Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress. Carol Townend
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‘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.’
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