Emerald Knight

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “I don’t want another man’s leftovers,” he seethed. “Mayhap I should’ve let you jump. Would’ve been the most honorable thing, I think.”

  Ginevra shuddered fearfully as he came toward her. But he didn’t touch her as he whisked by to go down the stairwell. She heard his feet hit hard against the stone until it disappeared. Then, the only noise she could detect was the frenzied thud of her heart and the panicked call of her breath.

  “He is alive,” she whispered before letting her tone fall in dejection. “And he hates me.”

  His eyes left no doubt that it was so. He had been unable to look at her with even a shred of desire. When she offered herself to him, he rejected her. Ginevra’s knees weakened and she fell to the ground, crying out in a pitying mass of tears.

  “He’s alive,” she whispered again, only to convince herself that she hadn’t seen a ghost. “Or I think I am truly dead in hell.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ginevra awoke to a gentle push of her shoulder. With a stiff yawn, her body protested the hard stone of her bed. Her limbs refused to move as her eyes slowly peeked open to the sunlit dawn. Shivering, she turned her head to the hand that woke her. Looking at William, she drew her eyes past him in confusion.

  “But,” she began, sitting up in dread. Her head pounded fretfully, as she moved too quickly. Like a whispered plea, she whispered, “Wolfe.”

  William frowned. “What happened? Did you spend the entire night here?”

  Ginevra looked at her new husband, wondering if she had dreamt of Wolfe. Or had he indeed been a ghost, angry with her for betraying him?

  “Wolfe is alive. He was here,” Ginevra began in growing hysteria. “I--”

  “Gin,” William broke in with a concerned frown. “Wolfe is dead. He couldn’t have been here.”

  “Nay, he’s alive. He told me so. The king was wrong. I saw him,” Ginevra stood with a gasp, circling around the tower searching for her first husband. “I did. I saw him. Will, you must believe me. He’s alive.”

  “Gin,” William persisted as calmly as he could. He saw the wild tilting of her eyes as they darted about like a caged beast. Their green depths looked near hysteria. “If Wolfe were alive, we would’ve been woken the moment he came home. The guards would have seen him come in.”

  “But,” she tried again weakly. She couldn’t deny William’s logic. “I saw him. He is mad at me for marrying you. He told me so.”

  “It was a dream, Gin. You feel guilty and your mind is not your own.” William slowly went to her. Pulling his overtunic over his head, he threaded it over her arms. Then, pushing the warm material over her shivering cold body, he tugged the thick wool over her head. “Believe me. I wish that it were so. But it’s not. All the dreaming won’t bring him back to us.”

  “I,” Ginevra tried. She snuggled into the warmth of William’s tunic, letting his arms settle about her shoulders. She was loath to believe that it had been a dream. Wolfe had been so real. She had felt him. Seeing William’s concern, she nodded her head.

  “Come inside,” William whispered softly. “We will get you into some warmer clothes and belowstairs for a mug of warmed mulled wine. Then you will think more clearly.”

  “Yea, Will,” Ginevra whispered with a dutiful nod. Her eyes again darted around the tower. It was empty. There was no sign of her midnight encounter. Numbly, she whispered, “Whatever you say.”

  Ginevra expected to see Wolfe in the main hall. But when she came down, the family sat as they did everyday at the platform table, quietly breaking their fast. Helena smiled politely at her, motioning her to sit beside her.

  Hugging her sister-by-marriage lightly over the shoulders, Helena hushed pleasantly, “It’s glad I am to have you as a sister twice.”

  Ginevra smiled weakly. She nodded her thanks to William as he produced a mug of spicy mulled wine and handed it to her. Then, leaving her to his sister, he went to sit by Robert and the earl. Soon they were busy discussing the northern borders and the reconstruction of the western gallows.

  The women ignored their talk. Ginevra set down her mug. The wine didn’t sit well on her stomach. Unbidden, her eyes once more traveled over the hall. Severe disappointed welled in her, as she again didn’t see Wolfe.

  “Helena,” Ginevra whispered. Helena looked expectantly at her. “Did aught occur yestereve after we left?”

  “Nay, not that I can think of.” Helena cocked her head thoughtfully. “Why?”

  “No reason,” Ginevra answered quickly. “I was curious if we had any visitors.”

  “Oh, nay. No one else came.” Helena lifted a crust of bread only to stop and turn to Ginevra. “Are you worried about Lord Eilric? Robert said he was livid when he left here. He rode out last night after the nuptials. I don’t think he will be back.”

  “Oh,” Ginevra nodded as if satisfied. Though, in truth, she was only more troubled by her vision of Wolfe. Everything inside of her screamed that it was real. But logic refused to conclude the same. “That’s a relief.”

  Days swept into nights until three days came and went without sign of Wolfe. Slowly, Ginevra couldn’t but conclude that she had only dreamt him. Still, the warm press of his hands burned her until she was sure she could feel him on her skin. And even her nightgown had curious patterns of dirt smudged on the sleeves. It could be argued that they looked like two prints of a hand. It could be proved that she had slept out on dirty tower stone.

  William stayed true and didn’t come to her chamber again. She couldn’t blame him, as he didn’t blame her. They didn’t speak of what transpired, slowly falling back into the routine of being friends. Though, honestly, Ginevra had to admit that their easiness was strained. The whole castle knew they didn’t share a bed since the night of the wedding. None judged them or gossiped about it.

  As she did every night, Ginevra quietly made her way through the empty tower to the top of the stairwell. Her fingers glided over the inky stone as she blindly made her way to the top of the tower. Her fingers found the hard wood of Thomas’ door as she passed. Abruptly stopping, Ginevra froze. The hairs on her neck stood at rapt attention. And a dark shadow that lingered always below the surface of her skin surged over her like vice.

  Her knees shook as she took a step into the moonlight. Looking over the tower, she moved stiffly. Her lips trembled. Her legs begged her to run, but she couldn’t. She had to know.

  “Wolfe?” she called lightly. “Are you there?”

  There was no answer. Her skin crawled as if she were being watched. Her nerves jumped at every subtle noise. The wind picked up eerily and whipped around her.

  “Wolfe,” she hushed into the invisible current. “Come to me, please.”

  “Gin,” came a husky reply.

  Ginevra spun around. Before her, materializing out of the darkened shadows of the archway stepped Wolfe. Ginevra trembled. Her legs weakened until she almost fainted. Wolfe stepped forward quickly and gathered her into his arms. His strong chest molded her to him.

  Ginevra blinked as she fought the oncoming darkness of her mind. Finally, succeeding, she noticed the clean smell of soaped flesh. And though he still wore a beard and long hair, his skin was clean. His face still frowned as he took in her pale face.

  “You lied,” she voiced weakly. Her tone was not accusing or upset. “You said you lived.”

  “I do,” he answered. For a moment, he seemed lost in her gaze. Then, just as abruptly, he let her go. Recoiling away from her as if she infected him with poison, he put several steps between their bodies.

  “Then what sorcery is this?” she asked, letting him go. “How come you to be here?”

  “I traveled.”

  “How?”

  Wolfe shrugged, refusing to answer. His eyes watched her carefully. A mischievous smile curled on his face. His eye unintentionally lit with delight as if he only now realized something.

  “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” Ginevra was afraid that if she questioned it too much he would go
away again.

  Wolfe folded his arms neatly over his chest. He studied her with severe intensity.

  “There’s so much I want to say to you,” Ginevra said. “But I don’t even know if it’s worth trying. I’m probably just imagining you.”

  “Then what harm is there in speaking?” he countered.

  Ginevra swallowed. Thoughtfully, she turned away from him. When she turned back, he was gone. Panicked, she rushed forward, “Wolfe?”

  She ran to the stairwell and peeked in. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “Over here,” came Wolfe’s calm voice.

  Ginevra spun on her heels. Seeing him on the ledge of the tower where she had been looking only seconds before, she shivered.

  Weakly, she said, “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” he smiled innocently.

  “Move about like that.” Keeping her eyes trained on him so he couldn’t disappear, she frowned. “King Richard wrote that you were executed. Do you remember?”

  Wolfe shrugged indifferently. “Nay.”

  “Oh,” Ginevra pressed her lips thoughtfully together. Then, walking to join him by the ledge, she said, “Those heathens left a lot of English and French widows and orphans. News comes every day of someone else’s death.”

  “We barbarians left many there,” he returned. His eyes appeared to wonder at her hard tone. He didn’t remember her being that way.

  “You defend them?”

  Wolfe took no offense at her affront. “Their women shed tears just as real for their fallen husbands. They fight for what they believe and they are no more barbaric than you or I.”

  “It’s blasphemous to say such things!” Ginevra scolded. Her eyes rounded and her features turned pale.

  “Tell me,” he said mindfully. “Did you even mourn for me when you thought me dead? You married another so quickly.”

  “You couldn’t possibly understand it. I refuse to talk with you about it. You’re too smug.” Ginevra stalked forward, whirling on her feet to keep an eye on him. To her relief, he was still there.

  “And you are too nonchalant about cuckolding me, m’lady,” Wolfe returned smoothly. His eyes glinted with a hard fire that shot at her with intensity. His face remained pleasantly calm.

  “Do you remember writing to me? Do you remember what you said in the last letter?” she questioned, eyes full of hope. “You said you loved me.”

  “I was delirious from the hardships of war. It alters your perception.” Wolfe swallowed his guilt as her eyes turned with pain.

  “I’m married to another.” The words barely left her mouth.

  “Argh!” Wolfe tore forward. He lost his tightly held control. “Nay! You’re married to me! Or have you forgotten?”

  “I don’t know you,” she lied. “You’re not the man I married. You’re here only to torment me. My husband was charming and kind and--”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, much to her surprise. “I’m not the man you married. I have changed. The war has changed me. The man you married was a foolish idealist going to reclaim foreign soil for the glory of God! The man you married--”

  “The man I married was no fool!” Ginevra broke in with a screech. “The man I married was good and kind and charming.”

  “You hold me too high. You forget unfaithful! I abandoned you.” His movements seethed with self-loathing. “Or do you not remember it?”

  “Unfaithful?” she muttered. Tears came to her eyes. “Even now?”

  Wolfe growled but didn’t answer. He turned his back on her tortured gaze. He wanted to punish himself, but couldn’t. So instead, he punished her. Finally, when she said nothing, he grumbled harshly, “You are one to speak of faithfulness.”

  Ginevra shivered, her stomach lurched with bile. Weakly, she insisted, “I had no choice.”

  “You had a choice. No one forced you to marry!” Wolfe’s pride was injured. But, worse than his pride, his heart was broken into small pieces. “You didn’t even wait a year.”

  “You’re right,” she whispered against the pain that flowed through her. “You should have let me jump. For your words find much more bloodthirsty aims than death.”

  Wolfe spun around. Her face was gaunt as he had never seen it. Her emerald gaze sparkled with a dead fire. He wanted to go to her, but too much held him back. She didn’t really belong completely to him anymore. She was married to Eilric.

  Unable to hold her and erase the pain from her features, he stormed past her. When he reached the stairwell he heard her whisper.

  “Wolfe wait.”

  Wolfe stopped. He didn’t turn to her.

  “I don’t know if you are real. But there is something I have to tell you.” Ginevra took a deep breath. “You have a son. His name is Thomas.”

  Ginevra watched Wolfe disappear into the darkness of the hall. Convinced that he was a ghost or a figment of her mind, she didn’t chase after him. Slowly, she turned to the night sky. Wryly she smiled, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. Real or not, she had told him at last.

  Wolfe stormed down the stairwell. Then, stopping, he waited to see if Ginevra followed him. When all was quiet, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked his older brother’s door.

  His body ached with a longing to possess her. The first night he saw her on the tower it had been like a dream. Only he was too angry to appreciate her. Much to his dismay, he arrived during the wedding celebration. The wedded couple was already abovestairs consummating the marriage.

  He had slunk around every guest chamber of the small tower, careful not to be detected. Only after every guest chamber had been searched did he go to the tall tower. By then more than an hour passed and he was too late. As if by habit he went to the rooftop, only to be surprised by the sight of Ginevra about to throw herself over the side.

  Without thought, and a fear that still shook him to the core, he had run to her. He caught her in his arms at the last moment as she fell forward. She fainted dead away in the first moment of contact.

  He almost left her. But, as he walked away, he heard his name on her lips and was drawn back. His heart beat in torture that she had been with another man. He cursed her for it. And he hated himself for ever putting her in the position that it was possible.

  Her luminous eyes had been a beacon to his soul. Their green depths washed and soothed the damaged portion of his labyrinthed core. But, with the sweetness of seeing her, came the pain. She mentioned nothing of her feelings. In fact, she thought she was talking to a ghost. At times he thought he might as well be one.

  Wolfe stepped into the dusty chamber where he had been staying and shut himself in. His heart thumped curiously in his chest. A son! I have a son!

  Lord Eilric was raising him! Furious, Wolfe slammed his fist repeatedly in the stone wall until it bled profusely. The stone remained unharmed.

  His energies expended and his fist throbbing in protest, Wolfe sank to the floor. Seating himself against the wall, he ignored the spider web he disturbed. Slowly, his eyes roamed over the hollow chamber.

  Thomas’ bedchamber looked much like Wolfe’s, with only a few differences. His brother’s coverlet was gray and his personal trunk was smaller. Frowning, Wolfe ambled to his feet. He walked over to where Thomas’ bloodied sword should have hung. He himself had placed it on the wall the week Thomas died. He could see the faint outline of dust where the blade had recently been.

  By all that is hallowed! he fumed in outrage. Without anyone to take his vengeance on, he began pounding the wall with his other balled fist, and he didn’t stop until his knuckles were bruised and raw from the beating.

  Ginevra made her way down the stairwell. Her body felt numb. She was sure she was going crazy. And she wasn’t sure that she cared. Nearing Thomas’ locked bedchamber she froze. She heard a low steady thud.

  Tears entered her eyes as she fearfully shook her head. Biting her lips together, she tried to make her knees run. They wouldn’t move.

  Not you too, Thomas. Please, go back
. I can’t be hearing you too. Ginevra felt like screaming. Her skin stood nervously as a sensation pricked over her spine. No one had a key to the chamber. There was no way anyone could be inside without breaking down the door. When she was younger, she had tried to pick the lock and failed.

  Inside, her head pounded wildly, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. She backed away from the distinct noise, until her back came up against the passage wall. She knew she was losing her sanity.

  “Go away, Thomas,” she whispered to the door. Her skin crawled. Suddenly, the noise stopped. Ginevra gasped, holding her breath. There was nothing but silence.

  Stepping forward, she laid her shaking fingers on the oak door. Her eyes adjusted in the darkness. Feeling her way along the wood, she moved her hand to where the lock was to be. Not feeling it, she placed her hand flat on the door. Something was not right. Frantically, she gingerly fingered the oak. There was no lock!

  Ginevra frowned. Jerking her hand back, she inched down the spiral of darkened stairwell. She kept her footfall low as she made her way along the tower steps. Then, finding herself in the poorly lit main hall, she ran to the small tower and to William’s bedchamber.

  Lightly, she pounded her palm on his door. When he didn’t answer, she hit the wood frantically. Slowly, the door creaked open. William’s tired eyes looked out into the dim hall in confusion. Seeing her before him, he squinted.

  “Gin?” he asked, stifling a yawn. “What is it?”

  “Are you alone?” she asked apprehensively when he didn’t pull the door open to let her in. She took a nervous step back. “I can come back.’

  “Nay,” William’s hand shot out to stop her. His eyes looked as if she woke him from a deep sleep. “Just give me a moment. I have to put some clothes on.”

  “Oh,” Ginevra blushed in embarrassment.

  William shut the door and was back within a short moment. He pulled the door open to let her in. With a tired yawn, he scratched the back of his head. He had put on braccas but his chest was still naked. Ginevra diverted her gaze from his hard muscles as she stepped inside. Her eyes went to the bed. William raised a brow in question at her attention to it.