Page 91 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

When she’d finally slept, she had dreamed of Camelot silent and empty, besieged by enormous drifts of snow.

One more day.

Gwen had never seen so many people packed into the courtyards of Camelot. As they descended towards the tournament stands, the true scale of the turnout became apparent.

‘I can’t believe there are this many people inEngland,’ she said to Gabriel, who had joined her as she walked under the portcullis. ‘What are they alldoinghere?’

‘It’s a tournament,’ Gabriel said disinterestedly. Gwen looked at him properly. She was convinced he hadn’t slept a wink since they had read Arthur’s letter, and one glance at him seemed to confirm her suspicions.

‘You look like hell,’ she said, and he didn’t even attempt a smile.

‘Let’s just get today over with,’ he said grimly. ‘And then all these people will leave the city, and I’ll have room to – to think.’

‘Gabe, are you …’ she said, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, but their little cavalcade had suddenly collided and merged with the king and queen’s.

‘Hullo, Gwendoline,’ her father said, giving her an absent-minded kiss on the head before straightening up, squaringhis shoulders and ascending the stairs to the royal stands, his family in tow. Gwen couldn’t help but scan the makeshift rows in front of the competitors’ encampment, which were populated by a handful of knights who hadn’t made the cut for the day’s event. Many had left, helms and prides dented, but there were still a few standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the left side of the grounds. She wished her heart hadn’t jumped so violently in her chest at the sight of Bridget, who was standing at the very end, dressed in soft browns and whites, talking to another knight and shielding her eyes from the watery sun.

The melee was the grand finale of the tournament; after months of competition, the highest-ranking knights were to gather in two teams and fight until the Grand Marshal judged the battle over and called to stop. From the victorious side, the king was to choose the ultimate winner of the tournament.

Excalibur – Gwen couldn’t help but hear the word ‘Nine?’ when she looked at it, in Arthur’s incredulous tone – was sitting, freshly polished and gleaming, awaiting presentation to the winner. The weather was being suitably dramatic, the wind chivvying the clouds along so that the grounds kept alternating between weak sunshine and gloom, banners and flags whipping violently against their restraints.

The crowd was chattering excitedly, the tension so thick Gwen felt strangled by it; she was just settling into her seat when Gabriel touched her on the arm.

‘Lord Willard is here,’ he muttered in her ear.

Sure enough, her father’s cousin was sitting in the raised stands opposite, where they had crowded some of thenobility due to overflow, watching them. He saw her startled glance, and gave her a perfectly polite and perfunctory nod of greeting. His hair was longer than she remembered, and he was grandly dressed in silver and black.

‘What on earth is he doing here?’

‘He and Father have been more cordial lately – he wrote to warn about an uprising in the north,’ Gabriel said, shrugging. ‘I suppose he was invited, as he always is, and decided to be friendly.’

This didn’t quite make sense to Gwen; after all, Willard’s only real stake in the tournament was the Knife, who was no longer competing.

‘Who’s he talking to now?’ Gwen said, narrowing her eyes. ‘Is that – Arthur’s father?’

‘Yes,’ Gabriel said quietly. ‘Yes, I believe it is.’

The Lord of Maidvale was standing at Lord Willard’s shoulder, talking insistently in his ear. The sight of the two of them with their heads together stirred a vague memory, but Gwen couldn’t quite grab hold of it.

‘Gabe, did we have a conversation about Lord Delacey and Lord Willard?’ Gwen asked, frowning. ‘I feel like there was something …’

Gabriel just shook his head, barely listening.

Therewassomething, Gwen knew it. Something about a trip, or a meeting … for some reason she thought of Lord Stafford, and then suddenly it clicked into place.

‘Skipton Castle. Gabe, wasn’t Willard seen at Skipton?’

‘Yes,’ said Gabriel slowly. ‘But Stafford looked into it, and he has family near there. There was no reason to suspect anything untoward.’

‘But – in the stables, the man talking to Arthur’s father … he said that Lord Delacey had been to Skipton.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Gwen said impatiently. ‘Yes, he said … “What have you learned since Skipton?” Surely that can’t be coincidence. What would Arthur’s father and Lord Willard have to talk about? Why would they both have travelled to North Yorkshire?’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’re friends.’

But Gwen was suddenly seeing the conversation in the stables in an entirely new light. Surely the exchange of idle gossip didn’t require such confidentiality – and if Lord Delacey had attended some sort of meeting at Skipton Castle, a meeting kept secret, from which he had departed with instructions to gather more information…