Gawain Read Online Free

with you at Camelot. Don’t think you can go packing me off to one of your manors in the back of beyond.”
    Gawain’s jaw clenched. “Very well—that is, if your answer is correct.”
    “It is.”
    “Let’s have it, then. Please,” he added between clenched teeth.
    “Not you,” she croaked. “’Tis for the king alone.”
    “Sire?” Gawain said, and Arthur, who had been staring at the crone, shook himself as though waking from a dark dream.
    “Right.” Arthur dismounted and approached her. Two steps away, he halted and looked back. “Gawain—”
    “Go on, sire.”
    “That’s right, Arthur King, you just bend your ear to me . . .”
    She leaned close. A moment later, Arthur drew back and stared at her incredulously. “That’s it ?”
    “Aye, that’s it.” She wheezed with laughter. “You didn’t find it for yourself, though, did you?”
    “No,” Arthur said slowly. “No, I did not.”
    “Well, then, off you go. I’ll be waiting here for your return.”
    “And you are certain I will return?”
    “Oh, aye. That is, I’m certain you’ll give that Somer Gromer Jour what he’s after. Whether you return or not . . .”
    “If your answer is the right one, we will be back,” Gawain promised. “You have my word on it.”
    “And I’ll hold you to it. Even if I have to walk all the way to Camelot to find you.”
    “That will not be necessary.” Gawain could not bring himself to look at her again, but he bowed in her direction before turning Gringolet and starting down the path.

Chapter 2
    AISLYN eased sideways in the saddle, trying to find a comfortable position. The crone was well enough for an hour or two, but after a morning’s ride, every joint throbbed like a separate toothache and her own stench was making her queasy. The thought of remaining in this form for even a few days was not a pleasant one.
    Then she looked at Gawain and decided it was worth it.
    He rode perfectly upright in his saddle, his face set in the expressionless mask he’d worn since he returned from the king’s meeting with Somer Gromer Jour. He’d brought with him a pretty little mare for her, a gesture that she suspected sprung more from his unwillingness to have her share his mount than any generosity on his part. Still, it looked well, and he had been nothing but polite during the ride, once or twice going so far as to ask if she would like to rest.
    It was a good performance. She wondered how long he could sustain it.
    “We are nearly there,” he said. “Camelot is just over the next rise.”
    Aislyn knelt by her window, staring up at the moon, too happy to even think of sleeping. Camelot! She was going to Camelot! She hugged herself, wondering if it was possible to die of joy. She could imagine it so clearly, the two of them riding down the road, Gawain laughing as he took her hand—and there it would be, just as he had described it to her. The new rose garden—“It’s only mud and twigs so far, but one day it will be beautiful”—the proud battlements and lofty towers, the bright—
     
    Pennants. There they were, splashes of color against gray stone, the standards of visiting nobility hung according to their rank with the crimson Pendragon banner over all, its golden serpent writhing as it snapped in the breeze.
    It was all just as he had said, exactly as she had seen it in her dreams. And here she was riding over the crest of the hill with Gawain beside her, on the way to their wedding.
    She gave an inelegant snort of laughter. If this didn’t teach her to be careful what she wished for, she didn’t know what would.
     
THEY did not go to the main entrance, but to a private courtyard apparently belonging to the king. It was a pretty little place, surrounded on two sides by low stone walls twined with trailing honeysuckle just coming into flower. It must smell lovely here, Aislyn thought with an inward sigh. Unfortunately, she could not smell anything but herself at the moment.
    Just as they