Steadying the chestnut, Elise sighed. She wasn’t a fine enough horsewoman to attempt to outrun him. Catching her breath, she waited.
The grey came to a shuddering standstill. Dust whirled. Gawain’s hand came out as though to snatch at her reins before drawing back and coming to rest on the pommel of his saddle. ‘You won’t run?’ he asked, eyes wary.
‘Is there any point?’ Elise glared at him. ‘It seems you are determined to curtail my freedom.’ She couldn’t help notice there were faint shadows beneath his eyes. A sheen of perspiration gleamed on his face, and his hair was disordered by his race from the manor. To her eyes he would always be the most handsome of men and it irked her that even in her anger, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him. ‘Gawain, you told Sir Bertran to cage me. How could you?’
He grimaced. ‘I am sorry.’ His chest heaved and he jerked his head towards the encampment. ‘I thought only for your safety. Those men you are so intent on finding are dangerous.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You thought only of my safety.’
The grey sidled closer. ‘Can you doubt it? Elise, I thought you understood.’ His lips twisted. ‘The bond between us is so powerful, I was certain you understood. It was my mistake, and I am sorry. Until I heard you singing up on the wall I didn’t understand how strongly you feared confinement.’
Elise felt her cheeks burn. They were surely as red as the poppies fringing the highway. ‘You were there? I hadn’t realised.’
‘That cellar in Provins—you were very brave, you must have been terrified.’
Her throat tightened and her eyes prickled. ‘I was.’
‘I won’t confine you again, I swear it.’
Gawain’s eyes held hers, dark and sincere. He held out his hand. Slowly she reached out and their fingers locked. He hadn’t taken time to put on his gloves. ‘Thank you.’
His mouth went up at the corner. ‘Lord, Elise, it is good to see you.’ Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to hers. Elise swayed closer. His lips felt warm and welcome and she let them linger. Home. Slightly startled by the thought, she drew back and touched her mouth. She had never had a home, not really, but when Gawain kissed her she felt as though she was where she belonged. She smiled and squeezed his fingers and glanced towards the encampment.
‘Gawain, André—’
Nodding, Gawain kneed the grey into a walk. He didn’t let go of her hand and Elise couldn’t bring herself to let go either, so they continued towards the encampment with linked hands. They passed a couple of barns on the town outskirts in a companionable silence. It felt good to be holding his hand. Too good. Elise forced herself to remember what they were doing. ‘We must find André,’ she murmured.
The meadow next to the walls of Troyes was lost beneath the tents and pavilions of Strangers’ City. Everything looked muted. Canvas was faded by sun and a coating of dust; grass was bleached to the colour of straw, and in patches it had completely died away. On the path between the purple pavilion and the ale tent the ground was cracked and dry. A desert must look like this. Overhead, dark clouds loured.
‘I went to the King,’ he said.
‘Your audience went well?’
‘Elise, I am free.’ He looked intently at her. ‘Lady Rowena and I are not going to marry.’
Elise’s heart gave a painful twist and she forgot about André.
‘Lady Rowena and I agreed we are not suited,’ Gawain added. ‘The King has released me from my betrothal agreement.’
‘So that was why you went to Paris.’
Gawain smiled and his fingers tightened before he let go of her hand. ‘We will talk more later.’
Elise followed his gaze. A troop of mounted knights was milling about in front of the ale tent, the Champagne pennon hung from a lance. The Guardians were out in force and they’d clearly seen action. Several sullen-looking men were roped together like cattle bound for market. Prisoners. The knights watched their prisoners in a relaxed manner. One leaned casually on the pommel of his saddle. Weapons were sheathed. Helmets had been removed. The fight, if there had been one, was over. Or was it?
Elise’s heart skittered. She couldn’t see André. Sir Bertran was among the knights guarding the prisoners. He had seen Gawain and was breaking away from his fellows, urging his horse towards them. Where was André?
A bolt of lightning shot out of the clouds. Thunder cracked and large raindrops bounced on the ground, sending up tiny puffs of dust.
Sir Bertran reached them. He met her gaze. ‘Madame, your friend’s testimony has proved most useful. As you see, the counterfeiters have been caught.’
Rigid with tension, she clutched the reins. ‘Where is he? Where’s André?’
Sir Bertran looked uneasily at her. ‘That, madame, is the difficulty. He is missing.’
Elise looked at the prisoners. Heart thumping, she urged the gelding towards them, examining the men’s faces one by one, looking for a mop of tawny hair and cold amber eyes. She was mindful of the big-boned grey at her shoulder and of Gawain’s watchful gaze.
‘Elise?’
Sick to her bones, she brushed raindrops from her face. ‘Jerome—the man who locked us in the cave—he’s not here.’
Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled overhead and in its wake, Elise could have sworn she heard someone shouting.
‘Over here! Help! Over here!’
The thunder crashed again and Elise and Gawain exchanged glances.
‘The tent,’ Elise said, digging in her spurs. ‘That came from our tent!’
They reached the pavilion and flung themselves from their horses. Sword out, Gawain caught Elise’s wrist. ‘Wait here.’
Heart in her mouth, Elise nodded. Gawain dived through the opening. Rain poured over her. Hands shaking, she edged closer. Lord, let André be safe. Lord, protect Gawain. She heard a thump and a strangled gasp. Fighting. Her heart pounded. Someone gaze a sharp cry.
Elise couldn’t bear to stand by and do nothing. She cast about for a weapon and her gaze fell on the water cauldron. It was sitting in a heap of soggy black ash that had once been her cooking fire. She snatched it up.
‘Elise, put that down,’ Gawain said.
She whirled round. Gawain was standing by the tent flap with his sword at Jerome’s throat. A cut on Jerome’s cheek was seeping blood, and the rain was washing it into his tunic. André—he had a black eye—was using a guy rope to tie Jerome’s wrists.
Dropping the water cauldron, Elise stumbled over. ‘André, thank God!’
‘Thank Lord Gawain,’ André said.
Jerome gave her a look of loathing. ‘You witch, I knew you’d make trouble.’
André jerked on Jerome’s bonds. The rain sluiced down. There was movement on the track between the tents. The Guardian Knights had followed them. Gawain smiled at Elise and gestured Jerome towards them. She seemed to have lost her tongue.
Gawain is no longer betrothed to Lady Rowena.
She stood by the pavilion as Jerome was handed over to Count Henry’s knights. It was a relief to see him safely under guard. She said nothing as he was led off to join the other prisoners. Nor did she say much to André when the knights had gone. She simply gave him a hug and sent him on his way to Vivienne.
And then there was only Elise and Gawain standing outside the purple pavilion with the rain pouring over them. Incongruously, Elise found herself watching bubbles form along the cracks in the earth. It was too warm to become chilled, but she was drenched. Her veil was clinging to her neck and shoulders. Grimacing, she eased it away.
‘You’re uncomfortable.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not going to complain about a little wetting, Lord knows we need the rain.’
‘That’s true.’ Gawain gestured at the entrance to the tent. She thought she saw him hide a smile. ‘It’s time to ta
ke shelter.’
An odd shiver ran down Elise’s spine as she went in. It felt as though she was stepping into someone else’s life. Stripped of most of their belongings, the place felt bereft. Rain beat on the canvas and trickled through the slash at the back. André had made that tear when he had to cut his way in to avoid being seen. It felt as though a hundred years had passed since then. Two coffers had been left behind. One held an assortment of cooking pots, a jar of herbs, some wooden spoons. The other contained bundles of ageing linens—a moth-eaten blanket; scraps of silk intended for ribbons; a red cloak that had once belonged to her sister, Morwenna.
Gawain ducked through the opening. A couple of strides brought him to her and he pulled her close.
‘I’m surprised these things haven’t been stolen,’ she murmured, gesturing at the cloak.
‘I asked Sir Raphael to watch the tent.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled into his eyes and watched them go black.
‘My pleasure.’ He swallowed and went on looking at her.
The rain had darkened his hair. His gaze was hungry. It made her hot and she couldn’t look away. Not that she wanted to. Not that she needed to. She eased closer and relaxed against him. Gawain was no longer betrothed. His arms tightened about her. Overhead, thunder rolled and crashed.
Gawain gave a strained laugh. ‘So.’ He kissed her ear. ‘Your André is safe.’
‘Thank you, Gawain.’ They were standing toe to toe and Elise couldn’t stop smiling. It was heaven to feel his arms about her again. Heaven to be able to slide her hands up his chest and grip his wide shoulders. Her heart was all fluttery. She felt nervous. Excited. Why had he set aside his betrothal? She could hardly breathe for wanting to know. ‘I expect he is halfway back to the manor by now.’
‘Aye.’ Gentle fingers moved up and down her ribcage. ‘Elise, I almost forgot, I bought you a gift in Paris.’
‘Oh?’
Easing back, Gawain opened his scrip and pulled out a small roll of silver silk, tied up with a white ribbon.
When Elise took it from him her fingers were thumbs. Giving him a curious glance, she tugged at the ribbon and caught the glitter of gold. ‘A chain?’ she murmured, holding it up. ‘You are giving me a gold chain?’
His lips twitched. ‘Never fear, it’s not strong enough to constrain you,’ he murmured. ‘It’s for your pendant. It will be safe on a proper chain.’
Touched that he understood how much the enamel daisy meant to her, she closed her fingers over his gift. ‘Thank you, Gawain.’ Her voice was husky.
‘Let me help you put it on.’
Elise pulled out her pendant and the old cord was swiftly removed. She ran her fingertips over the chain. ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ His eyes danced. ‘I hoped you would like it because there’s something important I wish to ask you.’ A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘Elise, will you marry me? Will you share your life with me?’
Her mouth went dry. She could barely answer. ‘I might.’
An eyebrow lifted. ‘Might?’
Lifting up on her toes, she kissed his chin. Gawain loved her. He must love her, for Gawain, that most honourable, most chivalrous of men, had done the unthinkable. He had gone to the King and asked to be released from his betrothal agreement. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t love her. Gawain was a man of action and his actions spoke for him. He had torn the town apart looking for her last year; he had taken them to live in La Rue du Cloître in order to protect them; he had given her a manor so that she and Pearl would never go hungry. He had bought her a gold chain for her pendant.
‘Gawain, if you love me, I shall consider it.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘I need you. And, yes, I most certainly do love you. Elise, say yes. You know you love me.’
She shook her head. ‘Do I?’
‘You know you do. Besides, we have to marry. Think of Pearl—if we marry, she can be legitimised.’
‘Gawain, I am not your match. You need an heiress, someone trained to be wife to a count.’
He shrugged. ‘You have your manor. Practise on that.’ His grip tightened. ‘Be warned, Elise, I’ll not let you refuse me. To my mind, you’ve had exactly the right training.’
‘How so?’
He lowered his mouth to within an inch of hers. ‘You have spent many years in a convent. You have learned the virtues of control and self-denial. You are patient and loyal to your friends. You are a wonderful seamstress. Oh, and you sing quite well...’
He smiled and the warmth of his mouth was temptation himself, but Elise didn’t give in to it. Not yet. She longed to marry him, but she had to know that Gawain understood that the difference in their upbringing might cause difficulties. Their road would not always be easy.
‘Elise, half the noblewomen of Christendom are trained in convents. You’ve had exactly the right training. And I’ve seen you as Blanchefleur. You have poise and elegance as well as beauty. I have no doubt that you could deal with a thousand importunate retainers if need be.’ He dipped closer and their lips touched.
He sounded very sure. Elise’s heart swelled. She ran her forefinger lightly down his nose, cupped his cheek with her palm and smiled into his eyes. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’
His breath caught and he bent to kiss her. The kiss drew out. Their tongues played and their breath became flurried. Rain pattered on to the pavilion. ‘Merci à Dieu.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Beloved.’ He kissed her neck. ‘I missed you in Paris.’ He nibbled at her ear and drew back as though looking for her response. ‘As I missed you last year.’
Elise’s throat was tight. ‘I missed you too, Gawain.’
He lifted his head and it bumped the canvas. A stream of water cascaded through the tear in the back. Laughing, he pulled her aside. ‘One moment.’ Fastening the door flap, he delved into the coffer and draw out the blanket. ‘We shall sit over here and wait out the storm.’
She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Sit? My lord, you disappoint me.’
A large hand reached for her and she was pulled unceremoniously on to the blanket and shifted on to his lap. ‘We’ve work to do, before we can sit,’ he murmured.
‘Work?’
A glint in his eyes, Gawain turned her head. Long fingers found a hairpin and pulled it out. A shiver of pure delight ran through her. ‘This veil is soaked, beloved. You’ll catch a chill. It has to come off.’
‘Very well.’ She let him remove her veil, but when she felt his fingers at her side lacings she covered his hand with hers and shook her head. ‘Your sword belt must be very uncomfortable, my lord.’
He tossed the sword aside, and then it was his turn again. ‘Your gown.’ He shook his head.
She grinned. ‘Too wet?’
‘Far too wet.’
A brief, breathless flurry later, and a few stolen kisses, Elise was sitting on his lap in her shift. Gawain’s hands were on her breasts, gently stroking, smiling each time he teased a moan from her. There was another exchange of kisses so heated they were breathless when they drew apart. Cheeks on fire, Elise ran her palm over his tunic and tugged at it. She frowned. ‘Damp, definitely damp. I cannot allow the man I love to die of the lung fever.’
Dark, grey-flecked eyes looked deep into hers. ‘Love?’
Flushing, she nodded. ‘I love you, Gawain.’
His tunic vanished. Somehow they were lying on the blanket and Gawain was stroking her shift up and out of the way. He moved over her and she felt him ease into her body.
‘Beloved.’ He closed his eyes and his groan of pleasure made Elise feel as though she might melt. ‘Is that all right? I’m not rushing you?’ His face changed and she felt him freeze. ‘It’s not too soon after Pearl?’
‘No, no.’
‘Not hurting?’
Gawain still had his boots on. He hadn’t stopped to remove his hose. She’d planned to play with him a little, to tease him as he had teased her when he’d fondled her breasts, but her body was more than ready. And she understood his impatience, she felt the same. She pressed her body against his and gripped him hard, finding the rhythm that she remembered so well.
Her gasps mingled with his and the rhythm quickened. ‘I love you, Gawain.’
‘Love, love,’ he muttered, running his tongue around her ear.
Elise was heedless of the knights a few yards away, heedless of the lightning flickering outside, heedless of everything save the warmth of Gawain’s breath against her skin and the feel of him inside her again.
He groaned into her ear, ‘Beloved, I love you.’
‘I love you,’ Elise gasped her response and the purple pavilion faded in an explosion of joy.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from MORROW CREEK RUNAWAY by Lisa Plumley.
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Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress Page 24