Emerald Knight Read online

  Emerald Knight

  Michelle M. Pillow

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  Emerald Knight © copyright November 2005 - 201s, Michelle M. Pillow

  Second Electronic Printing October 2010 The Raven Books

  First Electronic Printing November 2005

  Cover art by Book Cover Media © Copyright 2019

  ISBN 9781452497266

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults.

  Michelle M. Pillow® is a registered trademark of The Raven Books LLC

  Contents

  About Emerald Knight

  Also by Michelle M. Pillow

  Complimentary Excerpts

  Author Note

  Love

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Maiden and the Monster

  Please Leave a Review

  Join the Exclusive Club!

  About Michelle M. Pillow

  Free Reading Guides

  Complimentary Material

  Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

  About Emerald Knight

  Medieval Historical Romance

  Intertwined by life, destined by love, torn by their very natures...

  * * *

  Whetshire Fortress, Wessex, 1171 A.D.

  Since birth Lady Ginevra has been betrothed to Lord Wolfram, second son to the Count of Whetshire. There was never any question as to whom she would marry or who she would be. Life has been mapped out for her and she's going to live happily ever after as a Countess. However, there is one complication to her plans. Her rogue of a future husband isn't taking to their life together with open arms. In fact, he seems to enjoy finding reasons to put the nuptials off.

  Also by Michelle M. Pillow

  Historical Romances

  Maiden and the Monster

  Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

  * * *

  Medieval Fantasy Romances

  Realm Immortal Series

  King of the Unblessed

  Faery Queen

  Stone Queen

  * * *

  MichellePillow.com

  To Luna Sloop, whose daughter Amelia loves her very much. Happy 91st Birthday!

  * * *

  To Amelia, a wonderful woman with a great heart.

  * * *

  To Pam, Jenny and Alma, whose kindness is very much appreciated.

  Complimentary Excerpts

  The end of this book contains two Complimentary Excerpts of Michelle M. Pillow’s other Historical Romances:

  * * *

  Maiden & the Monster

  Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

  Author Note

  This novel spans the course of many years and many countries. The goal is to tell a story of two people, not to dwell upon the historical details or to make assumptions about such political and religious events like the Holy Crusades. I have made much of the historical details, such as costuming and dates, accurate but did take some liberties with fictional settings and historical figures. Though certain events surrounding the story are factual, the characters, circumstances, locations and the story itself are a complete work of fiction and are by no way intended to reflect the actual lives of historical figures. Nor is this novel a treatise or parody of modern or historical political and religious views.

  Love

  For some, love comes swiftly at first glance, for those most stubborn it can take a lifetime...

  Prologue

  Whetshire Fortress, Wessex, 1171 A.D.

  Baron Southaven raised his proud blue eyes from the sheepskin parchment. His quill dripped with ink as he set it aside. As he blew lightly over the bold flourish of his signature, a satisfied smile lined his mouth. Then, dripping wax onto the paper, he slipped his ring from his finger and pressed his seal onto the agreement. Next to him his wife, Lady Southaven, clapped happily. He placed the crest back onto his hand. It was done. The endless fortnights of negotiation since the birth of his daughter had finally ended to the satisfaction of both houses.

  “It’s decided then,” the Earl of Whetshire announced with a solemn nod.

  Wolfe’s head snapped up. In all his eight years he had never been so mortified. His father’s stern voice expressed neither anger nor pleasure at the decision. Though, by all indications, the man was pleased with the match. Turning to look down the floor of the main hall, the earl squinted in the dimmed torchlight. The hour was late and the fire had dwindled to a soft heat.

  Wolfe stood dutifully with his two brothers awaiting his father’s command. Thomas, the oldest, held his head high and proud. Wolfe, standing next to him, swallowed nervously and kicked at the floor. William, the youngest, grinned sheepishly as if nothing concerned him. Their sister’s giggle broke the silence, as she sat on the lap of the baron’s only son. Robert’s gentle laugh followed hers.

  The earl sighed as he watched his sons. Motioning to Wolfe, he commanded gruffly, “Wolfram, come kiss your betrothed’s lips and seal this match.”

  Wrinkling his nose and stiffening his legs, his feet refused to move. His brothers chuckled mockingly behind the backs of their hands. Thomas knocked him forward with a swift punch to his back. Wolfe spun to his older brother with a fierce growl.

  “I’ll get you fer that, Thomas!” Wolfe hissed, raising his fists in warning. “I’ll wallop you good!”

  Thomas just laughed harder. Being the oldest and the heir, he wasn’t too concerned. Even though he was only two years older, he had grown well over Wolfe in size. He smiled confidently down from his impressive height. “Yea, Wolfe, go kiss your bride.”

  “Wolfram?” Lady Isabella called when her son hadn’t moved. The countess’ voice was loud and booming compared to the stern tone of her husband. She pushed her flaming red hair back from her forehead as she watched her children expectantly.

  “Yea, you’d better hope she don’t spit up on you!” William chimed in. He too was rewarded with a dark scowl.

  Slowly, Wolfe stepped forward. His dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked solemnly up at his parents. Both they, the baron and baroness watched him expectantly from across the hall. Before having taken two steps, a foot jutted in front of him. He tumbled to the ground. Glancing up from the straw rushes in anger, he glared at his snickering older brother.

  “I warned you, Thomas!” Wolfe hollered. He forgot his father’s command as he glared at his attacker. Jumping to his feet, he charged Thomas in the waist. He rammed his head into his brother’s chest and knocked him to the ground with the unexpected force. Thomas slid across the straw rushes that lined the hall floor, as Wolfe howled atop him.

  Wolfe swung for his brother’s jaw, his fist glancing off Thomas’ cheek with a reverberating smack. William shouted in pleasure. Thomas fought back. He rolled Wolfe amidst flying fists that quickly found their mark. Wolfe grun
ted as Thomas clapped the side of his head and Thomas protested loudly when Wolfe tried to bite his finger off. The digit had strayed too close to his younger brother’s opened mouth.

  The battle ended as fast as it begun. Wolfe grunted in protest as he was lifted off of Thomas. His feet kicked in the air only to land with a heavy thud on the stone floor. Neither boy was badly bruised, only disheveled from the fray. Guiltily, Wolfe wiped his bloodied mouth and looked at his father, his eyes pleading for parental mercy. It was not to be.

  “Attend your duties, son.” The earl pointed to the head table where the adults waited patiently. Wolfe kicked the ground in anger, as he was made to kiss his future bride. Thomas and William laughed in delight as he was made to walk up to the platform. The earl ignored his snickering sons and followed closely behind Wolfe.

  As he stepped up to the head dining table, Wolfe ignored the rolled parchment next to the small wooden bassinet. The paper served only as a reminder of things he couldn’t control. Frowning, he glanced at his sister Helena. She had crawled off Robert’s lap and played on the floor near his feet. She looked up at him and giggled in childish amusement. His frown deepened into a scowl.

  “Go on,” Robert encouraged in a whisper. His young green eyes shone with understanding, as Wolfe leaned over the cradle to see his sister. It was obvious he didn’t think much of kissing Ginevra either. “Hurry, afore she wakes up and starts to bawl.”

  The boys’ mothers shared modest smiles. Wolfe gulped. Leaning over, he studied his future wife--a round baby clad in soft yellow. She was only as long as his arm, with pudgy, pink cheeks that puffed out from her tiny nose. Her lips puckered to suck in dreamlike abandon. Grimacing, he shook his head in denial and took a defiant step back.

  “Why do I have to marry ’er? Why can’t I give ’er to Thomas? He’s the oldest. He’s the one who’s goin’ to need a wife.” Wolfe glanced dejectedly to his mother, who only smiled and nodded her head for him to follow his father’s order. Already he knew the answer. Thomas wouldn’t be bound by such an agreement because he was the oldest. The earl wanted to be sure they left Thomas’ option open in case there was a shift of politics. And Wolfe, being the second oldest, was the most logical of choices to unite the manors of Whetshire and Southaven. It would strengthen the ties of the land and help to build a secure future for all those involved.

  Understanding didn’t make it easier.

  With a sigh, he glanced back down. Ginevra’s eyes opened. The round green orbs looked at him curiously from underneath silky black lashes. Quickly, he puckered his lips as he leaned over to kiss the baby’s soft cheek. The baroness flushed and laid her hand proudly over her heart. The men nodded in satisfaction as they clasped hands.

  Ginevra gurgled and her lips twitched into a softened, toothless smile. Drool spilled over her lips and chin. Wolfe felt himself melt a little as he looked at her. But, then, he hardened as he heard the snickering laughter of his two brothers behind him. His face turned into a disgusted scowl.

  “She smells!” he exclaimed loudly with an offended wrinkle to his nose. Ginevra began to cry, her tiny fists pounding her displeasure into the air. Her shrill voice rang over the hall, as her mother rushed forward to lift her into the protective enclosure of her arms. Wolfe ignored his bride and stalked from the table to once again pummel his brother.

  Chapter One

  Southaven Castle, Southern Wessex, 1179 A.D.

  Ginevra 8 years of age, Wolfe 16 years of age

  The sprightly, young girl ran through the bailey courtyard, curving around the bodies of peasants and servants as they went about their chores. Her long, white-blonde hair flew about her shoulders as a beacon of warning to those who would get out of her way. Her legs were clad in a pair of old breeches and a large tunic shirt hung loosely on her thin frame. Her arms pumped faster as she raced forward through the clasped hands of young lovers and under a woman’s basket of turnips. And then, with a strong leap from bared feet, she flew over a pile of loose hay being pitched near the stables.

  The stable lads looked up from their duties to smile after the castle nymph, as she raced beyond their tedious work. It was always so at the peaceable Southaven. As they turned back to scoop the horses’ morn meal into the stables, they could hear the merry tune of her laughter tinkling from afar.

  The sun was just beginning to peak over the thick wall of the bailey. Ginevra let her lips curl in a triumphant smile as she looked over her shoulder to gloat at Robert. Then, unexpectedly, she crashed into a warm body, tumbling over. The young boy, whose chest rudely halted her progress, stepped aside and let her fall to the ground. Panting, she looked up to glare at whoever had gotten in her way. She heard Robert laugh as he flew past her to touch the gatehouse.

  “Watch it, urchin!” the older boy said in amusement with his hands on his hips. Brown eyes laughed mischievously down at her as she huffed in fury.

  Ginevra hiked up the sleeves of the undertunic she’d stolen from her brother and shot the obstacle her nastiest glare. His thin body was framed by sunlight, but she could see the fine cut of his expensive linen tunic and the proud tilt to his aristocratic head. Not stopping to think of who he might be, she pushed herself up from her backside onto her feet. Her chest rose and fell as she pushed her finger into his chest. The defiance only made him laugh harder. An easy smile came to his lips, but his charm was lost on her.

  “I should thump you fer makin’ me lose!” She stiffened in anger and placed her hands on her hips, widening her stance. Her hair was wild about her shoulders, her face was smudged with dirt, and she was dressed as a lad in a wool tunic.

  “Thump me? You’re just a babe.” The boy studied her for a moment with cool brown eyes that sparkled in his impishness. “From the tips of your toes to your rosy round cheeks.”

  Ginevra gasped.

  “Get to your cottage, peasant babe.” The boy laughed harder. “I think your wet nurse must be looking for you.”

  Ginevra’s mouth dropped open at the insult. The boy didn’t wait for her to reply as he held his hand up in familiar greeting to her brother. Robert was fast approaching from the gate. She frowned as Robert clasped the boy on the shoulder in friendly gesture.

  “Robert!” The boy gave an arrogant toss of his chin length hair. “I hoped you would be here! I brought a new palfrey my father bought me to breed with your father’s mare. It’s of the finest stock. I thought we could ride him later.”

  “Ho, Wolfe,” Robert answered with a wave of greeting. Ginevra felt the color drain from her cheeks at Robert’s words. “Is he in the stables?”

  “Yea!” Wolfe paid her no mind, not even to glance in her direction as he walked to the stables. Yelling over his shoulder, he cried so his friend could hear, “My father’s in there now! I think they are going to breed them. Want to watch?”

  Robert nodded in boyish mirth at the prospect. Leaning over to her, he whispered, “Now you have to wear a tunic gown, Gin! And do your hair like a lady.”

  “It would be you wearin’ the gown, Robert, if not for him knocking me over! I had you beat better than a fur rug set for cleanin’!” Ginevra stuck her tongue out at him as he swaggered toward the stables. Crossing her arms over her chest, she pushed her lower lip into a pout. Inside her heart pounded wildly. Her chest lifted in angered pants. In all the eight years since her father betrothed her to Wolfram of Whetshire, she had never seen him and rarely thought of him. And now that she met him, she was fighting mad.

  Ginevra glared in defiance, making a face at the back of her mother’s perfectly wound hair as the baroness led the way down the stairwell to the main hall. She nearly refused to move under the weight of the tunic gown. Her mother had ordered the gown sewn especially for the occasion, since Ginevra had cut up all her other dresses into shreds and used them as ropes. For that reason alone, she hadn’t been told about the gown until a moment before she was to put it on, and she hadn’t been told about her intended’s visit until it had been too late. But Ginevra didn
’t care. She hoped she scared the horrible boy away.

  The gown hung loose on her girlish frame with feminine embroidery at the simple rounded neck. It was made of the finest cream-colored linen with sleeves that fit down to her wrists. Her mother lent her an elongated fabric belt that hung to her ankles. She pushed the belt to swing with her knees as she walked. Her hair hung loose in whitish waves down her back. Ginevra had fought it, but in the end her mother had combed it free of tangles.

  Taking a grudging step down, Ginevra spied the banner hanging on the edge of the great hall where everyone would later gather to dine. The banner was of her family’s crest--the bright golden cross over a slash of blue on a sea of orange.

  Her mother led her forward insistently, past the opening of the stairwell to the dining platform where the Earl of Whetshire and his family gathered. Ginevra grunted, digging her finger inside her ear to poke at an itch.