Gawain (31 page)

“Yes,” Guinevere said doubtfully. “That is true.”

“Of course, Arthur might not see it quite that way. In fact, I am certain he would not. I daresay he would be very angry if he learned that you had gone behind his back, and now that the poor knight is dead, I hardly like to think
what
he would say!” She patted Guinevere’s shoulder, her eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the dim light of the passageway. “But do not worry, dearest Guinevere. You can trust me to keep your secret.”

Smiling, she turned and walked away.

AISLYN rested her elbows on the windowsill, watching dully as grooms and servants hurried through the courtyard. Sir Kay strode by, red-faced and shouting. A poor little kitchen wench went before him, a basket of onions perched upon one bony shoulder, while a varlet followed, his hands full of chickens for the plucking.

That’s right,
she thought,
tonight is the feast. I wonder if Morgana is here yet?
But even this thought could not rouse her from her lethargy.

Sir Kay vanished through the doorway leading to the kitchens and silence descended on the courtyard. Aislyn leaned her chin on her palm and reminded herself of all the reasons she had to be happy. Gawain loved her. That was the first and best of them. He did not respect her—indeed, she wondered if he even liked her—but he said he loved her and Gawain was incapable of lying. In time, he would learn to think better of her judgment, she told herself. So long as she did all he asked and never questioned his decisions, no doubt he would come to think her very wise indeed.

Two men walked by; one, a guard by his attire, and the second with his hands bound behind his back. He looked full young to be guilty of any serious crime, she thought, and then straightened, her gaze sharpening as he turned to look over his shoulder and she saw his face.

Standing on tiptoe, she leaned far out the window to get a better look, but she knew already who he was.

“Launfal!”

It was not Aislyn who cried his name, but Sir Dinadan, who hurried across the courtyard and stood talking to him a moment.
Launfal,
she thought, raising a shaking hand to her lips. She would have known him anywhere, though he looked nothing like the stripling lad she had last seen in Lothian. He was the image of their father. Their hair was the same shade of chestnut, their features very like, and what Launfal lacked in breadth of chest and shoulder would come to him in time.

As he stood listening to Dinadan, Aislyn could see that he was terrified, yet he nodded from time to time, and when they parted, even managed a smile.

Then, he was again her little brother. His smile hadn’t changed at all; it was as sweetly melancholy as it had ever been, and as he turned away, straightening his shoulders, he wore an expression she had hoped to never see in him again—that of suffering patiently endured. But then, she thought, her eyes filling, Launfal had never been one to complain.

In that moment she knew him to be innocent. Whatever they said he had done, they were wrong.

She went briskly to the door, but it did not open to her touch. She pulled and pushed, and finally beat upon it with her fists. “Help!” she cried. “Let me out! The door is stuck!”

“Quiet, there,” a deep voice said, startling her with its nearness. “You are to bide where you are.”

“And who says so?” she returned.

“’Tis by the king’s order.”

The
king
? She stared nonplussed at the door, then turned and went back to the window. She set her palms on the sill and attempted to lift herself, but fell back with a curse.

By the time she’d dragged the stool over to the window and clambered up on it, Launfal and the guard were gone. She carefully eased her legs over the windowsill, looking doubtfully at the earth five feet below.

The drop would have been as nothing to a woman of twenty-one. To the crone, it was enough to shatter bones.

“Oh, damn you, Morgana!” she muttered, carefully twisting herself so she could grasp the windowsill and lower herself. “Damn you, why don’t you—”

She broke off with a choked gasp, her heart giving such a tremendous thud that it seemed like to break through her rib cage. Half in, half out of the window, she watched in terror as Morgause glided into the courtyard. After a terrible moment during which she was sure she was about to tumble headfirst into Morgause’s path, she scrambled back the way she’d come, falling through the window to land hard upon her hands and knees. She crouched beneath the sill, fighting to draw breath, one fist pressed to her breastbone as she strained to listen for Morgause’s voice above the thundering of her own heartbeat.

At last she dared to peer over the windowsill to find the courtyard once again deserted.

Relief flooded her, weakening her knees. She tottered to the chair and sat down, her head falling back limply as she waited for her heartbeat to subside.

“Coward,” she muttered as soon as she had breath. “Look at you, halfway to a faint just from a little glimpse of her! And here you were always
so
proud of your spirit. Well, you showed precious little of that just now, cowering on the floor! What’s happened to you?”

I am old,
she thought.
I don’t have the strength to fight her.

“Well, you’d better find it,” she said aloud. “Because that’s your
brother
she’s after. Whatever she’s done to him, she’s not going to go on doing it. Not while I’m here to stop her.”

She stood, staggering a little, and clutched the back of the chair.
I can’t,
a small voice wailed, but she cut it off.

“Bugger that,” she muttered, going to the window and climbing up on the stool. Even that small effort exhausted her and she sat a moment, legs dangling over the sill. The drop looked even farther now, and she was just steeling herself when she caught sight of a man on the edge of the courtyard.

“Hi, there!” she called. “Sir Dinadan!”

He came over to the window. “Dame Ragnelle,” he said, glancing up at her quizzically. “How do you today?”

“Not well,” she answered bluntly. “The king has gone and set a guard at my door.”

Dinadan’s brows rose. “Why did he do that?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I need to get out of here.”

“Dame Ragnelle, if the king himself has ordered—”

“That lad you were talking to,” she interrupted. “Launfal, isn’t that his name?”

Dinadan frowned. “And how do you know that?”

“Never you mind. What’s he a prisoner for?”

“He killed a knight—”

“Nonsense,” she said sharply. “He
wouldn’t
—well, not unless he had good cause.”

“You know him, then?”

“I’ve known him since he was breeched. He’s in trouble—worse trouble than you know—and I need to talk with him
now
. Will you help me or not?”

Dinadan tipped back his head and considered her. “I cannot find a single reason why I should,” he said. “And a dozen why I should not. But do you let yourself down and I will catch you.”

Once safely on the ground, she took his arm. “You are not looking very well,” he said, gazing at her with concern. “Are you sure you should be—”

“Oh, aye, very sure. Just get me to the place where Launfal is held, and then you go on your way. Now, don’t argue with me, I won’t have you dragged any further into trouble than you’ve already been.”

“As you wish,” Dinadan said doubtfully, and led her toward the dungeon gate.

“GAWAIN,” King Arthur said, “please sit down. When we spoke yesterday—”

“I understand why you were angry,” Gawain interrupted. “But there is something I must tell you. About Ragnelle—”

Arthur held up a hand. “I know about Dame Ragnelle.”

“You do? But—how could you?”

“Never mind that,” Arthur said, flushing slightly. “The point is that I know, and I have taken steps to remedy the situation. I am expecting Morgana shortly—indeed, I had hoped she would be here before today. In the meantime, I have placed Dame Ragnelle under guard.”

“Thank you,” Gawain said, his voice warm with relief.

Arthur slumped in his seat. “I was afraid you would be—well, never mind. Now, about this young man, Launfal. I could see that you were surprised to find him in such trouble. You knew him well?”

“No, not well. But—”

He started as the door flew open and banged against the wall. The queen stood upon the threshold, and after one look at her face, Arthur was on his feet.

“Guinevere! My lady, what is it?”

“Arthur—oh, Arthur, I must speak to you at once.”

“Gawain,” Arthur said, “wait for me, would you?”

Gawain paced the antechamber, wondering what could have upset the queen so deeply. She had gone out in the company of his mother, and when she returned she looked entirely overset.

“What?”
Even through the thick door, the king’s voice was audible. “But
why
?”

Gawain’s jaw tightened.
What now, Mother?
he thought.
What did you say to the queen?

The door opened and Arthur beckoned him inside. The queen stood by the window, her back to him.

“Take this to the dungeon,” Arthur ordered, holding out a square of parchment with a few lines penned upon it and the royal seal at the bottom, impressed in wax that was still warm. Gawain glanced down at it, then to the king.

“He is pardoned? But—”

“The lad was attacked,” Arthur said curtly. “As for what happened next, we have only his word—but I must give him the benefit of any small doubt that remains.”

“Sire,” Gawain said carefully, “may I know why Sir Marrek set upon the young man?”

“No,” Arthur replied. “I have pardoned him. That is all anyone need know.”

“But I would like to know—I
must
know— My lady,” he said to Guinevere, “if my mother’s hand was in this—”

“The fault was mine,” Guinevere said thickly. “Please, Sir Gawain, let us not speak of it again.”

“As you will, lady,” he said, bowing. At the door, he hesitated, then turned back. “Sire, whatever has befallen, I cannot believe the queen is to blame.”

Guinevere did not turn. “That is very kind,” she said, her voice choked, “but—”

“It’s all right, Gawain,” Arthur said with a strained smile, “there is no need for you to defend the queen to me. You may trust me to sort it out.”

Gawain bowed without speaking and set out for the dungeon.

LAUNFAL paced his tiny cell, his mind whirling. He had known Morgause would be here before him, but he had not counted upon meeting her before he had the chance to tell his own tale to the king. Of course, he had not counted on arriving at Camelot bound hand and foot, or that he would be lodged in the dungeon. Indeed, now that he came to think on it, there were many things he had failed to anticipate about this journey.

But he was in no doubt of what would happen next.

Morgause would be here soon. He knew too much for her to let him live.
Fool,
he thought, striking his fist against the wall.
I should have told the king straight-out about Somer Gromer Jour. I could hardly be in worse trouble than I am right now, and at least he would know about—

He stiffened as the door creaked open behind him. Turning, he saw Morgause walk into the chamber.

“Madam.” He bowed and, leaning casually against the wall, remarked, “You cannot keep away from me, I see.”

She laughed. “What a pity I never really got to know you, Launfal. You would have amused me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Yes, well, you did have your charms . . .” All the amusement vanished from her face as she dropped her gaze to the flower she held between her long white fingers. “We parted badly, and I am sorry for it. My temper . . .” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “I am glad I did not mar you,” she said softly.

He shrugged, watching her warily.

“We were happy once, were we not?” Her red lips curved in a wistful smile. He had once thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, and now, for a moment, the old admiration stirred in him again.

“Yes. Once.”

“I was wrong to keep you as I did,” she went on, “I should have allowed you more freedom. ’Tis only . . . you were so much younger, and so fair . . . I feared you would grow weary of me, and I . . . But I should have remembered that you are the son of a noble knight.”

What was this? Apologies from
her
? She could not possibly mean what she said, though he could find no reason for her to lie to him now, when he was completely at her mercy.

“Madam,” he said, “if you are sincere, you would speak for me to the king.”

“Do you think I have not already done so?”

Yes, that was precisely what he thought. Or . . . at least, he
had
. But her voice was so sweetly reproachful that he wondered if he had wronged her, and her eyes . . . he felt a little dizzy looking into their emerald depths. With an effort, he lowered his gaze to the blossom she turned between her slender fingers. It was gillyflower, usually the gift of a lady to her lover before he rode forth to battle, and white for purity of love. Its spicy scent filled the little chamber.

“But against such a grave charge as murder,” she went on, “my words availed me nothing. But I am sure you did not do it!”

“It was an accident,” Launfal said, lifting his gaze to hers. “I only sought to defend myself, and he fell on his own dagger.”

Her eyes shimmered. “I knew it could not be as the king said! If only Arthur—but his mind is set.” A tear spilled over her lashes and sparkled on her cheek. Launfal stared at it, transfixed, as she went on. “You are to hang. Oh, my poor boy, I am sorry, I should not have blurted it out like that! Sit down, I beg you—let me help—”

“No,” he said numbly. “I—I am well.”