Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress. Carol Townend

being able to look up at him like this. Which wasn’t good because being close to him was distracting her from planning what to say when they reached the pavilion. She kept her gaze fixed rigidly on the forest of tents in the distance.

      His thumb moved again. It was a caress, she was sure of it. A caress.

      His white linen tunic had an open neck. His skin was bronzed, his chest broad. The temptation to rest her head against that chest was overwhelming.

      She frowned.

      ‘Elise?’

      ‘This is a bad idea. A very bad idea.’

      He studied her. ‘If you dislike it that much, you may walk alongside.’

      Her fingers curled round his belt. She shrugged and gave a tragic sigh. ‘It’s too late. My lord, we are almost at the camp. My reputation is already in tatters.’

      * * *

      There was a little awkwardness when they first arrived back at the pavilion.

      The babies were asleep under the awning and Vivienne was fanning them. She looked up when she heard the hoofbeats and slowly came to her feet.

      ‘It’s all right, Vivienne,’ Elise said, as Gawain helped her down. ‘You have already met Lord Gawain, I believe.’

      Vivienne nodded.

      Gawain walked over to the babies and stared down at them. ‘Twins,’ he murmured, lifting an eyebrow. ‘I expect they will be something of a handful.’

      Vivienne looked helplessly at Elise. It was clear she didn’t know what to say.

      Elise’s heart was in her mouth. She really couldn’t cope with Gawain discovering that Pearl was his daughter. It was far too complicated. She had to get him away from the babies before she or Vivienne said something that would give the game away. And she had to do it quickly. Acting on instinct, she took his hand and pulled him into the tent.

      Gawain was so tall that his fair hair grazed the canvas. He looked about with interest, gaze running over the three bedrolls, the babies’ cots, the travelling chests. ‘So this is how you live.’ He smiled. She didn’t think he had noticed, but he still had hold of her hand. ‘There’s not much room.’

      ‘That’s true.’

      ‘What’s it like in winter?’

      ‘When it freezes, we often take lodgings.’

      Just then Vivienne coughed and stuck her head through the flap. ‘My apologies for the interruption. This will only take a moment and then I shall leave you in peace.’ With a grimace, Vivienne gestured at one of the travelling chests. ‘It’s urgent. Bruno needs fresh linens.’

      Vivienne went to her chest, flung back the lid and burrowed inside. She threw a number of other things on to her bedroll, grabbed an armful of linens and went back to the entrance. As she lifted the door flap the pavilion brightened. ‘Thank you, I’ll leave you in peace.’

      Elise watched her go, biting her lip. She was racking her brains for something to say—anything that would distract him from thinking about the babies.

      Absently, Gawain rubbed the back of Elise’s knuckles as the flicker of disquiet he’d felt earlier hardened into a quiet certainty. Elise was uneasy about something, and it wasn’t just that she’d not expected to see him in Troyes. Was it the counterfeiters his friend Raphael had mentioned? He couldn’t think what else it might be.

      ‘When will André be back?’ he asked.

      ‘I’ve no idea. We shall have to ask Vivienne. Sometimes he—’ Elise broke off, frowning.

      Gawain followed her gaze and then he was frowning too. A sword lay on the bed, half-obscured by gowns and baby linens. A sword? Vivienne must have unearthed it from the bowels of her trunk and in her haste she hadn’t put it away.

      ‘Whatever’s that doing here?’ Elise freed her hand and picked it up.

      The sword had a leather scabbard that was black with age. It made a scraping sound as she drew it. The sword looked old. Antique. The blade was dull, but a large red stone flashed in the pommel of the hilt.

      ‘It’s very heavy,’ she added, looking at him. ‘Heavier than yours.’

      Gawain’s stomach tightened. After the All Hallows Tournament she had expressed an interest in his arms and he remembered explaining how damascened swords were forged. It shouldn’t please him that she remembered too, but it did. Sad to say, the pleasure of that memory was pushed aside by his growing disquiet. What the devil was this sword doing in Elise’s pavilion?

      There was a slight scrape as she pushed it back into its scabbard. With a shrug, she dropped it back on to the bedroll. ‘André told me he’d met up with a troupe of players,’ she said. ‘Old friends, apparently. They must have left it behind.’

      Mind working, Gawain grunted. He was trying to remember exactly what Raphael had told him in the Black Boar. A man had been arrested for attempting to trade a fake relic. No, not a relic, a crown. Raphael had also mentioned rumours of someone making a replica of Excalibur. They were thought to be attempting to pass it off as having once belonged to the legendary King Arthur. The idea had seemed so unlikely, Gawain had hardly heard him.

      Could this be that sword?

      If someone was about to fool some idiot into parting with good money for a counterfeit sword, Raphael would have to be told. Gawain couldn’t keep something like this from the Captain of the Guardian Knights, not when he knew Count Henry had asked the Guardians to watch out for suspicious goings-on in Strangers’ City.

      ‘I’d like to look at that,’ he said, holding out his hand.

      With a shrug, Elise retrieved it and passed it over.

      Gawain’s brows shot up as he drew the sword and tested the weight for himself. ‘You’re right, it is heavy. Clumsy.’ He ran his thumb along the edge—it was startlingly keen. ‘It has a surprisingly good edge.’

      Brown eyes found his. ‘Gawain, what’s bothering you?’

      He continued examining the sword. Trying the weight, shifting back to give it a swing. He looked at the pommel. Lord, that yellow metal looked very like gold. And the stone...

      ‘It’s a garnet,’ he said. He could hear the surprise in his voice. ‘A genuine garnet.’

      A crease formed on her brow. ‘It’s not real, Gawain. It can’t be.’

      ‘It belongs to some players, you say?’

      ‘André said he saw the players shortly after we arrived in Troyes. I can’t think where else it might have come from.’

      Gawain stared at the garnet in the pommel with a heavy heart. The more he looked at the sword, the more uneasy he became. He couldn’t keep this to himself. It might well belong to a troupe of players, but Raphael would have to be told about it. He didn’t want to believe that Elise was involved with counterfeiters, but it was beginning to look as though her friends might be. ‘This sword doesn’t feel right,’ he said. ‘The balance is skewed and the blade is a horror, but because of the hilt and the gem it’s worth a fair bit.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘It can’t be! It’s a stage sword—just a prop.’

      He gave her a direct look. ‘A man might kill for the garnet alone. And if the hilt is gold...’ Gawain let the silence stretch out, well aware that what he was about to do would damn him in her eyes. Which was a pity. He liked Elise and he wanted her to think well of him when they parted. He shoved the sword back into the scabbard with a snap. ‘Ask Vivienne to step inside, would you? I need to speak to her.’

      Elise blinked. Gawain’s voice had changed. It was clipped and curt. Military. Thankfully he was distracted from Pearl, but he looked so serious. ‘Gawain, what’s the matter?’

      ‘I need