What was I to make of Gawain’s deed?
I was thrilled to see him again, more delighted than I knew I should be. I had spent the night trying to wring some conclusion from his return of my mother’s gem to me, even knowing that I should not make much of what he probably thought inconsequential. I had envisioned him heading determinedly south, in the ports of London, perhaps, or Southampton, negotiating for his passage with ease and charm.
But Gawain was here, just as Niall was not, and his very presence addled my wits. When he kissed my knuckles with a flourish, his eyes twinkling with merriment, I could scarcely summon a thought to my head. A yearning took hold within me, perhaps an unhealthy one, but an undeniable one all the same.
This was the father of the child I bore. This was the man
