EMERALD KNIGHT

By

Michelle M. Pillow

© 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.

Dedication:

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

To Amelia, a wonderful woman with a great heart.

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

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.

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

Prologue

Whetshire Fortress, Wessex, 1171 A.D.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolfe swung for his brother’s jaw, his fist glancing off Thomas’ cheek with a reverberating smack. William shouted in pleasure. Thomas fought back. He rolled Wolfe amidst flying fists that quickly found their mark. Wolfe 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 heard the snickering laughter of his two brothers behind him. His face turned into a disgusted scowl.

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

Chapter One

Southaven Castle, Southern Wessex, 1179 A.D.

Ginevra 8 years of age, Wolfe 16 years of age

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginevra gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

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

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

“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.

“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 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!”

“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.”

“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 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 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 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 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.