Part of her still searched for Wolfe, though she knew it was idiotic to do so. She closed her eyes, wondering why the earl wanted her to ride with Lord Eilric.

  Robert stepped down with his wife. When they were out of earshot, he sa
id, “She’ll come.”

  “Yea.” Helena took up his arm. “There’s a sense of duty in her still. I think Lord Eilric will keep her diverted a bit. He appears to be very taken with her.”

  Robert refused to answer as he led his wife down the stairwell. Lord Eilric was more than taken with his sister. Already he’d made his intentions known to the earl. Since Lord Wolfe was presumed to have died in June, already over seven months of Ginevra’s mourning time was over. With his intentions, Eilric brought a missive from his Emperor, willing the union to be so.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Britheue’s Cottage, March 1192 A.D.

  Ginevra stared into the round blue eyes of the three-year-old child. The girl shyly pressed herself against the back of Britheue’s skirt. Grabbing fistfuls of the gown with her dirty fingers, she smiled prettily at the noblewoman.

  “Ho, Anecia. Don’t remember me, eh?” Ginevra laughed. “Well, I guess it has been a year since I’ve been by.”

  Britheue swallowed hard. She gave a pained look over her shoulder. Nervously, she answered, “Yea, m’lady. But ye know ye’re always welcomed here.”

  “Thanks,” Ginevra returned carefully. Motioning to the stables, she asked, “Did we come at a bad time?”

  “Nay, it’s just I have company here already,” Britheue said. “Ye know, I think ’e be in the stables. Mayhap I should tell him to go.”

  “Edmund is putting the horses there now,” Ginevra said. She suddenly leaned forward so the child wouldn’t hear her speaking. Whispering frantically, she whispered, “Oh, nay. Are you here with--a lover?”

  Britheue giggled in nervousness. She shrugged delicately, not knowing how to answer.

  Ginevra looked at the stables in alarm. Edmund came out carrying her satchel. A deep frown marred his brow. He spat on the ground before passing behind Britheue. Leaning over, he tousled Anecia’s hair playfully. The girl giggled and scampered inside behind him.

  “Where be the wee one?” Britheue asked.

  “At home. I had to get away for a bit. A lot has been going on and I couldn’t think straight in the castle anymore,” Ginevra admitted. Curiously, she glanced at the stables. Within the shadows she saw a figure moving. Britheue’s guest didn’t come out.

  “Well, ye go inside with Edmund. I’ll just go to the barn and pick up some more firewood.” Britheue wrung her hands in her apron as she went to the woodpile near the horses.

  Ginevra shrugged, wondering if the woman had taken another man. By the look on Edmund’s face, she guessed he knew about it. Stepping inside, she smiled as she saw Anecia on Edmund’s lap. He was telling her a story about wild beasts hunting in the forest. Ginevra laughed as the beast stole a girl child from her home. The beast made her live with him as his queen only to have her stolen from him and returned to her mother by fairies. Anecia listened in wide-eyed wonder, not knowing whether to believe it.

  Ginevra sat on the floor next to the fire. When Edmund tried to stand to give her his chair, she shook her head in denial. Both he and Britheue knew that when she came to stay, she wanted them to forget her station. She wanted to get away from bowing servants.

  “When she wakes up screaming tonight I’ll know who will sit up with her,” Ginevra said softly from her place on the floor.

  “Nay, my girl be a tough one,” Edmund said, kissing the child on the head. The girl crawled off of his lap and at his silent urging went to play outside. Edmund sighed with a scratch to his protruding belly. His eyes lit up mischievously. “M’lady, I don’t know about ye, but I think I could use a draught.”

  “Edmund,” Ginevra sighed, “I thought you would never ask. Where’s that special drink you been hiding from Britheue?”

  Edmund’s gleeful chuckle was her only answer as he stood. With two quick steps he was out the door. Ginevra let loose a long sigh. The smile faded from her face to be replaced by a mask of sorrow. Her heart was heavy with the effort it took to be happy. Looking into the flames, she pulled her knees into her chest. Then, when she heard the door begin to creak Edmund’s return, she pasted her smile on once more.

  “To yer health, m’lady,” Edmund said. He pulled the cork from the bottle and handed it to her to drink first. She took a long pull, stopping to glance at the bottle’s opening in sad thought, reminded of days long passed, before handing it back to him.

  “And to yours, good Sir Edmund,” she whispered. Ginevra instantly hiccupped from the effects of the stout liquor. She giggled lightly, gladly accepting another drink.

  Hours passed leisurely marked by the roaring of a stout fire. Ginevra tried to help Britheue in the kitchen, only to be shooed for the mess she was making of things. So, settling with Edmund on the floor, they did their best to drink themselves into a stupor. And when they sobered, only by the grace of Britheue’s cooking, they began to drink again.

  Edmund let a frown mar his brow. Shooting a look at Britheue as Ginevra took another drink, his eyes shone with question. Britheue shrugged, not knowing why the noblewoman was so taken to drink this night.

  “Oh, Britheue, you should have seen it,” Ginevra slurred in laughter. “Edmund had the poor lads cornered in the stables a-fearing for their life. He was soaked head to heel with fish water. When suddenly, this wee peasant girl jumps from atop the rafter screaming about how she is going to skin Edmund alive for a-chasing her brothers.”

  The women burst into laughter. Edmund tried to feign resentment and failed with a cocked smile. With a huff he took another drink before setting the bottle aside, out of Ginevra’s reach.

  “I swear,” Ginevra said between laughs, “that child did try too. Can you imagine it? Here is big Edmund trying to save his skin from a small girl wielding a sharp stick against his back.”

  “Aye,” Edmund grumbled. “She may have been small, but that wee one was strong in ’er purpose.”

  The woman laughed harder, nearly toppling over onto the floor. Suddenly Anecia moaned on the bed and sat up. Ginevra covered her mouth, shooting an apologetic look to Britheue. Britheue smiled and lovingly coaxed the child back onto the bed.

  When the child was settled once more, Britheue settled down beside Edmund. He gave her a loving pat on the shoulder and pulled her close to him. Ginevra smiled at the happy couple, refusing to give credence to the jealousy that she would never have such a thing again.

  “I must thank you both,” Ginevra began. “This is the happiest I have been in a long time. If not for my son, I’d surely live here forever.”

  “But ye must go back,” Britheue put forth gently. “Here is no place fer a lady o’ gentry and mayhap happiness will again come to ye.”

  Ginevra cleared her throat uncomfortably. Standing, she wobbled on her feet before gaining her balance. Refusing to answer, lest her deep hurt be seen, she forced a smile. “I almost forgot. I have brought gifts for you and Anecia. Edmund, did you bring them in?”

  “Nay, m’lady,” Edmund began. Slowly, he unwound his arms from Britheue. Trying to stand, he asserted, “They’re in the stables.”

  “Nay, sit,” Ginevra bid him. “I will get it.”

  Before they could protest, she was out the door. When she was finally alone, she took a deep breath of air and stood silently looking up to the heavens filled with stars. She shook her head and refused to cry.

  Making her way to the stables, she stumbled as she walked. Insects chirped and buzzed all around in the forest. As she neared Purch she found her bag on the floor. The animal neighed and lifted its head at her presence. Gently, she stoked the animal’s mane.

  “It’s all right,” she soothed.

  “Who?” a voice questioned in alarm.

  “Wolfe?” Ginevra whispered. She whirled on her feet. Her head spun as if she didn’t stop. Pressing her hand to her temple, she narrowed her eyes. Seeing the rumpled man on the ground, she cleared her throat. Babbling, she uttered drunkenly, “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. But you can’t be him. He’s dead. Unless you are a ghost come to haunt me.”<
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  The man stood from his place on the ground. Staying within the shadow, he didn’t move. Ginevra turned away from him and leaned to grab the bag from the ground.

  “Who?” the man inquired. His voice was low and dark. It was an accent Ginevra couldn’t readily place.

  Ginevra started in drunken surprise. Coyly, she laughed and began shaking her head. Forgetting the bag, she said, “My great lord husband. Damned scoundrel died in the war. Did you know that he abandoned me before he left? Oh, nay, you couldn’t know.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you miss him.” The man didn’t move from his place. He folded his arms over his chest.

  “It’s unfortunate. He was a great man. At least that is what I have been told of him. Myself, I saw too little of him to be sure.” Ginevra pointed her finger at the stranger and shouted in agitation, “But, ho! Life goes on. I have no choice but to let it. Besides, soon I will have new husband. I’m getting married in a couple of days.”

  Her sarcastic laughter grated against the stable walls. Purch raised his head in protest. Ginevra turned and laid her temple to the mare’s warm comforting neck. She fought the tears whirling in her chest, surrounding her heart. She wouldn’t cry about it again. Her tears wouldn’t bring him back. They would only give her a headache.

  “So soon?” the man shot in what sounded like mild surprise. “When did he die? The war has not been fought for long. Was he a weak man and killed right away?”

  “Nay,” Ginevra mumbled, not moving her head. “He was strong. But stupid for going to that cursed place. He died last June mayhap. Who can say for sure?”

  “But that leaves little time for mourning.” The man started to move. When Ginevra turned her head, he ducked back into the shadows. She caught a glimpse of foreign clothing.

  “It was decided that since we are at war it’s all right if I don’t mourn for a full year.” Ginevra peered curiously into the darkness, only now starting to realize that she spoke openly to a stranger. Trying to force the liquor from her brain, she let go of Purch and moved as if to go to him. His words stopped her.