Lord Gawain's Forbidden Mistress Read online

  Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest…

  Elise keeps her cards close to her chest. Few people know that she’s also Blanchefleur le Fay, the celebrated singer. But she has an even greater secret... Her baby daughter is the result of a brief but intense affair with Gawain, Count of Meaux.

  Duty-bound to marry, Gawain is back in Troyes to meet his bride. So why can’t he stop thinking about the sweet, silver-voiced girl he met the last time he was there? And when he finds his mistress again, Gawain must choose between duty and forbidden desire...

  Knights of Champagne

  Three Swordsmen for Three Ladies

  Duty, Honor, Truth, Valor

  The tenets of the Knights of Champagne will be sorely tested in this exciting medieval miniseries by

  Carol Townend

  The pounding of hooves, the cold snap of air, a knight’s colors flying high across the roaring crowd—nothing rivals a tourney. The chance to prove his worth is at the beating heart of any knight.

  And tournaments bring other dangers, too. Scoundrels, thieves, murderers and worse are all drawn toward a town bursting with deep pockets, flowing wine and wanton women.

  Only these three knights stand in their way.

  But what of the women who stand beside them?

  Find out in

  Carol Townend’s

  Knights of Champagne

  Three Swordsmen for Three Ladies

  LADY ISOBEL’S CHAMPION

  and

  UNVEILING LADY CLARE

  Already available.

  LORD GAWAIN’S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS

  Available now.

  Author Note

  Arthurian myths and legends have been popular for hundreds of years. Dashing knights worship beautiful ladies, fight for honor—and sometimes lose honor! Some of the earliest versions of these stories were written in the twelfth century by an influential poet called Chrétien de Troyes. Troyes was the walled city in the county of Champagne where Chrétien lived and worked. His patron, Countess Marie of Champagne, was a princess—daughter of King Louis of France and the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine. Countess Marie’s splendid, artistic court in Troyes rivaled Queen Eleanor’s in Poitiers.

  The books in the Knights of Champagne miniseries are not an attempt to rework the Arthurian myths and legends. They are original romances set around the Troyes court. I wanted to tell the stories of some of the lords and ladies who might have inspired Chrétien, and I was keen to give the ladies a more active role since Chrétien’s ladies tend to be too passive for today’s reader.

  Apart from brief glimpses of Count Henry and Countess Marie, the characters are all fictional. I have used the layout of the medieval city to create my Troyes, but these books are first and foremost fictional.

  Carol

  Townend

  Lord Gawain’s

  Forbidden Mistress

  Carol Townend was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read History at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and nonfiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website, caroltownend.co.uk.

  Books by Carol Townend

  Harlequin Historical

  Knights of Champagne

  Lady Isobel’s Champion

  Unveiling Lady Clare

  Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress

  Palace Brides

  Bound to the Barbarian

  Chained to the Barbarian

  Betrothed to the Barbarian

  Stand-Alone Novels

  The Novice Bride

  An Honorable Rogue

  His Captive Lady

  Runaway Lady, Conquering Lord

  Her Banished Lord

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  To Melanie with love

  and thanks for always being there.

  (I won’t embarrass us both

  by counting the years in public!)

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  August 1174—an encampment outside Troyes in the County of Champagne

  Troyes was bursting at the seams—the summer market was at its height and every inn and boarding house was packed to the rafters with merchants and housewives. Tumblers and singers jostled for the best spots in the market squares. Mercenaries and cutpurses roamed the narrow streets, searching for the shortest route to an easy profit. Indeed, so many people had descended on the town that a temporary campsite had been set up in a field outside the city walls. The encampment was known as Strangers’ City, and line after line of dusty tents filled every inch of the field.

  One tent stood out from the rest. Slightly larger than the others, more of a pavilion than a tent, the canvas was dyed purple and painted with silver stars.

  Inside the purple pavilion, Elise was sitting on a stool next to Pearl’s cradle, gently waving a cloth back and forth in front of her daughter’s face. It was noon and even for August it was unusually hot. Elise wriggled her shoulders. Her gown was sticking to her and it seemed she had sat there for hours. Thankfully, Pearl’s eyelids were finally drooping.

  Voices outside had Elise narrowing her gaze at the entrance to the pavilion. André was back, she could hear him talking to Vivienne, who was nursing baby Bruno in the shade of the awning.

  Elise waited, gently fanning Pearl. If André had news, he would soon tell her. Sure enough, a moment later André pushed through the tent flap.

  ‘Elise, I’ve done it!’ he said, eyes shining. He put his lute on his bedroll. ‘Blanchefleur le Fay has been booked to sing at the palace. At the Harvest Banquet.’

  ‘The palace? You got a booking at the palace already? Heavens, that was quick.’ Elise bit her lip. ‘I only hope I’m ready.’

  ‘Of course you’re ready. I’ve never heard you in better voice. Count Henry’s steward was thrilled to learn Blanchefleur is in town. The Champagne court will love you.’

  ‘It’s been a while since I performed—I was afraid that I might already have been forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten? Blanchefleur le Fay? That’s hardly likely. Elise, it’s the booking of a lifetime. I can’t think of a better setting for Blanchefleur to step back on stage.’

  Elise glanced at Pearl. Asleep. Carefully, she folded the cloth she’d been using as a fan and smiled to hide her disquiet. ‘You did well, André. Thank you.’

  ‘You might look a little happier,’ André said, watching her. ‘You’re nervous about singing in Champagne.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Elise said, although there was a grain of truth in André’s remark. ‘But I mustn’t disappoint them.’

  ‘You’re afraid you’ll see him.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘Him?’

  ‘Pearl’s father, of course.
Elise, you don’t need to worry, Lord Gawain’s not in Troyes. He left to claim his inheritance.’

  ‘You’ve been listening to the gossip.’

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  Elise grimaced, but it would be futile to deny it. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened, but where Gawain Steward was concerned that seemed impossible. His image never left her; even now it was bright and clear, a powerful knight with a shock of fair hair and a pair of smouldering dark eyes. ‘It’s odd to think of him as the Count of Meaux,’ she murmured. ‘He had no expectations of inheriting.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I gather there was bad blood between him and his uncle. I know no more than that.’

  André shrugged. ‘Well, he’s count now, so they must have resolved their differences.’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  Elise was pleased for Gawain’s good fortune. In truth, she was pleased for herself. Gawain’s inheritance was her good fortune too. Blanchefleur le Fay had wanted to sing at the famous court in Champagne for years. Even the difficulties of her last visit here hadn’t killed that ambition.

  After Pearl’s birth, when Elise had realised that Blanchefleur must make a truly spectacular return or risk fading into obscurity, she’d been inspired with the thought that she might stage her comeback at the palace in Troyes. It would be something of a coup to sing before Countess Marie herself. The daughter of the King of France, no less!

  There had been a few ghosts to fight before Elise had been able to return to Champagne. She would never forget that her sister, Morwenna, had died near Troyes. However, nothing Elise could do would bring Morwenna back. In any case, if Morwenna had been alive she would be the first to agree that the Troyes court was the ideal place for Blanchefleur le Fay’s triumphant return.

  And then there was Gawain, and the fear that she might run into him. What would she say to him? He is the father of my child and he doesn’t know...

  But then Elise had heard that Gawain had become Count of Meaux and that obstacle at least had been removed. Gawain was miles away, claiming his inheritance in the Ile-de-France. The coast was clear.

  ‘What’s he like?’ André asked.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Lord Gawain.’

  Lord Gawain. ‘He was a plain knight when I knew him. Striking. A warrior. But he was also kind. Protective.’

  Last year, Elise had been both surprised and flattered to have been the object of Gawain’s interest. It was even more astonishing when one stopped to consider that not once had she used Blanchefleur le Fay’s wiles on him. No, she’d simply been the shy and retiring maidservant, Elise.

  ‘Yet you fear him. You were anxious not to meet him.’

  Elise glanced at Pearl, biting her lip. ‘I’m not afraid of Lord Gawain. I just wanted to avoid any...complications.’

  ‘Complications?’

  ‘André, Pearl’s father is a count. I have no idea how he might react when he learns he has a daughter.’

  ‘You’d prefer that he didn’t find out.’

  ‘Frankly, yes. The fact that Gawain is a count will not change his character. He is a dutiful man, a man of honour. I befriended him as a means of entering Ravenshold.’

  André frowned. ‘What about Lady Isobel? I thought you’d become her maid to get into Ravenshold.’

  ‘So I did, but my friendship with Lady Isobel was untried. There was a strong possibility it might come to nothing.’

  ‘So you kept Lord Gawain in reserve.’ Eyes shocked, André looked at Pearl. ‘I thought—knowing you—he’d be more than that.’

  ‘I like the man, of course,’ Elise said hastily. In truth, she had more than liked him. She might have befriended Gawain out of desperation, but she hadn’t had to feign the attraction. Passion had flared up between them without any effort on her part. Sparks had been flying from the first. ‘I’m not certain he will forgive me. You see, I did deceive him.’

  Elise bit her lip. Deceiving Gawain had been both the hardest and the easiest thing she had ever done. She had flirted with a man—she’d never felt comfortable flirting, but it had been astonishingly easy with Gawain. It had been fun, of all things. Initially, she’d done it hoping to discover how her sister had died. Before she had come to know Gawain, she had told herself that uncovering the truth about Morwenna’s death was all that mattered. But she had quickly realised that she’d been deceiving herself as much as Gawain. The liking between them had been strong. Too strong. They had ended up as passionate lovers even though she’d come to mistrust everything she felt for him. Was it really possible to feel so much for a man, and so quickly?

  ‘It’s a relief to know I won’t see him,’ she said. ‘Particularly since he is the grand Count of Meaux. André, he lives in a different world.’

  ‘The world of the court.’

  ‘Just so. We might entertain there, but it is not our world. But for you to have secured a booking so soon! It’s wonderful.’ She grimaced. ‘Except for one thing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Blanchefleur’s gowns.’ Elise gestured at her stomach and tried to push Pearl’s father to the back of her mind. ‘Last time I tried them, they were still a little tight.’

  ‘Rot! You’re as slim as you were before Pearl came along.’

  ‘You, sir, are a flatterer. Those gowns aren’t decent and Blanchefleur wouldn’t dream of appearing in a loosely laced gown. Remember, the world at large likes to think of her as innocent. They believe she’s been on retreat in a convent. The gowns—’

  ‘Try them on again, Elise, I am sure they’ll fit. What about buying new ribbons?’

  Butterflies were dancing in Elise’s stomach. Nervous, excited butterflies. She drew in a breath. She had dreamed about performing at the Champagne court for years, and she’d be mad to let a few nerves spoil her chance of singing at the palace. Reaching for André’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Very well,’ she said, brightly. ‘New ribbons it shall be. Will you keep an eye on Pearl for me while I go to the market?’

  André looked regretfully at her. ‘I’m sorry, Elise, you’ll have to ask Vivienne. I’m meeting friends at the ale tent. We’ll be going back into town.’

  ‘Don’t worry, that’s fine,’ Elise said.

  Vivienne was Pearl’s wet-nurse. Deciding to ask Vivienne if she would feed Pearl had been one of the most difficult decisions Elise had ever made. But it was unavoidable if she was to continue singing, because Elise’s alter ego, Blanchefleur le Fay, couldn’t possibly be a nursing mother. Blanchefleur never looked at men. The personification of innocence, she kept them at arm’s length. Blanchefleur was aloof and pure. Untouchable. She didn’t have a heart; she broke them.

  Elise hadn’t actually chosen Blanchefleur le Fay for her stage name. Extraordinarily, the name had evolved, possibly helped by the fact that she wore a white enamel pendant shaped like a daisy. Blanchefleur was mysterious. She was otherworldly and exotic. Famed throughout the land, Blanchefleur was fêted like a princess in the great houses of the south. Blanchefleur would die before she did anything as down to earth, as sinful, as having a child out of wedlock.

  Briefly, Elise had thought about taking on another persona, one that would allow her to be more open about being a mother, but Blanchefleur had been good to her. Blanchefleur was a good earner and Elise was reluctant to let her fade into obscurity. Real ladies—noblewomen—had wet-nurses, so why shouldn’t she?

  But there was no escaping that it had hurt to give up feeding Pearl herself. It felt like a betrayal and her whole being ached—even now, several weeks after the birth. She hadn’t expected to feel so bad.

  Vivienne had been the obvious choice for Pearl’s wet-nurse. Vivienne had joined their troupe back in the days when Elise’s father, Ronan, had been alive. Vivienne wasn’t a singer and she hated performing, so she cooked and cleaned
and helped them pack up when they moved from town to town. She acted as Blanchefleur’s maid.

  The three of them, Elise, André and Vivienne, had lived together for years and recently—as recently as last winter when Elise had been away in Champagne—Vivienne and André had become lovers. Crucially they also had a newborn—baby Bruno was only a few days older than Pearl. Elise was lucky to have Vivienne as Pearl’s wet-nurse. Without her, earning a living for her and Pearl would be doubly difficult.

  * * *

  Winding the cherry-coloured ribbon neatly round her fingers, Elise tucked it into her purse and smiled at the stallholder. ‘Thank you, I love the colour.’

  ‘It’s silk, ma demoiselle.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  The ribbon was perfect. It was strong enough to act as a new lacing, and it was only slightly longer than the old one. It would seem André had been right when he’d said she had regained her former figure. Elise could get into both Blanchefleur’s gowns, and the cherry-coloured ribbon would be perfect with the silver silk of her favourite one.

  Flicking her veil over her shoulder, Elise grimaced as she pushed through the crowd. The heat in the market square was unbearable. It was like an oven in town, far hotter than in the campsite at Strangers’ City. The rows of narrow wooden houses trapped the warm air. Elise felt smothered. She couldn’t wait to get back to the pavilion and take off her veil.

  She elbowed her way clear of the press round the stalls and had almost reached the shade beneath the Madeleine Gate when she heard hoofbeats.

  ‘Stand back,’ a man in front muttered. ‘Horses coming through.’

  It was a knight and his squire. The knight was not wearing his chain mail. He was wearing a cream-coloured tunic edged with red-and-gold braid. None the less, there was no mistaking him as a knight. Only a knight would sit so confidently on so large a horse. He was turned the other way, laughing at something his squire had said.

  Elise’s breath stopped. The knight had fair hair, just like Gawain’s. His horse—an ugly black-stockinged bay—seemed familiar. And the knight’s squire—her heart seemed to shift in her chest—that red tunic, that golden griffin emblazoned across it, there was something different about that griffin, but...