The Unconventional Maiden. June Francis

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      ‘If that is what you wish, but in the meantime I must inform Wolsey what has happened.’ Gawain’s voice brooked no argument. ‘He organised this whole event. He would think there was something amiss if I did not report the matter to him.’

      ‘You know him well?’

      ‘We are acquainted due to my having spent time at court,’ said Gawain.

      The colour in Beth’s cheeks ebbed and she thought how there would definitely be an enquiry now by the Cardinal. She hated the idea.

      ‘Did your father not have a business meeting this morning in Calais?’ asked Gawain.

      She hesitated. ‘Aye, but what has that to do with this? Monsieur Le Brun is but a master printer and he and my father have done business together for as long as I can remember. He would never hurt him.’

      ‘Your father wouldn’t have considered him a suitable husband for you?’

      ‘What!’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘He is an old man. Besides, he has a wife and three sons.’

      Gawain was relieved. ‘It was just a thought. Yet his conversation with your father earlier today might provide some clue to his murderer. With his being an old friend he might have spoken to him about matters he would not have told others. Do you know his whereabouts in Calais?’

      Beth mentioned the name of a street.

      ‘Then I will go there,’ said Gawain. ‘But first I must speak to Wolsey.’

      He drew back the tent flap and ushered her outside. Immediately the strong wind caught her and almost blew her off her feet. She clung to his arm as her skirts were whipped about her legs and she felt him stiffen. Obviously he did not want her touching him, so she released her hold on him and was aware of curious glances as they made their way past the tents.

      ‘I wish we had never come here,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But Father was adamant that I should see some of the places that he had visited with the king’s father when he was a penniless fugitive.’

      ‘Perhaps it will be worth mentioning the link between the Tudors and your family to Wolsey.’

      ‘I do not doubt he already knows of it,’ said Beth. ‘My Welsh great-grandfather fought beside the king’s great-grandfather, Owain ap Twydr, at Agincourt, but that did not mean much to Wolsey. He and Father met and they disagreed on matters of religion.’

      ‘I see,’ said Gawain, wondering if the Llewellyn menfolk had been involved in the printing of illegal religious tracts at any time and, if so, maybe that could have had something to do with their deaths? ‘Anyway, I am hopeful that when I explain the situation to the Cardinal, he will speak with the king and he will allow me to escort you back to England as soon as possible.’

      ‘Why should you want to do so?’ asked Beth, surprised. ‘Would you rather not stay here?’

      ‘I deem it my duty to see you safely home,’ he said firmly.

      ‘I still do not understand why you should feel responsible for me,’ said Beth. ‘I have my servants to accompany me.’

      Gawain frowned. ‘Do not allow your pride to get in the way of common sense. Because of my position your passage will be more comfortable. Besides, you will be safer with me. Allow me to help you, Mistress Llewellyn.’

      Beth did feel safer knowing that he was at her side, despite his overbearing and disapproving manner earlier. ‘I will do so for now, Sir Gawain, but do not feel that I will acquiesce so easily another time,’ she murmured.

      ‘I am not such a fool that I have forgotten our earlier exchange, Mistress Llewellyn,’ he said, then changed the subject. ‘Now, tell me your opinion of our king’s temporary palace.’

      Beth saw that they were heading through the crowds to that edifice and could not help but marvel at what the old king’s money had built here in Balinghem. The palace was in four blocks with a central courtyard. The only solid part was the brick base and above that were thirty-foot-high walls made of cloth on timber frames, painted to look like stone or brick. The slanting roof was made of grey oiled cloth and gave the illusion of slates. There were huge expanses of expensive glass windows.

      ‘One cannot accuse our king of tightfistedness,’ said Gawain drily.

      ‘Do you like him?’ asked Beth in a low voice.

      ‘What is there not to like?’ parried Gawain.

      Beth would have argued that was not a proper answer, but Gawain had turned away now and was talking to one of the guards. Once inside, it struck her that he knew a lot of people as he spoke to several of those there. ‘How will you find the Cardinal in this great edifice?’ she asked, glancing about her at the luxurious fittings and the profusion of golden ornaments.

      ‘A messenger has been sent to inform him that I seek an audience with him.’

      ‘Then you know for certain that Wolsey is here,’ she said, her fingers reaching for Gawain’s sleeve as he led the way to a bench, flanked by flowering shrubs in pots.

      ‘Aye, it is not unusual for him to work from dawn to dusk on the king’s behalf whilst his Majesty and his court enjoy themselves.’

      She nodded, having heard it was so from Jonathan, who’d had acquaintances at court.

      Gawain was soon summoned to the Cardinal’s presence. His dark blue eyes held Beth’s for a moment. ‘Do not fret. You are safer here than alone in your father’s tent. Only a lackwit would risk harming you with so many witnesses present.’

      Beth nodded, wondering why he should think anyone should want to harm her. She carefully arranged her skirts as she sat down and watched him cross the sunlit space with a loose-limbed stride until he was out of sight. Then she freed a pent-up breath and prepared for what she guessed could be a long wait.

      The time passed slowly and she was seized again by that sense of unreality. She felt set apart from the folk who came and went in colourful costumes, like so many peacocks, jays and magpies, chattering and shrieking with laughter. Now and then she was aware of glances being cast her way and wished that Sir Gawain would return. There were questions she wanted to ask him, such as why he should have even mentioned his being considered a suspect? Could it be possible that he had cause to want her left all alone in the world so that she might depend on him? Well, he was mistaken if he thought that was so because she could look after herself. She rose and crossed to one of the windows and gazed out on the courtyard where the fountains of wine flowed freely. Some people had already imbibed too much and were staggering about and carousing in voices that made her wince.

      ‘Mistress Llewellyn,’ said a voice behind her.

      She turned swiftly, surprised by the strength in the surge of relief she felt, collided into Sir Gawain and was knocked off balance.

      ‘Careful,’ he murmured, fighting against the sensations caused by the swell of her breasts against him. He found himself imagining their pale softness with their rosy peaks and forced himself to hold her off at arm’s length. Beth Llewellyn’s father had deemed him her protector; until he found her a husband, that meant he must keep faith, whatever temptation she put in his path.

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