DUTY, HONOUR, TRUTH, VALOUR

The tenets of the Knights of Champagne will be sorely tested in this exciting Medieval mini-series by

Carol Townend

The pounding of hooves, the cold snap of air, a knight’s colours flying high across the roaring crowd—nothing rivals a tourney. The chance to prove his worth is at the beating heart of any knight.

And tournaments bring other dangers too. Scoundrels, thieves, murderers and worse are all drawn towards a town bursting with deep pockets, flowing wine and wanton women.

Only these three knights stand in their way. But what of the women who stand beside them?

Find out in

Carol Townend’s

LORD GAWAIN’S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS

available now

AUTHOR NOTE

Arthurian myths and legends have been popular for hundreds of years. Dashing knights worship beautiful ladies, fight for honour—and sometimes lose honour! Some of the earliest versions of these stories were written in the twelfth century by an influential poet called Chrétien de Troyes. Troyes was the walled city in the county of Champagne where Chrétien lived and worked. His patron, Countess Marie of Champagne, was a princess—daughter of King Louis of France and the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine. Countess Marie’s splendid artistic court in Troyes rivalled Queen Eleanor’s in Poitiers.

The books in my Knights of Champagne mini-series are not an attempt to rework the Arthurian myths and legends. They are original romances set around the Troyes court. I wanted to tell the stories of some of the lords and ladies who might have inspired Chrétien—and I was keen to give the ladies a more active role, since Chrétien’s ladies tend to be too passive for today’s reader.

Apart from Count Henry and Countess Marie, of whom we have brief glances, my characters are all fictional. I have used the layout of the medieval city to create my Troyes, but these books are first and foremost fictional.

Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress

Carol Townend

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL TOWNEND was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the Medieval period, Carol read History at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and non-fiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at www.caroltownend.co.uk

To Melanie with love and thanks for always being there. (I won’t embarrass us both by counting the years in public!)

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

August 1174—an encampment outside Troyes in the County of Champagne

Troyes was bursting at the seams—the summer market was at its height and every inn and boarding house was packed to the rafters with merchants and housewives. Tumblers and singers jostled for the best spots in the market squares. Mercenaries and cutpurses roamed the narrow streets, searching for the shortest route to an easy profit. Indeed, so many people had descended on the town that a temporary campsite had been set up in a field outside the city walls. The encampment was known as Strangers’ City, and line after line of dusty tents filled every inch of the field.

One tent stood out from the rest. Slightly larger than the others, more of a pavilion than a tent, the canvas was dyed purple and painted with silver stars.

Inside the purple pavilion, Elise was sitting on a stool next to Pearl’s cradle, gently waving a cloth back and forth in front of her daughter’s face. It was noon and even for August it was unusually hot. Elise wriggled her shoulders. Her gown was sticking to her and it seemed she had sat there for hours. Thankfully, Pearl’s eyelids were finally drooping.

Voices outside had Elise narrowing her gaze at the entrance to the pavilion. André was back, she could hear him talking to Vivienne, who was nursing baby Bruno in the shade of the awning.

Elise waited, gently fanning Pearl. If André had news, he would soon tell her. Sure enough, a moment later André pushed through the tent flap.

‘Elise, I’ve done it!’ he said, eyes shining. He put his lute on his bedroll. ‘Blanchefleur le Fay has been booked to sing at the palace. At the Harvest Banquet.’

‘The palace? You got a booking at the palace already? Heavens, that was quick.’ Elise bit her lip. ‘I only hope I’m ready.’

‘Of course you’re ready. I’ve never heard you in better voice. Count Henry’s steward was thrilled to learn Blanchefleur is in town. The Champagne court will love you.’

‘It’s been a while since I performed—I was afraid that I might already have been forgotten.’

‘Forgotten? Blanchefleur le Fay? That’s hardly likely. Elise, it’s the booking of a lifetime. I can’t think of a better setting for Blanchefleur to step back on stage.’

Elise glanced at Pearl. Asleep. Carefully, she folded the cloth she’d been using as a fan and smiled to hide her disquiet. ‘You did well, André. Thank you.’

‘You might look a little happier,’ André said, watching her. ‘You’re nervous about singing in Champagne.’

‘Nonsense!’ Elise said, although there was a grain of truth in André’s remark. ‘But I mustn’t disappoint them.’

‘You’re afraid you’ll see him.’

Her chin lifted. ‘Him?’

‘Pearl’s father, of course. Elise, you don’t need to worry, Lord Gawain’s not in Troyes. He left to claim his inheritance.’

‘You’ve been listening to the gossip.’

‘Haven’t you?’

Elise grimaced, but it would be futile to deny it. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened, but where Gawain Steward was concerned that seemed impossible. His image never left her; even now it was bright and clear, a powerful knight with a shock of fair hair and a pair of smouldering dark eyes. ‘It’s odd to think of him as the Count of Meaux,’ she murmured. ‘He had no expectations of inheriting.’

‘Oh?’

‘I gather there was bad blood between him and his uncle. I know no more than that.’

André shrugged. ‘Well, he’s count now, so they must have resolved their differences.’

‘It would seem so.’

Elise was pleased for Gawain’s good fortune. In truth, she was pleased for herself. Gawain’s inheritance was her good fortune too. Blanchefleur le Fay had wanted to sing at the famous court in Champagne for years. Even the difficulties of her last visit here hadn’t killed that ambition.

After Pearl’s birth, when Elise had realised that Blanchefleur must make a truly spectacular return or risk fading into obscurity, she’d been inspired with the thought that she might stage her comeback at the palace in Troyes. It would be something of a coup to sing before Countess Marie herself. The daughter of the King of France, no less!

There had been a few ghosts to fight before Elise had been able to return to Champagne. She would never forget that her sister, Morwenna, had died near Troyes. However, nothing Elise could do would bring Morwenna back. In any case, if Morwenna had been alive she would be the first to agree that the Troyes court was the ideal place for Blanchefleur le Fay’s triumphant return.

And then there was Gawain, and the fear that she might run into him. What would she say to him? He is the father of my child and he doesn’t know...

But then Elise had heard that Gawain had become Count of Meaux and that obstacle at least had been removed. Gawain was miles away, claiming his inheritance in the Ile-de-France. The coast was clear.

‘What’s he like?’ André asked.

‘Hmm?’

‘Lord Gawain.’

Lord Gawain. ‘He was a plain knight when I knew him. Striking. A warrior. But he was also kind. Protective.’

Last year, Elise had been both surprised and flattered to have been the object of Gawain’s interest. It was even more astonishing when one stopped to consider that not once had she used Blanchefleur le Fay’s wiles on him. No, she’d simply been the shy and retiring maidservant, Elise.

‘Yet you fear him. You were anxious not to meet him.’

Elise glanced at Pearl, biting her lip. ‘I’m not afraid of Lord Gawain. I just wanted to avoid any...complications.’

‘Complications?’

‘André, Pearl’s father is a count. I have no idea how he might react when he learns he has a daughter.’

‘You’d prefer that he didn’t find out.’

‘Frankly, yes. The fact that Gawain is a count will not change his character. He is a dutiful man, a man of honour. I befriended him as a means of entering Ravenshold.’

André frowned. ‘What about Lady Isobel? I thought you’d become her maid to get into Ravenshold.’

‘So I did, but my friendship with Lady Isobel was untried. There was a strong possibility it might come to nothing.’

‘So you kept Lord Gawain in reserve.’ Eyes shocked, André looked at Pearl. ‘I thought—knowing you—he’d be more than that.’

‘I like the man, of course,’ Elise said hastily. In truth, she had more than liked him. She might have befriended Gawain out of desperation, but she hadn’t had to feign the attraction. Passion had flared up between them without any effort on her part. Sparks had been flying from the first. ‘I’m not certain he will forgive me. You see, I did deceive him.’

Elise bit her lip. Deceiving Gawain had been both the hardest and the easiest thing she had ever done. She had flirted with a man—she’d never felt comfortable flirting, but it had been astonishingly easy with Gawain. It had been fun, of all things. Initially, she’d done it hoping to discover how her sister had died. Before she had come to know Gawain, she had told herself that uncovering the truth about Morwenna’s death was all that mattered. But she had quickly realised that she’d been deceiving herself as much as Gawain. The liking between them had been strong. Too strong. They had ended up as passionate lovers even though she’d come to mistrust everything she felt for him. Was it really possible to feel so much for a man, and so quickly?

‘It’s a relief to know I won’t see him,’ she said. ‘Particularly since he is the grand Count of Meaux. André, he lives in a different world.’

‘The world of the court.’

‘Just so. We might entertain there, but it is not our world. But for you to have secured a booking so soon! It’s wonderful.’ She grimaced. ‘Except for one thing.’

‘Oh?’

‘Blanchefleur’s gowns.’ Elise gestured at her stomach and tried to push Pearl’s father to the back of her mind. ‘Last time I tried them, they were still a little tight.’

‘Rot! You’re as slim as you were before Pearl came along.’

‘You, sir, are a flatterer. Those gowns aren’t decent and Blanchefleur wouldn’t dream of appearing in a loosely laced gown. Remember, the world at large likes to think of her as innocent. They believe she’s been on retreat in a convent. The gowns—’

‘Try them on again, Elise, I am sure they’ll fit. What about buying new ribbons?’

Butterflies were dancing in Elise’s stomach. Nervous, excited butterflies. She drew in a breath. She had dreamed about performing at the Champagne court for years, and she’d be mad to let a few nerves spoil her chance of singing at the palace. Reaching for André’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Very well,’ she said, brightly. ‘New ribbons it shall be. Will you keep an eye on Pearl for me while I go to the market?’

André looked regretfully at her. ‘I’m sorry, Elise, you’ll have to ask Vivienne. I’m meeting friends at the ale tent. We’ll be going back into town.’

‘Don’t worry, that’s fine,’ Elise said.

Vivienne was Pearl’s wet-nurse. Deciding to ask Vivienne if she would feed Pearl had been one of the most difficult decisions Elise had ever made. But it was unavoidable if she was to continue singing, because Elise’s alter ego, Blanchefleur le Fay, couldn’t possibly be a nursing mother. Blanchefleur never looked at men. The personification of innocence, she kept them at arm’s length. Blanchefleur was aloof and pure. Untouchable. She didn’t have a heart; she broke them.

Elise hadn’t actually chosen Blanchefleur le Fay for her stage name. Extraordinarily, the name had evolved, possibly helped by the fact that she wore a white enamel pendant shaped like a daisy. Blanchefleur was mysterious. She was otherworldly and exotic. Famed throughout the land, Blanchefleur was fêted like a princess in the great houses of the south. Blanchefleur would die before she did anything as down to earth, as sinful, as having a child out of wedlock.

Briefly, Elise had thought about taking on another persona, one that would allow her to be more open about being a mother, but Blanchefleur had been good to her. Blanchefleur was a good earner and Elise was reluctant to let her fade into obscurity. Real ladies—noblewomen—had wet-nurses, so why shouldn’t she?

But there was no escaping that it had hurt to give up feeding Pearl herself. It felt like a betrayal and her whole being ached—even now, several weeks after the birth. She hadn’t expected to feel so bad.

Vivienne had been the obvious choice for Pearl’s wet-nurse. Vivienne had joined their troupe back in the days when Elise’s father, Ronan, had been alive. Vivienne wasn’t a singer and she hated performing, so she cooked and cleaned and helped them pack up when they moved from town to town. She acted as Blanchefleur’s maid.

The three of them, Elise, André and Vivienne, had lived together for years and recently—as recently as last winter when Elise had been away in Champagne—Vivienne and André had become lovers. Crucially they also had a newborn—baby Bruno was only a few days older than Pearl. Elise was lucky to have Vivienne as Pearl’s wet-nurse. Without her, earning a living for her and Pearl would be doubly difficult.

* * *

Winding the cherry-coloured ribbon neatly round her fingers, Elise tucked it into her purse and smiled at the stallholder. ‘Thank you, I love the colour.’

‘It’s silk, ma demoiselle.’

‘I can see that.’

The ribbon was perfect. It was strong enough to act as a new lacing, and it was only slightly longer than the old one. It would seem André had been right when he’d said she had regained her former figure. Elise could get into both Blanchefleur’s gowns, and the cherry-coloured ribbon would be perfect with the silver silk of her favourite one.

Flicking her veil over her shoulder, Elise grimaced as she pushed through the crowd. The heat in the market square was unbearable. It was like an oven in town, far hotter than in the campsite at Strangers’ City. The rows of narrow wooden houses trapped the warm air. Elise felt smothered. She couldn’t wait to get back to the pavilion and take off her veil.

She elbowed her way clear of the press round the stalls and had almost reached the shade beneath the Madeleine Gate when she heard hoofbeats.

‘Stand back,’ a man in front muttered. ‘Horses coming through.’

It was a knight and his squire. The knight was not wearing his chain mail. He was wearing a cream-coloured tunic edged with red-and-gold braid. None the less, there was no mistaking him as a knight. Only a knight would sit so confidently on so large a horse. He was turned the other way, laughing at something his squire had said.

Elise’s breath stopped. The knight had fair hair, just like Gawain’s. His horse—an ugly black-stockinged bay—seemed familiar. And the knight’s squire—her heart seemed to shift in her chest—that red tunic, that golden griffin emblazoned across it, there was something different about that griffin, but...

The knight turned his head. Gawain. Her heart turned over. It couldn’t be, but it was. Elise jerked back and peered through the screen of people in front of her. Gawain.

Her mind raced. Gawain wasn’t supposed to be in Troyes! Elise wouldn’t have dreamed of coming back if she’d known he was in town. Why was he here?

Everyone knew that Gawain’s uncle, the Count of Meaux, had died and that Gawain had inherited. Gawain was supposed to be safely in the Ile-de-France, settling into his new county. This could be very awkward. That man gave me a daughter and I never told him. Lord, what shall I do?

Elise watched him ride through the arch, a strange cramp in her belly. Gawain’s hair was fairer than it had been last winter. Sun-bleached. His face was bronzed and more handsome than she remembered. The cramp intensified. She hadn’t wanted to see him.

He’s supposed to be in Meaux.

How could Blanchefleur le Fay perform with Gawain in town? If he came to the palace when she was singing, he’d be bound to recognise her. And then the questions would start. And the recriminations. He would find out about Pearl, and then...

Briefly, Elise closed her eyes. She really didn’t want to face him. And it wasn’t just because last year when they had met she’d parried most of his questions about her life as a singer. She’d told him as little as possible. She wasn’t sure how he would react when he learned that Pearl was his. What if he wanted to take Pearl from her? He wouldn’t do that, surely?

The new Count of Meaux and his squire turned away from her, the crowd parting to let their horses through. Elise stared at Gawain’s back, at his wide shoulders, and wondered whether he was the type of man who would want to bring up his child. If only she knew him better. Most knights would gladly wash their hands of any responsibility for their illegitimate children. She looked through the crowd at his fair head, heart beating like a drum. A count might do anything he wished.

Dear Heaven, Gawain—here in Troyes. This changed everything.

Lord, he was looking over his shoulder. Her heart leaped into her throat. He was looking right at her! Shrinking back, she trod on someone’s foot.

A woman scowled at her. ‘Watch it!’

‘My apologies,’ Elise muttered.

Turning away, she stumbled into the Rue du Bois.

Her mind was in chaos, but one thought dominated. Gawain Steward, Count of Meaux, was in Troyes, and he had seen her. Heart pumping, she kept her head down and pushed her way through a group of merchants talking by the entrance to one of the cloth halls.

‘Excuse me. My pardon, sir.’

‘Elise? Elise!’

Gawain was about twenty yards behind her and the air was full of noise—the braying of a mule, the honking of a goose—yet she heard the jingle of harness. Hoofbeats. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes fixed on a small girl clinging to her mother’s skirts. What was the point? She couldn’t outrun him. True, the street was busy and she might dive into an alley, but there were children here and that brute of a horse was trained to barrel its way through anything. Someone might get hurt.

Drawing in a deep breath, she turned. Her mind was a complete blank. She didn’t have the first idea how she would greet him. Lord Gawain, what a pleasant surprise. I trust you are in good health. By the by, I had a baby. I am hoping she will have your eyes. Heavens, she couldn’t say that. She didn’t want to tell him about Pearl. She needed time to think, but it didn’t look as though she was going to get it.

‘Elise? Elise Chantier?’

Elise stood quite still as he approached, steeling herself not to back away from that great bay. The animal might look ungovernable, but Gawain could control him. She craned her neck to look up at him.

‘Lord Gawain!’ She dropped him a curtsy. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

There was a creak of leather as he dismounted and gestured at his squire to take the reins. He offered Elise his arm. ‘Walk with me.’

Elise tipped her head on one side and managed a smile. ‘Is that a command, my lord?’

He was taller than she had remembered. Larger. The sound and colour of the busy street faded as she looked at him. At those deep brown eyes—how could she have forgotten those grey flecks? Or those long eyelashes? And his nose, that aquiline shape was so distinctive. Elise had loved his nose. She had liked to run her finger down it as a prelude to a kiss. His mouth... As her gaze skimmed over it, she felt her smile freeze. His mouth was tight. He looked...not angry, exactly. He looked weary. How strange. He didn’t look like a man who had just inherited a vast estate.

‘Walk with me, Elise.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Gawain glanced at his squire. ‘Meet me in half an hour, Aubin. Outside the castle gatehouse.’

‘Yes, mon seigneur.’

* * *

When Elise put her hand lightly on his sleeve, Gawain, Count of Meaux, let out a relieved sigh. Gawain had been looking for Elise and he was pleased—far more pleased than he ought to be—to have found her. He set off in the direction of the Preize Gate. ‘It will be quieter once we get clear of the streets round the market,’ he said.

Elise smiled and nodded and pushed her veil over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed. It was too warm for a cloak and Gawain could see the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her gown. He frowned. There was something different about her. Her eyes were the same, and her face...but something was different.

‘I didn’t expect to see you, my lord. I thought you were in the Ile-de-France.’

‘You heard about my uncle.’

She nodded and looked away. ‘I expect you will be leaving again soon.’

Something about her tone grated. Gawain frowned thoughtfully at her profile. ‘That would please you?’

Her colour deepened to crimson and he imagined he saw a flash of guilt. What could she have to feel guilty about? Last winter she had enjoyed their time together as much as he had. There was no question of that. He couldn’t have misread her so badly. She is hiding something.

‘Not at all, my lord,’ she murmured. ‘It is good to see you.’

Gawain decided not to probe. If she wanted to keep things from him, that was up to her. There was, after all, no real connection between them. Once he had reassured himself that all was well with her, he could forget all about her. He had his own life to lead. He was about to meet his betrothed, Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. ‘You found the ribbon you were looking for?’

She shot him a startled glance. ‘You’ve been to the pavilion.’

Elise was walking discreetly at his side. There were several inches between them and Gawain didn’t like it. He was taken with the impulse to wind his hand round her waist and bring her closer. Instead, he gave her a curt nod. ‘A friend mentioned seeing you in Strangers’ City.’

She was silent for a space. ‘A Guardian Knight, I assume. I’ve seen their patrols.’

He nodded. ‘When I found your tent, the woman who lives with you told me you’d gone to buy ribbon.’ Gawain put his hand on her arm. ‘Elise, how have you been? Is all well with you?’

‘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?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

He strode to the door flap and flung it back. ‘Aubin! In here, if you please.’

Aubin hurried into the tent and nodded awkwardly at Elise. Elise gave him a weak smile and listened as Gawain rattled off a series of commands.

‘Aubin, go straight to the Troyes garrison. Speak to Sir Raphael and to no one else. Tell him—’ He broke off, frowning thoughtfully at Elise. ‘No, that won’t do. Elise, you understand the Guardian Knights will have to be told about this?’

‘Will they?’

‘Of course. Vivienne will have to accompany me to Troyes Castle. The Captain of the Guard will want to question her about this sword.’

Vivienne gasped and went white.

‘She can’t do that,’ Elise said. Stomach twisting in apprehension, she stared at the sword. ‘I have no idea why this is in our tent, but I’m convinced that Vivienne is not at fault.’ She frowned at Gawain. ‘I’m even more convinced that you can’t take her to the garrison. She’s a nursing mother. What about the babies? The Troyes garrison is no place for babies and she can’t leave them behind. They need feeding at all hours.’

Vivienne swallowed. ‘Are...are you arresting me, my lord?’

‘No, I’m not arresting you. But I cannot pretend I have not seen this sword. You’ll have to explain it to Sir Raphael.’

‘Gawain, you can’t take her to the garrison, not with the babies.’

Gawain looked at her.

‘Gawain, the garrison really is no place for a nursing mother.’

‘Very well.’

Elise let out a sigh. ‘Thank you.’

‘However, I shall have to take Vivienne into safekeeping.’

‘Safekeeping?’

‘She shall accompany me to my manor.’

Elise’s eyes went wide. ‘As your prisoner?’

‘As my guest. Le Manoir des Rosières is only a few miles away. Sir Raphael can interview her there just as well as at the garrison.’ He looked at Vivienne. ‘Will that be preferable, madame?’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Vivienne said, in a small voice. She looked so distraught that Elise’s heart went out to her.

‘Gawain, you can’t do that!’ Elise hugged Pearl to her. If Gawain took Vivienne to his manor, Pearl would have to go too. And if Pearl went so would Elise. She swallowed. She wouldn’t be parted from Pearl.

‘I think you will see that I can. Aubin?’ Gawain tapped the strange sword against his thigh. The garnet seemed to wink balefully.

‘My lord?’

‘Go back to the manor and tell Sir Bertran I need half a dozen horse soldiers to be at the ready.’ He measured Vivienne’s travelling chest and the two cots with his eye. ‘And ask him to organise a cart for tomorrow. Vivienne, do you ride?’

‘Not well, my lord. We have a cart. I usually travel in that.’

‘Pity. We need to be discreet today, so we can’t use your cart. We’ll have to get you and the babies as far as the Preize Gate. The rest of your belongings can wait until later.’ Gawain shot Elise a look. ‘After I have spoken to Raphael and André.’

Gawain went on issuing commands. Something about borrowing a cart and a couple of guards from the garrison. Elise didn’t hear much of it, her mind was in turmoil. She held Pearl to her and all she could think was that Gawain was about to take Pearl from her. Heart pumping, she stroked Pearl’s hair. Somehow, she must stop him. Whatever happened, she was not going to be separated from her baby.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Aubin was repeating his orders. ‘I am to take a cart and some guards to the Preize Gate, where they will wait. Then I am to come back here and escort Vivienne to the cart on foot. With the babies.’

Saints, Gawain was taking Pearl away and she could think of no way of stopping him. Elise’s head began to pound. For the first time it really hit home that since Gawain was the Count of Meaux, he could do anything. Against him, she was defenceless.

She found herself clutching at the flimsiest of straws. ‘Gawain, you can’t take Vivienne back to your manor. She acts as my maid.’

Dark eyes bored into her. ‘Are you telling me you cannot manage without her?’

Her cheeks warmed. ‘Naturally I can manage, but this is Vivienne’s home. You can’t simply uproot her.’

‘Watch me.’ He glanced at Vivienne, who was frantically rocking Bruno from side to side, and his voice softened. ‘Elise, you must see that I cannot let this slide.’

Unfortunately, Elise did see. Gawain, as an honourable knight—as a count—was bound to uphold the law. However, there was also André to consider. What would he do when he got back this evening and found Vivienne and Bruno gone? And what exactly was the nature of his involvement with the sword? ‘André might be completely innocent.’

The fair head nodded. ‘For your sake, I hope that he is.’

Elise bit her lip and shot Vivienne a look. Was she entirely innocent? She must be. There was no way that Vivienne would be involved in anything underhand. But she was not certain she could say the same about André. The previous autumn, Elise hadn’t been able to rest until she’d found out how her sister had met her untimely death. She hadn’t wanted to leave André and Vivienne to fend for themselves, but it had been obvious she couldn’t take them with her. She’d hoped that leaving them to manage without her would encourage André to grow up. And when she had rejoined them at the turn of the year, she’d been pleasantly surprised to see how well they had coped.

But what if they hadn’t coped? Recently, André had actually had plenty of money, whereas before he’d always been short. Where had it come from? Had he fallen in with felons in his efforts to provide for Vivienne? She stared at Vivienne, heart like lead, and prayed that neither of her friends had done anything wrong.

‘If you’re taking Vivienne to your manor, you will have to make room for me too,’ Elise said. Yes, that would answer very well. She need not be separated from Pearl. She would go with them to Gawain’s manor.

Gawain’s eyebrows lifted. When he simply looked at her, tension balled in her stomach.

I will not be parted from Pearl. Clutching Pearl to her, Elise rushed on. ‘Vivienne can’t go on her own, she...she’ll need help with the babies.’ This wasn’t true, Vivienne was a wonder with the babies, but Elise couldn’t stomach the idea of Vivienne being thrust into a strange environment where there would be no familiar faces. Vivienne might have become used to the wandering life, but for years she’d always had either Elise or André with her. We are a family.

Not that she could expect a man like Gawain—a loner—to understand that.

Gawain nodded a dismissal at his squire. ‘Thank you, Aubin. Carry on.’

‘Very well, my lord.’ Aubin ducked out of the pavilion.

Elise stared at the father of her child and bit her lip. Gawain Steward, Count of Meaux, was ignoring her. He had taken Vivienne into custody and she wasn’t sure he was going to take her to his manor. Heaven help them.

She drew in some air. He must take her with him! ‘My lord, I insist on accompanying Vivienne and the babies back to the manor.’

He looked sharply at her. ‘You insist?’

‘Yes, my lord, I insist.’

Vivienne shifted. Her eyes were huge with concern. ‘Be careful, Elise.’ Muttering under her breath, she took Bruno outside.

‘Gaw...Lord Gawain.’ Elise turned to face him squarely. ‘I am sorry if this inconveniences you, but I feel most strongly about this. Vivienne needs me with her. If you insist on taking Vivienne to your manor, I shall have to come too.’

‘I understand.’ Gawain grimaced. ‘In your shoes I would feel the same. However, much as I would personally enjoy offering you hospitality at the manor, I have to tell you that I cannot entertain you there.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You would offer space for Vivienne and the babies, but have none for me?’

‘I’m afraid not. My circumstances have changed since your last visit to Troyes, and I suspect you don’t know the full extent of the changes.’

Her brow puckered. ‘Enlighten me.’

‘After my uncle’s death I left Troyes—this was a few weeks ago. I have returned to meet my betrothed.’

She caught her breath. ‘You’re to be married? You’re right, I hadn’t heard. Congratulations, Lord Gawain.’ A cold stone lodged in her chest.

‘My thanks. The marriage is a political one, to the daughter of an old ally of my uncle. It has the blessing of the King of France.’

Elise nodded. She bent over Pearl to hide her expression. Heavens, could matters get any worse? If he was going to be married there was no way he would want her at his manor! ‘May I enquire the name of the lady you are to marry?’

‘Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. Her father has estates near Provins.’

‘I wish you both well, Gaw—my lord. Now I understand why my presence at the manor might be awkward.’

He gave her a mocking bow, tapping the sword against his thigh. ‘I thank you for your understanding.’

Her jaw worked. Her mouth was dry. ‘None the less, I will not be separated from the babies.’

‘Don’t be difficult, Elise.’

‘I’m not being difficult! I am merely telling you that I will not be separated from the babies.’

He shoved his hand through his hair. ‘Elise, for God’s sake—’

‘Gawain, Pearl is my daughter!’

Gawain’s face went blank. He stared at Pearl. ‘Your daughter? Are you telling me that this baby—Pearl—is yours?’

‘Aye.’ Elise closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Gawain was looking at Pearl as though she’d dropped from the sky.

‘Elise...’ He cleared his throat. ‘This cannot be.’

‘Pearl is my daughter. I won’t be parted from her.’

Gold gleamed as he dropped the sword on to a bedroll. He reached a hand towards Pearl and let it fall back. ‘I thought both babies were Vivienne’s. You let me think they were twins.’

Chapter Three

Elise’s heart banged against her chest, she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Outside, Bruno was gurgling, the sound seemed to be coming from a far distance. Elise could hear her breath, and Gawain’s. And the chink of a metal spoon in a cauldron. She could feel the rise and fall of Pearl’s chest. She could see Gawain’s mind working. Calculating. His gaze did not shift from Pearl.

‘Pearl is your daughter. Yours...’ he paused ‘...and mine?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘You told me you were safe.’

‘Safe?’ Elise swallowed. ‘So I believed. As you see, the herbs the apothecary gave me did not work.’

His nostrils flared. He held out his hands for Pearl. ‘May I?’

His face was unreadable as Elise settled Pearl in the crook of his arm. As he stared at his child, a lock of bright hair fell across his forehead. Elise steeled herself not to brush it back. She wasn’t sure how she had expected Gawain to react. He seemed to be taking the news better than she had dared hope. So far.

‘How small she is,’ he murmured. ‘How very delicate.’

As he stood, a tall golden-haired knight taking his first real look at his daughter, Elise felt her eyelids prickle.

Gawain cleared his throat. His eyes were suspiciously moist. ‘My daughter.’ Then he blinked and lifted his head. ‘Our daughter.’ He gave Elise one of those smiles that she remembered from last winter and her heart contracted. ‘She is healthy?’

‘Very much so.’

‘And you?’ His skin darkened. ‘Your confinement? The birth?’

‘I am fine, my lord. Vivienne is feeding Pearl in order that I may focus on my singing. I can’t be at Pearl’s beck and call when I am performing.’

‘I see.’ He resumed his study of Pearl, gently stroking her hair. When he lifted her to rub his nose against his daughter’s cheek, Elise had to bite her knuckle to contain the tears. ‘So this is why you haven’t done much singing?’

‘Yes.’ Chest tight, Elise watched him swallow. She saw the moment his face went hard.

‘You weren’t going to tell me. If I hadn’t seen you at the gate today—’

‘I hadn’t thought to find you in Troyes, my lord.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You were going to send word to Meaux?’

Guilt shivered through her. She hadn’t intended to tell him. She hadn’t thought to find him here. In truth, she had been doing her best not to think about him at all. She’d been relieved to hear that he’d gone to claim his county. And now here he was in front of her, holding Pearl to his heart, and the realisation of all that she had walked away from at the turn of the year slammed into her. Gawain was a kind man. He was strong enough to be gentle. He was loving. Gawain had offered her not one word of love and yet love—and care—had shown in his every action. But she must remember, he was not hers. He never would be. Gawain was Count of Meaux and she was a nobody.

‘I feel dreadful,’ she murmured.

Their gazes locked.

‘So you should.’

Elise lifted her chin. ‘But now you will understand why I cannot allow you to take Vivienne—and Pearl—to your manor. I won’t be parted from her.’

Pearl shifted in his arms, distracting him. Her eyes opened. ‘Blue,’ he said softly.

‘Most babies have blue eyes when they are small.’ Elise let her hand rest gently on Pearl’s chest. ‘Given that you and I both have dark eyes, it seems likely that hers will change.’

‘Most likely.’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘What a miracle she is.’

‘Gawain, you won’t separate us.’

‘Of course not.’

Elise went weak with relief. As Gawain went on staring at Pearl it struck her that it was Gawain who was the miracle. He had accepted Pearl as his child without a murmur. A lesser man might have tried to bluff his way out of admitting fatherhood. He could have accused Elise of sleeping with someone else. Not Gawain. He was angry with her for not telling him sooner, but he simply believed her.

Gawain held the small bundle that was his daughter to his chest and struggled to take command of his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. This revelation—he had a daughter!—had left him reeling. She was so small. So perfect. He had a daughter.

‘When was she born?’

‘A month since, she was a little early.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘That apothecary must have given you the wrong herbs.’

Elise’s hand shifted. She gripped his arm. ‘My lord, you need not fear I shall make demands on you in the future. I am able to care for Pearl.’

Gawain looked at the small fingers on his arm and held back a sigh. ‘You will rely on your singing, I suppose.’

The hand was removed and Elise’s eyes sparked. ‘I am quite able to provide for her.’

He let his gaze wander pointedly round the purple pavilion. ‘I never thought a child of mine would be forced to live in a tent.’

Her cheeks went crimson and her chin inched up. ‘Not forced, my lord. I live here by choice.’

‘You love this life.’

‘Love it?’ She looked startled. ‘It is what I am.’

It was a statement that might mean anything. Elise could well love this life. She’d certainly been eager enough to get back to it at the end of last year. Her hasty departure had shown more clearly than words ever could what she thought of him. They had enjoyed each other’s company for a time, but singing was everything to her. Of course, she might also mean that she considered this mendicant life was the only life to which she was suited. A statement that he would have questioned most vigorously last year had she stayed and given the slightest sign that she might one day come to feel something for him.

Gawain’s thoughts were confused. In truth, they had been confused since last winter when he’d found her crying in the palace chapel. Crying over the death of a young man she had only just met. Elise might not know it, but from the first she had commanded Gawain’s loyalty. It was a pity she didn’t feel the same for him. Particularly since loyalty would bind them for eternity. They had a daughter.

‘You have given me a daughter,’ he murmured, heart twisting as he stared at the baby in his arms. Lord, why did this have to happen now of all times? He was no longer free.

He wanted to help them. It was his duty as a father to help them. But this went beyond duty. He wanted to be part of Pearl’s life. He didn’t want Elise or Pearl to vanish in the way Elise had done at the turn of the year.

Yet what could he do? What about Lady Rowena?

‘You weren’t going to tell me,’ Gawain said again.

Elise’s heart ached. Gawain had never looked at her in quite this way, his eyes looked so strange. She could see anger there, held firmly in check. Confusion. Shock and hurt. ‘No.’

She studied him as his dark gaze returned to Pearl. A slight frown creased his brow. Once again she had to check the impulse to touch him.

Taking Pearl from him, Elise fought to keep her voice even. ‘I should like to explain about last winter, my lord.’ She drew in a deep breath, half-expecting him to interrupt. When he said nothing, she continued. ‘As you know by now, I came to Troyes to discover what had happened to my sister.’

Dark eyes watched her. ‘You deceived me then too. You let me think you were simply Countess Isobel’s maidservant.’

‘Have you no brothers, my lord? No sisters?’ Even as Elise asked the question it struck her how little she knew about Gawain. They’d been strangers when they had become lovers. They were strangers today.

‘None.’ He gave a slight smile of acknowledgement. ‘However, I confess that if I did, I might have acted in the same way.’

She nodded vigorously. ‘You would have wanted to know what had happened to them. You would have needed to know if there had been some injustice, a wrong that needed righting.’

‘Aye.’

‘So it was with me, my lord. Gaw...Lord Gawain, the channels you might use—connections, influence—were not open to me. I am truly sorry that I deceived you.’

‘You wanted to gain entry to Ravenshold.’

‘My lord, I am not nobly born. I am not powerful.’ She stared at his belt buckle. ‘I was desperate, my lord.’ She lifted her eyes and hoped that he could see that she was telling the truth. ‘What I am trying to say is that I didn’t come to Troyes with the intention of deceiving you.’

His mouth was wry. ‘You had no plans for seducing one of Count Lucien’s household knights?’

‘The thought never entered my head.’

‘But that is in fact what happened.’

‘Not by design, my lord.’ She found herself staring at his belt buckle again. ‘I...I don’t know how that happened exactly.’

He stepped closer. Dark eyes held her immobile. ‘Allow me to remind you. The evening after the tournament, I heard crying in the palace chapel.’

A warm hand reached out and gently, as gently as it had done then on All Hallows Eve, touched her arm. ‘Geoffrey’s death upset you.’

She nodded. ‘There was so much blood, so much. And the suddenness of it—the injustice. One moment Sir Geoffrey had been vital, alive. He’d been looking forward to taking part in the tourney. And the next...’ Her voice cracked. ‘He was so young, just a boy really.’

Gawain’s chest heaved. ‘Geoffrey’s death pointed out the futility of it all. The pointlessness of life.’

She frowned, wondering if that was what he really thought. ‘That is very cynical.’

‘That is life. We have to make of it what we can.’ He brought his head closer. ‘Geoffrey’s death touched you because of your sister. Her death too was untimely and unjust.’

Elise went still as his deep voice washed over her, confirming that he was not entirely a stranger. Last winter she had seen his compassionate side. She was seeing it again today. This man was more than a warrior. His sensitivity had reached her after the All Hallows Tourney, and it reached her now.

She pressed her lips to Pearl’s forehead. Your father is a good man.

‘My lord, what happened between us—well, I cannot deny that I was sorry to mislead you. I hadn’t known the countess for long and she could have dismissed me at any moment. As one of Count Lucien’s household knights you were ideally placed to help me find my way into Ravenshold.’ Her cheeks scorched. ‘The attraction between us was strong. I...I didn’t mislead you about that, my lord. I could not have become your lover without it. I was strongly drawn to you.’ Elise bit her lip before she confessed that she still was drawn to him—witness that kiss in the town. It was probably just as well Gawain was betrothed to Lady Rowena, because even without his betrothal there could be nothing lasting between them. Elise loved her life as a singer. She would never marry.

He cleared his throat and she saw him glance briefly at her mouth. ‘As I was to you.’

She eased back, and her heart missed a beat—the way he was looking at her mouth! Saints, this was the most awkward conversation of her life. ‘My lord, however it came about, we became lovers. We were intimate with each other several times.’

The fair head dipped, his mouth quirked up at the edges. ‘I have a memory, Elise.’

She felt herself flush and looked away. ‘Gawain, I truly thought I would not conceive. The apothecary swore the herbs he gave me would prevent it. When I knew I was with child I was as surprised as you are.’

‘I very much doubt it.’

His dry tone had her gaze snapping back to meet his. ‘Gawain, you...you wouldn’t try to take her away?’

‘Peace, Elise. I have no intention of separating you from Pearl.’

‘You swear it?’

‘On my father’s soul, I swear it.’

* * *

Elise’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a shuddering sigh. Gawain grimaced. Had she really thought he would take Pearl from her? Every word she uttered condemned him. She didn’t trust him. Last year she hadn’t trusted him enough to bid him farewell, and if he hadn’t returned to Troyes to meet Lady Rowena he doubted she would ever have told him about Pearl.

‘Elise, I shan’t take Pearl from you. However, I would like to acknowledge her.’

Her dark eyes were puzzled. ‘Is that wise? Lady Rowena will surely take exception. And if the marriage has the blessing of the King—you can’t put that at risk.’

‘Lady Rowena must accept it. I will not shirk my responsibility to Pearl. Or to you for that matter.’ Gently, he touched her cheek.

Gawain felt as though he was being torn to shreds. He owed duty to Lady Rowena. He must honour the wishes of his late uncle, who with his aunt, Lady Una, had promoted the betrothal. The match was a good one. Lady Rowena was the King’s goddaughter.

However, that was not the reason why the match was important to Gawain. The match was important because he and his uncle had been estranged for years before his uncle’s death. It had happened during Gawain’s first, ill-fated betrothal to his cousin, Lunette. Tragically, Lunette had died. His uncle had blamed Gawain for Lunette’s death, and the ensuing estrangement had caused a rift in the family. It was a tragedy that had given Gawain many sleepless nights.

Which was why he had jumped at the chance to make amends—he could finally please his widowed aunt by marrying Lady Rowena. He owed it to the family.

And now he was a father, he had a duty to Pearl too. Never mind what he felt for Elise. He ran his fingertips gently over her cheek. So soft. So beguiling. Would she have married him if he were free?

‘Mon Dieu, I wish you had told me sooner. Where was she born? Here in the tent?’

Elise took a step back. ‘That is none of your business, my lord.’

‘Is it not?’ Hurt stabbed like a knife in his guts. She didn’t trust him and he had to admit that was largely his fault. Their loving had been so sweet and tender—it had meant much to him, but he’d been taken aback by the speed at which she’d had him enthralled. He’d mistrusted his own feelings. He hadn’t understood them at the time, save to acknowledge that he couldn’t get enough of her.

He should have told Elise how much he valued her. It had been his fault. Ever since Lunette’s death—he and Lunette had been inseparable as children—Gawain had kept his feelings to himself and women at arm’s length. And sadly, thanks to his recent betrothal, he could say nothing of this today. He was no longer free. He could never tell Elise how important she was to him. Nor could he say that she had been so even before she became the mother of his child. His heart felt as though it had turned to lead.

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.

Yet he knew she was capable of evasion. When he’d met her last year, she’d not mentioned her sister, Morwenna—he’d only learned of the connection between Elise and the late Countess d’Aveyron after Elise had fled Champagne. Elise had kept him in the dark about her need to gain entry to Ravenshold, just as she had kept Lady Isobel in the dark. It was hard to look into her eyes, now turned so earnestly to his, and think her capable of serious deceit. Would she lie for her friend André? It was possible.

‘If I could, I would wash my hands of you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you would like it if I did.’

‘How so?’

‘When I approached Sir Raphael about the sword, he made it clear that because we are old friends he is staying his hand. You wouldn’t like it if I withdrew. You and Vivienne are likely to end up in the castle lock-up while your lute-player does whatever he deems necessary to make amends. And as you yourself say, the castle prison is no place for babies.’

Elise felt the fight drain out of her. Gawain was right, Sir Raphael would want to make sure of them. As Captain of the Guardian Knights he would be bound to hold Vivienne as a surety of André’s return. And in the meantime, Bruno and Pearl would be incarcerated alongside her. And since Elise would not desert them, so would she.

Quick footsteps heralded Aubin’s return. He ducked into the tent. ‘I found nothing, my lord. I went as far as the Madeleine Gate and asked everyone I saw. No one will admit to seeing anything unusual.’

‘My thanks, Aubin. If you wouldn’t mind waiting by the fire?’

‘Mon seigneur.’ Bowing, Aubin went back outside.

Gawain looked down at her, blond hair shining in the lamplight. ‘I shall give you the benefit of the doubt,’ he said. ‘For the moment, I think it best if you remain my responsibility, don’t you agree?’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

Gawain gave her a tight smile and took her hand. He hooked her arm around his. It was a familiar gesture, a possessive gesture. Elise was irritated to discover that it was also a comforting gesture.

‘I shall escort you back to La Rue du Cloître,’ he said. His smile twisted. ‘It’s a pleasant evening for a walk.’

‘Walking, my lord, again? Where’s The Beast?’

‘Back at the barracks. Elise, I give you fair warning, my men will be watching the house at all times. I’d hoped to spare you that, but after tonight you must see that I cannot shirk my responsibilities.’ He sighed. ‘It has to be better than the castle dungeon.’

Elise stared at him and saw in her mind the bars on those windows. It would seem they were to be prisoners after all. Still, she had to agree it was better to be hemmed in by Gawain in La Rue du Cloître than to be tossed in the castle dungeon. ‘I understand, my lord,’ she heard herself say. Even though, in her heart, she wished it was otherwise.

* * *

The shutter was open. It had been an airless, tiresome night. Elise had hoped a breath of wind would find its way into their bedchamber, but she had hoped in vain. Ever since dusk, Bruno and Pearl had taken it in turns to be fretful. No sooner had Elise shut her eyes than it seemed Pearl was crying again—and Pearl’s crying was surely loud enough to be heard in Paris. Sighing, Elise heaved herself up on an elbow.

Vivienne was sitting in a shaft of dawn light, feeding Bruno. Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Elise yawned. ‘I’ll bring Pearl over.’

Nodding, Vivienne bent over Bruno, but not before Elise saw the glitter of tears. ‘Vivienne?’

Vivienne sniffed. A tear splashed on to Bruno’s cheek. Vivienne’s face was pale, her eyes shadowed.

‘You’re thinking about André.’

Vivienne’s throat worked. ‘It’s been three days.’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘Three days since we last saw him and there hasn’t been a word. Where is he, Elise? Where?’ Another tear landed on Bruno’s cheek.

‘We must have faith in him. He’s not stupid. He told me—’

‘That he would put matters right. I remember what you said.’ Vivienne swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘But how is he going to manage it? If he has truly been dealing with counterfeiters, do you think they’ll take kindly to him confessing that he’s lost that sword?’

Picking Pearl up, Elise came to the window and searched Vivienne’s face. ‘You know more than you have told me.’

‘No, I don’t. Truly. But I’ve been thinking. Elise, these past three days I’ve done nothing but think and if André’s friends—the players he told us about—if the players are the counterfeiters, what will they do when they learn the sword has fallen into the hands of the Guardians? They might hurt him.’

‘I don’t think they will.’ Elise spoke firmly, even though the thought had occurred to her too. When she had seen André in the pavilion she hadn’t imagined that three days would pass without a word. Three days. No message, nothing. Just a silence as ominous and oppressive as the August heat.

‘It’s possible he tried to get a message to us,’ Elise murmured. Pearl squirmed in her arms. ‘But with Lord Gawain’s men posted in the street to watch our every move, he might have been afraid to come near.’

Vivienne looked at her, eyes watery. ‘They’re still out there?’

Elise peered into the grey morning light. ‘Two men are leaning against the house opposite. And though I can’t see from here, I’m guessing that two more will be stationed either side of the door as they were yesterday. I think there will be four of them.’

She sighed, Gawain was nothing if not thorough and Elise didn’t like it. She really did feel as though she had been imprisoned. It didn’t help that every hour she had to listen to the tolling of the cathedral bells—every horrible note brought back the convent. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. The bells, the rigid routine... She thought she’d escaped all that.

‘I suppose we should be grateful we’re not locked in,’ Vivienne said. ‘What shall we do?’

Pearl let out a wail. Elise handed her to Vivienne and waited until she had settled before she spoke again. ‘I’m going back to Strangers’ City.’

Vivienne jerked her head meaningfully in the direction of the guards in the street. ‘Will they permit it?’

Outside, Gawain’s men stood as still and solid as carved wooden pillars. Their expressions didn’t betray the slightest hint of fatigue even though they’d been there all night.

Elise pursed her lips. ‘Lord Gawain didn’t actually forbid me to return.’

‘No, but two of his men accompanied you when you went to buy bread yesterday.’

‘That’s true.’ Elise squared her shoulders. She wished things were easier between her and Gawain. If only she could trust him. No, that wasn’t right, she could trust him. Gawain would do the right thing. He always did the right thing. And that was exactly the problem. Elise wasn’t sure what André had done and she wanted him to have a chance to make things better. But the instinct to ask for Gawain’s help was strong. ‘It must be resisted,’ she murmured.

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