Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress
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‘I am very well, my lord.’
‘That is good to hear. Did you find the success you were after?’
‘My lord?’
‘Your ambitions as a chanteuse.’
The colour went from her cheeks. ‘I...I haven’t done as much singing as I thought I would.’
‘Oh?’ Gawain watched her whilst he waited for her answer. It struck him that they were addressing one another as though they’d only just met. A potter hurried past leading a donkey laden with pots. The man would never suspect that they’d been lovers. Elise hadn’t answered and Gawain leaned in. The scent of her—a heady combination of musk and ambergris and warm woman—hit him like a blow to his stomach. He almost groaned out loud. Elise. She had been the perfect bedmate.
‘You left without warning,’ Gawain heard himself say. The words were out before he could stop them.
Dark eyes watched him. Large and unfathomable. She’d never been an easy woman to read. Except when they were in bed. She’d been a rare joy in bed. And not only that—she’d had enough experience to know which herbs to take to stop her conceiving. Yes, a rare joy indeed. But this woman staring up at him was unfathomable. ‘I had to leave.’ Slender shoulders lifted. ‘My time in Champagne was over.’
‘Because you’d found everything you needed to know about your sister?’
‘Yes, my lord. Once it was clear that Morwenna’s death had been an accident, I had no reason to stay.’ She smiled. ‘I had to get back to my singing. And my friends expected me to return. My life is with them.’
‘So you had no reason to stay.’
Those unfathomable eyes didn’t as much as blink. ‘Sir—my lord—what are you saying?’
Gawain took Elise’s slender wrist and tugged her off the street and under the eaves of one of the houses. A peculiar tightness was centred in his chest. He couldn’t account for it, although he suspected it had something to do with Elise.
‘There was nothing lasting between us,’ he muttered.
‘Gawain, why are you looking at me like that?’
‘God forgive me,’ he said, pulling her close. One arm slid round her waist and the moment her body was aligned with his, Gawain’s tension eased. Better. He caught her by the chin and tilted her face up—her mouth lay a mere inch away. He breathed in the subtle fragrance of musk and ambergris. Better still. Did she taste the same as she had done last winter? She’d been sweet as honey. His eyes fixed on her lips.
‘Gawain?’
His mouth met hers in a whisper of a kiss. There’d been nothing between them, yet he hadn’t wanted her to leave. And until this moment he hadn’t realised how strongly he’d missed her. How much he’d enjoyed his time with her.
‘Elise,’ Gawain muttered, as he came up briefly for air. She tasted just as sweet. Enchanting. And then he was kissing her again. Hungrily. Eagerly. She was more of an armful—more womanly—than she had been last winter. He liked the difference. A thrill shot through him as their tongues touched. It felt as it had always felt with Elise, that she had been made for him.
He slid his hand down the curve of her buttock and lifted his head with some reluctance. ‘Mon Dieu, Elise. I know we made no vows to each other, but you didn’t even say goodbye. I worried about you.’
She was breathless and it was pleasing to see the roses back in her cheeks. She wasn’t unmoved. He hadn’t liked to think that she’d found it easy to walk away without as much as a backward glance.
‘I...I am sorry, my lord.’ She eased back, fingering her mouth, which was flushed from his kiss. ‘Was...was that a farewell kiss?’
As Gawain released her, he noted with surprise that it went very much against the grain to do so. Lord, this woman was a trial to him. She had been from the beginning. A quiet shy woman who had him in knots without even trying. He would have liked to continue kissing her, but of course he shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. It hadn’t helped. It had made him long for more, which was impossible. He must think about his future. He was going to marry Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. However, it was hard to think about Lady Rowena, whom he had never met, when Elise was looking up at him with that dark, hard-to-read look in her eyes. She fascinated him.
He leaned his hip against the corner of the house. ‘You may call it a farewell kiss if you wish. Elise, I came to find you because I need to know you are well. That woman you live with—’
‘Vivienne. She’s a good friend.’
‘You’ve known her for long? Is she a chanteuse?’
‘I’ve known Vivienne long enough and, no, she’s not a chanteuse.’
‘What of her husband, then? Is he a good man?’
‘Vivienne isn’t married.’
Gawain’s gut tightened. ‘You’re not telling me that you and Vivienne are living unprotected in a tent in Strangers’ City?’
‘Of course not. André lives with us.’
‘Who the devil is André?’
‘Vivienne’s lover.’
‘The father of the twins?’
‘Twins?’ For a moment her face was quite blank. Then she gave a bright smile. ‘Oh, yes. The twins.’
‘Is André a good man?’ Gawain asked. Was it his imagination or was her smile a shade too bright? And why was she avoiding his gaze? ‘Tell me about him.’
Her face softened. ‘I am very fond of him.’
‘He’s a singer?’
‘André plays the lute. We perform together.’
Gawain swallowed a sigh. Her answers were very brief. She was being evasive, and what she had said about her living arrangements wasn’t reassuring.
Had her ambitions as a singer led her into bad company? Vivienne had seemed nice enough, but he would have to meet this André before he’d feel happy about Elise sharing the man’s tent with his woman and children. And even if André was perfectly honest, was he capable of defending Elise in a crisis? Gawain didn’t number any lute-players among his friends. In the event of a robbery or worse, was André strong enough to protect her? And even if he was, he had his woman and children to look out for. Could he look after Elise too? If Gawain met the man he could judge for himself. Clearly, Elise had the will to pursue her ambitions as a singer, but she needed someone strong at her side.
‘So you’re happy in your life as a singer?’
‘Singing is very fulfilling.’
‘I am glad you find it so.’ He pushed away from the corner of the house. ‘You are on your way back to the camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘Allow me to accompany you.’ With luck, by the time they got back to the pavilion, André the lute-player would have returned. You could tell a lot from a man by looking him in the eye.
She backed hastily away. ‘My lord, I can manage without your escort.’
Elise was looking at him in complete horror. How could this be? When he’d kissed her just now, her tongue had touched his. ‘Elise, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong, my lord. I can find my way back to the pavilion without your assistance.’
Gawain’s heart sank. She was trying to get rid of him. Why? What was she hiding?
At a recent visit to the Black Boar, Gawain’s friend Raphael, Captain of the Guardian Knights, had mentioned being concerned that counterfeiters had come to Troyes. Raphael seemed convinced they were hiding out in Strangers’ City. Gawain couldn’t believe Elise would have connections with counterfeiters, but it was possible. She was acting very oddly and he intended to find out why. ‘Elise, I’m coming with you.’
Chapter Two
Elise’s mind seemed to freeze as they walked towards the castle gatehouse to meet Gawain’s squire. Gawain couldn’t come back to the pavilion! She had no idea what Vivienne had said to him, but thankfully she didn’t appear to have given the game away. Gawain had mentioned twins—he must have seen both babies and assumed that they were Vivienne’s.
He had no idea that he had fathered a child. As far as Elise was concerned that was all to the good. What would be gained by telling him?
He was talking as they walked along. She struggled to pay attention.
‘So, Elise, you have done some performing since we last met?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ It was true, Elise had sung. A little. She had sung until she could no longer squeeze into Blanchefleur le Fay’s gowns and had been forced into retreat at Fontevraud Abbey.
‘Where did you sing—at Poitiers?’
Elise gave the innocuous answers Gawain seemed to want. When they reached the castle, she was feeling decidedly panicky. What if he found out about Pearl? How would he react?
Gawain’s squire was waiting by the gatehouse.
‘My thanks, Aubin,’ Gawain said, taking the reins and swinging easily into the saddle. He offered her his hand.
Elise stepped back. ‘My lord? You expect me to ride with you?’
Gawain lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’ve already had me walking far more than I ought to have done. I’m a count, I’m expected to ride everywhere. What will it do to my reputation if you have me walking all the way to Strangers’ City?’
Since when had Gawain cared what people thought of him? In any case, Strangers’ City wasn’t far. He was teasing, wasn’t he? A pang shot through her. One never quite knew with Gawain, but they used to tease each other a lot. She’d missed it. She put a hand on her hip. ‘And what about my reputation, my lord?’ The great horse’s nickname came back to her. ‘What do you suppose it will do to my reputation if I arrive at the pavilion on the back of The Beast?’
He grinned. ‘Not on The Beast’s back, sweet. I’ll have you before me.’
Before Elise had time to blink, Gawain was leaning out of the saddle at a crazy angle, taking hold of her around her ribcage. She heard herself squeak as her body thumped against the horse’s shoulder. It wasn’t seemly being pulled on to a destrier. Such a thing would never happen to Blanchefleur le Fay. No one would dream of treating her in such a way.
‘You make it harder on yourself if you struggle,’ he said, lips twitching. ‘Give in, Elise.’
Something tugged on her veil, her skirts fluttered about her knees, her free arm tangled in the destrier’s reins before she found purchase, and then—another ungainly thump—somehow she was sitting sideways in front of him, gasping for breath.
Dark eyes looked down at her. His lips curved.
‘Put me down, my lord, everyone is staring. This is most unseemly.’ Face hot, she pushed at her skirts.
His arm tightened about her waist. ‘You needn’t fear. I won’t drop you.’
‘I am not comfortable, and I am sure your horse is not. I am practically sitting on his neck!’
‘The Beast has carried worse burdens.’
‘My lord, please put me down. If you must accompany me back to the pavilion, I am perfectly capable of walking beside you.’
His thumb shifted against her ribs in an ambiguous movement that might or might not have been a caress. ‘Later.’
Spurs jangled as he kicked his destrier’s flanks and they lurched into motion.
Blessed Mother, Elise prayed. Don’t let him discover that he is Pearl’s father.
‘Relax,’ Gawain murmured, as they rode through the Preize Gate.
There were smiles and raised eyebrows from the guards as they went under the arch, but to Elise’s amazement no ribald remarks. At least none that she heard. The guards were probably too clever to risk saying anything disrespectful before the Count of Meaux. Elise glanced up at him through her eyelashes and wondered what the men would say once they’d ridden out of earshot.
The horse walked on. Elise put an arm about Gawain’s waist and clung to his belt. He brushed back her veil.
‘Wretch,’ she muttered. However, she was grateful the horse was walking. It would be even more embarrassing if she had to try to stay on when he was trotting. Gawain’s arm was firm about her body. Secure. She was grateful for that too. His arm felt strong. Last year, she’d taken comfort in his strength. How could she have forgotten?
With a start, she realised that she was enjoying being in Gawain’s arms; she was enjoying being able to look up at him like this. Which wasn’t good because being close to him was distracting her from planning what to say when they reached the pavilion. She kept her gaze fixed rigidly on the forest of tents in the distance.
His thumb moved again. It was a caress, she was sure of it. A caress.
His white linen tunic had an open neck. His skin was bronzed, his chest broad. The temptation to rest her head against that chest was overwhelming.
She frowned.
‘Elise?’
‘This is a bad idea. A very bad idea.’
He studied her. ‘If you dislike it that much, you may walk alongside.’
Her fingers curled round his belt. She shrugged and gave a tragic sigh. ‘It’s too late. My lord, we are almost at the camp. My reputation is already in tatters.’
* * *
There was a little awkwardness when they first arrived back at the pavilion.
The babies were asleep under the awning and Vivienne was fanning them. She looked up when she heard the hoofbeats and slowly came to her feet.
‘It’s all right, Vivienne,’ Elise said, as Gawain helped her down. ‘You have already met Lord Gawain, I believe.’
Vivienne nodded.
Gawain walked over to the babies and stared down at them. ‘Twins,’ he murmured, lifting an eyebrow. ‘I expect they will be something of a handful.’
Vivienne looked helplessly at Elise. It was clear she didn’t know what to say.
Elise’s heart was in her mouth. She really couldn’t cope with Gawain discovering that Pearl was his daughter. It was far too complicated. She had to get him away from the babies before she or Vivienne said something that would give the game away. And she had to do it quickly. Acting on instinct, she took his hand and pulled him into the tent.
Gawain was so tall that his fair hair grazed the canvas. He looked about with interest, gaze running over the three bedrolls, the babies’ cots, the travelling chests. ‘So this is how you live.’ He smiled. She didn’t think he had noticed, but he still had hold of her hand. ‘There’s not much room.’
‘That’s true.’
‘What’s it like in winter?’
‘When it freezes, we often take lodgings.’
Just then Vivienne coughed and stuck her head through the flap. ‘My apologies for the interruption. This will only take a moment and then I shall leave you in peace.’ With a grimace, Vivienne gestured at one of the travelling chests. ‘It’s urgent. Bruno needs fresh linens.’
Vivienne went to her chest, flung back the lid and burrowed inside. She threw a number of other things on to her bedroll, grabbed an armful of linens and went back to the entrance. As she lifted the door flap the pavilion brightened. ‘Thank you, I’ll leave you in peace.’
Elise watched her go, biting her lip. She was racking her brains for something to say—anything that would distract him from thinking about the babies.
Absently, Gawain rubbed the back of Elise’s knuckles as the flicker of disquiet he’d felt earlier hardened into a quiet certainty. Elise was uneasy about something, and it wasn’t just that she’d not expected to see him in Troyes. Was it the counterfeiters his friend Raphael had mentioned? He couldn’t think what else it might be.
‘When will André be back?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea. We shall have to ask Vivienne. Sometimes he—’ Elise broke off, frowning.
Gawain followed her gaze and then he was frowning too. A sword lay on the bed, half-obscured by gowns and baby linens. A sword? Vivienne must have unearthed it from the bowels of her trunk and in her haste she hadn’t put it away.
‘Whatever’s that doing here?’ Elise freed her hand and picked it up.
The sword had a leather scabbard that was black with age. It made a scraping sound as she drew it. The sword looked old. Antique. The blade was dull, but a large red stone flashed in the pommel of the hilt.
‘It’s very heavy,’ she added, looking at him. ‘Heavier than yours.’
Gawain’s stomach tightened. After the All Hallows Tournament she had expressed an interest in his arms and he remembered explaining how damascened swords were forged. It shouldn’t please him that she remembered too, but it did. Sad to say, the pleasure of that memory was pushed aside by his growing disquiet. What the devil was this sword doing in Elise’s pavilion?
There was a slight scrape as she pushed it back into its scabbard. With a shrug, she dropped it back on to the bedroll. ‘André told me he’d met up with a troupe of players,’ she said. ‘Old friends, apparently. They must have left it behind.’
Mind working, Gawain grunted. He was trying to remember exactly what Raphael had told him in the Black Boar. A man had been arrested for attempting to trade a fake relic. No, not a relic, a crown. Raphael had also mentioned rumours of someone making a replica of Excalibur. They were thought to be attempting to pass it off as having once belonged to the legendary King Arthur. The idea had seemed so unlikely, Gawain had hardly heard him.
Could this be that sword?
If someone was about to fool some idiot into parting with good money for a counterfeit sword, Raphael would have to be told. Gawain couldn’t keep something like this from the Captain of the Guardian Knights, not when he knew Count Henry had asked the Guardians to watch out for suspicious goings-on in Strangers’ City.
‘I’d like to look at that,’ he said, holding out his hand.
With a shrug, Elise retrieved it and passed it over.
Gawain’s brows shot up as he drew the sword and tested the weight for himself. ‘You’re right, it is heavy. Clumsy.’ He ran his thumb along the edge—it was startlingly keen. ‘It has a surprisingly good edge.’
Brown eyes found his. ‘Gawain, what’s bothering you?’
He continued examining the sword. Trying the weight, shifting back to give it a swing. He looked at the pommel. Lord, that yellow metal looked very like gold. And the stone...
‘It’s a garnet,’ he said. He could hear the surprise in his voice. ‘A genuine garnet.’
A crease formed on her brow. ‘It’s not real, Gawain. It can’t be.’
‘It belongs to some players, you say?’
‘André said he saw the players shortly after we arrived in Troyes. I can’t think where else it might have come from.’
Gawain stared at the garnet in the pommel with a heavy heart. The more he looked at the sword, the more uneasy he became. He couldn’t keep this to himself. It might well belong to a troupe of players, but Raphael would have to be told about it. He didn’t want to believe that Elise was involved with counterfeiters, but it was beginning to look as though her friends might be. ‘This sword doesn’t feel right,’ he said. ‘The balance is skewed and the blade is a horror, but because of the hilt and the gem it’s worth a fair bit.’
Her eyes widened. ‘It can’t be! It’s a stage sword—just a prop.’
He gave her a direct look. ‘A man might kill for the garnet alone. And if the hilt is gold...’ Gawain let the silence stretch out, well aware that what he was about to do would damn him in her eyes. Which was a pity. He liked Elise and he wanted her to think well of him when they parted. He shoved the sword back into the scabbard with a snap. ‘Ask Vivienne to step inside, would you? I need to speak to her.’
Elise blinked. Gawain’s voice had changed. It was clipped and curt. Military. Thankfully he was distracted from Pearl, but he looked so serious. ‘Gawain, what’s the matter?’
‘I need to speak to Vivienne.’
Elise searched his face. It was closed. Unreceptive. ‘Vivienne, would you come in for a moment?’
Vivienne came in with the babies. Pearl was whimpering so Elise took her and draped her over her shoulder. Gawain looked so stern that despite the heat of the day, a chill ran through her.
Vivienne glanced at the sword in Gawain’s hand. She bobbed into a curtsy, deposited Bruno into his cot and stepped forward with her hand out. ‘I’ll put that away, shall I, my lord?’
Slowly Gawain shook his head. ‘I’ll hang on to it, thank you,’ he said, voice like ice.
‘But, my lord—’
Elise rubbed Pearl’s back.
Gawain took a deep breath. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Vivienne. ‘I’d like you to tell me what a sword like this is doing in your belongings. A sword the hilt of which is, if I am not mistaken, pure gold.’ An eyebrow lifted as he touched the garnet. ‘And this gemstone is genuine. The setting is really very good.’
Vivienne’s mouth worked. ‘I don’t know much about it, mon seigneur. It belongs to a friend of André’s. I think he wants to sell it.’
‘And the name of this friend, if you please?’
Vivienne stood there, opening and shutting her mouth. Elise put her hand on Gawain’s sleeve. ‘Gawain, there’s no need to bark at Vivienne. You’re frightening her.’
He looked at her, eyes stony. ‘I’m merely asking questions.’
‘You’re frightening her.’
‘If she has done nothing wrong, she has nothing to fear.’ He turned back to Vivienne. ‘The name of your friend, madame?’
‘I...I’ve forgotten.’
‘How convenient. Do you think André might know?’
Vivienne made a little moaning noise. Or it could have been Bruno, Elise wasn’t sure. Bruno was definitely stirring. A little fist was moving about in his cot.
Gawain’s frown scored heavy lines in his brow. ‘What does André call himself when he’s performing?’
‘André de Poitiers.’
‘Do you think he will recall the name of the friend to whom this belongs?’
‘Most likely, my lord.’ Bruno started to wail. Vivienne looked distractedly at him.
‘Please continue, madame.’
Vivienne made a helpless gesture. ‘Mon seigneur, n-no one here is bearing arms, so I don’t think we’ve broken any laws. I think André’s friend is hoping to sell the sword.’
Gawain stared at her. ‘You are selling this sword for him?’
‘No, my lord. André’s friend is going to sell it. André is simply keeping it for a time. He put it in my coffer. To be honest, I forgot it was there.’
Gawain made a sound of exasperation. Elise’s stomach was churning. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but it was clear Gawain suspected either Vivienne or André of some sort of wrongdoing.
‘Lord Gawain?’ Vivienne stepped forward, eyes anxious. ‘We haven’t done anything against the law, have we? All we are doing is holding a sword for someone who is going to sell it.’
‘Vivienne, this sword is extremely valuable.’
‘My lord, if it’s valuable, then André’s friend will get a good price for it.’ Vivienne looked questioningly at Gawain. ‘Where’s the harm in that?’
Vivienne looked so confused that Elise felt herself relax. Whatever the reasons for the sword being in her coffer, Vivienne was clearly innocent of any wrongdoing. Gawain would surely see this.
‘There is no harm,’ Gawain went on, voice stern, ‘provided the buyer is not misled as to the sword’s true provenance.’
‘My lord?’
‘Someone might be tempted to pay more for a sword if they had been led to believe—for example—that it once belonged to King Arthur.’
‘The legendary Excalibur,’ Elise murmured, staring at the golden hilt. The garnet flashed blood-red, like the eye of a dragon. ‘Those tales are just stories. They’re not real.’
‘My point exactly.’
Bruno let out a full-throated wail and Vivienne picked him up. Rocking him from side to side, she looked at Gawain with large, innocent eyes. ‘My lord, I know nothing about any legendary sword.’
Gawain looked at her. The silence was broken by a wasp buzzing in and then out of the tent.
‘Truly, my lord, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Elise found she was holding her breath. Gawain’s expression was so serious, she hardly recognised him. And when his brown eyes fixed on her, she actually shivered.
‘When’s the lute-player coming back?’
‘André? I’ve no idea.’
Vivienne shifted. ‘He’ll be back at suppertime, mon seigneur.’
‘Not before then?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Very well.’ Gawain towered over Vivienne. ‘Is my squire still outside?’