Chapter Ten

A t last, an hour alone, Enide thought. For hovering, Guinevere was worse than Mama. Enide did not even feel guilty for her deception.

Draped from head-to-toe in a coarse brown blanket, she strode across a back courtyard where garbage lay heaped. If anyone saw her, they would mistake her for a milkmaid or worse.

It wasn't deception, not really. She had told the queen she was going to pray. Guinevere had merely assumed she would go to the chapel. Enide shuddered. The chapel was already festooned with ribbons, garlanded with flowers, and gilded with myriad little images of the crest of Estre-Gales. Who could worship in such a place?

Pentecost Court was well underway. Enide had not imagined so many people lived on all the earth. The entirety of England and half of the rest of the world must have come. She could not wait for it all to be over. If one more person congratulated Erec on how beautiful she was…

At least he had begun introducing her as Lady Enide. For those first few weeks, she had thought he didn't even know her real name.

There. There was her haven. The granary. A squat, square building of weathered graying wood. Freedom. No one would ever think to find her there.

So many nobles had come to court, the stables at the castle were filled thrice over. Out of courtesy, King Arthur had removed all but the most valuable of his own stock to squeeze in wherever. In this near-empty granary, they had placed several of the more placid animals who could be trusted to fend for themselves and leave each other alone. Prudy, the swaybacked dapple-gray, fell into that category.

Enide pushed open the door and stepped inside. There Prudy stood, nibbling at kernels on the ground. Milling about were three other mares, two ancient mules, a shaggy-looking pony, and… Holy Maid! Enide stepped back. That was Sir Gawain's Guingalet!

Her heart pounded and her breath came fast. She should alert someone. But then, she would have to explain why she'd been there.

Well, she couldn't stay. Sir Gawain's beast was not even tethered. He was…calmly munching from a makeshift manger. The abrupt entrance of a strange maiden had not even caused him to stir. She whistled softly. The horse munched on.

Enide blew a soft raspberry. Gawain—what a charlatan. He rode a creampuff.

With no more ado, she scuffed across the dirt to her palfrey. Petting Prudy's nose, she murmured, "Did you miss me?" The horse snorted. Enide took that as a "yes".

"Tonight is the night, Prudy. Soon, I will be a wife." Enide paused. "Yes, well, no point dragging our feet. Erec is ready to go home." The horse tossed its head. "I know. But it will be my home too, now. Besides, that's where he sent Papa and Mama. He kept his word."

That was the thing. The man was completely, utterly honorable. Praiseworthy. Her mouth twisted as the unfortunate thought followed: he knew it, too . Not three days had passed before he'd sent his "token" back to Laluth.

Five fat mules and cartloads full of silks, sable, ermine, fine linen, gold and silver settings, an ivory chessboard, perfumes… Enide gave up inventorying the riches he somehow had caused to materialize out of thin air.

And not just things. People. One minute they were in King Arthur's court, surrounded by courtiers on holiday. Enide naturally assumed they were Arthur's men. Erec snapped his fingers and ten knights, twenty, suddenly turned from King Arthur, from Arthur , to say "yes, milord" to this young man with the strange authority in his voice. She shivered. He had never used that tone with her. But after tonight, he could.

Enide pulled a brush from the belt at her waist and began currying. She was just being silly. Had he ever been anything but adoring? It was as if he didn't know what to say to a maiden except courteous compliments. Of course, she hadn't much to say to him either except "yes, milord", and "thank you, sir".

"Dear Lord, help me to be a worthy wife," she murmured. There. She hadn't lied to Guinevere about prayer.

"I hope he lets me bring you," she sighed. Even though Erec had said something about a snow-white palfrey, and she didn't want to ride Prudy all the way to Estre-Gales, Alma's horse was all Enide had left from Laluth.

The door rattled suddenly, and a flash of sunlight spilled across the ground. Enide gasped but knew she had no time to hide, and it would do no good to cower. Turning to face the consequences, she didn't know whether to be mortified or relieved: Sir Gawain stood at the door.

Surprise showed clearly on his face, followed quickly by amusement. Some of the ladies said they never understood what Gawain always thought was so funny. But Enide liked to hear him laugh. There was no meanness in it.

"What in the world?" he asked.

"Has it been that long since you squired, milord?" she asked. "It's called ‘currying.'"

"Oh, that I recognize." He plucked a silver comb from a fold of his tunic and flourished it. "Only I hadn't realized Arthur's staff was quite so reduced." He blinked. His voice went flat. "I'll come back later."

"What? Why?" she asked. It seemed silly to trudge all the way out there twice.

He regarded her a moment with an odd look on his face. Then he shrugged and stepped inside, letting the door bang shut behind him. He strode over to Guingalet. Enide watched in fascination as he put a hand on the stallion's silver withers and spoke to it in a strange language. The beast shuddered, its muscles rippling in thick cords. It made a low, rumbling whinny that sounded like a complaint. He nipped! Enide flinched where she stood—and Gawain said something else in a harsher tone. The animal butted his head against Gawain's shoulder, rocking him backward, yet the knight merely chuckled. He patted the horse, then began to comb.

"What is he doing here?" Enide demanded, feeling a little queasy.

"Who, Guingalet?"

Enide sniffed. She'd been alone with that monster. "Isn't it dangerous to have him loose like that?"

"Nah," he said, looking over the mount's rump with an easy smile. The horse flicked his tail into the knight's face. Gawain spat hair and went on. "Better here than an overcrowded stable." He changed to a loud whisper as if pretending the horse couldn't hear. "Cram a bunch of studs together and someone's bound to get hurt."

Enide shook her head. Men.

Gawain set to the task of grooming, so Enide plied her own brush. He obviously hadn't come to this dimly lit, chaff-littered, animal-scented excuse for a stable because he was looking for company, so she tried to mind her own business, only to hear his voice again.

"I have to say, this is the strangest prenuptial custom. Shouldn't you be trying on a hundred dresses and taking three or four baths?"

He wore that grin again. Enide could not keep from blushing. She wanted to banter. She did. But she had not the art.

"I—I needed time alone," she admitted.

His face changed. "Guinevere?"

"I love her. I do," Enide said hastily. "She's everything good and generous."

"She's overbearing." Then he smiled. "In a good and generous way."

"It's just that I want my Mama." Good Graces. How did that come out? He'd think she was a child.

"Of course, you do. It's your wedding day." He frowned. "Your father, too, I would imagine. If you don't mind my asking, why aren't they here?"

She thought people knew. "Erec sent them to Estre-Gales."

His frown deepened. "Erec sent them?" Apparently, that annoyed him— him, too.

"Well, yes. He gave them two rich towns. And all those things."

"Which weren't going anywhere tomorrow," Gawain said, shaking his head.

"I don't mind," she lied quickly. "I'll see them there. They had to leave Laluth because of my uncle. And besides, Erec hated it so."

"What? He hated what?"

"My home."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, of course he did." She shouldn't be telling him this. Erec might be angry. "It was poor, you see. And I don't think Erec believed Laluth held a candle to Cardigan. Anyway, he must have hated it. He surely needed another day to recover, but he insisted we leave at dawn." Her voice caught though she tried not to let it. She made herself stop before she said more.

It was too late. He was no longer currying but staring at her.

"Lady Enide." He clenched his hands around the silver comb. "You do know why he left Laluth so abruptly? Please say you do."

She had thought so. Now she shook her head. To her consternation, she felt tears pooling in her eyes. He muttered something so softly she feared it was rude. Then he frowned at her.

"You did not know about his solemn vow to return here in three days?"

"His what?"

"Oh." He sighed heavily and threw the comb into the manger. He closed the distance between them. "Erec is a good man. He is. Give him a chance. It's only that he is an idiot." He plucked the brush from her, dropped it, and then rubbed her hands in his large ones. "Yder's dwarf insulted the queen and Erec set off to avenge her. He swore he'd be back in three days. He made a vow to the queen."

"Oh." She blinked. A tear leaked out.

"Go on," he said.

"No, it's all right." It was. That made sense. For Erec. She tried to show her smile.

The next thing she knew, her cheek was flat against Gawain's chest and the strongest arms she had ever felt were wrapped around her shoulders.

"It isn't," he said firmly. "But it was a mistake. And don't you dare put that sunshine on your face for me."

And then she was crying. She wasn't usually a weeper, but she had needed to cry for so long. And yet, the embarrassing jag was over as quickly as it hit her. He had a frightfully comforting shoulder.

"Lady Enide, he won't hurt you. I swear it. Listen to me." He pulled away and let go of her arms. "There are good men and bad men. Erec is one of the good ones. He just doesn't know as much as he thinks he knows."

She nodded. "It's my fault, too." She rubbed her nose, hoping it wasn't as red as it felt. Why hadn't she asked? Surely Erec would have explained. "I'm more than a face. I have a brain. And a voice. If he wants to marry the face, he has to marry the rest."

Gawain's arms went around her again, crushingly strong.

"I'm all right, milord. Really," she gasped.

He backed away, grinning. Then he winked. "I know. That hug was for me." He made a quick dash for the door. Looking back, he said, "Let's not mention this to Erec. Believe it or not, on any good day, I can take him. But you've seen him with his dander up, and I like my head where it is."

The door slammed behind him. She imagined Gawain with his dander up would be even more formidable. Despite his assurance that Erec would never hurt her—and of course, he wouldn't—she was glad to have Sir Gawain as a friend.