Sad to say, there were no guarantees. Elise was a free woman. While he was in Paris, she might decide she missed being Blanchefleur le Fay. She might decide to pack up the purple pavilion and take to the road. Summer was the best season for singing and it was in her blood. She might even—his hand curled into a fist—accept Sir Olier’s offer of marriage.
His stomach felt hollow. He could return to the manor only to find that Elise and Pearl had vanished from his life. How could he protect them then? He loved them. He would do all in his power to protect them. Years ago, he had failed to protect Lunette—he would not fail now.
What had she just said? You are locking me up. The words had a peculiar resonance. You are locking me up. He hid a smile. In a thousand lifetimes, such a thought would never have crossed his mind. However, since it had...
‘Gawain, what are you not telling me?’
Mind working, he struggled to keep his expression bland. Elise was nothing if not tenacious and if she agreed to marry him, she would lead him a merry dance. She would soon learn that he was equally tenacious. She had walked away from him once and that wasn’t going to happen again. He would protect her. The question was, how best to ensure that she stayed safely at the manor until he returned?
You are locking me up.
Gawain’s thoughts took an unexpected turn and he found himself thinking about King Henry of England. The world knew that King Henry and his Queen had a turbulent relationship. They quarrelled often. Queen Eleanor was rebellious and disloyal. Recently, she had sided with her sons against her husband. The word ‘treason’ had been bandied about. Of course, Gawain wouldn’t dream of comparing his relationship with Elise to that of King Henry and Queen Eleanor’s. For a start, he and Elise weren’t married. Yet. And whilst he and Elise didn’t always see eye to eye, Elise didn’t have a disloyal bone in her body. However, the King’s method of restraining his queen had caught everyone’s interest. King Henry had captured his queen and imprisoned her. For almost a year no one had known where she was.
Heart thumping, Gawain glanced at Elise. His troubles were entirely different to those of King Henry’s, yet the King’s method of resolving his problems was strangely compelling.
Gawain wouldn’t imprison Elise. Not exactly. He would simply ensure that she was safe. There would be no wandering off with Pearl whilst he was in Paris.
Unfortunately, keeping her safe was likely to require drastic measures. No matter. He had the men and the means. She would be furious with him, but far more important, she and Pearl would be safe.
Elise pushed her veil over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were watchful.
‘You’ll love the manor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll show you around before I leave. You can choose a bedchamber for yourself and decide which one will suit Vivienne and André.’
She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘I can choose a bedchamber? Gawain, at this moment I couldn’t care less about bedchambers. You’re hiding something and I want to know what it is.’
‘I’m not hiding a thing.’
This was a barefaced lie. Gawain didn’t like lying. However, in this case, he had no choice. He wasn’t going to confess that he had decided to use King Henry’s method of restraining his queen on Elise. Jerome was at large.
Sergeant Gaston would be given orders to permit Elise the run of the manor. She would be allowed to ride out around the estate, provided she took a decent escort with her for her protection. She would not be allowed to go into Troyes; nor would she be allowed to take to the road again. She had to learn to look after herself. As Blanchefleur le Fay she received accolade after accolade—she must learn Elise Chantier was equally precious. Elise’s past—her mother’s rejection of her and her father’s lack of warmth—must haunt her still.
‘Elise, I am curious about the convent. Was the regime harsh?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘It was no worse than life in any other convent, I imagine.’
‘Were the nuns cruel?’
‘They were kind enough given that Morwenna and I must have been a grave disappointment to them. We showed no sign of having a calling.’ She grimaced. ‘I spent much of my time trying to get out of the continual penances.’
‘Penances?’
‘Every day we were expected to spend hours on our knees praying for forgiveness for our parents’ sins.’
‘Every day?’ It sounded grim beyond belief. Gawain struggled to imagine what it must have been like for a sensitive young girl like Elise to have been thrust into such an environment.
‘Apparently daily contemplation of one’s sins is good for the soul. As is fasting. I expect that saved money.’ When Gawain looked blankly at her, at a loss for words, she added quietly, ‘Our illegitimacy was a source of great shame.’
A pang of guilt shot through him. Pearl. He had given her an illegitimate child. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t known, but he must have made her burden seem almost intolerable. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Lord, Elise, I am sorry.’
‘Gawain?’
‘You and I. Pearl. I am sorry. I had no idea. You must loathe me.’
Her smile was warm. ‘Not at all. I broke free of guilt when I left the convent. I no longer allow it to affect me.’
Gawain wasn’t sure he believed her. She might think she was free of guilt, but the daily round of penances must have clouded her view of herself. It was a miracle the nuns hadn’t warped her good nature. He gripped her hand. ‘Your parents’ sins are not yours. Their shame is not yours.’
‘So I believe. Sadly, that was not the view of the sisters.’ She shrugged. ‘Every day we had to list our parents’ sins and pray for redemption. I did learn something useful at the convent though. I learned to sew.’
‘You sew?’ Sewing was a lady’s occupation. It occurred to Gawain that Elise took pride in her appearance. He’d never given it much thought, but she dressed like a lady. Admittedly, the everyday attire she wore as Elise Chantier was very different from the costumes she wore as Blanchefleur le Fay. Elise dressed with simple elegance; Blanchefleur was all show. Today Elise’s gown, a pale leaf green, matched her veil. The neckline was bordered with cream embroidery in a wispy Celtic pattern; the hem of the veil bore a similar design. Both were beautifully worked.
‘Embroidering altar cloths was a good way of escaping the endless ritual.’ Her eyes shone, her lips curved. ‘Who did you think made my clothes?’
‘I...I hadn’t really thought about it. I assumed Vivienne made them.’
‘I enjoy sewing. It’s restful.’
‘It’s good to think that your time at the convent was not all bad. Did your father visit you?’
Some of the light went out of her eyes and she looked swiftly away. ‘He...he was too busy.’
Gawain’s heart sank. After such treatment it was hard to credit how warm-hearted she was. How loyal to her friends. André and Vivienne were lucky to have her.
‘You are a jewel, Elise,’ he muttered. ‘A jewel.’
Startled eyes met his. ‘Are you feeling quite well, my lord? The heat must have got to you.’
He scowled. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘I paid you a compliment and you rejected it.’ He was taken with the urge to drag her from her horse and kiss her senseless. He glanced swiftly at the troop behind them, caught a man’s gaze and thought better of it. ‘Lord, Elise, if Blanchefleur can accept compliments, why can’t you?’
‘I don’t think I follow you, my lord.’
Gawain sighed. She was back to addressing him as ‘my lord’. Holding him at arm’s length again. Well, for the moment he would let her have her way. When he got back from Paris, however...
* * *
Elise saw Le Manoir des Rosières long before they reached it. The keep loomed up from behind a curtain wall, stark grey aga
inst the endless blue of the sky. At the top of the tower, a guard’s spear sparked in the sun. Further down the tower Elise caught another flash of light—Lord, the window slits were glazed! Would she really be living behind glass, like a princess? Lichen-encrusted walls encircled the manor in long sweeping curves and as they drew nearer, she saw a dry moat very similar to the one around Troyes. There was a wooden drawbridge, an open portcullis and an archway that opened out into the manor yard.
Conscious of Gawain studying her, Elise guarded her expression. Her heartbeat wasn’t so easy to control—it was thudding like a drum. Dear Heaven, this manor was hers.
‘Welcome to Le Manoir des Rosières,’ Gawain said, as they rattled across the drawbridge.
The place wasn’t all military. A couple of trees cast shade on one side of the tower—an apple tree, a bay. There were flowers too. A woman in a grey gown was watering a pink rose bush. Nearby, a froth of white roses formed an archway, a shady bower over a bench.
‘Le Manoir des Rosières,’ Elise murmured. ‘They must water the roses daily in this heat.’
‘They do indeed.’ Dark eyes met hers. ‘My mother planted them.’
Elise nodded and tipped her head back to examine the tower. She had no words. It was one thing to be told by Gawain that he was giving her a manor. But to actually ride into the forecourt and see the place for herself—she could barely speak. It was beautiful. A fortified manor that looked pretty and welcoming. She might not want to live here permanently—how could she abandon singing?—but it was wonderful to know that she had this to come back to. There would be no more cold winters. No more counting every penny.
She looked at the roses and cleared her throat. ‘Gawain, thank you.’
‘It is my pleasure,’ he said, smiling warmly at her. ‘Would you care to refresh yourself before I show you your new domain?’
‘Thank you, I would.’
* * *
Elise stood in the manor hall, staring with her mouth agape at a huge hanging on the south wall. Facing the dais, Gawain’s golden griffin stalked across a blood-red canvas. It was magnificent and terrible. Half eagle, half lion, the griffin’s beak was curved like a scimitar. Its claws gleamed with gold thread and the lion’s tail seemed to twitch as she looked at it. Walking up to it, Elise ran her fingers over the cloth.
‘Your mother’s handiwork?’
‘My aunt, Lady Una, worked it. It used to hang at Meaux.’
Elise touched his hand. ‘You see? Lady Una does love you.’
‘Not necessarily. That is the device of the Count of Meaux. She sent it along with news of my uncle’s death.’
She smiled at him, shaking her head. ‘Gawain, this will have taken years to work. Each stitch is imbued with love and dedication. Your aunt wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t love you.’
‘It’s simply my coat of arms.’
‘It’s far more than that. Your aunt loves you, Gawain, as I am sure you will discover when you visit her at the convent.’ She stepped back a pace, focusing on the griffin. ‘Look at those feathers! And the fur of the lion’s hindquarters, his tasselled tail. It really is marvellous work.’
Gawain’s mood seemed to change as he took Elise on a tour of the rest of the keep. Her hand was taken in a tight grasp, and he strode off at such a pace it was hard to keep up with him. Elise found herself towed up the spiral stairs and they stepped into a large room lit by five lancets. Stone seats had been built into the window embrasure—they were heaped with cushions. There was a wide fireplace and, on a side table, an ivory-and-ebony chess set.
‘The solar,’ he said, in a curt voice. His mouth was tight. He looked almost upset.
Giving him a thoughtful glance, Elise found tongue for the most basic of questions. ‘Does the solar take up the whole floor?’
‘Aye, the family bedchambers are higher up. This way.’
His mouth was a tight line and his manner had become brusque to the point of rudeness. Elise preceded him up another turn of the stairs. What had caused his change of temper? On the landing outside one of the bedchambers, she hung back. Remembering the roses curling round the garden trellis—Le Manoir des Rosières had been his family home—she thought she understood it. Gawain was regretting his generosity.
‘Gawain, what’s wrong?’
His eyes were unreadable. ‘Nothing. Come, this way.’
Elise couldn’t shake the idea that he was having second thoughts about giving her the manor. ‘You’re in a very great hurry.’
‘My apologies. I shall be setting out for Paris at first light, which means I must speak to Sir Raphael tonight. And I have messages to deliver to Count Henry.’
Elise’s fingers curled into her palms. ‘I hadn’t realised you would be leaving so soon,’ she murmured. He was very eager to get away. When would she see him again? It would be good to know. Her chest ached. ‘Won’t you stay until Pearl arrives? Don’t you want to see her?’
His expression softened. ‘If Pearl arrives before I leave, I shall be pleased. If not, I have to get back to Troyes with all speed.’
‘You might pass them on the road.’
‘True.’
Elise found herself staring at the pulse on Gawain’s neck. ‘You’re going to tell Sir Raphael about André and the counterfeiters.’
‘He has to be told what happened in Provins.’ He tilted her chin up and forced her to meet his gaze. ‘Elise, I have promised to speak up for André and I will honour that promise. The rest is up to him. He will have to convince Sir Raphael that he is fully reformed.’
‘I understand.’
‘When I return to Troyes I shall visit you. I can see Pearl properly then.’
Elise had the distinct impression that Gawain’s mind was elsewhere. Certainly he had much to think about—his betrothal, visiting his aunt... She searched his face. ‘I thought you’d be dashing off to Sainte-Colombe after your audience with the King.’
‘That rather depends on the outcome.’
‘Oh?’
Lips curving into a slight smile, he shook his head at her. ‘If possible, I will come to see you.’
Heart lifting, she returned his smile. ‘You want to check up on me. Make sure I haven’t caroused the nights away and drunk your cellars dry.’
‘They are your cellars now. I will return because I need to know that you have everything you need. And that you are happy here.’
He pushed opened a door and ushered her into a large bedchamber. Aubin was before them, he had a heavy wooden trunk by the handle and was dragging it to the door.
Gawain made a sound of exasperation. ‘Use your head, Aubin. That’s far too heavy for you to take down on your own. Get someone to help you.’
‘Yes, mon seigneur.’
Aubin vanished down the stairwell and Elise met Gawain’s eyes. ‘This was your bedchamber?’
‘It is yours, if you choose,’ Gawain said. ‘You may prefer another bedchamber. However, this fireplace is the largest. In winter the extra warmth is most welcome.’
The rest of the tour proceeded in like manner, with Gawain moving at breakneck speed. Elise was whisked in and out of three small bedchambers. She was given scant seconds to glance at a larger one that put her in mind of the novices’ dormitory in the convent. Gawain muttered something about this being the bedchamber the womenfolk used. There were more bedchambers higher up and, at the very top, a guardhouse.
* * *
Almost before she knew it, Elise was standing outside at the foot of the steps to the hall, waiting to bid Gawain farewell. He had told her so much about the manor her head felt as though it was going to burst. How long would it take for her to feel at ease here? The purple pavilion had been home for so long. Still, if she didn’t take to manor life, the pavilion would be waiting for her.
Gawain was standing outside the stables, fair hair catching the sun as he issued last-minute instructions to Sir Bertran, the manor steward. Elise had learned that Sir Bertran’s wife, Lady Avelina, was the woman who had been watering his mother’s roses. Lady Avelina had been acting as chatelaine and Gawain had instructed her to help Elise settle in. Folding her hands together, Elise drew in a lungful of air. Sir Bertran and Lady Avelina looked pleasant enough. Elise thought she would learn to like them. Even so, it would take time for her to feel confident as lady of the manor.
Peering through the gateway, she looked down the road to Troyes. She was hoping to see André returning with Vivienne and the babies. However, save for a priest on a mule, the road was empty. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Despite Gawain’s reassurances that he would return after his audience with the King, she doubted he was being realistic. He had so many responsibilities. It could be weeks, even months, before he returned. She would have liked him to see Pearl before he left.
Aubin led The Beast out of the stables and looped the reins round a ring in the wall. Then he went back into the stable.
Sir Bertran’s voice, though low, drifted across the yard. He appeared to be questioning something Gawain had said, ‘...not under any circumstances?’
Elise pricked up her ears.
‘None,’ Gawain said, firmly.
Elise hid a smile. Gawain had told her this manor was entirely hers, but the habit of issuing orders was clearly hard to break. He remained very much in command. No matter. Until she found her feet, that was probably just as well. Running a manor was not something she had been bred to. She had much to learn. Hopefully Sir Bertran and Lady Avelina would guide her. Sir Bertran struck her as being a reasonable and straightforward man. Gawain had chosen him as his steward, and since Gawain had himself been steward at Ravenshold, he would know what qualities to look for. She trusted his judgement.
‘Furthermore, when André...’ Gawain turned his head and his voice faded before strengthening again ‘...Troyes, make sure he has an escort. Sergeant Gaston and half a dozen troopers are to accompany him. Understood?’
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