Elise, you have done some performing since we last met?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ It was true, Elise had sung. A little. She had sung until she could no longer squeeze into Blanchefleur le Fay’s gowns and had been forced into retreat at Fontevraud Abbey.
‘Where did you sing—at Poitiers?’
Elise gave the innocuous answers Gawain seemed to want. When they reached the castle, she was feeling decidedly panicky. What if he found out about Pearl? How would he react?
Gawain’s squire was waiting by the gatehouse.
‘My thanks, Aubin,’ Gawain said, taking the reins and swinging easily into the saddle. He offered her his hand.
Elise stepped back. ‘My lord? You expect me to ride with you?’
Gawain lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’ve already had me walking far more than I ought to have done. I’m a count, I’m expected to ride everywhere. What will it do to my reputation if you have me walking all the way to Strangers’ City?’
Since when had Gawain cared what people thought of him? In any case, Strangers’ City wasn’t far. He was teasing, wasn’t he? A pang shot through her. One never quite knew with Gawain, but they used to tease each other a lot. She’d missed it. She put a hand on her hip. ‘And what about my reputation, my lord?’ The great horse’s nickname came back to her. ‘What do you suppose it will do to my reputation if I arrive at the pavilion on the back of The Beast?’
He grinned. ‘Not on The Beast’s back, sweet. I’ll have you before me.’
Before Elise had time to blink, Gawain was leaning out of the saddle at a crazy angle, taking hold of her around her ribcage. She heard herself squeak as her body thumped against the horse’s shoulder. It wasn’t seemly being pulled on to a destrier. Such a thing would never happen to Blanchefleur le Fay. No one would dream of treating her in such a way.
‘You make it harder on yourself if you struggle,’ he said, lips twitching. ‘Give in, Elise.’
Something tugged on her veil, her skirts fluttered about her knees, her free arm tangled in the destrier’s reins before she found purchase, and then—another ungainly thump—somehow she was sitting sideways in front of him, gasping for breath.
Dark eyes looked down at her. His lips curved.
‘Put me down, my lord, everyone is staring. This is most unseemly.’ Face hot, she pushed at her skirts.
His arm tightened about her waist. ‘You needn’t fear. I won’t drop you.’
‘I am not comfortable, and I am sure your horse is not. I am practically sitting on his neck!’
‘The Beast has carried worse burdens.’
‘My lord, please put me down. If you must accompany me back to the pavilion, I am perfectly capable of walking beside you.’
His thumb shifted against her ribs in an ambiguous movement that might or might not have been a caress. ‘Later.’
Spurs jangled as he kicked his destrier’s flanks and they lurched into motion.
Blessed Mother, Elise prayed. Don’t let him discover that he is Pearl’s father.
‘Relax,’ Gawain murmured, as they rode through the Preize Gate.
There were smiles and raised eyebrows from the guards as they went under the arch, but to Elise’s amazement no ribald remarks. At least none that she heard. The guards were probably too clever to risk saying anything disrespectful before the Count of Meaux. Elise glanced up at him through her eyelashes and wondered what the men would say once they’d ridden out of earshot.
The horse walked on. Elise put an arm about Gawain’s waist and clung to his belt. He brushed back her veil.
‘Wretch,’ she muttered. However, she was grateful the horse was walking. It would be even more embarrassing if she had to try to stay on when he was trotting. Gawain’s arm was firm about her body. Secure. She was grateful for that too. His arm felt strong. Last year, she’d taken comfort in his strength. How could she have forgotten?
With a start, she realised that she was enjoying being in Gawain’s arms; she was enjoying 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
