it was what Jonathan would have wanted.
Words buzzed in her head. He was a giant of a man, six feet or more and broad in the shoulder. He held himself well, with a sort of easy, well-knit movement that spoke of training and perfect physical fitness.
Beth relived that moment when Sir Gawain had flung his opponent to the ground. Never had she met a man who had made her so aware of the beauty of the male physique: its form, its strength, its grace. She had admired his skill with the lance and sword yesterday, but today he had used his body as a weapon in a way that had been utterly thrilling. She might have told her father that she did not wish to marry, but it was not because she had a dislike of men.
Her father would be horrified if it came to his ears that she had attended a wrestling match dressed in male attire. Jonathan would have pretended to be so, too, but in reality he’d have been amused because he’d secretly enjoyed cross-dressing himself. She had discovered that fact several years ago and mentioned it to her mother, but she had been hushed and told to keep it to herself. A sigh escaped her. Beth had been extremely fond of Jonathan despite his being their father’s favourite. The son who was supposedly so much cleverer than her and who would have inherited the business if he had not died so unexpectedly. Poor Jonathan!
‘Mistress Llewellyn!’ called a voice that she recognised.
Beth’s heart leapt and her step faltered, but then she put on a spurt, knowing it was best that she appeared not to own to that name. In her haste she did not see the guy rope of a nearby tent and was sent sprawling on the ground.
Before she could scramble to her feet, she was hauled upright. Her eyes were parallel with Sir Gawain’s chest and she could not help but notice that his doublet was unfastened and the ties of his shirt hung loose, exposing his bare throat. She fought back a temptation to reach up and touch his bare skin and struggled in his grasp.
Before she could gather her wits and act as if she had never seen him before, he removed her cap, causing her braids to once more tumble down her back.
He smiled grimly. ‘So I was right, it was you. By St George, what are you thinking of wearing such garb?’
Beth tilted her chin. ‘Why did you have to come after me? Couldn’t you have pretended that your eyes had deceived you?’ she said heatedly. ‘What I do is really none of your business, sir!’
‘Is it not?’ he said drily, grabbing hold of her plaits and stuffing them inside her cap. ‘You are a disgrace to womanhood and I could no more ignore your behaviour than fly to the moon.’
The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘Do you not think that is rather an exaggeration? I have done naught wrong. I have hurt no one by my behaviour. But I do beg you not to mention this to my father. He has had enough to grieve him in the past few months.’
Gawain’s eyes held hers. ‘Perhaps I will do as you ask if you provide me with a worthwhile explanation. Otherwise, I must believe that the heat has affected your sanity.’
‘You are insinuating that I am crazed just because I wished to pass unnoticed amongst the crowds!’ She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look of disdain.
A short derisive laugh escaped him. ‘You call crawling on your belly into a wrestling ring going unnoticed? You are crazed, woman!’
‘I was simply curious!’ she protested.
‘Curiosity can get people into trouble.’
‘Obviously, but I am not the only person here showing curiosity. Why should I satisfy yours, sir? What is important is whether my father really needs to know the truth about a matter that would cause him embarrassment and make him angry?’
‘If you knew that, then why do what you did?’ he asked.
Beth said scornfully, ‘You wouldn’t understand because you are not a daughter.’
‘You forget your place,’ he snapped. ‘And that remark is a typical feminine excuse to avoid telling the truth.’
‘Men are not always honest,’ said Beth recklessly. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me why you were wrestling half-naked.’
‘The heat?’ he suggested, raising his eyebrows.
‘Then you must have broiled alive in the armour you wore in the lists yesterday,’ she said unthinkingly.
‘Aye,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘But I did not notice you there.’
‘I was not amongst the ladies,’ she countered, wishing he would not look at her so. There was something about this man that caused her to be hot and bothered and it was not due to her concern about his informing her father about her alter ego.
‘You mean you were dressed as a youth then, too!’ Gawain swore softly and thrust her away from him. ‘I must be mad, but I will say naught about your disgraceful behaviour if you promise never to wear male garb again.’
‘Of course, if that is the price I have to pay for your silence,’ she said with a sudden meekness that he found unconvincing. ‘Now, if you do not mind, Sir Gawain, I must be on my way.’
He frowned. ‘You do realise that if you betrayed yourself as a woman in front of a priest, then he could have you clapped in prison. Your head would be shaved and you would be dragged through the streets in disgrace.’
Beth stiffened. ‘I deem you are trying to frighten me, sir.’
‘Not at all, Mistress Llewellyn. I am just pointing out to you the punishment that could be heaped on your lovely head if you don’t do what I say,’ said Gawain, exacerbated.
Hot words were on the tip of Beth’s tongue, thinking how there was one rule for men and another for women, but she decided to hold them back. ‘I’ve noted your warning, Sir Gawain, so may I now be on my way?’ She gave him a limpid look and a honeyed smile.
He found himself once again comparing the colour of her lovely eyes with polished chestnuts and her lips with soft fruit. Would they yield to his tongue and teeth and release their sweetness? And what of her body? His thoughts shocked him. He was a married man despite having been informed that Mary had been seen arm in arm with another man in the next shire, information that had resulted in him lying through his teeth to the informer. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had not slept with a woman for six months that had resulted in him desiring Beth Llewellyn? If so, it had to stop!
Beth wasted no time hurrying away. She wondered what would be Sir Gawain’s reaction if she told him that it was her mother, Marian, who had first put the idea in her head to don a disguise if need be to gather interesting little snippets of news. It was Beth’s mother who had also encouraged her to jot down her thoughts and feelings about this and that. She had been a great admirer of the mystic, Dame Julian of Norwich, who was believed to have been the first woman to have written a book in the English language.
Sadly her mother had died four years ago when Beth was sixteen. If Marian had been alive today, then she would have insisted on her husband allowing their daughter to play an even greater part in running the business. Her father, on the other hand, was determined to marry her off to a man who would be his partner in the business, whilst she would be expected to keep house for them. It was why she had stubbornly refused to marry!
The thought infuriated her as she made her way into the next field, where thousands of tents of lesser splendour were pitched. Both Henry VIII and Francis I had determined to outshine the other, with tents, horses and costumes displaying accoutrements and jewels amidst much expensive fabric woven with silk-and-gold thread. The most elaborate arrangements had been made for the two monarchs and their queens, Katherine of Aragon and the pregnant Claude of Brittany. No doubt King Henry was wishing that it was his Katherine who was expecting a child, as he was desperate for a legitimate healthy son, according to rumour.
She hurried between the tents and, as she approached her father’s tent, thought she caught sight of a whisk of a red skirt as it vanished behind the next tent. No doubt it belonged to one of those loose women she had seen disappearing into