Gawain by Gwen Rowley

his mouth. He’d had a most enchanting smile. He’d certainly enchanted her . . .
    And you’re lucky you didn’t die of it, she reminded herself sternly.
    She picked at the remains of her meal, but her hunger had long been satisfied. She was just wondering how long they would have to sit here when the great doors opened and a warm, blossom-scented breeze rushed in. “Sir Lancelot du Lac,” a page announced, and suddenly the hall sprang to life.
    Guinevere sat up very straight, her face vivid with excitement. The king looked over toward the door, as well, his expression brightening. Aislyn craned her neck to see this newcomer, but he was surrounded by a group of knights, all talking at once as they gestured toward the high table.
    “What?” The voice rang out across the hall. “You’re joking!” And then she did see him; a slender, dark-haired youth in a fine crimson cloak. He saw her, as well. Astonishment and disbelief chased each other across his fine-boned features before he burst into a merry laugh.
    Gawain went very still. Only a single muscle leapt in his clenched jaw as the youth approached the high table, moving with lithe grace across the floor.
    “My lady,” the young man said, sweeping Guinevere a bow. “What news is this I hear? Did I really miss a wedding?”
    “Indeed,” Guinevere replied. “Sir Gawain was wed this day.” The two looked at each other, then away. Guinevere bit her lips and the young man gave a sudden burst of laughter which he tried vainly to pass off as a cough.
    “Lancelot,” King Arthur said, the single word a warning.
    Every trace of merriment vanished from Lancelot’s face. Gravely respectful, he made the king a bow. “Sire,” he said. “I am glad to be back.”
    “And I am glad to see you,” Arthur said, relenting enough to smile. “Later you must tell me all your adventures.” He looked pointedly toward Gawain; Lancelot took the hint and turned.
    “ Sir Gawain,” he said. “It seems congratulations are in order.”
    “Thank you. Lady Ragnelle, may I present Sir Lancelot du Lac?”
    Lancelot bowed. “I’m so sorry to have missed the wedding. I’m sure you were a lovely bride.”
    Cheeky boy. “Either your sight is failing or you’re making mock of an old woman,” she retorted tartly. “Which is it?”
    He blinked, disconcerted, but only for a moment. “Every lady is beautiful on her wedding day,” he said with a charming smile.
    “Well, you’re a sweet lad, aren’t you?” she said, amused. “Would you like to kiss the bride?”
    Panic flickered across his handsome face. “I—I do not dare. Sir Gawain would not like it,” he added, long, dark lashes veiling his eyes. “I would not want to offend.”
    Aislyn let out a snort of laughter and waved a hand. “Perhaps another time.”
    “What have you been up to, Lancelot?” Sir Dinadan asked. “Slain any dragons lately? Bested any giants? Rescued a few maidens in distress?”
    Lancelot’s smile altered; suddenly it was not so charming anymore. “I’ve been keeping myself busy. And you? Lost any tournaments lately? Or have you been too busy making nonsense rhymes?”
    “As it happens, I do have a new song. I’ve been waiting for your return to sing it. I think you’ll like it even better than the last.”
    Lancelot’s dark eyes narrowed. “And I think you’d be wiser to keep it to yourself.” He bowed curtly toward the queen and retired to a seat at a lower table, which quickly became the center of the hall. Knights and ladies crowded around him, talking in high, excited voices punctuated by bursts of laughter.
    “Has he really done those things?” Aislyn asked. “Slain giants and whatnot?”
    “He has indeed,” Gawain assured her. “Sir Lancelot is a most accomplished warrior.”
    He’s no friend to you, Aislyn thought, and well you know it. Look at him there, laughing at your expense. Don’t you care? Does nothing bother you?
    And then she thought of something that