Chapter One

F east time! Sir Gawain stepped through the doorway of Castle Cardigan's Great Hall and…paused. He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen to one of his fellows. King Arthur's grand celebrations had a nasty way of metamorphosing into perilous adventures for naive young knights.

Gawain would know. He'd been tricked into whacking the head off a magical green knight one long-ago Christmas. He'd known he was in trouble when the knight stood and put his own head back on. So far, nothing untoward had happened to upset this Easter Court. But the party wasn't over yet.

If having a wicked case of eerie premonitions wasn't enough, he was late.

The hall was as large as a cathedral. More than fifty trestle tables had been set up in rows. Nattily dressed courtiers and ladies in a rainbow of silk presented a tableau to delight the eye—or to reproach a latecomer. Gawain pursed his lips. Not just any latecomer—the king's nephew. Arthur had specifically told him to wear his best manners and set an example. Creeping in when supper was nearly over was a big faux pas .

Taller than most men, with a flash of chestnut hair, Gawain nevertheless had acquired the skill of remaining inconspicuous when he wanted to be. But anyone arriving at the feast's end to join the king at the head table could hardly slip in unnoticed. The crime deserved a flogging. Gawain only hoped they used a horsewhip and not Queen Guinevere's tongue.

Bother. He started to back out the door.

"You should know your feet are moving in the wrong direction," rumbled an unmistakable gruff voice from behind.

"Sir Kai." Gawain turned to acknowledge Arthur's stodgy seneschal. The man in charge of food and games, Kai was the only person at court whose desire to be elsewhere would be greater than Gawain's own. "I've discovered I'm not very hungry."

He was telling the truth. After all, this was the twelfth consecutive day of feasting. The thought of choking down another greasy mutton chop while newly-dubbed knights challenged him to drinking games made his stomach churn.

"I assigned you a seat over there," Kai said with a vague gesture indicating a spot far from the head table. "The Queen told me to rotate some of the other guests closer."

Gawain grinned to reassure Kai he wasn't offended by his demotion. He was a bit tired of Guinevere's conversation too.

"Who are my seat mates?" He prayed for easy companions who'd put up with him.

"I gave you Sir Erec and Sir Bors."

"Ah, Beauty and the Beast."

Kai grunted. If the man had ever possessed a sense of humor, the thankless task of seneschal had surely beaten it from him.

Gawain strode off in the direction Kai had directed, nodding to friends as he passed. The tables were laden with roasted hart and grouse, bowls of fruit and puddings, and endless loaves of bread. He sniffed the air. No mutton, thank goodness. Perhaps his sense of impending doom had been an effect of his lateness, and not because something terrible was about to occur.

He found Sir Bors and Sir Erec—two large men, one round and one broad, taking up more than their share of the bench. He stepped behind them and laid a hand on each shoulder.

"Good evening, fellows. You are both in my seat."

They looked up. Sir Bors narrowed his puffy, red eyes and gave a snort. He had obviously been enjoying the party far too much. He moved over an inch and said, "You're late."

"Good evening," Sir Erec said, shifting aside as much as his next neighbor would allow.

Gawain squeezed onto the bench. "I was busy. Lost track of time."

No need to admit he'd been napping. Bors snorted again. Gawain decided there was no point talking to him. That left Sir Erec. Gawain's lips curved in a slightly superior smile. Erec was all right as young knights went. A bit too full of himself, but so had Gawain been when he was what? Twenty-three?

Erec was a king's son. Granted, at Arthur's court you couldn't drop a pudding without splattering six or seven kings' sons, but Erec's father was King Lac of Estre-Gales, a kingdom with some heft. The lad had been with them three years or so and had won his share of tournaments. He'd even given Gawain a bashing a time or two, although Gawain hadn't been at his best those mornings. Erec had proven himself on a couple of quests. His place at the Round Table was well deserved. Gawain didn't dispute that.

But Erec's greatest claim to fame was his extraordinary handsomeness. Unfortunate really. Erec might not have found it much of a liability at nineteen or even twenty. But try being a conspicuously good-looking, twenty-three-year-old, tournament-winning prince in King Arthur's court. An unmarried one. Queen Guinevere wasn't going to allow that to go on. Not with all those lasses in her charge for whom "unmarried" was a disease requiring a cure. Ridiculous! Men and women should choose one another, not have their lifelong mates assigned. Gawain would offer advice, except he was not a meddler. He tapped Erec's arm.

"Impressive joust this afternoon."

Erec had taken second place and had seemed miffed about it. Lancelot won. Easily enough since Gawain had decided to sit out today's competition.

" Mmmphhh ," was the mouth-full-of-something answer.

"You're enjoying the fete?"

Erec swallowed and nodded. One thing Gawain did like about Erec was that he was not given to idle chatter. Still, there was something to be said for holding up one's end of the conversation. Gawain tried again.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

"Yes." Erec sighed. It was difficult to interpret.

"What's wrong?"

Erec shook his perfectly coiffed brunette head, then lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "My mother's been writing to the queen again."

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

"About the queen's new lady-in-waiting." Erec's face drooped.

Ah. What's her name. A king's daughter. A passel of those hung about, too.

Erec seemed so resigned Gawain took pity on him.

"You could avoid her."

"Terribly rude, that," Erec mumbled, peering into his goblet. From the way he tilted it, Gawain could tell there wasn't much mead left.

"I see ." He scowled.

Erec sat straighter, bristling. "Certainly not! Nothing dishonorable. A little…flirtation."

He'd waded into it all right. Gawain took a thoughtful gulp from his own goblet. He hadn't been such an idiot at twenty-three, surely. Erec had the potential to be one of the great ones. Anyone could see that. There were those who would ruin a girl and laugh, not take offense at the merest suggestion of impropriety. But a handsome dunderhead could cause as much trouble as a scoundrel.

Gawain didn't meddle, but—

A commotion coming from King Arthur's table interrupted Gawain's train of thought. Two heralds moved into place on either side of the king. Guinevere pushed her chair aside and sat with her hands folded in her lap, an expectant look on her face. Arthur hastily wiped crumbs from his beard with a gold-threaded napkin. The heralds blared their horns.

"There, lad," Gawain said, the dread returning in full force. "An announcement is coming."

Erec nodded, his eyes still drooping as the king rose to speak.

"My good company!" he said, smiling his gentle inclusive smile. "It warms my heart to have you all here for this joyous Easter celebration."

Gawain clapped along with his fellows. He quieted more quickly than the others, waiting for his lord to get on with it.

"Before we must part—"

No! No, nothing more before we part. We're ready to part!

"I have one more event that should bring excitement and joy to us all."

No more excitement! We've had plenty of joy .

"In our forefathers' day, at such a court as this, they hunted ‘The White Stag.' It is a custom we shall restore on the morrow—"

"The Stag!" Gawain could not stop the word from bounding out of his mouth. The custom of the White Stag Hunt? That was utter madness. Arthur was courting trouble. The very idea was…it was…

Guinevere's. He shot a look at the queen. She was looking right back at him, a triumphant gleam in her eye. No doubt she had been thinking, Ha! Too late . She had this gander plucked, stuffed, trussed, and gobbled.

"What is it, Sir Gawain?" asked Arthur mildly.

"Sire," Gawain said, "this is going to cause a good deal of ill will." He drew in a breath. "We all know what this custom is. Whoever kills the White Stag must kiss the most beautiful maiden at court."

No honorable—or smart—knight would announce to the entire court which maiden he considered to be the loveliest, then kiss her publicly. Not unless he wanted the lovely girl's father to hunt him like a stag.

Or unless he meant to announce his betrothal.

Gawain didn't dare look at Erec. The young knight was as skilled at the hunt as he was at the joust. If he were shrewd, he would lose on purpose, but this was Erec. Besides, knowing Guinevere, she had convinced the stag to lie down in front of him and die.

Obviously, the queen had assured Arthur they could count on Erec. Otherwise…Oh, bother. There was a reason their forefathers had let this custom lapse.

"Sire, there are hundreds of lovely girls at court. And every one of them has a father, brother, or champion who will take offense if she isn't chosen."

You couldn't name one "most beautiful" without slighting the others. The champion of every maiden not kissed would feel obligated to rise to her defense. And imagine if some lover's lady was chosen by someone else! The hunt would end with a wedding or a funeral.

Arthur said, "The plans are set. Tomorrow morning we'll start early for the Adventurous Wood." He gave Gawain a stern look. "A king's word should not be gainsaid."

Gawain clamped his lips shut. He knew when Guinevere had him beat. Of course, Erec would win and do the honorable thing. And no one would dare fight him over his choice. Any challenger would lose.

He glanced sidelong at Erec and murmured, "Sorry, lad. I tried."

Erec chewed his lip. "It's all right. I have a plan."