by Gwen Rowley
“Yet he won through,” she went on, not daring to glance at him again. “Not for gain or profit, nor even out of pity for my state, for he knew no more of me than any man among you. Yet Sir Gawain—he, who above all others, had every reason to detest me—has shown me naught but gentle courtesy and kindness. I ask you, good people, to consider his plight. He bid farewell to all hope of a union befitting his station—yet that was only the beginning of his trials. How many of you could bear such scorn as he has suffered in silence, all the while knowing it to be completely undeserved? I tell you—I tell you in all honesty that my enchantments soon came to seem as nothing when compared to the vile aspersion cast upon the character of such a noble knight.”
She stopped, her breath coming quick and short. Heads were turning now, and a low buzz ran across the hall as one pointed Gawain out to the other. If he was aware of the stir he was causing, he gave no sign. He merely watched Aislyn with hooded eyes, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.
“If I consider him the finest knight in all the world, I think I have good cause. For here I stand before you, restored to my true state, and here sits your king, as hale and hearty as he ever was, and so he may continue with God’s grace for many a long year.”
Aislyn bowed again to the king and queen, and once more to the hall. “I thank you for your patience, and bid you all farewell.”
“Farewell?” Arthur cried. “But—”
“Tell us how Sir Gawain broke the enchantment!” a lady called.
Aislyn’s throat was tight with unshed tears, but she managed a laugh. “That is his tale to tell—or not, as he sees fit. For he, too, is free now. Our marriage was not a binding one, based on falsehoods as it was.” At last she found the courage to meet his eyes across the hall. “So I declare with all of you as witness.”
Gawain’s expression did not alter. Aislyn whirled and made a hasty reverence to the king and queen before she fled the hall.
Chapter 41
“YOU did rather well,” Launfal said as they walked together into the courtyard. His words were light, but his arm was firm about her shoulders as he guided her across the cobbles. “Now, I spoke to Sir Dinadan before, and he agreed to lend me a horse. You wait right here, and I will bring it.”
Aislyn sat down on a mounting block and rested her head in her hand. Don’t think, she told herself, not now. Just do what needs to be done and you can think about it later. When she felt a light touch on her shoulder, she looked up, expecting to see her brother, but Gawain stood beside her.
“That,” he said, “was humiliating beyond words.”
She shrugged. “You could have left.”
“I wanted to. It was like a nightmare I sometimes have.” He sat down beside her on the mounting block. “Have you ever dreamed that you were having an ordinary day—that you were in the market, say, or in the hall—and suddenly you realize you are wearing nothing but your skin?”
Aislyn made a sound between laughter and a sob.
“It was like that,” Gawain said. “I couldn’t seem to move.”
“I only spoke the truth.”
“Part of it—”
“Of course! To tell the whole tale, I would have to go back to the moment of my birth. I doubt the court would sit the whole night through while I explained the whys and wherefores of every decision I have ever made!”
“You exaggerated shamelessly.”
“I only gave back what I had taken from you,” she said wearily.
“Do you expect me to thank you?”
“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want you to do yourself a damage.”
His eyes were dark in the flickering shadows cast by the torches above their heads. He touched her cheek where a teardrop still lingered. “Aislyn . . . You will not ever obey any man, will you?”
“No.” She frowned down at the earth between her feet. “But if a man earned my respect, I would ask his opinion.”
He caught her jaw and turned her face to his. “And would you heed it?”
“Always.” She gave a choked laugh. “That doesn’t mean I would agree with it. He could be wrong.”
“What happened earlier—” Gawain shuddered. “It sickened me.”
“I know. But I could think of no other way to stop her. The duchess of Cornwall once told me that there is more to magic than learning spells. After what I saw today, I know exactly what she means. That sort of power—I don’t want it anymore.”
“Then will you—?”
“But given the same circumstances,” she finished sadly, “I would do the same again. I am sorry, Gawain, but that is the truth.”
He nodded. “I knew you would say that. But I have come to see that there are times when sorcery can only be fought in kind. That does not mean I will ever like it, but if you were to ask my opinion first—and heed it—”
“So long as it is sensible,” she put in, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Am I ever less than sensible? Don’t forget, I am the finest knight in all the world, one whose honor shines more brightly than the—”
“You are right.”
His smile was smug as he stroked a thumb across her lips. “Am I?”
“Yes. I did exaggerate.”
His brows lifted. “I am not those things?”
“Some of them.”
“Some? Which ones?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Mmm.” He regarded her through half-closed eyes. “When might you?”
“It could take some time.”
He smiled slowly. “A long time? Perhaps . . . a lifetime?”
“It could be. That is, if—”
His gaze moved over her shoulder. “Ah,” he said softly. “Morgana is here.”
Aislyn stood. Her mouth went tinder-dry and her knees were trembling as the duchess walked from the direction of the stables.
“Morgana!” Gawain called.
“Oh, Gawain,” the duchess said, holding out her hand to him. “I began to think I would never get here! My horse foundered in—Well! Dame Ragnelle, is it?”
“Sometimes,” Aislyn replied, bowing. “But tonight, I am Aislyn.”
“A vast improvement, I must say.”
“I agree,” Gawain said. “And you would oblige me very much if you were to make the change permanent.”
Morgana’s smile vanished. “That,” she said, “I cannot do.”
“Oh, but I have learned so much,” Aislyn said. “Truly I have, Your Grace.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Morgana answered. “But it is not in my power to release you.”
“Of course it is!” Aislyn cried. “The spell was your own. You can reverse it.”
Morgana touched her cheek. “I cannot. I am sorry, but that is the truth. You—like all of us—are in the hands of the Goddess now.”
“Oh,” Aislyn said faintly. Gawain pulled her hard against him and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her cheek against his chest until the world righted itself, then gently drew away.
“I will find a way to free you,” Gawain said.
“But that could take—”
“I don’t care how long it takes. Aislyn—” He cupped her cheek in one strong hand. “I would rather spend half my life with you than the whole of it with any other woman.”
“You don’t mean that,” Aislyn cried. “I cannot give you children, or travel with you or—”
“I don’t care.”
“You do. Let me go away, Gawain—Launfal and I will go back to my cottage. You can visit me there when—when you like. That way you will be free, and if you decide— that is, if you meet someone—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said, no. You will stay here.”
Aislyn glared at him. “And what if I don’t want to stay?”
“Do you want to leave me? It would have been easier if you’d just said so from the first.”
She struck a fist against his chest. “If you would only listen, you
would know that isn’t true. But to go back to being . . . her . . . before all these people—How long could you bear it, Gawain? How long before you came to rue this night?”
“Never.”
“You say that now, but in a year’s time—ten years—you can find someone else, some clean-limbed maiden who will give you a dozen sons and never say you nay.”
“Too late. I am already wed.”
“You are not. You are free.”
He pulled her hard against him. “I will never be free of you,” he said roughly. “And you will never be free of me.” He kissed her and she melted against him, her arms stealing round his neck.
Morgana cleared her throat. “It needn’t be by day, you know.”
Aislyn turned to her. “What?”
“The time you spend in the crone’s form. It could be by night. That much, at least, I can grant you.”
Aislyn laid her palms on Gawain’s chest and looked up into his eyes. “Which shall it be?”
THE night.
Gawain nearly blurted out his answer; only the habit born of long years of negotiations stopped the words upon his lips.
If Aislyn was with him by day, he could share the better part of his life with her. He would wake beside her—well, so long as he took care not to wake too early. But he would certainly walk into the hall each morning with his lady on his arm, dine with her, ride with her—
“Aislyn?” Launfal appeared at the edge of the courtyard. “Shall we . . . ?”
“Oh!” Aislyn stepped back. “We will—that is, I think we will—”
“You are staying,” Gawain said. “Launfal, I have not had the chance to tell you how pleased I am to see you again. Morgana—the duchess of Cornwall—this is Aislyn’s brother, Launfal.”
Morgana nodded to him. “Gawain, may we have your answer now?”
“I am sorry,” Gawain said. “But I would like to think on it a little longer.”
“Well, then, Launfal,” Morgana said, “shall we leave Sir Gawain to his reflections and go in search of sustenance together?”
“I do not think I should—that is, it would not be proper for you—” Launfal looked away, his jaw tightening. “You see, Your Grace, I was the king’s prisoner just this morning.”
“Indeed?” Morgana’s brows lifted. “What a very . . . interesting family you have married into, Gawain.” Aislyn bristled, but before she could speak, Morgana went on. “Come here, my lad, let me see you.” She drew Launfal into the circle of torchlight and gazed into his face. “You haven’t the look of a felon to me,” she said, holding out her hand and smiling. “Come, kinsman, you can tell me your adventures as we eat.”
Launfal did not protest again, but gave the duchess his arm and went with her toward the hall. Aislyn started after them, but Gawain caught her hand. “Don’t leave me,” he said. “Morgana will look after him.”
“Very well,” Aislyn replied, sitting down upon the steps leading to the hall. “I will stay.”
Gawain sat down beside her and took her hand in his, running his fingers through hers and smiling at the feeling of her smooth skin against his own callused hands. He had meant what he said to her before: he had no desire to wed any other woman. But his pride had been rubbed raw these past weeks, and though he refused to shrink from either the scorn or pity of his peers, he would not invite them, either.
Yes, that was it. He would—he must have her with him during the day.
And yet . . .
If Aislyn was with him by day, she would not be with him by night.
He glanced up to find her watching him anxiously. “Well?” she said.
“I am thinking.”
“Does it always take this long?”
He put his arm around her and drew her close, resting his cheek against her hair. “Either way, it will not be forever. I will find the way to free you.”
“Am I allowed to help? Or shall I sit with folded hands waiting for you to ride to my rescue?”
“You? Sit with folded hands? I’d like to see it.” He tipped her face to his and kissed her once, and then, as it was over far too quickly, once again.
“Is this helping you to think?” she said a little breathlessly.
“Yes,” he answered firmly, and soon her arms were round his neck, and his fingers were tangled in her bright hair as he bent to kiss her throat. She shivered, her head falling back against his arm, and—
“Sir Gawain?” a man’s voice said.
Gawain sighed. “Yes?” he said. Go away, he did not say, but he might as well have done so, judging from the man’s laughter.
“Forgive me. But there is someone who wants to meet you.”
Gawain released Aislyn, who sat up, smoothing her hair, a rosy blush upon her cheeks. Dear God, but she was beautiful! He had to force his gaze from her to the man who had interrupted him. He was obviously a Saxon, but that mattered far less than the fact that he was staring straight at Aislyn without making the least attempt to hide his admiration.
Perhaps it would be better to have Aislyn to myself at night.
He dismissed the thought as unworthy, though Aislyn was staring straight back at the Saxon, frowning slightly as though trying to place him. Gawain thought he looked familiar, too, though he could not quite recall . . .
“Why, it is . . . Torquil, is it not?” Aislyn said, smiling.
“Sir Torquil,” Sir Lancelot put in from behind the Saxon. “I met his party on the road; they were bound for Camelot and most anxious to speak to Sir Gawain.”
Sir Torquil bowed to her. “And you are Dame Ragnelle?” He raised a brow skeptically and she laughed, standing and holding out her hand.
“You came to my cottage,” she said, “and that young man, the one who dropped the battle-ax, said—well, never mind what he said,” she added quickly. Gawain stood, as well. He wasn’t sure he liked the way Sir Torquil laughed, as though he and Aislyn shared a private joke.
“Then you—” Aislyn sketched an arc before her belly. “And you said I was to come—though you were very nice about it. He even pretended I had a choice,” she added, laughing to Gawain. “But now tell me how Lady Elga does! And the babe—is she well? Did the lady’s mother arrive?”
“I did.” A tall woman stepped from the shadows. “I am Mathilda, and I reached my daughter the next morning. She and the child are both well.”
Mathilda? Gawain knew that name. She was . . . who was she? Someone of importance, or he would not have heard of her.
“Oh, I am glad to hear it! I’d never delivered a babe before,” Aislyn said confidingly, “and I don’t know how I would have managed if Lady Elga had not been so very brave.”
Mathilda’s eyes softened. “You are all she told me—yet nothing like. I do not understand this—enchantment?”
“It is confusing, isn’t it?” Aislyn said. “May I present Sir Gawain to you, my lady?”
Gawain bowed deeply.
“Ah, Sir Gawain,” the lady said. “I have heard of you, as well.” She said no more, but smiled on him warmly.
“Sir Torquil, you have met Sir Gawain already,” Aislyn went on, “though I don’t think you were properly introduced.”
“No, we were not,” Gawain said. “You saw me at something of a disadvantage—”
“Really?” Torquil’s teeth showed in a smile. “I would have said Gudrun was the one at a disadvantage.”
“Peace, Torquil.” An older man with a tired face and kind eyes stepped forward to take Aislyn’s hand. “My lady, I am King Aesc.”
“Good evening, sire. I am . . . honored to meet you.”
“Sir Gawain.” Aesc nodded to him. “I believe I owe you an apology. I relied upon my brother Gudrun’s report of your encounter, which I now know to have been . . . incomplete.”
Torquil snorted, but Gawain only bowed without speaking.
“Well, then,” Sir Lancelot said brightly. “Now that the introductions have been made, shall we go and join the feast? I know the king is right eager t
o greet you for himself.”
As they walked through the courtyard, Aislyn said to Mathilda, “I trust your journey was not too difficult?”
“Not very,” the lady replied. “I came only from Wessex.”
“Wessex?” Aislyn frowned slightly, then her face cleared as she, like Gawain, realized that these Saxons were King Aesc’s troublesome Wessex kinfolk, the ones who had refused every invitation to King Arthur’s court. “Oh, Wessex! King Ceredig rules there, does he not? Do you know him?”
“I should say so.” Mathilda smiled. “He is my husband. And now, Sir Gawain,” she said, laying a hand upon his arm. “Would you be so kind as to present me to your king?”
Chapter 42
THE Saxon party seemed to enjoy the feast, which pleased Arthur. Gawain was pleased, as well, though he could not keep his mind fixed upon the Saxons at the moment. It was gratifying to have King Aesc beg his pardon, and Mathilda promise to persuade her husband to meet with King Arthur, though she could not guarantee the outcome. Still, it was something of a triumph, though of course it was not really Gawain’s.
It was Aislyn’s.
Unlike Guinevere, she did not set out to be deliberately charming. And though the queen was quite adept at putting her guests at ease, it was Aislyn who made them laugh when she gave a spirited description of Sir Torquil’s visit to her woodland cabin. He obligingly repeated his imitation of a woman far gone in labor, which made Queen Mathilda cluck her tongue.
“You should not know these things!” she said, trying unsuccessfully to frown at her kinsman. “We must find you a bride—at once!”
“I have looked!” Torquil protested. “But the ladies I desire are all married,” he added, casting a melting glance at Aislyn.
“So I hear,” Mathilda retorted, and this time her frown looked far more genuine. “You will end by falling out a window and breaking your fool neck.”
Torquil laughed. “I will end in battle, slain by a brave enemy.” He raised his cup to Gawain. “Is there any better death?”
“Oh, don’t let’s talk of death,” Aislyn said quickly. “It makes me sad.”