Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress

by Carol Townend

  Baderon’s jaw dropped. ‘Mon seigneur?’

  ‘You heard. No one is to enter this chamber until I give my leave. Understood?’

  Clutching his lute and a coil of lute strings, Baderon rose uncertainly. ‘Elise? You will be all right?’

  ‘It’s fine, Baderon. I shall call you in a moment.’ Her voice went hard. ‘I am sure that whatever Lord Gawain has to say won’t take long.’

  Won’t take long? Gawain clenched his fists. Dimly, he heard the latch click and then all he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears. And all he could see was Elise. Blanchefleur in that shimmering gown. It was the gown. The wretched thing was bewitched. He stepped closer. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My lord?’ Dark eyes studied him as she tucked a tendril of hair out of sight beneath her veil.

  ‘Who are you? I thought I knew you, but I don’t. Who are you?’

  Elise looked doubtfully at Gawain. A frisson of alarm ran through her. Since meeting him she had been in his company several times, but this was the first time she had felt uneasy. Telling herself not to be ridiculous, she fluffed out her golden skirts and adjusted her veil. Clearly, she had not yet shaken off the wild excitement of the performance and was being oversensitive. ‘Whatever’s the matter? I didn’t think to speak to you tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t come for conversation.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘God knows.’

  His tone was so curt Elise’s nails bit into her palms. Drunk with success a moment ago, she sobered quickly. There was anger here, much anger. Flexing her fingers, she wiped them on her skirts. ‘Does Lady Rowena know you are here?’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Lady Rowena.’

  His tone had Elise swallowing. Her mouth was dry as dust. What was he doing? What did he want?

  They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but in reality it couldn’t have been long. Gawain was so tall, she had to tip her head back to look at him. His fair hair gleamed in the candlelight. A muscle moved in his jaw. Lord, he was grinding his teeth. A tight smile appeared as he looked her up and down. He’d come to the banquet in formal attire—a red surcoat emblazoned with his golden griffin. The anger was coming off in waves. The kind and chivalrous knight was gone—she was looking at an angry stranger.

  He was betrothed to Lady Rowena. What reason did he have to be angry with her?

  ‘Lord Gawain.’ Hoping formality would give him a chance to cool down, she held out her hand.

  Powerful fingers closed on hers. He cleared his throat and kissed the back of her hand. It was a courtly gesture. Elise’s heart stuttered. He’d kissed her in just that way last year, after the All Hallows Tournament. He’d kept those dark eyes on hers then too, exactly as he was doing now. Not quite a stranger. But almost. She thought—hoped—he was calming down.

  ‘Blanchefleur le Fay,’ he murmured.

  ‘It is good to see you, my lord.’

  He pulled her to him and the golden gown rustled as their bodies met. ‘Is it? You misled me.’

  She bit her lip and tried not to enjoy the feel of him next to her. ‘You are referring to my singing. Yes, I regret that I never told you everything. There never seemed to be the right moment.’ There was no chain mail beneath his red surcoat—she could feel the heat from his body. His strength. Another frisson went through her. There was a crease between his eyebrows. He was not yet himself, some tension remained.

  That fair head bent, his mouth hovered an inch above hers, an odd smile played about the edges. ‘Was it all a lie?’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘You didn’t want me in your life. You didn’t trust me.’ She made a sharp movement, but he swept on. ‘I was simply a means to an end. If you had trusted me you would have told me about Blanchefleur Le Fay. You simply said you were a singer. Blanchefleur is clearly far more than any singer. Her success is integral to what you are and yet you never breathed a word. You bedded me purely to gain entry to Ravenshold.’

  Elise shook her head. ‘Gawain, the attraction I felt for you was true.’

  ‘Was it?’

  He gripped her shoulder firmly with one hand, touched her cheek with the other, and the crease in his brow deepened. His expression was that of a man who had received a blow from an unexpected quarter. It twisted Elise’s heart to think she had put it there.

  Strong fingers ran up her neck and her stomach ached. I remember that feeling. It had only ever happened with him. Telling herself that she had no business reacting in such a way to his touch, Elise held herself still.

  He was eyeing Blanchefleur’s gilt circlet with obvious dislike. He lifted it from her head and threw it carelessly on to the side table. He found the ties of her veil, tugged at them and tossed it aside. When his hand went to the silver bow at her bodice, her heart jumped. She put her hand on his. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking for Elise Chantier.’ He shook her off and studied the way the ribbon was laced.

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘You misled me, Blanchefleur. You said you were not well-known. No matter, I am here to see Elise.’

  His grip on her shoulder eased. He bent over the silver ribbon and pulled on the bow.

  He is undressing me! Lady Rowena is waiting for him in the great hall with half the nobility of France and he tries to undress me!

  She put her hand on his. ‘Gawain, stop this.’

  The fair head shook. In the shadowed chamber, his brown eyes were black. Unreadable. He didn’t look angry any more, that small smile played about his lips, but...

  ‘Gawain?’

  ‘I must speak to Elise.’ He tugged at the lacings and before she had time to blink he’d unlaced it enough to peel the gown from one shoulder.

  She swallowed as she saw the way his gaze flickered down, lingering on the curve of her shoulder, moving to the shadow between her breasts. ‘You can speak to Elise without undressing me.’

  He ignored her. With a sigh, his arm tightened on her waist as he aligned their bodies even more closely. Bending his head, he kissed her bared shoulder. Sensation rang along every nerve. Elise held in a moan. This was wrong. Gawain was betrothed.

  ‘Gawain, you mustn’t.’

  He wasn’t listening. Dark eyes looked into hers long enough for her to catch a glimpse of the grey flecks in them and then he dipped his head again and nuzzled her neck, nipping lightly just below her ear.

  Her thoughts scattered. She’d never been able to resist him when he did that. She closed her eyes and steeled herself to ignore the tingling that rushed through her. It wasn’t easy. She loved that tingling. And surely, just for a few moments, she could allow herself this pleasure.

  ‘This is wrong.’ She shoved at his chest. She could smell wine on his breath. ‘Gawain, you have forgotten yourself. We are in Count Henry’s palace and you are shortly to be married.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, I am. There is a difficulty though. She’s not the right woman.’

  Her eyes went wide. ‘Gawain, you are not being serious. You have to marry Lady Rowena.’

  ‘Do I?’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  She shook her head at him. ‘How much wine have you had?’

  ‘Not much. It tasted vile.’

  Saints, in this strange mood there was no understanding him. But thankfully, the anger seemed to have dissipated. Then he leaned forward and his mouth touched hers, and it was All Hallows all over again.

  All Hallows.

  The world fell away. Elise was no longer conscious of standing in a small chamber off Count Henry’s great hall. There was only Gawain’s arms wound tight about her and his lips teasing hers apart. His body felt as strong and warm as it had done on All Hallows Eve. A haven in a dark and desperate world.

  Sounds faded. Somewhere far away, Baderon was probabl
y standing guard outside in the passage. People would be talking in the great hall. Laughing. Elise couldn’t hear them. As Gawain lifted his mouth from hers and stared deep into her eyes, she could hear her flurried breathing; she could hear Gawain’s indrawn breath; and his muttered, ‘Last year you left without saying goodbye.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ She hadn’t been able to say it, not to him.

  His scent filled her nostrils—the tang of musk and bay, strong and masculine. He pushed at the neck of her gown, drawing it down, pulling it away from skin that warmed at his lightest glance.

  Blanchefleur le Fay was lost. Gone. It was Elise who gripped Gawain by the shoulders; Elise who slid her hands into his sun-streaked hair and brought his lips to hers. It was just Elise and Gawain. And, just as it had been after the All Hallows Tournament, there was no need for words. Except...

  ‘Gawain, think.’ She heard herself sob. ‘You are betrothed.’

  Slowly, inexorably, Gawain peeled the golden fabric from Elise’s other shoulder.

  ‘You chose your stage name wisely. Even as Elise you have me bewitched.’ He picked up her hand and scowled at the ring. ‘What is Sir Olier to you?’

  Elise blinked. Frowned. ‘He is one of Blanchefleur’s admirers. Gawain, what did you do to his face?’

  Gawain shrugged. ‘Nothing. He got in the way.’

  Elise tried to pull back, but his grip tightened.

  ‘He follows you about like a lost puppy. Has he asked you to be his mistress?’

  ‘No.’ Her chin lifted. ‘He’s asked to marry me.’

  ‘Mon Dieu, he’s offered marriage?’

  She stiffened. ‘Am I not worthy of marriage?’

  ‘Hell burn it, Elise, I didn’t mean that.’ He searched her eyes. ‘Have you accepted him?’

  Elise’s answer shouldn’t matter.

  Gawain knew that whatever lay between them should stay firmly in the past. None the less, he found himself holding his breath for her answer. Last year, Elise had used him—she’d wanted to be certain to gain entry to Ravenshold. Back then one glance at her brown eyes, one glimpse of that bewildering combination of strength and vulnerability, and he’d been lost. It had happened again tonight. What was it about this girl? She robbed him of his will. She disordered his mind.

  When Gawain had stormed in to the chamber he’d been braced for the effect she might have on him. She lured him as no other and he’d been determined to resist. He needed to tell her about the manor. He would feel easier with her knowing about his gift before he left for Sainte-Colombe. He wanted her to know she had some security. But the moment he’d looked at her, his good intentions had flown to the four winds.

  ‘Have you accepted him?’ Her lips tightened and Gawain’s gut cramped. Frustration? Resentment? He had no idea. ‘You have to refuse him.’

  She drew her head back. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Elise, you have to refuse him. He’s not right for you.’

  A surge of possessiveness shot through him. It was so powerful Gawain felt like hitting something. Not Elise, of course, he would never hurt Elise. Even though she had him utterly confused. He stared down at her, a doll of a woman who was and who was not the woman he had met last winter.

  She was all prettied up in that golden gown, a gown that was, if he were not mistaken, pure silk. She’d painted her face. It was subtle and effective. The slim charcoal line outlining her eyes made them look enormous. She’d rouged her lips and possibly her cheeks. The cosmetics gave her added allure. They gave her power. Don’t touch, they said. Did she use them to keep her admirers at bay?

  Gawain clenched his jaw. He had never liked following orders. He tightened his grip on her and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. He wanted to see the girl he’d met all those months ago. He wanted Elise. The urge was as irresistible as the urge that had brought him to first comfort and then bed her after the All Hallows Tourney.

  It was disturbing to discover that the urge was as overpowering as it had been all those months ago. She couldn’t marry Sir Olier. It would be a travesty. But he knew he had no right to order Elise’s life. And he could see she knew it too. Her eyes were narrowed as they watched him. Her lips were pressed tightly together.

  ‘What have you done to your mouth?’ He felt his brow crease as he stared at the trace of pink staining his thumb. ‘And your cheeks? Your eyebrows?’

  ‘It... Blanchefleur wears cosmetics to enhance her looks.’

  ‘Enhance?’ He snorted. ‘Close up, you look like a whore.’

  He waited, half-expecting a sharp answer. Would almost welcome one, for it would be an excuse to let fly and tell her exactly how disappointed he’d been when she’d fled Ravenshold so abruptly at the turn of the year. She tried to edge back, but he kept his hold firm.

  ‘Blanchefleur le Fay is not a whore.’ She spoke with remarkable calm.

  Carefully, Gawain ran his thumb over her cheek, noting the way she seemed to lean into his caress. ‘You enjoy my touch,’ he said, moving his hand to cup one bare and tempting shoulder. She didn’t deny it. The flush on her cheeks deepened as she watched the movement of his hand. It was a natural flush, not brought about by paint, and he responded to it instantly. Deep within, he felt the insistent beat of desire.

  Huge brown eyes studied him. ‘Gawain.’ Swallowing, she adjusted the neck of her gown.

  He shook his head and tugged it insistently in the opposite direction, succeeding in getting the golden bodice almost completely off one breast. He tugged again and more breast—creamier and fuller than he remembered—came into view. Desire swirled through him. She was even more of a woman than she had been on All Hallows Eve.

  Scowling, she pushed at his hand.

  ‘Elise, don’t. I want to see you.’

  ‘Gawain, you can’t!’ Her eyes were wide. Shocked.

  ‘Blame the burgundy. I am not myself.’ He twitched at the silken bodice, baring another inch of gorgeous, womanly breast. ‘Lord, Elise, I know I should not, but I want you still.’ He felt his mouth twist and heard himself say what he had sworn he would keep to himself. ‘I’ve never stopped wanting you.’

  She tossed her head and her hair, bound into a single glossy rope, bounced.

  He frowned. ‘Undo it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your hair.’ He kissed her shoulder and heard a subtle hitch in her breath. It told him he had Elise in his arms and not Blanchefleur le Fay. ‘That first night, Elise wore it loose. Undo it.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘Then I will.’ Keeping one arm planted round her waist, he drew her hair over her shoulder. Silvery ribbon was woven into the plait and finding the end, he untied it. She didn’t struggle. Those dark eyes watched him, rather sadly, he thought. His heart squeezed as the heady scent of ambergris surrounded him.

  ‘Gawain.’ Small fingers curled into his scarlet tunic as he unravelled her hair.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, stroking a shining brown wave, arranging it over her breast. Bending, he blew on it and watched her nipple tighten. He heard another slight hitch in her breath.

  ‘Gawain, you must stop this. What if someone comes in?’

  ‘Baderon will keep them out.’

  ‘Gawain, don’t. You will regret this.’

  ‘You missed me,’ he said, cupping her breast through her hair.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Yes, you did. When you went back to your friends and your singing, you missed me. Blanchefleur le Fay might not miss me but you, Elise, you missed me.’

  She sighed and stared at his throat. ‘Yes, I missed you.’

  Heart lifting for the first time since he walked into this chamber, Gawain lowered his head and his mouth caught hers. He couldn’t stop himself.

  She slid her fingers into his hair a
nd he heard himself groan. He kissed her gently, carefully, so as to absorb the sensation—to fully savour it. The deep throbbing was becoming more insistent. He pressed himself against her and with a moan she responded in kind—pushing ever so slightly against him. Silk rustled. Easing back, he stroked at the bodice and sighed with pleasure as it fell to her waist. She was lovely. Lovely. Around her neck a pendant shaped like a daisy hung on a silken cord. A delicate jewel, it was made from gold with white enamel petals. He’d seen it before, on All Hallows Eve.

  ‘A white flower. Blanchefleur,’ he murmured, meeting her gaze. ‘I didn’t realise its significance before. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It...it didn’t seem relevant.’

  Gawain’s mind was fogged with desire, but the hurt cut to his core. ‘Not relevant? This touches at the heart of what you are. Of course it was relevant.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lord. I didn’t think you’d be interested in the life of a singer.’ She smiled and ran her hand down his shoulder. ‘You were so much the knight.’

  Her eyes were dark. His knees weakened and so, it seemed, did hers. There was another swift, almost greedy exchange of kisses and a tangling of tongues, and when Gawain came back to himself he was sitting on a stool with Elise on his lap. With the golden silk down to her waist, her breasts were bared for his—and her—delight. There was quiet in the chamber as the exchange of kisses slowed. A candle sputtered as he shifted to dot a row of kisses over one breast and up the next. He reached a nipple, but she caught his head and held him away.

  ‘No. Gawain, please.’ The white flower gleamed in the lamplight as she started to hitch up her bodice.

  Gawain let her. There was such joy in having her in his arms, he could no longer think. Besides, there was more of her to explore. More to rediscover. While she wrestled her bodice back into place, he caught at her skirts and pulled. Her legs were bare. For the first time in weeks, he found himself blessing the heat.

  ‘Too hot for stockings,’ he murmured, stroking along her leg.

  ‘Mmm.’

  Lost in a sensual haze, Gawain stroked on. Her expression was pained, but she sighed and shut her eyes and did not stop him. He stroked again, nuzzling her neck. He was easing her legs apart, hoping that Baderon would have the sense not to disturb them, when a brisk rap on the door had her jumping from his lap.