Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress. Carol Townend

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? What were you going to do with that sword? And why cut open the side of our pavilion? So underhand.’ André must have a guilty conscience; why else would he damage their tent?

      André looked at her. ‘I was tipped off that the Guardian Knights had been showing an interest in the pavilion. I thought I’d better be careful.’

      ‘You were going to sell that sword for more than it is worth.’

      ‘I’m not selling it. Someone else is going to do that.’

      ‘Saints, André, it makes little difference who actually does the selling. If you are involved and that sword is passed off as—’

      ‘Elise, how do you think we’ve been living all these months? How do you suppose we are going to live in the winter when pickings are slim?’

      Wine fumes hung about him. He was swaying slightly.

      ‘You’re drunk.’

      ‘How clever of you to notice.’ Wearily, he scrubbed his face. The shadows made his face grey. He looked twice his age. ‘Lord, Elise, I’ve had all I can take. I’ve made mistakes, I admit it. I didn’t want to get involved. But last winter when you left, I worried. I worried about Vivienne. About what might happen if you never returned.’ His mouth twisted. ‘My earnings have always been better when Blanchefleur le Fay is with me. And then you came back.’

      ‘I told you I would.’

      ‘Aye, but you were sick all the time, you couldn’t perform. And then you got large, you couldn’t perform.’ Again he scrubbed his face. ‘I worried. I still do.’

      A clunk outside had his head turning sharply. ‘You say Vivienne is in town?’

      ‘In the Rue du Cloître.’

      His brow creased. ‘Why?’

      ‘Lord Gawain. He–’

      ‘Lord Gawain’s in Troyes and you brought him here?’ André looked appalled. ‘So it’s your fault the Guardians have the sword. Why bring him here? In heaven’s name, why?’

      ‘I had no idea he was in town. He’s shortly to be married and he returned to meet his betrothed. André, we ran into each other by accident. He insisted on bringing me back here.’

      André looked at her, shaking his head. ‘It was he who took the sword?’

      ‘Yes. André, I’m sorry it happened, truly.’

      ‘What the hell am I going to do? I’m supposed to pass it on.’

      Elise hesitated. She had no clear idea what André was mixed up in, but she was wondering whether to suggest he made a clean breast of it with Gawain. Gawain might be able to help him. The Count of Meaux would have influence. However, André was still swaying slightly and she wasn’t sure he could be reasoned with until