Gawain Read Online Free Page B

it, dearie,” she said, dropping Guinevere a wink, “at my age, I can’t afford to stand on ceremony.”
    Guinevere’s jaw dropped a little further. She turned to her husband, but Arthur only nodded, still looking at Gawain.
    “If that is what Sir Gawain wants,” he said, tight-lipped. “We shall, of course, oblige him. Won’t we, my lady?”
    “I—I—” Clearly at a loss, Guinevere stared from her husband to his nephew. “Are you quite certain, Sir Gawain?”
    “Quite,” he replied with such frigid dignity that Guinevere was silenced. “Would you be so kind as to see that Dame Ragnelle has all she requires?”
    “Me?” The word came out as a squeak, and again, Guinevere looked to her husband. This time Arthur met her gaze straight on.
    “I would consider it a personal favor, my lady.” He drew Guinevere aside and added in a lower voice, “Don’t say anything about the wedding yet.”
    “As you wish. Well, then, Dame . . . Ragnelle,” Guinevere said with infinite distaste. “If you would step this way . . .”
    “Ta, love.” Aislyn waggled her twisted fingers at Gawain. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
    She followed the queen inside and up a long corridor. “Not so fast,” she grumbled, “I ain’t as spry as I used to be.” Guinevere slowed, allowing Aislyn to catch up to her.
    The queen’s face was a study of revulsion and curiosity. Eventually, as Aislyn had suspected it might, curiosity won.
    “This is all so sudden,” she said. She attempted a light laugh, though it came out somewhat strangled due to Aislyn’s close proximity. “How long have you known Sir Gawain?”
    “Known him? I can’t say as I know him at all,” Aislyn replied, which was true enough. Once she’d thought she did, but she’d soon learned the folly of that assumption. “What woman really knows her man before they’re wed?”
    Guinevere shot her a startled look. “True, but . . .” She hesitated, pearly teeth worrying her full lower lip. “How did you meet?”
    “’Twas a lucky chance.” Aislyn cut off further questions by the simple expedient of smiling. Guinevere gasped, one hand flying to her slender throat. “I expect you’re thinking I’m a bit old,” she went on, “and I can’t deny I had my doubts. But I said to myself—Ragnelle, I said, you don’t get such an offer every day—or even every century. If it doesn’t worry him, who are you to fuss?”
    Guinevere gazed at her, her face working with some emotion Aislyn could not immediately name. The queen’s lips trembled—was she about to weep? But no, a tiny giggle escaped her before she managed to compose herself. “Yes,” she said. “I see. How very interesting.”
    Interesting indeed. So the act had been no act at all. No friend of Sir Gawain could possibly find this situation comical.
    That’s something we have in common, Aislyn thought, wondering why she could not bring herself to like the queen. But then, she doubted Guinevere had many women friends at all, not looking like she did. Aislyn remembered how that felt, and thought that under different circumstances, she and Guinevere might have gotten on well together. For she—like Guinevere, she suspected—had never known what it was to be jealous of another woman’s beauty.
    Until today.
    Feeling oddly out of sorts, she stomped into a bare chamber with a large cask in the center.
    Guinevere pulled a cord and a moment later, a serving girl arrived. “Fill the bath,” the queen ordered. “Have you anything to wear, good dame?” she added to Aislyn.
    “Happens I do. My bag’s still on my horse.”
    “I will see that it is brought to you. If there is anything you need, just ask one of the serving maids.”
    What I need is to change back before I really am as old as I seem to be, Aislyn thought moodily as the cask was filled. What I need is to find some place Morgause won’t look, and get there. But she couldn’t be safer than she was right here, and until she thought of