Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress

by Carol Townend

  She found a question that seemed safe enough. ‘I take it Count Faramus loaned you this horse?’

  Gawain nodded, and then Elise realised her question hadn’t been safe at all—it led to a whole raft of other questions. Did Count Faramus know that Gawain wanted the horses for his...what was she to him? His discarded mistress? The mother of his firstborn child? A woman with whom he hoped to renew an illicit love affair?

  I will not become his mistress. I will not. The good sisters at the convent had failed to turn Elise into a nun, but they had instilled in her a horror of the idea of stealing another woman’s husband. Her relationship with Gawain must change. It should change now. Eyes prickling, she made a show of adjusting the fall of her skirts to hide her legs. She shouldn’t really be talking to him.

  ‘There’s no sign of the heat relenting,’ Gawain said.

  ‘No.’ Elise went on twitching her skirts, conscious of his gaze on her. When she looked up, she kept her gaze firmly on a dust cloud that was being kicked up by a train of mules ahead.

  ‘You ride well,’ he said.

  ‘Father taught me. It was after I left the convent. He said riding was a necessary accomplishment if we were to spend so much time on the road.’

  ‘You keep no horses though. They are too costly, I suppose.’

  She nodded. ‘We have a mule and a cart. Vivienne dislikes riding. And now we have the babies a cart is essential. Occasionally André and I hire horses.’

  ‘You’ll find horses at the manor. As I recall, there’s a mare there that would suit you very well.’

  She felt her eyes go round. ‘You are giving us horses too?’

  ‘I am giving you horses.’ He shrugged. ‘You will need them when you ride out with Sir Bertran to inspect your land.’

  Slowly, Elise shook her head. She had a manor with revenues. She was rich. She had horses. A home. ‘My lord—’

  ‘Gawain,’ he muttered. ‘It would please me if you would call me by my Christian name.’

  ‘Very well. Gawain.’ She fiddled with the reins and tried to ignore a rush of longing that had her eyes misting with tears.

  She heard him sigh. ‘Elise? What is it?’

  She stared at her reins. She wanted to ask him if Lady Rowena minded that he was personally escorting her to Troyes, but she couldn’t ask that. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she couldn’t do that either. Blinking hard, she glanced across and her eyes seemed to drink him in. His tall, broad-shouldered body was completely at home on the back of his destrier. He turned slightly towards her. His manner appeared warm, affectionate even. The summer sun had brightened his hair to the colour of ripe wheat and his eyes shone down at her, dark and mysterious and as fascinating as ever. Today his eyes were unfathomable and somehow at variance with his smile, which had an openness about it that was achingly dear. Her gaze settled on the long fingers loosely holding the reins. Yesterday those fingers had sent fire streaking through her.

  She inhaled slowly and couldn’t help but notice how the movement of her chest drew his gaze to her breasts. Gawain, Count of Meaux, was not hers. He never would be. And if she were to judge by the expression on his face—there was no denying the flash of hunger in his eyes—it was up to her to maintain a seemly distance between them. No less a person than the King was promoting his marriage. For Gawain’s sake, she must never place herself in a position where he would be tempted to take advantage of her. There must be no repeats of that shameful incident of yesterday.

  She wound the reins round her forefinger, unwound them and started all over again—winding, unwinding, winding. ‘My l—Gawain.’ With a swift glance behind her, she lowered her voice. ‘I should like to ask you about André. I am worried about what will happen when he goes to Sir Raphael.’

  ‘I have told you that I will speak up on his behalf.’

  ‘Thank you. I only pray that you are right when you say he will be judged with compassion.’

  Leather creaked and Gawain’s hand closed on hers. ‘Do not fear for him. Count Henry and Captain Raphael are bound to see, as I see, that there is no evil in the lad.’ Broad shoulders lifted. ‘He is young. He made an error of judgement.’

  Gawain’s words echoed through her mind, and Elise stared thoughtfully at the hand on hers. ‘You said something similar yesterday.’

  He looked blankly at her. ‘Did I?’

  ‘In the hall at suppertime, you said most men had done things in their youth that they came to regret.’

  Again, he shrugged. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Were you thinking of yourself when you said that? Is there something in your past you regret?’

  His hand withdrew and he shifted in the saddle. ‘I have many regrets.’

  His smile was crooked. It made Elise wonder if Gawain numbered her among his regrets. She didn’t want him to regret his liaison with her. True, it had brought her pain when they had separated, but it had also brought her Pearl. Their time together had brought great joy, and—albeit briefly—she had experienced the sense that she and Gawain were bound together, that they were family. It was rare for Elise to feel that. The closest she’d ever come to feeling anything like it had been with her sister, Morwenna.

  Her mother and father hadn’t had room in their lives for their daughters. She and Morwenna had been carted off to the convent as soon as they had become de trop. After leaving the convent and finding her father again, Elise had been desperate to stay with him. She had wanted a home for her and Morwenna. She had fought to win her father’s love—why, she’d learned to sing in hope of winning his affection. Ronan had been pleased with her as a chanteuse, but Elise had never felt there was a real bond between her and her father. Certainly nothing like the bond she’d felt with Gawain. That had been breathtaking. Instant.

  ‘How about you?’ he was asking. ‘What’s your biggest regret?’

  ‘Leaving Ravenshold—and you—at the turn of the year.’

  A muscle twitched in Gawain’s cheek. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly.’ Elise let out an airy laugh, guiltily aware that she should not have admitted as much. He wouldn’t want to know. She rushed on. ‘Now it’s your turn. Your remark about youthful regrets has aroused my curiosity. What did you do in your youth that you regret?’

  Somewhere a church bell was ringing. The rooks were cawing in a nearby stand of trees, just as they’d been cawing in the woods around Ravenshold when they had become lovers. Gawain looked steadily ahead. Elise was beginning to fear that he thought her question impertinent when he let out a large sigh.

  ‘I have many regrets,’ he said softly. ‘And if you want one that has shaped my life, I have to mention my cousin, Lunette de Meaux.’

  ‘Your uncle’s daughter.’

  ‘Aye. As a boy I never expected to inherit my uncle’s county. My father was his younger brother. Father did have the manor near Troyes and I thought myself lucky—in time it would be mine. Many second sons inherit nothing. However, my father and uncle were close, and when it became clear that my uncle would have no male heir, they applied for a dispensation so that Lunette and I could be married.’ Dark eyes looked across at her. ‘It was their way of keeping my uncle’s land in the family.’

  Elise nodded. Such arrangements were common. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I loved Lunette as a sister. We were both young and I trusted that in time I would love her as my wife.’ His mouth was unhappy.

  ‘Gawain.’ Reaching across, Elise lightly touched his sleeve. ‘Tell me. You married her?’

  He gave a curt head shake. ‘There was an accident shortly before the wedding. Lunette died.’ His expression was bleak. ‘It was my fault—a sin of omission, if you like. I killed my cousin.’

  Elise caught her breath. How could that be? Gawain was the soul of honour. ‘Gawain, that can’t be true, Lunette’s death can
not have been your fault.’

  ‘Believe it.’ His voice was bitter, his eyes bleak. ‘My uncle certainly did. We were riding. Lunette’s saddle had a faulty girth. I should have checked it before we set out. We were racing along the riverbank and her horse stumbled. The girth snapped.’

  ‘She was thrown?’

  ‘Aye. She was killed instantly.’

  ‘Gawain, I am so sorry.’

  He heaved in a breath. ‘It’s ancient history. Suffice to say that Lunette’s death caused a rift in the family. It never healed. My father took my part—’

  ‘I should think that he did!’

  ‘Well, that’s as may be, but my uncle refused to accept any apology. And it was my fault—I should have checked that girth.’

  ‘How old were you when this happened? How old was Lunette?’

  ‘We were fourteen.’

  ‘At that age your cousin should have known to check her own saddle. You were not to blame,’ Elise said firmly. She recalled how carefully Gawain had checked her saddle and harness earlier in the bailey of Provins Castle. Gawain was careful in all things, responsible in all things. Lunette’s death had made him the man he was. Sensing that it might not be the moment to point this out to him, she said nothing.

  ‘A sin of omission is still a sin,’ he was saying, grimly. ‘And it galls me to know how my uncle will be turning in his grave to see me inheriting his county.’ A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘It galls me very much. That is why I considered that marrying Lady Rowena was perhaps the best course. At least in that one thing I could please him.’

  Gawain had used the word ‘considered’. Elise’s stomach swooped. It was as though he was speaking in the past tense. Had he changed his mind about marrying Lady Rowena? She found herself staring at her horse’s mane. ‘Oh?’

  ‘My uncle favoured the marriage,’ he said, bluntly. ‘Lord Faramus was his friend and ally.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘I understand the King is promoting the match.’

  Gawain grunted and frowned.

  Elise fiddled with her reins. Behind them, André was talking to one of Gawain’s men. She could hear his every word, which likely meant that the entire troop could hear what she was saying to their lord. It really wasn’t the place for intimate conversation, particularly when it was veering on to shaky ground.

  Had Gawain changed his mind about marrying Lady Rowena? It was possible, but it would be beyond impertinent for her to ask him. And she must be realistic. Even if he had changed his mind about Lady Rowena, Elise Chantier would never be his match. The Count of Meaux would never marry a chanteuse. Just because he had given her his father’s manor did not mean he would consider marrying someone of such low birth. He’d been driven by duty when he’d given her the manor. He took his responsibilities as a father seriously and he wanted to provide for his daughter. It meant no more than that.

  She mustn’t delude herself. As yesterday had so embarrassingly proved, passion was alive between them, but passion alone was not enough. Gawain might have feelings for her, indeed after yesterday both she and Lady Rowena knew beyond doubt that he did, but they were carnal feelings. Carnal feelings and marriage did not necessarily go together. Did Gawain love her at a deeper level? Could he love her? She couldn’t ask that either.

  Lunette’s death had made Gawain conscious of his responsibilities, but that was not all. It had taught him to guard his feelings. Elise had known him as a friend and a lover, but this was the first time he had mentioned Lunette and the pain and guilt her death had brought him. He kept his emotions to himself.

  When Elise had learned that Gawain had inherited a county, she had thought only of his good fortune. Sir Gawain Steward had become the Count of Meaux! But it wasn’t that simple. Gawain viewed his inheritance with mixed feelings. Guilt over Lunette’s death and the ensuing family rift weighed heavily on his conscience. Overscrupulous to a fault, Gawain was shouldering the blame for the mistakes of others. Lunette forgot to check her girth and in time his uncle should have accepted this.

  ‘Your uncle was wrong to blame you for your cousin’s death,’ she said softly. ‘I can see how distraught he must have been after the accident, but I believe that over time he must have come to forgive you.’

  Gawain looked sharply at her. ‘How so? After the funeral he and my father never spoke again. I was never summoned to Meaux.’

  ‘Your uncle forgave you. Surely he was involved in negotiating your betrothal with Lady Rowena?’

  ‘So I’ve been told, but I didn’t learn about the negotiations until after his death. Why did he never contact me himself?’

  ‘Your uncle was clearly a proud and determined man, otherwise the rift between him and your father would soon have been bridged. Such a man might find it hard to approach you. Is there someone at Meaux you could speak to? Someone who would know your uncle’s mind before he died? It might set your mind at rest.’

  Gawain’s expression was thoughtful. ‘I could speak to my aunt—my uncle’s widow, Lady Una. She’s entered a convent in Paris. I adored her as a child.’ He grimaced. ‘I must confess I cannot imagine her taking the veil. She was the liveliest of women. Anyone less suited to convent life would be hard to find. I shall visit her and see how she is faring.’

  Elise smiled. ‘I am sure Lady Una would like that.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The walls of Troyes had just come into view and instead of heading directly for the Preize Gate, Gawain kept The Beast on the road that led to his manor. He should have anticipated what would happen.

  Elise gestured towards the gate, a furrow in her brow. ‘Gawain? What about Pearl and Vivienne? They are coming with us?’

  ‘I shall send for them shortly,’ Gawain spoke curtly.

  The worries of the past few days were flooding into his mind. He hadn’t realised how unsettled he would feel until he’d seen the town walls. Elise’s safety was his main concern. Jerome appeared to have fled Provins, but he might have come to Troyes. Until Gawain had seen the city on the horizon, he’d assumed it would be easy leaving Elise in the care of Sergeant Gaston whilst he went to Paris. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking what might go wrong. What would Jerome do if he was in Troyes and he saw Elise? From what André had said, it was clear Jerome saw her as a troublemaker. Jerome wanted her silenced and he was ruthless enough to try anything.

  And it wasn’t simply Elise’s safety that was at issue here. What about Pearl? Icy fingers ran down his spine. The word ‘kidnap’ leapt into his brain. If the fraudsters found out that Pearl was his daughter they might...

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Mon seigneur?’

  ‘Take four horse soldiers and go straight to La Rue du Cloître. You’ll find Sergeant Gaston on guard outside one of the houses. Enquire after Vivienne—she’s a nursing mother presently lodging in the house. Escort her and the babies—there are two of them—to the manor.’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  The captain wheeled his horse about and Gawain turned to Elise. ‘Satisfied?’

  A line deepened on her brow. ‘I thought we were going to meet them at the house and go to the manor together.’

  ‘You thought wrong.’ Gawain didn’t want to worry her, but it might be best if she was brought to see some of the dangers. Elise was staring mutinously after the captain. A blind man could see that she was within a hair’s breadth of spurring after him. She took no heed of herself—she must be made to see her worth. Gawain reached for her reins. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

  She looked at him, all innocence. ‘My lord?’

  Gawain brought her mare close to The Beast and his knee bumped hers. He glanced pointedly at his hand on her reins. ‘Think. What would it look like if we rode into town with an entire troop at our heels? It would draw all eyes. The men would have to wait outside with
the horses whilst André was reunited with Vivienne, you would start fussing over Pearl—it would likely take hours.’

  Some of the anger left her face. ‘It would be a circus.’

  ‘Precisely. All Troyes would know that you had returned. Elise, I am concerned for your safety and the sooner you are behind the manor walls, the better I will feel.’ She opened her mouth and Gawain swept on regardless. ‘It’s not only your safety that concerns me, André too might be at risk. My aim is to get both of you to the manor, where you will be safe.’ Releasing her reins, he ran his finger down her cheek. ‘La Manoir des Rosières has curtain walls and a dry ditch. It’s easier to guard than the house in La Rue du Cloître.’

  Her face clouded. ‘You’re locking us up? I thought the manor was mine, yet you speak of your men guarding it? Gawain, why leave your men behind if the manor is truly mine?’

  ‘The manor is yours. My men aren’t guarding you—I’ll be leaving them with you to help you settle in.’

  She searched his face. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? What are you not saying?’

  Mind in turmoil, Gawain kicked The Beast into a walk and they continued down the road in the direction of the manor. André and what was left of his troop snaked along behind them. What else could he say? He didn’t want her seriously alarmed.

  Briefly, it occurred to Gawain to mention his petition to the King—it might act as a means of distracting her from his concerns over her well-being. Swiftly, he dismissed the idea. In all honour, there was nothing he could say until after he had spoken to the King. After that—well, the outcome was as yet unknown. What he did know was that he had to be sure Elise and Pearl were protected. He wanted that as he had wanted nothing else in his life.