Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress. Carol Townend

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СКАЧАТЬ 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? СКАЧАТЬ