Emerald Knight

EMERALD KNIGHT

Michelle M Pillow

EMERALD KNIGHT By

Michelle M. Pillow

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Michelle M Pillow

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© copyright November 2005, Michelle M. Pillow Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright November 2005 ISBN 1-58608-762-2 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

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Michelle M Pillow

Dedication: 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.

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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.

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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

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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 grunted 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

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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.

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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

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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. “Ginevra!” the baroness scolded softly in aggravation. She jerked her daughter’s hand down. “Stop that at once. Act like a young lady!” “No one saw,” Ginevra grumbled, rolling her eyes. She turned her attention to the head table. Spotting Robert, she braced herself as she watched her brother’s face. As soon as he saw her in a dress, he grabbed onto his sides and laughed dramatically. The baron shot him a look of warning before cuffing him soundly over his head. Robert only laughed harder, all but tumbling to the hard stone floor in his exaggerated merriment. Ginevra stuck her tongue out at her brother and narrowed her eyes. Her mother pushed down on her arm to get her to stop. Scornful, Ginevra lifted her chin as she turned to the three boys and one girl sitting near Robert. Already, she knew Wolfe from their earlier encounter. She ignored him and the bemused expression he had on his face when he recognized her.

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“Ah, Ginevra!” the countess exclaimed with a smile. Her easy manner was warm and her pleasant green eyes shone with approval. She stood from her seat and moved down the platform. Touching Ginevra under the chin lightly, she smiled as she dusted a smudge of dirt from her cheek. Lady Jayne made a small sound of displeasure. Ginevra glanced up as her mother pushed down on her shoulder, reminding her to curtsey. The baroness shot an apologetic look at her guest with a dignified nod of her head. Ginevra curtsied dutifully, feeling awkward in the gown. “My how you have grown child! I haven’t seen you since you were a wee babe.” Lady Isabella grinned, as she let go of her chin. Then, turning to face her own children, she beckoned them forward for quick introduction. Thomas was heir to the earl’s title and lands, and was a year older than Robert. His green eyes shown with disinterest as he expertly bowed over her hand. Except for his eyes, which he received from his mother, he looked like his father’s son. Next was William, the youngest. He had flaming red hair and an easy smile. He looked like his mother, except for his father’s eyes. He was a strange opposite to Thomas. He carried himself well, but shot her an inoffensive smirk as he bowed over her hand. Ginevra smiled back, instantly liking the boy. Then came Helena, the youngest of all the children, with the same coloring as William. She curtsied politely. Her tunic gown was impeccably smoothed and her hair curled over her shoulders with girlish perfection. She stepped back without comment. Ginevra decided she didn’t care much for the snotty Whetshire girl. And finally, Wolfe was called forward. He frowned at her, not bothering to take her hand as she curtsied before him. Her dirty bare feet poked out from underneath the dress as she did so. As he witnessed her bare feet, he stated loudly, “I can see your dirty toes.” Ginevra shivered, struck speechless by the unexpected jibe. Lady Jayne gasped, instantly looking at her daughter’s offending feet. The boys, along with Lady Isabella, giggled. Helena pressed her hand to her chest in feminine amusement and unconcealed disdain. The earl sternly frowned and the baron covered his smile as he studied his little hoyden. Ginevra pressed her trembling lips together, staring down the calm look of her future husband. His eyebrow arched in silent challenge and a smile slid to the side of his mouth. Then, as tears silently welled in her rounded eyes, she ran from the hall. **** A gentle spring breeze flitted over the courtyard while sprinklings of sunlight danced through the thick blanket of clouds stretching majestically across a pale sky. The warm earthen floor of the courtyard was alive with activity as servants scurried about their business. Some women hauled baskets of laundry and others carried vegetables from the garden to the kitchen. One kitchen servant carried live chickens, two pairs of legs gripped in each of her weathered hands. The fowl jerked and squawked resentfully against her hold as they fluttered about to be free. The morning drew to a close as the sun pushed higher over the bailey wall. The raised stone surrounded the courtyard, looping about from one side of the main castle to the other in an oval shape. Built into the inner face of the stone ring were the living and service quarters. Some quarters were made of stone, like the main castle and hall itself, but mostly they were built of timber. Atop the wall that stood several feet wide was the walkway surrounded by battlements. Going up any of the corner spiral stairwells one could reach any of the various floors, go to the

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roof, or to the battlements to walk the entirety of the wall in a complete circle with it dipping under an arch as it passed by the main castle. A small chapel built of dreary gray hosted a separate courtyard. This courtyard lay dormant with a floor of hard stone and housed a circular bench where Ginevra often came to sit. Sniffing, she hiked her skirt up to expose her dirty feet and the pair of breeches she wore underneath the gown. Setting her feet next to her on the bench, she lounged back and curled her toes against the rough texture of the stone. “I told you she’d be here,” Ginevra heard her brother whisper. She pushed her chin further in the air, refusing to cry and pretended not to hear him. Someone cleared his throat behind her. She swung around until her feet landed neatly on the ground. Seeing Wolfe, she scowled. “What do you want? I hope it’s to call off our betrothal.” Wolfe looked uncomfortable as he held out a flower to her. At her words, a frown creased the sides of his mouth. Not sounding at all convincing, he said, “I’m sorry for looking at your feet.” Ginevra nodded and took the flower with a trembling hand. Not even her own father had given her a flower before. Hating the blush that threatened her cheeks, she looked at the pretty token with its yellowish center and pretty pink petals. Sighing in forced disinterest, she tossed it over her shoulder and stood. Wolfe stared at his rejected token in displeasure. He opened his mouth to speak, but she ignored him by whirling in the other direction. As she stormed off into the chapel, he followed her. His father’s order had been clear. Either he made up with the girl, or the new palfrey would be given to her as a gift. “I said I was sorry,” Wolfe said as he followed her under the drab gray archway. Jogging, he caught up to her just in time to be scolded. “Shhh!” Ginevra hissed with a wave of her hand. They were alone in the chapel. She looked up at the narrow window filled with thick colored glass in the shape of her family crest. A streak of blue light fell across her pale childish face. Whispering under her breath, she said, “We are in a chapel! You have to be quiet or God won’t hear you.” “I don’t want God to hear me. I want you to.” Wolfe sighed in exasperation before crossing over to her. Taking her by the arm, he tugged her gently. Ginevra looked at his hand. Whispering in her ear, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s go to the yard.” “Don’t you like chapels? Or do you worship the devil?” Ginevra asked with a toss of her white-blonde hair. The tresses reached down her back to her hips. The taller frame of her intended dwarfed her slender body as she looked boldly up to him. Her emerald gaze showed no fear. “Come on,” he grumbled as he pulled her back out into the sunlight. Shaking his head, he frowned at the young girl. When they were free from the solemn chamber, he said, “I don’t worship the devil. Someday I’ll go to the Holy Land to fight the devil. I’m going to reclaim Jerusalem from the heathens just like the first crusaders.” “I didn’t know you were a knight yet,” she stated with a touch of awe. Quickly, her opinion of him changed. They had all grown up hearing tales of the Holy Crusades. It was whispered that Richard, son of King Henry, was going to someday finish what the other crusaders had started. “Will you teach me to use your sword? Can I be your squire and ride with you to the Holy Land? I should very much like to fight the heathen devils.” “I’m not a knight, yet,” Wolfe answered, falling into stride next to her. “But I will be after the king comes. And then the whole lot of us will go--me, my brothers and even Robert!”

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“Robert won’t go,” Ginevra returned with conviction. She didn’t like the idea of her brother leaving for so far away. Already he had been gone for a long time to the earl’s to train for knighthood. Even if the earl let him come home for the winter feast, it didn’t make up for the rest of the year. “I don’t want him to.” Wolfe chucked at the certainty of her words but said nothing. “So will you take me with you there?” “War is no place for ladies,” he answered. “I’m no lady.” Ginevra wrinkled her nose. Her tone dared him to disagree with her. “I’m your squire and I wish to go with you.” “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.”

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“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

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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 above. “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

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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

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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 things. 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

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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.

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Chapter Two Peasant Village, Whetshire Fortress Property, 1184 A.D. Ginevra 13 years of age, Wolfe 21 years of age The virulent sound of clashing swords rang over the smoky village. The thatched roofs of the villeins’ homes blazed with a stubborn heat and unrelenting flames. Their wooden structures were unable to withstand the torture, as they crumpled to the ground in heaps of useless mass. The smell they emitted was worse than fetid garbage in the hot sun as it choked the air from the knight’s lungs and burnt the flesh of any who dared too close. The shrill cry of women, as they hugged children to their breasts, could be heard over the dying village turned battlefield. Their men lay fallen to the blades and arrows of thieves. The sons that lived swore vengeance on the blood of their fathers as a Whetshire man-at-arms escorted them into the safety of the surrounding trees. Whisking by the solemn line of peasants, Wolfe pressed against the lean muscles of his destrier’s slick neck. He urged the warhorse faster as he galloped around the fray. His chain-link armor weighed comfortingly over his shoulders. His helm had long since fallen from his head, exposing his strong neck to his enemy’s weapon. Wolfe’s insides twitched with anticipation and focus. His sweat-laden brown hair hung in strings to his shoulders, bound back at the sides by strips of leather. Swords flashed in the evening air, the smell of burning wood grew thicker in the breeze as another lighted arrow flew into the wooden cottages. “Ho!” Robert called, distracting an armed man running toward his friend. He jumped from his horse and lifted his shield to clash with the man’s spiked mace. The weapon stuck in the hard wood and Robert ripped it from his opponent’s gloved fingers. His eyes shone with the grim light of combat, as Wolfe sailed boldly past unharmed. Their opponents were dressed as ruffians--thieves and murderers the whole lot. The band had raided near and on Whetshire land for days, pillaging the peasant’s field, burning their homes and ravishing the commoners’ wives and daughters. The few peasants who survived the raids arrived at the fortress and told tales of horror and bloodshed. The earl dispatched border patrols immediately. Robert, Wolfe, William and Thomas were among the first to leave--their honor unable to take the slight against their people. Already Thomas had led them past several charred bodies and burnt homes before finding the culprits. Five long years had passed since the eve Wolfe and Robert were knighted at Southaven castle. To them, it seemed like the far off dream of young boys they hardly remembered being. But, the years of fighting raiders and the small skirmishes that broke out with roving tribes didn’t diminish their sense of honor and justness. If anything, it emboldened their ideals of youth with the harsher realities of death. When the raids started, the three men had newly arrived home from campaigning with King Henry. There was much tension with France over English land, though no war had broken out openly. The men who attacked Whetshire property looked to be a mix of French and German descent. However, they were rogues who raided settlements across the border for profit not country.

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William, having met with his nineteenth year, was now of age to join them, and they accepted him amongst their ranks with much revelry and good-natured torment. William took their ribbing in stride, even laughing at their jests. But, despite his friend’s raillery to the contrary, the youngest Whetshire brother had a good, steady arm, and a strong enough mind to make him an asset in battle. From the fortress, they tracked the thieves easily through the thick of the woodlands. The four men knew every inch of their childhood home. When they caught up to the thieves, they were again raiding the forest villeins. It was a small settlement, but a peaceful one that took pride in working hard and living piously. Through the haze of smoke and darkness, Wolfe saw his target--three men commanding the handful of raiders from the back. Kicking his horse, he lifted his sword high into the air and charged. A fierce yell escaped his snarling lips. At the same time, Thomas darted from the opposite side of the forest driving his stallion ahead of his younger brother. The brothers attacked from each side, taking the men off guard. Wolfe felt his sword clash with steel before his blade found the side of the man, raggedly slashing through flesh. The weapon came back to him bloody. His opponent fell to the ground with a hard grunt, his entrails spilling onto the dirt. Wolfe paid the man no more heed as his stallion stormed past. The sounds of battle became fainter, as thieves abandoned their cause against the professional knights for the shelter of the forest. Wolfe could hear his fellow soldiers pursuing the outlaws away from the main battlefield. William’s red head disappeared into the trees, a discarded arrow in his hand as he searched for the archer hidden within the tree limbs. A cry of victory echoed the air as Wolfe slashed another attacker. Glancing over the distance, he saw Robert silhouetted by firelight, his sword drawn bravely as he fought off two men at once. Then, in the same instant, his eyes moved to Thomas as his older brother thrust at a dark man on a white horse. The dark man fell to the ground. Without thinking, Wolfe spurred his horse forward to help Robert. He jumped from the moving animal as it whizzed past his friend. Landing deftly on his feet, his weapon met with the sharpened edge of a blade. The roaring of the fire drowned out the deathly cold sound of steel as it slid along steel. The arrows stopped flying. William slew the archer, turning his arrow back on him so that he fell from the height of the trees with a cry that echoed like a death knell. Wolfe ducked as a blade angled for his head. With deadly precision born of years of practice, he jabbed his sword into the thief’s gut. A yell escaped Wolfe’s parted lips as his hilt slipped from his hand. He didn’t take note of the blood that sprayed his armor with gore. The man fell to his knees, taking Wolfe’s blade with him. Robert turned the tables on his man by forcing him to the edge of the trees. Wolfe grabbed the end of his blade, jerking it hard from the corpse of his opponent. Then, turning, he realized with a deepened breath that there were no more thieves left to fight him. Taking a deep gulp of air, Wolfe spun around amidst the fallen bodies. His family crest shone up from a few, but mostly they were the raiders. Over the distance, he saw his brother. Thomas was pitted against a mossy log, his back against the earth. The dark swordsman stood triumphantly over him. In a panic, Wolfe ran. His heart thudded loudly in his ears. Thomas’ weapon lay to the side still gripped within his severed hand. Wolfe growled in furious outrage, but was too late. The dark swordsman lifted his weapon high into the air and thrust the blade into his brother’s stomach. “Nay!” Wolfe screamed, as he witnessed the blood that ran from his brother’s slack

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mouth. The swordsman swung up onto his horse. The white animal pawed the air as his master reined him to the side. In an instant, he was gone, thundering into the night. In numbed horror, Wolfe fell to his knees besides Thomas. His sword dropped to the ground. He pulled the thick leather gloves from his hands with his teeth to press at his brother’s seeping wound. Dark blood almost as black as the night sky soaked his fingers, mingling with the chunky splatters of the slain that marred his armor. His brother gurgled. Thomas’ eyes stared up in confused terror. Wolfe heard the clank of swords in the distance. He ignored them. Thomas’ lips moved as if he might speak, but no words were forthcoming. The only sound he managed was a dreadful hiss as the air escaped his lungs. His eyes darted their surprise up into the trees as the light faded from his pain-stricken gaze. And then, within a blink, Thomas was dead. Wolfe shook his head in denial willing his brother’s spirit back to him. He pounded Thomas on the chest, shaking him. The sound of the swordplay drew his attention from his brother’s body. He looked over the distance. Revenge clouded his soul. The silhouette of Robert had gotten darker. Wolfe’s heart lurched into the pit of his stomach as he watched Robert’s opponent overtake him. Wolfe grabbed his weapon as he surged to his feet with a ferocious yell. The blade slipped in his hands from the wetness of cooling blood. He ran, but was too late. He saw the glint of orange as a blade aimed for his friend. Robert, too, fell to the ground and the attacker ran off into the forest. **** Southaven Castle, two fortnights later... Ginevra stood, pale and trembling in the cold wet rain, as it pelted her body in slivers. The dark sky reverberated with foreboding. The clouds cried out in grief to echo in the low rumble of thunder. She ignored the dreary weather as servants lifted a large bundle from the cart. Her throat tightened, her pulse pounded in hard, even thumps. Pulling her cloak tighter around her thin shoulders, she squinted to see the man hidden within the furs. The baron knocked into her shoulder, as he rushed past her to help those who carried his only son. Gasping in horror, she recognized her brother’s hand by the family crest on his finger. It fell to the side, away from the wrappings of wet cloaks and furs that encircled him. The oddly pale fingers didn’t move. It had been many years since she laid eyes on Robert and she shuddered to think that this is how he was brought home to her. Ginevra held still, unable to move. Her legs were frozen stiff with mortification. She knew her mother was behind her, fainted away on the stone steps leading to the main hall. Servants scurried about her, lifting her mother inside ahead of her brother. Ginevra scowled in irritation at the baroness, disapproving of her womanly weakness. And then a throaty moan escaped the folds of wet blankets, drawing her attention back to the bundle. The baron yelled for more hands to bring his son inside. Ginevra watched as they hoisted her brother past her, taking him up the stairs. For an instant, she got a flash of open green eyes as lightening streaked the sky. Robert moaned again, this time in loud protest of the rough jolts of his carriers. The pale hand moved to clench into a loosened fist and deadly curses came from the wet folds. Ginevra’s legs weakened, causing her to collapse on the moist ground. As they hauled Robert into the safety of home, Ginevra’s heart overflowed with relief. He was alive. **** Ginevra didn’t leave her brother’s side in the long sennights it took for him to heal. He had been stuck in the side. It was an ugly festering wound that stretched across his ribs and had

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to be constantly drained of infection. She slept by him in a hard chair during the night, devotedly changing the cool cloths on his head. By day she would talk to him and tend his bandaged side. At first he didn’t speak, only mumbled in feverish rants. But, slowly, his speech came back to him and his eyes cleared of the fever. “Ho, Gin,” Robert mumbled weakly, drawing her suddenly from deep thought. Instantly, she was at his side. A fireplace dimly lighted the chamber. Tapestries lined the walls of stone as fur rugs hugged the hard floor. Sitting next to him on the poster bed, she pulled the skirt of her tunic gown out of her way. Lovingly, she brushed back a lock of his hair. A smile lined her mouth as she looked at him. “How you have grown in the last five years, little Gin,” he chuckled softly. He winced at the pain the movement caused him. As his breathing settled, his eyes softened toward her as if they had only been parted a day. Gently, he added, “And your hair. I have envisioned it purple all these years. The king still speaks fondly of it to the men. Yea, I envisioned you with purple hair and running about barefoot in a pair of my old breeches.” “The purple lasted nigh a year. Mother made me lie in the sun to bleach it, and then finally she cut it.” She turned to show him that it was once again blonde, though it had darkened from the white blonde of early childhood. Her cheeks had also thinned to show more definition of face. Although she was still young, she was growing to be a fine woman. Robert nodded in approval. She continued in a confident whisper, “And as to the gowns, I suppose I had to grow up sometime. Besides, you were no longer here to steal breeches from.” Robert laughed lightly. “And, Wolfram? Does he still sport the green?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes. “Nay, he too cut off his locks nigh four years past,” Robert answered, before inquiring curiously, “How did you manage it? He never did tell me.” “I snuck into his chamber the morn of the king’s visit and put dye into his hair wash right afore his bath.” Ginevra giggled as if it was yesterday. They had made quite an odd pair that night. “I can still see mother’s face when he knocked the veil from my head.” Robert closed his eyes with a smile. Taking deep breaths, as a wave of pain assaulted his senses, he lay completely still. Ginevra waited for him to recover before continuing. “So, what did you bring me from your travels? You realize it has been almost six months since I have heard from you. I was beginning to feel neglected,” she pretended to pout, but couldn’t convince the smile to leave her eyes. “I thought you forgot about me.” “Forget little Gin?” he shot back in feigned horror. Robert’s voice was weak and drew out in pants. Ginevra didn’t care. She waited for him patiently. “Go get my satchel. I do have something to give you.” “What is it?” She squirmed in excitement. “Go get it and you will see,” he whispered with a smile, as he closed his eyes to the pain that his laughter caused him. Dutifully, Ginevra obeyed. Going to his trunk, she lifted his satchel and carried it to him. Digging inside the leather pouch, he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. Handing it to her, he said, “This is from Wolfe. He wanted to keep his promise to write at least once a year.” “Keep his promise? He was supposed to be here a year ago for our wedding,” Ginevra returned quietly. She fingered the wrinkled parchment lightly as she pouted. Indeed, Wolfe had managed to write her once a year like he had said he’d do all those years ago. But the letters were always the same. I am here. I am fighting for Henry. Can’t make it back. Take care, Wolfe.

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And there were never any tender sentiments. A bit bitterly, she grumbled, “Mother had a gown sewn. Already I have outgrown it.” “You can’t blame him, Gin. I thought he wrote to explain.” Guiltily, he didn’t meet his sister’s eyes. He knew that Wolfe was not ready for marriage, though he had been given his whole life to prepare for it. Robert knew his friend also still thought of his little sister as just that, a little sister to his good friend. He thought of the slew of mistresses Wolfe had taken over the years. Robert knew Wolfe to be a man of many insatiably carnal appetites and he wasn’t sure he wanted him trying them with his little, innocent sister. Clearing his throat, he said, “I didn’t think you would be so ready for marriage. There was a time that you cursed the decision.” “I’m not really. It’s just that, it’s embarrassing to be kept waiting. I’m nearly fourteen years already, practically an old maid. And mother says I can’t leave to go anywhere until I’m married. Then I’ll be able to leave Southaven. You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in the same place always!” Ginevra pushed her lips into a sullen pout. “At least as a man you get to travel. I’m stuck here. My biggest adventure is when father sneaks me out of the keep and lets me ride through the forest at night with him. Mother would die if she found out.” Robert smiled kindly, but hid his chuckle. Even in light of his wounds, he wouldn’t trade places with his sister. He couldn’t blame her for her discontentment either. She had always been a bit of a free spirit. Lightly, he answered, “Wolfe has been busy. Don’t think harshly on him. He did save my life.” She felt a tremble in her limbs. Time faded much of what she remembered of Wolfe’s face. She knew that five years was a long time and would undoubtedly change a man. But there had been stories of him--fascinating tales of bravery and valor. Feeling a little sick to her stomach, she asked weakly, “Was he hurt?” “Nay, not bad, mostly they were superficial cuts. Though he blames himself for Thomas,” Robert admitted. “He was assisting me when Thomas fell.” “And the men who hurt you?” Ginevra asked in a hush, as she studied the missive. She set it aside, pretending not to be interested in its contents. Robert watched her keep an eye on the parchment from the corner of her down-turned lashes. He wasn’t too sick to see the light blush that fanned his sister’s young features. Wondering at it, he murmured darkly, “They are dead. Those who weren’t slain in battle, Wolfe went back and took care of. So you have no need to worry. They won’t threaten us again.” In fact, Wolfe had delivered his brother’s body and Robert to the safety of the fortress before heading out alone after the raiders. When he returned nearly a day and a half later, his armor and hair had been drenched in drying blood. Without a word, he delivered the dark swordsman’s head to his father. The earl blessed his son with his silent approval. The countess spit on the severed head and retreated to her chamber, where she remained in mourning for a sennight. As to the rest of the raiders, they lay dead. Their horses were brought back with Wolfe and put into the stables with the rest of the stock. Robert refused to tell his sister the whole tale. She wouldn’t understand the realities of battle and honor. To women, honor and valor were concepts of such noble undertakings. They didn’t know that such concepts were won on the blood of another. To Robert’s thinking, they didn’t need to. “What of my gift?” she inquired, wondering about the frown that marred his face. “Oh,” Robert sighed. Digging in his satchel, he pulled out a gift wrapped in silky material. Ginevra unrolled the silk to find a beautiful necklace of rare pearls. Gasping, she turned

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to look at her brother in awe. Breathless, she whispered, “Thank you.” “They’re not really jewels and definitely not the sword you requested, but when I saw them I thought of you.” Robert sighed, as he lifted his hand to touch her rosy cheek. “It’ll be something to wear on your wedding day.” Ginevra nodded as she hung the strand proudly about her neck. Robert smiled his approval, only to frown when she muttered, “Whenever that will be.” “Leave me be for a bit, Gin.” He motioned gently to the door. He hid his grief by closing his eyes. To him, the loss of Thomas was still new. He’d grown up around the Whetshire boys and thought of them as family. “You’ve been locked away in here with me for too many days. Go get some air.” Ginevra touched the string of pearls about her neck and picked up the missive. She tucked it into the sleeve of her gown. Then, leaning to kiss Robert on the forehead, she whispered, “All right, Rob. I won’t be gone too long. When I return, I’ll bring you a bowl of stew and a hot apple tart, stolen fresh from cook’s fire.” Ginevra walked to the door. Stopping by the oak barrier, she said into the oak wood, “It’s glad I am that you are home, Robert.” “Yea, Gin. It’s glad I am to be here,” Robert mumbled before falling back asleep. **** As soon as she left her brother in his chamber, Ginevra rushed through the halls of the castle to the shaded platform by the battlements. Taking a deep breath of morning air as it whistled under the covering, she pulled the letter from her sleeve. She studied the familiar seal emblazoned with a phoenix before cracking it open. Already, she could see that more words were written than ever before. Her heart raced in excitement. Moving to the light, she held the paper tight in both hands to keep it from blowing away. Inhaling, she poured over the tight, fine script of her intended. Ginevra, I am sorry this comes with such tragic news. I pray that Robert will recover quickly and soon be able to join us. As you might have heard, Thomas is lost to us. This changes everything. My father has named me the heir of Whetshire and his title. His expectations for you are higher now, as are mine. Do not disappoint us. You will be a countess, I expect you to carry yourself as such. Wolfram “He writes to me as if I am a child in need of a scolding,” Ginevra said as she finished his cold missive. She’d thought, even hoped, that there would be some tender sentiment or thought now that she was of age for such attentions. Crumpling up the letter, she frowned. “He treats me like an infant.” Ignoring her disappointment with the kindling of her anger, she ran full tilt to her bedchamber. Once there, she rifled through her trunk until she found a lock of her purple hair. She didn’t know why she kept it, only that it had become a humorous memory. Without stopping to think of her actions, she went to her writing table. Jotting a quick note on the inside of the parchment, she smiled as she signed her name with a stroke of bold flourish. She poured sand over the sheepskin to dry the ink. Then, folding the hair up inside her missive, she smiled mischievously. She sealed it quickly before running to find a courier to deliver her message to her intended.

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**** Wolfe fingered the pink lock of hair grimly before turning his eyes to the parchment. Sitting up on his bed, he turned it to the fire to better read the print. Written in a small, feminine hand full of loops and swirls read, Lord Wolfram, Robert recovers nicely though it may be some time afore he is well enough to join you. I have included a locket of my hair to keep you safe in your journeys. Unfortunately, since you pushed me into the dye, my hair hasn’t grown back the same and in some places not at all. On a different matter, I received your missive and will do my best to act a lady for you. I have ordered that gowns be sewn for me instead of breeches. Whereas mother has said there is naught to be done for my missing front tooth (a horse kicked me in the chin last winter and knocked me quite senseless) or the complexion of my skin, I don’t believe her. Regardless of what you may have heard in respect to it, I will endeavor to find a cure. I hope to make you proud. Yours, Ginevra Wolfe shuddered in horror and almost dropped the missive on the floor. Turning to the awaiting courier, he looked at the man in stunned abhorrence. “M’lord.” The servant bowed gallantly. He wore the crest of Southaven boldly on his chest. Wolfe stared at it, unable to look the man in the eye. Nausea curled in the young nobleman’s throat. “Will there be a reply?” Wolfe shook his head in denial, unable to speak as he lifted a hand in brusque dismissal. Rubbing the back of his stiff neck, his features curled into a repulsed scowl. When the courier left, Wolfe threw the coverlet off his naked body. Stalking over to the fireplace, he threw the offending parchment into the flames. He watched it ignite and turn black before disappearing altogether. The token of braided pink hair he unwillingly slipped onto the stone mantel. He heard Sarra move behind him, as the chamber door closed. She’d been hiding under the furs. Turning, he smiled at her lush, naked body awaiting his attentions. A half-smile curled the woman’s mouth. Her brownish-red hair glowed in the firelight and the firelight glowed from her almond-shaped brown eyes. Growling, Wolfe leapt onto the bed. Sarra giggled, as he came over her, her hands instantly finding the heated pleasure of his flesh. Wolfe fell into her willing body, nuzzling her neck with his rough kisses, trying to forget the frightening image of what he was to be married to.

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Chapter Three Whetshire Fortress, 1186 A.D. Ginevra 15 years of age, Wolfe 23 years of age The chilling winds of fall whipped around the traveling party as they slowly made their way up the rocky incline to the rectangular shaped tower keep of Whetshire. Several carts, loaded full of womanly possessions, lumbered in slow progression behind the mounted travelers. The front gate to the castle was barred closed, its iron posts denying entry to those not welcome. Enclosed in its own stone archway, the main gate led to a second inner gate that was also barred. In awe of the impressive fortress, Ginevra pulled the soft hood edged with the fur of a white wolf from her head, exposing her covered hair. A thick veil of white fleece hid her tightly bound locks from view, as was the fashion her mother insisted upon. Over her neck and ears was fitted a tightly placed barbette that wound underneath her chin, so only the oval shape of her face was allowed to show. A flimsier short veil fluttered on her head but didn’t shake loose as Ginevra looked about. She lifted her eyes to the imposing castle that was to be her new home. Inside, she trembled. Patting Purch on the neck to calm him, she quickly withdrew her gloved hand into the warmth of her cloak. She tightened her grip on the reins as she led him up the incline. In front of her was her father. She could barely make out his form, as he too was covered. Beside him, a few armored men of his manor rode as protection. And behind her on a rickety cart sat her mother, also guarded. Lady Jayne refused to ride a horse, telling her daughter that it was undignified for ladies to ride with something as coarse as an animal betwixt their legs--even if her legs were off to the side. Whenever the baroness gave such instruction, Ginevra nodded politely and dutifully agreed. But, inside, she figured it was because her mother was afraid of horses that she didn’t ride, just like the noblewoman was frightened by everything else. Grabbing the embroidered edges of her long, flowing cloak she tugged them closer together. The wind thrashed the fastening cord over her shoulder, loosening it from the decorative brooch. She hated to admit it, but the chills that racked her body were not due to the cold. Ginevra was on her way to her wedding and to again see Wolfe. It had been seven long years since he turned her purple. She wondered if he would be pleased with the changes she made for him. Since receiving his missive two years past, he hadn’t written to her again. As she did often, she cursed her rash action in dispatching the joke she played in return. She knew surely Robert would have set him straight. They had been at tournament together ever since Robert recovered from his wounds. Proudly, she thought of how they both had made names for themselves across Briton, France and Germany--just as they’d sworn to do as children. Ginevra trembled as the gates creaked open. The sound was ominous in the afternoon air. Whetshire was quiet, being that there was no activity inside the empty courtyard. She couldn’t help but notice that the keep was well maintained, clean and impressively secure from attackers. Underneath her cloak, she pulled frantically at her gloves, letting the reins fall to her lap

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as Purch followed her father. Closing her eyes briefly, she said a quick prayer that Wolfe would be pleased with her. Since his instructions, which she had taken to heart and read a million times, she endeavored to learn all she could to make him proud. She even submitted to the torturous lessons of her mother. Whereas she still owned one pair of breeches that she would use at night when she rode Purch with her gently understanding father, she’d not donned a pair in public notice since. She’d eaten less, so that her figure would be more pleasingly slender. Ginevra even learned how to sew. She didn’t care much for the task, but found she had an adequate enough hand at it. Purch slowed his step even more as he trotted under the open gateway. Looking up, Ginevra felt a shiver rack the length of her body. Strong walls that were about twelve feet in thickness surrounded the courtyard. Slender buttresses held up the walls all around and grew above the corners to form turrets. The turrets had spiral staircases inside to reach the various leveled floors, roof and battlements. She could see small entryways leading inside varied parts of the wall and knew that they no doubt led to guardrooms, storage and weapons chambers, privies, servants’ bedchambers, and even a small kitchen. 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.”

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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

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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 aside 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

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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

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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 to 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.

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**** 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. When she managed to stand, her legs fought to support the wobbly bulk of her weight. She swayed heavily across the room, stumbling, not knowing where to go. Furiously, she wiped her wet eyes on the sleeve of her simple gown staining it with tears. She kept rubbing until her face stung and burned with redness. Sinking wearily into a chair, she knew she was indeed a fool. **** Dining tables were laid out with a simple, but elegant fair. The scent of herbed potatoes, hens roasted and glazed with honey, and loaves of freshly baked bread wafted through the main hall to stir the appetites of those gathered. Wolfe’s stomach churned, although he let nothing show on his stiff face. He narrowed his piercing gaze, staring out from the head table to scan briefly over the crowd. Seeing a woman, slight in build and hair as dark as the night, he frowned. Leaning toward Robert, he pushed his friend in the arm to gain his attention. His expression gave away nothing. “Is that your sister?” Wolfe whispered with a tilt of his chin. The woman looked a bit like a servant, but he could see no one else whom he didn’t readily know, and Lord Wolfram was well familiar with the many women of the keep. No unusual maidens in his hall matched the description he carried in his head. There was no flash of pink hair. Where he hoped Ginevra was able to find a cure for her baldness, he couldn’t imagine what it would be. Robert followed his friend’s gaze with a smirk. “Nay, that is Lora, her handmaiden.” “I didn’t think it was,” Wolfe answered with a touch of disappointment. Robert tried not to smile. Wolfe tried to look nonchalant, bored even, but to a man who’d known him since childhood he wouldn’t be able to hide his aggitaion. His jaw tightened as he took one sip too many from his goblet of ale. “That,” Robert said in delight, as he pointed toward the tower stairwell, “is Gin.” With a gulp and a sickness to his stomach, Wolfe followed the steady nod of his friend

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over the sea of heads. At the end of the stairwell was the baroness, her self-possessed cheekbones sinking into her face as her lips puckered in censure. It was a look Wolfe remembered the woman wearing often when he was a child. Wolfe chuckled at the absurdly charged disapproval on her face, but then the woman stepped to the side. His breath caught slightly and he fell silent. His bride wore a simple tunic of light green with a slender waist that hugged to her body, a body only slightly bulging with feminine curves. The sleeves were tightly fitted to the wrists with decorative buttons up the side and the rounded neck of the gown would have exposed the small tops of her breast if not for the large barbette that fitted around her face to cover her neck. Her head was also covered with a thick hood so that none of her hair showed. Atop the cover was a thin circlet of gold, holding the gauzy short veil in place. Ginevra gazed at the carona that lighted the hall. Briefly, he followed her eyes to the lighted candleholder along the ceiling. But, just as quickly, his notice traveled back to her. His eyes narrowed into piercing slits. She stepped forward and he saw that her complexion appeared smooth and her emerald eyes sparkled with a disobedient intensity. As Lady Jayne turned, she moved to frantically fan her fingers at the girl’s face. Ginevra tolerantly paused, smiling at the woman. The gesture lit up her face with the careless perfection of her bow lips. Wolfe could see the impression of straight, even, white teeth. Robert made a noise. Wolfe glanced to the side, knowing his friend had seen his stunned look. Robert frowned slightly, before turning his gaze to his little sister. Clearing his throat, he leaned to his friend. “Pity she is still so young,” Robert put forth tactfully. Taking a slow drink of mead, he set his goblet on the table with forced indifference. “She is well past the age to be married,” Wolfe answered, only to add silently, And to receive a man’s attentions. “Yea, but look at her. I begged my parents to wait, to not marry you to a small child. But, alas, they wished for this alliance as badly as the earl.” Wolfe turned back with a deepening scowl. Tilting his head, he noted the slight roundness to Ginevra’s features. He felt disgust for his first initial appreciation of her form. She isn’t slightly curved, he thought in disdain. She is shaped like a child--a thin, willowy child. “Wolfe,” Robert asserted. Wolfe turned toward his friend, a scowl lining his eyes. Robert continued protectively, “She’s my little sister, my only sister. When I lay dying, she stayed by my bedside. I care for her deeply. Promise me, out of reverence of our friendship, that you’ll be easy with her tomorrow eve. Give me your word that you won’t do the things you’ve done with others. She’s just a child, not a maidservant whore. She knows little if anything about being in a man’s bed.” Wolfe felt his stomach lurch in disgust. Robert’s words didn’t offend him, for they always spoke freely to the other. All the same, they did disturb him greatly. He’d momentarily forgotten that tomorrow he was to wed with the girl-child. His face tightened in thought. He couldn’t force himself on Ginevra. The closer she came to him, the more he could pick out her childish features. He searched her for them. His mind added them to her when he couldn’t find enough. And then, his mind stopped, for her eyes found him. Ginevra’s gaze narrowed slightly, the smile wavered on her lips but stayed intact. Wolfe realized with amazement that she glared at him, but no one else seemed to notice it. The image of Sarra flitted guiltily through his brain. He almost succeeded in convincing himself that Ginevra

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hadn’t been the one on the roof. Then, glancing at Robert as the man cleared his throat expectantly, Wolfe realized the man awaited an answer. “Rest your mind, friend. I won’t touch her until she is of age to be bedded, and when that day comes, I’ll treat her as the lady she is.” Wolfe gave his promise gruffly. He thought of her purple hair covered by the veil. Well, she’d kept her promise to try and find a way to hide her tresses of shame. He remembered the matching lock she sent him that now rested abovestairs in his trunk and shivered in repulsion. As children, their dyed hair had been amusing. However, as adults it was unspeakable. Leaning closer to whisper to Robert, he said, “But, don’t tell that the match isn’t consummated. I won’t have my father swinging for my head over it.” “I owe you, Wolfe,” Robert whispered with a sigh of relief. Wolfe’s word was binding. Ginevra would never have to face his insatiable appetites. Robert opened his mouth to speak, but there was no time for more words. Wolfe ignored him as he stood to greet his intended. **** Ginevra eyed her future husband. He was more handsome that she first thought, elegantly dressed as a nobleman in an overtunic of blue velvet lined with golden buttons over one of the sleeves, which held an attached sweep of material that flowed down from his arm to his elbow. The tunic had slits at the side, showing off his tightly fitted breeches. He searched her face, the gaze becoming so intense it caused her limbs to shake. Strange feelings worked their way to her stomach, feeling much like nerves, yet warmer. A hush fell over the hall and she felt the knights staring at her back. Servants gathered to watch with curious stares. Vaguely, she heard her brother offer introductions. It was more of a formality for the benefit of the crowd. Smiling through her anger toward Wolfe, Ginevra curtsied graciously. Wolfe bent at the waist, bowing in return. Then, stepping down from the platform, he offered her his stiff arm. Ginevra shivered at his nearness and the feelings in her stomach only increased. He towered over her. Her heart raced, panicked, sending a chill over her body. She wanted to run, to scream. Her lips parted as she took in deep breaths. The sound of lusty laughter filtered through her mind. It was the sound of his lover, haunting her. She detected the fine, clean scent of his flesh. His eyes narrowed, watching her expectantly for the brief instant she hesitated. She detected easily the honor and duty in him. It was all he cared about. It was the only reason he stood before her now. Her gaze darted away from him. Having no choice, she placed her fingers on his arm. An obscure jolt filtered throughout her skin. She frowned, irritated by the unfamiliar sensations as they made their way over her. Without a word, Wolfe led Ginevra to her seat. Wolfe was polite enough to place her by her brother. Robert smiled kindly at her and leaned over to squeeze her chilled hand. She smiled back weakly, unable to speak. Immediately, the hall began to dine. Murmurs of talk and then louder bolts of laughter drifted around them as the men jested in merriment at the lower tables. Ginevra sighed in relief. The attention was once again off of her. Almost shy, she turned to look at Wolfe. His eyes were dark as he acknowledged her attention. “M’lord,” Ginevra asked, her throat tight as she tried to force the word. When he raised his eyebrow in question, she stammered weakly, “Would you like me to pour your drink?” “The servants have already seen to it,” he answered a bit too harshly. When she paled in horror, feeling like an idiot, he softened his tone, “But thank you for the thought.” Ginevra nodded and refused to speak to him again. Glancing over at her mother, who kept a sharp eye on her every move, she saw Lady Jayne nod in approval. She turned to the

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trencher laid before her and pushed a potato around her plate with a spoon. Glancing at Wolfe, she saw that he also had his own dish. It was odd, that. They should’ve been forced to share their meal as was customary. Dropping her spoon, she picked up her goblet and took a sip of elderberry wine. It tasted strange and she forced herself to swallow. She couldn’t eat. Her fingers shook. Blind hatred built in her chest, as she heard the echo of the maid’s laughter in her head. Ginevra looked sharply over the gathered hall and couldn’t help but wonder which of the maids had been in his arms. There were several in the keep to choose from. A tall, willowy redhead with skin the color of cream. A short, plump brunette with curls blustering from her small head in disarray. Even an extremely large blonde Viking woman, who was twice her intended’s age, didn’t escape Ginevra’s bitter scrutiny. When none returned her bold stares, she sighed in frustration. Ginevra turned back to her trencher purposefully keeping her eyes away from her husband-to-be, though she longed to study him. She caught a glimpse of his strong hand as he reached to scoop up a potato. Robert leaned to her and she felt his hand on her arm. She smiled slightly at her brother, not really hearing what he said but answering nonetheless. “I trust your journey was well, m’lady,” Wolfe asserted politely when he caught her eyes wandering to his face. Another emotion warred with the bitterness inside her at the sound of his voice. When he looked at her, she felt as if the world stopped. “Pleasant enough, m’lord,” she answered tersely. She allowed a glare to surface in her eyes. Stiffly, Wolfe nodded and turned away from her. Ginevra shivered. Outside, she remained calm. Inside, she wept. As she forced herself to make a great show of eating, Wolfe didn’t deem to speak to her again. **** Not knowing what led her feet past her tower bedchamber to the roof, Ginevra continued to climb. Hesitating briefly by the opening to the platform, her ears strained against the night wind. Above her was naught but silence and she slumped her shoulders in relief. Unmindful of the frosty current of air that churned around her tunic gown, she crossed bravely over the stone to the edge. This time her limbs didn’t tremble as she walked over the great height. The moon was full and shone brightly over the land. Her fingers strayed to the battlements to press along the unforgiving stone. For a moment, she wished it would crumble and take her with it. The wind picked up, blowing the circlet of gold from her head. With a gasp, she watched it fly away. But too quickly it was gone. With a disdainful shake of her head, she gripped the hairpiece on her long tresses and yanked it from the locks. Then, pulling deftly at the comb that bound her hair to the nape of her neck, she defiantly ripped it out. Instantly, her hair flew about her in the wind. She reached out her hands and took a cleansing breath, leaning into the battlements for support. The short veil slipped from her fingers to fly over the night. She let it go, not caring if the headpiece was ever recovered. Then, with an impish smirk, she let go of the fitted hood. For a moment, the freedom of night overwhelmed her senses and she grinned recklessly at the moon. The freedom was short-lived. Ginevra gasped in surprise as a hand darted from the darkness to clasp her outstretched wrist. Another firmly wrapped about her waist. Burning from the overly familiar hold, she didn’t think to fight the powerful fire that scorched her within her captor’s touch. The force of the grip swung her around so she landed roughly in the folds of a warmly cloaked chest. Her forearms came up against rigidly unforgiving muscles, her chin bounced off a linen clad chest. His body

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molded to hers and she felt him all along her form. Jolting to her senses with feminine alarm, she pushed frantically at the immobile chest. Wolfe grunted, not expecting her to fight him. He was used to pushing women from him, not fighting to keep them near. His grip loosened some and with a deft movement she slipped from his arms. Her wide emerald eyes flashed with fright. Quickly she backed away, stumbling toward the edge. Her hand flew out to stop him from following her. Instinctively, his hand shot out to keep her from plunging over the side of the tower as she tumbled backward. Ginevra gasped in panic, her eyes rounding in shock, as her upper torso dangled over the side. Her honeyed locks flew about her shoulders, crashing forward to hide her face, as she reached for him to pull her to safety. For a moment, Wolfe gripped her, stunned by the beauty of her young features swept in a sea of moonlit hair. She looked mythical in the moonlight, like an angel he had unwittingly caught. Coming to his senses, he yanked her once more into the safe folds of his chest and held her steadily against him. Her slender shoulders shook underneath his palms and her heart beat like that of a captured bird’s. Ginevra nestled into him. His fingers trembled as he smoothed back the beauty of her golden hair, but Wolfe denied them the pleasure of threading into the long locks. Already he smelled the scent of lavender and rosemary coming from her and he could feel the slight silken strands, as they wrapped around him in an embrace she would never willingly give. Wolfe looked down. Framed in moonlight, she looked like a grown woman. Solemn, violent eyes stared back at him through glittering green. Her mouth turned into a disapproving frown as she jerked to be let go. But you’re not a woman, he reminded himself regretfully, hearing Robert’s words in his head. He relinquished his hold on her slender body, afraid of what he would do if he kept her too close. “What are you doing?” she heaved in breathlessness when she was released from his arms. It took her a moment to step away. When her feet were steadied on the stone, she swatted needlessly at his hand. “Are you trying to kill me? Not wanting to wed me is one thing, but to push me from the tower! Are you mad?” “You were going to jump,” he defended irritably. Fire flew from his eyes as he glared back at her. Placing his hands on his hips, he dared her to defy him. She did so, easily. He ignored the self-reproach in his stomach, as his gaze flitted longingly to her pouting lips. “I saved you!” “Jump?” Her tone fell incredulously over him and her jaw dropped in amazement. Looking at him as if he were demented, she said carefully, “Are you daft? Why would I jump? I have no wish for death. It’s a feeble-minded out.” “But, you threw your headpiece over.” He motioned to the side of the tower. His words lacked conviction as her eyebrow arched on her forehead. “And your arms were widespread.” “I hate that headpiece my mother makes me wear and I was feeling the wind!” she spat back in girlish defiance. She shook her head as she wrinkled her nose at him in disgust. Then, warily she looked over his shoulder. Wolfe saw her searching the night. There was no need. They were alone. Waving her hand in dismissal, she curtsied. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I didn’t realize this roof was for your own personal--what have you.” With a stiff nod and a snarl, she tried to skirt past him. His hand shot out, catching her before she could walk away. His grip bit into the tender flesh of her upper arm. Ginevra moaned in surprise. Turning defiantly to him, her eyes burned him with their hatred.

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“Unhand me!” “Mind your tone, woman,” he hissed back. Suddenly, she laughed. It was a cruel sound, as she shook her head at him. “You are not my husband yet. I can still deny you. If you remember, you kissed my cheek when I was a babe. If I wanted to I could deny this marriage.” His gut tensed. She wouldn’t dare to deny him, would she? He knew that the kiss alone was not enough to call off the betrothal. But, if she were to contest it, it would be a blight on their family’s names and an embarrassment to all involved. “Do you forget that we rectified that little matter when last we met?” If he looked carefully at her eyes, he could still see the little wood sprite of a girl she had been. “There were no witnesses,” she answered with a clever tilt to her head. “Who is to say you didn’t imagine it? For it didn’t affect me at all, m’lord. I vaguely recall aught about you. In fact, I’ve not thought of you more than once or twice over the years.” Wolfe’s gaze dropped to her lips as she spoke, entranced. Chuckling, he drawled sarcastically, “I see you were able to fix your hair, but I’m sorry about your face. Mayhap in time it will still go away.” Ginevra gasped at the deliberate insult. Her hand automatically flew to touch her cheek. Wolfe frowned as he pretended to study her. Tears came to her eyes but she blinked them back. Wolfe pretended not to notice. “That is it!” Her hurt made her word come out in a rage. “I’m calling this farce of a wedding off. Did you honestly believe I’d do myself to death over you? You don’t want me and I certainly have never wanted to wed with you. There is naught--” Wolfe angrily pulled her back into his arms, cutting off her words with the press of his hard mouth. She inhaled a ragged breath of surprise as his warm lips sought to claim hers. At first she stiffened, as if intent on fighting him to the death if needs be. But, as his lips softened their hold, she lost her will. With deliberately slow strokes, Wolfe expertly licked her mouth. When she blinked in surprise, he could taste the saltiness of her tears as they spilled over her cheek. Her innocence was no match for his experience. She tried to push away in her confusion, but her motions were weak. He wrapped his steady arms about her, holding her still. By small degrees, her resistance faded. Wolfe felt her relax completely against the folds of his chest. A soft whimper vibrated her lips as she sighed. Then, as she nuzzled her body next to him, he forced his tongue between her closed lips to lick the edges. The motion had the desired effect and she gasped, opening her mouth completely to him. Ginevra shivered as his tongue flicked along the edge of her teeth. His hands became caressing as they drifted down the small of her back to the top curve of her butt. Hesitantly, her hand rested on his chest. Another confused moan escaped her, louder than before. Wolfe stopped, aching as he drew his mouth away from the willing woman in his arms. As his vision cleared, he saw her rounded eyes staring openly in astonishment. Robert’s words came back to him. “Now, try and deny it.” Ginevra gasped in shock. Lifting her hand, she tried to slap him. He caught her wrist easily and threw it to the side. Wolfe shook her as he would a disobedient child. His eyes turned dispassionate as he studied her and he knew she didn’t understand the look that filtered through his dark gaze. He considered her carefully. “It’s too late for you to be out. Get you to bed, bride.”

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“Don’t treat me as a child!” Ginevra huffed as he let her go. Wrinkling her nose, she stomped off to her chamber. Wolfe let her run, watching her back until she was safely inside. Taking a lungful of the night air, he turned to the full moon and sighed wearily as he placed his palms on the battlement. Looking down, he couldn’t see the darkened ground beneath him. But his eyes didn’t search for the ground, they burned with the image of Ginevra’s glorious hair as it flew in the wind and the flash of her frolicsome emerald eyes--eyes which would someday belong to a beautiful woman. But she’s not a woman. She is an overindulged child and you cannot touch her! Wolfe slammed his fist into the stone, berating himself for his weakness, for his desires. And, in his torment, all he could think was that her hair hadn’t been purple.

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Chapter Four The morning brought with it a pleasing glow. The sun gave off radiant warmth that swept about the courtyard on the whims of the cooler breeze. Clouds, white and as puffy as freshly sheared wool, dotted the clear blue heavens. Excitement flowed through the veins of the fortress. Servants bustled about, decorating the main hall under the direction of Lady Isabella. The earl, leaving the details to the women, took his two sons, the baron and Robert riding with him outside the gates of the castle. Wolfe was glad for an excuse to get away from the onslaught of the frantic day, and was even more pleased when his father, with a sly toss of his head, produced a satchel full of food so that they shouldn’t have a need to go back until the late afternoon to greet a few guests. Ignoring the blanket and silver dining set that Lady Jayne thoughtfully ordered packed along with the meal, the men ate atop their horses while surveying the land. Drawing out the daggers from their waist to cut the hunk of cheese, they laughed like naughty children, knowing that the ladies would be appalled by their manners. **** Ginevra didn’t see her bridegroom, and she certainly didn’t have time to dwell on her anger, as she was swept into the enthusiasm of her wedding day. She was washed and scrubbed until her skin glowed with a rosy hue and she was scented with lavender oils until her nostrils puckered in protest. Then, Lora began the tedious process of plaiting her hair into curls, one long length at a time. Finally, as the afternoon wore on, she was helped to dress in a gown of shimmering white silk and gauze. The sleek bodice fitted tight against her small breasts, flowing out with gossamer overlay to form a sweeping skirt. A train draped behind. The sleeves were fitted at the shoulders to mimic the waist. They flowed out over her forearm in a wide arch to the floor. Along her wrists were the exposed sleeves of her fitted chemise. Lora rolled the sides of her hair to rest on the crown of her head so that curls cascaded down her back to her narrow waist. A thick, flared headband of gold was set atop the curls like a crown. Smiling in awe over her reflection, Ginevra shook her head in wonderment. “Ye look like a princess, m’lady,” Lora whispered. Nervous, Ginevra let out a long, slow breath. Then, seeing the maidservant watching her face closely, she forced a smile. “You did wonderful, Lora. I feel like a princess.” The maidservant nodded, pleased with her work. Taking her leave, she quietly left the room. Ginevra waited for the door to close before moving. Her fingers shook as she lightly ran them over a soft curl that lay against her cheek. Tears of uncertainty filled her eyes. She took a deep breath, but didn’t cry. “Oh, splendid, you’re ready,” Lady Jayne said from the doorway. Ginevra jumped, not having heard her come in. Seeing her daughter’s wet gaze, the baroness frowned in mild concern. “What is it Ginevra?” Ginevra shrugged helplessly, unable to explain her feelings. Her lips trembled, but no sound came from her throat. She turned back to the mirror with a sniff.

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“Oh, I think I know.” Lady Jayne nodded her head with a look of wisdom. She came up to her daughter and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Lowering her voice, she said, “You’re worried about tonight.” Ginevra froze. Carefully, she nodded her head. Then, hesitating, she admitted softly, “I don’t think this marriage is a good idea. Mayhap I shouldn’t do it.” As soon as the words were spoken, Lady Jayne’s expression became hard. Her frown deepened into a scowl of horror. Needlessly, she looked behind her to make sure they were alone. After confirming that no one had heard Ginevra’s traitorous words, she turned with a hiss resounding between her teeth. “Being nervous of the wedding night, Ginevra, is normal. But breaking a sacred betrothal agreement because of it is preposterous. To even think such a thing is blasphemy. It was sworn afore God that you would marry Lord Wolfram when you became of age! And that is what you must do.” “But I didn’t make that agreement,” she protested weakly, unable to look Lady Jayne in the eye. “It was never yours to make--only to honor. Now, you have been given the blessing of many years to accustom yourself to him. Not like when I married your father. I found out only a fortnight afore I wed with him.” Lady Jayne took a deep breath of maternal patience. “I will admit, Lord Wolfram is a--oh, how can I put this? He is a large looking man, very forceful in nature and...” Ginevra studied her mother. Lady Jayne’s voice trailed off into a weakened hum of embarrassment. Silently, she willed the woman to continue. When she didn’t, Ginevra prompted, “But what if he has another woman here?” “What?” Lady Jayne shook her head in disapproval and, with much obvious effort, the baroness suffered the impropriety of her daughter’s question. She bounced her flattened palms over the sides of her dress. Her lips tightened. “Ginevra, it’s time you understood the way of things and put up any childish ideals you may still harbor. Marriage has naught to do with a man’s fidelity. And fidelity has naught to do with any respect or loyalty due to a wife. Husbands might go to another woman’s arms, and you should be so lucky if they do, but they don’t marry those women. Servant and peasant women are not built as we are. They’re--uh--blessed, or unblessed if you will, with certain unladylike qualities that allow them to accept a man’s ardent attentions. True noblewomen of birth, as we are, don’t have those sorts of unrefined impulses. As God intended, we’re bred above such things. Our husbands couple with us to produce heirs. They couple with baser women to fulfill that desire which makes them men. Without those manly desires, there would be no one to protect us for men would turn into women and the whole lot of us would be lost. So, understand, that when Wolfram takes a mistress he does not mean to slight you but to honor you.” Ginevra didn’t speak. “Your father has had many mistresses over the years and I’ve never minded--” Lady Jayne stopped talking when she witnessed the horror on her daughter’s face. Her tone became harsh, as she scolded, “Don’t look at me with such pity, girl! I welcome him to them. I only tell you of it because you are soon to be a wife. I’m trying to help you understand the way of things. My mother, bless her, never explained the ways of husbands to me. I had to learn for myself and I’d save you the pain of such slow discovery.” Ginevra nodded. She tried to hide her distaste and failed. She couldn’t imagine feeling the cold indifference her mother expressed. I must not be a lady at all, Ginevra reasoned, for I like all the things my mother always

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professes to be above. And if it’s so, then I will surly perish if Wolfe were to go to another. “Besides, Lord Wolfram is a fine nobleman. His father trained him well. He’ll not beget unwanted children with his mistresses and he won’t flaunt his mistresses in front of you. If you’re smart, which I know you are Ginevra, you’ll ignore the little signs. Getting upset by it only makes you look foolish and shrewish. It dishonors not only yourself but your husband and family.” Lady Jayne cleared her throat, smiling kindly as she brushed her daughter’s curly hair over her shoulder. She appeared to relax as the words were finally said and could now be forgotten. Touching Ginevra’s pale cheek, she soothingly whispered, “Focus on what matters, Ginevra. Your father and I have done very well by you. I mean, look at this chamber! You’re rich and will be titled in time. If you act like a lady and don’t displease your husband, he might even come to care for you. Then you will be given anything your heart desires--jewels, clothing, a new piece of furniture.” But that isn’t what my heart wants. It’s your desires you speak of, mother. Ginevra nodded again, not daring to lay voice to her thoughts. Her eyes closed briefly. Without looking, she asked, “It’s time?” “Oh,” her mother frowned and ignored Ginevra’s pointed gaze by reaching to rub the back of her neck. “Is aught amiss?” Ginevra stood. Turning carefully as not to upset her hair, she studied her mother’s tightly drawn features. The baroness looked more put out than usual. “Well, it’s just that the men,” Lady Jayne began, her eye still averted. Turning around, her mother went to the cushioned chair to pick up a bouquet of flowers. Handing the brightly colored wildflowers to her daughter, she said, “They went riding this morn and have yet to get back.” Ginevra quickly moved to the window where the sun was already beginning to fall below the edge of the earth. “But, it’s sunset. I thought he would be belowstairs waiting for me.” “I know, dear. I’ve been sent to collect you and bring you to the hall. As soon as he arrives he’ll take you with him to the chapel.” Lady Jayne shot her an encouraging expression, as she waved toward the door. “It’s only a small delay, Ginevra. Your father keeps me waiting plenty of times. It’s also the way of men.” “I don’t want to go down. What if he doesn’t come? I can’t stand down there alone.” Ginevra backed up, refusing to leave. Touching the pearl necklace on her throat, she shook her head. “Everyone will be staring at me in pity.” “Oh, of course he’ll come. I wager he’ll have a good excuse, too. Don’t make a fuss of it. Show him how gracious you are and forgive him for it.” Lady Jayne went to her daughter and grabbed her arm. Dragging Ginevra to the door by gentle force of will, she said, “And you won’t be alone. I’ll sit with you at the head table until he arrives. I promise.” **** Ginevra sat unmoving as she shifted her eyes over the heads of the gathered hall. She pasted another false smile to her lips as a knight caught her eye from the lower tables. A brightly adorned acrobat flipped across the floor drawing the man’s attention away from her solitary figure in the white wedding gown. Ginevra shivered, refusing to partake of the ale that flowed so freely about the hall and earlier she’d refused a trencher of meat. Her stomach growled with hunger because of it. She was alone at the head table, watching dispassionately as her mother helped Lady Isabella direct the servants. Leaning forward, she grabbed the last yellow flower from her bouquet and began pulling the petals from the delicate bud. She added them to her already

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growing pile of discarded beauty. Taking a deep breath, she caught the eye of a servant in the back of the hall. The buxom maid smiled gleefully at her until Ginevra shook at the open hostility in the woman’s eyes. She blinked before squinting to see the woman better, but the servant disappeared into the crowd. Music filled the hall with a lively beat, only to be drowned out by the vivacious celebrating. The feast had been devoured and long since cleared. Ginevra kept tears at bay as a couple got up to dance. Soon several others joined them in drunken bliss. Finishing her destruction of the last flower, she looked out the open archway and saw the dark sky sprinkled with taunting stars. They glittered at her like crystal tears, tears she didn’t dare to weep with so many onlookers present. She’d waited for Wolfe for hours. At first, she prayed he would come, even willing him with her mind to walk through the archway and relieve her from her isolated perch. And it wasn’t only him who was missing--it was the earl and Robert and her father and William. They were all gone. When at last she could take no more of the pitying glances and questioning looks, she stood. She wanted to run to her chamber and hide. Her chin lifted into the air. Several men stopped talking to take notice of her regal hauteur and composed face. But, before she could step down the platform, a loud singing boomed in from outside. Her eyes turned in widened horror to the archway. The sound grew louder until, with a burst of merriment, her father shot through the open door with wide spread arms. He didn’t stop singing as the earl, swaying drunkenly on his feet, followed in behind him. Next was William, belting the words to the same ribald tune with wavering harmony. A man she didn’t know followed immediately behind William. And finally, Wolfe stumbled in, supported by the arm of her brother. The men ended their song with a great crescendo that drowned out the playing musicians. The hall cheered in merriment and the group bowed gallantly for their applause. Ginevra stood still, feeling the gut wrenching pain roll over her. Tears threatened her eyes and burned her nose. If the singing wasn’t insulting enough, their clothes were caked with mud and grime. She even detected a bit of blood on Wolfe’s sword as it hung from his side. Her knees buckled, unable to support her as she sank wearily into her seat. She felt so alone. “Where have you been?” Ginevra saw more than heard her mother’s heated whisper, as she went to collect the baron. The baron laughed. Turning his head to the earl, he boasted, “I think we are definitely late, m’lord.” The men burst into laughter. The baron broke through his wife’s blockade and headed for a nearby table to swipe a goblet of ale from a knight’s hand. The earl laughed harder falling back into his youngest son. William caught him easily and righted him to standing. The baroness huffed and chased down her wayward husband. Ginevra watched them in quiet shock, as the blood continued to drain from her features. The skin pulled tautly against her cheekbones. Suddenly, she caught her brother’s wavering gaze. His smile faded at once into a remorseful frown. He dropped Wolfe’s arm and stumbled forward. Slowly, Ginevra forced herself to stand. She stepped around the edge of the table and looked down at him from the top of the platform. Stumbling up to the table, he said drunkenly, “Gin, we can explain. We have good reason.” Ginevra’s muscles stiffened. She didn’t hear Robert through the heavy pounding of her

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heart. Her eyes met and locked with her bridegroom’s. The pleasure faded from Wolfe’s features. He bowed to her stiffly, his very movement mocking everyone around them. His insult was like a slap to the face. Surprisingly, he walked forward. All enjoyment was gone from his gaze. Pain passed over his features before his features drew into a blank, unemotional mask. Mud splattered him, marring his chiseled expression. His piercing gaze traveled over her pristine gown only to end up on her face. Ginevra was unsure of the unfamiliar feelings that assaulted her body and sent her limbs to shaking. “M’lady.” Wolfe bowed with a hint of ridicule before stepping close to her. He stopped on the stair beneath her so that their faces were level. She could see the liquor swimming in his eyes as he tried in vain to control it. Curtly, she nodded at him. When she didn’t speak, he said, “I believe we have a wedding to attend to.” Ginevra didn’t answer, as she continued her frigid stare. Leaning forward, he took up her elbow and whispered hotly into her ear, “Lest you want me to seal the bargain again--this time in front of ample witnesses.” When Wolfe pulled back, she’d lost her composure. His eyes trailed down to her gown prompting her to look. It was now stained with mud where he’d touched her. When she looked back up, he raised an expectant brow and placed his hand on the hard wood surface of the table, trapping her from the side. Slowly, his lips swayed forward to claim hers. She turned away, knowing she couldn’t handle another one of his kisses. “That won’t be necessary, m’lord,” she grumbled so only he could hear. “Let us get this farce over with. It has been a long eve and I wish to retire.” A wry smile curled on one side of his mouth. He studied her for a long moment. Ginevra glared past his shoulder to the crowd, aware of their curious eyes. When she refused to say more, Wolfe pulled away. His tone low and husky, he whispered, “Come forward my pink-cheeked bride and claim you a husband.” **** They were married in the great hall. The gathered were too drunk to be moved to the chapel and the priest had drunk too many goblets to care. Through slurred blessings and mumbled Latin prayers, the union was sealed. When it came time for Wolfe to fasten the bond with a kiss he did so with bold flourish. Ginevra froze as he turned to her. Her body automatically shook, as she remembered his touch. His eyes glanced over her with possessiveness. She trembled violently under his scrutiny. His firm mouth twitched and his hands rose to her arms, gripping her tightly, almost as if he thought she might try to escape him. The hall faded from her mind, her ears went deaf to all but the beating of her frantic heart. Opening her mouth, she felt him draw her into the tumultuous passion of his embrace. Her eyes trailed over the bold slope of his nose to his advancing lips. She was too intrigued to look away. Her hands stayed fast to her sides, bare of any wedding ring, unable to move under his rigid palms. Wolfe ducked his head, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it behind his back, forcing her body close. He refused to test her resolve, as his mouth opened to claim her parted lips in an instantly deepened kiss. His free hand cupped her cheek, holding her steady as his fingers threaded themselves behind her ear. He assaulted her with his lips and his tongue delved into her mouth to massage hers in an intimate, journeying caress. Ginevra shivered in astonishment as the entire length of him found a place next to her. She tasted strange mead on his tongue. With a heated growl echoing low in his throat, he moved

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boldly against her. The crowd cheered him on. Her arm was held captive around his firm waist by his ever-tightening grip. She flexed her fingers, trying to get free but he wouldn’t let her go. Ginevra’s head swirled with the heady scent of him. She felt as inebriated as he actually was, like she floated above the air supported by nothing but the touch of his hands. Wolfe pulled away with a ragged pant. His brown eyes gazed deeply into hers--searching for answers she didn’t know. Her lips puckered of their own accord, wanting to call him back. Her head fell lazily back on her shoulders, as she dreamily gazed into his eyes. And then he smiled at her, an alluringly possessive smile that was wicked in its intentions. Gradually, the pounding of fists drew Wolfe’s eyes from his bride’s sweet mouth. He looked proudly over the crowd, having thoroughly staked his claim to her, but before he could move to do so again she was taken from him. He watched as women huddled around Ginevra to form a protective shield. Men reached in between the female bodies to teasingly pinch at the blushing bride. When she refused to move in her daze, the women laughingly gathered her in their arms and prodded her toward the marriage bed. Wolfe felt his stomach contract in pain. His insides drunkenly quivered with the throbbing need to possess her. Wolfe ached to touch her. His shaft hardened with his arousal, throbbing with a painful need he couldn’t fathom. The sweet press of her innocent lips haunted him and he could still feel the soft, supple texture of her skin beneath his hands. Each time he kissed her, the longing only seemed to get worse. He glanced over in surprise as a goblet was thrust into his hands. His smile faded as he beheld Robert’s grim face. Swallowing hard, he straightened his shoulders. Robert’s eyes were cold as he glanced to the stairwell leading up to the tower bedchambers. He didn’t have to say a word. Wolfe felt the reminder like a kick in the gut. Taking a deep breath, he drowned himself in the goblet of ale. He would not be touching his bride tonight. **** The cool linen of the bed caressed her skin, but didn’t temper the flush on her cheeks. When the last woman laughingly made her way from the chamber, Ginevra waited in nervous anticipation. Wolfe’s bedchamber was exactly like hers in design, but in décor it was decidedly not. Along his floor was dark brown fur, long enough for a man to sleep comfortably in front of the fire. His family crest also hung over his mantle, but so did a gilded shield with a matching carving. The large bed smelled of him and the chamber radiated with his presence. On the wall was a melee of deadly weapons--a mace, an axe, two swords and a place for a sword that was missing. Ginevra remembered the deadly, bloodstained blade that hung from Wolfe’s waist. He’d worn it during the wedding. She wondered what skirmish kept them from coming back, not that the bloodied weaponry excused his lateness. With an apprehensive sigh, she refused to dwell on it. There would be plenty of time for anger on the morrow. She wanted to explore the rest of his chamber, mainly the rooms that couldn’t be seen from the bed, but she was frightened he’d catch her. Deciding she couldn’t resist a peek, she climbed out of the bed and ran to the dressing room doorway. It was too dark and she could see little by the way of firelight. Hearing a loud shout, she jumped back into the bed and looked at the door. The sound of approaching men grew louder as they stomped their way to the third floor. Amidst lewd calls and dirty suggestions, the door flew open and Wolfe was pushed inside. Ginevra held her breath, not knowing what to expect from him in the marriage bed. His eyes found her, roaming over her body and staring at the exposed length of her leg. Though she

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shook, she was more excited by his heated glance than afraid. Gingerly, she covered her leg with her nightgown hiding it from the view of the ogling crowd. The men stepped in behind him, pulling Wolfe’s arms over his head as they lifted up his tunic. The shirt was discarded on the floor behind him. Ginevra shyly looked away from his naked chest. Wolfe growled. It was an animalistic sound that echoed forbiddingly off the walls. He stalked to her and she tried not to blush. The men cheered in laughing support, as he stopped by the bed, licking his lips. “I’ll help ye, m’lord, if ye have forgotten how!” a man yelled coarsely from the throng. Stepping forward, he tried to pass Wolfe. His companions yelled their approval, as the man made a valiant effort to climb into the bed next to Ginevra. Her mouth fell open in shock and she didn’t move. With a possessive snarl, Wolfe lunged at the man and threw him back. He fell into the arms of the onlookers. Ginevra sighed in relief. “I need no help from you, Edgar.” Wolfe smiled as he turned to guard her from the men. Blocking their view of her, he teased, “As to the rest of you, I’ve no need of your jealous observations. The performance I plan will make even you blush. I’ll not have you watch what I’m about only to hurt yourselves when you try it with your own wives.” The men grumbled good-naturedly. Ginevra couldn’t help a small smile of wonder at his bold words, not knowing their meaning but very willing to find out. “Begone,” Wolfe ordered, only to add enigmatically, “it’s late and I’m ready for bed.” “Nay, m’lord, we must have one kiss afore we go,” a holler came from the back, the voice insistent in it drunkenness. “A kiss!” the men shouted. “One cyssan fer the bride!” Wolfe licked his lips, instantly turning back to Ginevra. His gaze narrow, he crawled onto the bed on all fours, staring at her mouth. “M’lord,” Ginevra whispered as he neared her. Her head fell back and he scooped her up into his embrace. Placing a hand on her cheek, he dipped his head to meet hers. His mouth was hot as it found her parted lips. This time his kiss was gentle. His tongue edged her bottom lip in long strokes. Ginevra’s heart raced and her midsection jolted with wicked sensations she’d never before experienced. Weak, she placed her hands on his hard chest to rest just below his neck. Her fingers grazed over a clump of mud clinging to his skin. It crumbled beneath her fingers. His lips left her as suddenly as they came. Hazy, her eyes drifted open to stare at him in awe. His eyes were closed and his breath fanned her cheek. The shouts of the men didn’t penetrate as Wolfe stood from the bed. She followed his every movement. “Now,” Wolfe commanded hoarsely with a finger directed at the stairwell. Again, he blocked his bride from their view. “Begone!” Ginevra jumped at the brusque order. His voice sounded tortured. She looked away in confusion, as the men instantly obeyed and Wolfe shut the door behind them. Only when their laughter faded completely, did he face her. His dark eyes roamed over her. She tried to smile, but her lips felt swollen and moist from his touch. Apprehensive, she watched him from the middle of his bed. He slowly moved to stand before her. “M’lord?” Ginevra wondered if he waited for her to do something. No one dared to explain what was to happen this night. All her mother told her was to lay still and let it happen.

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Weakly, she asked, “Am I to lie still now?” Quietly, he sat on the bed, ignoring her question. He gently stroked her cheek. His movements were stiff as if they caused him great pain. Ginevra kept her gaze fixed on his. Brushing a curl away from her face, he sighed and dropped his hand. “How many years are you now, Ginevra?” he asked. “I’ll be sixteen years in a few days.” Raising her hand to scratch her ear, she shot him a puzzled glance. His voice was soft, his words kindly said, but his face was hard as if he was angry with her. Immediately, her guard went up. “Still a child,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “Have you been given your woman’s time yet?” Ginevra blushed and looked away. “Yea, m’lord, two years now. But you aren’t to ask about such things. It’s not proper and surely it doesn’t matter.” At that Wolfe smiled wryly. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, pressed a hard kiss to her lips and pulled back. Ginevra gasped in surprise, unable to move under the swiftness of it. Standing, he moved to the door. Without turning to her, he said, “Go to your bed, Ginevra. Sleep. It has been a long day for you.” “But...?” When he didn’t answer, she slowly stood to do as he bid her. “What about the consummation? It’s over? That was all?” “Yea, Ginevra.” He laughed lightly. Closing his eyes, he whispered, “It’s finished. Now go.” “Oh, I thought there would be more to it. The way people whisper, it’s as if it was some beastly act. But, like all things, it must be exaggerated.” She sighed with a delicate shrug. She brushed down her nightclothes, remembering what her mother said about noblewomen not having the capacity to enjoy themselves. But the kiss was pleasant enough, she thought, as the new sensations he caused still coursed inside her. Walking to the door, she ducked under his arm. His eyes were closed tight and his lips were set in a rigid line and his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. Lightly touching his arm, she lifted up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He held his breath, not moving. Ginevra lowered herself back down from her toes. He still didn’t look at her. Sighing, she said, “Goodnight, m’lord.” “To bed, Ginevra,” he ordered huskily. She nodded and ran up the stairwell. Wolfe’s hand trembled at the wide-eyed innocence of her looks. She trusted him completely. He could well read it in her. She wouldn’t protest if he were to order her to his unrefined whims. In truth, she wouldn’t know better. His bride was a blank parchment that he could write anything he wanted to on. He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth to help focus through the alcoholic fog in his brain. A small glimpse of her white nightgown was all he saw of her as she ran away. Quietly, he shut the door. Wolfe could still smell the damning lavender of her skin. He breathed deep and slow. Never had he denied himself the pleasure of a willing and beautiful woman--and definitely not one who was his by all rights to possess. Rubbing his eyes to rid them of their fatigue, he sat on his bed. The coverlet was still crumpled from her movements. Falling over, he grabbed the fur and lifted it to his nose. It smelled of her, his wife. Groaning in frustration, his body berated his mind for the awful betrayal as his loins lurched in torturous pain. Never had he thought to deny himself the pleasure of such a woman.

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Then, he heard a knock beating through his pounding head. As if in a dream, he stood. His heart skipped, as he looked at the closed chamber door. His body turned against his mind, forcing it into a numbed prison he couldn’t reason out of. “Ginevra,” he whispered in longing. If she came back to him, it was meant to happen. Unable to stop his feet as they went to her summons, he swung open the chamber door. He sought the soft creaminess of her flesh and the innocent light of her emerald eyes. “Sarra,” he stated in disappointment. “M’lord,” the buxom servant began to curtsey. Wolfe growled and, before she could rise, dragged her to her feet and into his arms. Sarra gasped in pleasure. He pushed the door closed behind her and threw her onto the bed. Unmindful of his actions, he fell onto her body. Lowering his mouth to hers, he closed his eyes. He could still smell the lavender. And the lavender drove him on. **** “M’lord,” Ginevra whispered, feeling like a dolt as she poked her head into his chamber. Thinking he might already be asleep, she didn’t knock. She heard a soft moan. Smiling, she stepped into his chamber. “I didn’t wish to wake you, m’lord, but I--” Wolfe looked up from the bed in horror. Ginevra felt the blood draining from her face as tears welled in her eyes. Spinning around, she panted for breath. Wolfe was pushed up on his hands above a serving woman. It was the same woman who’d glared at her in the main hall. They were both nakedly intertwined in each other’s arms. One of the woman’s thighs wrapped about Wolfe’s midsection, her foot resting by the tight muscle of his butt and the other draped wantonly over his shoulder. His hips were pressed completely into hers. The image burned into Ginevra’s mind until it was all she could see. Not even a coverlet hid their lecherous position from view. “Ginevra,” Wolfe whispered, mortified. She couldn’t hide her hurt expression in the taut draw of her mouth, as she fought to find words. Her shoulders shook in response to his voice and she quickly sidestepped across the chamber, refusing to look at him again, fighting the sob that formed in her throat. Pulling her wedding gown off his trunk, she clutched it in her shaking hands. By way of explanation, she stuttered, “My mother bid--must wash on the morrow first thing.” “Gin,” he whispered again. Ginevra glanced back. He knocked Sarra from his body and rolled off her. The woman held still, her eyes surveying the scene with an emotion akin to amusement and rage. “Good eve, m’lord.” Ginevra ran from him, not daring to look at him again. The gauze of the wedding tunic ripped as it caught on the door frame and also as she tripped over the bulky skirt in her haste up the stairs. She didn’t care and she didn’t stop running until she reached her chamber. Dashing inside, a sob tore from her throat as she bolted the door behind her. **** The dawning sunlight invaded too swiftly and Ginevra was awake to greet it with a scowl of annoyance. Sleep wouldn’t come to her and so she rose from her bed to sulk about her chamber. Wolfe hadn’t tried to follow her and she wouldn’t have received him if he had. Tears still stained her cheeks and swelled her eyes. Miserable, she splashed her face with cold water. Drying with a fresh linen cloth, she noticed the discarded wedding tunic she’d thrown on the floor. It was ruined beyond repair so she laid it over a chair in her dressing room. The morning hour was late when she decided to leave the solemn chamber, but she didn’t care and no one had come to wake her. Ginevra rubbed her tired eyes, as she made her way

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belowstairs. She hesitated as she passed Wolfe’s door. She refused to cry out and she hurried past. When she neared the main hall, she stopped. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her rumpled hair and brushed her eyes dry. Then, moving through the archway, she forced a smile. Instantly, she noticed William. Her new brother-by-marriage turned to her with a small bow. His red hair fell over his face as he brushed it back with a graceful hand. Then, taking his leave of the nobleman he spoke with, he turned easily to her. “Gin!” he called affectionately. Over the years he often visited Southaven with her brother and he’d even lived with them for a time as he trained under her father for knighthood. They’d always had an easy friendship. “Will,” she returned enthusiastically. For a moment she forgot her troubles. “I hoped to see you this morn. Who was that you were speaking to?” William frowned as he studied her swollen eyes. But, he said nothing as he turned to the departing nobleman. “Ho! Lord Gravely.” The noblemen turned at the summons, an easy smile on his stately face, as he came back. “Oui, Sir William?” “I’d like you to meet my new sister. It’s her wedding we were late for yestereve.” William gave her a guilty glance. “M’lady, it’s a pleasure,” Gravely stated in a decidedly French accent. He bowed gracefully over her hand. Raising her fingers to his lips, he offered it a polite kiss. Ginevra nodded, noting his cool gray eyes. The Frenchman was an older man, with graying black hair and wrinkles that fanned out over his eyes in an elegant manner. “I thank you for allowing your husband to assist me yestereve with the raiders. Without his help, all my possessions would’ve been lost.” “I’m glad he was able to be of assistance to you, m’lord,” she answered politely. The man nodded in approval. Then, taking his leave, he made his way out the main hall door. “Listen, Gin, I’m sorry about yestereve. We had no right to stay out as long as we did,” William said. “But, as Lord Gravely stated, we came upon him while he was under attack. Since he was on our land, honor dictated that we help him dispatch of the thieves.” “It’s all right.” Ginevra thought of Wolfe’s mud-splattered clothing and bloodied sword. She felt sick to her stomach. “Lord Gravely was carting an overabundance of foreign mead and we toasted one too many times,” William continued as if she hadn’t pardoned him. “The result of which was the drunken performance you witnessed last night.” “Will, I said it’s all right. I won’t pretend to be offended when I’m not,” she lied, taking the man by his arm so he could escort her outside. “I’ll hear no more of it. Or of that hideous tune you sang so well. However, someday I might be tempted to have you teach it to me. What were the words again? Buxom Mary who parted her--?” “Nay, Gin, don’t!” Will grinned at her easy acceptance. Any other maid would’ve screamed for sennights at the insult. Falling into stride next to her, he helped her down the castle steps to the courtyard. Ginevra breathed in the fresh air. William studied her from the corner of his eye. He knew the girl well and could see the sadness in her expression. Lightly, he tried to cheer her. “You made a beautiful bride. I could hardly believe it was you. I thought to find you done up in a silken pair of breeches. Robert and I almost wagered on it.” “If I could’ve gotten them past my mother, I would have,” she answered with a giggle.

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Then, looking down at her plain gown of gray wool, she frowned. Her hair hung loose and she could still see the relaxing curls as they hit her slender waist. “Will?” “Yea, Gin?” He absently led her to a stone bench along the tower wall. Picking a wayward weed, he stuck the end in his mouth. They sat on the bench, William leaning in leisurely repose against the stone. “Does one consummate with a noblewoman differently than with a servant?” Ginevra couldn’t help but blush. “My mother said it’s so, but--” William interrupted with a choke. The weed fell from his shocked lips. He couldn’t speak. “Will, you have to tell me. I couldn’t dare ask Robert and well, Wolfe...” She trailed off with a groan, rolling her emerald eyes heavenward in embarrassment. “I know, Wolfe’s gone,” he stated for her. Ginevra’s glanced up in surprise but kept quiet. William saw the look and frowned. “He didn’t tell you he was leaving?” She shook her head, her tousled curls blowing over her shoulders in the breeze. William sighed as he studied her expression before turning away. Ginevra wondered what he saw in her expression that made him uncomfortable. “Wolfe left for the tournaments early this morn. He travels to France where King Philip is hosting a pas d’armes of sorts in Paris. The king is the tenant, but he won’t be fighting challengers. He will merely watch the entertainment. King Henry specifically requested Wolfe and Robert’s presence. Philip’s ambassador saw them champion the sword once outside Bristol.” William glanced back. She gave him a halfhearted smile that she couldn’t force to her dull eyes. “I’m sure it just didn’t come up last night and I think Wolfe would’ve wanted to let you sleep. They left very early.” “They?” she questioned. “Robert has left also?” “Yea, they didn’t have much time,” William said with a light shrug. She knew he wasn’t speaking the whole truth. The men didn’t have to leave early. She could tell by the look on William’s face. “Will,” Ginevra began. She looked at the brightly-lit yard and shivered as a cool breeze whipped through the bailey. “Don’t worry about it. He owes me no explanation. We performed our duty last night, that’s all.” William clearly disagreed but nodded anyway. She knew he hated to see the defeated look in her eyes and did her best to hide it from him. It was no use. They’d known each other too long. Just as she knew he’d be disappointed in his brother for leaving so suddenly, though he’d never say the words aloud. Then, as if a thought entered his mind, a smile spread across his features. Reaching behind his back, he dug in his pouch to produce a necklace and a missive. Ginevra gasped as she eyed the sparkling set of diamonds. “Wolfe bid me to deliver this to you. He was going to give it to you for the wedding before--well.” William handed it over to her. “Anyway, here it is now. There’s a note from your brother also.” Ginevra took the token and fingered it. She smiled at the expectant William who seemed to relax some. Inside, she fumed with rage. If he thinks to buy my forgiveness with a shiny babble, he is mistaken! Ginevra thought angrily. That loathsome cur! “Thank you, William.” She closed her palm tightly around the gift. It took all her willpower not to crush the tiny stones into oblivion. “I’ll be riding out with your father to Paris. Would you like me to carry a missive to

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Wolfe for you? I could also give one to Robert if you so desire.” William smiled politely as he stood. He waited for her to do the same. Biting her lips, she lowered her lashes. Pretending to study the sparkling diamonds, she hid her mischievous grin. “Yea, Will. I’d like that very much. I should like to thank your brother for his thoughtfulness.” **** Dearest husband, the folded missive stated. Wolfe swallowed. He could hear the sarcastic ring in his head as he read the stiffly arched curves of her letters. Turning from his expectant brother, he waved in dismisal. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the white pallor of Ginevra’s stricken face as she looked at Sarra. The guilt refused to leave him. “There’s more,” William stated from the opening of the tent. He reached inside his leather pouch and fingered a thickly folded length of material before handing it over to his armored brother. Wolfe could see that Ginevra hadn’t mentioned his faux pas with the maid to his brother, for William’s eyes didn’t stare out at him in accusation. “She made me swear on bended knee not to look at it, but I think she wanted to give you a gift in return. It’s really quite charming of her, Wolfe.” Wolfe took the package. The white satin slid oddly in his hand. Nodding silently, he laid down his sword on a makeshift table. He knew that his men waited for him to lead them into the mock battle against the assembled Frenchmen. The kings had outlawed the great battlefield tournaments of old. It used to be that one army, led by a champion, was pitted viciously against another. Sometimes it took several days to complete and many lives were lost in the ferociously bloody conflicts. The losers had to pay ransom to regain their property and freedom. Nowadays, though, the groups were smaller and better managed so fewer lives were lost, though accidents always regretfully happened. Sighing, Wolfe finally answered, “Tell Robert I’ll be on the field in a moment.” “Yea,” William agreed with a pleasant nod, knowing Wolfe wanted to be alone. Wolfe heard the giddy whispers of peasants outside his tent as they passed by. He ignored their gossip. Placing the gift by his sword, he broke his family seal on Ginevra’s missive. After Ginevra ran from him, he’d quickly found his bittersweet release in Sarra. To the servant’s disappointment, he banished her forever from his bed. Unable to sleep, he awakened Robert and they left with the dawn to ride for Paris. Robert, seeing the fire in Wolfe’s eyes and knowing he’d kept his promise not to touch his sister, didn’t protest the swift departure. That had been nearly a fortnight ago. Since then, the image of his wife’s innocent smile haunted him until he was forced to drown the smell of her supple skin in drink and seek out the company of others to quell the fire in his body. But the more he tried, the less it worked. Finally, working up the nerve, he opened the missive. It contained a sentence. Don’t feel the need to buy my loyalty with pretty things, for I care not what you do or whom you do them with. Wolfe crushed the missive in his hand. Ginevra hadn’t bothered to sign it. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the material. His necklace gift fell to the ground. Rubbing the wrapping, he realized it was from her wedding tunic, torn into a large square and marred by mud. Angrily, he picked up the heirloom necklace and tossed it into his trunk. It had been made for his father’s mother to be passed down from countess to countess on her wedding day. Grabbing his sword with a furious glare, Wolfe stormed from the tent. He threw her

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missive and the material from her wedding tunic in a page’s fire as he passed. Striding into battle, he didn’t wait to see if it burned. He lifted his sword above his head and motioned in greeting to King Philip in the high chair of honor before turning to his own King Henry in kind. Then, with the nod of two kings he took to the field, yelling his barbaric war cry over the delighted throng. Later that eve, having fought with militant valor, Wolfe led his men to victory. With a heart heavily drowning in frustration and eyes still haunted by sadness, he took the tournament and won the title of champion. That night when he was allowed to seek his rest, he dropped the golden trinket he received as a prize next to the shining necklace in his trunk. Then, banishing two naked women from his bed unsatisfied, he ignored their protests. With a curse, he fell into an exhausted sleep and didn’t think to ever wake up.

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Chapter Five Tournament, Outside London, August 1189 A.D. Ginevra 18 years of age, Wolfe 26 years of age, Married 3 years “Lora, do you see him?” Ginevra giggled behind her gloved hand. Turning her eyes to her companion, she demurely lowered her lashes to look down over the dusty sword pit. It was empty. Next to the pit was a long, narrow track for the challengers who wished to fight by horse. Each would charge the other until meeting in the middle to clash swords. The tournament had yet to begin, but Ginevra felt the giddy anticipation as if she were to fight herself. Every nerve in her body jumped with excitement as she watched the knights passing in the nearby encampment. King Richard had ordered tents set up for all the noble households complete with a bed and dressing table. Ginevra was using the Whetshire tent in absence of the rest of the family. Lora was her chaperone and they were escorted by a handful of Whetshire knights. The knights stayed dutifully out of sight, but she was sure their eyes were constantly on her every move. Ginevra didn’t care. She planned on having fun despite them. “M’lady.” Lora giggled. “He is lookin’ at ye. I think his eyes will fall out of his head at how hard he stares.” “It’s most improper,” Ginevra whispered, as she again peeked shyly at the man. Lifting her chin into the air, she pretended to ignore the bold knight who watched her so intently. Long lashes swept languidly over her eyes and she yawned delicately to feign boredom. Placing her hand demurely in her lap, the long sleeve of her emerald tunic gown swept past her fingers to hang over her hands. The gown hugged to her chest to flare from her waist in a sweep of lightweight linen. The embroidered edges were simple as they lined her sleeves and rounded neckline. Along her slender waist was a chained belt of fine glass beads. Her hair was upswept into a series of plaits and coils. She patted it in a light caress and smiled regally at a passing guard. Any who looked at the noblewoman was stunned to silence by her oblivious beauty. And although her cheeks were tanned to a healthy glow, very uncommonly so for ladies of gentry who powdered their faces white with flour, she was forgiven for the sparkling of her eyes made men forget her cheeks were darkened by the sun. Glancing back to where the dark-haired knight had stood, she sighed in disappointment to see that he was gone. On padded seats they sat in the berfrois, a reserved area in the stands beneath a long canopy set high above and to the side the peasant’s area. Ginevra’s father-by-marriage had sent a missive to Whetshire that she was to be escorted to London to show the familial support of King Richard’s ascension to the throne. Richard’s coronation took place at Westminster Abbey only the month before, following the death of his father. Ginevra didn’t know where exactly Wolfe was, but gathered from the earl’s order that he wouldn’t be attending. A frown marred her delicate features and brought sadness to her eyes. Closing them briefly, she took a deep breath. Her husband’s absence was nothing new. She hadn’t seen him since she discovered him with Sarra the night of their wedding. She did however keep track of him through the small anecdotes of bravery and accomplishments told by traveling minstrels and bards. No doubt their contrived words were purposefully meant to impress her, as they searched for a warm bed and hot meal. The earl would inform her where Wolfe was at and what he was

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doing and of which tournament or battle he had won. Though, Ginevra never directly asked the earl for details. And on rare occasion, Wolfe would write her himself--though the sheepskin parchments were always as cold as her husband’s hollow words. When he did write, she’d dutifully respond. But she couldn’t put down the things her heart longed to ask. She couldn’t tell him of how she could still taste his kiss and how sometimes, late at night, she’d awaken drenched in sweat with the feel of his body pressed firmly against hers. On those nights, she’d often visit the roof with her arms widespread, waiting for him to come rescue her. He never did and she was kept waiting. Thinking of it only made her body tremble anew. She licked her lips in thought and leaned toward Lora. “This should be quite exciting. I’m told they plan a spectacular event in honor of King Richard and the truce with France.” “Do you think we’ll meet the king?” Lora asked with a whimsical smile. Ginevra laughed and answered the same as she had the other times the woman inquired. “Mayhap.” “Excuse me, Lady Ginevra?” Ginevra’s laughter died but her smile stayed intact as she turned to acknowledge the sound. Standing, she squinted at the man who addressed her. He had short cropped black hair that was thickly gray at the sides. His gray eyes shone expectantly at her. Then, recognition slowly dawned on her. “Lord Gravely, how have you been? It has been awhile since I have seen you last.” The nobleman smiled as she recognized him. Stepping forward as she offered her gloved hand, he bowed gallantly over it. “Indeed, m’lady, it was around the time of your nuptials at Whetshire.” “Yea, indeed, it was that long ago.” She laughed lightly. “You arrived with my belated bridegroom.” Lord Gravely’s laughter joined hers. “Again, I must apologize and thank you, m’lady. For without your husband’s aid I wouldn’t have faired so well.” “Don’t thank me. It was my husband’s doing.” Turning to her handmaid she moved back to her seat. She motioned for Gravely to join her. “How is Lord Wolfram, m’lady?” Lord Gravely politely inquired. “I’ve heard many great things of him over these past years.” “He does very well, m’lord,” Ginevra answered, though she didn’t know if she spoke the truth. She didn’t meet Lora’s eyes as the girl let loose a small gasp. Ginevra’s hand shook slightly in her lap, but otherwise her emotions weren’t detectable. “Lord Gravely,” a stiff, low voice called. Ginevra turned at the sound, the smile froze on her lips. She lowered her face with a blush when she saw the dark-haired knight with the overbold eyes. A smile parted on his mouth, as he said, “Pardon me, m’lord, I had no idea you were with such fine company.” “Not at all, Lord Eilric, let me introduce you.” Standing, Lord Gravely motioned down to Ginevra. She stayed seated as he announced her name and rank, then turning to his friend, he said, “Lady Ginevra, this in Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld. He’ll be participating in the tournament this morn.” Eilric’s eyes were intense and he daringly studied her. Then, reaching for her hand, he took her fingers steadily in his and bowed. His mustached lip brushed the back of her fingers lightly. Ginevra shivered at the attention. He was a cryptically handsome man with dark hair slicked back from his face and blue eyes of the brightest shade. The eyes looked into her, making

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her tremble in uncertainty at the shameless attention. “M’lady,” he murmured. His voice belied his Germanic birth. Ginevra nodded, unable to answer. A blush fanned over her cheeks. Lord Gravely frowned. Gruffly, he asked the knight, “Did you seek me out, sir?” Eilric’s lips twitched up in amusement, but he didn’t look repentant. “Your presence is required by the groom, m’lord. It would seem your mare has bred with one of the destriers.” “Whose?” the older man shot back with raised eyebrows. “Mine,” Eilric answered with a smirk. “They got loose early this morn. When the grooms discovered they were missing, it was too late. The lads had to--wie wird es gesagt? Force them apart.” Lord Gravely let loose a frustrated sigh. Before taking his leave with a polite bow, he bid Lord Eilric to join him. Eilric left with one last glance at Ginevra. She met his eyes directly. The knight smiled devilishly at her self-assurance. When he was gone, Lora giggled. “Oh, m’lady, he’s a handsome one, though overly attentive to ye. Mayhap he doesn’t know of yer marriage” “Yea, Lora, he is handsome,” Ginevra answered absently. Her cheeks colored with a womanly blush as her eyes trailed after the attentive knight, wondering at the daring promise he left unspoken. **** Swords glistened, slashing with continuous determination in the sunlight. A burly Viking struck the weapon of his opponent, cracking the sword in two. The onlookers cheered in approval. The lower bleachers were filled with peasants and servants. The canopy edged over the long expanse of nobles--each decked in brightly colored garb and a flash of varied jewels. King Richard sat in the middle receiving the pledges and well wishes of the knights before they pitted themselves in battle. Women swooned as favorite knight-errants came forward to fight. Some of them battled on foot and some on the backs of horses. They’d hold up their lady’s token--a glove, a scarf, or an embroidered handkerchief scented with perfumed oil. Ginevra took it all in with a gush of excitement. She had seen men fight as they practiced at Whetshire, but she’d never seen the sheer concentration and determination that shone from the pitted swordsmen. She was instantly enthralled. “There is yer knight,” Lora teased with a poke to her side. “He carries no glove. Mayhap he would carry a token from ye, and be yer champion. I could inquire.” “Don’t you dare!” Ginevra hissed with playful embarrassment. She followed Lora’s gaze to the young, handsome German astride a black horse. A blush came to her cheeks as he lifted his sword in her direction to acknowledge her attention. Lora giggled. Ginevra forced herself to nod politely. Eilric then turned to recognize his opponent. The herald made his announcements and dropped the flag. The two men kicked their horses firmly in the side. With raised sword, Eilric charged his adversary. As they met in the middle, the knight gave a mighty thrust of his weapon. Eilric knocked his opponent from his horse with only one blow. A cheer went up over the crowd at the quickly finished match. Ginevra hid her smile as she folded her hands demurely in her lap. **** Wolfe grinned roguishly, as he passed a lovely maiden. Turning to give the woman ample attention, his lips curled in satisfaction as she blushed profusely. Then, without missing a step, he rotated back to William. Laughing, he gave a frolicsome bite to his lips with a short moan of

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appreciation. He shook his head as if in pain. “I think you should make my excuses to the king. I suspect another game is about to be afoot.” William frowned as his brother purposefully tried to goad him. He made his distaste of Wolfe’s frequent bed-partners known on more than one occasion. And, although fidelity was only expected of women, William thought it a man’s duty to afford his wife the same consideration--if not in full, then at least to an extent. Wolfe had the carnal appetites of a hundred soldiers. William thought that at times it seemed almost a force beyond his brother’s control compelled him to seek out the fairer sex. “I jest, William,” Wolfe mused when he received no answer. “You should do so well to find a maid to tame that scowl from your face. Battles are too long and life too short not to spend some of it in softer arms than ours.” “Hmm,” William mumbled by way of a response. His eyes narrowed, not amused. “Lord Wolfe, Lord William!” a fair-haired knight called. The man was slender in stature, but mean with a sword. Smiling, as he recognized the brothers, he came forward. “Sir Gordan,” the brothers acknowledged in unison. An easy smile hit both of their lips at the same time, revealing how they really did look alike, despite the different coloring of their features. “Have you been to the canopy to see the finery?” the man asked gleefully as he tossed his head toward the noblewomen sitting in the bleachers. When the brothers shook their head in denial, he groaned dramatically with a look toward the heavens. Placing his sword carrying hand over his chest, he pressed the hilt to his armor and stated in penitence, “God forgive me my sins, fer I have seen a sparkling emerald jewel a glitterin’ from above. Ne’er have you seen such a fine piece o’ finery in yer life. Already, from afar, she has won the love o’ e’ery man here and she has yet to speak a single word. Ah, but to be her champion!” The men chuckled as Sir Gordon let his sword fall from his chest. The man’s face clouded with a haze of virile admiration. Wolfe turned a questioning eye to his brother who only shrugged. “Who is this woman?” Wolfe asked, thoroughly intrigued. “I told ye, the Sparklin’ Emerald! It’s what all the men are a-callin’ her. She’s a rare, divine emerald plucked from the heavens and just appeared at this tournament. Fell straight from the stars, if ye be askin’ me. None have seen her afore and none know her name. But we all are in love. I swear by my eye teeth, if she would have me I’d give up this dastardly life and devote e’erything I have to her.” Sir Gordon gazed with such lovesick eyes that Wolfe was hard-pressed to not laugh. “But, alas, I haven’t the courage to speak to her.” “Who does she sit with?” William inquired, unable to hide his curiosity. Before Gordon could answer, two more men walked by uttering the name of the Sparkling Emerald. Wolfe’s face broke out into and even bigger smile. A lecherous gleam came to his eyes as he thought of the challenge. “None but her handmaiden,” Gordon answered. Then, looking about, he grunted. Running toward the field, he called, “I’m late fer my bout. Just look to the stands, ye will see her.” “Who do you think she is?” William asked with a slight grin. “You seem to know many of the fairer maids.” “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of her,” Wolfe answered mischievously. In silent agreement the brothers walked toward the field to spy on the jewel that had all the camp entranced. “But I should like to find out.”

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A bout had just ended when the men arrived. Seeing Gordon astride his horse, Wolfe nodded. Gordon smiled and nodded his head toward the stands. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he placed his gauntlet-clad hand over his heart and shook his head. Wolfe’s eyes scanned the bleachers, instantly landing on a woman in green. Even over the distance of the field, he could see her dazzling smile. His heart quickened and he stepped around a few horses, intent on getting closer. As he neared her, he noticed the proud line of her features. Her chin tilted regally in the air, but her easy smile softened any snobbery from her expression. She had straight, white teeth and her cheeks were the rosy color of peaches. The woman did indeed wear an emerald gown, but Wolfe understood immediately that the clothing wasn’t how she developed her byname. It was the dazzling sparkle of her emerald eyes that could be seen glittering even from far away. Wolfe felt his loins become heavy in manly appreciation. The reaction took him so by surprise, that he stood dumbfounded. Never had a comely maid affected him so by her mere appearance. His limbs trembled. He wanted her. “It’s Ginevra,” William gasped at his side, his voice full of wonder. Wolfe turned his head in confusion. As he looked at his brother, he noticed that several others were struck as dumbfounded as he had been. Then, seeing William’s amused face, his gaze shot back to the stands. “Ginevra? What is she doing here?” he asked in puzzlement. Wolfe narrowed his eyes as he glanced over the stands looking for a slight child with wild blonde hair and an impishly impossible grin. “Where? I don’t see her.” William snickered at his brother’s confusion. Delightedly, he said, “The jewel. It’s Ginevra. Can’t you see it?” And then Wolfe did see it. It was in the familiar bend of her lips as she talked, the way she moved her hand to scratch distractedly behind her ear. Wolfe froze as if he had been kicked in the gut. His expression turned from longing to possessiveness in an instant. He looked around at the men gawking openly at his wife. His hands balled into fists and his gaze narrowed in fight. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to beat the oglers or demand Ginevra banished from their leering sights. “Three years brings about much change,” William put forth gleefully from his brother’s side. He noticed Wolfe’s uncontrolled reaction and was exceedingly pleased by it. Then, seeing that Wolfe was about to charge a nearby knight, he grabbed his brother’s arm. “Save it for the sword fight. Win this tournament for her. Impress her. You can’t stop the knights from staring but you can quiet their tongues and stunt their would-be advances. Besides, aren’t you due in your tent? No doubt Geoffrey will be frantic that you aren’t yet suited in armor.” Wolfe growled at his brother’s logical words. He had every right to drag Ginevra off to a tent, but no doubt if he charged her now, she’d faint dead away in panic. Or fight me for trying. He grinned at the thought. Wolfe looked longingly at his wife as he battled hard against the impulse to go claim her as his in front of everyone. Hitting his fist into an opened palm, he swung around to don his armor. His body burned with the knowledge that she was his alone. But, what was she doing at tournament? And why was he not told to expect her? He stormed through the crowd. His face lit red with fury as he pushed his way rudely through. **** William watched his brother stalk away with a smirk. Neither one of them had been told that Ginevra would be attending the tournament. She never had before. Even when they spoke

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with the earl only days before, he barely mentioned the woman. William grinned as he thought of Wolfe’s stunned face. All at once, he knew why his father hadn’t thought to bring it up. **** Ginevra shot a pleasant smile up at Lord Eilric as he bowed before her. Then, at her acknowledgment, he took a seat next to her in the stands. Sitting possessively close, he grinned benevolently down into her upturned face. For a moment, she thought he might try and touch her. Her smile faltered, unsure as to the intentions in his piercing eyes. “Well fought, Lord Eilric,” Ginevra stated as she self-consciously leaned away from him. She smiled brilliantly as a herald announced the next combatants. Not recognizing their names she patted her hand against the wood in polite applause. “Danke, thank you, m’lady.” His eyes bore into her, overbold. Ginevra’s cheeks grew hot and she forced her eyes to continue to stare forward toward the match. She didn’t see the fighting and the bout was soon over with her unable to remember who the victor was. Nervously, she glanced sideways under her lashes. Eilric still watched her intently. As another herald came forward, she lifted her chin pretending to be interested in the man’s words. “Sir Fernando of Aragon,” the herald announced following the man’s title with a list of his accomplishments. The Spaniard raised his gloved hand, as the crowd cheered. Then, the herald smiled widely as he lifted his hand to the other side of the field. With great flourish, he said, “Lord Wolfram of Whetshire, son of the Earl of Whetshire, son of Lady Isabella of Normandy, august knight of the English realm!” Ginevra gasped and instantly sprung to her feet. Falling forward, she leaned against the railing as her eyes flew to the mounted knight. Immediately, she saw the Whetshire banner adorning his horse in a long drape of bold color. At the side, his squire held a shield of the family crest. It was no mistake. Wolfe was there. Ginevra wasn’t sure if she wanted to watch or faint. Never having done the latter, she opted to keep her eyes fixed on him. Did he know she was there? Did he avoid her company on purpose? Her heart thudded to a stop, unable to supply the answers. He was covered in full armor, from his chain-mailed torso to the great metal helm atop his proud head. His gauntlet-covered fists gripped tight a large sword. Her hand fluttered to her chest in awe. Tensely, she grasped at a nearby pole for support. “Who is that?” Eilric asked Lora behind her. “Her lord husband,” the handmaiden whispered back, undoubtedly surpsied by her lady’s reaction. Over the years, Ginevra denied any liking for her wayward husband. Ginevra ignored them. Her heart stirred in her chest and she tightened her grip as Wolfe raised his sword high into the air. The crowd cheered wildly for him, like he was one of their most beloved favorites. Ginevra held still, panting on her deepened breaths. She watched his eyes, seeing if they found her in the crowd. He didn’t look at her. With a deft movement, he lowered the face shield to his helm. The sound of the crowd drowned from her ears into a deafening silence. All she could hear was her ragged breath as Wolfe’s foot spurred his dark brown destrier. The horse charged. Wolfe’s weapon rose high into the air. He met his opponent bravely. Ginevra felt her heart lurch. She gripped the pole as her knees weakened. The Spaniard swung, his sword bounced off Wolfe’s armor with a mighty clank. She felt her face drain of color and her legs weakened and swayed. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Unexpectedly, the shouts of the crowd assaulted her senses. She froze as Wolfe emerged the victor with a daring swing to Fernando’s midsection, making him fall from

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his horse. Ginevra stumbled back and fell into her seat. Her eyes fearful, she was forced to close them to hide their emotion. Shaking her head at Lora, she whispered, “I can’t watch this. Take me to my tent at once. Please, Lora.” Lora looked at her ashen face and nodded in agreement. Turning to Eilric, Ginevra forced a smile, but the pleasure had faded from her expression. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. The man touched his mustache thoughtfully as he studied her reaction. “Lord Eilric, you must excuse me.” Ginevra nervously stood. She was about to leave when his voice stopped her. “I should hope to see you at banquet tonight,” he moved behind her. His words drifted over her back. She nodded her head, but didn’t turn to him. “Yea, Lord Eilric. I should think to see you there.” Quickly, Ginevra made her way down from the platform. Her breath caught in her chest. She tried to smile at those she passed, recognizing no one as they bowed to her in greeting. Lora spoke at her side, but the noblewoman heard none of the woman’s words. She gripped onto the handmaid’s arm for support. Then, as they finally made their way through the encampment to the Whetshire tent, Ginevra managed to breathe. **** The victorious smile faded from Wolfe’s mouth as he watched his wife. She didn’t applaud him and even turned her back before he rode off of the field. His chest burned at the insult until he was scowling at all those who would congratulate him on a well-fought match. As he slowly made his way back to the side of the field, he watched Ginevra’s quick departure with an expression of disapproval. He saw the man she sat with step possessively behind her to whisper into her ear. Looking down at William, he growled, “Who is that man ogling my wife?” “Which man? There are so many.” William smiled, undaunted by his brother’s harsh growl. Then, clearly deciding Wolfe was too close to the point of explosion, he narrowed his eyes before stating, “I think that is Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld. He’s newly arrived on the circuit from Germany. I’ve yet to see him fight, but I hear he has a great talent.” Wolfe frowned, stepping his horse around to better see the canopy. He glared darkly at the man as Lord Eilric sat back down alone. “I care not how great his talent is. If I catch him sniffing around my wife again, I’ll gut him like a ready sow.” William tried to feign seriousness and failed miserably. “I’ve heard also that his reputation with the women is almost as legendary as yours.” Not missing the delicate insult, Wolfe hissed at his brother. Gripping his sword tightly, he spurred his steed away. **** Ginevra flung herself onto the small fur-covered bed. She buried her face into the prickly softness and tried to control her racing heart. It savagely thrashed about in her chest, choking off her throat. She couldn’t. The furry darkness only made Wolfe’s armored body all the more vivid in her mind. Wearily, she looked around the back section of her tent. Her hands shook with a tremendous force as she tried to still them, and her limbs were too weak to push up from the bed. Lifting her head, she watched Lora open the front flap of the two-chambered tent. Sighing, she turned to re-bury her face in her soft pillow. “M’lady?” Lora questioned, her voice thick with concern. Ginevra was pale and looked

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as if someone dealt a blow to her stomach. “Are ye all right?” Ginevra lifted her tortured eyes to her handmaid. Shaking her head, she whispered, “He’s here. He’s supposed to be in France negotiating continued peace for the king or some other such manly nonsense. But he’s not. He’s here. And he didn’t even bother to come and see me.” Tears of uncertainty rushed forward to trail down her face. Ginevra dashed at the irritating moisture, trying to bid it away. Finally succeeding in drying her eyes, she turned to a patiently waiting Lora. “Mayhap, he doesn’t know of ye bein’ here.” Lora nodded in understanding. Over the last two years, Lora had become her companion. She was more than a servant, she was a friend. Quietly, the handmaid sat next to her mistress. “Ye knew this day would come. Ye knew that ye wouldn’t be parted from him fere’er. Mayhap now ye will be able to travel with him. Think of how excitin’ it will be. Didn’t ye used to say that travelin’ about is what ye always wanted to do?” “I know. But did you see him?” Ginevra inquired needlessly with wide eyes. Her lips trembled. “I don’t think he was so powerful last I laid eyes on him. He couldn’t have been. What if he comes to be with me? What do I do? What would I say to him? He’s a stranger to me.” “To me he looks the same,” Lora responded softly. Ginevra sat up. “Perchance ye’re looking at him with the eyes of a woman now. Three years ago ye were still new into womanhood. Mayhap yer vision had yet to clear to appreciate him as a man. And I should think that now it has, ye will quite enjoy his attentions.” Ginevra nodded, understanding the woman’s words. She had been so innocent on her wedding night. She even believed him when he told her a kiss consummated their union. Now she knew better, though she never told anyone that the marriage wasn’t yet completed. With a virile husband like Wolfe, no one had thought to ask her. “The first time is ne’er pleasurable fer a woman. And with ye being as young as ye were, I’m sure ye were too afraid to relax and enjoy it.” Lora wondered at Ginevra’s weary look. “Did he hurt ye that bad, m’lady?” Ginevra wanted to tell that she was still pure, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t jeopardize her marriage over a small detail and such a claim would be devastating to Wolfe’s reputation. No matter how rejected or angry she felt, she couldn’t impose that much damage. Swallowing hard, she shook her head in denial. “Go to the field. Find out whatever you can about his presence here. I can’t watch him face the sword. He might get hurt and I--I can’t watch it. And you come tell me if he is struck down. I’ll wait here.” “I don’t--” Lora began. Ginevra cut her off with a desperate look, hiding her guilt. It actually thrilled her to watch Wolfe with the sword. It excited her and terrified her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. But there was another reason she couldn’t watch, a reason she didn’t want to admit to. “Please! Make haste!” Lora nodded. Quietly, she stood and left the tent to go do her mistress’ bidding. When the servant was gone, Ginevra fell back on the coverlet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Wolfe, why have you come back to torment me now?” **** Wolfe fought his matches bravely with an anger that drove him onward to the finals. Every time he drew sword, he looked to the stands. His eyes searched for his emerald clad wife. She didn’t appear again. And, to his dismay, he noticed Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld disappeared also.

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Every time he left the field to walk the encampment in search of her, he couldn’t find her. However, he did hear the numerous manly jests, as the men spoke of what they would do to gain the notice of the Sparkling Emerald. To his fury, he thought he heard one man boast that he talked to her, but the blustering knight disappeared into the crowd afore Wolfe could accost him and beat him to a bloody mass. Drawing the helm from his head, he spied his wife’s handmaid in the stands talking to a young knight. The servant blushed, but didn’t back away as the man stroked her cheek in a tender caress. He looked about for Ginevra, but couldn’t find her. Frowning, he tossed his helm to his brother. William smiled up at him, rather enjoying Wolfe’s discomfort. “You’ve done it, Wolfe. You fight for the championship tomorrow.” William handed the helm to Geoffrey, Wolfe’s squire. Taking Desert by the reins, William waited for Wolfe to swing off his horse, and then handed the horse’s reins to Geoffrey as well. “I’ll help my brother from his armor. See to his horse” The squire nodded and led the horse to the stables. “Are you not pleased, Wolfe?” William questioned as they fell into stride. He hid his smile as he shot Wolfe a look of innocence. “Did you see her?” Gordon called over the crowd of knights, whose rapt attention he held with the braggart tales of what he would do to possess the nameless woman who entranced them all. Each knight tried to think of the best way to profess their love and loyalty to her. One man claimed he would steal and drink her bathwater. Another professed to cut off one of his toes and wrap it up in ribbon. Gordon pushed through them, a wide smile on his face, as he called to Wolfe, “Did you see the Sparklin’ Emerald?” Wolfe growled. Stomping over to Gordon, he pushed his way through the gathering and met the man halfway. He grabbed the surprised knight by the scruff of his neck and lifted him off the ground. Angrily, he shouted in deadly warning, “That’s my wife you speak boldly of! And no man will possess her but me.” The passing knights, who froze to watch the oncoming fight, gasped in wonder at Wolfe’s out-of-character jealousy. Whispers of the identity of the green-clad goddess filtered through the encampment like a spreading fire. Wolfe dropped Gordon with a furious growl and stalked off. William was quickly behind him. Wolfe strode past his own tent as he lifted his sword in his hand. William hesitated by the opening before running after his brother. “Wolfe, hold!” “I’m going to find her,” Wolfe announced darkly. He frowned over the heads of passersby and scanned the crowd for green. His heart burnt with fury, as he thought of her in the arms of another man. Ever since the time of their wedding he’d wanted her, but his promise to Robert kept him away. He’d even run from home to be free of her. But it hadn’t helped. He tried to drown the memory of her lavender-scented skin by finding physical release in the arms of others. Aside from the temporary abatement of his senses, it hadn’t worked either. Wolfe could recall the exact scent of his wife’s skin, even when standing in a pile of dung. Now Ginevra had grown into a woman--a woman every man in the encampment would give his sword arm to possess. And she was his. His promise to Robert no longer applied. She was old enough to receive her husband as a wife should. He ached, wanting to crush his mouth to hers. The day of fighting and combat rose in his blood like a violent fire. It wasn’t just the tournament bouts that he’d fought. He’d fought his urge to find her. He’d fought his urge to pummel every handsome knight he met who dared to utter her byname. Possessiveness came over him each time he heard it. And here she was before

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him--alone, soft, his. His body lurched, wanting to grab her and take her with a ferocious force of need. He could remember well the response he was able to elicit from her when she was younger. He wondered if it would still be so, for this was no naïve young bride in front of him. “But, Wolfe, you’re expected at the field in less than an hour!” William shook his head in total amazement as his brother walked away. Glancing about, a pleased smile found William’s lips, as he whispered to no one in particular, “Yea. It’s about time, brother, that you found your woman.”

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Chapter Six Ginevra blinked open her tired eyes with a yawning moan. Squinting to clear her sleephazed mind, she pushed herself up onto her bed to stretch her hands above her head. As she heard laughter outside her tent, she flinched and looked around, remembering where she was. Worried, she called through a yawn, “Lora? How long have I slept?” There was no answer. Sighing, she pushed herself to the edge of the makeshift mattress and pulled a loosened pin from her hair. She studied the ground as she smoothed the plait over her shoulder. Then, hearing footsteps, she stopped. She let her hair fall unattended about her back. “Lora? Is that you? Did you find him? Is he hurt? How did m’lord do?” Ginevra called softly across the tent. Anxiously, she stood, walking over to the flap. Ducking her head under, she asked, “Lor--?” A shadowy figure stood in the entryway. Ginevra froze, her mouth falling open in stunned wonder. Swallowing convulsively, her breath caught as she stared up at Wolfe’s piercing brown gaze. Panicked, she tried to stand tall. Her mouth worked, but no words came forth. She wasn’t ready to receive him. Not yet. She was terrified. She was pleased. She was electrified by his presence. The sun shone in from behind, outlining the firmness of his body in a halo of light. He wore his chain mail hauberk over a tan undertunic that reached to his thighs and fell open in slits at the sides. In his hand was his sword gripped tightly in his fist. She was afraid to speak, her eyes round with fear. “Not expecting me, wife?” he inquired harshly at her welcome. It was his first words to her after years of silence. The sound of his voice shook over her, clearing the remembrance of it in her head. Ginevra paled at his ill humor. It was startling after so long a time. She had slowly, over the years, managed to calm the fire she carried at his dastardly deed their wedding night. Or, at least, she thought she had. “Nay, m’lord, I thought you were at tournament,” she answered in slow hesitation, keeping her face cautiously blank. She tried to turn her eyes away, but they kept straying back to his strong, proud face. He did look different to her. “I thought you’d be fighting now.” “I was,” he admitted coldly. There was no affection in him--no familiar friendship. This wasn’t the green-haired boy from her youth. This was a man--an irritated, overbearing man. And he was very real. Ginevra stiffened, as he continued roughly, “You would’ve known that if you were in the stands like you were supposed to be. It’s your duty to be in attendance, showing support of your lord husband.” “I didn’t know it was an order that I attend every single moment. It isn’t like you have brought me to tournament before and the earl said no such thing to me. In fact, he didn’t tell me you were attending.” Her anger gradually threatened her stunned graces, but she endeavored to keep it below the surface. After so long, she didn’t want their first meeting to be a fight. She was afraid that, if it was, he’d again leave and it would be another three years before she saw him. Lowering her tone, she said, “I felt ill. I came to rest.” Wolfe raised a brow at her contrary tone. Studying her face and tousled hair, his eyes

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narrowed into dangerous slit. He clutched the hilt of his sword tighter. “What happened? Were you disqualified?” Her gaze swept over his body. Without warning, she rushed forward to him. Lightly, she touched his arm with the tips of her fingers. She searched him for wounds, pushing his sword gently aside before trying to take it from him. His hand tightened and refused to release it. Hesitating, she licked her lips and refused to meet his angry gaze. “Are you hurt? Shall I call a physician?” “Nay, I’m not injured,” he snapped in annoyance. “But, some of those men... I saw how well they fight,” Ginevra stuttered. At her own words, she paled but didn’t back away. “The rounds are over for today. I’m in the finals on the morrow,” he informed absently, irritated. His gaze never left her face and he didn’t move to touch her. Wolfe stiffened as her fingers skimmed over his chest as if wifely concern was the last thing he expected from her. Wolfe’s eyes moved over her nose to her full lips, lips that suddenly felt swollen for his kisses. She waited for him to speak, eyes wide. Pulling back, he walked past her into the back section of her tent. “M’lord? What are you doing?” Ginevra watched in shock as he went straight back to her bed. She followed him, hovering in the entryway, unable to follow him in. Her hand clasped at the flap to hold herself steady. Glancing to the mattress and then to his strong back, she watched as he leaned over to check under her bed. Then, as he eyed her wrinkled coverlet, he lifted her pillow to smell it. Realization dawned on her. “Are you searching for something, m’lord?” “Are you still pure?” His eyes narrowed once again into dangerous slits. They roamed over her body as if searching for the answer. She stared at him in disbelief. His hand tightened on his weapon. Ginevra’s mouth fell open in offense, but she couldn’t asnwer. He continued to study her. Doing the only thing she could think of, she rounded her eyes in a look of outrage. Wolfe nodded his head as if her reaction gave him his answer. Refusing to dignify the question with a verbal response, she asked instead, her tone hard, “What are you doing here, m’lord? I didn’t invite you into my quarters. I think you should go. It’s not proper that you are here, alone with me during the day hours.” “I’m visiting my wife, m’lady,” he answered with a smirk. Now that he knew she was innocent, he relaxed. “Are you trying to get rid of me? Were you, perchance, expecting someone else?” Ginevra realized how very shrewish she sounded. Lowering her tone, she turned her eyes to the ground. “You know what I mean. You’re not supposed to be here. The earl said you were away doing something or other for the king.” She tried to act nonchalant, but her limbs shook. Turning away from him, she went over to a pitcher and poured him some warm ale. Then, taking it to him, she waited expectantly. “I thought you were still in France. You’re not supposed to be here.” “You mentioned that,” he smirked. Wolfe took a drink, nodding gratefully as he returned the empty goblet to her. She busied herself putting it back. “Another?” she asked lightly, raising the pitcher. “Nay. I finished my business in France early and I thought to accept Richard’s invitation to tournament. After all, he is my king.” “Oh.” Her voice grew hopeful. “And what of Robert? Is he here?” “Have you not heard? He’s back at Southaven with my sister. He’s to wed with Helena.” Wolfe had walked up behind her and she jumped as his words came from directly behind. She

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could feel the heat of him against the length of her back. Timidly, she inched away from him until her legs hit the table. “I hadn’t realized their affections had developed so.” Turning, she pretended not to see him behind her as she walked over to grab her comb from the top of her trunk. Sitting on the bed, she studied him thoughtfully. “I recall Helena following him around as a child, but Robert never seemed to pay her much mind. In fact, I remember him confessing quite a distaste for her.” “They were children.” Wolfe laid his sword along the table and pulled off his gloves. He set them down. “Is this mayhap another family alliance, like ours? Contracted for some such reason?” Ginevra persisted, speaking her thoughts aloud. His presence disconcerted her. He dominated the chamber as if everything within belonged to him. And in a way it did, even her. With a touch of fear, she asked, “Is there a reason for them to align?” Are you trying to tell me something, husband? With the marriage still unfinished do you want to leave me? Ginevra waited in breathlessness for his fast coming response. “Nay, they both wish it,” Wolfe answered. Ginevra froze. Her heart stung at his words. He didn’t see her pain. She hid it from him well. “Even so,” Ginevra put forth gently in an effort to regain her composure. She wished every possible happiness for her brother and she didn’t see him happy with Helena. The entire time she resided at Whetshire with her sister-by-marriage they’d been at odds. Helena protested everything from Ginevra’s manners to her choice in dress colors. And, in return, Ginevra tormented her poor sister-by-marriage until Helena ran from the room in a fluster. “After your father died, and she went to stay with your mother as a companion, they were given much time together. My father is with them to bless the union and finalize the agreements. William is here with me.” Her chin tilted slightly at the mention of her father, but she kept a straight face and didn’t let her emotions show. The baron had died a year ago in his sleep. The death was unexpected. “I got your missive after he died,” she said quietly, biting her lip. “Thank you. It was very kind of you to remember me.” “And I must thank you for being with my mother. I was told you stayed with her through the entire labor.” He moved to sit next to her on the bed. He rubbed his arm, grunting slightly as if it ached. She scooted shyly away from him, lightly fingering her comb. “I’m sorry about Lady Isabella. She was a great woman. I want you to know she told me to tell you that she loved you. She bid me to tell you the next time I saw you or else I would’ve written you of it. She talked of you oft those last days--you, Helena, William and Thomas. She, um ... I think after the babe died she couldn’t bear the loss of two children and was happy to go.” Wolfe nodded. Sighing, he stood from the bed, as if aware of how nervous his nearness made her. She fluttered about him like a fidgety butterfly. Ginevra followed suit. Setting her comb on the bed, she stepped toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know that she went peacefully, save the circumstances.” Wolfe gazed into her eyes. Her expression was so open, so sincerely grieved for him. He swallowed. Gently, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She stiffened against the tenderness but didn’t back away. Running his finger over her ear, he pushed his hand into her hair. It would’ve been so easy for her to fall into his chest, to feel his arms folded around her in comfort. If only he would reach for her. But he didn’t, keeping his distance. Ginevra bit her lips. The feel of him had haunted her dreams and now, gazing into his

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piercing eyes, she could feel the texture of his mouth as if it had been yesterday. Unconsciously, she leaned into him. He smelled of sweat. His hair hung limply about his shoulders from the day of hard work. She raised her hand to his chest covered with iron links that molded to his hard muscles. Breathing heavily, she asked, “Will you be staying in here or do you camp elsewhere?” Wolfe raised his eyebrows in shock over the forward question. Ginevra blushed. “What I mean is that I could have Lora help to gather you a bath if you wish. And you seem tired. I could leave you if you’d like to rest awhile and I could inquire for a second bed for me. If you like, you can keep this one.” “I have my own tent and Geoffrey draws my baths.” Slowly, his eyes dipped to her lips. It was not lost on him how she purposefully made known that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her. Wolfe was unconcerned with the innocent challenge. Ginevra quickly inhaled, not hearing his words. His mouth drew closer. Her eyes closed in anticipation and her lips puckered slightly. She waited for him to come to her. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, studying her face. His mouth had come very close to hers. She could feel the whispers of his breath fanning her cheek. His nose grazed the side of hers so that his lips brushed over her mouth in a feathery stroke. His breath caught as if he wanted nothing more than to take her offered lips, but he held back. Her lashes fluttered open and she stared into the forceful brown depths of his eyes. She waited for his kiss, but instead he pulled back. She stared at him, baffled, filled with hurt. Her hands dropped from his chest, as she tried to turn away. Wolfe grabbed her hands in his and lifted them up. He squeezed her fingers gently. Smiling at her, he softly asked, “Would you join me tonight for banquet, m’lady?” Ginevra shook at the serious light in his eyes. His words held such tenderness as she had never known from him. She waited for the mocking smile of a boy that never came. He watched her intently, a languid curve arching on his lips. Her heart fluttered as she nodded her head in agreement. Wolfe smiled. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. Then, turning her hand over, he pressed his mouth firmly to her erratically beating pulse. She gasped--part in wonderment and part in confusion. And then he turned and walked out of the tent, leisurely picking up his sword and gloves on the way. Ginevra delicately touched her hand in awe of his tenderness. His smile lingered in her heart, as she stood frozen by the bed. **** The bonfire shone brightly over the soft, undulating grasses of the moonlit field. Tables had been constructed near the fire for the nobles to dine. A great feast was laid out atop them. Giant swans graced the tables of the nobles, cooked whole with their decorative feathers, heavily spiced with garlic and vinegar. Small roasted chickens circled them in their large trenchers. Trays filled with wafers and cheeses, pitchers of spiced and mulled wine, and goblets of ale, filled in the spaces until the thick wood nearly groaned with its heavy load. Musicians wandered about playing lively songs on recorders and lutes, pibgorns and fiddels. They stirred the blood to festive dancing and sudden outbursts of song. King Richard could be heard laughing merrily in good cheer, his crown shining brilliantly in the firelight. Servants and peasants gathered around their own bonfires, eating their feast of roasted mutton and pig without the benefit of tables. They sat apart from the dining nobles, on the ground, laughing and singing joyously in the night air. Their lively tunes could be heard ringing over the length of the encampment.

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Ginevra smiled in wonder, as Wolfe led her under the stars, looking about in amazement. The night sky was filled with the tiny specks of light that stretched out over the distance. Torches were set up to form a walkway from the tents to the bonfire so that one could easily find their way in the darkened night. “Is this what you have been doing these past years?” Was it just him or did she sound jealous? He could understand. She’d been trapped inside a castle, sewing and directing servants. But, such was a woman’s life. Wolfe smiled down at her. Her hair was outlined with the orange of fire and her pretty, perfect features looked as if he were the only one in the world. “Nay, nothing so glamorous I’m afraid. Mostly we have been to battle with the French over English territory. And, when at tournament, we dine alone or in a small castle hall. Never under the beauty of the starry night,” he whispered. Suddenly, Wolfe thought of all the other women he had been with in the last three years. Forcing the guilt out of his chest, he led her forward to the dining tables that were beginning to fill with people. As he walked, he nodded his head at several knights that paid them notice. He wasn’t unaware of their jealous stares, as he led his beautiful wife past many of the unmarried and married men alike. Ginevra had changed into a silken tunic gown of light blue. A cream-colored chemise showed from underneath the tunic, peeking through at the sides underneath her arms and at the wrist where they hugged her tightly in small wrinkles. Her hands were left bare. Her fingers trembled as they lay on his arm. A golden-chained belt wove around her narrow waist, pleasingly drawing the eye to her slender hips. Her hair was pulled up at the sides to fall in glorious waves of gold down her back to touch the enticing curve of her bottom. Whereas many noblewomen wore headdresses and veils, she left her tresses plain with only a circlet of gold intertwined within the locks. But Wolfe knew it was more than the way she looked that drew the men’s attention. It was the innocent impish smile on her face and the unaffected light in her emerald eyes. She seemed such a strong woman, independent, but at the same time she made you want to protect her, and she seemed completely unaware of the stares she received. Not like the ladies that normally follow the tournaments. They seek the attention with their forced charm and fake intellect, Wolfe thought in disgust. Unconsciously, he drew his wife closer to him. The noblewomen of court didn’t care if they had husbands. They flirted and hopped from bedchamber to tent and back again with nary a backward glance. Although Wolfe found carnal pleasure numerous times with such women, the thought suddenly paled in comparison to the woman his bride had become. Gone was the shivering child that had been sent to his chamber. Drunkenly, he had wanted her then, but knew he would forever regret such an action. The war raged violently within him until he knew it best to stay away from her. Ginevra smiled joyously up at him. Wolfe had bathed and taken off his armor. He wore a long overtunic of dark blue that fell to his ankles. His garments unintentionally blended well with her gown. The tunic was edged with gold at the slanted neckline, wrists and hem. The creamcolored undertunic of linen peeked out from under his shirt and through the slit that parted in front of his legs. Ginevra’s lashes dipped over her sultry gaze, as she turned to watch a musician with a lute. Leaning toward Wolfe, she admitted shyly, “I always wanted to be a musician, but I have no talent for it.” “I remember,” he answered enthralled by her nearness. “You told me that you wouldn’t

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take the children I brought home for you because you were going to travel the world with minstrels.” Surprised, Ginevra blushed and couldn’t look at him. With a nervous laugh, she shook her head. “What a fool you must have thought me. I also wanted to be your squire and go to war with you.” “Tell me,” he asked lightly as he led her past another table toward the center. Wolfe was thoroughly captivated. “...for I have often wondered. Do you still wear breeches or did your mother succeed in turning you into a lady? I see that you have no veil yet again.” Ginevra’s face drew blank as she glanced up at him. Abruptly, she stopped with a frown edging her composed features. “I hate veils and headdresses.” “Yea, I remember as much. The night I saved your life.” “I wasn’t going to jump, m’lord! I only almost fell because of your meddling. I maintain that you tried to push me that night,” she said, not realizing he teased her. “And if you must insist on knowing, yea, I do own a pair of breeches and I wear them often. In fact, I stole them from your old trunk that your mother gave me. A few alterations and they fit perfectly.” Wolfe didn’t see the stares they received or the narrow-minded points of jealous ladies. He stood with his beautiful wife, outlined by bonfire. Smiling at her defiant expression, he whispered, “I don’t care what you wear, Ginevra, so long as it’s a smile when you look at me.” As if suddenly realizing that he was goading her, she rolled her eyes at his charming grin and sighed. Not falling for his sweet words, she turned away from him. She began to walk, but before she could step her foot came down on a toe and she had to stumble back to keep from bumping into a chest. “Forgive me, m’lord.” “Well done!” the man yelled drawing the attention to the center of the tables. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. Placing his hands on his hips, he leaned forward to whisper, “Spectacular performance, Lord Wolfram. Shall you be giving another on the morrow?” Wolfe watched his wife. Ginevra’s eyes focused first on the man’s face. His easy smile shone and his brown eyes squinted with merriment, and then her eyes traveled to the top of his brown hair. There, atop his head, sat a royal crown. Instantly, she glanced down to his tunic. There was the crest of the king. “King Richard,” she gasped, pulling her arm away from Wolfe to curtsy. The king smiled as Wolfe also belatedly bowed. “Wolfe, won’t you introduce me to the Sparkling Emerald I’ve been hearing so much about this eve?” The king motioned for Ginevra to stand. “I say she has been causing quite a commotion amongst the men.” “Emerald?” Ginevra looked at Wolfe in question. He grimaced. The king chuckled in self-amusement. “Majesty,” Wolfe said stiffly, “this is my wife, Lady Ginevra of Whetshire.” “Lady Ginevra,” the king repeated thoughtfully. Easily, he took Ginevra’s hand and placed it on his arm. Suddenly, a light dawned on his face and he laughed. “I remember my father telling an endearing tale of a purple girl-child and her green-haired escort.” Ginevra paled at looked at Wolfe for help. Her hand reached doubtfully for him only to sway in the air and fall back at her side. Obligingly, Wolfe said, “Yea. That was my wife. She fell into a dye bath when we were young. It stained her golden locks to a purplish hue.” Ginevra gasped and covered her mouth. Turning her appalled expression to the king, she

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appealed for his understanding. “That isn’t what happened, majesty. He pushed me into the dye bath.” Wolfe eyed her grimly. “You fell into the dye bath. If you wouldn’t have charged me, you wouldn’t have tripped.” “What? A lady doesn’t charge, m’lord,” Ginevra sputtered in growing horror. The king watched in utter delight, instantly taken with the woman on his arm. With a carefully placed smirk, he inquired, “And the green hair, Lord Wolfe? How did that come about?” “Someone,” Wolfe emphasized with a pointed look to his wife, “put green cloth dye in my hair cleanser.” “I have no idea who could have done it,” Ginevra said with a straight face. She smiled angelically. Suddenly, she shook her head as Wolfe mused at the distant memory. Waving her hand in dismissal, she said flippantly, “Well you still started it, m’lord.” Wolfe laughed, not bothering to deny her claim. “Honestly,” she rolled her eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “Who would you believe? A genteel girl of only eight years or a sixteen-year-old boy about to become a knight and bent on tormenting me?” “There’s no contest m’lady, for I have known your husband well this last year. I believe he dunked you in the dye bath and held you under,” the king offered his summation gallantly. Ginevra glanced at Wolfe like a victorious child. All of a sudden, he grew uncomfortable. Already he could see the king’s manly appreciation. He knew how men in power easily swayed women to their beds. Had he not wielded such persuasive powers himself? Coming forward, he swooped up Ginevra’s hand and placed it on his own arm. Without missing a beat, she dropped her hand politely from the king. “Don’t believe her,” Wolfe said with a possessive edge to his words. “She wasn’t as innocent as she claims.” The king hid his disappointment as the Sparkling Emerald was taken from his grasp. A veil dropped over his eyes and he nodded. “Well, pleasure as this is, I have other guests I must attend.” The king bowed. His eyes sparkled as his lips skimmed over her fingers. Ginevra blushed at the attention, noticing the stares she received on the arm of a king. Wolfe stiffened and nodded before drawing her quickly away. Ginevra frowned at his hasty departure, but said nothing as he led her toward the dining table far away from the king’s seat. Pulling her past the bonfire, he kept his grip tightly on her hand, lest she thought of slipping away. She seemed content to be led about on his arm. “I forget sometimes how unlike strangers we are,” she began in a whimsical voice, “and yet--” “Lord Wolfe!” came a womanly cry, shrill in its effeminate sulk. Ginevra tensed. “You naughty boy, where have you been hiding? I looked for you everywhere after your last bout. Marvelously done, I might add. I was wondering if you’d like to be my champion. Strangely enough, I noticed that you wore no token on your armor, and well I arrived too late to pass my token to another.” Wolfe stiffened. His eyes closed briefly, willing the sound away. Ginevra stopped and turned thoughtfully to him. Holding still, she forced Wolfe to stop and face his summoner. She said nothing as the woman came up to them. Ginevra turned to a woman dressed all in ghastly overdone scarlet. Her cheeks were

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painted with a sort of cream that made them an unnatural pink and her eyes were smudged with black kohl. The woman looked expectantly at Ginevra. Her eyes narrowed a bit in displeasure. Then, an unexpected smile came across the painted woman’s features. Her words were a rush, as she babbled, “You must be Lady Helena. Your brother has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you. If you like, you can sit with me on the morrow. I have a seat just behind the king. My father, you know, is an important man of the king’s and he’s looking for a bride. Would it not be great if we could become sisters? I mean, we don’t know each other, but I know your brother extremely well.” Ginevra blinked rapidly at the excessive energy the blundering woman put off. Under what had to be a sheer force of will, her smile stayed intact. Lightly, she responded, “I’m sorry, m’lady. But I’m not Lord Wolfe’s sister. Helena is currently at my family home of Southaven. She is to be married to my brother, Lord Robert.” “Ginevra, this is Lady Helewysa of Beckenridge,” Wolfe put in wearily. He realized he was late with the introduction. Neither lady deemed to notice. He saw his wife’s annoyed expression, though she kept her face pleasant. “Lady Helewysa, this is my wife, Lady Ginevra.” Helewysa balked openly. She looked at Wolfe from a sea of outrage. Then, breathing heavily, she said, “I didn’t know you’d gotten married.” “It was quite some years ago,” Ginevra put in. Her smile stayed royally intact, but her gaze was cold. “You know how it is when you’re betrothed since birth. It’s almost like you are destined to be together from the beginning that, when the wedding comes, there’s no big fuss to be made about it.” Wolfe likened Helewysa’s gaze to that of a viperous snake. He took in Ginevra’s easy smile as she quickly dismissed the woman with a few simple words. Helewysa had no choice but to belatedly congratulate them on their union before leaving. When she was gone, Ginevra’s eyes dulled a bit, and they continued to dull as the evening wore on, as woman after woman made the same sort of bold approach toward her husband. The women who didn’t approach gave her husband looks of open invitation, all the while glowering at her with disdain. **** The feast was grand and lasted well into the late night hours. Despite the constant interruptions and side conversations, Ginevra began to relax. Wolfe was charming and attentive. And, when he looked at her, his eyes held pretty compliments that she couldn’t easily understand. Every time she saw Helewysa, she couldn’t help the small flag of victory that waved in her chest, no matter how bitterly that flag was staked. The woman’s possessive look when she turned to her husband was not lost on Ginevra, and she already had proof that Wolfe hadn’t been faithful to her since the very first night. She’d seen it with her own eyes and had no reason to believe that he had changed. But for him to have relations with such a hideous woman as this one? She wanted to retch. Ginevra blushed as a servant refilled her goblet with a sweet berry wine. Her head swam from the heady effects of the liquor and she giggled. Wolfe looked at her expectantly when he heard the sound. Ginevra licked her lips. Her husband was so close, so incredibly handsome. Her eyes trailed to his mouth and the half smile that lingered there. “I think I should go back to my tent. It’s late and I have drunk overmuch,” she said. Wolfe nodded. Gently, he lifted her by the arm. She swayed on her unsteady feet with a giggle. He led her behind the dining tables on the edge of firelight.

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“Ah, I believe Lady Ginevra has never graced us with a song!” Ginevra froze in horror, snapping her head about to look at Helewysa. The woman smiled victoriously as Ginevra paled. Several others turned to her at the request. She was about to speak when, without warning, Wolfe wrapped his arm about her waist, holding her steady. “Lady Ginevra?” the boisterous Helewysa called, licking her lips like a cat circling a defeated mouse. “We’re waiting.” Ginevra flinched. She looked helplessly at Wolfe, her mouth working. “Death to English tyranny!” Out of the darkness, like a flash of light, came a ferocious battle cry. A peasant, wielding a blade, darted toward the back of the king. Ginevra jumped in alarm. King Richard swung around, stunned. His goblet fell over on his lap. The music died with an abrupt chord and the many astonished faces of the drunken crowd turned at the noise. Instantly, Wolfe dropped his wife’s arm, swirling her out of the way of harm. Ginevra spun in a circle as her feet tried to gain hold. Falling against a chair back, she righted herself with a push to an odious man’s shoulders. Striking out his hand, Wolfe grabbed the peasant’s wrist and twisted him viciously in the air until his arm was folded behind him and his chest was pressed up against his. Crushing his fingers around the crude blade, Wolfe forced the man to loosen his grip. It was over before it began. Ginevra gasped, her eyes clearing at Wolfe’s deadly force of power combined with the relief at being saved from Helewysa’s attack. A strange sensation unfurled in her stomach to heat her body. Her husband constrained the man to the ground, his knee pressed into the attacker’s back. The man struggled and swore his French curses the whole way. The king’s guard hurried forward to relieve Wolfe of his prisoner. Standing, completely unaffected, Wolfe turned to Richard with a dutiful bow. The king instantly went to him, his hand held out in appreciation. Patting him on the back, he said, “Well done.” A murmur rose over the crowd, spreading quickly over from the nobles to the peasant bonfires. Ginevra hurried to her husband’s side, her eyes round with worry. She searched his emotionless face. It was a side she hadn’t seen in him before--a deadly side. “Guards!” the king yelled. “Escort Lady Ginevra to Lord Wolfram’s tent. Make sure she’s unharmed. Stand outside this night so no injury befalls either of them for this great deed done England.” The guard nodded, his stoic face turning watchfully to Lady Ginevra. As she walked, awestruck, another guard fell into step in front of her, leading her away. With a backward glance at Wolfe, she had no choice but to follow. **** “I owe you my life,” the king said without preamble. “Thank you.” “I just happened to be nearby, majesty,” Wolfe answered obediently. His eyes strayed to Ginevra’s backside and the gentle swaying of her hips. She walked on slightly unsteady feet. Again, she glanced back to stare at him, her face tightened with apprehension. “You have leave to call me Richard,” the king bestowed graciously. “It’s the least I can do for such a noble effort.” “Yea, Richard,” Wolfe obliged, easily falling into step next to the king. Sighing, Richard turned to the guard who hovered protectively behind him. With a growl, he bellowed, “It’s too late for that, back away!” The guard nodded and did as he was ordered.

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“Wolfe,” Richard stated when they were away from prying ears. “As I said, I owe you my life and I’m not one to forget my debts. I only hope that, someday, I’ll be able to repay you in kind.” Wolfe nodded. “May I speak plainly?” “Please, by all means,” Richard allowed. He scratched his head beneath his crown. “The only repayment I ask is that you take no liking to my wife. I know how ... innocently charming she can be.” Wolfe paused, before carefully adding, “Not that you would.” Richard chuckled. “Yea, I would. I have. But consider it done. There are many women for me to choose from. I can leave you yours. Besides, seeing how you looked at your wife this eve, I can imagine a great many women are going to be left with freer nights.” Wolfe nodded at the man’s perceptiveness and relaxed. He knew Richard to be a man of his word. “Then think no more on it, your debt is paid in full. It’s my privilege to serve you.” “Only I can say when my debt is paid,” Richard countered. Then stopping, he turned to look seriously at Wolfe. “I’m to wed with Princess Berengaria of Navarre and I need a man I can trust with me on the journey.” “It would be my honor to ride with you,” Wolfe assented. Richard nodded his appreciation, before continuing, “And it’s no secret I’m planning to go back to the Holy Land to reclaim Jerusalem for the Christians. I have already spoken with King Philip and he is in agreement that we leave soon after my nuptials are spoken. I trust you’re willing to take up arms against the heathens?” It wasn’t a question, but Wolfe nodded anyway. He wasn’t being given a choice. “Good!” Richard affirmed. “I should need a man like you who is quick on his feet and proficient on the battlefield to help lead my armies. We leave two days hence to pick up my bride and to meet with the Emperor of Germany. Philip and I wish to solicit the support of his country in this campaign. But I don’t completely trust Philip. I need someone willing to discreetly watch my back when I can’t.” “I am your man, majesty,” Wolfe answered with another nod. “Now, go see to your lovely wife.” The king dismissed him with a wave of his hand. When Wolfe willingly did as he commanded, the king added, “And Wolfe, good luck tomorrow at tournament.”

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Chapter Seven Ginevra closed her eyes, snuggling into the warm, comforting furs of Wolfe’s bed. The coverlet smelled of him and made her body tingle with awareness. Taking a deep breath, she sighed. She tried to tell the king’s guard that she had a separate tent, but he ignored her. The man escorted her to Wolfe’s quarters and told her to go inside to wait for her husband. So that’s what she did. Looking around, she noticed Wolfe’s tent was much smaller than her own. She recognized his trunk at the end of the bed and his armor lying atop a table. A portable tub still filled with water from his earlier bath was set in the corner. There was no fire within and so no light, except for the orange glow outside the thick wall. Shadows eerily walked by, deforming the shapes of the people who cast them against the sides. Hearing footsteps outside, she sat up. Wolfe’s skirmish with the assassin had successfully cleared her head of the wine fog. It was a small thing, to be sure, but she had never seen the like before. Her heart still pounded when she thought of Wolfe being in harm’s way. Scooting to the edge of the bed, her feet landed on the earthen floor as the flap to the tent was raised. She could see Wolfe’s distinctive outline as he entered. He stopped to look at her in the dimness. Unable to read her face, he asked, “Are you all right? Did that man frighten you?” “Frighten me?” Ginevra shook head with a wry laugh. She stood from the bed. “I was more scared for you. I don’t think I like it when you put yourself in danger like that. Mayhap you should be more careful.” “That’s the duty of a knight.” Coming forward, he lifted his tunic aside to pull a main gauche from his waist. He laid the sharp dagger on the table. The weapon landed with a heavy thud. Then, bending over, he grabbed another blade from his boot and set it by its mate on the hard wood. “That and knowing enough about survival to stay alive.” “So is that what your life is like? Constant fighting and battles?” she questioned, knowing that was the reality of the world they lived in. She sadly shook her head. “It doesn’t seem too ... enchanting.” He hid a smile and didn’t answer as a blade from the back of his waist joined the two others. Lastly, they were joined by a leather pouch. Coming around to look at his wife, he studied her face. Ginevra’s heart fluttered. She could see the boy from long ago in his eyes. He was so familiar to her, yet such a stranger. She had known him her whole life, and yet he couldn’t have been more of a mystery to her. Swaying lightly on her feet, she searched his expression, trying to hold back tears that welled in her eyes. “Were you never going to come back to Whetshire? You have stayed away so long.” “I’ve been at battle making a name for myself. I’ve been training.” “Rob has made it back. Will, too,” Ginevra interjected. Her words weren’t accusing, just heavyhearted. “Surely the king would’ve spared you these many years past.” Gently, he lifted a hand to her cheek. His eyes moved to her lips, as if desperately wanting to kiss her mouth. Whispering softly, he teased, “Tell me, Gin. Have you learned more about the marriage bed since I last saw you? Or do you still believe our marriage consummated

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with a kiss?” Defiant, she jerked her chin away, not liking his tone. “Who do you think you are? Coming here after almost three years with nary a word or consideration! You dare to question my honor? You left me the morning after our wedding without so much as a by your leave. And, before that, you barely spoke to me except to order me about and call me a child.” “Ginevra, I did send word to you so don’t act as if you are abandoned. I only meant--” “Nay, I know what you meant and if you have no wish to hear honesty from my lips than you had best learn not to ask such sharply pointed questions of me. You don’t have the right to question me. You don’t know anything about me. And until tonight you haven’t bothered to be around long enough to learn! Except through the connections of family, you’re a stranger to me.” He dropped his hand, clearly displeased with her contrary tone. “You’re my wife. I’ve known you since you were in a cradle.” “Oh, so you remember saying the vows. I’ve often wondered,” she huffed, liquor making her words flow too freely. Her resentment over the past years ebbed to the surface. She crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously pushing her breasts up. Wolfe looked down at her exposed cleavage. Unmindful of her words, she continued, “You lied to me and you dare to question my purity? If you’ve forgotten, sirrah, it was you who told me that a kiss consummated our marriage. If I’m pure, it’s of your doing. And, if I’m not, well I suppose that’s mine. But you’ll never know for I’ll never confess what I’ve been up to.” “Ginevra,” he warned. He lifted a finger to point at her face. She knocked it away with a stiff slap. “Should I ask of your purity, m’lord? Do you think me so blind as to believe that all those women tonight with their simpering glances and bold innuendoes are just mere acquaintances? Do all your friends grab your backside as they are leaving?” Wolfe flinched. She knew he didn’t think she’d seen Lady Katrina’s bold caress. As soon as she said the words, she wished them back. The last thing she wanted was to please his male vanity by admitting she noticed. He licked his lips as his gaze moved to her throat and the pulse that raced there. Her head swam with a sensation more stirring than the effects of the liquor. Her body burned to feel the length of him pressed suggestively into her. She felt as if she was in a cloud, surrounded by a dream and she was afraid she might wake up. “Lady Helewysa, Lady Katrina, Anne, Anne-Marie, Mortosa, Morganna and those are only the names I remember!” Ginevra wrinkled her nose, fighting to keep control over her body’s responce to him. “And you took that woman Sarra into your bed on the night of our wedding. I saw you. Now the woman looks at me like she’s better than I. It’s all your doing. How could you have done that? She’s a servant and I can barely look at her without flinching. On our wedding night! Beyond that, you left me waiting for you at the altar like a fool. I was married in a dining hall filled with drunken ... and ... That’s the one night that’s supposed to be the most important day of a young girl’s life. It was the one night I was told of since I can remember. You’re the one person I was told to ... and you ruined it.” Wolfe kept his face cautiously blank. He detected the lonely pain in her voice. It tore at him in a way he wasn’t ready to explore. Seeing her mounting fury, he tried not to smile. For a moment he saw a flash of an impish child calling him a mongrel dog. He thought of the last three years, of all the women. She hadn’t even begun to list the half of them. “You were only a child, not a woman. I couldn’t sleep with a girl-child. I thought it was best to leave you, to give you more time to your girlhood. Would you rather I forced myself on

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you? Gotten your belly large with child so that you would come to resent me for it? If you must have the truth of it, I promised your brother not to touch you. Had I been given my way, I might have ravished you every day since. But I did the right thing, the honorable thing. I left. And, yea, I’ve taken other women to my bed, but only because I couldn’t take my child wife.” As he said the words, he knew with sudden amazement that he spoke the truth. He’d been living in a haze, waiting for her to grow up, to become a woman. And she was, standing vulnerably in front of him. He froze, unsure as to the feelings inside his chest. He was a man, a fighter. Men didn’t speak of emotions. “Then?” Ginevra sighed. The fire faded from her eyes, as she sat on the bed. “You weren’t disgusted by me? All these years, I thought you rejected me because I was too boyish and I’d worked so hard to make sure you’d be pleased with me. I even wore those cursed veils because I thought you wanted me to.” Wolfe could take no more. Her soft green eyes were looking past him when he shot forward and grabbed her about the arms. He lifted her up as his lips instantly sought her trembling mouth, pulling her into his embrace. She gasped in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Her arms tentatively found his warm chest as he crushed her to him. She moaned lightly as his tongue traced the line of her lower lip. Sighing against him, her lips parted. Her innocent response drove him mad as no woman had. There was no scheming in her, no calculations. His mouth became more insistent against hers as his tongue delved farther into her to taste the wine on her tongue. Ginevra’s legs faltered as she grabbed his tunic for support. Wolfe chuckled, a low husky sound against her lips. She opened her eyes and dazedly tried to pull away from him, striking her wrist defiantly against his chest. The weak motion was unconvincing. Wolfe’s mouth left hers to lick at her awaiting throat. Her skin smelled of the bonfire with a hint of lavender. Her lips tasted of sweetened wine. Keeping her supported by one sturdy arm, he brought his hand around to cup her breast covered by the constricting folds of her gown. Ginevra gasped and moaned. His body ached painfully to hold her, but he wanted her willing. It was nothing to seduce or force an innocent maid, but he wanted her to know she wanted him. He wanted it desperately. “Nay,” Wolfe growled against her lips. Lavender drifted all around him, taunting his senses. His hips pressed into her soft belly as his manhood yearned to be set free. Stroking her cheek, he pleaded, “Don’t deny me tonight, Gin. I’ve waited too many years for you. I need you. I need to feel you.” Her eyes drifted to his lips parted in heavy, tortured breaths. Lifting her hands boldly to his face, she pulled his mouth to hers. Hesitantly, she kissed him. Wolfe’s throaty moan washed over her in appreciation as he pulled her more firmly against him. Forced over his arm with the insistent onslaught of his mouth, Ginevra gasped in maidenly delight. “Take off your gown, lest I be tempted to rip it from you,” he ordered in a lustful growl as his mouth moved past her ear. Wolfe was a passionate man who was not in the habit of slowing his unrefined whims. Ginevra’s eyes shot open in fearful panic. She pushed against his chest as she looked at the intensity of his piercing gaze. Slowly, she shook her head in denial as the fog began to lift from her eyes. “I should go,” she whispered quietly, her words drowned out by his heavy breaths. “Nay.” Wolfe’s hands strained as they moved unwillingly to his hips. “The king’s guard won’t let you. You have to sleep here tonight. If you leave, the entire camp will know.”

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“I don’t care about the camp,” she stated. “They mean nothing to me.” Briefly, he closed his eyes, seeking control. “But what of your honor? If you don’t stay this night with me, the men will think you are estranged. They will think you would be willing to seek the company of others.” “That’s preposterous,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand as she walked to the opening of the tent. “If they try, I’ll put them in their place.” “Is it, my Sparkling Emerald?” he asked lightly, a smile playing wryly on his lips. Suddenly, he wanted to take the words back. He wasn’t sure he wanted her knowing the effect she had on other men. “Sparking Emerald?” she questioned, turning about to face him. Slowly, she made her way back to him. “Is she the protector of the encampment? That is at least the tenth time I have heard that name said tonight.” Wolfe studied her neck, watching her pulse beating erratically in her throat. She kept her face carefully composed, but she was not as coolly immune to him as she would have him believe. “Nay, she is the enchantress of the encampment.” “Whatever she is, she has no place in this conversation. Mayhap you are drunk.” She wrinkled her brow as she studied his eyes. Lightly his hand lifted, touching her cheek. Her eyes rose to meet his. She swallowed. “Don’t you know?” he asked quietly. “You’re the Sparkling Emerald. You’ve entranced every man in this encampment.” “Every man, m’lord?” she asked doubtfully, wondering what he tried to imply. “Even you?” “Yea, especially me,” he admitted, as he leaned in to kiss her mouth. Murmuring hoarsely against her lips, he said, “Don’t deny me. If not for your reputation, do it for mine.” Ginevra pulled back from his searching hands. Her breathing deepened as she shook her head. Wolfe took in a sharp breath, looking close to the point of explotion. Demanding, he stated in a harsh growl, “You are my wife. I order you to come to me. It’s your duty to come to me.” Her eyes lost some of their sparkle and she stepped forward like a human sacrifice. Standing completely still, she tilted back her head and stared listlessly at him. If Wolfe had wanted to kill the passion inside of her, he’d said the right thing. Softening his tone, he took a tortured gulp of air and wearily shook his head of his confusion. His hands shook and he balled them into fists. “Why did you stop? I can see that you want me as I do you. Why do you deny us both the pleasure I’m offering you. It’s right that we are together. There’s no sin in wanting your husband.” “Nay, m’lord, I can’t want you.” She lifted her chin higher. “I’m a noblewoman and ladies don’t want men. We send them to the beds of others.” “So you wish me to bed others?” he asked, baffled. “Nay,” she admitted sadly. Lashes fanned over her eyes as she looked away. “I really don’t.” “Then?” he prompted, frustrated and confused. “I told you, that’s what noblewomen should want.” Pursing her lips together, she kept them from crying out in embarrassment. “And you bid me to be a noblewoman to make your family proud. I’m trying, m’lord. My mother said that noblewoman wish their husbands to bed others since our bodies haven’t the capacity to enjoy a man’s attention. I know tonight must be a

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test of some sort. I’m afraid I’m failing it miserably. So if you would please give me the correct response to your testing then I’ll do what I’m supposed to. All you have to do is tell me what to do.” “When did I bid you that?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement, as if for the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever saying something so stupid. “In that missive you sent through Robert when he came back to us wounded from raiders.” Her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. Mumbling under her breath, she reminded, “And I childishly sent you my pink hair out of spite.” Wolfe gulped. He’d written the missive right after Thomas died. The blood had still been on his hands when he picked up the quill. The remembrance brought him no pleasure. His face darkened only to clear into a blank mask. He avenged his brother by slaughtering the lot of thieves until his body had been soaked in their blood. They’d screamed for a mercy that would never come. Occasionally, the cries still haunted him. But, not so much as what else he had seen that night. It was not something he wished to remember. Vaguely, he recalled his father’s dark announcement making him the heir, a position he never wanted. His mind had been perplexed from grief and he couldn’t recall all he wrote to her. “Forget what I wrote to you,” he ordered, grabbing her to him. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. “I would have you as you are. Nobility is thrust upon us by destiny. It’s not always achieved. I want you to say what’s on your mind to me. I want you to touch me anyway your body wishes. And damned if you are your mother’s idea of a noblewoman! I’d not have your mother. I would have the pink-haired nymph running about the countryside in a pair of my breeches.” Ginevra shivered at the heated tone of his words. A smile slowly crept to her features. Pleasure at his fervent acceptance swept through her veins until she was completely under his charming spell. Her body gravitated naturally closer to him. Her arms reached for his neck in shy hesitation. “As to enjoying it,” he whispered as his mouth sought her parted lips, “I won’t stop until you feel pleasure in a hundred different ways. I can show you such things with your body that you could never imagine.” Ginevra drew in a ragged breath, a little frightened by his bold admission. She could feel the deep contours of his muscles as they came up against her soft skin like a stone wall. Her blood raced through her veins, carrying his fire with it. It seared her limbs as she melted into his will. She didn’t want to be just another woman he conquered. She didn’t want to be a trophy he claimed to the jealousy of the other knights. But she had no time to protest, no time to reason or think. His mouth crushed against hers claiming her weakened breath. She couldn’t fight him. Her will slipped completely from her grasp with a slight moan. He was what she wanted, the only man she’d ever wanted. Her arms wound about his neck, pulling him closer to her. His words of acceptance spun about in her head like a gust of heavy wind, knocking her off guard. His hands found the ties at her shoulders, loosening them with deft precision. The overtunic slid to the floor at her feet. Just as efficiently, his fingers discovered the laces at the back of her chemise and tugged them apart. The material slid from her slender frame, unveiling her naked body to him. Ginevra felt a slight blush color her cheeks as he tore his mouth away to look shamelessly at her. His dark eyes bore gloriously into her, puncturing her soul with their designed pleasure and disconcerting promises. And still, she didn’t understand. The gentle curves of her body were outlined by the soft firelight coming from outside the

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tent walls. She watched him carefully for his approval. When his eyes fell upon her skin with heated fascination, her stomach began to warm and churn with an unusual response. The sensation kept growing. His gaze powerfully claimed every inch of her skin until she burned with the need to feel him pressed against her naked flesh. “Now you,” she panted in excitement. Wolfe had no qualms about throwing his over and undertunic from his chest in one mighty pull. He did so quickly before hauling her back into his passionate embrace. Ginevra gasped as she felt the folds of his bared chest along the length of her naked torso. His smaller nipples pressed into her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks until they were hard. Instantly, she became moist, the slit between her thighs heating. She ran her fingers over the contours of his chest in a gentle sweep, before trailing over his arms to find the waistband of his breeches. Wolfe groaned and ground himself against her. Ginevra felt her legs weaken at the movement. Her hands slid to his muscular hips urging him to her. Panting lightly, her eyes closed. She pulled him as she walked backward to the fur covered bed. Sitting on the edge, she scooted back, tugging him along with her. Wolfe climbed over her willingly as she fell completely to the stuffed straw mattress. He lowered his head to kiss her breasts. Her legs parted naturally to allow for his weight. As the hot length of his arousal fitted next to her to gently stroke her sex through the binds of his clothes, she gasped in amazement. Her limbs began to sing with the heat of his body, the aroused smell of his bronzed flesh as he caressed her. Wolfe was pleased by her uninhibited passion as she trailed her hands over his back to firmly grasp his butt. Pulling his hips more firmly against her, she parted her legs wider. “Please,” she begged. She didn’t understand what she was asking from him, only that she needed for him to give it to her. The years of frustration and hurt built behind the wall in her chest, pushing at it until it began to crumple. Her body needed fulfillment--a fulfillment it couldn’t name. Wolfe chucked against her only to groan as her hips wantonly thrust into him. His shaft pulsed hotly against the tightness of his breeches. He wanted to slow, but couldn’t. Unable to deny his body the silken depths of her core, he freed himself by roughly pushing his breeches around his hips. His fingers sought her moist slit, testing her readiness. Feeling her cream flowing over his hand, he couldn’t help but dip his finger inside her. Ginevra gasped in shock, never thinking he’d touch her there, never thinking her body would approve of it. Her eyes grew round as he slipped a finger deeply inside. She arched her back at the intimate caress, feeling the tightness of it and unsure if it was pleasure or pain the sensation caused. Then his finger moved within her to rub the sweet spot within her channel, and his thumb pressed along the sensitive nub hidden in her folds. Panting for air, Ginevra bucked against the agonizing torture of his expert fingers. Her thighs rubbed along his waist, pushing the breeches further down his hips. Carefully, she moved in the primitive rhythm that his body sought to teach. Wolfe growled at the motion. Withdrawing his finger from her tight passage, he lowered his mouth to kiss her delicate ear. His lips distracted her from his purpose as he lightly bit the tender lobe. Ginevra gasped at the agreeable irritation. At the same instant the small jolt hit her ear, his shaft glided boldly into her. She squeezed her legs against his hips, unsure if she wanted to

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stop him or urge him deeper. Wolfe paused along the boundary protecting her maidenhead. Her tight body expanded to accommodate his larger size. He could feel her innocence burning for him to claim it. Biting and licking her ear again in a tender caress, he jabbed fully within her. Ginevra bucked up off the bed, trying to pull away. Her eyes widened in fear as the full length of him filled her. It left an aching trail deep inside her. Helpless against his need for her, Wolfe moved his hips in a frenzied motion. Her face blurred in his vision until all his body could recognize was its own fight for barbaric fulfillment. Rising up on his hands, he thrust powerfully into her only to withdraw and do it again. His hand lifted her by the back of her knee to keep her from escaping him. The position allowed him to go deeper inside her core, and he growled in primal gratification. With each powerful thrust, her breasts bobbed underneath his vision. He stared at the perfect mounds with their hardened peaks. He licked his lips in pleasure, wanting to take them in his mouth. He fought his release, not wanting the sweet torment to end. It had been too long since his senses had been heightened past the point of control. Ginevra watched his impassioned face in awe as his body claimed hers. Her mother’s words echoed in her head, telling her that noblewomen couldn’t enjoy a man’s attentions. Had her mother been right? Was she just not capable of feeling his pleasure? Slowly, the burning pain subsided to leave behind fragile warmth, pleasure built, creating a tension so sweet she wanted to cry. His mouth gaped open for breath, making his face contort into a look of anguish and pain. Wolfe growled, a low animalistic vibration that thundered past the tent. A maid passing the tent giggled at the sound, but was ignored by those within. He tensed, his body going completely rigid, as he felt his body explode into her softness. She was so new to him, so perfect. With a heavy sigh of contentment, he collapsed atop her, panting hotly against her flesh. Ginevra touched his broad shoulders in uncertainty, as his breathing returned to normal. Raising himself out of her, he fell contentedly to the side. Ginevra gasped in awe of his powerful form and the thick member that still nestled between his legs. She couldn’t believe he molded the serpent-like shaft completely inside her smaller body. But the pain inside of her attested to the truth of it. Wolfe leisurely kicked off his boots as he turned to look at her. Seeing her hesitant face, he froze. A small sense of dread assaulted him when he realized how rough he’d been with her. At the attention, Ginevra blushed and quickly scrambled underneath the covers. Wolfe sighed at her shyness as he sat up to completely pull off his breeches. Then, crawling naked under the covers, he pulled her into his arms. Gently, he stroked the hair out of her face. He kissed her forehead. Her wide green eyes sought his, clamoring silently for approval. All she got was a tenderly soft kiss that made her toes curl. As his arm settled around her waist, he lay next to her silken body on the bed. His fingers possessively held onto her, kneading the muscles of her stomach, making escape impossible. “It will be better for you next time, Gin. I promise,” he whispered with a hint of manly satisfaction. He ignored the guilt of his actions. He would make it up to her. He would be the gentleman she needed him to be. His promise to Robert broke into his head, reminding him that he was not to treat Ginevra like a whore. Wolfe agreed. She was his wife. He would treat her with gentleness and respect. It was his duty to protect her, even if it was from his own baser needs and indecent whims. Wolfe felt her squirm against him. His hand stiffened, holding her firmly into his

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embrace. Peeking from underneath his lids, he saw her closed eyes and tentative smile before he fell into a contented sleep. **** Eilric glared at the side of the tent, careful to keep his shadow from falling onto the thick canvas. In front he saw the king’s guards chuckling under their breaths as Wolfe’s contented moans drifted from inside. He heard a growl from within and froze, knowing the man was finding his release within the body of his wife. Eilric frowned. He could hear the monster’s satisfaction well enough, but the sweet Ginevra made no such sounds. From her there was only silence. Ducking back into the shadows as a serving wench happened by, he glared at the buxom woman waiting for her to leave. The maid giggled under her hand and paused to glance at the tent before hurrying past. Eilric watched her go before turning his full attention back to the fornicating couple. Hearing silence, he drew silently closer to listen to what was spoken inside. His ears strained but detected nothing. Cursing under his breath, his hands gripped tightly at his side in search of his dagger. His arms twitched, wanting nothing more than to slaughter Lord Wolfe in his sleep. But he stopped, thinking of the gentlewoman who was next to him. The last several years Eilric’s life had been set on revenge. Never had he thought there was room for aught else. That was until he laid eyes on sweet Ginevra. It had been a bitter twist of fate that she belonged to the man he’d sworn to kill. He’d seen the way she paled at the very mention of the monster’s name. He couldn’t blame her. “Soon Ginevra,” he whispered through his blinding hatred, as he backed away from the tent. Soon the day will come when I’ll free the world of him. And you, my sweet innocent, will belong to me.

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Chapter Eight Wolfe smiled and blew lightly against Ginevra’s skin, watching it bubble with gooseflesh as she nuzzled closer to his warmth. She swatted at her neck and moaned softly in protest of the sensation. Wolfe did it again, grimmacing slightly, as her leg wedged up against his inner thighs. He pulled the coverlet off her naked body to look at her. Slowly, he tested the smoothness of her creamy flesh with a bold brush of his hand. By all that was holy, she was beautiful, her body entwined with his. With a slight moan she nestled closer to his heat. A veil fell over his features, as he watched her eyes open. It was the first time in his life that he’d spent the entire night with a woman, sleeping with one anyway. Usually he banished them from his bed after they’d met their pleasure, or he left. His wife’s emerald eyes looked around in confusion, before settling on his face. As the dreamlike cloud cleared from her expression, she blushed and turned to hide her face. Reaching behind her, Ginevra searched for the coverlet to hide her nakedness. Wolfe moved his foot to lie on the fur so she couldn’t pull it over them without completely sitting up and exposing herself. Ginevra shivered. To Wolfe’s surprise and dismay, she found an edge and gave it a hard jerk, lifting the fur over her. He slid his arm about her naked waist so she was unable to pull away from him. She didn’t try. Burying her head in his chest so she could delicately yawn, she closed her eyes. She snuggled deeper into the side of his body. “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, stirring her hair with his words. He’d noticed, with no small amount of manly satisfaction, that a light tinting of blood smudged her creamy thigh. “Not really,” she whispered. “I’m just a little sore. I’m sure it will pass.” Wolfe grinned at her candid honesty. He pulled back to study her face. She glanced impishly up at him before lowering her lashes. Her hand lightly skimmed over the flesh of his hip. Wolfe froze. It moved over him in a gentle caress to brazenly brush along his buttocks. Unbidden, his muscles tensed and he felt his loins grow heavy with desire. He woke up wanting to possess her again, but thought it best to give her time to heal. “Are you always this hot?” she asked before placing a tentative kiss on his chest. Wolfe groaned softly in response, his body stirring restlessly against her as his hands roamed over her ethereal form. Closing his eyes as her fingers tapered across his flat stomach, he tensed. Silently, he urged her gentle explorations lower. Her hand hesitated, moving to glide back up. “Touch me,” he murmured hoarsely. Ginevra glanced down at the source of his tremendous fire. It moved and pulsed before her eyes as she ran the tip of her nail along the smooth end. A low guttural sound reverberated in Wolfe chest. His stomach tensed and his hand gripped firmly on her hip. She smiled as he panted ragged breaths. “Touch me,” he growled more insistently, unashamed, when she didn’t stop her teasing caresses along the head of his shaft. His hips thrust up in search of her fingers. She kept her hand back, amazed at how she could control the large man with only the lightest of movements.

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Seeing the sweat on his brow as he tightly closed his lids, she licked her lips relishing the power she had over her gladiator of a husband. Again she kissed the center of his chest. Wolfe let loose a throaty groan as he fell helplessly to his back. Seeing the approving movements of his body, she rubbed herself against him. His legs parted slightly as her thigh pressed over him to hold him down. When he tried to touch her, she pushed his hands away. The new position afforded her a perfect view of his thick member. She shook her head, still amazed that he had fit the entirety of it inside her. At the thought, her body ached for him to do it again. It was a strange reaction, considering the pain his penetration had caused. Unable to stop her hand from exploring, she finally gripped him in her palm. She was rewarded with a moan of arousal from his panting lips. Deciding she liked to be in control, she again pushed his hands away as he tried to touch her. Wolfe moaned, leaning to feel her again. After he tried insistently a few more times, she let go of him and pushed his hands up out of her way. Grinning sheepishly, he folded his hands behind his head and obeyed. Taking him lightly in hand, Ginevra placed kisses over his taut flesh, first finding his neck, then his chest to lightly graze over his nipples. When his hips pushed his manhood fully into her hand to stimulate a stroke, she smiled in understanding. Slowly, she moved her hand in a long caress over his arousal. Wolfe grunted in manly appreciation. Ginevra chuckled mischievously. His breath became haggard as she quickened her movements. Her body stirred restlessly next to his, enjoying the feel of power over her brave knight. Her nipples peaked as they rubbed against his side. Maneuvering so that she leaned over him, she let her breasts graze his stomach. Wolfe’s hips moved faster. She could see the tensing in his arms as he gripped his hands beneath his head. Letting her hot breath fall excitedly against his firm stomach, she lightly kissed him near his navel. Wolfe groaned. Keeping up the movements of her hands, she tested him by kissing a little lower. His answering moan was louder. Shyly, she did it again and again he approved. Then, growing empowered, she lightly kissed the top of his shaft with her parted lips. Her tongue flicked out to taste him, curious about the scalding limb. Wolfe almost lunged off the bed with a jolt of satisfaction. His hips pressed up, following her soft lips with shaft. Ginevra gasped as he slipped himself deeper into her mouth. Beads of sweat surfaced on his hard body. His stomach strained, tortured because he couldn’t put his hands on her. She continued to caress and stroke and lick and tease, until finally he exploded with a primal yell of gratification. Ginevra gasped in surprise and confusion. She watched him in awe as she withdrew her hand from him. Moisture sprung from his fiery tip to spread over her palm. She waited quietly until his chest evened with slowing breaths and his eyes fluttered open to gaze at her mystically in wonder. “Did I hurt you?” she questioned timidly. “You said I could touch you any way I wanted.” “Nay,” came his throaty response. He was amazed with the naturalness in which she responded to him and couldn’t have been more pleased. A wave of sudden suspicion crossed over his eyes, until he saw the insecure way she was looking at him. Coming to lay next to him, she laid on his arm next to his shoulder. “Then you are pleased with me?” “Greatly,” he admitted. “You can touch me like that whenever you like. I will never stop

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you.” Ginevra frowned as a mischievous light entered his turbulent gaze. Her heart fluttered at the intensity of his stare. Glancing at her hand, she asked, “So it was supposed to leak like that?” “Oh, yea,” Wolfe chuckled, nodding his head as he moved up on his arms. His eyes stalked her like a ravaging beast. “It was.” “Oh,” she gasped as his body rolled over to pin her down. He was too large to fight off, not that she wanted to try. “And now, wife,” Wolfe swore, “it’s your turn to be pleased.” His hands explored the entire length of her form until she melted under his touch. He took his time, worshipping her body with his mouth, his hands, his virile form. And when he branded every crevice of her flesh, he felt his body charged and ready for her. Ginevra cried out in passionate confusion and was sure she could stand no more. Her head tossed around on the mangled fur coverlet, seeking an end to the bittersweet torment. Then, he entered her with a controlled thrust of his hips so that she felt every inch of him as he slid deep inside the well of her body. With precise motion, he caressed her deeply, moving slow and sure in small strokes. Ginevra’s fingers reached up to wind around his neck. Wolfe leaned down to tenderly kiss her pulse beating at her throat. His hips continued their slow, tormenting thrusts. Ginevra stared at him through the narrowing of her lashes. As she watched the pure emotion on his face, he sent shivers over her soul. Then her eyes drifted shut as the pleasure became more than she could take. Finally, when the tension built to the point of ecstasy, she screamed her release into the empty tent so that her pleasure was heard all over the encampment. Wolfe felt himself empty once more inside her womb. His legs trembled with the draining force of her need until he too lay sated next to her on the bed. **** Ginevra couldn’t hide the flush on her cheeks or the happiness gleaming in her eyes as she looked out over the crowd. Her pleasure drew the attentions of the encampment until every male in attendance wished it had been he that put such delight into her beautiful features. But Ginevra didn’t notice the other knights. Her eyes were only for her husband. Wearing a simple gown of light green and a silver circlet over her locks, which held a shining piece of polished glass in the shape of a crystal teardrop over her forehead, Ginevra looked every bit the noblewoman. She left Wolfe’s tent to quickly bathe and change for the last day of tournaments. Her heart fluttered every time she thought of his tender caresses and a new appreciation of her own body came over her. Blushing in embarrassment, she turned her eyes downward. She couldn’t help but wonder if the entire camp knew what happened and if they did, what were they saying about it? Ginevra tried to convince herself that she didn’t care. But as she blushed, her cheeks turning even more to a burning red, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. “M’lady didn’t come back last night,” Lora said in delight from her side, as she watched the herald come forward to announce the first combatants. Her eyes also sparkled with a telltale gleam. “I was,” Ginevra began with a blush, “occupied elsewhere.” Lora clapped her hands together ecstatically as a grin grew over her features. Keeping her eyes carefully forward, she said, “It’s just as well. I was busy myself.” “Oh, yea?” Ginevra turned to her handmaiden in surprise, “Who?” “I don’t know if I should say,” she whispered back.

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The knights spurred their horses forward, one in black and the other in green and yellow. Ginevra felt a rush of excitement as she watched the battle. The men met with a clash. The ladies watched the thrill of the sword fight for a moment before turning back to the conversation. When the black-clad knight fell from his destrier, Ginevra mumbled, “You have to tell me! I promise to say naught.” “Well, let us just say I met King Richard yestereve at banquet,” Lora whispered with a girlish blush. “All o’ him.” “The king?” Ginevra mouthed in amazement. Lora nodded with a disturbed sigh and a blush. “I did,” the maidservant mouthed. “I should say if I wasn’t loyal to the crown afore, I am now. I think I will never find a man as tender or so deliciously skilled again.” Ginevra blushed, her mouth opened to answer in kind, but she was stopped by a dark voice behind her. “Lady Ginevra, how radiant you look this morn.” Ginevra choked down her awe at Lora’s confession as she turned around. Smiling pleasantly at Lord Eilric, she nodded her head in graciousness. Then, seeing his hand bandaged to his waist in a splint, she inquired, “Lord Eilric, were you injured?” “Ja, m’lady. I’m afraid I was too careless last eve during my last bout.” He shot her an unabashed smile, boldly staring into her emerald gaze. Ginevra didn’t notice the impropriety. “After I defeated my opponent, the knight after me lost control of his steed and startled mine. I was able to steady him, but not before my wrist was twisted badly amongst the reins. Alas, the physician said I could no longer participate in this tournament. I had to withdraw.” “Oh,” Lora put forth in a hush, not liking the way the man was looking possessively at her mistress. Ginevra didn’t heed his overbold stares or possessive glances as she watched the next two knights ready themselves. Politely, she mumbled in distraction, “What a shame you can’t fight, Lord Eilric.” “Nay, it’s just a tournament. There’s no reason to place mislaid value on winning like so many of these knights do. Ja, they even leave wife and home for years at a time just to assuage their vanity.” “And yet you participated,” Ginevra stated, not liking his reference to Wolfe. She read the meaning in his eyes as he slighted her husband. She also knew she couldn’t defend Wolfe, for what he said was true. “Only because King Richard asked me,” he stated blandly. “I’m here only by request of mein Kaiser, my emperor.” Lora giggled lightly and had to hide her face as he mentioned the king. The maidservant’s nervous fingers pressed into her lips to keep her quiet. Ginevra was glad for the clamor of the fight as it drew her attention away from Lord Eilric. She tilted her chin boldly into the air as the swords clanged loudly. The crowd gasped in a mix of horror and awe as one of the men lost his helm and almost his head. The knight fell to the ground in a daze. His servants had to drag him from the field. The continued matches went on as the day progressed into late afternoon, until four victors had been decided. Then, as Wolfe drew forward, his arm raised to salute the king. A hush fell over the crowd as a squire ran forward to place a white flag over one of the advancement pegs. The crowd grumbled in disappointment as Wolfe lowered his arm and retreated as the victor by default. Eilric clenched his teeth in anger. Ginevra hid her disappointment.

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Then, as Wolfe looked to her, she stood silently acknowledging his notice. A smile froze on her face as she spotted a white piece of cloth attached to his armor. She had given him no token. Angrily, she turned to Lora. “Lora, come,” she stated. Then, turning to Eilric, she nodded her head regally. “Lord Eilric, thank you for your company. I hope your wrist heals quickly and that there is no lasting damage.” As they walked away, Ginevra turned tortured eyes to her handmaid. “Please tell me you gave my husband the token that sits on his chest. Tell me you sent it from me.” Frowning, Lora shook her head. “Nay, m’lady. I haven’t even spoken to Lord Wolfram.” Narrowing her eyes, Ginevra glared off into the distance. Her fist shook with rage as she remembered Lady Helewysa’s request the night before. The horrible woman had asked Wolfe to champion her. Had her nefarious husband granted the painted woman’s request? “M’lady,” Lord Eilric came up behind her. He noticed her pale face with a small smirk of delight. “Should you be in need of an escort? I noticed there were no guards about you today. Since I’m injured, I have naught to do until the next rounds begin and would be honored if you let me be of service to you.” To Lora’s disapproval, Ginevra agreed with a terse nod. The noblewoman took the man’s proffered arm as he led her silently away from the back of the bleachers. The handmaid dutifully fell behind them as Eilric escorted the noblewoman through the maze of people. They strolled silently for a moment. Eilric nodded to several knights, liking the stares he received in kind. “Lord Eilric,” Ginevra inquired growing bored with the polite stroll. “Tell me, do you have family around here? Any brothers or sisters?” “Nay, I had a brother. He was a great man,” Lord Eilric stated. “He was born in Eschenfeld Castle, as was I.” “And what happened to him?” Ginevra inquired. “He was murdered, m’lady. Very unjustly while trying to help the poor,” Lord Eilric answered in a low tone. Ginevra nodded, thinking it best to change the subject. “And Eschenfeld? It’s far from London?” “Not so very far. I should arrive there in about two fortnights if I were to travel there directly,” Eilric answered, liking that she was taking an interest in his homeland. “But, alas, I haven’t been there for many years. I have been in France for mein Kaiser.” “And is your homeland much like England?” Ginevra asked, curious about any place that was not home. If she couldn’t travel there, then at least she could hear of it. Eilric smiled, delighted to recite to her the differences of his people. Ginevra listened intently, laughing at all the right times and prompting him with questions when he halted. As he led her further into the crowd, careful to keep her away from her husband’s tent, he indulged her with much charm and attention. Wolfe waited in his tent during the break, hoping Ginevra would come to see him. He had seen Lord Eilric sitting with her. The man watched his wife with too attentive of eyes. Turning to his brother, as William entered under the flap, he asked harshly, “Who is next?” “Sir Gregory,” William stated. “He tilts to the right when he swings so you should be fine if you come in from the left. Just watch his shoulder for the turn. Be careful, for he recovers quickly. If you don’t strike right away, wait and try again later.” Wolfe nodded seriously and adjusted the gauntlet on his hand, before steepling his fingers

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beneath his chin in thought. William poured a wooden goblet full of mead. Handing it to the distracted knight, he sighed, “You’re not worried are you?” “Nay,” Wolfe admitted as he tossed back the drink in several gulps. He wasn’t worried about fighting. Fighting he could handle. Wolfe stood and moved over to the tent’s opening. Looking out the flap, he searched for Ginevra. He couldn’t see her in the passing crowd. “Are you ill?” William persisted. His brother should have been in a fine mood by all accounts of the noises that came from his tent that morn. Wolfe and Ginevra were quite the talk of the encampment, though he would never tell his brother so. “Nay, merely distracted,” Wolfe stated with a dark frown. Looking at the sun as it shone brightly in the sky, he sighed, “It’s time to go back.” “Only two more,” William encouraged, grabbing his brother’s helm. Wolfe didn’t hear him as he stalked away to the field. **** Ginevra spied Wolfe from across the tournament field. She lifted her chin into the air hauntingly as he glared back at her. He still wore the other woman’s token across his chest. Letting Eilric escort her to her seat, she smiled pleasantly at the charming man. Wolfe fumed in outrage, Ginevra pretended to ignore him. As they were seated, Lora followed solemnly behind. Growling as the herald announced his name, Wolfe slammed the helm shut over his features. He gripped his sword but didn’t raise his arm. As the flag dropped, he viciously kicked his stallion in the ribs and spurred him forward to battle his opponent. Sir Gregory met his sword and took advantage of Wolfe’s distracted anger by meeting the sharp metal of his blade with Wolfe’s armor. Ginevra gasped as Wolfe slumped slightly from the blow. But he didn’t stop fighting, instead turning his rage against the hapless man. His sword bit into the muscled flesh of Sir Gregory’s sword arm. The knight dropped his weapon signifying defeat. The gathered throng cheered wildly. Wolfe raised his blade angrily in the air to shake it boldly at his wife. Ginevra paled. Wolfe growled viciously. The crowd encouraged his displayed temper by applauding louder. Deciding the break allowed between matches was too short a time to leave the bleachers, Ginevra sat quietly back as the two finalists were suited and readied. Wolfe, with a defiant tilt of his brow denied that he needed time to rest. “But, Wolfe,” William protested. “Let us see to your arm.” “It’s but a scratch,” he hissed, as he slammed down his helm. Acknowledging to the herald that he was ready, he turned his horse back to the field. A murmur rose over the crowd. Ginevra looked to Lora who shrugged in puzzlement. “He doesn’t rest,” she heard someone murmur from behind. The coarse peasant accent filled her with dread. “He’s a bloody fool.” Ginevra stood, despite her anger at him. Leaning forward to watch, she felt Lora on her arm holding her steady. “He will be killed,” Ginevra whispered in trepidation. Lora tensed. Their eyes stayed focused on Wolfe as he lifted his arm to the cheers. “...and Lord Eadward of Littleworth,” the herald announced. His words were lost on Ginevra’s ears. Lord Eadward looked to be a man of great barbaric size. As the herald backed up, the flag was dropped. The knights spurred forward. Ginevra gasped and paled as Wolfe’s arm faltered under the rested man’s weighty blows. She gripped Lora tightly by the arm. Lord Eadward’s blade slashed near Wolfe’s injured arm barely missing

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him. Ginevra could feel her heart beating, as time seemed to slow. Eadward swung again, this time succeeding on hitting Wolfe in his injured arm. Wolfe’s sword arm dipped dangerously low. Eadward lifted his sword and swung for his opponent’s side. Striking him in his armored ribs, he withdrew his bloodied sword. Suddenly, Wolfe switched his blade to the other side and swung. Eadward, taken off guard by the change, fell from his steed into the dirt. A glorious cheer rose up from the stands as Wolfe raised his hand as the victor. Ginevra held still, her heart permanently wedged in her throat as he turned to her. She could feel his heated glare as he rode forward to King Richard. Wolfe took off his helm and held it fast under his arm. Ginevra didn’t hear the king’s proclamation as he named Wolfe the tournament champion. Nor did she move as he was awarded a bag of gold for his troubles. Wolfe acknowledged the crowd before departing, all the time keeping his fixed gaze steadily on his wife. **** As Ginevra made her way to Wolfe’s tent, she hesitated. The last bout ended nigh an hour before, but she just now dredged up the courage to face his wrath. Seeing his flap open, she noticed the dark tunic of the king’s tournament physician. She froze waiting until he left before continuing forward. William came out followed by Wolfe’s squire. The lad nodded, as William whispered an order and ran off to the stables. “Will!” Ginevra called in delight. She rushed forward to greet him. “Ah, Gin!” William responded. He grabbed her hands and squeezed them gently before letting go. “I heard you were about.” “How is he?” she whispered, unsuccessfully hiding her worried frown. She tried to see through the side of the tent and failed. “He will live, though he will need to rest a bit,” William admitted with a serious smile. “It’s glad I am the tournament’s over. And it’s glad I am that you are here to tend him.” “But,” Ginevra began. “Thanks Gin,” William smiled gleefully. “I’ll see you on the morrow. I’m going to make Wolfe’s apologies to the king since he will miss the banquet tonight.” “But,” she tried again. William ran off before she could continue. Muttering, she whispered, “I came to thwart him, not to care for the daft oaf.” Still, as she walked, her heart leapt in fear. She ducked into the tent, instantly spying him in the bed. His eyes were closed, his chest naked. Immediately, her body remembered what pleasure he had given her that morning. Her cheeks colored. Going to him, she gently lifted the covers to expose his naked side. A white bandage wrapped around his ribs to cover his wounds. Quickly covering his disturbingly familiar body, she turned to his face. His eyes were open, his brows rose in silent question. Ginevra pursed her lips together and turned away. Pouring herself a goblet of mead, she turned to study him as she sipped it thoughtfully. Her face drew blank. Not offering to care for him, she watched him with hostile silence. “Bring me a drink,” he ordered darkly. He closed his eyes. “Get up and get it yourself,” her voice was calm. “Or ask one of your women.” “Are you still on about that?” he grumbled. Then, obscurely he spat, “I could ask your man.” “My what?” she shot back in surprise. At her confusion, he forced himself up on his elbows with a wince. “I watched your bout but I think I didn’t see the blow you received to your

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hard head. It’s too bad. I would’ve quite enjoyed it.” “What else do you want from me, woman?” he growled. Blood seeped through his white bandages staining them crimson. He ignored the pain. “I honored you by winning the tournament.” “You honor yourself and your vanity,” she countered. Rage bubbled in her chest as she stared at him. How could she have been so forgiving the night before to let him consummate the marriage? She never drank to such excess as to impair her judgment. Now, even more so than before, his touch branded her skin and she knew she would never be the same. But she cursed her body even as she denied it his touch. Wolfe scowled at her as he fell back on the pillow. He turned his stormy eyes away from her. “Send William to me.” “Quit ordering me about,” she returned sharply. Then, setting down her goblet, she walked slowly over to him. “William left you to my care. He’s at the banquet. Now lay still as I look to your bandage.” Wolfe grumbled but did as she ordered. Ginevra peeled back the bandage as it continued to soak with blood. The wound was long, but would heal given time. It was nothing compared to the wound her brother had received all those years ago. Lightly touching it, she noticed a bucket of water near the bed. Taking the rag already pink with his blood, she wiped the wound clean. Then, finding a pile of bandages by the bucket, she wrapped it, leaning over him as she worked. “Tell me,” he inquired when she had finished. “Why did you stay with me yestereve if you dislike me so?” “I had to,” she stated flatly. “The king ordered it and I was drunk. If I had been thinking clearly I would’ve run back to my tent and gladly so.” “And this morn,” he mused. A challenge lit up in his face. “You weren’t drunk. You could’ve left me then. But, instead, you begged for my touch.” Ginevra paled. Her eyes hardened as she stood. “You are a scoundrel to speak of such things. I was being a dutiful wife, like I thought you wanted. But now I don’t care what you want. Let your mistresses tend your wounds. I daresay there should be a nursemaid amongst them, being as there are so many.” “Dutiful,” he questioned in determination. His eyes turned to her breasts. “Both times?” “Oh!” Ginevra fumed with a scowl. “You are incorrigible. And you are a miserable cad to speak thusly to me.” “Ginevra, wait,” he called mockingly as she stormed out of the tent. A victorious smile alighted on his lips. “What about my care?”

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Chapter Nine “I thought you left me for good,” Wolfe stated blandly from the bed. He lifted his hands to rest leisurely under his head, as if she had been gone only a minute. When, in fact, she had been gone for nigh three hours. Yawning as if he had no care in the world, he gave Ginevra a shiftless smile. “I have to stay here with you,” Ginevra answered with a pout. A lecherous smile came to Wolfe’s mouth and his eyes roamed suggestively to her breasts. Sighing, she shook her head at him as if he were a naughty child. “I see your mood has improved, m’lord.” “It would improve more if you came here to assist me.” His grin widened. “Not a chance.” Looking meaningfully at the bed, she added, “I might be forced to share this tent with you, but I won’t share that bed.” “Who is forcing you?” he quipped lazily. “Go back to your own tent.” “I can’t.” Slowly, Ginevra wandered about. Stopping to look at his sword, she touched the end of the blade. Instantly, the point pieced the skin and caused a bead of blood to form on her finger. Jerking her hand back with a sound of surprise, she stuck the injured digit in her mouth. “Careful,” Wolfe chuckled, “that’s sharp.” Ignoring his smirk, she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Examining her finger before lowering her hand to the side, she said, “They’re taking down the tents and William told the workers they could dismantle mine. He said that my things would be brought over here. Since I had no say in the matter, I suppose I’m stuck being your nursemaid. Though don’t expect a loving wife, for I don’t l--” At Wolfe’s cold look, her words died off. Any claim she might have uttered remained unsaid. “Careful,” he warned with a menacing glint to his narrowed eyes. Inside his chest felt like a vice was squeezing his heart. Her emerald eyes were lifeless as they studied him in cold indifference. “I asked William to have a tray of food delivered here. Since you are unable to stand up,” Ginevra paused as he tried to hide an amused smile. Wondering briefly at it, she continued slowly, “I thought it better to have you eat in bed. The faster you heal, the faster I can be on my way home.” Wolfe studied her golden locks as they framed her oval face. She was a beautiful woman-her tanned skin, slender athletic body, her round perfect breasts that fit into his palms. Just seeing them all made him ache to possess her again. Licking his lips, he shut his eyes with a groan. Immediately, she was at his side. Her hand went to his forehead to test it for heat. Frowning, she leaned over to pull back the coverlet to see his wound. Wolfe’s eyes cracked open to watch her. He could see the exposed tops of her cleavage as she leaned over to tend him. When she was gone, Wolfe had taken his breeches off and thrown them behind the bed. So when she went to check his wound, his manhood stood straight and proud as if looking at her. Ginevra gasped in dismay. Wolfe groaned louder. Her eyes flew to meet his obstinate gaze. Seeing that the bandage

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was still white, she threw the coverlet back over him with a harsh tug. Before, she could walk away, his hand shot out to grab her arm. “Hold, m’lady. What of my injury?” “It’s fine. Your ribs will heal, if you quit whining like a girl.” She frowned, disarmed by his nakedness. “I was speaking of my other affliction.” He smiled carelessly. “Are you not here to tend me?” “There’s naught even a witch could do for your simple mind,” Ginevra said in all seriousness. She was tempted by the firm curve of his manly lips, but the mischievous light in his eyes held her back. It was as if he taunted her. Ripping her arm from his grasp, she stalked out of his reach. “I’m sorry, m’lord. You are cursed.” Wolfe laughed, throwing his head back in merriment. “I forgot how much fire you had, wife,” he mused when his laughter subsided enough for him to speak. He watched her through veiled eyes and was amazed to see the coloring of a blush on her features. “Well, then. You should have been around more,” she snapped. “I already explained. I’ve been training.” Wolfe refused to mention his promise to Robert not to touch her. He had told her once. That was enough. “Or would you have me sitting at home idle, coddling you and growing fat? So that when the time for fighting neared, I’d be too weak and too bloated to raise my sword?” Ginevra rolled her eyes heavenward. Muttering under her breath, she hissed, “I think it’s your head that’s bloated.” “Would you be proud to call such a man husband?” he persisted, unable to hear her words. “If I had my way, I’d call no man husband.” Finding a chair hidden in the corner, she pulled it in front of the bed and sat. Her face was as regal as a queen’s. At that, his eyes shot up in surprise. “But every lady wishes for a husband.” “Not I,” she answered. She met his gaze bravely. “I married you out of duty and because I was too young to know better. Should I be given the same choice now, I don’t know what I’d do.” “And what would you do if you didn’t marry?” Wolfe felt his frustration growing as he looked at her insolent face. She wasn’t afraid of him. “You would rather be an old maid?” “That is a man’s description. I call it freedom.” She yawned delicately, enjoying the incredulous glare in his eyes. “If a woman doesn’t want a man in her bed, you call her frigid. If a woman doesn’t wish to marry, you call her an old maid. If a woman wants to travel about with a sword, you call her mannish. What you disdain, I embrace as freedom.” Wolfe froze, never having heard such thoughts before. His eyes grew round as he studied her bored face. He ignored the gripping fear in his chest. Carefully, he asked, “You wish to be free? You want that I should release you from our marriage?” It was Ginevra’s turn to be shocked, though she hardly let it show through the hard lines of her face. Pretending to swipe at her skirt, she tilted her head in thought. She hadn’t imagined he would so readily give into her baiting. With a forced sigh, she said, “It’s not possible. What’s done before God shall remain forever done. We are married. I have no choice and neither do you.” “What you say could be construed as blasphemy,” he argued. His eyes drew into narrowed slits as he stared at her from the bed. “Are you not afraid?” “Nay,” she lowered her lashes to return his hard stare. “I’m not afraid.”

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“Will you honor your vows?” His look was pointed. “Yea, I will honor my vows. I will be a loyal wife,” she admitted. “I’ve sworn to it.” “You also swore to obey me,” he put forth. “Nay, I didn’t,” she smiled victoriously. “If you remember, you arrived late to our nuptials. The priest was drunk, you were drunk, and our fathers were drunk, as were the witnesses. I also suspect my mother was a bit tipped. I swore nothing more than to be a faithful wife. We are married, but I said no vows.” Suddenly, he threw back his head in amused laughter. “You’re serious! You would hold that night over my head? Was it not explained to you what happened? I couldn’t help being late.” It was no apology and Ginevra didn’t expect one. “Yea, I met Lord Gravely. He’s still very grateful to you for your assistance that night. As is Sarra.” The smirk died on his lips. “I thought we had been through this. I will have you mention it no more.” “Even if the truth is not said, it’s still the truth,” she muttered. He ignored her by closing his eyes. “I’m weary.” His voice was hoarse. “Leave me to my rest, wench.” Ginevra stood. When he didn’t open his eyes to look at her, she assumed he already slept. Walking over to him, she laid her fingers on his head. His skin was warm but not feverish. Sighing, she turned and walked from the tent. When she was gone, Wolfe opened his eyes to look after her. Frowning, he hit his pillow and turned on his side. Besieged by her words, he fell into troubled sleep. **** The sky darkened and the air began to cool. Slowly, with the diligence of the workers, the encampment was torn apart. The stands were dismantled and carted to London. As the eve threatened to turn into night, only a few tents with bonfires of billowing smoke remained. Much to the relief of the king’s guards, no attempt was again made on his majesty’s life. The wind picked up. As the lonely sound of birds echoed from the sea of stars, which poked hesitantly through the fog of clouds, Ginevra wandered the desolate encampment in wonderment. Just that morn the tournament had yet to finish and then, within the course of a few blinks, the countryside was barren. In a few days, there would be no sign of anything having taken place in the large field. Receiving only a few curious glances from the remaining nobles, Ginevra walked about without escort. Though none approached her, their eyes secretly stayed with her solemn face and sad emerald eyes. She looked for William and Lora, but they were nowhere to be found. Finally, she sighed. Realizing she couldn’t hide any longer from Wolfe and that food would no doubt be brought to her patient’s tent, she turned her feet toward her husband. Someone had lit a fire outside the front flap. Stepping gingerly around it, she held her skirt from the bright flames. Reaching for the flap, she paused. Hearing a feminine voice on the other end, she scowled in anger. “Come on, Wolfe. She won’t be back for awhile and you don’t look so badly hurt.” Ginevra recognized Lady Helewysa’s shrill voice. It ground across her skin like a mace to the gut. “And besides, I got a healing draught for you betwixt my legs. I’ll make it all better.” Hearing her husband’s throaty chuckle, Ginevra threw back the flap. Her eyes instantly sought the naked woman standing before the bed. Helewysa’s gown was around her dainty ankles and her hands were set firmly on her waist. As she cleared her throat to gain the woman’s notice, Helewysa turned, her painted face lighting in horror.

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Without comment, Ginevra stormed to the shocked woman and grabbed her by the back of her hair. Helewysa cried out in dismay as she delicately swatted at her attacker’s hands. Ginevra ignored her as she dragged her to the flap. “Wolfe,” Helewysa squeaked. Wolfe watched with a smirk of amusement on his face. He crossed his hands over his chest. He didn’t go to the wanton woman’s aid. He hadn’t asked her to come. Ginevra tossed the offending woman out of the tent without a stitch of clothing. Then, she turned to efficiently dispose of the woman’s gown. Helewysa covered herself with her hands as Ginevra tossed her gown into the nearby fire. Realizing she was on display for the remaining camp, Helewysa ran for the cover of the tree line. Inside, Ginevra strode nonchalantly to the pitcher of warm ale. Pouring herself a goblet, she gulped it over the rage in her chest. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she poured another cup. Placing the empty pitcher by the full goblet, she turned to Wolfe. He sat in the same place, looking at her with innocent eyes from the bed. Grunting, she turned from him and drained the goblet of all its contents. “May I have a drink?” he asked with an angelic smile. “Nay,” she answered harshly. “It’s all gone.” “Oh,” Wolfe said in mild dejection. Then, realizing she had no intention of speaking about what had just transpired with Helewysa, he folded his arms behind his head. Lying down, he asked, “Then can you see to my wound? I think the bandage is in need of a change.” Letting go of an audible sigh, she crossed over to the bed. Lifting back the coverlet only far enough to see the bandage, she kept his manhood covered. Blood soaked through the white cloth. Leaning over, she grabbed a fresh bandage and yanked the old one from him. “You shouldn’t have exerted yourself.” Her words were flat. He ignored the matter-of-fact tone when he saw the clenching of anger in her jaw and the erratic pulse at her neck. Purposefully, he answered meekly, “I hadn’t yet exerted myself. You came back too soon.” “Oh,” she huffed, pulling his old bandage with a hard tug. The cloth stuck to the wound and bled again with her rough handling. Grabbing the wet cloth from the bucket, she swiped the trickle of blood and placed a fresh bandage immediately over it. “Lift up.” He did as she commanded. She leaned over him to wind the cloth around his midsection. Then making sure it was secure, she tied the ends neatly into a knot. Setting a firm pat over the covered wound, she stated, “All better.” Wolfe grunted in annoyance. She stood from the bed. Her eyes shown victoriously as he glared at her. “I think you lack as a nursemaid, wife,” Wolfe sulked. Ginevra ignored him, instead answering the summons from the flap. “Yea, Will,” Ginevra called. “Please, enter.” William came in with a trencher piled with food. He looked to the bed with raised eyebrows to look at his brother. Turning to Ginevra, he placed the bundle on her outstretched arms. “I see you are well looked after, brother.” Wolfe grumbled in response, but said nothing. His wound still smarted from where she’d hit it. “And you, Gin?” William inquired with a slight smile of enjoyment. “All’s well,” she answered smoothly as if naught was amiss. She laid the trencher on the table.

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“Well, you’ll never guess what happened. Someone tossed Lady Helewysa out of a tent naked. The whole encampment is abuzz with the event. She streaked bare-arsed through the camp to the trees.” William chuckled. Wolfe frowned. “You don’t say,” Ginevra stated blandly. “Oh, Gin,” William laughed. “So it was you. King Richard was never so amused in his life. He said to tell you he will be by later.” Ginevra gulped wondering if she was to be scolded by the king. Taking a deep breath, she shot a glare at Wolfe. “Have you more ale or mead? I think I need a drink.” Wolfe’s head snapped about to look at her. She pursed her lips together and gathered the pitcher. Without comment, she stalked from the tent to search out more mead. After she had gone, William turned to his brother. “She’s madder than a bucketful of hornets on a stormy lake. You weren’t doing anything, were you?” “Nay, Lady Helewysa woke me up. She thought to make me feel better.” Wolfe chuckled at a private joke. “Ginevra just had very unusual timing. I was about to tell her to leave.” “You are going to tell her, aren’t you?” William shook his head wearily. “Nay,” Wolfe decreed. “And neither will you.” William frowned, not liking the decision. Suddenly, someone called from the flap. It was one of the king’s guards. Going outside, Wolfe could hear his brother speaking in low tones. Then, when he returned, King Richard followed him. Wolfe moved to stand. The king held up his hand bidding him to stay down. Taking the chair Ginevra left by the bed, he sat. He motioned for William to leave. When they were alone, he said, “You must be gravely ill to be abed so long, Lord Wolfe. Have you a need of the physicians again? For they have informed me that your wounds, though long, they are not so deep as to keep you in bed.” Wolfe smiled sheepishly. “I have other reasons to stay abed.” “Quite so!” Richard laughed. “I don’t blame you.” Wolfe’s grin deepened. Sitting up, he kept the coverlet over his midsection. He moved about freely as he lowered his naked arms to his covered knees. A line grew near his narrowed eyes, as he asked seriously, “Are we still to leave on the morrow?” “I am,” King Richard stated with a benevolent smile. “But you’ll escort your wife home. When you see her safely delivered, you’ll come to meet with me. I’ll leave you instructions with William as to where I’ll be.” “Yea, majesty,” Wolfe answered easily. King Richard stood and walked around the chair. Leaning on it, he said, “And Wolfe?” “Yea?” Wolfe wondered at the king’s knowing smile. “Take your time escorting her back.” Richard stood and walked out the door. Ginevra met him with a full pitcher. Wolfe quickly lay back on the bed and adjusted his coverlet. “Majesty,” she said with a small curtsey. “Ah, Lady Ginevra.” The king nodded his head for her to stand. With a smirk lining his features and a light of merriment shining from his wise eyes, he declared simply, “Outstanding.” Ginevra blushed as the king stepped past her to disappear in the darkness. Then, letting a look of dispassion overcome her features, she moved to place the pitcher on the table. “What did the king want?” she asked carefully. “To inquire as to my status. He bid me to escort you home while I recover.” Wolfe watched her every move from the corner of his eyes. She lifted his dagger and sliced through the loaf of bread. Then, cutting a hunk of cheese, she walked over to lay them unceremoniously on

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his stomach. “Eat,” she commanded before walking back to the trencher. Lifting the bread to her lips, she took a bite. Then, filling the goblet, she brought Wolfe a drink. He took it from her gratefully. Suddenly, Ginevra frowned as she heard another person outside the tent. Going to the opening, she lifted back the flap. A gush of liquid came forward to douse her in a mighty splash. Ginevra howled in surprise. Lady Helewysa’s laughter trailed off into the distance as the woman ran away. Ginevra froze in anger. Muddied water dripped over her face and down the front of her bodice. Dropping the flap, she dug her fingers into her eyes to swipe away chunks of muck. Flicking it on the floor of the tent, she turned to Wolfe’s laughter with a glare. “I am going to kill that woman,” Ginevra stated, hatred dripping from her voice. Flicking her hands again, she walked to the edge of the bed. “Where’s my trunk?” “I didn’t see it delivered.” Wolfe frowned. Sitting up, he tried to see the end of the bed. “Perfect,” Ginevra fumed. Leaning over, she lifted the lid to Wolfe’s trunk and started riffling through it. Grabbing an old pair of breeches, a leather strap and an undertunic, she slammed the lid. “Ho,” Wolfe protested. “I’m not looking,” she stated against his annoyance. “There’s mud in my eyes and I can’t see anyway.” “What are you doing?” he asked when she laid his clothes on the bed. “Changing,” she answered before frowning through the mud. “Turn away.” “Nay, it’s my tent.” He licked his lips as he watched her expectantly. Slowly, he rose up on his elbows. His half-eaten meal fell to the side, forgotten. Letting her eyes roll in her head, Ginevra sat on the dirt by his trunk where Wolfe couldn’t see her. As she was finally out of his sight, her limbs shook. His naked form on the bed, so nonchalant and proud, was heating her blood to the point of boiling. The touch of his firm body was still too fresh in her mind to ignore. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her eyes from drinking in the sight of him. Carefully, she lifted her wet gown about her waist. Then, pulling it over her head, she flung it off. Finding a dry spot, she wiped her face and wrung out the front strands of her hair the best she could. Wolfe watched the edge of the bed, seeing her hands reach up to gracefully tear the gown from her body. Her slender arms shone in the dim light as she once again lowered them. He felt his body stir with longing as he heard her moving about. Leaning forward, he grabbed the breeches and hid them under his pillow. He was about to do the same with the tunic when her head poked up from the end of the bed. Her naked arm darted forward to grab the tunic. She disappeared for a moment only to stand wearing his shirt. The tunic was one of his shorter ones but fell to her knees. Rolling the sleeves, she seemed completely at ease in the ill-fitted material as it swam about her body. Pulling her long hair from the back of the shirt, she looked at the bed in confusion. Turning around, she looked at the floor and then again to the bed. A questioned formed on her lips as she met his eyes. It was never spoken as he smiled innocently in response. “Give me the breeches,” she ordered, holding at her hand. “Ask nicely,” he bid with a gentle motion of his head and a come-hither gleam in his

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eyes. Taken with the easy smile on his firm lips and the heady scent of him that came from the tunic she wore, she stepped forward. His dark eyes were piercing, as the captivating smile he carried grew wider. It beckoned her to him. “Give them to me now,” she commanded, though her words grew husky and lacked venom. “That is not nicely, m’lady,” he said, denying her the breeches. “Give them to me, please,” she stated with softer words. Her feet moved to him, mindless of the commands of her brain to stop. “Better,” he whispered. Her narrowing eyes entranced Wolfe as her long lashes fell over her emerald gaze. He took in her naked thighs as they teased him with peeks through the slits of the tunic. Her muscular calves were small and rounded and tapered to delightfully slender ankles. When she looked at him again, she smiled. Wolfe felt the fire in his blood begin to scorch his veins. “Where are they?” she asked, playfully. Wolfe shook his head. “I’d be hard-pressed to give them up. They are my favorite pair.” “Really?” Ginevra’s word was hoarse as she licked her lips. Her eyes darted to his parting mouth. He waited for her kiss. “Really,” he confirmed. His eyes closed as she leaned into him. “Fine, I’ll borrow another,” she said cheerfully, denying him her touch. Wolfe growled. Ginevra smirked as she went to his trunk. Lifting the lid, she rifled through his belongings, purposefully messing them up, before coming to a dark brown pair. Slamming the lid, she slid the breeches over her naked legs. Then, grabbing the strap of leather, she tied it around her waist to fashion a belt. Wolfe glared at her. His body shook violently with the need she aroused inside of him. His loins pulsed heavy, not used to being denied. “It’s late,” she commented, as if nothing happened. Inside her body shook with a mighty force, but the sweet taste of having the upper hand with him made her stay back. “We should get some rest. William tells me that we are to leave on the morrow around noon for Whetshire.” Ginevra walked to the bed and pulled a spare fur from the end. Laying it on the floor, she curled up in it and turned away from him. Soon, she pretended to sleep. Wolfe growled and hit the bed in frustration. He refused to go to her, refused to let her win. Ginevra spent the night alone on the dirt floor, wishing he would just give in.

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Chapter Ten Ginevra gave a derisive grin as she looked into Desert’s solemn eyes. The stallion obstinately nodded his head at her inspection. Knowing that they had an understanding, she patted Wolfe’s horse lightly on the neck before leading him to his master’s tent. The morning was young, but the encampment was nearly empty. Only a few servants remained to clear up the last tent standing--theirs. Ginevra frowned. She awoke that morning to find Wolfe’s trunk and all his belonging gone. William had snuck in during the hours before dawn and stole the trunk. In its stead, he’d left Wolfe’s weapons, a satchel full of enough food to last the journey home, a pair of clothes for Wolfe to wear, and a parchment stating he would see their personal belongings safely delivered to Whetshire. He also noted he did so as not to aggravate Wolfe’s wounds since his brother would undoubtedly have to travel slowly. Wolfe merely laughed. Ginevra paled, realizing she was to make the excursion with him alone. Tying the destrier’s reins around a post, she ducked into the tent. Her eyes were smudged with dark circles, but she forced herself to smile as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She glanced at Wolfe sitting on the bed. He was fully clothed and stood as she entered. For a moment she froze. It was one thing to have him stranded helplessly on the bed, quite another to have him standing before her. He was simply dressed in brown breeches, leather boots and a black wool tunic that laced lazily in the front, exposing his thick neck and strong chest. Ginevra’s mouth went dry. His sword slung over his shoulder to hang at his waist. As he stepped forward, she could see the strength behind his relaxed movements. “Lora took my mare,” she stated grimly. “The groom said William ordered it readied. We’ll both have to share Desert. He’s outside. I hope you don’t mind riding bareback, only his reins were left.” “It’s fine.” Wolfe’s smile curled into a devilish grin. Ginevra paled as his eyes took in her form with one gentle sweep. She quickly turned away. Cursing herself for staring too long, she tried to ignore his irritatingly confident chuckle as he took the rolled fur coverlet and left to tie it to his horse. Grabbing the satchel from the table, she tugged the loose pair of breeches and adjusted the waist. William hadn’t left her a change of clothes so she was stuck in the tunic. Not that she cared. She was quite comfortable in the masculine ensemble. Touching her cheek, she absently scratched at a thin caking of dirt on her jaw. She’d already untangled her hair the best she could of all mud clumps from Helewysa’s little prank. “Ready?” His whisper was directly behind her. Ginevra didn’t hear his approach. Whirling on her heels, she met with his sturdy chest. Her eyes darted to the soft divot at the base of his throat. She swayed as her knees weakened and her hand landed on his heartbeat to steady her movements. The tent began to spin with his nearness. Breathless, she looked up into his handsome gaze. Her heart beat nervously. His lips drew closer and his gaze held her captive within. Unnerved from his nearness, her lashes dipped down. Tilting her head to receive his kiss, she nearly swooned with anticipation.

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Wolfe eyed her parted lips. He let his breath land softly on the moistened offering. A weak moan came from her throat. Whispering, so that only a hairsbreadth of space existed between their mouths, he said, “Mount up.” Ginevra jolted at the quiet command. Her eyes shot open to glare at him. He smirked delightedly as her face turned a bright shade of angry red. Spinning abruptly from her, he said over his shoulder, “We’re wasting traveling hours, m’lady.” Ginevra watched him with fists clenched and ready to strike. She was forced to take a deep breath before she could manage to walk. Adjusting the satchel on her shoulder, she marched out of the tent. Wolfe was already mounted when she joined him. With a hard look of disapproval, she grumbled, “You should be more careful with your wound. I won’t have you bleeding to death on the way.” “Oh, would you miss me if I were to perish?” he queried with a devilish smile. His brown eyes glittered with amusement. “Only as one misses the familiar annoyance of a village imbecile,” she quipped in return. Wolfe sighed as he held his hand to her. She took it and swung up behind him in one graceful movement. Then, taking the satchel from her shoulder, she handed it around his body so he could hang it over the horse’s back. “I can’t believe Will took Purch,” Ginevra breathed in dejection behind him. “Hold on, m’lady.” Wolfe refused to answer her. He nudged Desert with a slight kick of the foot. “I should hate for you to fall lest Desert prove to be too much animal for you.” “I could ride this stallion blindfolded,” she shot back. “I have no doubt, since you’re only riding. I’m doing the actual work,” Wolfe said, baiting her with his easy smile. “Still, I should hate for you to fall.” “That’s all right.” She rejected his offer with a shake of her head. “I wouldn’t want to upset your wound.” “You could always grab on lower,” he offered with a smug toss of his head. He could feel her enticing heat behind him. His body still stung from her rejection the night before. Losing none of his charm, he said, “I wouldn’t mind too much.” “Not even out of necessity, m’lord,” she whispered defiantly near his ear. Her breast grazed the heat of his back. She ignored the pleasure of his body. “Not even if you paid--argh!” Her words were lost in the beating of hooves as he spurred his horse through the clearing of the field. Ginevra jolted in surprise, her hands automatically finding a hold around his ribs. When his stomach lurched, she loosed her grip and moved her hands lower. Wolfe threw back his head and laughed, as he continued to race with her along the countryside. Getting used to the feel of the horse, Ginevra loosened her grip. Unable to stop the smile of pure pleasure from forming on her face, she tightened her legs about the stallion and flung her fingers into the air. Wolfe jumped in alarm as she let go and glanced nervously over his shoulder. Seeing the long trail of her wild hair fluttering behind them and the slender curve of her exposed neck peeking through his tunic shirt, he relaxed. The pure freedom of her face and the sheer pleasure she derived from a simple gallop amazed him. Never before had he seen the fine look on her features as he did when he glanced at her. Wolfe kicked Desert, urging the horse faster. Ginevra smiled as she seized Wolfe’s hips. His buttocks slammed back into her as he leaned forward. Ginevra leaned into his back, helping the horse to run even faster. The sea of rolling grasses flew past the thundering hooves of Desert’s feet. The very power of the animal legs drove it forward in galloping strokes of energy.

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As they neared the end of the long field, Wolfe slowly sat up and pulled Desert into a lighter stride. The animal obeyed and shortened his gait to an easy trot. Sighing in delight, Ginevra forgot her animosity and leaned forward to lay her cheek along Wolfe’s sturdy back. Wolfe felt her gentle caress and froze. He didn’t want to move and startle her away. As the stallion moved down a rock incline to a well-worn path that headed home, they didn’t deem to break the silence. **** Acres of woodland foliage and fields of rolling lush grasses stretched around the voiceless couple as they rode. The sun glittered bright and proud over their heads, crowning them in their stubbornness, but the gentle breeze kept it from burning too hot. Only once did Ginevra speak, asking Wolfe to pass back some dried meat. They chewed in silence, not stopping Desert as they continued home. The horse walked at a leisurely pace. Wolfe saved the stallion’s energy for the long trek ahead. As the uneventful hours passed, Ginevra yawned in boredom. Stretching her hands above her head, she sighed audibly into the sky. “Tired?” Wolfe inquired over his shoulder. “Would you like me to stop?” The concern in his words took her off guard. “Nay, I’m fine. It’s just tiresome back here without my own horse.” “It’s getting on in the day. I think I should try to do some hunting, lest we won’t have fresh meat for the journey,” Wolfe voiced absently. Nodding to the distance, he said, “I believe there’s a stream that way should you like to wash the mud from your hair. It will make a good place to camp for the night.” Ginevra bit her lip at the reminder of her mud bath. Stiffening against him, she breathed, “Fine.” Wolfe nudged Desert, moving swiftly into the forest. Within moments, they were by a clearing next to a small stream. The sun wasn’t as bright as speckles of light danced on the woodland floor. Lacking comment, Ginevra slid from the horse before it completely stopped. Wolfe jumped to the ground with a questioning glance to her back. “I’ll get firewood,” she announced. “Gin, is aught amiss?” he inquired, his voice even. “Nay.” Her shoulders twitched in rigid propulsions, as she leaned over to grab a stick and then another. She refused to look at him as she angrily stacked the firewood in her arms. Wolfe tethered Desert’s reins loosely so the horse could graze near the stream. Then, taking off the saddle pack, he pulled out his dagger and fastened it at his waist. When he turned around, Ginevra was gone. Wolfe frowned in frustration, but didn’t go after her. **** Ginevra stoked the fire into a bright blaze. Kneeling, she looked around the clearing for Wolfe. He was gone. She assumed he was hunting. However, he didn’t tell her he was leaving so she wasn’t sure. Desert was tethered nearby. The horse’s comforting snorts and whinnies joined the forest sounds. Wind wrestled treetops showered their songs from above. The clear waters of the stream flowed gently, resounding over the peaceful campsite. Shivering, Ginevra looked at the inviting stream, drawn to the water’s edge. With a sigh, she felt her dirty locks. They were still caked with mud from Helewysa’s attack. Smiling despite herself, she laughed as she remembered the naked noblewoman’s stunned face. If she had to decide, she rather thought her attack was the better revenge. What was a little mud compared to the humiliation of being put on public display? Surely nobles and peasants alike would be talking

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about it for several years to come. Still chuckling, she dipped her hands into the cold water and splashed it on her face. Scrubbing the grime of travel from her features, she soon found herself longing for a bath. With a quick glance around the campsite, she slowly unbuckled her belt. Then, when she heard no human sounds coming from the surrounding forest, she slipped out of the borrowed breeches. Her tunic was soon to follow, landing in a crumpled pile on the shore. Desert sniffed the air as he nodded his head. Ginevra glanced at him with a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes. Standing naked by the shore, she waded into the cool stream. As the water deepened, she sat. The cool liquid lapped about her shoulders in a gentle caress. She sighed happily and took handfuls of sand from the bottom to scrub at her skin. The water clouded around her with dirt, but soon cleared as it was swept away with the current, leaving her clean. Ginevra didn’t notice the steamy gaze that watched her steadily from behind a large oak tree. The blood thickened in the man’s veins as he spied the naked woman on the shore, as his brown eyes shot fire from under half-raised lids. Her sprightly body moved deliciously in the sunlight as she waded into the water. He grasped the skinned rabbits tightly in his fists. Smiling in pleasure, he tossed the meal soundlessly near the campsite. Then, turning, he disappeared into the trees. Ginevra washed furiously, cleansing her skin the best she could without the aid of soaps. Then, rinsing her hair in the same fashion, she pulled the wet locks to ring them out the best she could. Having no linen to dry off with, she quickly climbed out of the stream and brushed the water droplets from her skin with a gentle flick of her hands. Satisfied that she was as dry as she could make herself, she pulled Wolfe’s tunic over her head and quickly did up the breeches. Lifting her wet locks, she wound them into a knot at the nape of her neck and bound it in place with a leather strap. Suddenly, she frowned. Looking at the ground, she saw two skinned rabbits ready to cook. A blush colored her features as she glanced to the trees. “Wolfe?” she questioned carefully. She received no answer. “Wolfe, this isn’t amusing.” Still she got no answer. Feeling exposed, she lightly tossed another stick on the fire. That was when she saw a neat pile of firewood stacked near the rabbits. Taking one, she placed it on the flames that instantly roared with the attention. Feeling an odd chill, she shivered. Next to the firewood was the making of a spit. She shook her wet locks. With much haste, she built the spit and set the rabbits to cooking. **** Wolfe’s stomach growled as he neared the camp. He smelled the cooking meat before he saw Ginevra by the fire turning a spit. Striding forward, he raised a questioning brow at her handywork as he tossed a rabbit near her feet. Ginevra’s eyes shot up in surprise. His piercing gaze swept over her wet hair and freshly scrubbed skin. A smile lined his firm lips as he looked down at her breasts. Her cheeks instantly colored as she thought of him watching her bathe. Glancing at his offering, she asked lightly, “Do you really think we need that many?” Wolfe frowned. Taking the dagger from his waist, he tossed it to the ground. The blade embedded in the dirt near his rabbit. Ginevra eyed the bloodied weapon before grabbing it. Taking it to the water’s edge, she quickly rinsed it off. “You appear to know your way around a campsite,” Wolfe admitted reluctantly. “Surprised I can build a fire?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Yea,” he admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t know that was part of a woman’s training.”

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“My father taught me when I was younger.” Ginevra made her way back to the fire. Wiping the wet blade on her dampened pant leg, she continued, “We used to go riding at night. Sometimes we would camp.” “Did he also teach you how to hunt?” Wolfe asked. He was amazed at how easily she fitted into the wilderness. Most women of gentry were hard-pressed to leave the comforts of a castle. “Ah, nay,” she answered carefully. Again a blush deepened on her features. Turning her attention to her work, she stoked the fire. “He did try, but--” “What?” he questioned at her look of embarrassment. “I don’t want to tell you.” “Tell me what?” With a heavy sigh, she admitted, “I can’t kill anything. I see its eyes and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t even fish without feeling guilty.” Wolfe laughed at her admission. Then, glancing at the rabbits, he said, “You appear to have done all right.” “After the killing and skinning is done by someone else I have no problem, but I just can’t bring myself to deal the death blow.” Ginevra moaned lightly and shivered at the thought. “But,” Wolfe became confused. “I know, it’s silly,” she broke in. “But you did fine today.” Wolfe glanced meaningfully at the rabbits as they began to burn. With a gasp, she pulled them from the fire. She set them down on a nearby rock to cool. Distractedly, she uttered, “I told you, I have no problem cooking them. One has to eat.” Wolfe’s frowned deeply. Slowly, he asked, “Ginevra, how did you get the rabbits if you didn’t kill them?” Ginevra froze. As if speaking to a slow child, she said, “You left them for me.” “I didn’t give you those rabbits.” Placing his hand on his sword, he was careful not to move his head to look around. “Look at me.” Ginevra did as she was told. Her limbs shook as she stared into his stormy eyes. They were dark and cold. Steadily, he said, “Smile.” She did. It wavered. “Where did you get the rabbits?” he asked in a low voice. “I was bathing in the stream. I thought you left them for me to cook.” Ginevra’s eyes darted around the camp. Suddenly her insides quivered, as she admitted, “I thought you watched me bathe.” Wolfe shook his head in denial. Ginevra paled. “They were by the fire,” she explained in a rush. She ignored her girlish discomfort and the urge to belatedly cover her body from view. “As was more firewood.” Within a blink of an eye, Wolfe drew his sword with a mighty swish. Spinning on his heel, he pointed his blade to the forest. Ginevra gasped and fell backward. A man walked out from behind a tree as she landed hard on her backside. “I gave ’em to ’er,” the man stated simply. His long beard moved as he spoke, but Ginevra couldn’t detect lips underneath the heavy mass of whiskers. He was a burly character with thick arms and a round stomach. His body was strewn with a long fur cloak. It was as if he blended into the forest itself. “I didn’t know she was with someone. I only saw the one horse--

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damned fine animal to come with such a woman.” “Who are you?” Wolfe demanded sharply. “Edmund,” the man stated. With a toss of his head, he asked, “She yer woman?” Wolfe looked over his shoulder. Ginevra stood and brushed herself off. He slightly lowered his arm as he shot her a smirk. “Yea,” Ginevra put forth quickly when she saw the mischief brewing in Wolfe’s eyes. Coming to stand beside him, she threaded her arm in his. “I’m his woman.” “It didn’t look like it,” Edmund persisted. Then, turning his gaze to Wolfe, he said easily, “Would ye like to trade ’er? I’ve been meanin’ to take another wife. Got a damned fine collection o’ pelts and I can get ye a good milkin’ cow two days hence.” Wolfe tilted his head to the side and looked down at her. Smiling devilishly, he asked, “Shall I barter you, m’lady?” “I am not for sale!” Ginevra declared hotly, glaring passionately at the two men. Wolfe grinned and shook his head at Edmund. “Nay. I think I have use for her yet.” “Well, if ye be sure.” Edmund shook his head in disappointment. Smiling, as Wolfe slid his sword in at his waist, he sighed, “She has a fiery tongue, does she not? If ye change yer mind--” “I won’t,” Wolfe asserted. His easy expression stayed intact, as he said, “I like a bit o’ fire to my wenches.” “Wench?” Ginevra gasped in dismay. She dropped Wolfe’s arm. “Sir Edmund, I just might go with you.” Wolfe frowned and put a possessive hand on her shoulder to keep her from walking to the burly man. Edmund threw back his head in hearty laughter. Wolfe sighed. Ginevra glared defiantly at her husband. “Is there enuf room at yer fire fer a friend that meant no harm?” Edmund inquired. “Yea,” Ginevra motioned to the ground. Going over to pick up the cooked morsels from the rock, she offered one to Edmund. He took it gratefully. Sitting by the fire, Ginevra bit into the other cooked rabbit. She smiled delightedly as she chewed the warm meat. Edmund joined her by the fire to eat in silence. Wolfe placed his hands on his hips as he looked down at the two. “What about me?” he asked Ginevra sharply. “This one’s my present from Edmund.” She took another delighted bite, as she nodded to Wolfe’s raw catch that still lay on the ground. Through the food stuffing her mouth, she acknowledged gleefully, “There is yours, m’lord. This wench doesn’t like to prepare food.” Edmund burst into laughter at Wolfe’s dark scowl. Ginevra smiled, encouraged by their companion’s good humor. Without a word, Wolfe picked up his dagger and set to skinning his own food. Edmund laughed harder, earning him a blackened glance from dark eyes. Ginevra smiled merrily at the two men and took another impish bite. **** “So you have no home?” Ginevra asked Edmund. She ignored her husband’s dark look as he came to sit possessively close to her. The fire was beginning to dim and Edmund threw a log dutifully on the flames. Then, sitting back, he smiled kindly showing the gap where he was missing a tooth. “Yea, m’lady. Raiders burned my home many years ago. They killed my wife and two sons in that fire. E’er since then, I have been alone wanderin’ the countryside.” “That’s so sad,” Ginevra put forth. She unconsciously leaned into Wolfe. He stiffened in

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surprise but didn’t back away as she settled more permanently against him. With forced ease, he draped his arm about her waist to hold her. He felt her shiver. “Where are you heading?” Edmund shrugged. “Then it’s settled. You shall come to Whetshire with us.” Ginevra shot him a satisfied smile. “Whetshire?” Edmund asked. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ve heard o’ it, ne’er been.” “Yea, I’m Lady Ginevra of Whetshire and,” she patted Wolfe’s leg slightly, “this is Lord Wolfe, my husband. He’s to be future earl. He will make a place for you there.” Wolfe shot a look of dismay at her offer. He too liked Edmund, but Ginevra didn’t know his wishes well enough to speak for him. Then, shrugging, he stated blandly, “Yea, it’s as my wife says. You would be most welcome there.” “Well, I’ll be. Lord and his lady,” Edmund chuckled. “I just might do that.” The fire of Wolfe’s nearness seeped into her skin. Licking her lips, she glanced up into his unreadable eyes. Realizing with a start that she sat so close to him, Ginevra straightened and jerked her hand away from his knee. Wolfe frowned in disappointment. “It’s late,” Ginevra said in a low voice. “Mayhap we should rest if we are to rise early tomorrow.” “Who says we must ride early?” Wolfe interjected with a sly smile. He felt Ginevra squirm lightly against his hold. He grasped her hip tightly in his hand to hold her still. Purposefully, he let his fingers massage her hip in an intimate caress. “We have all of the day for riding. Why don’t you go get that ale pouch from our satchel?” Ginevra swallowed and nodded. Standing on unsteady feet, she began to move. “Nay, there be no need o’ that, m’lady,” Edmund stated boldly with a wide grin spreading over his burly features. “I’ve got some o’ the finest brew o’ the woodlands. Trade furs with an old cripple who makes it. Just give me a flash.” “Oh,” Ginevra looked at Wolfe whose eyes were steadily on her. Edmund disappeared into the forest. His fur cloak blended him perfectly into the trees and he disappeared quickly from sight. Standing before her, Wolfe met her gaze with a dark scowl. “Don’t offer my protection again without my consent.” Ginevra opened her mouth in shock at his stern warning. “I meant no harm. He lost his family. It’s our duty as nobles to help those less fortunate than ourselves. If we don’t help, who will?” “Gin, not everyone tells the truth.” Wolfe took a step toward her. He saw the hurt confusion in her eyes and was sorry for it. In a rush, he said, “it’s all right this once. But I don’t take my word lightly. I wouldn’t have you give it on my behalf. Do you understand?” Ginevra nodded in growing despondency. Taking a step away from his seeking hand, she turned her head sharply to the fire. Wolfe grabbed her jaw and turned her face back. Without waiting to see her reaction, he leaned forward with a bold kiss. Ginevra shook with the suddenness of the embrace. Satisfied, Wolfe let go of her just as quickly. Ginevra studied him carefully as he took a seat. “If only your words to me were as heavily guarded as your honor, m’lord,” she mumbled. Wolfe raised his brow in question but it was too late to speak. Edmund came back carrying a pouch. Ginevra shivered, turning to grab the fur blanket from the ground near Desert. Walking back to the fire, she wrapped it around her shoulders.

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After taking a deep drink from the pouch, Edmund coughed and passed it over to Ginevra. She took a quick sip of the burning liquid and forced herself not to choke. Blinking heavily, she ignored Wolfe and passed it back to Edmund. Wolfe frowned at the slight. Edmund smiled wearily and handed the pouch to Wolfe. They drank in silence for a moment, before Edmund started chuckling to himself. Ginevra looked at him questioningly. “I must apologize, m’lady, fer tryin’ to buy ye. Had I known ye were a woman o’ gentry, I wouldn’t have offered.” Edmund looked guiltily to the ground. “Why?” Ginevra shot back in mild amusement. “Are ladies of gentry not worth as much to you? Am I not worth the price of a good milking cow?” Edmund laughed harder. Wolfe frowned in irritation. Ginevra smiled as Edmund paid her compliment. “Nay, Lady Ginevra, women o’ gentry are worth too much and a woman like ye would be worth the same as a fallen star. I am but a simple man and would ne’er meet the price o’ a star.” Edmund handed her the pouch. Taking a deeper drink, she handed it to Wolfe. Pointedly, she shot, “Did you hear that? Edmund thinks I’m like a falling star. I think never have I had such a pretty compliment.” “I think he may be right.” Wolfe growled, entranced by her sparkling eyes. They did indeed look like stars burning in the firelight. Ginevra made a face at his dark admission. Then, realizing Edmund watched in curiosity, she laughed. “Nay, Edmund, hardly a star.” Ginevra dismissed his gallantry with a wave. “For it’s my opinion that most ladies of gentry are not worth much at all--myself excluded mind you. They can’t take care of themselves and they seek the attention of men to make themselves whole. Take this one woman I recently had the misfortune of meeting, Helewysa.” Wolfe stiffened and glared at his wife. She continued, undaunted by his growing outrage. It would serve him right for trying to lecture her on the worth of his ‘word.’ “Lady Helewysa may be born into title, but I have met pigs with more worth than that addle-brained sow,” Ginevra announced. She smiled innocently as Edmund nodded his head in full-hearted agreement, completely unaware of the battle between the noble couple. Ginevra pulled the fur tightly under her chin, shivering at Wolfe’s direct attention. Even in his anger, he stole her breath and raced her heart. “I think only a dimwitted man would want such a woman in his bed.” “Ginevra,” Wolfe hissed in warning. “Yea, m’lord?” she began. “Oh, I forgot, Wolfe likes Lady Helewysa. In fact they are quite good friends.” Edmund shook his head. Clearing his throat, he corked the pouch and stood up. Ginevra looked up at him expectantly. “I suppose it’s getting’ late. I think I should retire.” Edmund nodded politely at the nobles before disappearing into the forest. Within moments he was gone. Meeting Wolfe’s glare defiantly, she uttered, “I think I shall also retire, m’lord. Good eve.” Ginevra turned and settled onto the ground. She tugged the fur tightly around her. Before she could even close her eyes, Wolfe’s hand was on her shoulder whirling her about roughly to face him. “What was that all about?” he hissed in displeasure. “What, m’lord? It’s late and I wish to sleep.” Glancing to the opposite side of the fire, she

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said, “There is plenty of room over there if you wish to sleep as well.” “Ginevra,” he warned. “All right, if you insist on speaking about it.” She shrugged off his hand with a hard jerk and sat up. His face was very close to hers and she scooted back away from him. Glaring at him, she felt the heavy peasant liquor swimming in her head, loosening her tongue. “Well, speak.” “Naught happened betwixt Helewysa and me,” he stated flatly, though he didn’t feel he owed her an explanation. “You merely kicked her out before I could.” “Naught happened betwixt you because I showed up,” she returned. Her lips parted in heavy pants. Her lids narrowed in anger. “And who says I was speaking of this time?” “She woke me up,” he shot back. His eyes moved to her mouth. Without thinking, he grabbed the aggravating woman by the back of the head and pulled her to his lips. Slanting his mouth against her warm lips flavored with cheap drink, he groaned the satisfaction of a conquering hero. Ginevra gasped at the sudden onslaught. She lifted a hand to strike him away. But, as his lips became more insistent, her swat turned into a caress that found the nape of his neck. Moaning lightly, she came to her senses and tore her mouth away from him. Staring into his eyes, she spat weakly, “I don’t want you.” “Nay,” he questioned, growing incensed by the woman in his arms. His head swam as he sought to tame her. Forgetting she was a lady to be treated gently, he met her challenge with a silent one of his own. He grabbed her breast firmly in his palm. Angrily, he kissed her lips with a bruising force. Ginevra cried out in pain. She tasted blood in her mouth. It was not that she minded his rougher passions--they just scared her because she didn’t know their origin or their intent. “You are my wife,” he growled, as she pushed against him. His hands dug into her flesh as he forced her into his embrace. His lips found the tender flesh of her neck to ravish her throat with harsh licks. Ginevra cried out with a sob. He was using her body as punishment. It was more than she could bear. For he was winning, she wanted him. Hissing, he declared, “I will have your loyalty and your obedience.” “Let go!” She tugged away, trying to free herself. Desperately afraid, she cried out, “You are no better than the raiders who killed Thomas--taking whatever you would by force.” Wolfe froze. Ginevra gasped in horror over her own words. Slowly, he let go of her. For a moment, she thought he might strike her. His eyes dipped to her bloodied lips. He could taste the saltiness of it on his own. His stomach curled with an emotion he knew not how to describe. Pushing her roughly away from him, he stood. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered up to him. She reached her hand out to the agonizing torture of his violent gaze. She never knew if he heard her. His eyes turned coldly away as he stalked into the forest. **** Later that night, as Ginevra slept alone, Wolfe came back to the campsite. Swaying with drink, he stared at Ginevra for a long moment before falling next to her on his knees. Without thought, his hands strayed to her body. He couldn’t fight the feelings of desire in his chest. He was still angry with her, but couldn’t stay away. And, knowing he couldn’t fully sate his unusually forceful sexual appetites within her body lest he again see her rejection, he awoke her with gentle caresses and insistent lips. But, as he touched her with tenderness, he found he didn’t care how he took her, so long as he could feel himself possessing her. Caught off guard, Ginevra awoke and was unable to

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fight him. He didn’t speak as he lightly peeled back the layers of her tunic shirt and breeches. And Ginevra didn’t answer as he came above her--naked and glorious like a conquering hero. Staring deeply into her eyes, he let no emotion show, save that of passion and need. Ginevra received him within her depths, finding a sweet release within his brilliant hold. And with each not having forgiven the other, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

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Chapter Eleven The day dramatically grew into a darkened gray as they journeyed on. Edmund returned from the forest with his own steed, an old horse but sturdy enough for travel. His light conversation and jovial attitude was a startling contrast to the frosted moods of his companions. Ginevra smiled kindly at him as she sat pressed against Wolfe’s stiff back. Her smile remained ever pleasant, but the sparkle had left her emerald gaze. Wolfe deemed not to speak unless asked a question directly. Ginevra and Edmund mostly decided to leave him to his brooding. At night when they camped, Edmund would disappear into the trees and Wolfe would turn to his wife. Without words he came to her, capturing her gently in his arms. He didn’t speak as he sated his body in hers. Each time he was slow and gentle. Once, Ginevra tried to ask if he had forgiven her. With a sad smile, he answered, “Let us not deny our bodies what they both crave. There is no reason to be tortured physically for what we won’t discuss with words.” And he left it at that, kissing away any protest she might have made. Taking a deep breath, Ginevra hesitantly moved her head to lean against Wolfe’s back. He didn’t edge away from her like he had done the last couple of days. He still refused to talk to her. His dismissals were harder to accept than his prolonged absence had been. And she missed him. Her entire being burned as she pressed along the firm lines of his body. She missed the charming light in his gaze as he looked at her. She even missed the stubborn conversation and bantering. Although she enjoyed his gentle coupling, she missed what he had been trying to show her with his rougher handling. She had a feeling that there was more to his passion than he let on. Had he not promised to show her hundreds of different ways to find pleasure? Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Edmund had fallen behind them. Smiling slyly, she gently moved her arms around Wolfe’s waist. Feeling the bandage, she asked, “How’s your wound? You haven’t asked me to tend to it.” Wolfe jerked in surprise at the sound of her voice. Quietly, he said, “Fine.” “Does it pain you?” she persisted in a light and gentle voice. “Nay,” Wolfe shifted uncomfortably against her. Looking at the dark sky, she asked, “Is it almost time to stop? It looks like rain.” “Nay,” he replied. “Oh,” she remarked, wrapping her arms more fully about him. She pushed her breast against his back. Again, he shifted uncomfortably. Undeterred, her hands grew bolder in their absentminded caresses. As Desert stumbled over a rut in the path, the back of Ginevra’s hand fell to the front of Wolfe’s thigh. She felt his breathing deepen slightly. The heat from his leg seared her hand with its scalding fire. Turning her hand so that the fingers pushed flat against his hard muscle, she rested her hand near his member. Wolfe turned Desert, the horse stumbled again. Ginevra’s hand slid onto the hard rock of Wolfe’s member. When he didn’t protest, she let it lie along the heavy shaft. He felt his hips shift to thrust lightly into her palm. Her face nuzzled into his strong back. Desert trotted faster, her

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hand jolted and rubbed him in intimate strokes. She heard a throaty moan escape his lips. Without breaking stride, he turned Desert into the trees. Ginevra didn’t speak as she worked her hand into the front of his breeches. Feeling the smooth skin of his shaft, she instantly grew hot with desire. Her fingers caressed over his side, as her other hand cupped him. Her hips pressed against his buttocks to rub in a sensual caress. Heated pleasure shot through her veins and she moaned softly into the back of his neck. When they were well hidden within the forest, Wolfe reached behind to grab her. In one swift movement, he swung her from the horse before jumping down behind her. He left Desert untethered as he turned to face her. He panted heavily. “What are you doing?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. The evidence of her handling was obvious by his bulging, rumpled breeches. “Trying to get my husband to talk to me,” she whispered in return. As his gaze trailed boldly over her form, she shivered. The emerald stars returned hesitantly to her eyes. Lifting her fingers, she twined them in the laces over her breast. Pulling them, the tunic’s neck fell open to expose her chest. She let her finger draw between the valley of the small globes. Wolfe watched the movement, enraptured by her boldness. Wolfe growled, unable to resist the inviting light of her gaze. His hand trembled as he came to her. His eyes looked down at her hand on her creamy skin. His chest rose with barely controlled breaths. He ran his hand through her soft hair. Tenderly, he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow kiss. His eyes bore steadily into hers until her lids fluttered shut with a delicate moan. As she didn’t fight him, he deepened his onslaught until her knees weakened and she fell helplessly against him. She fitted her hands along his shoulders. The sound of birds echoed in the back of her mind. She ignored them, unable to comprehend anything but the sweet song of Wolfe’s gentle touches. The forest suddenly grew dark, thunder echoed in threatening rhythm over them. Pulling back, Ginevra whispered, “It’s going to rain.” “Let it,” Wolfe growled vehemently as he pulled her roughly back to him. His lips wove a path over the taut play of her flesh in worshipping caresses. Thunder struck again to drown out her lusty moan of enjoyment. She felt a cool droplet fall across her nose as his head dipped to the front of her tunic. Ginevra ran the tips of her fingers over his strong arms, feeling along the deep ridges of his muscles. His hands molded her body to his will as he pressed against her. The rain pelted them harder, soaking into their clothing as they fought to remove them. Wolfe tore off his tunic before turning to grab hers from her shoulders. His white bandage hugged his waist. Taking them to the horse, he pushed them into the dry satchel. Then, with a stalking force, he turned to her and looked at her intently. Her hair curled around her naked breasts, sticking lightly to the velvety mounds as they became dampened by rain. Her nipples puckered and reached to him in the cold. The golden tresses framed her oval face in unkempt beauty. Wolfe felt his gut twitch in masculine delight. Her emerald gaze boldly met his, proud and sure. In two strides he was back to her, pressing his wet, naked chest into hers. Their bodies glided together in wet harmony. Wolfe fell to his knees as he kissed her, pulling Ginevra down to the moistened earth to join with ripened breasts. Ginevra gently laid her hands in his hair, encouraging his exploration. Wolfe drank the falling rain from her skin. The droplets pounded the forest floor in noisy abandonment. Reaching down to undo his breeches completely, he liberated his manhood from

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its prison. His hands instantly went to her waistband to untie the makeshift belt. As the linen fell free from her slender hips, he uttered, “Stand.” Quickly, she stood so he could yank the breeches over her bare feet. He smiled at her muddy toes, remembering how she had always hated shoes. “Come here,” he commanded throatily. His hands glided over her wet skin as she went into his embrace. Instantly, he leaned back, pulling her on top of his flat stomach. Ginevra leaned over him to kiss him. His back pressed into the muddy earth, protecting her from the grime. Without thought, their lips met in shared passion. Ginevra ran her hand with a groan over his rigid stomach to his hardened member. Taking it in her hands, she stroked him with the aid of rainwater. Wolfe thrust his hips in pleasure. Then, unable to deny her body his penetrative touch, she tried to maneuver above him. Taking her by the hips, he adjusted her so that her thighs straddled his waist. Her knees pressed on either side of his bandage. Controlling her movements, he lowered her with deft precision on his awaiting erection. Not stopping to ease his way, he embedded himself completely in her moist cavern. Ginevra moaned in delight as he slid easily within her. Wolfe gazed at her in wonder. She was so full of passion, yet still so very innocent in the ways of lovemaking. Her hips held still waiting for him to move them. “Like this,” he urged in a grunted murmur. He lifted her above him only to thrust her back onto his shaft. “Ride me like this.” Ginevra blushed prettily, but obeyed. Slowly, she moved her hips in a hesitant mimicry of his teachings. The result was a gratified rush of pleasure through her limbs as she controlled him. Wolfe groaned loudly his approval. Growing empowered, she lifted her hips again. “Oh, torturous woman,” Wolfe moaned. He forced his hands away from her hips so that she might learn the workings of her body. Ginevra smiled at his pained expression. Somehow, she knew his pain was good. “You are a devilish wench, Ginevra.” Smiling wickedly, she continued to move deep and slow. Rain grew harder, pelting them with its wetness. The pressure began building inside her, forcing her hands to press into his stomach. Wolfe groaned as she hit his wound. Ginevra gasped, but was unable to stop. Leaning her hands behind her, she found the position was much more gratifying. She pulled at the back of his knees, using his powerful legs as an anchor as she thrust him inside of her. She pounded her moist woman’s sheath over his immense sword, thrusting him deeply. Wolfe, finally unable to control his mounting passion and not wanting to try, grabbed onto her slow moving hips to grind fiercely inside of her. Ginevra gasped and moaned in ecstasy as Wolfe quickened the pace to drive her body to the brink of insanity. His hands slid over her athletic form to cup her breasts in long strokes of desire. His fingers memorized every subtle curve of her form. And then, with a grunt of supreme domination, she shuddered her release. Wolfe’s groan joined hers as he tensed inside of her. Ginevra collapsed forward, resting in heavy pants against his chest. Wolfe sat up in a swift motion. His arms wrapped protectively about her naked back as the rain cooled their heated bodies. The droplets hit his broad back, washing the mud from his bronzed skin. Breathing deeply in relaxed contentment, he felt her nuzzle into his warmth. He was still deep inside of her. Pulling back, he whispered, “Get up, Gin. Let us find shelter for the night.” Ginevra moaned in light protest but stood proudly before him. She let the rain pelt her naked body, rinsing her calves and her knees. Then, turning to meet his lowered gaze, she smiled shyly. Wolfe shook his head with a growl before grabbing their breeches and walking over to

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Desert. Swinging onto the horse’s bare back, he moved the animal in front of her. Holding down his hand, he pulled her up in one hasty movement to sit before him. He licked his lips as her breasts bobbed before his eyes, before growling in possessiveness. Wrapping his arm about her waist, he pulled her into the folds of his chest. Wolfe spurred the horse deeper into the forest. They rode for only a short time before finding a small cottage nestled near the same stream they followed for most of the journey. Wolfe smiled as his hand found the inside of her thigh. Massaging her in absent-mindfulness, he nuzzled his chin on the top of her wet hair. “I think it’s abandoned,” he stated, dipping his head to taste her breast. Ginevra lifted her head in surprise. She looked at the small cottage. Frowning, she said in return, “Give me my clothes before we check.” Wolfe grinned mischievously, but assented with a curt nod. He sighed in longing as he looked at her breasts. Sliding from the horse, Ginevra lifted her hand to take the breeches he was offering her. She began slipping the wet material over her feet. “We could just stay out in the rain,” he offered. “And catch our deaths?” she shot in surprise. Then, she saw his tightly drawn expression. He watched every movement of her body. Glancing over him, she saw the evidence of his torment. “Death comes for us all,” he returned absently. “Do you know of a better way to go?” Ginevra giggled. Nodding her head toward the cottage, she uttered, “Come, give me my tunic. If we stay alive, we have more time for fun.” With a pouting sigh, he tossed the tunic down. Quickly, she tugged it over her head. He followed suit and did the same. “Go inside and see if you can start a fire. I’ll take care of the horse. I think I see a barn back behind the cottage.” Wolfe pulled at the reins before stopping. With a slight frown of concern, he reached into his satchel to produce a dagger. Handing it down to her, he asked, “Do you know how to use this?” “I--” she began. “Be careful. Scream if you need me,” Wolfe ordered. He made a metal note to teach her how to wield the weapon. If he was to be leaving her again to join King Richard, he wanted her to be able to protect herself. Ginevra nodded. As she walked, she noticed that Wolfe didn’t move. He sat astride his horse to make sure she met with no harm as she went to the door. She grinned, knowing he couldn’t see her face. Stepping up to the wooden door, she knocked lightly. To her amazement, she heard a shuffling inside and then a faint moan. Ginevra turned to glance back at Wolfe before knocking again. This time she pounded louder. Her inquiry was met with a pained scream. Growing sick with apprehension, Ginevra gripped the dagger in her hand. Hesitantly, she pushed open the door. But, before she could go in, Wolfe was by her side with drawn sword. He pushed her out of the way and stepped in before her. As the door creaked open, Ginevra saw the dying flames of a fire in a clean fireplace. Along the mantel were several small jugs and trenchers. The home was cluttered but very well kept. Again, a moan sounded from inside. She watched Wolfe’s back lose some of its tension. Spinning on his heels to face her, he insisted in a rush, “Gin, come inside. You’re needed.” “What?” she questioned with an open-mouthed gasp of confusion. As Wolfe moved out

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of her way, she stepped inside the cottage. With a frown, she noticed a woman large with child on the only bed in the one chamber cottage. The woman’s face was pale and drawn tightly. Frightened, Ginevra looked at Wolfe. “What am I needed for?” Wolfe motioned to the bed and said, “She’s having her babe.” “And?” Ginevra shot, growing louder. She looked at the woman in stunned horror, remembering all too well being with Lady Isabella. “Help her,” Wolfe answered in tight command. “I am not a midwife,” Ginevra put forth in stunned bewilderment and confusion. The woman moaned again. She looked at the peasant and shook her head. Gulping, she argued, “You help her. You are worldlier than I.” “You are a woman,” Wolfe persisted, shoving her to the bed none-to-gently. Ginevra tripped over her resistant feet. “Help her with this woman’s thing.” “But,” Ginevra began. She never got the words out. Wolfe shut the door steadily behind her with a thud. Jolting in alarm, Ginevra turned to the woman on the bed. The last, and only, time she had seen a baby born was with Lady Isabella. And that hadn’t turned out well. “Woman?” Ginevra inquired. The peasant opened her dazed eyes. Ginevra tried to smile at her as she slowly inched to the bed. In a low, comforting murmur, she said, “I’m here to help you.” “Be ye an angel?” the woman asked. “Nay, merely a woman.” Ginevra managed a wry smile. “How long have you been here?” “I know not, lady,” she said. “All right.” Ginevra leaned forward to press her hand to the woman’s head. “Is there anyone else here?” “Nay,” the woman groaned as she contorted in pain. She curled into a ball and rolled away. “I am just going to look,” Ginevra began. She pulled back the fur coverlet to look at the woman’s legs. Seeing a large amount of blood soaking into the mattress, she stood. Going to the door, she opened it to peek out her head. “Wolfe!” He was next to her in an instant. His brown eyes shone with concern as he looked at her. Ginevra noticed with amazement that he was nervous. Swallowing over her fear, she stated, “Get firewood in here and tend the fire. And then I need you to find me some dry blankets. And get some water.” Wolfe nodded. He was glad to have a duty to attend to. Ginevra shut the door as she heard another moan. Moving quickly to the bed, she asked, “What is your name?” “Britheue,” the woman gasped. The noblewoman smoothed back the woman’s brown hair. “Where is your man?” “Dead,” the woman moaned. “Have you other children?” “Nay,” Britheue groaned as pain racked her body. Tears wept silently from her eyes as she squeezed them closed. Her head thrashed about on the cot. “I’m going to pull back your gown,” Ginevra said. Gulping, she steeled herself as she lifted the peasant’s tunic from her legs. The smell of blood was potent. Ginevra grabbed the soiled fur coverlet and swiped what blood she could from the woman’s thighs. Then, tossing the cover on the floor, she frowned. “Here is the water,” Wolfe stated from the door.

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Ginevra felt him set a bucket on the floor next to her. Droplets of water splattered over her as he neared. Then, the door closed as he hastened from the cottage. She ignored him as she kept her administering hands on the woman. “Britheue, we are going to get through this.” Ginevra reached one hand to the woman’s opening and the other to her stomach. With wavering determination, she stated, “You will be having this baby.” **** Wolfe paced inside the shelter of the barn. His boots were covered with mud. He felt helpless. But there was naught he could do but wait. Men were not to be around when a babe was brought into the world. He had been told it was bad luck, but seeing the pain on the peasant woman’s face, he understood the truth of it. Men might be necessary to the begetting, but as to the birthing they were useless. If men were forced to see the result of coupling, there might be a sight less babes in the world. Still, he felt guilty leaving Ginevra alone. The sky darkened with late evening. The heavy rainfall chilled the wind. It whipped around the enclosure until he was forced to huddle next to Desert. Suddenly, Wolfe froze. He saw a figure moving through the storm. Stepping into the night, he lifted his sword from Desert’s back. “Wolfe!” Ginevra screamed, turning in circles. Wolfe rushed forward to his wife. Instantly, lifting his arm around her, he rushed her back to the peasant’s cottage. Ginevra pushed open the door and waved him in. She gave him a small smile. Going inside, he heard the soft cry of an infant. “It’s a girl,” Ginevra announced softly. She beamed proudly into his face. “I think they both will be fine.” Wolfe nodded, relieved. “Want to see?” Ginevra asked. Again Wolfe nodded. Slowly, they walked to the bed. Looking down at the sleeping woman, Ginevra pulled back a blanket to show Wolfe a tiny hand followed by a little round face. When she looked back to her husband, he wasn’t looking at the child. He was studying her intently. With a low voice, he said, “It’s a great thing you have done, Gin.” Ginevra smiled and looked away. “I did naught but help Britheue push. She did the work.” Wolfe went to Ginevra and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. “Still it’s a brave thing to help her.” As his eyes dipped to her lips, she sighed. “I’m a little tired. Mayhap we should sleep here on the floor lest I am needed again.” “All right,” Wolfe answered. Grabbing their fur, which he had laid by the fire to dry as Ginevra worked, he spread it over the floor. Then, kicking off his boots, he turned. Ginevra already lay on the blanket next to him. Slowly, he lowered his body next to her, wrapping an arm around her midsection to hold her close. Silently, they fell asleep. **** Britheue awoke late the next morn, sore but recovered greatly. Surprised to see to nobles lying on her floor, she got up weakly from the bed to study her newborn babe. Shaking her head in amazement, she tended her child and began preparing a meal for her guests. Wolfe awoke to the sound of a roaring fire. Glancing about, he gently shook Ginevra at his side. She opened her eyes and sat next to him. Then, noticing the boiling cauldron on the fire pit, she turned quickly to the bed.

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“Where--” Ginevra began with a tired yawn. “I think she is already awake,” Wolfe put forth as he moved to stand. To prove his point, the door opened and a hunched woman came waddling through. Ginevra was instantly on her feet. Going forward, she scolded, “You should be in bed.” The pale Britheue looked at the lady with a confused frown. “Why?” “Because--” Ginevra started as she waved her hand behind her. Instantly, the babe began to cry. Ginevra turned to the child and went to lift her from the bed. She cradled her gently in her arms. Again the door opened. Ginevra and Wolfe turned in surprise to see Edmund walk in. He carried two skinned rabbits and a load of firewood. Dropping the wood by the door, he handed the rabbits to Britheue. She took them hesitantly. “Heard ye had a wee one last night,” Edmund said. Britheue looked at the man in confusion. Then, nodding her head, she turned questioning blue eyes to the nobles and then back to the burly man before her. “It all together?” he questioned. Again Britheue nodded. “Where’s yer man?” Edmund asked. Ginevra rocked the calming child. She stepped closer to Wolfe. He glanced down at her in confusion. Ginevra widened her eyes and gently lifted a shoulder. “’E died last winter. Got drunk and fell into the creek.” Britheue ambled slowly away from him. Taking the rabbits to a small table, she laid them down. “Be ye lookin’ fer a new one?” Edmund asked. “I lost my wife. I could use a woman to cook fer me.” At that Britheue turned around. Eyeing him from head to toe, she finally turned her stern gaze to his face. “Ye be a sight rough,” Britheue gruffed. “Yea, that I be,” Edmund admitted with a chuckle. “I got a good milkin’ cow.” “All right. Ye can stick around fer a spell if ye want. But I make ye no promises.” Britheue turned to the rabbits. Picking up a knife, she set to work on them. Wolfe and Ginevra watched Edmund in amazement. A smile formed over his whiskered mouth as he grinned happily. Then, turning about, he disappeared outside. **** After a hearty meal of rabbit stew and a laughing conversation with the newly formed couple, Ginevra and Wolfe left the cottage for home. The air was cooled by the night of rain, but soon warmed with the hot sun. The countryside became more familiar to Ginevra as they neared Whetshire property. “How far are we from Whetshire?” Ginevra inquired. Her head lay gently along her husband’s sturdy back. They had been traveling in silence until that moment. “We are on Whetshire property,” Wolfe said. Nodding his jaw forward, he continued, “The castle is but an hour’s ride from here.” “I didn’t realize we were so close.” Stretching her hands above her head, Ginevra sighed dreamily. “The first thing I am going to do is order a hot bath.” “Mmm,” Wolfe grumbled. “I think I will share that bath.” Ginevra stiffened behind him. A curious frown started at the corners of his eyes when she didn’t answer. Time moved forward in silence marked by the steady passing of trees.

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“I didn’t mean to say that thing about Thomas.” Ginevra’s voice was soft. Wolfe sat up straight. His back became rigid with tension. The light mood they silently shared was suddenly shattered. “I wanted to tell you that before we got home. I don’t know why I said it. It was mean and insensitive and completely untrue.” With each of her words, Wolfe’s scowl deepened. He didn’t like her mentioning such things. He nudged Desert in the side to get him moving faster. “You frightened me. And you were hurting my mouth,” Ginevra tried to explain. She sighed in frustration when her words didn’t come out as she planned. “I’m sorry. I guess we just don’t know each other’s moods yet. We are, after all, practically strangers.” When Wolfe let out a low rush of air, Ginevra hurriedly added, “I know we have known each other since I was born, but only through our families. You must admit, we haven’t been around each other much.” She leaned over the side of the horse to peer at his face. It was hard and emotionless. His jaw worked angrily but he didn’t move. Lightly, she tried to touch his shoulder. He pretended not to feel her. “Wolfe?” “Forget it, Ginevra.” Wolfe refused to look at her. He gave Desert another kick. The stallion moved easily into a trot. With tight lips, he uttered darkly over his shoulder, “I think we might even be home in half of an hour’s time.”

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Chapter Twelve Ginevra curled her toes over the rim of the bath. Sighing in pleasure, she stretched her arms over her head before dunking under the steaming water. Pulling her locks underneath with her, she felt her long hair wrap about her in a sensual caress. Surfacing, she laid her hand gently over the edge. The fire burned brightly to her side, throwing her bedchamber into glowing warmth. Taking up her lavender-scented soap, she lathered it in her hands. Then rubbing the foam over her skin, she sat up straight and began gliding it over her arms and chest. Wolfe smiled lecherously from the closed door. He had softly knocked on her bedchamber door, but she hadn’t answered. When he pushed inside, he realized she was under the bathing water. He didn’t bother to tell her he was behind her as she began scrubbing her skin. Wolfe’s smile deepened in arousal. They arrived at the fortress with little talk. As soon as they were through the gatehouse, a silent truce was set between them. As they arrived, William and his father had greeted the tired couple with the news that Lady Jayne, Robert and Helena were soon to join them. Wolfe discovered later from his father that Robert and Helena were to be married at Whetshire before Robert left again with Wolfe. Wolfe still hadn’t told Ginevra that he had to leave her. His absence seemed a sore subject where she was concerned. And if they were not to have many more nights together before duty called him away, he didn’t want to spend those nights fighting. He wanted a more pleasant memory to take with him to the Holy Land. Quietly, he stepped across the chamber to place the tray of meat, cheese and bread he carried onto the bed. Then, leaning against the poster, he held the bottle of wine against his chest. Without making a noise, he watched her. The soap dripped over her chest, her back and her neck in tiny rivets. Rinsing under the water, she quickly washed her long tresses before once again taking the lavender to her legs. To Wolfe’s pleasure, she stood in the tub--glorious in her naked state. Ginevra ran her soapy fingers over her chest, down her flat stomach, and over the tops of her thighs. Then, as she leaned over to scrub her calves, she heard a slight moan behind her. Gasping in horror, she spun around. Her wide eyes instantly found Wolfe leaning leisurely beside her bed. “What are you doing in here?” she gasped. Trying to shield herself, she first covered her woman’s area and then her breasts. Finally, unable to hide herself from his bold stares, she sat back down in the bathing tub with a loud splash. “Watching,” he stated boldly. His tone was low and husky. Then, taking the bottle, he angled it toward her. “I thought m’lady would be hungry. I thought we might dine abovestairs tonight.” Ginevra looked to the bed, noticing the tray. Seeing his approval of her, she managed a weak smile. “You didn’t knock.” “Yea, I did,” Wolfe murmured. Slowly, he began walking toward her. His steps moved smoothly, like a stalking beast going after his prey. His long brown hair was wet from his recent bath, his eyes glittered mischievously, and his teeth flashed white as he grinned at her.

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Ginevra leaned her head back to look at him as he approached. She noted the clean, new undertunic he wore. The black shirt was of simple design. The laces hung loose over his chest as if he had just thrown it on. Her eyes trailed over him in appreciation. His black breeches fitted tightly like a second skin. Then, with a smirk, she realized his feet were bare. She rested her chin on her hands, impishly watching him from the soapy water. Wolfe stared at her for a moment before growling in manly regard. Suddenly, he turned and stalked to her dressing chamber, throwing the bottle on the bed as he passed. Ginevra watched him disappear curiously, only to see him reappear with one of her gowns. “Stand up,” he ordered. He carefully laid the gown on his arm. “Are we going somewhere?” she asked in surprise. “The sun will be setting soon. I thought we could go to the top of the tower to watch.” Wolfe stepped forward intently. A charming light fell over his playful features. Slowly, Ginevra stood. The water glistened as it ran in trails over her body. Droplets of moisture puckered on her breasts and shoulders. Wolfe tossed the gown over his head and darted to her. Catching her up in his arms, his lips found hers. With an excited moan, he kissed her. His tongue ran over her mouth tenderly, then to her shoulders and finally her awaiting breasts. Ginevra gasped in pleasure. His fingers slid with the aid of the water over her flesh. His warm hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her into his eager body. His mouth sucked the peaks of her breasts, the curve of her hip, the pool of her navel. He groaned, gently biting a tender nub with grazing teeth as he made his way back up. Then, licking his way along her chest to her neck, he found her small ear. “How you have grown into a beautiful woman, Gin,” he whispered against her throat. “More so than I could have imagined.” Ginevra shivered, surprised by the confession. She ran her hands into his hair, pulling his lips toward her. She peeked at his face. His eyes closed as he pulled her closer. Lifting her easily in his arms, he carried her to the bed. He laid her on the white fur. Tenderly, he made love to her. His hands explored the length of her body and she in turn learned every curve of him. And when they came together, their eyes met and locked in a luminous promise neither could later speak of nor understand. They reached their climax in unison. It was a glorious explosion of tender shudders and violent possession. Lying next to her, Wolfe uttered against her forehead after his heart slowed, “Are you hungry?” His words were followed by a kiss on her temple. He smiled at her. Ginevra murmured incoherently at his side and then giggled. Nestling closer, she leaned against his chest. Seeing the tray was still on the bed, she reached over him and grabbed some bread. She tore of a piece and set it on his chest. Doing the same with the cheese, she left the meat on the tray. Wolfe looked down. His chest rumbled slightly as he saw the food. Ginevra tore a bit off and stuck it in his laughing mouth. Wolfe chewed gratefully. His hands lifted to settle behind his head. “We’re going to miss the sunset.” She fed herself in the same manner before giving Wolfe another bite. Wolfe let her attend him. Swallowing, he chuckled, before admitting honestly, “Yea, we already have. But I’d rather look into your eyes than at a sunset.” Suddenly, Ginevra frowned. Sitting up, she pulled the coverlet around her body. The words came too easily from his lips. Wolfe leaned forward, his eyes full of questions. The food

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fell to the side, off his body. “Gin?” he asked carefully. He couldn’t help but notice the change in her. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things to me,” she began quietly, not looking at him. Plucking absently at the fur, she sighed. “I already know you can charm any maid you would have into your bed. Even when you were sixteen with green hair, the serving girls couldn’t keep their eyes from you. But just don’t do it with me. Don’t say sweet words just to make me more compliant to your ... whims. I’m your wife. I’m in your bed willingly. So don’t act as if I must be lured there. I’m not one of your ... your ... other women. I don’t wish to play those sorts of games. I’m not like Helewysa. Don’t turn me into another conquest.” “Gin, I never compared you to that awful woman,” he began in protest to her words. They landed oddly on his ears and made his insides tighten with an unfamiliar sensation. He had said such ‘sweet’ things to other women in the past. But with others it had been flattery--mere compliments as was expected by them. With Ginevra he found he meant them. The words had taken no planned effort as they left him. And, for her to take offense as he tried to lay his emotions bare, hurt him. Swallowing hard, he blankly stared at her. “Now, I understand that as a man you will take other women to your bed. Being as I’m a woman, you know, I’ll know no other but you. I know that I have no right to protest your ways. You have made no promises to me,” Ginevra felt her gut twitch. She couldn’t look at him. As she said the words aloud, they caused a deep pain in her chest. She refused to cry. Softly, she continued, “But, as your wife, I ask only two things of you. Don’t let me know of it. I mean don’t flaunt it before me and don’t take that servant girl Sarra to your bed. I couldn’t bear it now-after this. If you can promise me those two things, then I’ll do my best never to mention it again.” Wolfe sat in stunned silence. He could tell the other women bothered her, at least a bit. But she was calmly consenting to his actions. There was no jealousy coming out in her words. He would have preferred to see her crying. At least then he would have a hint that she cared about him and the guilt that riddled his chest would be founded. But she gave no emotion away. Wolfe couldn’t help but wonder if she cared for him at all. When he didn’t answer her, Ginevra turned hesitantly to him. “Did I make you mad with my honesty? I thought you would want honesty from me. You bid me to speak my mind to you.” Wolfe cleared his throat. Smiling gently, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he said, “Yea, let there be only honesty betwixt us. I wouldn’t have games with you, Gin.” Satisfied to some extent, she nodded. She grabbed the extra fur at the end of the bed and pulled it over his body. Then, lying next to him, she curled by his side. “I have a confession,” she admitted. Wolfe froze. His heart pounded--half in fear, half in hope. “Do you remember that pink flower you gave me when we were young? The one I threw aside the day you pushed me in the dye bath.” “Fell,” Wolfe muttered. “Yea, I remember it. You told me you didn’t like flowers.” “I lied,” she murmured. “I even went back to get it later. I hid it in my room so no one would see it. But it rotted and stuck to a gown in my trunk and mother threw it away.” Wolfe chuckled. Pulling her hair tenderly back from her cheek, he cradled her on his arm. Absently playing with a strand of her blonde hair, he thought of the necklace he had given her. It was still in his trunk. Seriously, he stated, “It seems you like to make a habit of throwing my gifts back at me. I would’ve sent you more over the years, but I never knew what to buy. It hardly seemed proper to send my lady wife a sword.” “I would’ve loved a sword. Robert gave me pearls once and a packet of ribbons.”

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Ginevra smiled in memory. She ran her hand to stroke his chest. “It’s the only necklace I own.” Ginevra froze, suddenly remembering the necklace of sparkling diamonds he had left for her. Over the years she’d regretted her rash actions in sending it back to him. Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry I--” Wolfe lifted a finger and shook his head. “It’s all right, Gin. Let us start afresh, here and now.” Ginevra nodded. Her heart skipped frantically in her chest. His eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t read. Pulling his arm free, he moved to the edge of the bed. Standing, he went over to the fire and threw another log onto it. Ginevra watched the movements of his perfect form in awe. He was so bravely handsome, carved as if from living stone. And he walked with bold confidence, unashamed by his nakedness. Her mouth became dry as she watched him. The firelight haloed his naked body in orange light. Her insides trembled. Her heart squeeze and she was forced to glance briefly away. Wolfe turned to her. He smiled, standing proud. Crossing over to his discarded clothing, he knelt by his breeches. He reached inside to a pouch that was looped onto his belt. Evenly, he said, “I have something for you. I was going to give it to you as we watched the sunset, but I think now is perfect.” Ginevra sat up. She hugged the coverlet over her breasts. Wolfe studied her for a moment. His eyes took in the flushed line of her cheeks and her gently tousled hair as it dried about her shoulders. The soft glow of firelight echoed off her skin, giving the smooth cream of her flesh a warm radiance. Wolfe felt his heart stop, knowing that the image of her now--like this--would forever be with him. It would be the image to keep him warm on cold nights on the battlefield. It would be the light that saved him in the darkness of war. And, for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to leave home. He didn’t want to go to the Holy Land to fight heathens. For the first time, he doubted his path. But he couldn’t say such things to her. She didn’t want to hear them. He knew nothing about love, didn’t think that he might be feeling it. But he did acknowledge a tenderness for his wife--a tenderness he had felt for no other. Lifting a small ring wrapped around his pinkie finger, he angled it to her. Forcing a careless smile to his face, he said, “I should have given you this the night we were married. But I give it to you now when you are at an age and mind to properly receive it.” Ginevra stared at the ring, gulping she looked down at her bare hand then back again. Wolfe took the thin band of gold and slid it onto her finger. “I thought you might like this one best, since you don’t seem to put much stock in jewels,” Wolfe admitted. And then, clearing his throat uncomfortably, he stood. Hopping over her and back onto the bed, he pulled her to him. He kissed her lightly before letting her go. “I’d be honored it you wore it. Don’t throw this one back at me, Gin.” “Thank you,” she whispered softly. Touching the band, she looked at him with a deep tenderness. “It’s perfect. I promise to never take it off.” Wolfe smiled his charming smile and pulled her back into his arms. Nestling her against his body, he softly kissed the top of her head. They talked through the evening of many things-things light and unimportant. Wolfe kept his wife close to his side, laughing at her antidotes and humorously telling her some of his. And neither one dared to mention their feelings again. **** Ginevra gave Robert a hesitant glance. Twirling her belt off of her finger, she lifted her

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hand to scratch thoughtfully at the back of her ear. The crisp air of afternoon surrounded them, sweeping over the courtyard with its gentle intensity. The sun was bright, perfect for a wedding. “I must admit, I am--was surprised,” Ginevra said at last. They had been walking in silence. “I mean, Helena?” “I know, Gin. You haven’t always gotten on with her. I hope that it will change now that you both are older. She really does want to be your friend. She just doesn’t know how to talk to you.” Robert slung his arm lovingly over his sister’s shoulder, steering her toward a shaded bench. “I don’t think you realize how intimidating you can be to other women.” “Me?” Ginevra laughed. She shook her head. “Surely you jest.” “Nay,” Robert sighed. Sitting, he waited for her to join him. “You have grown well, Gin. You are smart. You don’t care what other’s think of you, so you leave them powerless against you. You will someday be a countess--” “It’s very strange to hear such things,” Ginevra broke in. “I still have a hard time thinking of you as a baron. When I am with you it seems like we are children again. I keep waiting to feel my hair dipped in ink, or to discover a frog hidden in my trunk wearing my ribbons.” Robert’s chuckle joined Ginevra’s. “He was awfully cute.” “How are things with you? I understand you were at tournament,” Robert paused meaningfully, “with Wolfe.” Ginevra suddenly turned pink. Wolfe was out with the earl, spending time with his father as they rode over Whetshire land. She’d slept the whole night within her husband’s arms only to be awakened late in the morning by his nuzzling kisses. They made love by the fireplace. Ginevra couldn’t remember ever feeling happier than she did when she was with Wolfe. Robert cleared his throat to draw her thoughts back. She couldn’t meet her brother’s pointed gaze. “Are you blushing, Gin?” he asked in surprise. For a moment he studied her carefully. “So things are well betwixt the two of you then?” “Yea, brother,” Ginevra sighed blissfully. “Very well, I think.” Robert watched the light sparkling in Ginevra’s eyes with a frown. He could see the tender emotions inside her that she didn’t realize was there. His frown deepened as he realized his sister had more then just a passing tenderness in her heart for his friend. She was completely taken with Wolfe. Ginevra was in love. Robert tried to smile, but his lips felt tight. He knew that loving Wolfe would only bring his sister pain. Sure, a fondness was to be expected, even a bit of caring. But Robert knew well that Wolfe’s habits hadn’t changed over the years and he had no reason to believe they would in the future. If Ginevra truly loved him, like a woman loves a man, then she was in for a hard journey. Closing his eyes briefly, Robert prayed he was wrong. “Rob, what is it?” Ginevra inquired. A worried expression covered her face. She leaned a gentle hand on her brother’s arm. “Are you ill?” “Nay,” Robert choked. He opened his eyes to look at his sister. “Truthfully, I think I might be a bit nervous. After all, I am to be married later.” “But, Robert,” Ginevra teased. “Don’t you remember? Knights don’t get nervous. They are made of steel.” **** Robert eyed Wolfe wearily before taking a sip of his wine. The hall was decorated to that of the grandest occasions. Flowers adorned acres of material in sweeping gaiety. Candles were placed along the walls in grand holders. Lady Jayne ordered about the decorating servants, before going abovestairs to attend to Helena. In absence of Lady Isabella, the baroness sought to

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comfort the young bride. Suddenly, Wolfe laughed. Leaning over to Robert, he said, “Let us hope your mother gives my sister the same talk she gave yours. I am sure you will quite enjoy the misconceptions you will have to endure.” Robert scowled into his drink. He was still unnerved by his discovery of Ginevra’s deep affections for her husband. “Ho, but friend,” Wolfe continued to tease good-naturedly. His night spent with Ginevra left him feeling refreshed. He couldn’t keep the grin from his features. “At least I won’t make you wait three years to claim your bride.” “My bride is a woman, not a child,” Robert said. “What is ailing you?” Wolfe sat his goblet on the table. Turning his full attention to Robert, he asserted, “Your mood is foul.” “I spoke with Ginevra today,” Robert stated. Wolfe froze. His heart beat in low thuds. The sight of Ginevra’s naked body lined by firelight entered his mind. She seemed so happy to be with him. Had he been mistaken? Wolfe didn’t answer. He waited for Robert to continue. He knew his friend would be candidly honest no matter what it was that bothered him. “She appeared happy,” Robert stated at last. “And this upsets you?” Wolfe asked in surprise. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “Yea,” Robert stated carefully. “For I know that her happiness will not last. I have known you for many long years, Wolfe. And I have never called any man more so a friend. I know that no woman ever held your fancy for more than a passing moment. As soon as your appetites have had their fill, you leave them.” “I made them no promises,” Wolfe inserted weakly. He was shocked that Robert would assume such things. “They knew what they were doing.” “Yea, they did,” Robert admitted. “Ginevra is different. She is not one of those roving harlots that follow the tournaments seeking a knight to spread her legs. She is pure-hearted. She doesn’t understand the games that you play.” “It’s different with her,” Wolfe put in. His gut twitched. Ginevra had said as much. She asked him not to treat her as he did others. Is that how everyone saw him? Is that how he was? “Is it?” Robert asked. “Have you made promises to her?” “Nay,” Wolfe began, remembering that she didn’t want him to speak of such things. His fist tightened around his goblet. But, with little encouragement, he knew he would have readily spoken such promises. Would it have been wrong to do so? Would it have been a lie? “I think in time your interest will waver as it eventually does. Soon, you will look to another. When she sees this, it will crush her. I love Helena as any man can love a woman and I don’t care who knows it. She is for me; it is that simple.” Robert stared his friend in the eye. “However, you are not the same as I and--by God’s own truth--I don’t fault you for it, Wolfe. We are what we are. I think your appetites make you a great warrior and I wouldn’t wish it otherwise. But, Ginevra is my sister. I don’t want to see you hurt her.” “But I think I care for her.” Wolfe’s breathing deepened. His heart raced with the tentative confession. He forced all emotion from his gaze. “That is well and good. You should care for her. She is your wife.” Robert sighed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he uttered, “And that is why I am going to ask you to leave to join King Richard early. She is new to being a wife. Surely your attentions right now might be misconstrued as something you can’t feel for her. She is vulnerable to you. Give her time to

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settle before coming back to her. Give her time to understand the difference betwixt physical pleasure and love. Mayhap by then her heart will have sorted through the emotions and she will be better equipped to see clearly.” “She said she loved me?” Wolfe inquired softly. His chest constricted. His mouth strained under the weight of his friend’s words. “Nay, she confessed no such thing.” Robert narrowed his eyes, careful not to betray his sister. Wolfe was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice. “I just think that if you continue to dote on her as you obviously have been, she might fool herself into thinking ... incorrectly.” So you don’t think she could ever truly love me. You think me a cad, a philandering fool. Mayhap you are right. No man deserves the Sparkling Emerald. I will just cause her pain, Wolfe thought in dejection. Lifting his goblet, he took a long drink. “All right,” Wolfe consented quietly when he had lowered the goblet back to the table. The liquid choked in his throat. “If you wish me to go, I’ll go.” Wolfe didn’t want to leave. His heart beat painfully in defiance. He felt as if he never wanted to part from Ginevra again. But he couldn’t promise her the things he knew not how to give. He couldn’t promise to love her. He couldn’t promise that he would be forever faithful. Sure, now he could imagine such a life. But Robert was right. He had lost interest in women quickly in the past. Was Ginevra different? His heart said yea, but his mind still doubted himself. And if Robert, his best and most trusted friend doubted him, who was he to try and reason? Robert smiled slightly. “Thank you. I knew you would do the right thing. You will see. As soon as you are away from here, it will be clearer.” Wolfe nodded. “I still wish for you to be here tonight.” Robert took a drink, completely unaware of his friend’s discomfort in light of his relief. “I wouldn’t miss it,” Wolfe stated. He forced a smile. Standing, he downed the rest of his goblet. “I must see to my trunks if I am to leave on the morrow.” “I didn’t mean as soon as that,” Robert began. Wolfe held up his hand to stop him. Stiffly, he replied, “Why wait? The sooner I am gone, the better it would be for her. I care for Ginevra. I don’t want to see her hurt by my hand.” Robert felt a pang of guilt. An emotion flickered briefly across Wolfe’s dark eyes. Stiffly, Wolfe walked away from him toward the tower bedchambers. Suddenly, Robert began to doubt his own words. Mayhap he had been unfair to Wolfe. Mayhap, in his protectiveness, he had done more harm than good. Mayhap he should have left it alone. But whatever mayhap he should have done, it was too late to do aught else.

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Chapter Thirteen “M’lord has been hard to find,” Ginevra smiled prettily. Her wide green eyes shimmered in joy. She stood outside Wolfe’s bedchamber door. Leaning against the frame, she cocked her head coyly to the side. “Have you been avoiding me?” “Nay,” Wolfe smiled, surprised to see her standing before him. He had just been thinking about her. Pushing his traveling satchel behind his trunk with his foot, he stepped around the bed. Ginevra slowly walked into the chamber. The gown of dark blue linen she wore hugged her slender frame closely, outlining her form for Wolfe’s approval. Edges of her soft cream chemise peeked from under the gown. A small circlet fell across her forehead, only to disappear underneath her heavy upsweep of curls. Unconsciously, she flicked her thumbnail against her wedding band. Her eyes found and were held captive by Wolfe’s young, handsome face. Faint laugh lines had started to develop by his mouth, but were too thin to really notice. His hair hung free to his shoulders, soft in their gentle brown waves. A tunic, lighter in blue than her gown, fitted neatly across his shoulders. A gold brooch held a sweep of material to his shoulder. He looked every inch the nobleman. Wolfe nodded approvingly at her. Unable to stop the words, he murmured, “M’lady is quite beautiful.” Ginevra’s cheeks flushed with feminine pleasure. Wolfe stepped close to her and gently brushed his hand over her cheek. Her eyes grew completely captivated by his intense gaze. It searched her eyes, probing inside her for answers. He saw her open adoration looking back at him--pure and innocent. Robert was right. Ginevra was too good for him. He would only hurt her. But the knowledge didn’t stop him as he laid his hand across the back of her neck to pull her forward. Ginevra’s head tilted back to eagerly receive his kiss. His lips pressed affectionately tender along her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as she breathed in the scent of him. Smiling pleasantly before the kiss ended, she murmured into him, “And m’lord is quite handsome. I think I shall be the envy of the hall tonight.” Wolfe chuckled. Drawing back, he left his hand fall from her. “I think I should stop lest I crumple your gown before we go belowstairs.” “Yea, no doubt my mother would have a fit.” Ginevra smiled mischievously. “Actually, why don’t I find some breeches? It would almost be worth--” “Nay, Gin. Don’t think it.” Wolfe laughed at the light that flickered in her playful eyes. Nonchalantly, she scratched behind her ear. “Well, we are making a public appearance together. I think that we should at least live up to our reputations.” Wolfe shook his head in bewilderment. Then, going over to her, he held out his arm. “M’lady, shall we?” Ginevra tried to feign annoyance and failed miserably. Taking up his arm, she asked lightly, “So what were you doing in your chamber? Were you packing?” “It’s just something I needed to attend to,” dismissed Wolfe, not wanting to tell her he was leaving quite yet. He wanted this night with her to be perfect. It just might have to last him

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many months, as he was off to war. “Oh,” Ginevra accepted with a small smile, never thinking to question him. **** Robert grinned over at his wife. Taking her gently by the hand, he squeezed it before turning back to his sister. He gave Ginevra a meaningful look and quickly nodded his head toward Helena. His eyes begged her to say something to the woman. Feeling awkward, Ginevra leaned forward a smiled tentatively at the bride. Seeing Helena’s thin cheekbones narrow slightly in apprehension, Ginevra sighed. “You make a lovely bride, Helena.” Helena’s gaze widened in surprise. Looking first to her new husband and then back to her sister-by-marriage, she beamed. Slowly she nodded her head, speechless. Ginevra didn’t miss the flicker of gratitude that filtered over her brother’s face. Robert turned to Helena. Their eyes held only each other. Ginevra leaned back in her chair. Turning to Wolfe, she tried to muster a smile. There had been little talk between them during the evening. Though both tried to make conversation, it never lasted. Wolfe seemed preoccupied. Ginevra didn’t know how to draw his attention back to her. Believing it just to be one of his many moods she had yet to get used to, she managed to keep her good spirits. “What?” Wolfe asked, when he caught her gazing past his shoulder. Turning, he saw only the wall. “Oh,” Ginevra gasped. Blushing, she admitted, “I’m just daydreaming.” “About,” Wolfe prompted, enthralled. “Well, it’s just nice to see two people so happy in their marriage. Look at your sister. She is beautiful, radiant.” Ginevra’s voice trailed off until it was a gentle whisper. “She’s in love.” “And Robert,” Wolfe whispered back. His eyes dipped to her mouth. Unbidden, he leaned toward her. “Yea and Rob. He’s obviously smitten,” Ginevra answered. Captured by his eyes, she didn’t think before saying, “It must be nice to have such a choice to--to be able to find someone, fall in love, and then marry them.” Wolfe froze. Ginevra gasped. Her face turned pale as she looked at him in horror. “Wolfe, I didn’t mean...” Ginevra lifted her hand to lightly touch his cheek. Weakly, she whispered, “I mean I’m fine being married to you. I didn’t intend on sounding discontent.” Wolfe felt his heart sink. He thought about what Robert had said. Maybe his friend had been wrong. Looking over the hall, he scanned over the heads of dancing couples. Suddenly standing, he bowed to Ginevra. She looked up at him in surprise. Taking him by the hand, she let him lead her to the floor. When she saw that he meant to dance with her, she faltered. “Wolfe, nay,” she began. She pulled on her hand to stop him from leading her forward. Panicked, she whispered furtively, “I can’t dance with you.” Wolfe turned in shock. Studying her shaking fingers, he let her go. His face hardened to her. At the same time their eyes met, their attention was drawn to a nearby table of knights who heard her whispered denial. They laughed, pounding their fists in drunken laughter. “The lady has a strong distaste for her husband. It would seem Lord Wolfe has lost his touch with the ladies,” one of the drunken knights jibed. Ginevra looked at them in mortification. Horrified, she glanced back at Wolfe. His face was red with anger. Bowing stiffly to her, he turned on his heels. Ginevra tried to go after him, but when she took a step, a hand on her elbow stopped her.

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Seeing Lora, she frowned. “M’lady, it’s time to escort the bride to her bridal chamber,” Lora stated. Ginevra frowned. Looking over, she saw Wolfe at the head table. He filled his goblet with mead and took a long drink. He refused to look at her. “To the bridal chambers!” Lora yelled when Ginevra said nothing. Jumping violently at the loud cry, she heard it repeated over the hall until she had no choice but to force a smile to her face. Feeling a hand on her back, she was made to rush forward, lest she be pushed over. Then, reaching the table, she followed as the other women of the keep gathered Helena into their hands. They pushed the blushing bride to Robert’s bedchamber in the guest tower. When they reached the stairwell, Ginevra dared a glance over her shoulder. She faltered, as she saw Sarra at the head table placing a pitcher before Wolfe. The woman leaned over, showing Wolfe a daring display of her ample bosom. Ginevra’s heart stopped. The buxom maid’s smile shined as she trilled in lusty laughter. As Ginevra was forced around the corner by the throng of noisy women, her last glimpse was that of Wolfe returning the maidservant’s naughty grin. **** Ginevra felt numb as they left Helena in her chamber. Making her way through the guest passageway, she was forced to stop as the throng of men tried to pass with her brother. Seeing that Wolfe was not with them, she nearly retched in fear. The men moved pass with agonizing slowness. As she was finally free of them, she ran down the stairs. Then, skidding to a stop as she neared the main hall, she regally stepped out into the near empty room. Instantly, her eyes went to the head table. It was empty. Next, her eyes scanned over the remaining servants as they cleared a few of the pitchers and replaced them with full ones. Sarra was not amongst them. Her heart thudded slowly in her ears. Her limbs moved as if they were filled with wet sand. She made her way to the stairwell leading to her tower bedchamber. Hesitating, she looked once more over the maids. A few of them stopped to wonder at their mistress’ strange pallor. Closing her eyes to the fear and pain that welled within her, Ginevra fought for breath as she turned to go up the stairwell. **** Wolfe felt the bitter sting of Ginevra’s public rejection like a slap in the face. He wanted the night to be perfect. But it wasn’t. His wife all but admitted she didn’t love him and was envious of those who might be able to choose a match of love. And though she claimed to be content with him, it seemed she no longer was able to put on the charade. He read well the abhorrence in her face. In that he hadn’t been mistaken. Making his way drunkenly up the steps, he stumbled into a wall. Then, pushing himself up, he fell into the stone on the opposite side. Wolfe cursed darkly. Lifting his goblet, he parted his lips to receive a drink. Only a drop trickled into his mouth. With a curse, he threw the goblet down the dark stairwell. The loud crash it produced behind him brought him little pleasure. Suddenly, looking around, he realized he stumbled past his own doorway in his drunken self-pity and was by Thomas’ old chamber. He touched the lock on the door lightly. Staring at the hard oak door, he cursed again. He slammed the lock against the door. It clanged, but didn’t loosen. “Wolfe?” Wolfe froze. Looking up the stairwell, he took a few steps toward the tower. His eyes

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narrowed. “Wolfe?” the feminine voice called again. A kind and playful laugh followed the sound. As he neared the archway leading to the top of the tower, he stopped. Outlined by moonlight were the naked curves of a woman. “Gin?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Yea, Wolfe,” the voice called sweetly. “I have been waiting for you.” The words were so light. They sounded like a far away dream, spinning in his drunken head. Wolfe stepped up the stairwell into the night air. Following the naked woman, he watched her body sway and blur in the moonlight. “Ginevra,” he whispered, stepping to the apparition. Then, as the moon fell over the woman’s face, to bathe her skin in blue, he noticed her large breasts. Looking into dark eyes, that didn’t sparkle, he growled in disgust, “Sarra.” **** Ginevra fell forward with a start. Looking down, she felt in the passageway for the offending object that stopped her progress. Finding an empty goblet, she let loose a small curse. Angrily, she tossed it behind her. She heard it roll and thud down the stairwell as it bounced. Deliberately, she stood and brushed off her gown. Continuing with her quick pace, she neared her door. Stopping, she pushed it open and glanced in, as she had Wolfe’s chamber. Like his, it was empty. She continued to climb. Nearing Thomas’ door, she didn’t stop, only lifted her fingers to feel for the familiar lock barring the door closed. Her steps purposefully lightened as she neared the top. Horrified, Ginevra stopped before stepping out of the archway. She stayed hidden within the shadows, frozen in mortification. Her eyes rounded. Her head began to pound as she slowly shook it in denial. Her heart willed her eyes to be wrong. Defiantly the green orbs blinked, only to open again. The image was not gone. Wolfe was in the arms of Sarra. **** “Sarra,” Wolfe stuttered in drunken confusion. Blinking heavily, he looked over the top of the tower. “Where’s Gin?” Sarra placed a pout on her lips. Angling her chin toward the ground, she batted her eyelashes teasingly. Slowly, her arms lifted. She draped herself over Wolfe’s shoulders. His head snapped back around in surprise. “Nay, Sarra,” Wolfe protested with a harsh frown. “But, it’s been so long, m’lord,” Sarra preened. “Surely you have missed me--missed this.” She leaned forward to press her lips to his mouth. Her naked breasts brushed up against his thick overtunic. Wolfe moved his head so that her kiss met only with the side of his hair. He pushed at her naked waist to get her off of him. Sarra frowned. Melding herself more insistently against him, she looked over his shoulder. Through the strands of dark hair, she saw a pale figure move within the shadowed archway. For a moment, the moonlight glistened in a pool of emeralds. “Oh, Wolfe,” Sarra groaned loudly. Her lustful laughter soon followed. “You have hands like no other.” “What--” Wolfe began in confusion. A sharp gasp from behind stopped his questioning. Hesitantly, he turned. Ginevra stepped out of the entryway. Her eyes flashed with outrage. Her hands balled into fists.

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“Oh, Wolfe!” Sarra exclaimed. The maidservant shot the nobles an expression of utter horror. “She has caught us!” Wolfe roughly shoved Sarra away from him. The naked maidservant gasped in surprise at the harsh treatment before scurrying behind the protective shield of Wolfe’s back. She dared an obnoxious peek around his side. The nobles paid her little heed. Sarra grinned in wry satisfaction. She hid her laughter as she ducked behind his back. Ginevra’s face turned from outrage, to horror and then to utter disbelief. Slowly, she shook her head making her curls bounced around her delicate ears. The gentle wind picked up her slivery blonde locks and blew them gently behind her. Wolfe’s gaze turned tortured as he watched Ginevra’s pale face. It hardened completely to him. He saw her stiffen. Prudently, she took a step forward. “Gin,” Wolfe began. He lifted a hand and moved as it he would go to her. Instantly, her hand shot up to stop him. Her lips tightened and she stiffly shook her head, unable to speak to him. Wolfe helplessly obeyed. “Sarra,” Ginevra commanded after a long moment had passed. Her voice sounded every bit the noblewoman. “Come around here please.” Sarra hesitantly stepped around. Standing proud in her nakedness, she lifted a wrist to rest along Wolfe’s shoulder. Cocking her hip to the side, she leaned against him. Wolfe pulled instantly away. Sarra stumbled. Looking at Wolfe in surprise, her mouth fell open in wonder. “Wolfe?” Sarra questioned. She glanced at Ginevra and then back to the hard-faced nobleman. “Oh, I see. Now I’m not good enough for you!” Wolfe’s scowl darkened into rage. He held still, afraid that if he moved he would strike the woman for hurting Ginevra so. His drunken mind reeled with the beginnings of an explanation. “Now that you have your little lady wife,” Sarra spat, “you have no need of me. But when she turns you from her bed you will seek me out soon enough. Well, m’lord, I am tired of waiting for you. I know you had to marry her, that it was contracted so before you were old enough to protest. I understood that. But, now? You honestly would pick this little...” Sarra walked forward to boldly inspect Ginevra. Looking down her nose at her, the maidservant shook her head in disbelieving laughter. The sound was cold and grating. Rudely flipping one of Ginevra’s curls into the air, she shook her head. “You would pick this little half-woman urchin over me?” Sarra continued incredulously. “She wears breeches like a man. She can’t possibly know enough of the woman arts to please a man of your sordid tastes.” Sarra walked past the silently stunned Ginevra to where her dress laid piled on the ground. Without bothering to pick it up, she said, “Tell me, m’lady. Has your husband shown you what he likes? Has he tied you up? Made you his slave? Has he played games with your naked body? Drank mead from your breasts as you both lay in a bath full of the heady drink? Leaned you over the ledge of the tower so that you feel like your falling as he takes you from behind?” “Sarra, that’s enough! Your words go too far!” Wolfe shouted in horror. He watched Ginevra’s face pale as she looked at him. He imagined he saw disgust in her emerald gaze. Ginevra gasped in dismay. Her eyes widened. She would have cried if she weren’t so angry. She didn’t know such things were possible, would never have thought of them. All she knew was what her husband taught her. Wolfe treated her like a lady in bed. Never had he even attempted to try anything unusual. Even as they repulsed her, the servant’s words caused a wave

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of curiosity to overcome her senses. But soon hurt and betrayal followed. Stalking forward in blinding rage, Ginevra grabbed the servant by her hair. Unable to control herself, she dragged the struggling woman to the top of the stairwell. Sarra shouted in fear, “Nay!” Wolfe didn’t move, frozen stiff as his mind sobered by small degrees. Sarra’s words and Ginevra’s horrified look stood like a slap against his face. It was true, he did have unusual tastes in bed, which Sarra hadn’t even begun to touch upon. But Ginevra was a lady. She was innocent. And whereas he enjoyed their time in bed together, he had thought of various things he wanted to do to her. His promise to Robert on the night of his wedding stopped him. He’d vowed to her brother to always treat Ginevra like a lady, to not do the uncommon acts he did with others. He couldn’t do those things with her. Had she not recoiled at his show of rougher passion that night in the forest? Angrily, Ginevra pushed the stumbling maidservant down the stairwell. Letting go of her hair, she watched in grim satisfaction as the woman fell forward. Her bare arms flung around as she crashed into the unforgiving stone wall. Her foot twisted and caught on a step as she managed to keep from falling. “My gown--” Sarra began with a wail, looking up from her place on the stone steps. “Begone!” Ginevra hissed. The maidservant balked and hurried down the stairwell. She limped slightly, but didn’t stop. Picking up Sarra’s clothes, Ginevra walked to the edge of the tower. Closing his eyes tightly, Wolfe asked, “Why didn’t you dance with me?” “What? You speak of dancing now?” Tossing the maidservant’s clothes over the side of the tower without a second look, Ginevra turned a skeptical stare at her husband. “Well, fine. It’s because I don’t know how to dance. I was never taught. My mother thinks dancing vulgar and I didn’t wish to make a fool of you or myself. Which is surely what would’ve happened had I even so much as tried. Is that why you went to her? Because I can’t dance?” “Gin, I can explain,” Wolfe endeavored weakly. “Naught happened.” In disbelief, she asked, “Naught happened? Naught happened! What of the mead baths? Of the games? How can you say that naught happened?” “Gin, that was before I wed with you,” Wolfe frowned. He didn’t approve of her contrary tone. Placing his hands on his rigid hips, he embraced the emotion that was easiest to face-indignation. “I care not!” she screamed. “You will always do this to me, won’t you? I should have realized it from the beginning. First, there was the night of our wedding. Then, there was the tournament and you flaunted one of your mistress’ tokens in front of me--” “The tournament?” Wolfe shot in confusion. “Yea, did you not think I’d see the token pinned to your armor?” Ginevra asked, disbelievingly. “Gin,” Wolfe answered. Shaking his head, he reached around and pulled a piece of cloth from his pouch. He held it out to her. His voice softened, as he explained, “This is the only token I have ever worn at tournament. It has been my talisman of sorts. It has helped me to triumph every tournament I have worn it for.” “What is it?” she asked, unable to stop the curious words. She took the material from his hand, noticing it was slightly stained from dirt. Its edges were ragged and even burnt in spots. “It’s the piece of gown you sent me when you returned the necklace I gave you. I was so angry with you for throwing the gift back in my face that I threw the token into a fire. A page

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found it and sold it back to me for a gold piece. I’ve worn it to battle ever since.” His eyes softened. “If I wear a token, it has always been from you.” “Well,” she began, stuttering to a stunned stop. His words took her by surprise. She would have never guessed. Then, remembering why she was angry, her features fell once more into an angry scowl. “That does not excuse your blatant infidelities!” Wolfe stalked forward. Harshly, he barked, “Let me explain.” “There is naught to explain, m’lord philanderer. I saw well what was going on.” Ginevra poked him in the chest with the end of her nail. “Tell me. Was she your slave tonight? Is that why she was naked and you are not? Did she strip for you? Did she act wanton enough for you?” “Ginevra,” Wolfe warned. He took a step to stop her. Each of her words was like a punch to his gut. “Is that what you want, husband?” Ginevra spat in outrage. Unmindful of her actions, she began tearing at her hair. She ripped the hairpiece off of her head, freeing the heavy bulk of her curls over her back in disarray. With a growl, she threw it to the ground. “Am I not eager enough for you, m’lord? What would you have me do?” Ginevra stomped forward. Her eyes flashed wildly as she halted before him. Poking him again in the chest, she slowly backed him up against the edge. Whispering in a low tone, she hissed, “I only asked two things of you. I asked you not to take that woman to your bed again. But I understand. You think me failing as a bed partner. So I’ll give you what you want and then you will be able to give me what I want.” Grabbing his tunic by the neck, she ripped the material with a hard jerk. Wolfe watched her through narrowed eyes. Her words stung. Her shaking body pushed him to the edge of the tower. With it, he met the edge of his sanity. Her words angered and excited him. All the control he held when he was with her slipped. Wolfe growled. Grabbing Ginevra about the upper arms he pulled her to his lips. Hungrily, his mouth sought hers. She stiffened in surprise at his rough kiss. But soon the thrill of it caused her rage to turn into a powerful lust. With a vicious intensity, she pulled his face away. His eyes shone with the wild light of a beast. Their breath met in ragged pants, their chests heaved. Wolfe’s hands instantly tore at her clothing. Taking the bodice of her gown in hand, he ripped it from her chest. Eyeing her thin chemise, he ripped through that barrier just as easily. Ginevra gasped. Wolfe gave her a lecherous grin. His eyes darted instantly to her chest. Ginevra’s body shook at the intensity in his face. He seemed dark, foreboding, and incredibly handsome. Forgetting her anger, she pressed herself along his body. Their hands roamed with almost a violent force over the form of the other. Wolfe forgot everything but the driving need to possess the woman before him. Seizing Ginevra by the arms, he forced her to go with him as he made his way to the tower edge. Feeling the battlement at his back, he stopped. He tore her gown the rest of the way from her shoulders, thrashing at the material until she was completely naked before him. Wolfe’s hands untied his breeches just enough to free his hard manhood. Lifting her by the waist, he forced her legs to wrap about his thick waist. Her feet landed to rest on the side of the wall. Standing, Wolfe thrust solidly into her. He leaned against the battlements for support. Ginevra gasped in awe. There was no time to question his will as he sank himself inside her. Ginevra’s eyes flew open, seeing naught but the angry movements of his features and the big orb of the moon shining in the night sky behind his head. Wolfe mindlessly possessed her with only the stars to bear

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witness. The rough stone stung his back, pressed into her feet. They didn’t care. And, with a terrible cry of agonizing pleasure, the brutal trembling of their union drained them both of their strength. Ginevra clutched to Wolfe, her chest heaving with difficult breaths. Tears rimmed her lashes, but they were tears of pure ecstasy. The power of her husband thrilled her to no end. Never had she imagined that her body could sing with such sweet rapture. A nervous fear gripped her as she waited in breathless anticipation of his approval. Sanity slowly returned to Wolfe’s eyes. Almost viciously, he pulled back to look at her. His head jerked to study her face. Seeing the moisture in her gaze and the frightened look in her eyes, he froze with self-loathing. Instantly, he lifted her off of him and set her on the ground. Timidly, she watched him from under her lashes. “Gin, I,” he started. Unable to continue, he watched her helplessly. Ginevra saw the vulnerable light in his eyes. Feeling the cool breeze against her naked skin, she shivered. Wolfe frowned, lifting his own torn tunic from his sated body to hand to her. Ginevra slipped it over her head. “I’m sorry. I guess my mother was right,” Ginevra said quietly when he refused to speak. Even as she said them, the words contradicted the pleasure sliding in her veins. “Noblewoman can’t please a man like a maidservant.” The words were so quiet that he almost didn’t hear them. Not please me, Wolfe thought in bewilderment. How can you not think I am pleased? Never have I been more so. With Ginevra, her response was so natural. There was no practiced coyness to her looks, no measured glances from her direct emerald gaze, no trained movement of her body’s response. Wolfe felt his heart squeeze painfully with an emotion he was ill equipped to discover in his half drunk, half remorseful state. “No wonder you sought out a servant.” The words were not accusing, only accepting. Ginevra took a step away from him. “Tell me, before tonight, were you with her again since we have been home. Were you with her today while we were parted?” “Nay Gin. I haven’t been with her since the night we wed,” Wolfe answered, seeing that he needed to ease her. She shook her head in understanding, automatically believing his word. It amazed him that she could be so trusting even after what she had witnessed. “Gin,” he whispered. “Naught happened betwixt Sarra and me. I thought I saw you and so I followed her up here. I know it sounds unbelievable, but you have to know. I didn’t seek her out. I was about to banish her from the roof when you saw us. I didn’t touch her.” “I just wish,” she faltered. Turning her tortured orbs heavenward, she sighed. His tunic brushed the tops of her thighs, tickling her skin with the soft fold of thick linen. Her hair floated about her shoulders. She took Wolfe’s breath away. Sadly, she tried again. “I wish that I made you feel the way I do,” she admitted, forcing herself to continue through her embarrassment. Her cheeks pinkened with a maidenly blush. Turning around to hide her features from his probing gaze, she said, “I wish I could give you half the pleasure you give me. I know I don’t, couldn’t possibly. But I can learn. If you would but teach me what you like.” Wolfe stood transfixed by her blushing admission. Turning back to him, she put forth, “I will take your mead baths. I will tie you up or let you bind me. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. Please, just give me a chance to please you. Did you think I couldn’t be taught? Or did you not want to bother? Is that why you didn’t want to try them with me?” “Gin,” he began. Pausing, he tried to go to her to comfort her. But his feet stubbornly

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refused to move. “You’re a lady--” “And one does not do such things with ladies,” she concluded before he could finish. “Even if the lady is most willing?” “Nay, it’s only because I respected you too much to--” he frowned when she interrupted again. “Respect me?” Ginevra sighed. Without thinking, she blurted, “Well that is something I suppose, for I love--” Her eyes grew round, their sparkling green depths staring at him in fright. Suddenly, she shook her head and backed away. “What did you say?” Wolfe demanded sharply. His heart tightened in disbelief. “Nothing,” she whispered. “I’m tired--I don’t--it just slipped.” “Then you don’t love me,” Wolfe concluded. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. His knees weakened slightly, but he didn’t let it show. “I didn’t say that,” Ginevra shook in desperation. “I do, but I don’t want to talk about it. Forget I said aught...” Wolfe took a slow step forward, sobering completely at her words. A tentative pleasure started in his chest. His hand lifted as if to go to her. Ginevra took a step back with an insecure moan of embarrassment. Her words might have been on love, but her look was one of complete terror. “Nay, you can’t say such a thing and then leave,” Wolfe interjected to stop her retreat. “I demand that you tell me what you were going to say.” “It’s just,” Ginevra moaned again. But, seeing his piercing gaze, she couldn’t deny answering him. With a delicate lift of her fingers, she whispered feebly, “I think I am in love with you.” Her words were a hush, but he heard them as clearly as if she screamed them into his ear. A smile of pleasure curled on his lips. He took another step, closing the distance. His arms ached to hold her, to wipe the insecure light from her face. “And I know that you are drunk, m’lord. My only wish is that on the morrow you will have forgotten all of this. I wish you didn’t know and I curse myself for ever saying it,” Ginevra uttered, stopping his advance once more. “So go to your bed, m’lord. Go rest alone in your chamber. When sleep sobers your mind, hopefully this will all seem like a dream.” “Come with me,” he urged softly holding out his hand. A hesitant small smile alighted on his lips. “Nay, I can’t. I,” she paused and turned away. “I’m too embarrassed.” Rushing forward, she went to the stairwell. Instantly, Wolfe was behind her. He placed a hand on her upper arm and swung her around to face him. Seeing the tears lining her gaze, he pulled her into his chest. Stroking her hair, he ran his hand down her back. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered against his chest. “Don’t mention it. I couldn’t bear it if you did.” “Then come with me tonight,” he urged in a whisper. He didn’t give her a chance to refuse. Swinging her lightly into his arms, his hand pressed under her bare thighs. He felt her tremble as she ducked her head by his neck. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers working desperately. Wolfe slowly carried her down the stairwell, stopping as they came to her bedchamber door. He respected her wishes and said nothing as he laid her down on the softness of her bed. He didn’t know what he would say if he were to speak.

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He made love to her slowly, worshiping her body with gentle kisses and tender caresses. As she slept, Wolfe stayed awake, watching her face as she nestled into him in sweet repose. His heart was heavy, unable to tell her how he felt for her. Robert had been right. He needed to leave her so she could learn her own mind. He didn’t want her bewitched by the passion of their bodies. He wanted her to be sure, as he was sure. The moment he turned to see her on the stairwell, he knew his own heart. He loved her. As dawn crept over the horizon, he left her.

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Chapter Fourteen Ginevra, Ginevra read the tightly scrawled form of her name, instantly recognizing the penmanship. Her heart leapt, automatically knowing Wolfe was gone before she even read a word. Jumping from the bed, she ignored the wrapped package he’d left underneath the parchment. She tugged the nearest gown she could find over her body. Not bothering to check her appearance, she tore down the stairwell, missive in hand. Skidding to a stop, her eyes found her brother and Helena at the head table. Helena looked proper and beautiful, though her face shone with gentle tears. Throwing back her shoulders, Ginevra hurried to the head table. Robert’s eyes found her at once. A frown marred his face as her eyes met his. Ginevra’s hand trembled. Without a word, she ran toward the courtyard. “Wolfe!” she shouted, never feeling Robert’s presence behind her. Ginevra tore down the stairs toward the gatehouse. Robert chased after her. Catching her before she made the inner gate, he grabbed her by the arm. “Gin, wait,” Robert asserted with quiet forcefulness. Ginevra froze. She didn’t turn to him. Softly, she asked, “He’s gone, isn’t he?” “Yea, early this morn,” Robert answered. “He left with the dawn. You won’t be able to see him.” “Where?” she inquired weakly. The pain inside her was unbearable. Her shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath. She refused to look at her brother as her eyes searched the small opening afforded her by the slatted gate. All she detected was the soft rolling of grasses that stretched for miles. “King Richard bid Wolfe to join him.” Robert took her gently by the elbow. She didn’t protest as he led her back to the stairwell. Lifting his hand, he pulled her hair from the inside back of her tunic gown so that it fell over her back. It swept over her shoulders in a mass of tangled curls. “When is he coming back?” she asked faintly. Her eyes were wide with trepidation. “Gin, he leaves to campaign for the Holy Land soon. They prepare for it even now.” Robert tried to hide his frown. Ginevra looked at him. A numb feeling unfurled in her chest, taking over her limbs. “So far away?” It wasn’t really a question. Robert didn’t answer. “You knew this day was coming. We have talked of it since we were children. Now that Richard is king, we will finally go.” Robert’s voice grew strong, sure in their cause. “Why didn’t he tell me?” Ginevra forced her brother to stop. Her expression was haunted. “Did he say aught to you? Was he angered with me? Was he displeased?” Robert couldn’t meet the desperation in her gaze. Guilt, as powerful as he had ever known, swept through him. He could feel the torture pouring over him as his sister looked at him with her trusting eyes. “He had to leave was all,” Robert finally returned when he could take no more of his guilt. “I’m sure he’s very pleased with you.”

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“But did he say that?” Ginevra persisted. “Did he say aught?” Robert watched her expression carefully. Only then did he know the true extent of his sister’s heart. He had spoken with Wolfe before he left. His friend’s eyes held the same tortured light in them that reflected from Ginevra’s. That morn, he knew duty was the only thing keeping Wolfe from staying home. Lord Wolfram, future Earl of Whetshire, wouldn’t dishonor his family by casting aside his duties. Robert cursed himself bitterly. One word from him, releasing Wolfe from his promise, would have given the couple more time together. Mayhap his friend’s feelings were pure. Mayhap he would’ve found happiness with Ginevra. But now it was too late. Wolfe was off to war and many things could happen in the fierce battle ahead. It could be years until King Richard released them to come back home. Until that time, they would fight. “Nay,” Robert shook his head. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he said, “But I’ll be leaving to join him if you wish to send him a missive.” Ginevra nodded weakly. An accumulation of embarrassment, rage and fear threatened her sanity. Stiffing her shoulders, she let Robert lead her into the main hall. Once inside, Helena rushed forward to Ginevra. Ginevra eyed the woman wearily and then her brother in turn. “Is aught--” Helena began, seeing Ginevra’s face. She swallowed visibly. “Helena,” Robert turned to his wife. Giving her a tender smile, he inquired, “Can you take Gin back to her chamber?” “Nay, Rob, I’m fine,” Ginevra broke in with a mild, distracted frown. Without force she walked away. Robert let her arm go so that it fell listlessly to her side. Watching his sister’s stiff back, he nodded to his wife to follow her. Helena took up Ginevra’s arm. The wide emerald gaze filled with tears as she led the noblewoman up the steps. Suddenly, Ginevra paused by Wolfe’s bedchamber. Helena tried to urge her to continue. Ginevra softly touched the door but didn’t go in. “Leave me,” she told Helena. Her tone was sharp but neither woman noticed. “Gin, I don’t think,” Helena’s words faltered. Seeing the stricken light to her sister-bymarriage’s eyes, she nodded. Helena turned, only to stop. “He did tell you he was going, didn’t he?” Ginevra’s saddened gaze was her only answer. She glanced helplessly at the unopened missive clutched in her fingers. “I’m sure he meant to tell you,” Helena began. Ginevra’s scowl deepened in disbelief. She gave a small snort. “Oh, well,” Helena tried to think of a way to defend her brother, but she couldn’t. Rubbing her temple, she pushed her heavy red locks back from her face. If her husband left her without a word, she too would be angry and hurt. Thankfully, she knew Robert would never do such a thing. He already told her he was leaving to join her brothers at war. Taking a deep breath, Helena reached out a hand to lie on Ginevra’s arm. The woman’s eyes turned from Wolfe’s door to her. Softly, Helena inquired, “What happened? Wolfe seemed upset this morn when he came to get Robert. Did you quarrel with him?” “I told him I love him,” Ginevra whispered painfully. She would never know why she admitted it to the woman. Helena was the last person she ever imagined talking so intimately to. But something in the soft brown depths of her eyes drew the words from her, “and he left me.” Ginevra’s eyes dulled even more as she thought of it. Wolfe had spoken to his sister but not her? Turning, she made her way up the stairwell, leaving her sister-by-marriage to watch speechlessly from behind.

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**** Ginevra, King Richard bids me to join him on a crusade to reclaim the Holy Land. There is much to prepare if we are to meet with success. I know not how long we will be gone. One can only pray victory will come swiftly and with little loss. I wish that I didn’t have to leave you thus, but it can’t be helped. Robert will join us soon. I promise to look after him with my life, knowing how dear your brother is to you as he is to me. Please, keep this gift I leave you. It’s old and has been in the family for a long time. Don’t regret aught that is betwixt us. I did sober, but I couldn’t forget your words. I carry them with me, Wolfe. Ginevra nodded into the empty chamber. The letter was polite, but said nothing of his feelings for her. Abandonment was hard enough to bear, without the added pain of not having some tender sentiment to carry in her heart in the time to come. Her lips trembled, but she refused to cry. Picking up the parcel, she pulled the ribbon off the material. She tossed the ribbon aside and shakily drew a deep breath. The glittering necklace of diamonds that William had delivered to her on the morning after her wedding fell onto her lap. Wolfe had given it back to her. Suddenly, grief overwhelmed her. Crushing the gift to her heart, she fell against her pillow and wept. **** Robert left the following morn to join Wolfe. Behind him, he led an army of Whetshire knights. Ginevra watched the first line of men file out on horseback, carrying with them satchels, swords and a melee of other weaponry. Behind the first wave walked the lesser knights on foot, marching solemnly after the horses. Two carts soon followed behind the men. Watching out over the land from the battlements, Ginevra stared at the bold banner of Whetshire in silence until it faded into the horizon. She pressed her hands into the cold stone, needing to feel something solid beneath her. Her head felt as if it spun out of control. “It’s hard to imagine how far they will go,” Helena whispered softly from her side, “over sea and land.” Ginevra jolted, having forgotten the woman was there. Hoarsely, she answered, “It might as well be past the edge of the Earth, for I think it must be close to it.” Helena nodded. They stood in silence, as the army grew smaller and finally faded completely. Turning with a sigh, Helena looked about the barren keep. “Today must be the hardest day of my life. I think I can’t endure it.” Helena took a deep breath. “It’s a woman’s lot to wait for a man. I was born waiting for Wolfe. Wait to marry him, wait for him to claim me, wait ... wait.” Ginevra’s eyes never strayed from the distance. Helena couldn’t answer. Both she and Robert had seen the bitterness that came over Ginevra in the course of the day. Robert had been surprised by Ginevra’s admission of love to her. He questioned her endlessly about it until finally, Helena could say no more. Changing the subject the best she could, Helena said, “Your mother is ready to leave for Southaven, but I don’t want to go. I can’t stand to be there without Robert.” “You love my brother, don’t you,” Ginevra stated. Her eyes held a bit of pity in them. “Yea, I suppose about as much as you love mine.” Helena hesitantly threaded her arm through Ginevra’s. Ginevra didn’t stiffen away. “I was always so jealous of you. You had Robert’s affections and I wanted them desperately. My own brothers never looked out for me the way Robert did you. You were always so free spirited. I was too afraid of dirtying the hem of my

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gown and you would run barefoot over the countryside without care.” Ginevra laughed. “Jealous of me? I don’t believe it. If anything, Robert’s attentions spoiled me. It made me long for more than a woman should have.” “Yea, I was jealous,” Helena defended with a giggle. “I thought even my own mother loved you more. After you came here, she seemed so much livelier. You two always had something brewing. When she was dying, she called for you--not me. I’m sorry I was so hard on you. Can you forgive me?” “It’s done, think no more on it. As to your mother, she spoke of you often. She was very proud of you.” Ginevra laid her head briefly on Helena’s shoulder. Glancing back, she sighed, seeing nothing but countryside. Then, walking Helena down the turret stairwell, she said, “I was mean to you, too. I think we are even. So let us start anew, as friends.” “I should like that,” Helena smiled. Her eyes shone with a kindhearted softness. Ginevra wondered why she had never seen it in the woman before. She had focused on the memory of a spoiled child for so long that she hadn’t seen the gentle woman Helena had become. “And I should like if you stayed here with me,” Ginevra put forth. A smile came to her face. “Really,” Helena gasped, “you wouldn’t mind?” “I insist.” Ginevra found she meant it. “William will be leaving soon to join the armies. He is talking to the earl even now. And your father is never home for long. I have no idea where he goes, but go he does.” “What about your mother?” Helena questioned. “Let me take care of her,” Ginevra said. “I’ll pretend to be sick. It will give her something to worry over. I swear she is only happy, if she is unhappy.” **** France, March 1190 The land grew stranger the farther south they rode until the hot landscapes became unfamiliar patterns of forest and field, countryside and sky. Wolfe didn’t pay heed as he walked over the encampment. Nearly seven long months had passed since he’d left Whetshire, though Wolfe wouldn’t be able to tell. He lost track of the time, only knowing that each day would bring him closer to the day he could hold Ginevra again. Striding past a tent, he nodded absently to his men. The men laughed. Their attention was not on their leader but on the buxom wench who danced in the twilighted evening. Wolfe had become a stoic figure around the campsites. His eyes stayed fixed onward. His attention drawn to crude maps left him by the king. Work became his passion until even his loyalist and oldest men didn’t recognize the man he had become. “Lord Wolfram!” one of his knights shouted to gain his attention. Wolfe turned. Scowling slightly, he looked at the man, “Yea, Burk?” “The knights from Whetshire and Southaven arrive. Baron Southaven is now in your tent.” Burk motioned his head as Wolfe strode past him. The news of the arriving armies spread throughout the camp like fire to tinder. The men teemed in excitement, knowing that battle was sure to come soon. Already reports of King Richard’s advancements made it back to them. And all were ready to bloody their swords with the fluids of the godless heathens. “Robert,” Wolfe called as he entered his tent. A smile came unbidden to his face as he found his friend pouring over the maps on his table. Reaching out his hand, he clasped it tightly

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in Robert’s. “How are you? It’s good to see you. How fair the men?” “I am well,” Robert answered in enthusiasm. Tired lines edged his face, but seeing Wolfe lightened his heart. “The men are tired. We lost a few to skirmishes along the way--naught of import, mostly thieves and raiders. All have been dealt with.” Wolfe nodded in approval. “We shall give them some days of rest before journeying on. I’ll send a dispatch tonight to inform the king of your progress.” “Very good,” Robert stated, satisfied. “Now, tell me,” Wolfe asserted. “What news from home? Have you heard aught from Whetshire?” Robert saw instantly that Wolfe meant Ginevra, not Whetshire. His friend’s eyes hungrily sought any detail from him. Robert smiled sadly, choking on the guilt he still carried. “Helena has written some, but with the rate we travel, it’s hard for the messenger to keep up.” Robert leaned over to grab his satchel off the dirt floor. “I do have something for you--a missive from my sister. She gave it to me the day I left. She has not written me since, but Helena has sent messages that she is well. Helena is staying with her at Whetshire. The two have become good friends.” Wolfe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Then much has happened since we left.” Robert chuckled as he dug through his pack. “Gin was a bit angry at you for leaving her without speaking to her first. But I think that so much time has passed she is surely over it by now. You know how women can be.” Even though much time had gone by, each man remembered his last days at home as if it had been yesterday. Wolfe swallowed over the lump in his throat. “I imagine she was. She had every right to be. I’ve regretted not waking her since that very dawn I rode out. It’s too late to change now. I would’ve sent word to her, but I have been unable to spare any of the men for such purposes.” In truth, he didn’t know what he would write her. He’d tried to write on endless evenings only to throw the parchment in the fire. At night, when all the men found comfort in the arms of woman, he would lay alone thinking of Ginevra, haunted by the memory of her. Finally, finding the missive, Robert dropped the satchel and handed the parchment over to Wolfe. Wolfe took the missive. The sheepskin parchment looked wrinkled and well worn from travel. His hand shook slightly as he turned his back to Robert. Breaking the seal, he tentatively pealed the folds back. Wolfe, Forget what I said. I drank too much and my mind was not my own. Thank you for the gift, Gin Gently, Wolfe folded up the paper. He thrust it into the belt of his undertunic before turning to Robert. He forced a smile. Robert was not fooled. “All is well?” Robert asked politely. “Yea, fine,” Wolfe stated before turning to the maps. Pointing at the first one, he nodded for Robert to join him. “I have been studying these maps quite thoroughly and I have them almost memorized. But, unfortunately, I have already found that they are not completely accurate. River bends are not exactly where they are drawn to be.” “Fine, fine,” Robert said. “First though, can we have us a drink? I think I swallowed half the earth on the journey here.”

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Wolfe chuckled halfheartedly. “Yea, this can wait. Let us go welcome the men proper, with a celebration. It might be awhile before we can feast again so near to our homeland.” **** Whetshire, May 1190 Ginevra stared at the blank parchment, thinking of what to write. Wolfe’s leaving seemed so long ago that it was hard for her put down what she needed to say. Even though the bitterness faded, the pain left behind was worse. Picking the missive Wolfe sent her, she realized that it was at least a month old. The man who delivered it was much worn from the hard ride it took to reach her. She reread the missive for at least the eleventh time. Gin, Robert and William have arrived and are well. On the morrow we leave to join the fighting. The men’s spirits are high and all hope that this will be a quick campaign. We are all longing for a hot bath and the coolness of English weather. The barbarous land we have encountered is hotter than could have been imagined with sands that flow over the land like shortened grass. It’s my hope this finds all in good health, Wolfe. Looking down at her parchment, she dipped her quill in ink. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by his impersonal letter. Scrolling quickly, she dipped the tip of the quill several times before she was finished. Then, drying the ink with sand, she dusted the grains from the paper. “Gin,” Helena’s voice called pleasantly. “Are you finished? The messenger needs to start back afore the night falls and he requires our letters if he’s to deliver them.” “Yea,” Ginevra turned just in time to see Helena’s comely face poke around the corner from her dressing chamber. She quickly folded the parchment and dripped wax over the seam. “You did write him of it, did you not?” Helena asked with a hesitant frown. Her mellow red hair, reminiscent of Lady Isabella’s before she died, was pulled to the nape of her neck in a simple plait. As Ginevra stood, Helena gave a meaningful glance at her sister-by-marriage’s protruding belly. Her wide brown eyes shone with concern when she didn’t receive a ready answer. Ginevra mostly refused to speak of Wolfe, but when she did the pain was thick in her voice. “Yea, Helena, of course I told him of the baby. He is the father.” Ginevra smiled but didn’t look up as she dipped the family seal on the cooling wax. “Oh, good, I didn’t mention it to Robert. If he received his missive first that wouldn’t be right.” Helena sighed in obvious relief. “I thought you might still have the silly idea that he didn’t deserve to know of it. Although I don’t blame you for your animosity toward him, I’m glad you came around.” “Well, round I am,” Ginevra sighed before giggling. She gave her round stomach a loving pat. The child kicked her hand in response. “You’re beautiful,” Helena giggled. “Beside, it won’t be too much longer.” “Like his father, this child just keeps me waiting. For this babe is over late,” Ginevra scrunched up her face, but her expression still shone with love for her babe. “The midwife did say it would be soon,” Helena offered. “And father has sent for the physician tending your mother in Southaven. I think he is growing anxious. Have you noticed he

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has not left since before you felt him kick?” “Uh, my mother has a physician? There is naught wrong with my mother. She will outlive us all.” Ginevra shook her head. She yawned suddenly feeling very tired. Wincing, she tried to massage the baby’s foot out of her ribs. “It’s true,” Helena giggled. She took the missive from Ginevra’s outstretched hand before laying a finger lightly on the pregnant belly. She giggled when the babe awarded her affection with a hard kick. “He is a strong one, is he not?” “Still think it’s a boy?” Ginevra asked. “Yea, there are too many signs.” Helena nodded in confidence. “Besides, like you said, he’s already too much like his father.” “I will be glad when this is over,” Ginevra sighed, pressing her fingers into her temple. She waddled to her bed to lie down. “Oh,” Helena giggled as she reached the door. “I almost forgot. Edmund is back with us. He said Britheue booted him out again for being simple-minded.” “Again?” Ginevra laughed. “All right, tell him to report to the guardhouse.” “I already have seen to it. He mans the wall even now.” Helena opened the door. “Truthfully, I think Britheue sent him to watch over you as your babe nears. It was the first thing he inquired about.” “I think he misses us. For who else would fuss over such a burly man?” Ginevra mumbled into her pillow. She absently massaged her stomach, wearily rolling her neck. “He is our protector.” Helena giggled. She turned to step out of the chamber. When she glanced back around, Ginevra was asleep. **** June 1190 “Ahhh! Wolfe!” “Hold on, Gin,” Helena patted the woman’s hair back in panic. A tearful frown lined her face as she tried to coo softly into Ginevra’s ear. Helena had heard Ginevra’s terrified screams when she came to check on her. Instantly, she dispatched a maid to fetch the midwife. That had been hours ago. Helena pushed her rolled sleeves back up her arms as she dipped a cloth in cool water. Sponging off Ginevra’s forehead, she looked to the midwife. She noted the old woman’s pained expression, as she glanced back. The woman’s hands were covered with blood as she drew them to her apron. Instantly, Helena went to her. “The babe is too large. It waited too long to be born. We must help it out,” the midwife stated. “M’lady is too small, ’er body is not allowin’ it to come.” Helena nodded in grim understanding. “Just tell me what I need to do.” Their low whispers were lost to the pain-ridden woman on the bed. Ginevra felt as if her body was being ripped apart by wild animals. Her only comfort was the hard press of her wedding ring clasped in her fist. She had taken the band off when her fingers swelled to match her stomach. Ginevra’s glazed eyes rolled back in her head as another spasm crossed her midsection. The white fur of her coverlet was stained red with the flow of her blood. The sticky wetness pressed to her legs and stuck her gown to her body. Again Ginevra screamed, loud enough to echo down to the main hall where the earl sat

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waiting in terror. The earl flinched at the sound, his gut wrenching as he thought of his wife. “M’lady,” the midwife whispered fervently to Helena. “It’s most likely that either she or the babe won’t make it. We might be called upon to make a decision which. I need your resolve ready to do what must be done.” “But, I can’t--” Helena began, horrified. “You must,” the midwife interrupted with a hiss. When the pregnant woman screamed again, the midwife hurried to her side. Helena followed. Her brown eyes rounded as she studied Ginevra’s pale face, already so drained of blood. Seeing the midwife through the corner of her eye, Helena turned solemnly to her. Slowly, she nodded her head. The midwife accepted the noblewoman’s agreement grimly. Sternly, she ordered, “Now be ready!”

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Chapter Fifteen Crusades, Palestinian Shore, June 1191 A.D. Wolfe stumbled through the field of slain bodies. Breathing deeply, he sighed with relief that the battle was finally over. His sword arm felt weakened by the grueling toil of his work. King Philip and King Richard’s army fought endlessly for over a fortnight, pushing slowly inland from the coast at the cost of much life. A full turn of seasons passed, as the armies journeyed through the foreign land. First they traveled by sea, swaying incessantly as they searched for stony shores. Winter they spent in Sicily, awaiting better weather. Then, they successfully conquered Cyprus and much of Palestine as they neared closer to the main force of the heathen leader, Saladin. But, the closer they got, the harder it was to continue. Saladin’s army was an admirable opposition. Finding his horse, Wolfe swung defiantly onto Desert’s back. Kicking the destrier in the side, he motioned for his men to follow him. Soon, they were riding away from the carnage to their camp. With relief, he saw the face of his brother amongst those dismantling the tents in preparation to move forward. Jerusalem was close and hopefully so was the end of their war. Saladin was already making known his intentions to negotiate a truce. “Robert?” Wolfe inquired of William as he threw his brother Desert’s reins. “Has he reported back yet?” “Nay,” William frowned. “I have dispatched men to take an accounting of the slain. I ordered that they inform me at once if Robert is amongst them.” Wolfe nodded in approval of William’s actions. Stretching his neck, his eyes strained to keep open. It had been days since he slept a full night. Not that his tired body bothered to keep track. Sternly, he asserted to William, “Good. I’ll be in my tent. Report as soon as they are returned. And wake me this time!” William waved over his head in acknowledgement as he shot orders to some of the knights. Wolfe yawned, barely seeing the motion before turning around. He strode to his tent, one of the last standing in the field. Lifting the flap, he threw it over the top to let the outside light within. A feminine gasp sounded from inside. Wolfe scowled in annoyance, before him stood a gloriously naked woman. Turning his dark eyes to his cot, he placed his hands on his hips. Her young, dark skin pulled tightly over her frame. Her dark almond shaped eyes swept demurely under her long lashes. And when she walked forward for his inspection, her hips swayed with tantalizing meaning. Eyeing the dark beauty, he inquired sharply, “What are you doing in here?” “I’ve come to be with you, m’lord.” Her words were slow and faulty, but held unmistakable meaning. Smiling, she lightly ran her fingers over her stomach. “For one gold piece.” For a brief moment, Wolfe considered it. The woman glided forward, pressing herself instantly against his chest. Her lips puckered in invitation. Automatically, Wolfe’s fingers rose to graze against her chin. His bloodstained hands contrasted their gore against her softer beauty. Taking a deepened breath, his eyes closed. In that instant, he saw a flash of green.

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“Emeralds,” he said absently. The woman in his arms sighed in heavy excitement. “Yea, emeralds will do.” Wolfe let go of her. He didn’t want her. His body screamed for a woman, but not for her. He wanted Ginevra. Menacingly, he ordered, “Begone!” The woman grabbed her peasant gown from the floor and slid it over her body in confusion. Then, deciding the man must like other men to warm his bed, she left. Wolfe ignored her dismay. He waited silently until she was out of his tent. Part of him wanted to call her back. But he deprived his loins the small pleasure the woman would bring. He had learned from his days at tournament that no other but his wife would do. The fulfillment he would find in the arms of others would only increase his lonely aching. Going to the pile of maps, Wolfe frowned. Atop the stack was a folded parchment. Its edges were blurred with dried water stains and the seal was worn into an unrecognizable dot. But he didn’t need the marking to tell him it was from Ginevra. He noticed well the fine scroll of his name. Breaking the seal, he eyes eagerly devoured every ink-blotted word. Wolfe, It’s glad I am to hear that William and Robert are well and with you. It’s my hope you will all stay together and protect each other as you journey forward across the ocean. I realize that it might be many months afore you receive this and now, as you read, the land you have encountered must appear so strange. You must bring me a packet of earth so I can see it for myself. All is well at Whetshire. Naught has changed in the months since your leaving. We are all in good health. Be careful, Wolfe. Come home. Gin Wolfe took a deep breath. His heart lurched in his chest as he thought of home. For days he had seen nothing but the flowing rivers of blood, rivers that were drowning his soul with their butchery until he no longer knew why they were really there. They told themselves they fought for the will of God, but surely God didn’t want so many slain in his name. However doubtful, he pushed himself forward. And however grim his task might become, Wolfe knew he would do his duty. Reaching into his satchel with hands still covered in blood, Wolfe pulled out a piece of clean parchment. It would most likely be his last chance to write for a long time. The encampment would be leaving for battle soon, a battle bigger than the ones they had yet faced. The Saracen forces, led by Saladin, were holding firm against their progression. But, as Wolfe wrote, he didn’t think of it. His mind traveled gladly to another place. A place not so far away in actual time but a life span if measured by all he had seen and done. Leaning over, he grabbed a handful of sandy earth. Dropping it on the page, he shook it off and quickly folded the paper. If he was lucky the messenger would be leaving for home again soon and he wouldn’t miss him. Wolfe clutched the parchment as he strode from his tent. Then, kneeling by a fire, he melted a bit of wax and sealed the missive shut. Pressing his ring into the seal as he walked, he didn’t wait to see if it dried. **** With the beginning gentleness of a purple and gold dawn came the attack. Though, to those equipped for war, it was not readily known who attacked whom. It didn’t matter. The knights fought ardently for so long that battles melded until there was naught but the lengthy time of one war waged. Their armored bodies moved as if a wave of violent force slowly came

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over the countryside. Saracen blood covered Wolfe’s sword. It marred and stained his flesh with its hot stickiness until he was sure it would never completely wash off. His lungs breathed heavily of the foreign air as he planted his feet into the unfamiliar turns of the soil. His arm slashed with a vicious precision as he swung it over the side of his valiant horse. Again the blade met with blistering flesh. He didn’t wait for the dead man to fall from his steed before spurring onward. It was easy to behold the enemy, not like fighting the French back home. Their tanned skin and lighter clothing made them more agile in the heat. They wore loose trousers and large sashes across heavily decorated tunics. The hair on their heads was wrapped with large turbans, covering all but their bearded faces. The curved scimitar swords clashed against the armor of Wolfe’s men. The Saracen chants echoed in his mind until the language rang hard in his ears. Even their castles were shaped like no other he had seen. If they were not his enemy, he would have admired them. Jumping Desert over the fallen, Wolfe eyed Robert crawling slowly up from the trenches. His weighty armor made it harder to stand in the precarious position he was in. William was by his side, pitting himself against two bloodthirsty men. Wolfe swung from Desert to get better leverage in the ditch. His heart leapt as he instantly saw the red streak on Robert’s arms. His friend’s face was pale and tightly drawn. “Left,” Wolfe commanded William. Immediately, William aimed his blade toward the man on the left, leaving the other to his brother. Swords crashed and clanged, canceling all sounds but the groans of the dying and the excursion of the fighting. Wolfe slipped the main gauche from his waist, holding it tight within his grip as he fought the attacking swordsman. Within a blinding flash of his tired memory, he was home, standing over Thomas. He didn’t see the man before him, but the dead eyes of the man who slew his brother. A fierce yell escaped his lips, until his arm swung in near possession. He wouldn’t let them have William too. He wouldn’t let them take Robert. He would protect his brothers. And he refused to see another one die. Wolfe swung, spinning about almost completely with the force of it. Robert made it to his feet. Clutching his chest, he offered his sword to outnumber the men. But, before Robert could swing, William caught the Saracen sword in his thigh. William grunted in pain. His leg collapsed beneath him. He fell to the ground in surprise. Robert’s sword pierced the belly of William’s attacker. The man soundlessly fell to the ground. His eyes lulled in his head, lifeless. Wolfe saw his brother fall. His eyes burned in dread and he hesitated a second too long. His dark enemy caught him in the sword arm. Wolfe’s weapon fell unattended to the ground. But then a horn blasted in the distance. It was the retreat of the Saracen army. His attacker obeyed instantly, leaving his prey alive. Wolfe fell weakened to his knees, knowing he only still lived because of the sound. He had seen death in his attacker’s eyes. And that death would have been his. Robert looked from Wolfe to William in horror. His hands already stayed the flow of William’s blood. William groaned. He was nearly unconscious from pain. “Wolfe,” Robert called in desperation. His couldn’t reach his friend without leaving William. Wolfe crawled forward, fairing only a little better than his brother. Breathing hard, he ordered Robert, “Get him out of here!” “I won’t leave you!” Robert shouted.

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“I’ll be fine. Get William to the camp. I promised my father I’d look after him. I won’t lose another brother.” “And I promised Gin I’d look after you,” Robert countered. But even as he spoke, he could feel William weaken beneath his hold. Wolfe whistled for his horse. Desert came instantly. Growling darkly to Robert, he said, “Take my horse. Get him to safety, and then you can come back for me.” Robert looked around. There was no one near who could help. “Do it! That’s an order!” Wolfe yelled. Grabbing Desert’s reins, Robert hoisted William to the horse. Then, swinging behind him, he adjusted his friend more comfortably before him. Another horn blasted. Its echo was low and short. Robert swallowed. In the distance he saw riders scavenging through the bodies for prisoners. It was not the horses of the Christian knights. Those who were not moving, were stabbed to be sure they were dead. “Wolfe,” Robert began. Wolfe tore the gauntlet from his hand. Grabbing his ring with the family crest on it, he handed it up to Robert. “Give this to Gin. Tell her we acted honorably this day.” Robert nodded with a hard swallow. “Go!” Wolfe yelled angrily. He wanted to say more, but there wasn’t time. With one look, he knew Robert understood. Wolfe lifted his sword in his left hand. Stumbling to steady his feet, he ordered, “Get Will home safely and you as well. Promise me you will look after your sister.” “Yea,” Robert assented. His voice was hoarse as the sound tore from his lips. He didn’t like his orders, but he knew he had to obey. If he didn’t, three might die instead of one. Harshly, Wolfe slapped Desert on the backside, spurring him forward. Robert kicked Desert in the side and rode headlong into the distance. “I will lose no more brothers to the sword,” Wolfe growled. Bravely, he lifted his fistclenched weapon. “I will keep my promise to my wife and my father.” Only once did Robert glance back. The scavengers saw him ride and hurried forward to circle around Wolfe. Wolfe raised his sword and faced the oncoming men. Robert cursed, continuing forward. William’s blood warmed his arm as he galloped Desert over a hill. He slipped Wolfe’s ring into his mouth, biting down on it to keep it from falling. The gold tasted of blood. Wolfe faced the riders, not understanding their words as they shouted at him. There were a dozen, armed and ready to slay. The horses circled him. The leader motioned him to drop his weapon. Completely outnumbered and having no choice, he lowered his blade slowly to the earth. The sword slipped from his weakened fingers. Then, he raised his good arm toward the sky. The men’s laughter was the only sound Wolfe recognized. Their chuckles were hard and cold, their eyes deadly with rage. Only one man seemed to carry any compassion within the depths of his face. He sat astride his steed, motionless. Glancing over his shoulder, Wolfe saw that Robert was gone. Grimly, he smirked in defiant satisfaction. One of the men jumped down from his horse. All blades pointed at Wolfe’s heart. Incredibly, the Saxon noble felt no fear. He bravely met the eyes of the silently watching man. The man murmured a low command, never taking his eyes from his prisoner. As his world went black, Wolfe thought of sparkling emeralds. ****

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Dank and shiftless stares peeked out from the darkened corners of moistened stones. The sea of blue, green and brown orbs all told the same story of woe as they watched quietly from under red-brimmed lids. Though the men were different, they were the same. They all shared the same lot, the same fate in a Turkish prison. The large underground chamber was like that of a corpse’s vault. Only here, the corpses lived a half-life, waiting until the time when the stoic watchman who lorded over them would release them with death. All tried to keep from disrupting their captor’s contentment, lest they bring attention to themselves and suffer the wrath of the guards. Around the prisoners the tortured screams of fallen men haunted the unmoving air. The smell of fire pits, burning with branded flesh, fragranced the chamber like putrid incense. The heavy clang of iron against stone testified that more were soon to join them. Wolfe’s brown gaze faired no better than that of his companions, as it peered from the depths of sunken holes. A rough beard had begun to grow, covering his lips with the shortened bristles. He had been in the prison for many days, fortnights even, watching man after man tortured and killed. Sometimes when he could stand no more, he would close his eyes. But the sounds of their screams only reverberated all the louder. Feeling a kick to his foot, Wolfe angled his head up. He squinted in the dimness. The chains about his ankles clanked. Narrowing his gaze, he saw the watchman kick those next to him to gain their notice. “Are there any nobles within this place?” a heavily accented voice asked. His lightcolored turban, clean and fine, seemed out of place in the land of darkness. Stepping easily, he lifted his pointed shoes over the stones as if he didn’t wish to touch the soiled ground. Wolfe eyed the curved dagger at his waist before turning his gaze down. “Are there any leaders?” Instantly all the men guffawed in unison, claiming in their insolence to be a king. Wolfe held quiet. His vacant eyes caught the attention of the speaker. The man motioned at once for him to be released. The guards unlocked his shackles and hauled him to his feet. Wolfe’s arms fell defeated to his sides, sharpened with agony at being forced to move after so long. He conserved his strength, letting most of his weight fall on the arms of those who would drag him. He hid the small satisfaction when he felt them grunt in excursion. The man speaking then motioned for two others to be brought forward. Wolfe recognized the men as high-ranking knights of King Philip’s encampment. Their eyes met and locked with his briefly before they turned silently away. Wolfe was forced to use his own strength as they climbed up the prison stairs. His legs shook from little use. His stomach gnarled and tightened in hunger, growling suspiciously beneath his hanging, tattered tunic. Slowly, as they moved through dusty stone passages, the halls changed into gilded archways, rich with golden splendor. The strange foreign designs were oddly exquisite though Wolfe was loath to concede such thoughts. He turned his head to the ground, instinct making his eyes dart about, focusing on his surroundings, looking for an escape for his men still held captured below. They were led though passageway after maze-like passageway, bared feet shifting in restlessness and fatigue, until they were turned around as to which direction they were heading. Very quickly they came to their destination and the three prisoners were shut into a large chamber. The men were made to stand and wait before a table. Time crept. The nobles looked questioningly to one another, but said nothing in front of their guards. After an hour of waiting, the door opened once more. Wolfe instantly recognized the

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silent man who had captured him. He wore a tunic of gold and blue silk over loose blue trousers. A large gold sash cut across his waist with a regal flare. Around his head was wrapped a tunic of matching blue. The man went behind the table. Eyeing each prisoner in turn, he directed his stare finally to Wolfe. “Who are you?” the man asked. His eyes shone with a mild amusement. His accent was heavy, but very clear. “A knight of King Richard,” Wolfe answered hoarsely. His voice was rough from little use. His mouth was hardly visible beneath the tangled mass of his bushy beard. “What is your name, knight?” the speaker continued, sharp and concise. When Wolfe didn’t answer, the man frowned and leaned forward. Hissing, he said, “If you are a leader of the King Richard’s army, then you will be ransomed. Come, what is your name?” Wolfe thought of the prison. His eyes had searched endlessly in the darkness, instantly recognizing some of his own men, men he’d ordered into battle. Some of them hung from chained wrists along the wall and others lay nearly starved on wet stone. Rodents ran over the prone bodies on the floor, nibbling at swollen flesh. Wolfe knew no matter how much he wanted to be free he couldn’t abandon his men. If he were to live, it would be to help free them. “What is your name?” the man persisted, growing aggravated. He cursed in his own language. The two French nobles stared at Wolfe from the corners of their eyes. “John. I am a knight bachelor,” Wolfe said. “I am nobody.” The man’s brow rose slightly on his forehead, as he stated, “You wear the tunic of a nobleman. If you are noble you will be moved abovestairs to better quarters. You will be ransomed to your king. Give me your rank.” “My commander is dead. He gave me this tunic.” Wolfe turned his eyes to the floor. His jaw clenched in anger. “I am John of the footed infantry.” The man’s eyes narrowed at the obvious lie. Turning, he ignored Wolfe and inquired the names of the other two men. The other’s stated their rank without hindrance, proud to announce their title for a chance of freedom. Their interrogator stayed true to his promise and had the two Frenchmen escorted to a private bedchamber as palace guests. He spoke in low tones to one of the guards before ordering them to leave him alone with Wolfe. “Please sit, Sir John.” The man motioned to a low stool. Wolfe sat with a heavy thump. His legs shivering with the effort it took to support his weight. Then, taking a seat across from Wolfe, the man placed his hand rigidly on his knees. His lips pursed together thoughtfully. “How is your arm? I have been told it is mending,” the man stated. His gaze shone with wisdom. Wolfe was surprised he remembered. “Your physicians tended to it well,” he said. He had been surprised to receive the treatment when so many were left without aid. Wolfe returned his captors stare boldly. He knew the man didn’t believe his claim to low birth and he didn’t care. Suddenly, the doors opened once more. A veiled woman was brought forward and left alone to stand before them. Her body was slight, though covered in thin material. Wolfe instantly saw her exposed navel through the wispy attire. Her face was covered from view except for the kohl-smudged line of her almond eyes. The man bid her forward with a flick of his fingers. Deliberately, the woman stepped to them. Her eyes narrowed. Speaking in her own language so Wolfe couldn’t understand, she

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motioned to the prisoner. The man nodded and answered her. The woman unraveled herself from her long veil. Squinting, Wolfe vaguely remembered her face, though he couldn’t immediately place her. “This is Ahava,” the man said. “I am Saif ad-Din, brother to our king, Yusuf ibn Ayyub, Salah-ed-din, Emir of Egypt.” Wolfe nodded his head at Saladin’s brother. The man spoke in his native tongue as he gave orders to Ahava. The woman immediately went to a drawer and pulled out several documents. She handed them to Wolfe. Wolfe frowned. One was a copy of the map in his tent. The other was an opened document from the king to him. He had never seen it. Glancing over it briefly, it was the plans for an attack--naught much of import, but alarming nonetheless. Then, seeing the woman holding out another document to him, he recognized the last missive Ginevra had sent to him. He thought it lost. It had been in his tunic when he went into battle. With the parchment was his talisman, the scrap of Ginevra’s wedding tunic. With fingers that refused to give into their shaking, he reached for them. He blinked back the heavy onslaught of tears as his fingers glided over the frayed, blood-stained parchment. The tunic looked white compared to his dirt-covered fingers and blackened fingernails. It was soft along his roughened palm. For an instant, he could feel the texture of Ginevra’s skin and see the light shining in her emerald gaze. Closing his eyes, he gulped, Ginevra. “You are the woman from my tent,” Wolfe stated before looking about once more. He didn’t look up at Ahava as he spoke. Lightly, his thumb glided over the parchment in a tender caress. Knowing there was no reason for pretense, he folded the documents and handed them back. His full title was written on his wife’s letter, along with his rank. Ginevra’s missive, he held onto briefly before giving it back to the waiting woman. “I should have known you were not there for me.” The woman took the parchments and returned them to the drawer. Wolfe lifted the piece of wedding tunic to his captor briefly before sliding it within his own tunic. Ahava stayed on the other side of the chamber, letting the men talk. “Ahava has many talents. Spying is one of them. As you can see, her unique presence allows her to gather much more information than I ever could,” Saif ad-Din allowed. “As to the other, they were in your tunic, brought to me by the physicians. Unfortunately, I was away when they tended you and only received them this morning, lest you wouldn’t have suffered so long in the prisons.” Wolfe felt his gut curl in dread. Guilt overwhelmed him. In his self-pining for his wife, he had been lazy in his watch. Because of him several men could have been killed, even captured and sent to the hellish prison he resided in for so long. “Do you still maintain that you are a knight bachelor?” Saif ad-Din asked. Wolfe didn’t answer. His interrogator nodded with a grim sense of approval. As he stood, he said, “You will be treated like the other nobles. Ahava will attend you. In your chambers you will find a bath, food, even women. Tonight you will join us at a banquet. Tomorrow I negotiate with your king. If he lets our people go you will be freed. If not, you will be killed. I think three nobles lives are not worth enough, so I trust you will beseech your Christian God for an English king’s wisdom and for deliverance.” Wolfe nodded in understanding, appreciating the man’s candid honesty. He stood slowly as the man strode out of the chamber. Ahava smiled demurely at him as she waved her arm through the air for him to follow.

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“Come,” she murmured with a smile. And as Wolfe followed the unmistakably inviting sway of her hips, he knew that this night was very likely to be his last.

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Chapter Sixteen Southaven Castle, September 1191 A.D. Ginevra stared at the cool parchment before turning her gaze back at the messenger. Nodding blankly at him, she listened quietly as Helena instructed that he be escorted to the kitchen for food and given a place to rest. Then, she let Helena escort her over the barren yard of her childhood home. The fall air was brisk and cooled the flushed heat of her cheeks. Inside, she trembled with fear. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. The missive was unexpected after so many months of anxiety. Lady Jayne slept inside, fatigued by her recent illness of the heart. The physician told them that there was naught to be concerned over. The dowager baroness’ sufferings were only minor, prolonged by her desire to see her son home. As they moved, Ginevra’s eyes fearfully teared. She noticed the rusty-colored fingerprint of blood staining the last letter of her name. It was Wolfe’s writing, but she wondered if it was not also his blood. Setting the paper down on her lap, she looked at Helena. Her heart beat faster, jumping into her throat to painfully choke her breath. Her sister-by-marriage had hovered over her constantly since the birth of her son. Miraculously mother and child both survived, though Ginevra was not as quick to recover. The boy met with his first birthday, healthy and looking painfully like his father. And he was just as strong willed. Shivering slightly, Ginevra gazed over the courtyard. “Helena, could you get me a cloak? Suddenly, I am very cold.” “Yea,” Helena answered, a bit disappointed. Her eyes strayed eagerly to the missive on Ginevra’s lap. Robert hadn’t written. The endless nights of worry had been hard for both women--not knowing whether their men were alive or dead. Already news of the slain traveled back slowly, along with vague tales of valor and bravery. As Helena ran up the courtyard stairs to the main hall, Ginevra anxiously broke open the seal. Her hands shook, her stomach fluttered in nervous twitters. She closed her eyes briefly as she unwrapped the words. Sighing, she turned her face to the letter. My fair Ginevra, I fear that I am dying in this accursed land. We wage war against a people we don’t understand. They don’t fight as we do and so the battles are long and arduous. Being in such a state, I now see how I was foolish with pride a year ago when last I looked upon your sleeping face. I should have told you something then, something I was too afraid or dimwitted to say. But now I shall tell you. I only hope it doesn’t find you too late. I love you. Being away from you so long has made me realize it. I know not how this letter will find you. I know not if your heart has turned from me. I know not if it was truly mine at all. But you must know I’ve loved you for the last twenty years. At first it was a simple love--the love of children, the mere affection a boy feels for a friend’s young sister that he looks fondly on. That grew until I came to love you as a man loves a woman--as a husband loves a wife. I don’t care that we were betrothed, contracted

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together by the will of our parents. You were meant to be mine and I yours. It was preordained in the heavens that it should be so. It was fate. I love you, Ginevra. I’ve loved you my whole life. Only, I am afraid this comes too late and I am sorry for it. Yours forever, Wolfe. Over the words stood damning fingerprints and smudges of blood. Her heart screamed in protest, but her mind could only conclude one wretched thing. Wolfe was dead. It could only be his blood staining the parchment. His last thought had been of her. The ragged panting in her chest built until she was trembling with the overpowering intensity of fear. Many nights she had lain awake, imagining Wolfe’s death a million different ways--all painful, all final. With a painful surge of emotion from her throat, the missive fell from Ginevra’s fingers to flutter to the ground. Her legs weakened until she fell forward to crouch over the missive. She screamed loud into the courtyard. The sound echoed in hollow painfulness over the land. Looking at her defenseless hands, she buried her face into her palms. A sweetness flowed through her veins at the words he wrote, only to bitter with the reality of why they were possibly written. Immediately, Helena was by her side. Wrapping the cloak over the crying woman’s shoulders, she snatched the missive from the ground. Scanning over it, her face paled. “What does it mean?” Ginevra gasped through her tears. Her lungs gulped heavily for air until she grew dizzy with riotous emotions. “He is dead, isn’t he?” “I don’t know, Gin.” Helena licked her lips slowly. Helping her sister-by-marriage to the bench, she glimpsed over the missive one last time before handing it back. Helena was stunned by her brother’s words. And her heart would have sung if not for the blood. Ginevra crushed the parchment to her heart. “Mayhap, dying is metaphorical. If Wolfe were hurt, Robert would’ve sent word and if not Robert then William or King Richard.” “If he is dead,” Ginevra gulped, “then he will never know his son.” For I never told him, Ginevra added silently. Her shame made her tears come faster. Her breathing became more frantic. Unable to feel her chest, she stood. “We must pray and have faith that he is alive,” Helena asserted. Silently, she stood, taking Ginevra by the hand. Her sister-by marriage swayed violently on her feet. “There is no way to know what is happening so far away.” “Something has happened,” Ginevra said through pale lips. The color drained completely from her face as her breaths continued to come in abnormally fast puffs. Helena tried to lead her forward. Ginevra’s eyes rounded in surprise. Her lips suddenly turned blue. Shaking horribly, she whispered, “I have dreamt that it has and now I am as dead as he.” To Helena’s terror she could do nothing as Ginevra collapsed. Helena’s screams for help found the ears of nearby knights, but it was too late. The noblewoman had fainted away, falling listlessly to the ground in a pile. **** Whetshire Fortress, November 1191 A.D. The snowflakes fell like sparkling diamonds through the night. Their crystal patterns picked up the heavy fall of moonlight as they twisted and bent within the gentle winter breeze. Ginevra watched them flutter from the midnight sky from the solitary height of the tower. Picking one in particular out of the millions, she kept her eyes on it as it made its way down the side of the castle. She lost sight as it blended into the snow-covered ground. Ginevra pulled her

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cloak closer about her shoulders and huffed out a long white puff of air. Squinting, she tried to gaze through the inky darkness of night, over to the edge of the earth. She couldn’t see beyond the shadowed outline of the gatehouse. If Ginevra concentrated hard enough, she could hear the even beats of her own heart. But, though the sound was there, she couldn’t feel it move. Inside she was numb. Only when playing with her son did she feel anything. It had been so since the moment she awakened to the administering hands of her mother’s surgeon. Miraculously, her own affliction much improved the dowager baroness’. All of a sudden, Ginevra’s eyes darkened in a frown. Listening closely past her heart, she heard the iron gate rising slowly in the gatehouse. Her chest twitched with a curious thud. The gate wouldn’t be raised without permission, unless... “Wolfe,” Ginevra whispered. For a moment the sound of her voice left her frozen. But as the word penetrated her mind, she turned to race down the stairwell. Her world spun in dizzying circles. Her feet pattered down the stairs in frantic thuds. Then, rushing through the hall, she made her way outside. The flakes once more caressed her soft cheeks. Breathlessly, she stumbled to a stunned stop. Already a horse could be seen coming through the entryway. She didn’t recognize the rider, but she knew the horse. It was Desert. “Wolfe,” Ginevra hushed again half in fear, half in awe. She was too nervous to smile. Her body wavered between light and dark, awake and sleep. She willed her sight to be true, to not be another haunting dream that left her so alone and cold. Fretfully, she whispered, “I can’t believe it.” She took a hesitant step forward. Ginevra swallowed anxiously, her fingers coming up to press questioningly to her lips. Suddenly, she realized that two riders, not one, were on the stallion’s back. The horse came to a stop. Slowly the riders climbed off. “Wolfe?” she asked, short of breath. She swayed heavily on her feet. Her slender hand reached forward in hope. But the man who turned to her was not her husband. As he walked, his shoulders were hunched severely with fatigue. His hands moved slowly under his long cloak, which covered him completely like a robe. He was shorter than her husband with a long, bushy beard covering his face. His hair was overlong, falling forward unkempt over his shoulders. Pushing back the hood of his cloak, he stepped forward. “Gin, it’s really you?” “Rob?” Ginevra breathed in astonishment. She ran forward crushing her brother to her chest. He trembled in her arms. In bewilderment, she reached her hands to his face. Realizing he was true and not a ghost, she crushed him once more to her chest. “Oh, Robert!” “Robert?” came Helena’s unbelieving squeak. Ginevra let go of her brother as Helena’s astounded shout of happiness rang over them. Turning to the other traveler, Ginevra smiled happily, “Oh, Will. Blessed Saints, you are safe. I have prayed you would come home to us.” “Gin,” William whispered, returning her enthusiastic hug. He winced as she leaned her weight on him. Ginevra was too happy to notice. Ginevra touched his bearded face briefly before moving to peer behind him. Turning, her smile shone happily to see the men safe. She saw the earl embracing his son. Helena’s tearful joy again rang out over them as she cried into her husband’s welcoming chest. “Where is he? Where is Wolfe?” Ginevra questioned. Looking at both of the men, the smile faded from her face. “Rob, he is with you, is he not?” Robert looked wearily at William. Neither one could meet her expectant gaze.

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“Well,” the earl prompted them gruffly. “Where is he? Where’s my son?” William took a limping step toward Ginevra. His hand rose slightly. “He was taken.” “Taken where?” Ginevra shot immediately. “By whom?” “Come on, Ginevra,” the earl interjected. Immediately, he knew of what his youngest son spoke. “Let us get you in from the snow. It’s cold and--” “Damn the snow!” Ginevra broke in with a wretched curse. With heartfelt emotion, she shot, “Where is Wolfe? Why do you have his steed? Who has taken him?” “Gin,” Robert let go of his wife. Helena reluctantly released him from her tight embrace. Ginevra turned pale. Taking a step to her, he laid a hand on her arm. “He was captured during battle. We found no body. The king believes he might reside in a prison.” “Then he is alive. Helena, did you hear it? I feared that he was dead all these months.” She sighed with relief. Her relief soon turned to fear, as she watched Robert shake his head sadly. “I won’t give you false hope,” Robert whispered in a low voice. “Though it’s possible he lives, it’s unlikely. The Saracen dungeons are not a kind place. Many of those captured are tortured and killed within days of imprisonment. Wolfe was injured badly in the arm. Had he lived, his name would’ve been on the list of nobles captured. He wasn’t on any of the lists. When we left the Holy Land, none of the prisoners had been returned. In fact, many were executed.” “Robert,” Helena scolded. She gasped as she rushed forward to stand before her pale friend. Trying to wrap her arm around a resistant Ginevra, she said, “Please--” “Nay, Helena. Let him finish. I’d hear it all.” Ginevra lifted her chin bravely, shaking off Helena’s hands. She forced herself to remain calm. Returning her gaze steadily to her brother, she uttered, “How would you know where to look for him after a battle? Mayhap he was elsewhere. Mayhap he returns even now on a different path than you.” “He saved my life,” William asserted. “He risked his life for ours. Robert saw the Turkish soldiers gather around him as we rode off. They were scavenging for prisoners.” “You abandoned him?” Ginevra whispered, horrified. Her words only compacted their immense guilt. Shouting in outrage, she barked, “How could you have let them take him?” “You couldn’t possibly understand it. He ordered us to go. There was no choice. I was hurt, Will unconscious,” Robert put forth. Ginevra gulped and swayed on her feet. Instantly, he was sorry for his harsh tone. He didn’t have time to apologize. “Until I have solid proof of his death, I will hear no more of it,” Ginevra announced, whisking away from them. “Gin,” Robert’s soft word stopped her. She turned around. Robert removed the glove from his hand. Pulling a ring off his finger, he lifted her hand and placed it in her upturned palm. She curled her fingers around it and pulled it slowly to her chest. Continuing, Robert said gently, “He bid me to give this to you. He said, ‘tell Gin we acted honorably this day.’” Ginevra felt the cold sting of the Whetshire crest against her palm. That Wolfe had sent her his ring only meant he didn’t expect to return with it. She fought back her tears as they threatened to fall. She didn’t feel the descending snow around her face or hands. “The wound was mortal, then?” she asked quietly. All fight drained from her limbs leaving her helpless. Numbed more than she had ever thought possible, she walked weakly away, not knowing whereto she would go. “It’s too uncertain to say,” Robert muttered. He hated that he was the one to put the look on his sister’s face, but reality was the best he could do for her.

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Ginevra nodded, refusing to turn around. They watched as she regally moved through the snowy night up the platform steps. Her back was stiff and straight, her shoulders didn’t tremble as she progressed. When she reached the top, she turned. Smiling down sadly at the men, she said, “It’s glad I am that you are safe brothers. I welcome you home.” **** The hall filled with the lively music of traveling minstrels. Happy couples danced about in celebration of the two heroes return. They spun, touching wrist to wrist with their partner only to spin around and do it again. Bowing in unison, the men stepped around the clapping women. Robert’s laughter rang out lustfully over the hall as he wrapped his arm around his wife. He gingerly kissed her forehead in mid-chuckle. Helena’s expression shined with pure joy as she received her husband’s attentions. The two had been inseparable since he returned. Ginevra studied her brother at her side. He looked more like himself since he’d shaved the beard and trimmed back his hair. But, like William, his face was aged more than it should have been for only two years time. “Gin,” William said, drawing her attention around to him. “Should you like to dance?” Although Ginevra smiled demurely, there was no pleasure in her eyes. Shaking her head, she answered, “Nay, Will. I don’t know how and I don’t wish to learn.” William laughed lightly. Without thought, he said, “Yea. I think I remember Wolfe saying as much.” Ginevra paled considerably. Robert, overhearing, shot him a look of warning. Helena’s features fell. William turned his eyes to his folded hands. “Gin, I’m--” William began. “I wish everyone would quit tiptoeing around this subject with me. I wish to hear what he was--is about.” Ginevra felt tears brim her lashes. She blinked heavily, trying to force them back. Her lips trembled. “What else did he say of me?” William hesitated. Robert gave him a stern nod to continue. His brows furrowed into hard lines. When William didn’t speak, Robert said, “He thought of you often.” Ginevra nodded casually. Grabbing her goblet, she took a drink. They said no more as she tried to regain her senses. The pain that seized her chest the moment Wolfe left intensified until it felt as if she were choking. Dully, she looked over the hall. “I’d check on my son.” Ginevra stood. She forced a pleasant smile to her lips. “Helena, could you...?” “Yea, Gin. I will see to your guests and I will check in on you later tonight,” Helena put forth when Ginevra couldn’t continue. “That won’t be necessary.” Ginevra stepped from the platform. Instantly, several knights stood before her in greeting as she passed. Many stopped her with kind words and requests of a dance. Some even asked her to join them at their table, though they didn’t think she would accept. She answered each politely and spoke dutifully to them with a laughing smile that didn’t reach her eyes. None of them had been told of Wolfe’s possible death, but they felt something was amiss by her attitude. Ginevra willed that none should utter a word until they heard from the king. “I wish she would’ve told Wolfe about the baby.” Robert sat forward quietly as he watched his sister. The three nobles frowned inwardly, though visibly they looked composed. “It would have improved his spirits.” “She almost died that night,” Helena whispered. It was the first time she spoke of it since it happened. “She nearly bled to death in my arms. It was the mention of Wolfe that brought her

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back to us, for I swear she was dead before then. I felt her heart stop beating for nigh a whole minute.” Ginevra’s progress had taken her to the middle of the hall. Turning her eyes to the courtyard door, she watched two men enter. Their cloaks were covered with a light dusting of snow. She knew by their carriage that they were not her husband. Turning back around, she excused herself from her current conversation. Walking forward, she went to dutifully greet her guests. Ginevra was already across the hall before William noticed their visitors. Motioning to Robert, the men stood. They trailed after the noblewoman. “Lord Luther,” Ginevra curtsied politely before leaning to the old man to kiss his cheek. “It has been too long a time. It’s good that you have come to be with us in this time of celebration. I know my brothers will appreciate your welcoming them home.” “Lady Ginevra,” Luther answered. His dark eyes were sunken painfully into his face. He looked her over briefly before turning to his companion. “You remember Lord Eilric.” “Yea,” Ginevra answered modestly, “from the king’s tournament.” “M’lady,” Eilric bowed over her offered fingers. A smile curled on his lips. “I see the years have been kind to you.” “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

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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

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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 with out 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 heforced 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 said, “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.

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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.”

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“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.”

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“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.” 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. “So you jump readily to another man’s bed,” the man spat in disgust. “Don’t dare to judge me, peasant! Don’t even talk to me. You have no idea who I am,” she hollered in outrage, scowling. Clenching her fists, she faced him. Sniffing loudly, she fumed, “My dead husband was to be an earl. I could have you hanged for insulting me!” “If you are so noble, my drunken wench, then why are you here unescorted?” The man’s voice became chilly. The frozen shards shot at her like arrows.

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“It’s none of your concern,” she spat in growing outrage. “I’m escorted by Edmund. Besides I’m a widow and restrictions aren’t as high on me anymore. I’m no longer closely watched.” And, she added silently. The earl will grant me anything so long as I pretend to be recovered and not bother him with my tears. “You are right, of course, m’lady,” the man stated by way of an apology. His accent grew thick, as he asked, “Who are you to marry?” “Lord Eilric of Eschenfeld,” she stated flatly. “He’s a great man also. He’s taking me to Germany with him.” “So, does m’lady love her new fiancé?” “Alliances are not formed on love,” she whispered bitterly. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. There was something in the way the man spoke that reminded her of Wolfe. But, then, everything reminded her of Wolfe. She blinked back her tears. “Excuse me?” “Never you mind,” she answered, sarcastically adding, “Naturally I love him. We are to be married, are we not? It’s in the vows that I do so.” Ginevra leaned over and grabbed her bag of presents. The man watched her as she hoisted it over her shoulder. Without another word, she ambled slowly from the stables to the house. Her heart beat painfully in her chest. Swallowing down the bitterness, she pushed open the door. “Edmund,” Ginevra stated, seeing the man. “I think you had better escort me home first thing on the morrow.” “Yea, m’lady. Is all well? Ye were out fer fairly a time.” Edmund stood. Nervously he looked out over her shoulder into the night. “Don’t worry about your friend in the stables. I know he’s a Moor. I think he must be, for his accent. I won’t tell you harbor him, for I know you have your reasons to do so.” Ginevra put down the bag. Motioning to Britheue, she said, “Here are the gifts I promised. I have brought you some gowns. I thought you could sew a few new ones for Anecia as well. I brought enough material. The rest you can do with what you like.” “Yea, m’lady, many thanks,” Britheue answered in confusion. She looked at Edmund who only shrugged. “Stay up as long as you like. I must get some rest.” Ginevra unrolled a heavy blanket of fur and curled into a ball on top of it. Closing her eyes, she fought the agony that constantly threaten to overwhelm her. **** Ginevra traveled back to Whetshire with the dawn and arrived home within the late hours of morning. Britheue’s guest left in the night without word. Ginevra was glad for she didn’t want a reminder of all she had said to him in her drunken rage. She would have blushed if her head didn’t pound so violently. Glancing at Edmund, she swung with deliberate slowness from the back of her horse. Her companion was no better off than she was. Curling her mouth in disgust of the taste in it, she coughed miserably. “Gin,” Helena rushed forward. “Are you all right? What has happened?” Ginevra flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. Helena’s brow creased in worry until she saw the matching red brimmed lids of Edmund. Edmund looked sheepishly away and tried to not laugh at the noblewoman’s disdain.

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Putting her hand on her hips, Helena scolded, “You’re drunk.” “Was,” Ginevra mumbled in correction. “I was drunk. Now I am sick.” “Gin, really,” Helena said. Then, turning to Edmund, she shook her head. “And you! Letting her drink herself into such a state! Her fiancé is here! What will he think?” “Fiancé?” Edmund shot in surprise. He blinked heavily as he looked to Lady Ginevra for confirmation. “Yea, Edmund, I am to be married on the morrow.” Ginevra shrugged as if it was nothing. “So you have decided to accept his offer then?” Helena shot in surprise. “And so soon?” “Why not soon?” Ginevra returned with a scowl. “It’s what you all wish.” “Gin,” Helena put forth. She heard well the bitterness in her friend’s words. “We only want to see you happy. You know we all loved Wolfe--” “I said I will marry. So you don’t have to worry about me anymore. Soon I will be in Germany,” Ginevra hissed. Storming away from her stunned sister-by-marriage, she strode into the main hall. Seeing William, she frowned. She tried to glide past him, but had to stop when he ran to her. “Move Will,” Ginevra ordered. “I go to lie down. I must rest if I’m to accept Lord Eilric’s proposal properly.” “Then you are going to take him?” William asked in surprise. “You’ve decided.” “There is naught to decide. I will marry Eilric on the morrow if he’ll have it. It’s the most logical thing. Your father is right. I can’t live here forever on your charity--” “He didn’t say that--” “Yea, he--” “Nay, I know my father. He wouldn’t say you were charity. You’re family.” William studied her carefully. “You’re--” “He said that it would be wise for me to consider my future. I have a son to think of. He’s too young to inherit your father’s title. Besides, the title is now yours. Someday you’ll wish to bring home a bride, and being the future earl, you will have run of this place. What will your wife think of an elderly sister-by-marriage living on her good graces? It’s not a position I relish for my son and me. Eilric asked. I’m going to say yea.” Ginevra tried to skirt past him. William grabbed her by the arm to stop her. “Gin, I’ve thought about that. Now--oh, Hell’s Fire! Marry me instead. I should be the one taking care of you. I owe it to Wolfe.” Ginevra froze. She spun on her heel, her words dying on her lips. William’s eyes pleaded earnestly. They shone with affection for her, though not love. Her heart fluttered nervously as her brow creased. “You don’t love Eilric. He’s not right for you and I know you don’t love me. But I know you. We are already friends and many marriages have been based on much less. You’re family. You’re known here to all and cared for. We’ve no wish to see you in Germany. I’ve already spoken to my father. Being your guardian, he has given his permission for you to decide betwixt Eilric and me. I would have you stay here. I’d raise Wolfe’s child as my own. Don’t take the boy away from his family. Let him know his father through our memories.” “But, Will--” Ginevra protested. He could never know how his words tore at her. He was using her son to sway her and it wasn’t fair. “Nay, Gin.” William lifted his hand to place his fingers over her mouth. “We would all see the boy grow. Say yea to me. We can do it tonight if you wish it.” Ginevra shivered. There were so many traces of Wolfe in William’s face that she almost

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wailed with the pain of it. Could she marry a man who reminded her of what she had lost? True, she didn’t care for Eilric. But he was nothing like Wolfe. Married to him and living far away from Whetshire, she could try to forget her dead husband. William’s fingers moved from her lips to cup her cheek in his palm. Sighing, he said, “I know you still care for my brother. Mayhap you will always care. But if you think that you might be able to find a small place in your heart for me, say yea. I don’t ask for your love--only for your companionship. After the consummation, I’ll leave you be to mend your heart. When you are ready, you can come to me. Will your Lord Eilric be so generous with you? Do you think he will set aside his husband rights for you?” “But, Will, you deserve love. Don’t settle,” Ginevra protested. “It’s not settling. You are a great woman, Gin. Our children will grow strong, side by side.” William let go of her face with a sigh. “Think on it. Don’t take your son from his family.” “I--” Ginevra began. She was interrupted by a loud gasp of outrage. “Lady Ginevra!” Eilric stated. Ginevra spun around in surprise. Her head throbbed in protest as she moved. Pushing at her defiant temple, she forced down a wave of nausea. Her eyes rounded slightly as she laid witness to Eilric’s red face. Smoothly, she ignored her headache and said, “Lord Eilric.” Eilric’s face tightened as he eyed William’s closeness to Ginevra. Trying to hide his frown and failing, he strode forward. Giving her rumbled attire and red eyes a quick once-over, he quipped, “What on earth happened to you?” Ginevra didn’t care for his disdainful tone, but chose to ignore it as she always did. “I just arrived home. I’m afraid I am a bit disheveled from the morning journey.” “Where were you? I looked everywhere for you. You said you would have an answer for me.” Eilric ignored William. William frowned behind the man’s back. He didn’t walk away. Ginevra would have laughed at William’s face if Eilric wasn’t watching so closely. “Edmund escorted me to a friend. I had to pay my respects,” Ginevra answered lightly. She glanced at William. Her brother-by-marriage’s face watched her expectantly. His eyes begged her to choose him. “Only Edmund?” Eilric shot in surprise. Seeing her eyes stray over his shoulder, he turned to William. Scowling, he asked, “Lord William. Could you not excuse us?” “I’m afraid I’m waiting for Ginevra to answer a question of mine,” William answered coolly. He placed his fists on his waist. Eilric’s lips curled in a snarl. “I see.” Both men turned to look at Ginevra. She stared at William’s stance. It looked so much like Wolfe’s. Then, turning to Eilric, he saw the disdainful tilt to his jaw and the better-than-you arc to his brows. He was so pretentiously rude. Shaking her head, she backed away from them. “Gin,” William stated. “Ginevra,” Eilric’s voice was questioning. Ginevra shook her head once more. Lifting her hand to stop any advance they might make, she said, “I will marry one of you tonight. I’m sorry, but I’ll need two hours to decide which. It’s all very confusing.” “Fine,” William assented. Eilric was not so easily put off. “That is not acceptable. I would have your answer. Surely you couldn’t think his suit is serious.” “It’s very serious, Lord Eilric,” William spat. “Give her the time she desires to decide. If you care for her as you claim, it’s only right that you do so.”

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Eilric couldn’t argue the logic, though his eyes fought to do just that. Stiffly, he nodded. Turning to Ginevra, he said, “Fine, my love. If you need two hours, take them. I have no doubt they will bring you wisdom. While you decide, I will send for the priest.” “Yea and I’ll tell my father,” William put forth. The men’s eyes met and locked in silent battle. “All right,” Ginevra nodded. The men watched her go before turning to glare at the other. Eilric raised his jaw defiantly in the air. A confident smirk lined his features. “Save yourself the trouble, boy. She only does this to humor you.” Eilric smiled a cruel smile. William frowned but said nothing. Eilric growled and stormed from the hall. Cautiously, William went in search of his father. Glancing up the stairwell, he prayed that Eilric was wrong. **** Edmund placed his hands on his hips. Staring coldly at his opponent, he forced him back along the wall. The big burly man’s face turned bright red, as he scolded, “Now ye listen here, m’lord. I will have no more o’ yer deceit.” Wolfe was unafraid. Scratching at his long beard, his brown eyes stared out in discontentment. Wolfe stood tall, regal despite his tattered clothing. Ruthlessly, he spat, “I don’t expect you to understand.” “Then make me,” Edmund growled. In frustration, he frowned at the nobleman. He was a far cry from the man he’d met in the forest. His eyes were distant and hard. His face showed no emotions. It was as if a large part of him had died and in Lord Wolfram’s place walked a lonely spirit. “I should have told ’er me-self last eve.” “I don’t have to explain myself. Not to you, not to anybody.” Wolfe pushed Edmund aside, knowing he wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on him. He was wrong. Edmund grabbed Wolfe by the shoulder and spun him about. Wolfe’s jaw met with his fist and sent him sprawling to the ground. Wolfe looked up in surprise from the floor of Britheue’s barn. “That’ll knock some sense into ye! Ye will go after ’er. She’s yer wife.” Edmund growled. “And a good lady at that.” “What would you know of it? How many years have you been living here with Britheue without the tether of marriage?” Wolfe shot. “Is that what is bothering ye?” Edmund frowned mercilessly. “Well, why didn’t ye say somethin’?” Wolfe frowned, not understanding. He slowly turned onto his hands and knees before pushing himself up. He flexed his jaw trying to loosen it. He wasn’t badly hurt. He knew that Edmund didn’t hit him nearly as hard as he was capable. “Britheue!” Edmund yelled. The men waited while she came out of the cottage. Wiping her hands on her apron, she eyed the men carefully. “Yea, well what is it then?” “I think we should wed,” Edmund stated. His eyes softened a bit when he glanced at her. “Ye’re still a sight rough,” she returned. Her eyes traveled over him. Then, shrugging, she said, “Sure. We’ll be married.” Edmund nodded in manly satisfaction. Britheue returned to her chores inside. Neither man saw her happy smile as she did. Wolfe hid his amazement by swiping the dirt from his sleeves and backside.

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“Now, that’s taken care o’.” Edmund narrowed his gaze. “Edmund,” Wolfe began. He threw his hand in the air and stormed away. Edmund watched in astonishment. Then, shaking his head, he let him go. Wolfe stalked away from Edmund, chased by the many demons he carried home from the war. Ginevra’s words had been clear. She loved Lord Eilric. Cursing himself, he should have known. The man had been overly attentive of her at the tournament all those years ago and her feelings for her ‘dead husband’ were quite clear. She thought him a damnable scoundrel. Growling into the trees, Wolfe stormed into the forest with the lethal anger of a raging beast.

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Chapter Eighteen Ginevra took a deep breath, but her heart remained untouched. The night drifted in through the narrow slit window, carried by a streamlined breeze. The windows whistled as the wind picked up and crashed against them. Ginevra pressed her forehead to the unforgiving stone. She could see nothing but dark sky and the string of clouds hiding the stars from her. Turing, she smoothed the folds of her simple gown. Helena had lent her the tunic dress, altering the fine linen hems at the last minute to fit. Ginevra didn’t care as she prodded her long hair until it pulled back simply and knotted at her neck. She refused Lora’s help to ready her. And she didn’t bother to take the time to get ready, like whne she married Wolfe. She hardly saw a point. Thinking that there was not much to be done with her appearance, she dejectedly lifted the small bouquet of flowers off the center of her bed. Absently, she rubbed her hand over the brown fur. After her son’s birth, the white had to be replaced. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispered ominously into her bedchamber. “Come and stop me, Wolfe. Come back, please.” No one answered her. She listened anyway. Steeling her nerves, Ginevra forced the hammering persistence of her heart to slow. She affected a calm that was getting easier by the day to fake as she left for the hall. The flowers hung by her side, gripped in a hand that would have been just as happy to throw them and crash the delicate buds into a wall. She paused on each step, her feet trying to delay what must be. “Surely, once it’s done, Gin,” she murmured. She wondered if she was loosing her mind, speaking aloud to herself. Not caring, she finished, “it will be easier to endure.” Ginevra let her mind go entirely blank as she walked. She didn’t speak to the small gathering as she entered the hall. Their faces shone with brilliant smiles and luminous eyes, all congratulating her on her marriage. Ginevra didn’t feel their pleasure or hear any of their words. Silently, she walked alone to the chapel, knowing her future husband was already there. Taking up her flowers, she silently handed them to Helena as she passed the tearful woman. Helena took them and clutched them to her breast with unsure fingers. Her tears flowed harder as she turned into her husband’s chest. Robert couldn’t meet his sister’s eyes. He watched the gray patterns of the chapel floor instead. On legs as stiff as the battlements, Ginevra continued forward. Her mind couldn’t think. She forced the picture of Wolfe’s handsome face from her mind. She bid the echo of his laugh from her heart. She made herself forget the free calling of his masculine voice. She refused to remember the touch of his hands. And she realized that she could never disregard any of it. Captured within memories of Wolfe, she stepped forward. She continued past the earl, who held fast to her squirming son. The boy looked so much like his father. A pain twitched inside her breast, killing the rest of the unfortunate organ. Smiling halfheartedly at the priest, she nodded her head at him to speak. She couldn’t meet the eyes of her future husband. As requested, the priest kept his words simple and short until suddenly Ginevra realized she was expected to say her vows. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped open in an audible pant. Only then did she turn to William.

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She looked up into his kind brown eyes that shone with care and gentle understanding. It was the face of the boy she had known all her life, staring with the eyes of a man about to be bound to her. The priest repeated himself with a gentle clearing of his throat. Ginevra glanced about the chapel. The family watched her expectantly with steadfast eyes. Lord Eilric stood in the back, willing her with his stoic expression to deny William and pick him. Her eyes met and locked with the man’s. He stepped silently forward and stopped. His chin tilted, enticing her to him. In a brief flash she thought about it. She didn’t love him, but in not loving she would never be hurt by him. She didn’t even think she cared for the man. Then she heard the laughter of her son as he played in the earl’s arms. Looking to the boy, she saw a flash of every moment she’d ever had with Wolfe. Its sweetness overwhelmed her with intensity. Her mouth opened with a pained gasp for air. Her eyes teared but didn’t spill over. Her pallid expression met again with William’s. He waited patiently for her, silently considerate of her plight. He didn’t look to her to hurry. Slowly, he gave her a smile and nodded his head. The priest repeated himself in low tones a third time. “I, Lady Ginevra of Whetshire...” she began at the man of God’s prompting. She paused and swallowed hard. I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t... “Then what God has joined let no man tear asunder,” the priest concluded. “You are man and wife. Claim your bride.” The family was quiet as William leaned to his new wife’s face. Lightly pressing his lips to hers, he drew back. Ginevra’s wide eyes didn’t close. The press of William’s mouth held none of the passion she had with his brother. She swallowed hard. She did it. She’d married William. A tear finally managed to fall over Ginevra’s cheek. William lifted his fingers to brush it away. His sad eyes held a tender compassion. Ginevra knew it was not fair to William to compare him to Wolfe. He was a good man. He was honorable. He was her new husband. William lifted her arm and placed it on his. Leading her forward, he couldn’t help the gloating smile as he glanced at Lord Eilric. The man growled angrily and stormed from the chapel. Ginevra watched him leave for the courtyard with relief. William nodded his head to Robert to follow the man out. “Let us go to our feast, Gin,” William said softly as the family walked behind them. The others kept back, letting them speak. “I promise to get you abovestairs before too long.” If it had been any other man, Ginevra would have though his intent unseemly. But she knew William only meant to get her out of the crowd’s notice. She nodded, squeezing his arm in appreciation. She couldn’t speak. When they neared the main hall, the gathering cheered. Knights pounded their fist on the tables laden with food. The servants clamored with excitement. Ginevra clutched William’s arm and forced a smile as she gazed over the crowd. Their cheering heightened. Only after an appropriate pause did William continue to guide her forward. The hall smelled of roasted mutton and spiced vegetables, of fresh loaves of seasoned bread melting with churned cream butter. Hunks of cheese and pitchers of mead littered in-between the heavy trenchers. The knights raised their goblets. One of them called a toast to the newlyweds. His words were met with cheers and well wishes. Ginevra tolerated the noise with a smile and regally polite nods. William kept her hand on his arm as he waved his thanks to the onlookers. And, as the gathering settled a bit into their celebrating, Ginevra was allowed to sit. Robert drew her attention from her side. Touching her arm, he asked, “Are you well, Gin?”

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Ginevra looked at him. For a glimpsing moment, he saw the true depths of the pain she had been hiding from them all. Her emerald eyes swam in misery--more than he could understand. In her gaze, he saw her heart reflected in the luminous depths and it was broken. Swallowing, he pulled away from her without explanation. Ginevra turned her eyes forward again. Her lips curled into a false smile as she watched the men drink. In her head, she concentrated on counting the minutes until bed, and no one tried speaking to her again. **** Cheers echoed the tower passageway with the light-hearted teasing and merrily spoken jests of the men as they left William to his bride. William chuckled to himself as he closed the door. Turning, he looked at Ginevra sitting demurely on the bed. His humor faded some as he looked at her. This was not the wedding night he’d pictured in his mind as a child. His bride didn’t look scared, but she didn’t seem very excited to see him either. “Did you know that this used to be my chamber before you arrived?” William asked pleasantly. He strode across to glance out the slit window. Idly, he added, “Mother thought it best to boot me out and give it to you.” “Yea, she told me,” Ginevra asserted. “Thank you for letting us come here instead of the other tower.” “I thought you might be more comfortable here where not so many guests will pass by.” William turned to her. He studied her intently for a long moment. Her eyes were dry and lifeless. Her lush lips managed a kind smile. Lightly, he bid, “Why don’t you come here?” Ginevra dutifully stood. Her long nightgown trailed around her body in a wave of sweeping material. Stepping close to him, she leaned her head back some. William looked at her and sighed. “Mayhap you should try kissing me.” Her green eyes watched him earnestly. He could see she was trying. “It might help.” William leaned to her and pressed his mouth to hers. Parting her lips with his tongue, he deepened the kiss. There was no feeling behind the embrace for either of them. With a half smile, William pulled back. “I was hoping this would be easier for you,” he admitted. “I’m not so unskilled a lover. I can be however you need me to be. Slow. Quick. Gentle.” “I know,” Ginevra began. Suddenly, she cried. Falling into William’s chest, she said, “You deserve better. I shouldn’t have married you. It was selfish of me to do so.” “Don’t think like that,” William soothed quietly. His hands found her back in a small caress. “I married you, too. Let us be honest?” Ginevra nodded but didn’t look up at him. He felt her hand shift to swipe at her nose. “I promised Wolfe I’d look after you if aught ever happened to him. He saved my life. In marrying you I have fulfilled my duty to my brother.” William moved a finger under her chin to lift her teary eyes. “But I do care for you. I always have. So I think this marriage has a chance to be better than most.” “It’s always a thing of duty with you men,” she whispered. The words weren’t accusing. Ginevra understood well the meaning of duty. “Yea, duty keeps us together. It’s what gives us direction in life. Never hate Wolfe for doing what he must. I think he wouldn’t have left you if he had a choice to do otherwise.” William left her briefly to grab a fresh bathing linen from a nearby table. Handing it to her, he waited as she blew her nose and wiped her face. “I want you to know that after you, he took no other to his bed. He was faithful to you ’til he died. Many women did try. While gone, he

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banished every woman from his tent without a backward glance or moment’s thought.” “All these years,” she murmured. The news did give her some small comfort. In her darker hours away from him, she had wondered if he found companionship to get him through the night. The fact that he hadn’t done so said much. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more of myself,” she sniffed. Her mind automatically thought of all the nights she had spent with Wolfe. He was so passionate, so gentle, violent, and sweet. “It’s still not mine to give.” “Gin, I told you I understand. Never be ashamed of your love for Wolfe. I understand, for he was my brother. I love him too. After tonight, you will be free of me for a time. But we must make this marriage stand. I would have it legal,” William finished with a murmur against her soft hair. His gut twitched nervously. His bride was lovely, but she was never really his to hold in such a way. Only by the cruelty of fate was he with her now. “I don’t want any to disclaim it.” Ginevra steeled herself. Wiping defiantly at her wet cheeks, her eyes sparkled with tears. She sniffed lightly and threw the bathing linen aside. Taking a deepened breath, she said, “All right. I will try. Mayhap if we kissed again. And this time, don’t stop. Just keep going.” William nodded, granting her request. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her again. He lifted his fingers to rest on her shoulders in a gentle caress. Ginevra returned his light embrace, trying to get used to him. Unbidden, she again thought of Wolfe. Silently, she wondered if it would be a sin to think of him as she consummated with his brother. In her heart, she knew it wasn’t fair to either of them. But in the logic of her mind, she knew it might be the only way she could go through with it. After a moment, his lips still pressed along hers, William lifted his bride to the bed. Laying her gently, they closed their eyes and proceeded to do what needed to be done. **** Ginevra left William in her chamber. Already the man slept. However, she couldn’t find rest lying next to him. Her body ached with a longing for Wolfe. Her heart screamed until the sound hummed like a drum in her ears. Numbly, she fingered the wall, as she rose step by step to the tower. The stairwell was dark in the night hours. But she had walked the steps countless times and didn’t need to see. Her hand ran across Thomas’ bedchamber. The familiar lock clinked softly as she passed. She refused to think about what she had done. It pained her to even remember. Ginevra was past crying, but her eyes swam with moisture anyway. Emerging from the dark passage she came face to face with the quartered moon. A ring of light shined around the dark side of the terrestrial globe. She stepped forward, drawn mysteriously to the edge by a force beyond herself. As her stomach hit the high part of the battlement, she stopped. Looking down in surprise, she saw the earth spiraling far beneath her. Then, she suddenly understood what had drawn her to the tower roof. She knew what her heart had brought her to do. Her son was now looked after. The boy had a good father to watch over him. Though he might not understand her actions, he would be loved. Ginevra took a step up to the ledge. As she moved, the wind died down. Her heart pounded until it flooded her limbs and stamped out the sound from her ears with rushing torrents of blood. But it didn’t beat its frantic rhythm out of fear. It stamped a steady beat, echoing until the chant built in her head. Leap, Leap, Leap, the chant sang in repetitive insistence. “Leap,” she whispered. Spreading her arms wide, she tilted back her head in defiance of the moonlight. The white material of her gown stirred as the breeze picked up, whipping around

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her like the shroud of a walking corpse. The long tresses of her hair reached out from her head like that of a woodland fairy riding on the wind. Picturing Wolfe, she smiled. Her eyes closed and she leaned forward. And that was it. The next instant, she was on her back looking up into the sky. Her lungs felt as if they breathed. Her body didn’t hurt and none of her limbs felt broken, as they should have been. She couldn’t even remember the fall. She smiled as she stared at the moon. Death wasn’t so bad as living. Slowly a face came to block the vision of the sky. A man leaned over her. His face was covered with a beard. His long hair was tousled and unkempt, his skin smudged with dirt and grime. Behind him the stars framed his face with their sparkling gem-like beauty. Fine lines marked the edge of the man’s eyes giving wisdom to the once youthful gaze. Ginevra wouldn’t have known him except for his familiar brown eyes. “Wolfe,” she whispered in rapturous trepidation. Her body held still, almost afraid he would disappear and float away into the stars. She wanted to lie forever on the earth, gazing at him. After a moment, she whispered quietly, “Are we ghosts? Am I dead?” Wolfe’s face suddenly curled into a confused frown. Ginevra slowly sat up to study him. He took a step away, not helping her to her feet. She didn’t notice as she moved before him. Instantly, she realized she was back on top of the tower. The wind caressed her body careless and free. “I knew I’d find you,” she put forth in a rush. Her hand rose slightly at her side only to fall. Her eyes searched him, wondering why he looked angry with her. “Have you gone daft woman?” he asked abruptly. “What do you think you are about? Jumping from the tower--” “I had to,” she broke in with a smile. “I couldn’t bear to live--” “Stop it! You could have killed yourself! It’s the coward’s way!” he screamed in outrage. Then, lowering his voice, he shook his head. “Have you gone mad?” “I’m not crazy. I must be dead. Look, you’re here.” Ginevra made a move to hold him. He angrily dodged her arms. “Well, I’m certainly not dead,” he stated icily. He put his hands on his hips and tapped them with his restless fingers. “Oh, yea you are. You died in the war. Have you been up here all this time? I thought I would’ve felt you.” Ginevra tried to smile but, when he laughed mockingly at her, she couldn’t. Her gut twitched in disappointment. Her lips trembled in confusion only to close. Striding over to her, Wolfe grabbed her roughly by the arm. Shaking her with a violent force, he spat, “Can you feel this?” “Yea,” Ginevra gasped in pain as her eyes lulled in her snapping head. “But--” “But nothing,” he seethed. His eyes flashed with a fire she didn’t remember seeing in him. Barring his teeth, his fingers raised and curled, as if he might like to choke her. With much restraint, he kept his hands from her throat. Without warning, Wolfe dashed forward to claim her lips. Almost savagely, he kissed her. He couldn’t stay his hands as they found her soft skin. Ginevra gasped, instantly lifting her palms to cup his face. The rough whiskers crushed beneath her fingers. Just as quickly, he pulled away from her with a ragged breath. Suddenly, his words sunk in. Her face grew pale. Her eyes fixed upon his every movement. The heat of his embrace stung her. Whispereing darkly, she established, “You are alive.”

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“Very much so,” he stated with an impertinent wave of his hand. Only the continued stiffness of his movement gave away his deep anger. “And I am alive,” she whispered in growing alarm. Ginevra shook her head in denial. She panted, trying to catch her breath. She thought of William. “Ah, welcome back to reality, my dear.” Wolfe stepped to the side in a bout of unconfined fury, forcing her to draw about in a circle to keep an eye on him. She followed him with her head before turning her feet. When he was between her and the edge, he stopped. “Oh, nay. The king wrote to us. He said you were hanged.” Ginevra swallowed. “Why have you come back from the grave now?” “It’s nice to see you, too,” he answered flippantly, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. A snarl fitted on his lips as he waggled his finger toward her. “The king sends his deepest apologies.” “Wolfe,” she began, only to gasp in dread. He stalked to and fro in front of her. Her fingers shook as she lifted them to push a strand of hair out of her face. Blinking heavily, she whispered, “I have to tell you someth--” “How’s your new husband?” he shot into her confession with a cruel smirk. “Did you enjoy your wedding night wife? Did he pleasure you? Or was this only a formality to be gotten out of the way? Had you taken him to your bed before now?” “You know?” Ginevra gasped in mortification. “Why didn’t you stop it?” “I thought it was on the morrow. But it seems you couldn’t wait to replace me.” “That’s not true.” “Isn’t it?” Ginevra eyed the man before her. He was dressed in ill-fitting trousers that buckled at the knees and hugged too firmly to his strong calves with a long tunic that had more holes burrowed in the material than stitches. She relished the sight of him. His hair spiked as if he hadn’t seen a comb for months and his skin clung to his frame begging any whom would take pity on him for a meal to round out their harsh contours. But there, in the sharpened and harried depths, was the familiar curve of his lips and the well-known slant of his narrowing eyes. “You are supposed to be dead,” she whispered by way of explaining. “Sorry to disappoint you, wife.” Wolfe planted his hands on his hips. “But I’m alive and I am here to claim back what is mine.” “But, what of--?” Ginevra looked over her shoulder in confusion. “I suspect that your new groom will have to meet with the end of my sword if he protests.” Wolfe shot her a cruel smirk. He took a menacing step forward. “You would kill him?” she gasped. You would kill your own brother? You are more changed than I thought. “If I have to, I just might. Seeing how I am too late to stop the wedding.” Wolfe darted forward, suddenly grabbing her by her long soft hair. “Tell me, wife. Did you even cry for me? Did a single tear fall from those green eyes of yours?” “Stop it! You’re being cruel.” Ginevra twisted to be free of his hurtful hold. She placed her arms against his chest and beat on him. “Damn you, Wolfe! Damn you! You have no idea what I’ve been through.” “Too late, princess,” he laughed. The sound held no merriment, only dark intent. “I’ve been to hell. I’ve lived in it. And I will never go back there.” “How did you escape?” “The king bartered for me. He owed me for saving his life,” Wolfe said.

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Seeing his tortured gaze, she stopped struggling. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her neck to his brutal hold. Her head snapped back and she moaned lightly. “Am I to be the first thing you claim?” Her body hummed with excitement at the prospect. Her lips parted. Even in her shame, she wanted him near her. The fact that he was touching her was all too new, too confusing to comprehend completely. Wolfe eyed her in disgust. Throwing her offered mouth away from him, he watched in grim pleasure as she stumbled backward. Her back hit against the side of the archway. If she had been a bit more to the right, she would have fallen down the stairwell to her death. “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.”

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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

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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.”

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“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.”

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“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.

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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 loosing 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

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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. “I’m sorry to have wakened you,” she breathed. She turned her eyes back to him. Biting her lip, she suddenly felt foolish for being there. William maintained his distance. When she didn’t elaborate as to why she disrupted him, he said, “I must say, I am a bit curious as to why you are here.” Ginevra’s cheeks pinkened. William unblocked his throat with a soft noise of surprise. “Gin, are you here to--?” William couldn’t finish. He gave a meaningful look to the bed. Ginevra’s eyes rounded. “Oh, nay. I didn’t mean to imply I wished to--well. I don’t know how to say this, so I will just say it. I saw Wolfe again tonight.” “What?” William asked carefully. He couldn’t help the deep frown that marred his brow as he looked at her. Stepping to her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. Lightly, with the fingers of his free hand, he cupped her jaw to look into the depths of her earnest gaze. He could see that she meant what she said. “I think you should talk to someone about this. Mayhap a physician could help.” “They will think me a witch,” Ginevra protested. “Please, Will. I am not crazy. I know I’m not. I saw him. I talked to him. I touched him.” “Touched?” William inquired. His eyes narrowed a bit in disdain. If his bride touched someone real, then it wasn’t Wolfe. He didn’t like the sound of her unfaithfulness, no matter how misled her reasons were. “Well, mayhap I am crazy. I don’t know. But I talked to him and he was real to me--as sure as you are standing here.” William limped, as he walked over to the bed. Sitting down, he rubbed his leg. “Does your wound pain you?” She noticed that on occasion his steps would slow to accommodate his leg. “Some,” he answered in distraction. “Where did you see Wolfe?” “On the high tower,” Ginevra answered. “Is he there now?” William asked, not believing he was actually humoring her. “Nay.” “Did he say he would meet you again?” William persisted. “Nay, he was mad at me. I told him he had a son and he stormed off.” Ginevra moved to quietly stand before William. “All right, Gin,” William assented. He sighed. He knew that she carried a lot of guilt for not telling Wolfe of his son. Just as he knew the mind sometimes liked to trick those who were

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weakened with grief. His shoulders slumped some. In exasperation, he said, “I can’t compete with my brother’s ghost. If this is your way of telling me to leave, I’ll go. Just stop saying Wolfe is alive. I can’t bear it. Damn it! I miss him too. We all do.” “I don’t want you to leave, Will. I want you to come with me. I want you to tell me I’m not crazy. Because if I am, well I just have to know! I can’t live like this!” Her voice rose with desperation. “Just now passing Thomas’ locked chamber I could have sworn I heard him within. And I don’t want to be crazy.” Ginevra burst into tears. Her shoulders shook in her unhappiness. “Please, Will. Help me. Come with me. Come and see if you see him too.” “All right, Gin, all right.” William stood and pulled his wife to his naked chest. Still he could feel only friendship for her. And being her friend, his heart broke to see her so trampled. He could feel her spirit being crushed and could do nothing to help her. “I’ll go with you to the tower.”

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Chapter Twenty The closer William neared to the top of the tower, the uneasier he became. Ginevra said nothing as she trailed slowly behind him. William hadn’t bothered to don a shirt, too tired and sad to care about such things. He passed the three bedchambers without words as he trailed to the roof. Stepping out into the cool night, he looked around. Then, glancing at Ginevra, he waited for her to join him. A little hesitantly, he asked, “Do you see him now?” Ginevra shot him a rueful glance. Shaking her head, she said, “Nay, he isn’t here.” William nodded in relief. He knew many people whispered about spirits lingering when they had unfinished business on earth. If anyone’s business was unfinished it was Wolfe’s and Ginevra’s. “Good,” he breathed, “for neither do I.” Ginevra nodded. She knew he still didn’t believe her. He eyed her wearily. “Now what?” he asked. Weakly, she said, “Thomas’ chamber.” “All right, Gin.” William walked past her. His movements were slowed as if he aged with each step he took. Methodically, he climbed down the stairwell, stopping at Thomas’ old chamber. His fingers shook slightly and he paused. “William?” Ginevra whispered, trying to see his face. William let loose a long breath. He ignored the pain in his gut the locked door caused him. Whispering back at her, he said, “Yea.” “William, I don’t feel a lock. I told you, it’s missing.” At that, William stiffened in surprise. Lifting his hand to the door, his fingers met with hers. True to her word, there was no lock. His head snapped around to hers. He felt her fingers shaking under his in fear. Gulping, he lowered his hand to the latch. His stomach tightened with nerves as he pulled the latch and swung the door slowly open. For an unused door, the oak didn’t creak. Ginevra’s hand dropped from the wood. Inside a small fire burned in the fireplace, lighting the musty chamber. William could hear Ginevra’s breathing behind him. Looking inside, he saw that the bed was empty. The gray fur was smooth and untouched, but didn’t carry the same caking of dust the rest of the furniture held. Hesitantly, William stepped within. Ginevra trembled and pressed herself into his back. His boot-step echoed a bit in the chamber as it crunched on broken shards of wood. Ginevra ducked her head around his side. Then, just as he was about to push her back, he froze in horror. “Thomas?” William whispered, moving his fingers to sign the cross over his chest. In the entryway, leading to the back rooms stood a figure in the archway. The longer dark hair moved over naked masculine shoulders as the man stepped forward. And as the light fell over the features of the man’s face, William stumbled back in awe. The figured lifted his head, his eyes darting to the chamber door at the sound. William, seeing brown eyes instead of green, shook his head. “Wolfe,” he stated. “You look as if you have seen a ghost, little brother.” Wolfe stated blandly. He wore a

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tight fitting pair of braccas with a loose undertunic of lightweight linen. His face had recently been clean-shaven and washed. It was still wet in places. William wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strike his brother or hug him. Stepping forward, he met Wolfe half way across the room. Silently, he hugged him, pounding his fists against a back of flesh and bone. “How can this be?” William asked. He shook his head, grasping his brother’s face in his hands. Lightly, he tapped his forehead against him. “We were sure you were dead.” “Nay, I’m very much alive,” Wolfe drawled. Seeing William, he couldn’t help but grin. Brotherly affection shone from his face. Then, unexpectedly, Wolfe frowned. The men turned their attention to the pale woman in the frame of the door. She shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. Her lips trembled. Ginevra took a step back and then another. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, but the only sound that came out was that of a wounded animal. She turned and ran down the stairwell. “Gin,” Wolfe and William began in unison. They both stopped and looked at each other. Wolfe frowned, as he noticed William’s half naked chest. “Wolfe, how is it you are here?” William began, grinning to see him, but at the same time confused. “Why didn’t you tell us you were home?” “I had some things to take care of first.” Wolfe strode to the bed and sat on the edge. He crossed his arms over his chest. All emotion drained from his face. “I, well I can’t believe it. Gin said she saw you. But, frankly, Robert and I thought she was crazy.” “She wasn’t supposed to see me until I put my house in order,” he growled bitterly. “But on the night she wed that bastard Eilric of Eschenfeld, I caught her trying to jump from the high tower. Guess he wasn’t quite the lover she had expected.” Wolfe smirked, thought his eyes were humorless and cold. William gagged in trepidation. A pained look fell over his features at his brother’s hateful, nonchalant words. “I saved her life, only to punish her for her deceit,” Wolfe continued in a low, unforgiving tone. “She tried--” “She tried to kill herself by jumping from the tower,” Wolfe asserted when William hesitated. William’s knees weakened and he sunk to the floor. Burying his head in his hands, he pulled his hair in sorrow. “If only you would have come straight home. All this could have been avoided. You don’t know what you have done to her, Wolfe. You’ve tormented her to the point of breaking. It’s not fair the way you trick her.” “The way I trick her? You think me unjust in my outrage?” Wolfe shot. “She’s the unfaithful wench that couldn’t wait until the corpse was cold to wed with another. At least now I know my worth to her. I should’ve known when I saw them plotting at tournament that Lord Eilric had laid claim to her heart.” William flinched at the awful bitterness of his brother’s hate. Carefully, he said, “Wolfe you’re mistaken.” Wolfe’s eyes shot up. William didn’t look at him. Suddenly, Wolfe questioned, “Why are you half naked brother--running about the manor at such an ungodly hour with my wife? What business did you have in here with her?” William slowly stood as Wolfe spoke. Finally, meeting his eyes, he said, “She is my wife

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too.” Wolfe stiffened, unsure he heard him right. Standing, he stormed menacingly forward. William refused to cower. He lifted his chin proudly in the air. With spit flying from his tightened mouth, Wolfe inquired in dark even tones, “What did you say, brother?” “Ginevra is also my wife. She didn’t marry Lord Eilric. She married me.” William looked his older brother in the eye. He knew the instant the words sunk it. Wolfe’s hands clenched and unclenched at his side. Raising his raw knuckles into William’s face, he shook his fist. His hands still stung were he had beaten the stone wall, but it didn’t stop him from drawing back and punching his brother squarely across the jaw. William flew backward and landed on the floor. Skidding to a stop, he hopped to his feet with a warrior yell. Pummeling Wolfe in the stomach with his head, he threw the man backward on the bed. William landed on top of him. Wolfe grunted in pain, but soon managed to again meet his fist to William’s jaw. William’s head snapped back, his eyes rolled. He didn’t fall off the bed. Fists flew as the brother’s sought to beat the other. “William! Wolfe! Stop this at once!” The men froze at the screech of Helena’s terrified voice. Fists rose frozen in time, they both turned their eyes to their sister. She watched from the doorway in horror. Helena shook her head, reminded of them as children constantly sparring in the hall belowstairs. Slowly, William lowered his hand and stood. “Wolfe?” Helena questioned in a mix of consternation and awe. “Wolfe?” Robert’s voice shot. The man stepped into the chamber. Seeing his deceased friend raised from the dead, he stepped forward, only to stop when he saw the two bloodied faces staring back at him. A bruise darkened one of William’s eyes and a matching wound spotted near the corner of Wolfe’s mouth. “I see now,” Robert stated. William ignored him. His chest heaved from the fighting. Glaring at Wolfe, he said, “I only married her out of duty to you. If I didn’t ask for her, she was to be given to Lord Eilric. Any fool could see that she didn’t love him. In fact, she could barely stand to be around him. At least with me her child would be raised in our family--as he should be.” “My son,” Wolfe whispered. His anger drained from his limbs. If he had been William, he would have done the same. “Thomas.” “Ginevra gave him a name she knew you would be proud of,” Helena asserted, defiantly. “Gin,” Wolfe whispered in horror. Stunned, he looked at the three faces staring at him in accusation. He felt the anger fade from him completely. Their disdain couldn’t compare to the remorse he already felt. She hadn’t married Eilric. “She nearly died bringing that boy into the world,” Helena continued, glad to finally have her say to her brother. “It was nigh six months before she could even move to sit in bed. And do you know what she did in that time? Every waking moment she had, she talked about you. She told every story of you she could think of to your son.” “Where is he?” Wolfe started. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. “Where is my son?” “Here.” The earl stepped up the stairwell. In his arms was a small child. Seeing his son, the earl paled in a mix of awe and relief but remained quiet. Wolfe froze. Staring up at him through tired round eyes was his son. The boy yawned sleepily but kept his eyes open as he looked at the curious stranger. Wolfe stepped forward. His hand reached forward in hesitation. A small,

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perfect version of his face stared back at him. The child hung back. Helena went forward and scooped him into her arms. Carrying him forward, she smiled lovingly at the toddler. “Thomas,” she said, “this is your father.” “Woof, woof,” Thomas said with a childish smile. He mimicked a howl, “Ohhhh.” Tears came to Wolfe’s eyes. The child reached for him and he grabbed him willingly. Holding the boy to his chest, Wolfe looked at his father. “Where’s Gin?” “Gone.” Wolfe’s face fell in fear. Thomas laid his head against his shoulder and drooled, as his eyes drooped closed. The earl lightened his tone a bit. “Check with the stable lads. They know where--” Wolfe’s quick hug stopped the man’s words. He adjusted Thomas in his arms and made a move to run belowstairs. “Wolfe, wait!” Helena cried when he reached the doorway. “Leave the baby!” “Oh, yea,” he said in distraction. Lovingly, he passed the boy to his sister. With a grin spreading over his features, he kissed the boy’s head and looked around in confusion. Seeing his satchel, he grabbed an overtunic from inside the trunk. Sliding the material over his shoulders, he grabbed his sword out of habit but forgot his boots. Stopping only briefly to again kiss the top of Thomas’ head, he tore down the stairs. Helena shook her head. With an amazed sigh, she nodded over Thomas’ head to the men bidding them to follow her from the chamber. Robert went to the fire and made sure it would burn out safely before following. The family gradually made their way belowstairs. “So, m’lord,” Robert began. “What does this mean?” The Earl glanced at William with a frown. Before he could speak, William held up his hands. “Nay, don’t say it. I gladly bow out.” “But we will still need to contact the church,” the earl put forth. “Yea, we don’t know what they will decide,” Robert asserted. “Contact them,” William smiled. “My marriage was never completed. We couldn’t, ugh, bring ourselves to finish the wedding night. It was like me trying to sleep with Robert.” Helena gasped at the impropriety. She rushed forward in dismay, trying to cover baby Thomas’ ears. The men heartily laughed, the noise echoing down the stairwell to the hall. An unspoken bond of relief and happiness spread over them. Wolfe was alive and returned home. “I should hope that’s a good thing, Will,” Robert teased with a wry grin and a raise to his manly brows, as he hastened to chase after his wife. **** Ginevra tearfully screamed up at the guard to raise the gate. The startled guard looked at her in surprise, but didn’t hesitate when he saw her determined face. Instantly sending a nearby man to alert the Earl, the knight motioned for the first gate to be pulled. Ginevra glared in frustration, knowing the men stalled by opening one gate at a time. The horse’s feet danced about excitedly, waiting for the moment it could burst through the gates to open field. As soon as the second gate cleared enough for her to duck under, she kicked Purch in the side. It was still early in the morn when the steed bolted forth. Ginevra let him run, not caring where the horse took her as long as it was away from Wolfe. Wolfe had made a fool of her, tormented her, and made her believe she was talking to a ghost. And for what? Because of his games she found herself with two husbands. “Argh!” she screamed again and again into the rising sun. Her pleasure at his living was

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diminished by the pain of his betrayal. She felt so alone, so scared. She hurt and she was tired of hurting. The years had been so hard without him. And he hadn’t bothered to send word to ease her pain. The orange glow of the morning sun barely lit the way. It dared only to glint off the grasses as she flew over them. She didn’t care who heard her cries. She was tired of being quiet, tired of hiding how she felt. She was just tired. She urged Purch onward, leaning over the horse to help him race faster. In her nervousness, she let her body flop uncontrollably over the steed’s back. Purch started at the sounds she made, darting edgily to the side. Ginevra stopped screaming and tightened her thighs to better control the movements. Patting the horse’s neck, she urged, “Faster, Purch. To the edge of the earth and over! Don’t stop until I melt from your back!” The horse understood, giving his mistress all he had. His feet pounded, the air rushed about them. The tears dried on Ginevra’s face as quickly as they fell. Nearing the south forest, Ginevra leaned to the side. Purch responded instantly, turning to race along the tree line. More than half of the orange globe reached above the earth before Ginevra allowed the horse to slow. She let him cool down a bit before stopping. Swinging off the horse’s back, she landed neatly on her bare feet. Glad that she at least wore a gown, Ginevra didn’t complain about the fact that it was her sleeping gown. She laughed wryly, knowing what she must look like. She didn’t care. She was away from Whetshire and from Wolfe. By all that is holy! she thought incredulously. I’m away from my two husbands! Ginevra let go of Purch’s reins. She ran her fingers over the sweaty bareback of the horse before letting him graze freely on the countryside. She treaded gingerly over the field, careful as to where she placed her feet. Then, hearing an approaching horse, she cocked her head up. She saw the proud face of Desert before she saw Wolfe. Ginevra gasped in dismay. Turning, she saw Purch had wandered a good distance away. Desperately, she ran full tilt. Her toe stubbed on a jutting rock, but she ignored the pain as it shot up her foot. Ginevra sprinted harder, pushing herself to the brink. Unexpectedly, a roar sounded behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes rounded in surprise. Wolfe jumped from his steed. “Ah-hah!” he shouted as he landed cleverly next to her. Desert continued on a little ways before stopping to graze next to Purch. Wolfe stumbled over the ground, pulling Ginevra down with his weight as he passed. Spinning at the last moment, he landed on his back so she was cushioned from the fall. “Oh!” Ginevra hissed in mortification. “You bloody fool! Are you trying to kill me?” Her answer was his hearty laughter. Ginevra hit his chest. Wolfe grunted, trying to feign discomfort and failing miserably. His eyes sparkled with mischief. A smile found his face. “Well, are you trying to attack me or not?” Ginevra snapped when he didn’t move to strangle her. Wolfe’s grin widened. Wrapping his arms around the small of her back, he rolled her onto the soft grass bed. Instantly, his lips met with hers parted in anger. Ginevra tried to protest. He drew back with a frown. Slowly, he shook his head and shushed her heated words. His eyes bore into her with penetrating softness. She stopped struggling, melting instantly into him. Wolfe dipped his lips to hers once more. The feel of her soft skin had haunted him for

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years--the taste of her, the smell of lavender. It drove him mad with desire. He tried to go slow, but as his hands discovered the willingness of her softly moaning body, he couldn’t help himself. It had been too long. Like a ravishing beast, he tore at her clothes. Ginevra groaned in frantic excitement. It was as if no time had passed. Her fingers dug beneath his tunics, instantly finding her favorite bend in his chest, right below his nipples. She tore at his waistband, needing to feel him claim her. She needed to know he wasn’t a dream but a real man. Freeing his manhood, Ginevra angled her legs apart. Wolfe tugged at her nightgown, hiking the voluptuous material to her waist. Their bodies twitched in pain, neither one able to slow after so much torturous waiting. Ginevra panted and moaned, incoherently urging him faster. Wolfe didn’t need to be told. He guided his arousal to her opening. Already he felt the slick moisture awaiting him. With as much control as he could muster, he entered her fast and hard. She contracted around him tightly. Wolfe grunted in pleasant surprise to find her tight. Moaning with need, he pumped his hips against her in rough slams of passion. Ginevra’s body accepted him willing, glad that his need matched her own. She didn’t mind his rough touch or fervent passions. Equaling her rhythm to his, she breathed in noisy gasps of growing ecstasy. The tension built within them, tearing their bodies apart with a violent need. Their fingers clawed, desperate to tear through the clothing that kept their bodies from touching completely. Wolfe shouted into the field, a low, agonizing sound. His buttocks flexed painfully as he buried himself completely within her silken depths. Ginevra accepted his release and met it with her own. Her body trembled and swayed. Her eyes blackened to the morning light until she almost swooned. Only Wolfe’s sweaty kiss awakened her. Wolfe took her pleasured gasps into his mouth, breathing them in with her unique scent. As the trembling subsided, he rolled off of her completely spent. Pulling her into the crook of his arm, they lay hidden in the tall grasses. “I’ve missed you, wife,” he whispered delicately against her temple before kissing it. Ginevra shivered, breathless. “What happened? I thought you were angry with me.” “I was. That’s until I saw our son. He’s beautiful, Gin. You did a wonderful job. I swear my heart almost burst when I laid my eyes upon him.” Wolfe kissed her again, pulling her closer. “In that moment, I realized that all the demons that haunt us don’t matter. He’s what matters, our Thomas. And we’re what matter, just us--husband and wife.” “But, what of William?” Ginevra asked. “I’m married to him, too.” “I would’ve done the same thing as he, had you been his widow,” Wolfe admitted. “Whatever it was, I know that you married him for a reason.” “Your father was about to accept a proposal on my behalf. Don’t be angry with him. He only wanted to see me happy. When we were told you died, I--” Ginevra suddenly cried. Pushing away from him, she sat up. Wolfe saw her shoulders tremble. Coming up next to her, he hugged her to his chest. “What?” he urged. “What, Gin?” “I wanted to die too. I couldn’t bring myself to face living without you. You’ve been my whole world since the day I was born. I grew up knowing exactly who I was to marry and when. And, well,” Ginevra shrugged helplessly, “I was too numb to care about aught else.” “I don’t blame you,” Wolfe said. “And it’s all right. I know that you had to consummate-” “Nay,” Ginevra shot, her eyes growing round. “We didn’t. We tried to start but it wasn’t

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right. We couldn’t even manage to get our clothes off.” Suddenly, she giggled. “Poor William. It was very hard for him.” “Obviously, not too hard,” Wolfe teased. He felt a masculine relief sweep through him. Though he knew if she had gone to his brother, he wouldn’t have held it against her. “Oh,” Ginevra gasped in dismay, playfully hitting his arm. “I meant because he thought his new wife gone mad. I told him I saw your ghost and he wanted to lock me away and toss out the key. I must say, it was quite a nasty trick to play on us.” “I know,” Wolfe said. He would have been remorseful if he wasn’t so happy. “I just had to sort through some things first.” “So why did you pretend to be a ghost?” Ginevra laid her head against his chest. Absently rubbing at his back in small caresses, her fingers skipped over several scars. She froze, sitting up straight to look at him in horror. “What--?” “Gin,” Wolfe sighed. He pulled her hand away. “I told you that I lived through hell. I didn’t lie.” “What did they do to you?” She wouldn’t be deterred so easily. Pushing at his back, she lifted his shirt. Underneath were the straight puckered lines of whip lashes. She gasped in fright. Wolfe gently pulled her back to his chest. He knew he had to tell her. His brown eyes clouded for a moment, as he said, “Gin, they didn’t do aught we wouldn’t have done in their place. In fact, I think we did much worse.” Ginevra’s featured turned sorrowful as she carefully watched him. Swallowing, she lightly touched his face. “In so many ways you look so different.” “Yea,” Wolfe nodded. “I am different. Can you accept that?” “I accept you; that’s what matters.” Ginevra smiled, cupping his chin. “For you are the same to me.” “I was taken prisoner after battle,” Wolfe said. “That much I have been told,” Ginevra admitted. Wolfe mustered a small smile at her interruption, before sadly continuing, “I saw things I could never describe to you. I spent many months in a Turkish prison. I saw our countrymen come in and they never left. I myself was whipped to elicit a confession--” “To confess what?” Wolfe lifted his finger. “Shhh. Or I won’t tell you.” Dutifully, she nodded. Her wide emerald eyes watched him with hurried patience. She unconsciously leaned into him, as if she could erase all of his pain. “They didn’t care. They just figured if they whipped me, I’d confess to something. The more I kept quiet, the more I was beaten. Then they left me to recover.” Wolfe leaned over to lightly brush a kiss on her furrowed brow. “Every memory I had of you flashed through my head in that prison. I thought I deserved to die for ever hurting you. So when they asked my name I lied.” “But--” “Nay. Truthfully, it wasn’t just that. It was the knowledge of the whole foolish campaign. We shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t understand it when I left, but I do now. I tell this to no one but you. I trust you, Gin.” Wolfe’s fingers shook. His eyes bore into her with such raw emotion that she thought she might scream at the intensity of it. His body shook, almost unable to believe that she was real, that he was finally at home in her arms. Her voice held quiet, knowing that he was placing his life in her hands. For what he said, if even repeated in a rumor linked to his name, could be

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considered traitorous. “I couldn’t bear to see so many of my men tortured day after day.” As he spoke, his eyes became dull as if he didn’t see her before him. Ginevra lifted a hand to rest on his chest. “And, God save me, I hated the Saracens for what they did. I wanted to kill them all. I wanted to die. But then Saif ad-Din, Saladin’s brother, discovered who I was. He took me above the prisons and gave me a soft bed to sleep in. He treated me kinder than we treated their captured nobles. We were invited to great feasts and shown the marvels of their castles. Saif ad-Din really wanted to prove to us how civilized they were. He didn’t like the endless wars of his people and pressed his brother for peace. I helped him to negotiate many terms with Richard and when I left for home he was still arranging the treaty. “But, before I was released, Saladin hesitated. He didn’t return the promised prisoners or the Holy Cross we sought to reclaim on time. Richard marched well over twenty five hundred men into the city and ordered them beheaded one by one. I stood with Saif ad-Din on his terrace as it happened. I can still see his face as he silently watched. My hatred faded, knowing he felt for his people what I did for mine. The mass execution took many hours. Hell, some of them were just boys. It was more death than I ever wanted to witness again.” Ginevra felt her stomach lurch. Her hands shook. “Nay, you--” “Gin, don’t. I,” Wolfe hesitated. He wiped a tear from her face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. I was just trying to make you understand why I was so confused.” “How could Richard? I met him--” Ginevra gasped. She hugged herself to Wolfe’s strong chest. “Nay, even Saif ad-Din realized that his brother would’ve done the same thing. It’s the way of war. But what I have come to realize was that we could never control such things. They are meant by destiny to happen. Just like me here with you now is destiny. We can’t question it, only accept it.” Ginevra trembled delicately in his arms. Slowly, he drew back down into the tall grasses. He nestled her into the crook of his arm. Wolfe let his lungs breath, feeling the weight of his burdens lifting from his chest. Leisurely, he turned to look at her. Her eyes had drifted closed. “Wolfe,” she murmured, feeling him stir beneath her head. “Yea, Gin.” “I’m sorry too--for everything. I should have told you of your son. I was angry with you for leaving me. I was angry with you for taking other women to your bed during the tournament. And I know, being gone so long you--probably--” Wolfe felt her tremble. Glancing down, he realized that she cried. She refused to look at him and tried to pull away. Wolfe refused to let her go. She pushed more insistently at his chest, trying to hide her face. He turned on his side, cupping her jaw with his palm. Ginevra couldn’t meet his eyes. He’d explained so much to her, but said nothing of the letter he had sent her. He said nothing of loving her. And she cared so much for him that it was hard to breathe. Her heart had always belonged to him. “There were no others. Not since you,” Wolfe whispered. Her eyes finally locked with his. She read the truth in their familiar brown depths. A bittersweet relief flowed over her. Sniffing, she closed her eyes and nestled closer. It was not the confession of love she’d hoped for. But having him once again safe in her arms was enough. She could live with his just being alive. “I’m tired,” she murmured. Her eyes drifted open for a languid moment before shutting once more. It was all she could say, without saying too much. The long years poured in on them,

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the endless nights of worry and sleeplessness. Wolfe sighed and kissed her on her head. And there, in the tall waving grasses of Whetshire land, they fell asleep.

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Chapter Twenty-one Morning coolness turned into afternoon warmth as the noble couple slumbered in the field. Murmuring lightly in protest, Ginevra inched closer to Wolfe’s side. Grimacing as she felt a sharp poke in her back, she smiled, thinking Wolfe was trying to wake her. She ignored the poke, content to linger in drowsy comfort. The prodding became more insistent, almost painful. Ginevra groaned and swatted behind her. Her fingers met with a stick as it withdrew from her back. Frowning, she quickly sat up. Blinking heavily to clear the sleep from her eyes, she looked around. Gasping, she saw a pair of black clad legs. Her mouth opened to scream as her hand shot behind her searching for Wolfe in fright. “Shhh,” came a soft voice. “Don’t move.” Instantly, she recognized the foreign drawl of Lord Eilric. Swallowing, she followed the legs up over lean masculine hips to the narrow but sturdy folds of his chest. And finally, seeing his face outlined with sunlight, she scowled darkly at him. About to speak, she saw the warning in his eyes. Following his gaze, she saw his hand was raised with a sword. The blade tip pressed into the soft flesh of Wolfe’s throat. Wolfe stared angrily back at the man, knowing instantly who he was. “Get up, Ginevra,” the man said. His voice was coarse, his face contorted. “Lord Eilric?” Ginevra began. “What are you doing? It’s not what you think. This is Lord Wolfram, my husband come back from the war. Take down your arm at once and no harm will befall you for your mistake.” “I know well who he is,” Eilric spat. “Now, get up.” Ginevra glanced at Wolfe. His eyes didn’t leave Eilric’s face as he curtly tilted his jaw in a motion for her to stand. “You don’t need his permission!” Eilric raged. “Do as I say!” Quickly, Ginevra ambled to her feet. Her nightgown flowed over her body like the whispering of wind through the rolling grasses. She turned her back to Wolfe, hoping to cause enough distraction to give him time to free himself from the blade point. “Now, move away,” Lord Eilric commanded. When she didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. Pressing her to his body, he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. Coldly, he stated, “It’s time we were done with this, Ginevra.” “Done with what?” she questioned in confusion. She glanced from Wolfe to Eilric and back again. “This monster killed my brother, massacred him in his own bed. He murdered his friends, his family, and even his wife pregnant with his child.” Eilric glared wildly at Wolfe. His hand never wavered. “I rejoiced the day I learned you were killed in the crusades. I thought God delivered justice for me, but I see God was only waiting until I was ready to kill you myself.” “What?” Ginevra questioned. She glanced at Wolfe. He lay unmoving. “Who was your brother?” “He was a great man, a fearless leader that fed the poor and protected them against the injustice of English nobility.” Eilric’s arm stiffened on Ginevra’s waist. “I was going to kill him

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at the tournament. It was why I was there. Then I saw you, Ginevra. I saw your beauty and knew I had to have you for my own. I would’ve saved you from him, but I hurt my wrist and couldn’t complete my mission. So I bided my time. I knew duty and fate would once again bring us together.” “What was your brother’s name?” Wolfe stated darkly. He didn’t miss the familiar way his attacker addressed his wife. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Ginevra glanced at him, her eyes hard. She didn’t look fearful. Derisively, he smirked, “I think I’d remember killing such a noble and true man.” “He was Hrod of Eschenfeld, known to most as the Dark Swordsman.” Eilric stated proudly. “The Dark Swordsman and his companions were a murdering lot of thieves that pillaged and ravished their way throughout the countryside. He wasn’t murdered in his bed. I tracked him down like the animal he was and fought him fairly. As to his wife, he threw her onto my blade to protect himself.” Wolfe’s jaw tightened. It had been a gruesome task he’d performed that night, bringing the head of his brother’s slayer to his father. His chest lifted with angry breaths as he watched Eilric for one mistake he could exploit. “I’m going to do what I should have done years ago,” Eilric announced. A smirk lined his lips at Wolfe’s helpless outrage. Wolfe could see nothing from his position on the ground but the two who stood above him. The blade pressed deeper into his throat, drawing a thin line of blood from his flesh. Wolfe felt it bead only to run a rivet down the side of his neck. “Eilric,” Ginevra murmured in a throaty growl. She smiled widely for her captor. He glanced in mild surprise as he saw it in the corner of his eye. Wolfe growled. Ginevra puckered her lips and slowly pressed an opened-mouthed kiss onto Eilric’s stubbled cheek. The man jolted in surprise at the forward advance. But his pleasure soon faded as Ginevra took advantage of his momentary lapse. Angling her arm about his neck, she pulled with all her weight, causing Eilric to fall with her onto their backs. As they fell, Ginevra screamed, “Wolfe run!” Wolfe shot up instantly. Jumping to his feet, he whistled for Desert. The horse burst out of the nearby forest followed by Ginevra’s startled steed. His sword was still strapped to the horse’s back. Ginevra struggled to liberate herself from Eilric’s hold. The man grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down when she would stand free of him. She called out in pain as she felt the poke of his blade as they struggled and rolled. “You treacherous wench!” Eilric shouted in dismay. Ginevra weakened, her eyes widened in alarm. Her mouth opened in a wail of pain as Eilric pulled his sword point from her side. Wolfe turned at the frightful sound. His eyes burned red as he saw blood staining Ginevra’s gown. Her green eyes found him. Her hands strayed to her wound, drawing forward with her own blood as she helplessly reached for him. He saw her mouth his name with her pale lips. But he had no chance to help her. Eilric jumped up from the ground wielding his sword. Only then did Wolfe notice it was the missing blade from Thomas’ bedchamber. Wolfe saw Ginevra’s hand fall to the ground. Torturous pain swept through him as her eyes fluttered closed. Her head fell to the side unmoving. Just then, Desert galloped past Wolfe. Wolfe clutched at his weapon, grabbing the hilt as the destrier slowed a fraction. He drew the blade from its scabbard, turning to block Eilric’s attack to his back. Eilric grunted in surprise. Then, narrowing his hateful eyes, he gnashed his teeth.

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Advancing on Wolfe, he slashed his sword through the air. Their blades met and clanged in rapid unison. The image of Ginevra’s blood soaked gown wouldn’t leave his vision as Wolfe defended himself against the man’s blows. A roar of emotion waged in his breast. Shouting, he forgot to protect himself and crazily ran at his target. Eilric, taken off guard by the sudden indifference Wolfe showed for his own life, gasped as the blade penetrated his gut. Wolfe’s hand swung at the moment of impact, to grab at the hilt clenched in Eilric’s fist. Twisting the tang, he wrenched in from his fingers. Bitterly, he said, “This blade is stolen and you and yours will never touch it again.” Eilric fell to his knees in shock. His eyes denied what his body realized to be true. Opening his mouth, he gurgled before falling lifeless to the ground. Wolfe heaved a great breath as he turned to his prone wife. She had sacrificed herself to save him. Leaning over her, he pressed his fingers into her wound and lifted her head to his lap. Ginevra’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. Lovingly, she gazed at his face. Her fingers lifted to touch his cheek. “You live,” she murmured in satisfaction before passing out in his arms. **** Clouds drifted over the sun in ever darkening threat as Wolfe raced Desert over the long fields back to Whetshire Fortress. Ginevra gathered in his arms, hanging limp. His hand fit tightly at her side, trying to stem the flow of her blood. The hot liquid marred in-between his fingers. Her body flopped and jerked. Twice she almost slid off the side, making Wolfe to let go of the reins to adjust her body along the stallion’s back. Giving Desert a swift kick, they soared through the blurring of grass. Ginevra’s infrequent moans of pain became harder to hear. Wolfe’s heart beat desperately in the caverns of his ears. His face hardened as he forced himself on. Purch raced behind him, losing to the larger stride of the destrier, but trying nonetheless to follow his mistress. After what seemed like an eternity of hoofbeats, Desert neared Whetshire’s gatehouse. The man on the wall, seeing the rider approach, raised his hand in greeting. “It’s Lord Wolfram,” Wolfe yelled, reining Desert to a skittish stop. The animal pranced to regain its footing. “Ho! Lord Wolfram!” the man cheered, disappearing to yell his name to those nearby. Many of the men ran forward in amazement, shouting in excitement. “Open the gates!” Wolfe yelled, desperate to break though the exclamations and cheers. “Lady Ginevra is injured!” The man leaned over the wall, peering to get a closer look from the great height. “Open the gate!” Wolfe barked. “Or I will have you flogged!” The guard, hearing the command, raised his arm high and shouted the orders below to the pulleys. The gates creaked up. Wolfe jolted Desert, leaning low over Ginevra’s body to swiftly go under the gate before it reached the top. Once inside, Wolfe shouted, “Get me a physician!” At the great commotion that ensued, Robert and William ran from the exercise field. Their sweaty tunics clung to their chests. Their fists still gripped swords of practice. They eyed Wolfe questioningly before seeing Ginevra’s bleeding body in his arms. Robert paled. William rushed forward to take her from his brother. Wolfe swung down before taking her back. The men ran inside the keep, Wolfe taking the steps to the main hall two at a time.

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Helena was in the hall playing with Thomas. The child looked up from his back to see what the commotion was. Seeing his mother’s drooping form, he wailed. Helena looked at Wolfe in alarm. “You didn’t--” Helena began. “Nay!” Wolfe answered gruffly. “Go get a cloth and some hot water.” Helena nodded. She ran to the kitchen to do as he bid her, calling, “Take her to the first guest chamber!” Robert grabbed a torch from the wall to light the way. Wolfe carried his wife up the small tower stairs. Crashing in the door with his foot, the thick oak splintered and cracked, breaking the latch. Wolfe paid no heed as he laid her gently on her back. With a mighty tear, he ripped through the material of her nightgown. The tear exposed the wound in her stomach. Wolfe swallowed. It looked as if the bleeding hadn’t stopped, though it slowed. Her face was pale, more so than normal. “Robert,” William began. His heart ached to see his brother’s tortured face and Ginevra’s unmoving body. “Give us your dagger.” Robert pulled his dagger and wiped it on his leg. Then, he stuck it into the torch’s flame. Heating it, he came forward. “Ready?” Robert asked. “Yea,” William nodded. “Wolfe, hold her still.” Wolfe grabbed Ginevra’s arms, laying his elbow into her stomach. His face came close to her wound. Curtly he nodded. Helena came in behind them. “All right,” William said. Robert quickly handed him the heated blade and held the torch high so the man could see. William didn’t hesitate. He took the blade and brought it immediately to Ginevra’s wound. Pressing it inside the seeping hole, he narrowed his eyes in determination. Helena turned away in horror, gagging at the instant sizzle. Ginevra’s eyes flew open with a terrified scream. Her body racked against Wolfe’s hold. Wolfe choked, the smell of her burning flesh assaulted his nostrils and he could feel the blade’s heat radiating onto his flesh. In an instant it was over. Ginevra fell limp against the pillow, unconscious. William handed the blade to Robert who lowered the torch only slightly to receive it. Helena rushed in with a bucket of water and fresh linens buldged in her arms. “Thomas is with a maid,” she informed Wolfe. Wolfe nodded weakly. Taking one of the linens, Helena dipped it into the water. She handed it into Wolfe’s outstretched hand. “Where is the physician?” Gently, Wolfe stroked the cool cloth over her flesh, wiping it free of the blood. The wound puckered an ugly red. “Here,” the physician said from the door. Tossing his tools on the bed, he elbowed Wolfe aside. “We cauterized the wound,” William said. The elderly man nodded. Inspecting the work, he allowed, “Fine job.” Robert handed the torch to William. Taking Helena by the arm, he led her from the chamber. “We’ll see to some hot water.” “Why don’t you leave me,” the physician ordered. “I’m not going anywhere,” Wolfe said, keeping a sharp eye on the man. The man nodded, not willing to argue over it. “I’m staying, too,” William put forth with a determined glance at Wolfe. Wolfe nodded. The physician sighed, reaching for a fresh linen to clean his patient with. Wolfe went

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around the bed and sat next to his wife. Picking up her hand in his, he rubbed the pad of his thumb gently over her wrist. And, closing his eyes, he prayed that she would be all right. **** Ginevra groaned, opening one eye to look around the quiet chamber. The soft play of fur tickled her chin. She blew at it in annoyance, slowly lifting her hand to push it away from her face. Wincing, she looked down at her side. She moved her hand under the blanket to touch the bandage that wrapped tightly around her waist. Gingerly, she fingered her wound. It throbbed in angry protest. Ginevra took a deep breath and tried to readjust herself on the bed. “Ah.” Unable to sit, she yawned. Looking to the side, she noticed Wolfe sleeping next to her on a chair. His head bent to rest on his hands, which were folded over the fur coverlet. Lightly, she reached over to touch his hair. She stroked it lightly from his face. Instantly, he awoke, looking at her from the concerned depths of his brown eyes. He searched her features. Ginevra smiled weakly. Her hand glided over the smooth, taunt flesh of his cheek to cup his face. Her eyes glowed with an adoring light. “You scared me, Gin,” he admitted. “How do you feel?” “Run through,” she answered with a wry twist of her nose. Suddenly, she frowned, “Where is Lord Eilric?” “Dead,” Wolfe whispered. He covered her small hand with his palm to help her hold it to his face. Placing a light kiss on her wrist, he smiled sadly. “It was not as he said.” “I know that,” Ginevra chuckled weakly. She flinched at the pain the movement caused her. “You are too honorable.” “Don’t mistake me,” Wolfe confessed. “I did kill his brother to avenge Thomas’ death. The Dark Swordsman’s band had been terrorizing the countryside. They ravished every woman they came across, tortured young girls. Even their camp was filled with their captured prisoners. It was horrible.” “Shhh,” Ginevra shook her head to stop him. “I don’t need to know the details unless you need to say them. I know you, so I know enough.” Wolfe gave a short, quiet sigh. He was baffled by her complete acceptance and understanding. “Here,” he said, reaching behind him to the floor. He lifted an old scrap of material onto the bed. “What is this?” Ginevra turned her head, trying to see. “It’s a gift,” Wolfe stated with a sheepish smile. “Show it to me,” she whispered. “I’m too weak to open it.” “Here,” Wolfe lifted the material wrapped bundle into her view. He untied the many strings and unfolded it carefully. “What is it?” she asked, curious. “Give me your hand.” Ginevra lifted her hand to him. Wolfe took it and cupped his own around it. Laying the material on the bed, he pinched its contents and put it in her hand. “It feels like dirt,” she said in surprise. “I brought you the Holy Land.” “My packet of earth,” she smiled, as if he had handed her a waterfall full of diamonds. “You remembered.” “I could never forget.”

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“Here,” she whispered. “Put it back. I want to look at it later. And you must tell me of the strange things you saw--every detail.” “I will. But for now you must rest and regain your strength.” Wolfe kissed her forehead and tied up the packet. “Is that my wedding tunic?” she questioned in wonderment. “You’ve had it all these years?” “I’ve carried it everywhere. I told you I would.” Wolfe couldn’t resist. He kissed her hand next to the wedding band he had given her. Ginevra sighed in satisfaction. She still wore it, even when she married William. “You look tired,” she mumbled fondly. “I’ve been watching over you,” he admitted. “How long?” “You’ve been here three days.” Wolfe kissed her hand. “So long?” she tried to chuckle and winced. Closing her eyes, she listened to the soothing tone of his words. “Yea,” he stroked her arm. “You had a fever.” “I’m still tired,” she admitted with a peek from under her lids. “Come, sleep with me.” “I don’t want to hurt you,” he protested. He stroked her cheek, caressed her hair. His eyes bore into hers. “Then never leave me again.” **** Ginevra awoke. Smiling, she stretched her arms over her head. Looking at Wolfe from underneath lowered lashes, she said, “You’re still here. I thought it a dream.” Wolfe chuckled. She said the same thing every time she woke up to him. He was raised up on one elbow, lightly stroking her inner arm with his fingers. She had drifted in and out of sleep for many days. Yawning, she moved to sit up. Wolfe automatically helped her. “I can hardly believe it. It’s not as painful as before.” Ginevra gave him a happy smile. She was still sore, but recovering quickly. “I must thank William for doing such a fine job.” “Yeah,” Wolfe said, “about that.” “Oh, nay,” Ginevra panicked. “I am still married to him, aren’t I? I completely forgot. What do we do?” “Well, before being interrupted, I was going to say that you will be annulling your marriage to him forthwith. William is waiting with the parchment.” Wolfe stood. Looking down at her, he smiled. “Are you up to seeing him right now?” Ginevra nodded. She reached up to smooth her hair. The flimsy material of her new nightgown fluttered delicately as she moved. Wolfe strode from the chamber. Ginevra rubbed her sleepy eyes. Moments later Wolfe was back. Ginevra smiled at William. “Ho, Will!” “Gin,” William stated. His brows furrowed in feigned outrage. “Wolfe tells me you are leaving me.” Ginevra looked in wide-eyed awe from one husband to the other. Innocently, she uttered, “He did? Well, he was mistaken. I plan on keeping both of you. I think two husbands must be better than one.” Wolfe growled playfully. He stalked around the bed and leaned into her. Pushing his face into hers, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t fret, Gin. I will keep you busy enough. You will feel as if there were forty of me.”

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“Forty,” Ginevra squeaked. “In that case, hand over the parchments, Will.” “Wait,” William protested. “Don’t I get to state my suit?” “Oh, you have something better to offer?” Ginevra leaned away from Wolfe. She grinned mischievously. William looked about in all seriousness. Then, struggling to maintain a straight face, he said with a laugh, “Naught that I can think of. But I am the handsomer of the two--and younger. When he is old and gray, I will still--” “Argh!” Wolfe grumbled. “Sign the parchment, Gin.” Pretending to study Wolfe, Ginevra kept her eyes on him, but turned her face to William. Thoughtfully, she said, “Yea. I think I see a gray hair sprouting already. And he is rather surly.” “If my hairs are gray, they are of your doing wife.” Wolfe scowled, though his eyes beamed at her merrily. “And it’s your delay that is making me surly.” “Oh, fine,” Ginevra huffed. “Sorry, Will. But you are a true find and well, this one...” She jerked a finger at Wolfe and shrugged hopelessly. Wolfe caught her hand and pulled it to his lips. Mumbling against her finger, he didn’t take his eyes from her chuckling face. “You have your answer, brother.” William strode forward and handed Ginevra the parchment. As she glanced over it, he produced an inked quill. Ginevra signed her name on the bottom. “Ah, just as I would have it,” Wolfe pronounced. “I don’t like having to share my things.” Ginevra gasped, but her words were lost as she gazed into his fiercely possessive eyes. Her heart fluttered delightedly in her chest and bubbled over with love. William took the document from her lap and quickly left the room. Without thought, she murmured, “I love you.” Ginevra swallowed, realizing what she had said. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from him. Wolfe’s eyebrow rose in surprise at the confession. A slow smile unfolded on his face as he leaned into her. “I--” Ginevra began to explain. She never got the words out. Wolfe’s lips claimed hers in a passionate kiss. When he had successfully stolen her breath, he leaned back. His piercing gaze cut into her with the tenderness of a feather. “Oh foolish woman, I know that. And I have never loved any but you.” Ginevra moaned, falling into his awaiting arms. With a grin, she pulled him with her as she fell back on the bed. Wolfe hesitated, glancing at her wound. Ginevra smiled, raising her brows in invitation to dismiss his concern. “Come, husband,” Ginevra whispered, her eyes shining with promise. “Shall we celebrate my divorce?” “Well, I did promise to keep you busy,” he laughed. And then he kissed her tender and deep, erasing all the past.

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Epilogue Wolfe spun his wife in his arms, flinging her into the air as he danced about the tower’s roof. Thomas watched his parents, clapping gleefully as Ginevra squealed in surprise. As she landed neatly on her feet, she grinned. “You are incorrigible, m’lord,” she teased. Wolfe studied her face. The wound in her side had healed, leaving behind a puckered scar he would often kiss. It was a reminder of how much he loved her and how much she was willing to sacrifice herself for him. Watching her emerald eyes dance with delight, Wolfe growled naughtily. She spun away from him and made her way to the side of the high tower’s roof. Looking over the distance, she sighed. The sun was beginning to set. “If it’s so, then I can’t change it. You will just have to put up with me.” Wolfe came to her. “I wouldn’t change a thing, Sir Knight.” Ginevra patted his face, tilting her head to receive his kiss. Grinning unabashedly, she murmured, “For faulted as you are, you are my knight and I’m blind to all your shortcomings.” “Yea, I only wish I could say the same. But I have found it near impossible to live with your one glaring flaw,” Wolfe frowned. He turned his back to her thoughtfully. Ginevra’s heart leapt in panic. “What did I do?” she asked in alarm. “What fault do you speak of?” Wolfe turned to study her. He seemed to weigh his words carefully. Finally, he said, “It’s a very grave offense.” “What?” “And it has been a great disappointment to me.” “What is it?!” “It’s simply that my wife does not dance with me, and I am such a skilled dancer.” Wolfe grinned. Ginevra gasped and stomped forward to hit his arm. Wolfe caught her hand easily and lifted it into the air. Pulling her tightly to this chest, he lifted her up into his embrace. Whispering into her ear, he hushed, “But, thankfully, it’s a fault I can soon remedy.” “I should like to be taught. Would you show me?” Wolfe nodded, happy to comply. Ginevra threw back her head and laughed as Wolfe swayed. He hummed a delightful tune as he moved. Her body pressed and rubbed seductively against his. “I don’t believe this is dancing,” she said through her happiness. Her emerald gaze sparkled and shone like a beacon to his soul. Thomas played happily in the background, oblivious to all but the love of his family. The sun sunk lower behind the earth. Wolfe swept his Sparkling Emerald away with him into the eternity of the starry sky. “Oh, but it should be, my love,” he whispered. “It should be.”

THE END

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To read more excerpts from Michelle M Pillow please visit her website www.michellepillow.com

COMING SOON FROM NCP! Lords of the Abyss: Mighty Hunter Accursed, interfering mortals! Caderyn struggled against the netting that trapped him. The humans didn’t know what they were doing and hunters shouldn’t hunt if they didn’t know what they were after. The scylla were dangerous creatures. They were spirits of the water, mindless, reckless, forever searching. The mortals would never catch a scylla with a mere net. Caderyn stiffened, he was close to the surface. He could feel the air burning his skin. If he breathed the surface air, he’d die a painful death. He cut at the net with the sharp fin along his forearm, but it was hard to work against the jerking pulls of the mortals above him. It took all his strength to stay underwater. Looking up, he saw a gray haired man with a sharp spear. The man was pointing it down at the water. Caderyn knew the weapon wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like the fire pits of Hel. Then his eyes focused on the woman next to the man with the spear. He only caught a glimpse of her face, the imaged distorted by the transition from water to air. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a wide blue-grey, just like a stormy sea in the middle of the day. ‘Don’t move. Solon goes to ram the ship so we may free you.’ Caderyn heard Iason’s words in his head. All the Merr could communicate by telepathy in the water. He obeyed the order and stopped struggling, trusting his fellow hunters. Looking through the dark water, he saw perfectly in the inky depths. The first wreck had caused most of the sea life to abandon the area. There were twelve hunters total, split up into four teams of three. Caderyn’s team, known simply as Solon’s Hunters, consisted of himself, Solon and Iason. Solon was the leader because he chose to carry the vial around his neck filled with the liquid that would paralyze the scylla so they could catch it. The liquid was the only way to stop the fearsome sea creature. Because of this, Solon had to have final say when it came to capturing the scylla. It was he who needed to get into position. The other teams were the Knights, the Soldiers and the Warriors. Caderyn had worked with his team for decades, so long that they had learned to trust each other and could almost predict each other’s moves. The boat above him rocked, just hard enough to toss the mortals aside and loosen the net. Iason came up from below, taking his fin to help rip through the netting to free him. ‘Hit a snag?’ Iason asked, nodding at Caderyn’s tail. Caderyn looked down in surprise. He was bleeding, but it wasn’t bad. ‘I see him,’ Solon interrupted. ‘He’s here!’ Caderyn watched a dark spot in the ocean drift by. It knocked the bottom of the ship, tearing into its hull. They’d been tracking the scylla for days. Solon swam by, his human arms stretching through the water as his tailfin thrust to the side to sharply change directions. He grabbed a vial from his neck, breaking the string it hung on.

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Caderyn and Iason quickly cornered the shadowy creature as Solon blew the contents of the vial over it. The scylla jerked up, straight into the ship. ‘By All the Gods,’ Solon cursed. ‘No!’ Caderyn watched the ship break apart and start to sink. They made out the cries of the mortals overhead. Even as he cursed the foolish humans for trying to capture him, he felt bad for them. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do about their fate. It was just like the first ship. Most of the mortals onboard would die this night. The scylla became subdued and quit moving. Solon grabbed him and dragged him down toward the ocean floor. The creature wouldn’t be moving for quite some time. Caderyn watched as mortal bodies fell from above, flailing in the water. ‘There,’ Iason said, dashing to a mortal woman with flaming red hair. He watched as his friend grabbed her. She struggled, beating against him, but Iason was too strong for her frail body. Caderyn saw him lock his lips to hers, pulling her into his embrace. Caderyn searched the mortals, gliding his arms back and forth to hover in the water. The men drifted past. He wished he could save them, help them, but all he could do was push them toward the surface and wish them luck. He pushed the ones he could reach in time. Then, seeing a female, he swam for her, dodging the bulk of the ship as it sunk past him. Her wide blue eyes struck him. It was her, the one he’d seen watching him. She was dying. Her body didn’t flop and her eyes stared lifelessly out at him from her pale skin. A string of bubbles left her parted lips. Strands of black hair brushed him like soft sea grass as he came close to her. Caderyn grabbed her body to his chest. She was as cold as the ocean. Instantly, he pressed his lips to hers, suctioning them around her mouth. He sucked the water from her lungs only to replace it with the air he filtered through his gills. She didn’t move, but he could feel her heart beating lightly against his chest as he pulled her close. His body heat would only sustain her for so long. The hunt had been a success. The scylla was captured and would roam the ocean no more. Swimming down into the depths of the abyss, he left the wreckage behind him. The further away he got, the more ocean life swam around him. The ferocious deep sea life didn’t bother him and Caderyn ignored them in turn. It was dark, but his Merr eyes cut through the blackness like daylight, his eyes glowing softly as he looked around. He sensed the ocean as if it was part of him. Gliding down, he weaved, dodging a baby squid. The woman’s breasts were soft against him, making a hot wave of desire flood his veins. It had been so long since he’d found release with something other than his hand or a pleasure nymph. He could do nothing about that now, but it didn’t help his concentration as he focused on breathing for her. Caderyn pushed himself to the limit, swishing his tail in hard, fast stokes. His body burned, each muscle tingling with the exertion. His gills fluttered against his neck, straining to give her more oxygen, to keep her alive just a moment longer. It wasn’t easy breathing for two, but he refused to give up on her, refused to let go. Too many had died on the way down--more than he’d like to count. He was tired of losing lives and so he willed this one woman to live. As he swam, the woman’s legs spread, slipping along his waist as they trailed behind him. Her arms did the same about his neck. It felt as if she held him. Caderyn gave the swim all he had, pushing down into the deepest depths of the Abyss, knowing he didn’t have long before she was dead.