Emerald Knight Page 5

  Nothing Robert had told her of Whetshire prepared her for seeing it. Her brother had been suspiciously moderate in his description of the fortress. Ginevra shivered as she craned her head back to see skyward. Shielding her eyes, she tried to see the top of the largest tower. There she would find the main hall, the noble bedchambers and bowers. The grand size took her breath away.

  “It must be at least a league into the air!” she exclaimed in wonder.

  “Nay, not so far as that,” Lady Jayne put forth distractedly from her side. “A little over a furlong, mayhap.”

  Ginevra looked down at her weary mother. She hadn’t noticed that they’d stopped moving and that everyone had dismounted but her. Sheepishly, she slid from her horse. As her feet landed neatly on the hard ground, a groom was instantly at her side to take the reins. She gave Purch a loving pat as he was led away.

  “Ginevra, see to your hair,” her mother ordered from her side. Respectful of the command, Ginevra patted her fleece veil to smooth out any wrinkles. None of the golden locks hidden beneath showed. Smiling, she refused to let her mother’s dour mood spoil hers.

  Looking about the courtyard, she relaxed the nerves that bound her stomach. Servants appeared, undoubtedly curious to see their future mistress. Ginevra looked hesitantly at her father, who smiled as he offered her his arm. Lady Jayne walked in front of them claiming she needed to get out of the sun before it completely ruined her complexion with freckles. Ginevra giggled, and the baron squeezed her hand in gentle warning to quiet her.

  “Lady Jayne! Lord Richard!” a red-haired woman greeted. She made her way down the stone step way leading from the second floor of the main keep. It was the only entryway inside. Her stomach protruded large with child, as she lumbered with the help of a servant.

  Ginevra smiled, vaguely remembering her as Lady Isabella. When the countess spied her future daughter-by-marriage, Ginevra blushed at the woman’s pointed attention.

  “Oh, my!” the countess gasped. “Can it be?”

  “M’lady,” Ginevra curtsied as she dropped her father’s arm.

  The countess waddled forward and placed her hand on Ginevra’s cheek. Lightly patting her smooth skin, she smiled. “I can’t believe how tall you have become. Come, child, give me a hug.”

  Ginevra couldn’t help but return a tentative smile as she obliged. She leaned over the woman’s stomach to quickly embrace her. As she did, she felt a thump against her chest. Hopping back, she looked down at the noblewoman’s belly with awe. The countess giggled.

  “Ah, he likes you,” she said airily as she rubbed her stomach. Ginevra’s cheeks colored. Threading her arm through Ginevra’s, the countess said, “Do come inside. I believe the men are off surveying or some such thing over in the northern villages. They were gone by the time I awoke. Though I expect they should be back well before the wedding tomorrow--mayhap even tonight.”

  “Oh, I should’ve liked to see Robert!” Lady Jayne exhaled with a sorrowful sigh.

  As the noble parents continued to catch up on all the family happenings, Ginevra ignored them. With every step she took closer to the manor, the harder her heart thumped against her breast. Her hands shook and she gripped them into fists. She wanted to laugh at herself for her foolishness, but the sound wouldn’t come.

  Climbing up to the castle entryway, Ginevra sighed in pleasure. Inside was a long rectangular hall of which she had never seen the like. Noticing the odd light that came from the ceiling, she looked up. An elaborate iron candleholder hung by chains from the center of the ceiling. Inside of it were dozens of lit candles, filling the hall with a soft luminescent light.

  Along the edge of the hall was a long fireplace, large enough to fit five grown men shoulder to shoulder. Its stone mantle was smooth and perfect against the wall. From the ceiling, spaced tastefully along the wall hung the Whetshire family’s crest in long banners. The smooth stone floor was swept clean, devoid of rushes that often lined smaller castles. A raised platform ran along the wall opposite the fireplace, its dining table large enough to seat at least fifteen nobles comfortably.

  “I’m to live here?” Ginevra whispered in awe, as she spun around in slow deliberate circles. She felt like a princess. Her cloak fell open to reveal her gown underneath. Instantly, a servant was at her back, pulling lightly at the cloak to help her out of it.

  Ginevra glanced at Lora. The maidservant had come with her to be her handmaiden. The girl’s eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around.

  “Would you like to go abovestairs also?” Lady Isabella asked from Ginevra’s side to draw gently her back to the world. “Or would you rather have a tour of the castle?”

  “A tour, please!” Ginevra gushed in excitement. The skirts of her plain crimson tunic gown swayed to and fro as she bounced about in enthusiasm. The dress hung loosely on her frame, being as Lady Jayne refused to let too much of her daughter’s maidenly figure show before she was a wife. According to her mother, Ginevra was at great risk of being swept away by thieves on their journey from Southaven. Ginevra giggled inwardly. They had seen nary a person in their travels.

  The baron and baroness were already being led away to the guest chambers and the countess dispatched several maids to help Lora carry up all of Ginevra’s belongings that waited outside in carts. Eyeing the countess’ large belly, Ginevra tried to stem her excitement, as she added softly, “But only if you’re up to it, m’lady.”

  “This is my fifth child. I should say I’ve grown used to waddling about. Besides, it’s good that I’m not too idle or I’d grow as large as this castle.” Lady Isabella laughed pleasantly, as she threaded her hand once more through Ginevra’s arm. Ginevra smiled, but thought that the lady was already nearly as big as a castle.

  Ginevra decided she liked the countess’ spirit. The noblewoman’s eyes sparkled kindly with an impish light--one the young Ginevra could relate to. Her lips were consistently lined with a small smile, as if she alone carried the most amusing of secrets.

  Following the woman’s lead, Ginevra let herself be led through the hall, back out into the courtyard. Her heart bubbled in all her youthful, girlish excitement. As she helped Lady Isabella down the stone stairs, she began to grin in her great fortune. She was getting everything she could ever desire--a beautiful home, a kind family, servants and knights to care for her, and, most of all, a noble husband with a valiant reputation who would no doubt dote on her as she did him.

  Ginevra’s pleasure didn’t fade as Lady Isabella completed her tour. Whetshire was indeed impressive with its short towers filled with everything from sewing chambers to breweries. There was one whole tower set aside for guests. Each of the three floors had two bedchambers with large fireplaces and bowers. And more guest chambers were fitted along the side of the hall for the servants of visiting nobles.

  But nothing of the castle could prepare Ginevra for her own bedchamber and private bower. In the largest tower, the fourth floor was completely hers, aside from the stairwell right outside her door. Her bedchamber set in a large square, with a fireplace, a huge poster bed stuffed with straw and lined for softness. Unable to stop herself from exploring, she discovered the bed had white linen sheets underneath the white fur coverlet, and linen-covered feather pillows.

  Again, as was a running theme in the castle, there was a small banner with the Whetshire crest above the chamber’s fireplace. Ginevra smiled, as she eyed the black phoenix clutching a single yellow rose. The bird was encased on a decorative shield of red.

  A large fur rug covered most of the stone floor. Her trunk had been placed at the end of the bed. Ginevra frowned for suddenly the small wooden trunk looked inadequate next to the finery of the chamber. There were three small rooms next to the bedchamber. One in the far back had a cot for her handmaiden if she so wished the girl to stay with her in the tower. Lora had never slept near her before and Ginevra doubted the girl would wish to now.

  Immediately next to the servant’s room was the bower. A private chamber set as
ide for sewing or reading or whatever she would wish to do in it. The bower had a writing table, complete with parchments and wax. She even found a seal with the family crest on it. Running her finger over the delicate imprint, she felt herself jolt in giddy excitement. In the middle of the bower, on a fur rug, were two chairs lined with red cushions and a sewing basket.

  The last chamber was for dressing. A table was fitted with a silver-handled brush, a pewter bowl filled with flour and other personal toiletries. Above the table was a large piece of polished metal that reflected her face back almost perfectly. Such an item was rare. Ginevra squinted as she smoothed the crimson linen of her gown and adjusted her headpiece.

  Opening the tall, odd-looking chest next to the table, she gasped in wonderment. Inside were a few gowns that hung freely instead of being folded into a floor trunk. Lora had mentioned a wardrobe and she wondered if this large trunk was it. She shut the door with a sigh.

  Deciding she had been alone long enough and that she was too excited to rest as Lady Isabella suggested, she left her chamber. Ginevra quietly walked up the tower stairs to explore the high roof, making her way past the fifth floor. A shiver worked over her spine, chilling her to the bone as she spotted the highest bedchamber door. The floor had belonged to Thomas. She refused to look at it too long as she made her way to the tower roof.

  Stepping out into the opening, she looked around in wide-eyed wonderment. At first, she could see nothing but the clear blue sky past the battlements. Then, going slowly forward on unsure legs, she noticed the tops of trees that quickly faded into the surrounding landscape. Her heart pounded in wild abandon as she felt the wind pick up and push against her. Unable to force herself completely to the edge, she began to back up.

  “Oh!”

  Ginevra froze at the sound. The feminine squeal hadn’t come from her lips. She wasn’t alone on the roof. Turning, she faced the entryway. The noise must have come from behind a back section of the roof that was hidden from view. Suppressing a giggle as a soft moan followed the woman’s gasp of pleasure, Ginevra tiptoed her way quietly back to the stairwell.

  As she drew nearer to her escape, she also came closer to where the couple hid. A very deep, almost throaty, masculine moan joined the woman’s. Ginevra covered her mouth to keep from exploding with laughter at the funny sounds the couple made. She wondered if it was William trysting with a maid or two servants. Lady Isabella said that all men were gone.

  Reaching the archway, she leaned over to pass under it to the stairwell. As she was about to make good her escape, the woman’s voice stopped her.

  “Wolfe,” the woman moaned. The sound was followed by a desperate pant. “Oh, yea, Wolfe! Take me here! Take me now!”

  Ginevra froze. Mortification overtook her as her stomach lurched with sickness. Shaking her head in denial she stood tall, trying to hear the voice that answered the soft entreaties. Low, husky murmurs joined the woman’s on the wind. She couldn’t understand the low speech through her pounding ears, but she didn’t need to. The voice sent chills over her body in a way she had never imagined possible. His voice excited her and tortured her at the same time for he spoke to another woman.

  Suddenly, the woman’s pleasure stopped. Ginevra realized a sound of pain managed to escape her. Biting her lip, she backed away.

  “Who--?” Wolfe began in question. She heard his footfall coming from behind the side of the archway.

  Without thought, Ginevra ran full tilt down the steps. She didn’t look back as the loud shouts called for her to stop. Her heart beat in hard thuds as tears blinded her eyes. A part of her died in that moment, a childish part that thought Wolfe waited for her as she had him. But she knew she should have known better. The castle, the bedchamber, it was all a cruel jest. She convinced herself that she was different, that her marriage arrangement was to be different from all of her friends--from all other nobles. She thought she was to have the complete girlish fantasy.

  “I’m a fool,” she whispered, running faster. Her feet tripped as she raced past Thomas’ chamber and around a corner. She crashed into an unforgiving wall. Quickly, she righted herself with a firm shove and continued to run. As the footfalls chasing her drew nearer, she didn’t look back.

  Wolfe’s eyes shot open and he stared into Sarra’s passionately drawn face. She breathed heavily in his ear, urging him to continue. His hand rested on her exposed breast. Listening past her, he heard it again. It sounded as if a woman had been punched in the gut.

  “Shhh!” Wolfe demanded harshly. His hand tightened roughly on her breast before he let go of her with a small shove. Coming around the side of the roof, he felt the cold air lash his shoulder-length hair about his head. For a moment, he was blinded by it. Jerking his fingers past his eyes, he heard the maidservant protesting behind him. He paid the woman no mind as he caught a flash of red on the stairwell.

  “Hold!” he commanded the retreating figure. His gut bound into knots. He felt Sarra on his arm, pressing her lushly exposed topside against him playfully.

  “It’s nothing, Wolfe,” the maidservant whined, breathless. She licked her lips enticingly, but the look was lost on the nobleman. “Come back.”

  “Wait here.” Lust stirred heavily within him, filling the mass between his thighs, but he could easily deny himself. Shaking the maid from his arm, he went after the intruder. He could hear feet pounding against the stone. Again he yelled for her to stop. The louder he yelled, the more frantic the footfalls became. With a feeling of sinking dread, he suspected who might have seen him.

  Ginevra was to come that day. It was partly the reason he stayed behind when the rest of the men rode out to the Whetshire borders. Had he known his bride might venture up to the roof, he would have taken the maid elsewhere--like to his bedchamber. It was just that Sarra caught him off guard at his favorite spot high in the heavens, and he had no inclination to fight her wanton advances. The maid effectively took his mind off his impending wedding the next day.

  The image of Ginevra he carried with him flashed through his mind. He swallowed in distaste. It was an image of ungodly pink hair that sprouted from a balding head--a toothless hag with pocked marked skin and a simple mind. Regardless of his future wife’s appearance, Wolfe knew that she didn’t deserve such a welcoming.

  Suddenly, the footfalls stopped and he imagined he heard a door closing. He quieted his steps as he saw a dim light shining from under the bedchamber door set aside for his bride. Going to the wood, he knocked without thought of what he would say. She had no right to be angry, for the vows were not yet spoken, and after the wedding he’d be more discreet with his affairs at the castle home.

  Still, as he knocked again, he felt an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. The last image he had was of a sweet-faced urchin defiantly sticking her tongue at him. He remembered her eyes, pure and innocent and as green as a handful of sparkling emeralds. He had felt a fondness for her then.

  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he waited for her to answer. She never did. Testing the latch, he found it unlocked. The door creaked slightly on the iron hinges. His eyes moved over the bedchamber. It was empty.

  “Ginevra?” he called softly unable to hear aught but the crackling flames of the fire. “Are you in here?”

  Still there was no answer. Quietly, he stepped in and shut the door behind him. He heard Sarra pass behind the door to continue on down the stairwell. The maid’s steps were hard thuds giving away her anger at being dismissed. Wolfe ignored her, knowing she’d forgive him. Sarra always forgave his drunk or callous treatment of her, so long as the words he spoke to her were sweet. She knew the game as well as he.

  Walking into Ginevra’s chamber uninvited, he noted the trunk at the end of her bed confirming her arrival. His face hardened with guilt, as he went through the chamber to the side room.

  All the tower rooms were laid out the same, but differed in decor. He had only glimpsed his future wife’s chamber when his mother ordered it decorated. Ignoring it now as he passed t
o her dressing room, he ducked his head inside and quietly called her name. Still he got no reply.

  Next, he checked the two back rooms and still the same, no Ginevra. Sighing, he turned to go, wondering if he imagined her. Guilt eradicated the passion from his body until all he felt was the dull thud of remorse. Wolfe cursed silently to himself, hating the sick feeling in his stomach as he went to search out a draught of mead to drown the strange sensation. Shutting the door firmly behind him, he left the chamber.

  Ginevra huddled in the dark corner of her bower, fighting the sobs that built in her chest. Through the soft casting of orange firelight, she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d grown tall, taller than the skinny lad she vaguely remembered. His shoulders were broad and proud and he walked with an animalistic power that radiated off of him like a beacon. His presence alone would command all those around him.

  His size frightened her. She never imagined he’d grown so muscular or so tall. When he turned to search for her in the darkness, she couldn’t move. His eyes gleamed orange and black in the soft glow of firelight, holding her transfixed in wonderment.

  Though the fire contrasted his face with heavy shadows, she could see the strong proud line of his jaw, the chiseled pleasantness of his cheekbones. His white undertunic hung loose to expose the muscled firmness of his tanned chest, as the tight pull of his breeches strained firmly against his legs. She could see the lean contours of his waist as he lifted his hands to rest against his hips. He looked untamed, wild--like a wolf. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to.

  Wolfe left as suddenly as he appeared. Ginevra bit her lips together to keep from crying out. When he shut the door behind him, she ripped the headpiece from her head. The past years of waiting and hoping and working to make sure she was perfect swam in her head. He’d not even come to greet her, as he should. Instead he’d chosen to be with another. Every reason she ever had to be a good wife died that moment on the rooftop. She gasped for breath, trying to control the strength of her sobs. Her shoulders trembled and she stayed huddled in her corner long after he was gone.