Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress

His gaze fell to the sword on the bedroll and he straightened his shoulders. Torn he might be, but one duty was plain. ‘Elise, you have my word I shall not separate you from Pearl. Equally, I cannot ignore the finding of this sword. Sir Raphael must be told about it. In the meantime I want you and our daughter safely away from here. If you won’t think of yourself, think of Pearl. Is she safe here?’

‘Until now I’ve never had reason to believe otherwise,’ Elise said, frowning at the sword. ‘Gawain, I cannot believe Vivienne is guilty of wrongdoing.’

He leaned in and the scent of ambergris tugged at his senses. ‘Can you say the same of André?’ She hesitated and he made an impatient sound. ‘I thought not.’

‘Gawain, André is very young. There’s no malice in him and I find it hard to believe he’s broken the law, but—’

‘You could not swear to it.’

She remained silent, biting her lip.

‘Elise, I have to inform Sir Raphael.’

‘I know.’ Dark eyes held his. ‘I just wish...’

‘What?’

‘Couldn’t you speak to André before you speak to Sir Raphael? Please, Gawain.’

* * *

What it was to be a man of influence, Elise thought. An hour had passed with a flurry of messages winging back and forth between her pavilion and the garrison. Poor Aubin must be worn out with all the toing and froing. But the upshot of the messages was that Gawain had apparently secured lodgings for Vivienne and the babies—not in his nearby manor, but in a house in the Rue du Cloître.

It seemed there would be space there for Elise too. Since Gawain had explained that he was betrothed, his reluctance to have her lodging in his manor was entirely understandable. However, knowing why he refused to entertain her there hadn’t made Elise feel any better. She felt sick to her core, but it was obvious that ensconcing his former lover and his love child in the family manor would not endear him to his future wife.

Elise wondered whether she would be able to stand living in town—she was bound to feel confined. However, stand it she must if she and Pearl were to stay together.

Thus it was that Gawain and Elise returned to Troyes, to the Rue du Cloître.

Mouth dry, Elise found herself standing in the street gazing at a small house. It was the only stone-built house in the street. A Romanesque arch was filled with a heavy wooden door. Rather ominously, it was studded and banded with iron.

A large key was produced and they went in. Despite the afternoon heat—the town was sweltering—it was cool inside. Cool and dark. Gawain flung back a shutter and hinges groaned. A spider scuttled across the floor and on to the hearth. It vanished into a crack in the plaster. There were bars on the windows. Elise took a shaky breath. There was also dust on the floor, enough for her to draw a circle in it with her foot. Her nose wrinkled. ‘What is this place?’

‘It’s been empty for some time. I believe Count Henry uses it as a storeroom from time to time.’

She eyed the bars. ‘Are you sure it isn’t a prison?’

‘Quite sure.’ Gawain dragged his hand through his hair. ‘Elise, we were lucky it was free. The town is bursting at the seams because of the fair.’

‘I know. Thank you for securing it for us. I really didn’t want to be kept from Pearl.’ She made her voice bright. ‘And it’s not very dirty—nothing a broom and a few pails of water won’t fix.’

A narrow stairway led to an upper chamber. The window there—it was also barred—looked out over the Rue du Cloître. Elise could see the top of the cathedral over the roofs of the houses. She would be able to hear the cathedral bells mark out the hours. She sighed. There would be rules here in Troyes, and they would be almost as stringent as the Rule at the convent. She thought she had escaped all that. She thought wistfully of the freedoms of Strangers’ City. ‘I wish you’d let us stay in the pavilion.’

‘You’ll be safer here.’

Elise nodded. What Gawain wasn’t saying was that the Guardian Knights could keep more of an eye on them here. It was close to the garrison. And however much he denied it, the barred windows put her in mind of a prison rather than a storeroom. At least there was plenty of room. Their pallets and the babies’ cribs would easily fit in. The upper chamber even had a fireplace.

‘Not that we will need a fire upstairs at this time of year,’ she said, thinking aloud as they made their way back downstairs.

‘It’s acceptable?’

‘Thank you, yes.’ Understanding that he was doing his best for them, she forced a smile. ‘Given you insist on tearing us away from the encampment, I really am grateful not to be separated from Pearl.’

He was looking at her mouth and her heart stuttered. It hadn’t been easy for her seeing him again—telling him about Pearl; fighting not to be separated from her. But it wasn’t easy for him either. Gawain’s expression was tense—there was a tightness about his lips that she’d never seen before. She was responsible for it. Seeing her again, learning about Pearl just as he was about to meet Lady Rowena. I hope that woman appreciates her good fortune.

‘My lord, I am truly sorry to put you to all this trouble.’

‘It is no trouble,’ he said, turning for the great oak door. ‘My sergeant will see the house is swept out, and then Aubin and the men can shift your belongings over here. It shouldn’t take long to settle in.’

* * *

The sky was streaked with crimson and gold, the light was going. Swifts were screeching through the air over the tents and pavilions of Strangers’ City. Pennons hung limp, as though they too were wilting in the heat.

Gawain glanced at Aubin. Their horses were stabled back at the garrison and he and his squire were sitting on cross-framed canvas stools outside the ale tent. They were trying to look as though they belonged there, so their tunics bore no insignia. Gawain had ordered Aubin to wear a short sword.

Gawain kept his gaze trained on the purple pavilion. No one had gone near it. André de Poitiers had yet to return.

‘He’s late,’ Gawain murmured. Aubin nodded, but said nothing. Gawain had told the boy not to address him by his title and he suspected he was afraid to open his mouth.

The swifts hurled themselves through the sunset. Campfires flickered into life, the glow of the fires warring with the violet twilight.

Once again, Gawain glanced towards Elise’s pavilion. He swore under his breath.

Aubin looked at him.

‘No fire,’ Gawain muttered. ‘With Elise and Vivienne in the Rue du Cloître, their fire isn’t lit. If the lute-player notices, he might become suspicious. Especially if he has something to hide.’

For the women’s sake, Gawain hoped his fears regarding André de Poitiers were unfounded. Sadly, his instincts were telling him otherwise—André de Poitiers was up to his neck in trouble. Captain Raphael had come to the same conclusion and consequently the Guardian Knights were out in force. Every half an hour or so, the chink of harness and the plod of hoofs alerted Gawain—and everyone within earshot—that they were on patrol.

‘They’re far too conspicuous.’ Gawain grimaced. ‘I’m convinced a more covert approach is called for.’

He was sipping his ale—watery as it was, it was welcome in the heat—when Aubin dug him in the ribs. ‘Over there.’ His squire spoke quietly. ‘At the end of the line.’

Between the lines of tents, a woman was striding through the dusk. As she passed a fire, the glow silhouetted her shape—her gut-wrenchingly pretty and familiar shape. Elise!

Gawain gripped his ale pot. ‘What the blazes is she doing here?’ She should be making herself at home in the Rue du Cloître. ‘Blast the woman.’

Elise paused by the ropes of a makeshift paddock that was full of mules and donkeys. Gesturing for a groom, she slipped something into his hand. Gawain felt himself tense. What was that all about? Vivienne had mentioned travelling in a cart. If they had a cart, they probably kept a mule. His tension eased. Likely Elise was ensuring the animal was cared for in her absence.

He saw her pat the boy on the shoulder and tracked her progress as she made her way to the purple pavilion, now almost lost in the gathering dark. He was on the point of rising when the shadow that was Elise bent to pick something up. She went to the nearest campfire, where another woman was crouched over a cooking pot. Then she was back at the pavilion, a light in hand.

The cooking fire. She was lighting the fire so André would assume everything was as it should be. Gawain couldn’t fault her for that. None the less, her presence in the camp disturbed him. Undoubtedly she’d come back to keep an eye on André. She would never admit it, but she must suspect him of wrongdoing.

A patrol went by. Gawain studiously avoided looking at the lead rider as they passed the ale tent, but he did note that they rode by the purple pavilion without giving it more than a cursory glance. Thank the Lord, Captain Raphael had some sense.

The patrol moved on. Elise went into the pavilion as a group of drunks stumbled up to the ale tent. To judge by their gait, they had already emptied several barrels in town. They staggered to a bench, clamouring for wine and ale. One man lurched half-heartedly at the serving girl. She evaded him neatly and a roar of laughter went up.

Gawain watched the drunks, a crease in his brow. Did Elise find herself fending off men like these on a regular basis? The thought wasn’t pleasant. And neither was it any of his business. He was here to make sure that the lute-player hadn’t involved her in anything underhand. He would find a way to help her and then he must leave her to her own devices. He would shortly be a married man. The thought left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with ale and everything to do with Elise. She had made him a father. Gawain stared abstractedly at the glow outside the purple pavilion. A father owed a duty of care to his children, and whilst Pearl had come unexpectedly into his life he couldn’t simply forget her. Yet what could he do? How could he fulfil his duties to Pearl when he’d sworn to marry Lady Rowena and finally heal the family rift?

Chapter Four

Elise sat on her pallet inside the pavilion with her chin on her hand and stared through the entrance towards the ale tent opposite. Gawain was out there. His hair gleamed like gold in the sunset—he’d been impossible to miss. He had his squire with him. No doubt they thought to leap on André the moment he appeared.

The crimson streaks slowly faded from the western sky and the bats took flight—dark flecks flitting silently overhead.

Every now and then Elise slipped out to feed the fire. She tried not to look too obviously towards the ale tent, but she knew Gawain and Aubin hadn’t moved. Each time she returned to her pallet in the pavilion, it was harder keeping her gaze from straying their way. On one foray outside she lit a lamp and brought it back inside with her.

As she shifted on the pallet, another patrol clopped by. There was no André. Above the background murmur of the camp a man laughed. It was a deep, full-throated sound that in Elise’s nervous state sounded impossibly happy. Impossibly carefree. Where was André? With every breath she took, her tension increased. Where was he? Why hadn’t he returned?

Something thudded against the back wall of the tent. She stiffened and went cold.

There was a ripping sound. A silver crescent—a knife—was slicing its way through the canvas. Light from the lamp reflected on the blade. Holding her breath, Elise watched as another slash was made. The silver crescent vanished. A hand appeared. A foot.

Heart sinking, she froze. It might not be André. Unfortunately, she feared it was. She felt oddly detached. It was as though she was an observer and she was watching her own reactions. It must be because she wasn’t truly afraid.

‘André?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’ She heard scuffling. A grunt.

André’s head poked through the opening. ‘You’re alone?’

Nodding, Elise reached behind her to close the tent flap. The shadows edged in on them. ‘What are you doing? André, where have you been?’

André pushed into the tent. He wasn’t carrying his lute and his breath smelt of wine.

‘Where’s Vivienne?’

‘She’s safe. Staying in the town.’

‘What?’ Swearing under his breath, André turned to where Vivienne’s coffer had been and drew up sharply. ‘Where is it?’

Elise watched him cast about for the sword, a cold lump in her belly. ‘The sword—if that’s what you’re looking for—is in the castle garrison.’

‘Hell, what happened? What have you done?’

‘That’s the question I should be asking of you. What have you done?’

‘Why has the sword gone?’

Elise stared at him, mind working. It was impossible to forget that Gawain and Aubin were sitting on those canvas stools outside the ale tent. They were bound to have seen her and Gawain could take it in his head to come over and check on her at any time. She was pulled two ways. She hated the idea of doing something that might alienate Pearl’s father. On the other hand, what would happen to André if he was taken into custody?

Whatever André had done, at heart he was a good person. Elise would never forget the countless evenings André had sat with her, patiently giving her the confidence to use her full voice; patiently playing for her, over and over until it was impossible for her to hit the wrong note. Blanchefleur le Fay owed her existence to André. Gawain didn’t know him as she did. Gawain didn’t realise that to put someone like André under lock and key...

It would destroy him. She couldn’t let that happen. André had become a father and Elise could see that he found his new responsibilities daunting. To be arrested would be the last straw, and it certainly wouldn’t help Vivienne and Bruno, who depended on him.

André’s eyes glittered. ‘I’ve not hurt anyone.’

‘No? What were you going to do with that sword? And why cut open the side of our pavilion? So underhand.’ André must have a guilty conscience; why else would he damage their tent?

André looked at her. ‘I was tipped off that the Guardian Knights had been showing an interest in the pavilion. I thought I’d better be careful.’

‘You were going to sell that sword for more than it is worth.’

‘I’m not selling it. Someone else is going to do that.’

‘Saints, André, it makes little difference who actually does the selling. If you are involved and that sword is passed off as—’

‘Elise, how do you think we’ve been living all these months? How do you suppose we are going to live in the winter when pickings are slim?’

Wine fumes hung about him. He was swaying slightly.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘How clever of you to notice.’ Wearily, he scrubbed his face. The shadows made his face grey. He looked twice his age. ‘Lord, Elise, I’ve had all I can take. I’ve made mistakes, I admit it. I didn’t want to get involved. But last winter when you left, I worried. I worried about Vivienne. About what might happen if you never returned.’ His mouth twisted. ‘My earnings have always been better when Blanchefleur le Fay is with me. And then you came back.’

‘I told you I would.’

‘Aye, but you were sick all the time, you couldn’t perform. And then you got large, you couldn’t perform.’ Again he scrubbed his face. ‘I worried. I still do.’

A clunk outside had his head turning sharply. ‘You say Vivienne is in town?’

‘In the Rue du Cloître.’

His brow creased. ‘Why?’

‘Lord Gawain. He–’

‘Lord Gawain’s in Troyes and you brought him here?’ André looked appalled. ‘So it’s your fault the Guardians have the sword. Why bring him here? In heaven’s name, why?’

‘I had no idea he was in town. He’s shortly to be married and he returned to meet his betrothed. André, we ran into each other by accident. He insisted on bringing me back here.’

André looked at her, shaking his head. ‘It was he who took the sword?’

‘Yes. André, I’m sorry it happened, truly.’

‘What the hell am I going to do? I’m supposed to pass it on.’

Elise hesitated. She had no clear idea what André was mixed up in, but she was wondering whether to suggest he made a clean breast of it with Gawain. Gawain might be able to help him. The Count of Meaux would have influence. However, André was still swaying slightly and she wasn’t sure he could be reasoned with until he had sobered up. ‘Gawain might speak for you.’

Impatiently, he shook his head. ‘Not likely. Vivienne is in the Rue du Cloître, you say? Where, exactly?’

‘Look for the stone-built house. You can’t miss it. There’s only one. I’m told that Count Henry uses it as a storeroom.’

‘The babies are with her?’

Elise nodded.

‘Tell her...tell her I love her. And that I’ll be back.’ André’s expression was tortured. ‘I’ve done wrong, Elise, and I’m sorry that you and Vivienne have been dragged into it. I shall put things right and then I’ll be back.’

He reached for the slash in the canvas and looked at her, eyes luminous in the lamplight. His mouth tightened. ‘By the way, this could mean that Blanchefleur le Fay will have to find another lute-player to accompany her when she sings at the palace.’ Glancing at the entrance, he grimaced. ‘Someone’s coming.’

With that, André slipped through the rip in the canvas and was gone.

Elise stared frantically at the pavilion entrance, pulse racing. Was Gawain out there? With luck, André would be out of Gawain’s line of sight, running down the back of the tents. She wasn’t confident that the Guardian Knights—or Gawain for that matter—would give him the benefit of the doubt.

A distraction was needed. Noise, plenty of noise. Well, that was no problem for Blanchefleur. Elise took a deep breath and began to scream. She really put her heart in it.

* * *

The scream turned Gawain’s blood to ice.

‘Aubin, with me.’ Snatching out his sword, he sprinted to the pavilion. Lord, what a voice, it cut like a knife.

Elise was holding on to the central tent post, staring at a gaping hole in the back of the canvas. The instant Gawain stepped inside, the screaming stopped. Dark eyes looked at him.

‘You’re hurt?’ Puzzled, Gawain ran his gaze over her. He couldn’t read her, but she didn’t look hurt. The lantern gave enough light for him to see that her hair was neatly braided. Her clothing hadn’t been disordered in any way. She looked fine. Slightly flushed, perhaps, but it was a warm night. Otherwise, she looked fine. ‘Elise, what happened?’

She opened her mouth as Aubin raced in, panting.

‘Aubin, take a look outside. Round the back.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

When Elise touched Gawain’s arm, the temptation to cover her hand with his was strong. When she bit her lip, the temptation to kiss her on the mouth was stronger still.

‘Gaw—my lord, you will think me such a fool.’

Gawain looked speculatively at her. ‘What happened?’

‘A knife.’ She gestured at the tear in the canvas. ‘I was waiting for André. I...I didn’t expect to see a knife cut through the back of the pavilion.’

‘Did you see who it was?’

Her hesitation was brief, but Gawain marked it. ‘It could have been whoever forged that sword,’ he said, slowly. ‘But I don’t think it was. It was your lute-player, wasn’t it?’

She lowered her gaze, seeming to speak to the ground. ‘I...I am sorry, my lord. I think my scream scared him away.’

‘Don’t lie to me. You warned him,’ Gawain said in a cold voice. Sliding his sword back into its scabbard, he took her by the wrist. ‘Your lute-player must have noticed the extra patrols and thought he’d be clever. And you, Elise, you warned him. You weren’t the least bit afraid, were you?’

She swallowed and kept her gaze on the ground.

‘Elise?’

She looked up, eyes fierce. ‘Yes, I warned him. You would have had him arrested!’

‘Not necessarily. I merely want to question him.’

Grip firm on her wrist, Gawain pulled her closer, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of ambergris. ‘Did he stay long enough for you to speak to him?’ Her lips tightened. ‘Well?’

‘I... Yes!’

‘And...?’ Her mouth worked. She was frowning at her wrist. Gawain eased his grip. ‘Elise?’

‘Mon seigneur, André knows he has done wrong and he is sorry. He says he will try to put things right. He will come back when he has done so.’

Gawain clenched his teeth. He hated the way she had addressed him as mon seigneur. ‘You expect me to leave it at that? Elise, the lute-player—’

‘His name is André.’

‘André appears to have dealings with people suspected of trading counterfeit arms. Fraudsters. Criminals. He must be questioned.’ Gawain huffed out a breath. ‘You do yourself no service by preventing that from happening.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I had hoped to discover that you were not involved. But you have just admitted that you warned the man away.’ He frowned. ‘Elise, what am I to think but that you too are involved?’

‘Do you really think that?’

‘I would be failing in my duty if I did not consider it.’ Tightening his hold, he brought her close. ‘Elise, what have you done?’

‘Nothing, I’ve done nothing! All I want is for you to leave us alone.’

He shook his head. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t. Elise, what happened between us last year—’

‘Was a mistake.’

Gawain felt a muscle flicker in his jaw. ‘I hadn’t thought so. What I was going to say was that it had consequences. Pearl. Her very existence binds me to you.’

At her sides, Elise’s fists clenched. ‘I don’t see why, I’m not asking for help. You can forget all about us.’ She gave him a strange look. ‘Gawain, you can marry Lady Rowena with a clear conscience. If you are concerned that one day Pearl and I shall turn up at your gate begging for alms, don’t be. I wouldn’t embarrass you like that.’

A cold fist formed in Gawain’s belly. She dismissed their loving as though it had been of no account. It hadn’t been of no account, not to him. And she dismissed him as a father too, which was worse. However, he had to be honest, with his forthcoming marriage he wasn’t in a position to offer her much. He felt his frown deepen. She was distracting him, making him forget what he was trying to say.

‘Elise, this is no longer personal, it’s no longer just about Pearl. The discovery of that sword has turned it into something else entirely. It’s about the trafficking in counterfeit regalia. It’s about trickery and deceit. It’s about honest people being gulled into buying dross.’

‘Gawain—’

‘Elise, when I saw you by the market I thought simply to return you to your pavilion. You must see that has changed. I find myself embroiled in—in what, exactly? Are you and your little troupe part of a larger ring of counterfeiters? Is this how you really make your living? I need you to answer me honestly. What is the exact nature of your involvement with the counterfeiters?’

Her jaw fell open. ‘None. I have no involvement with counterfeiters whatsoever. How can you think it?’

He leaned in, caught the scent of ambergris and straightened quickly. ‘I don’t know you. I thought I did, but I don’t. You might be involved in anything.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘So I believed, so I hoped. But you must see that letting André get away does not put you in a good light.’

‘He’s gone to make amends! I told you.’

‘You believe that?’

She nodded vigorously. ‘André has a good heart. I’ve known him for years and he has a sweet, loving nature. I think that learning he was to be a father pushed him off course for a while, but I believe him when he says he will sort things out. He will. You’ll see.’

‘Mon Dieu, I almost wish I’d not seen you at the market,’ Gawain muttered. He didn’t mean it. Despite all that had happened—Pearl; the finding of the sword—it had been a relief to see Elise looking so well. As to her involvement with the fakers—he didn’t know what to think. She had always struck him as fundamentally honest.