I must succeed in this. Before André’s disappearance, Blanchefleur’s success as a chanteuse had been vital for her and Pearl. Elise looked at Vivienne and Bruno and tried to keep the anxiety from her expression. Without André, her success was doubly important.
Vivienne patted Pearl’s head and looked up. ‘You’ll have to be careful if the count’s men are with you.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash.’ Reaching her gown down from a hook on the wall, Elise dragged it on and rummaged about for her comb. ‘Did you know Baderon de Lyon is in the camp this summer?’
‘The lute-player who used to perform at the Poitiers court?’
‘That’s the one.’ Deftly plaiting her hair into a single braid, Elise grabbed her veil and turned for the stairway. ‘I need to practise. Perhaps he will play for me.’
‘Be careful, Elise.’
‘Try not to worry.’ Elise laughed. ‘Gawain knows I am a chanteuse. He knows I have performances to give. He cannot expect me not to rehearse.’
Chapter Five
‘She’s where?’ Dismounting outside the house in the Rue du Cloître, Gawain looked at his sergeant in disbelief.
The sergeant took a hasty step backwards. ‘She said she was going to Strangers’ City, my lord. She...she’s not on her own. Two men have gone with her. She said she’s going to work.’
‘Work?’
‘My lord, you didn’t say she was to be confined.’
‘No.’ Gawain knew he was frowning and he couldn’t help it. Lord, what was she up to? He hadn’t wanted to come here this morning. He’d told himself it wasn’t necessary and that he had no business visiting Elise, not when he was in Troyes to meet his betrothed. But what she had said about being imprisoned had preyed on his mind, and so he was here. He’d been hoping to see her, hoping she understood that he had confined her in La Rue du Cloître in order to prevent worse imprisonment at the castle prison. Hoping she realised that he was involved now not because he wanted to interfere in her life, but to stop the Guardians dealing harshly with Vivienne, who was currently employed as his daughter’s wet-nurse. He still found it hard to credit. He had a daughter.
‘And the babies—where are they?’ He couldn’t help but ask.
‘The infants are still in the house, mon seigneur.’
‘Good.’ Gawain hadn’t told his men that one of them was his. They didn’t need to know. However, he had made sure that whatever happened, the men knew they must ensure the safety of the babies.
Disappointment sat cold in his gut—Elise wasn’t here. Lord, what a trial she was. He hadn’t actually forbidden her to return to Strangers’ City, but she must know he didn’t want her near the place. With the sword in Sir Raphael’s hands, she might find the camp more dangerous than before.
‘When did she leave?’
‘About two hours ago, my lord.’
Gawain stared blindly at the Romanesque arch over the door. What was she doing? Was she really singing, or was that an excuse to cover up a meeting with this André de Poitiers? Or worse, with the counterfeiters?
A prickle of unease ran through him. For the first time Gawain considered the real possibility that Elise herself might be involved in the sale of counterfeit regalia. He shook his head. Not Elise. However, he couldn’t turn a blind eye to her returning to the encampment. Sir Raphael had only agreed that the women might be housed in the Rue du Cloître on the understanding that Gawain was responsible for their good behaviour. And Gawain, fool that he was, had agreed. He even remembered telling Raphael that a singer and a wet-nurse could hardly pose much of a threat to the County of Champagne.
‘Stay here, Gaston. Watch those infants.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And if Elise Chantier returns before I do, keep her here. I want to speak to her.’
Gaston saluted. ‘Mon seigneur.’
Muttering under his breath, Gawain took The Beast’s reins from Aubin and set his foot in the stirrup.
* * *
As Gawain had expected the purple pavilion was empty but Elise wasn’t hard to find. A woman was singing nearby. Elise. Her voice had a haunting quality. It was otherworldly. Magical. Even though Gawain had only heard her sing a few times, he would know her voice among a thousand others. He followed the tantalising thread of sound to a tent the colour of dark moss. His men were stationed outside.
Gawain nodded briefly at them. ‘Aubin, wait here.’
Someone was accompanying her, Gawain could hear a lute. Stiffening, he broke step by the entrance flap. Was she with André de Poitiers? His fingers formed a fist. If she was meeting her lute-player and she hadn’t told him... Heavy-browed, he pushed inside. The flow of singing cut off.
Elise looked at him. ‘Lord Gawain!’
The lute-player was sitting on a camping stool. He was slower to react to Gawain’s entrance—a last ripple of notes hung in the air and then faded before he rose to his feet. He was older than Gawain had expected. His brown hair had a trace of grey at the temples. Gawain looked him in the eye. ‘You, I take it, are André de Poitiers.’
Elise made a sharp movement. ‘No, my lord, you have it wrong. This isn’t André.’
‘No?’
‘This is Baderon, my lord, Baderon de Lyon. Baderon, allow me to present Gawain Steward, Count of Meaux.’
The relief—she had not gone behind his back, she really had come to practise her repertoire—was so intense Gawain felt a smile forming. He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Baderon de Lyon,’ he murmured. The name was familiar. Gawain knew little about Elise’s world—the world of the troubadour was not his—yet even he had heard of Baderon de Lyon. ‘My apologies for interrupting.’ Giving the man a distracted smile, he took Elise’s arm and steered her outside.
His men jumped to attention. ‘Stay here,’ he told them. Walking down the avenue between the tents, he led Elise towards one of the ale tents. ‘Singing is thirsty work, I imagine?’
Dark eyes wary, she nodded and took a place at one of the trestles. Gawain ordered ale and fixed her with a look. ‘So that’s not André.’
‘No.’
‘Had you arranged to meet him here?’
Her mouth set in stubborn lines. ‘No. I would have been happy to see him though. Vivienne is out of her mind with worry.’
Gawain studied her. ‘You are worried too I imagine.’ She nodded and he saw her swallow. ‘Elise, I am not your keeper, but it concerns me to find you wandering about Strangers’ City.’
‘I wasn’t on my own.’ She gestured back down the rows of tents. ‘Your men came with me.’
The girl arrived with the ale. As she set the mugs down, froth spilled on to the trestle.
‘Be that as it may,’ Gawain continued, ‘I think you should avoid seeing your André. Until this business is resolved, I would prefer it if you didn’t come here.’
He could see objections forming in her mind and before he knew it he’d put his finger to her mouth to stop them emerging. The desire to trace the shape of her lips with his fingertip caught him off guard. Checking the impulse, he pulled his hand away. ‘With the sword at the castle, there may be dangers for you here. Elise, you put yourself at risk and if you aren’t concerned for your safety, I implore you to think of Pearl. How would she fare if she lost her mother?’
She looked swiftly away, biting her lip.
‘You came to find André.’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘Naturally, I hoped to see him, but I really do need to practise. I am a professional. I have audiences to consider. Singing is my life!’
‘Oh?’ Gawain sipped his ale.
Her chin lifted. It was a determined chin. Then she gave him one of her shy, heart-melting smiles and he ached inside. ‘I shall be performing for Count Henry himself while I am in Troyes.’
; She looked so pleased there was no question but that she was speaking the truth. Well, he knew about her ambitions and he was glad for her. He was impressed. But as to the rest—could he take her at her word? Could she be relied upon not to meddle in this underworld business? He wanted her to be safe.
‘Have you found anything more about your friend André?’ A strand of dark hair was winding down her temple in the most entrancing way. It shone in the sun and trembled every time she moved. Gawain was on the point of stroking it back behind her ear when he realised the way his thoughts were tending and stopped himself touching her. Again. Lord, what a trial she was. He gripped his ale mug.
‘No, my lord.’
‘Would you tell me if you had, I wonder?’
‘Mon seigneur?’
His mouth curved. ‘Don’t flutter those eyelashes at me, my girl. Elise, must you come here to rehearse?’ He paused, tapping his ale mug. Fiddling with his mug helped keep his mind off what he really wanted to do, which was to test whether that shining strand of hair was as soft as he remembered. ‘Should I hear anything concerning Monsieur de Poitiers I will tell you. I understand that you and Vivienne must be worried sick.’
‘And my singing, my lord? How am I to practise if I cannot meet up with Baderon?’
‘There’s nothing to stop Baderon coming to the house in La Rue du Cloître. I should think you could practise there just as well. Better. Baderon’s tent is far too small. I shall have a word with him.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
He smiled at her. ‘You sounded very good, by the way. Beautiful.’ Before he had time to check himself, Gawain covered her hand with his. Her hand was warm, the skin smooth. ‘You have an entrancing voice.’
Her eyes danced. ‘Why, thank you, my lord. How kind.’
‘When do you sing before Count Henry?’
‘At the Harvest Banquet.’
His breath caught. ‘At the banquet itself? The one in the palace?’ Naturally, Gawain was glad that she’d found somewhere prestigious to perform. Short of Poitiers or the Paris court there was nowhere more elevated than Count Henry’s palace in Troyes. But the Harvest Banquet?
Lady Rowena would have arrived in Troyes by then and if all was well between them, he was expected to make a public announcement of his betrothal at that very feast. Elise knew of his coming marriage, yet for some odd reason it was deeply disturbing to think of her being present when he confirmed it. ‘You are to sing at the palace?’
Dark eyes held his. ‘What’s the matter, my lord? Don’t you think my voice is good enough?’
Gawain’s mind reeled. The Harvest Banquet. Elise was to sing there on the very evening when he would announce the date of his marriage. It brought a bitter taste to his mouth. God have mercy!
Beneath his hand, small fingers shifted. Glancing down at the board, Gawain was shocked to find his fingers playing with hers. Hastily unlinking them, he dragged his hand clear. ‘Not at all. No. Your voice is perfect.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
Her smile was warm. Gawain looked at her mouth, at the twist of brown hair at her temple, at the slender hand on the table, and his stomach clenched in a miserable flash of understanding. I don’t want Lady Rowena. Once formed, the thought seemed to burn into his brain. Lady Rowena might be the most beautiful woman on earth, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want her, he never would. As the thought turned into certainty he picked up his mug and tossed back his ale. Lady Rowena expects our marriage to take place. My uncle endorsed it and my aunt expects it. Not to mention that Lady Rowena’s godfather—the King—supports the match.
Mon Dieu. I want...
Gawain looked into Elise’s mysterious brown eyes and pushed to his feet. She had not lost her allure in the months they had been apart and something told him that she never would. The word ‘duty’ jumped into his mind. Duty. It was such a heavy word. So cold. He felt as though there was a stone in his throat. He forced out some words. ‘You’ve finished singing for today?’
She nodded and that glossy brown curl caught the light. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘We can arrange for Baderon to come to the house and then I shall walk back with you to the Rue du Cloître.’
Dark eyes dancing, she put her hand to her breast. ‘Even more walking? My lord, you do me much honour.’
Murmuring a response, Gawain looked towards Baderon’s tent. It was tempting to call for one of his men to bring him his horse. If he had his way, he would be riding back to the Rue du Cloître with Elise sat before him on The Beast. He longed to feel her body settling against his again.
Best not. He sighed. He mustn’t touch her. He mustn’t even think about touching her, not when it was the King’s wish that he should marry Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. Duty. Lord.
He had no idea a man could feel so trapped. And he wasn’t even married.
* * *
The next day began with a small irritation. Gawain still couldn’t stop thinking about Elise. As he rode towards Troyes Castle with his squire, he found he had to steel himself not to look in the direction of La Rue du Cloître. He told himself that there was no need for him to worry about Elise. He could forget all about her. She had made it perfectly clear she wanted him to have no involvement in her life. The fact that he desired her, ached to possess her again, was irrelevant. He was promised to Lady Rowena.
Gawain yawned. He had barely slept. Thinking about Elise had had him tossing and turning until the stars had begun to fade. However, the night had not been entirely fruitless. After finally achieving a few hours’ rest he had woken with a decision made.
Gawain couldn’t lie to himself. He still desired Elise. Seeing her again had made him understand that he had never stopped desiring her. No matter. He was no longer free. Yet he couldn’t dismiss her completely, partly because of his fear that she was involved with this criminal gang, but mainly because of Pearl. His daughter. He simply could not neglect little Pearl.
The solution, when it finally came to him, was simple. He would give Elise a grant of land. It would be something for her to fall back on if her singing let her down. Gawain couldn’t stomach the thought of Elise and Pearl reduced to penury. He was well aware that Lady Rowena might object to him giving Elise a grant of land. Did she have to be told? What he had done before meeting his betrothed could hardly be held against him. His past relations with Elise Chantier were nothing to do with Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe.
Until the deed was drawn up, his men would remain stationed at the house. They would keep an eye on Elise. Sergeant Gaston had been expressly ordered to send him a message should either of the women set foot outside the city walls. Sergeant Gaston would also watch out for André de Poitiers. With that straight in his mind, Gawain would surely be able to stop thinking about Elise.
‘Aren’t we going to the house, my lord?’ Aubin asked, looking down La Rue du Cloître as they passed the head of the street.
Gawain looked firmly ahead. ‘No, we’re going to the garrison. I need to speak to Sir Raphael.’
* * *
By the time the castle walls were louring over them, Gawain was conscious of another twinge of irritation. Despite his decision to give Elise that gift of land, something that felt suspiciously like dread was curling in his guts. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting Lady Rowena. It was ridiculous to dread meeting the woman whom fate had decreed he must marry. Ever since Gawain had won his spurs he had understood that in order to rise through the ranks he must make a sound marriage. And now he was a count this was even more important. But the idea of making a good dynastic alliance was hard to swallow today. He wanted Elise. He burned for her. She was the mother of his child. However, the brutal truth was that Elise wasn’t the right woman. Marriage to Elise wouldn’t reconcile him with his aunt. Nor would it bring him lands and the King’s approval. In any case, Elise had
made it plain that she had her own life to live.
He would give her the manor and then, knowing that she and Pearl were provided for, he would be able to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t marry her, and he wasn’t a man to marry one woman and conduct an affair with another. Even if—his mouth twisted—Elise were to agree. And that would be far from certain.
Sighing heavily, Gawain clattered into the bailey and guided The Beast towards the stable. Raphael was likely to be in the guard house or nearby.
Inside the guard house, a knot of soldiers stood in the light of the window embrasure. They were arguing about the whereabouts of Queen Eleanor of England. The Queen—she was still occasionally referred to as Eleanor of Aquitaine—had vanished mysteriously the previous spring and the Champenois were fascinated by her disappearance. They had good reason to be interested. Countess Marie of Champagne was her daughter from her first marriage to the King of France. Gawain caught a few phrases before the men turned his way.
‘Queen Eleanor’s in England.’
‘That King Henry has locked her up. He—’
A sergeant noticed him. ‘Can I help you, my lord?’
‘Any sign of Captain Raphael?’
‘He’s off duty until this evening, mon seigneur.’
Nodding, Gawain turned on his heel, knowing exactly where Raphael would be. He was never really off duty. Gawain would shortly be leaving Troyes to meet Lady Rowena’s father near Provins, and he didn’t want to hear that in his absence Raphael had put Elise—or her friend Vivienne for that matter—under lock and key in the castle prison. Raphael must be made to understand that he would have to answer to Gawain if either woman was roughly handled.
Elise’s character was not in question. Raphael must be made to understand that too. It was a pity Gawain couldn’t vouch for André. Elise and Vivienne were worried about him and if Gawain were honest, so was he. For the women’s sake, he would reserve judgement on André de Poitiers for as long as possible. Elise clearly loved her lute-player and she might yet be proved right as to his character. The lad was young. Anything was possible.
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