A Knight's Reward Page 5

  “Come on.” Clasping her hand again, Dominic led her into the alley and toward the noisy market square. Musicians had started up a lively tune for an audience who clapped in time to the melody.

  “Dominic, we are going the wrong way.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “’Tis safest for us right now to be in a crowd. ’Twill be easier to lose anyone who might be following. Then, you may show me where to go.”

  Resentment—an emotional habit worn like a rut into her soul—welled up inside her at his commanding tone. Ryle had often spoken to her as though she had the intelligence of an iron trivet. Simply by being her husband, he’d believed he had the right to control even the tiniest facets of her existence.

  A shudder jarred through her, leaving in its wake a painful emptiness. She shoved aside thoughts of Ryle. Dominic was not Ryle. Could never be Ryle.

  Dominic glanced back at her, his brow creased with a frown. “What is wrong? Did you see someone following?”

  “I am just . . . uneasy.”

  Compassion softened his gaze before he looked away. “’Tis not a bad thing,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear. “’Twill keep you safe.”

  Safe. She’d forgotten what ’twas like to be safe. No matter how reassured she might feel with Dominic leading the way, danger still lurked. Ahead of her. Behind her. In the market that drew townspeople from this county and beyond, some of whom likely knew Ryle. Never must she let down her caution.

  They approached the market’s outskirts. The bear trainer stood chatting with a group of men. Children scrambled in the dirt, chasing one another, while vendors, shouting encouragement to buy their wares, loaded more items onto their stall tables.

  Dominic skirted the bear trainer and led her into the crowd between the rows of merchant tables.

  With a sharp stab of fear, she saw they neared the baker’s table. Had he returned to his stall? Would he recognize her? She squeezed Dominic’s hand in silent warning. When he looked at her, she tipped her head, indicating the space between two nearby vendors; she and Dominic could slip through into the other section of the market.

  Before she started in that direction, Dominic tugged her forward, forcing her to walk at his side, his body between her and the row of stalls, including the baker’s. Dominic’s arm settled around her waist. Drawing her near, bending his head close to hers, he propelled her onward.

  To anyone watching, they’d appear to be a couple in love, the besotted man whispering endearments to his beloved while they shopped.

  Confusion rushed through Gisela, even as his breath warmed her brow. The brush of his body against hers wreaked havoc with every emotional boundary she had established for herself. Desire, regret, the torment of their parting tangled up inside her. Her emotions unraveled, like a skein of thread tumbling from a table onto the floorboards and rolling across the planks.

  Nay! Never could she yield to fickle emotion. ’Twould make her careless. She couldn’t afford one mistake when Ewan’s safety—indeed, his life—depended on her.

  Her spine rigid, she tried to step out of Dominic’s embrace.

  His arm tightened, curtailing her freedom. “Pretend you care for me, Gisela,” he whispered against her ear.

  Hot-cold tingles shivered down her neck. “Dominic—” How could he ask that of her? How, when he no doubt loved another woman? A lady?

  “Pretend as ’twas between us before,” he coaxed with a hint of regret. “Believe, for this moment, that we were never apart. Please.”

  His regret burrowed inside her, an echo of every lonely day she’d missed him. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had become painfully dry. The dust stirred up by other market goers stung her eyes.

  “’Tis difficult to pretend?” he said, his tone teasing. Yet, she discerned dismay, too.

  “’Tis a game I have forgotten how to play,” she answered, reaching up to sweep an escaping lock of hair back inside her hood. A game of love I have not played since I lost you.

  “A pity, for a woman with eyes as blue as the summer sky.”

  A flush stole into her face. “Cease.”

  “—and lips as pink as the fleeting blush of sunset.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his. “Dominic!”

  He grinned in a most gallant way before he kissed her brow. “And teeth as white as meadow daisies.”

  Daisies. Fighting a flood of anguish, she looked away, to catch the bemused smiles of the farmers standing nearby. They clearly saw her and Dominic as a couple in love—an illusion she must stop right now. God help her if Ryle or one of his cohorts saw her with Dominic. Ryle’s fury would be . . . murderous.

  She pushed aside Dominic’s arm. Still walking, she said, “You should not have said such.”

  “You do not like to be wooed? Or, were my compliments not fanciful enough for a woman of your extraordinary beauty?”

  Bystanders chuckled. Gisela’s face flamed. How mortifying for others to be listening to their conversation. She quickened her pace, almost tripping on her cloak. Exhaling an overly dramatic sigh—which elicited more laughter—Dominic followed.

  Skirting three dogs scrabbling over a chunk of bread dropped by a child, she wondered if he remembered the afternoons they’d spent lying in the lush meadow, or the daisy chains she’d draped around his neck as though he were embraced by tiny suns.

  “Chin up, Gisela,” he murmured, matching her strides. “We are almost through the market.”

  “A good thing, too,” she bit out, “before you resume your wretched flattery.”

  “I thought the daisy compliment was quite clever myself.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Dominic chuckled.

  The crowd thinned, and then they reached the market’s edge. She strode into the short alley that connected the market to a town street. To the right, a cart rumbled slowly past a line of dilapidated, two-story buildings with shopfronts opening onto the street. With a pinch of dismay, she realized her own tailor’s premises looked equally as run-down.

  “Which way?” Dominic glanced both ways down the street.

  “Are we being followed?”

  “Nay.”

  Clenching her hands, she faced him. “Are you absolutely certain?”

  His gaze sharpened. “I am.”

  Gisela swallowed the fear threatening to snatch her voice. Meeting his gaze, she squared her shoulders. Her cloak’s hood slipped farther from her head, revealing more of her face. With unsteady fingers, she yanked the cloth into place. “If there is even the slightest doubt we are being pursued—”

  With a lazy swagger, he closed the distance between them. “I saw the baker loading more bread loaves onto his table while haggling with a customer. He was too busy to notice us. The blacksmith’s assistant was not with him, nor did I see him during our walk through the market.” He grinned. “Mayhap he needed to lie down after our tousle.” Hands on his hips, Dominic stood near enough that his body warmth crept across the space between them, tempting her again with delicious memories of physical contact.

  “Fine,” she said. “Then—”

  “Was there anyone else I should have been looking for?”

  His gaze skimmed her face. Like a bold, deliberate touch, she felt his attention slip from her eyes, down her nose, to her lips, then back up to her eyes. How keenly he studied her. He clearly tried to determine the source of her concern.

  “Well?” he said quietly.

  Ryle, her heart answered. Always, we must watch out for him. Every moment of every day. Without fail. However, ’twas not a wise moment to discuss her former husband. Shaking her head, she gestured down the street. “Follow me.”

  Gisela hurried past the row of shops, aware of Dominic’s gritty footfalls behind her. Many of the businesses were open. The hinged, wooden boards were down, providing a table-like area to display wares. Inside the premises, the shopkeepers worked while they awaited customers.

  At the tanner’s shop, she spied a pair of brown leather shoes,
about the right size for Ewan. His others were so badly worn, his toes would soon poke through. She had no extra coin this sennight, though, to splurge on new shoes.

  Thinking of Ewan sent need racing through her—the urgent desire to know he was safe. Gisela walked faster, her cloak whispering with each step. She remembered her little boy as she’d last seen him, standing with Ada’s pudgy hand on his shoulder. The wide-eyed, confused look he’d given her before she dashed out had torn at her heart. Never had she arrived home and rushed out in such haste before. She must give him an extra hug tonight to make up for unsettling him.

  What would he do when he saw Dominic? How would Ewan react to this bold warrior-knight, whom he had never met before? Misgiving rushed through her. What would Dominic think of little Ewan? Would he realize—

  A gasp echoed behind her. She spun to see Dominic clutching his side. Sweat glistened on his brow. Despite his sun-bronzed skin, his face looked pale.

  “Are you all right?”

  “My ribs dare to complain.” His lips curved in a wry grin. “You walk so fast, I vow the wind rushes beneath your feet.”

  Another attempt at flattery. However, his strained tone conveyed the extent of his discomfort. “I am sorry. I thought it best to hurry.”

  “If ’tis far, I should rest a moment.” Stepping sideways, he leaned against a shop wall, one arm cradling his rib cage.

  “My home is around the next corner.” Worry pinched her. “What can I do to help? Would it ease your pain to lean on me?”

  The lines around his mouth deepened. “I will manage.”

  She frowned. “Are you certain?”

  Drawing himself up straight, he offered a roguish grin. “God’s teeth, I do not wish to be seen leaning on you like an invalid. ’Twould completely destroy my reputation as a strong, lusty lover.”

  A disbelieving smile tugged at her lips. “That would be devastating.”

  He pressed his palm over his heart. “Exactly.”

  His bemused expression looked like Ewan’s. Right down to the dimples. Her smile vanished on a wave of regret. “The sooner we reach my home, the sooner we can tend your injuries.”

  He nodded and carefully eased away from the wall.

  Gisela slowed her strides to walk beside him. He didn’t make any further complaints, but she sensed the effort it took him to maintain his indolent strides. Moments later, she motioned to her shop several yards ahead, distinguished by the painted sign depicting a needle and thread hanging over the doorway. “That is it, there.”

  Dominic blew out a breath. His shoulders seemed to sag.

  She hurried to the wooden door. Pressing one hand against the weathered panel, she dug in her cloak pocket for the key. Her fingers shook. When she pressed the wrought-iron key into the lock, a sense of inevitability weighed upon her, as though she stood poised to venture into a new, uncertain portion of her life.

  Indeed, she was.

  The lock clicked.

  She slipped the key back into her pocket and pushed the door open. Motioning for Dominic to step ahead of her over the threshold, she said, “Come in.”

  Chapter Four

  A mélange of smells assailed Dominic when he stepped from the sunlit street into the darkened tailor’s shop. He noted first the fading aroma of cooked fare. As he walked farther across the planked floor, he discerned the distinct smells of place, including the earthiness of wooden floors and walls. He also caught undertones of virgin cloth, ready to quiver free of confining bolts, sprawl in careless abandon across a table, and be cut and stitched into garments to delight and pleasure.

  He inhaled again. The room’s smell piqued memories of long ago days in the Port of Venice. He’d traveled there with Geoffrey and worked with rich merchants Marco and Pietro Vicenza while Geoffrey slowly regained his strength after surviving grave wounds from crusade.

  More recently, Dominic had toiled alongside Geoffrey at Branton Keep, unloading shipments of fine silks and other fabrics Pietro had sent from Venice.

  When the shipments arrived, that is.

  Dominic halted in the middle of the shop, aware of voices coming from a room beyond. Ignoring the ache in his side, he squinted in the shadows to take in the whitewashed walls, the table covered with tailor’s implements, and the half-finished gown hung on the wall. A rolled length of brown wool rested on the table, alongside other bolts of fabric. He crossed to them and then trailed his fingers over the cloth. Far from the quality of Geoffrey’s imported fabrics. None were silk.

  Why, then, had he thought he caught a hint of expensive Eastern silk?

  He reached up to rub his brow. Pain lanced through his ribs, almost sending him reeling against the table. He grunted, then winced at the answering twinge in his jaw. With his senses chafed by pain, he couldn’t completely trust his perceptions. He’d imagined the scent of silk, no doubt, because his thoughts had drifted.

  Cold, clammy sweat collected between his shoulder blades. Under his breath, he prayed his knees wouldn’t buckle. Just as he wiped sweat from his upper lip, the door to the street closed. The room plunged into inky shadow, streaked here and there by light piercing through holes in the wall.

  “I will fetch some light.” Gisela’s voice wavered. Was she worried about being alone with him in the dark? A mischievous voice inside him dared him to roar like a wild beast, to make her shriek, but somehow, he doubted ’twas the right moment for jest.

  The chamber’s air shifted as she swept past him. Her floral scent blended into the surrounding smells. He turned, following her scent. Savoring it like perfume.

  Gisela did not seem to need light to guide her—she obviously knew the room’s layout in minute detail—for a moment later, there came a soft click. Light streamed in through a doorway to an adjoining chamber. Surrounded by a bright stream of light, Gisela looked at him. “Wait here.”

  “Why?” he asked, before he thought to caution the question.

  Looking at him, she pushed back her hood, revealing her hair’s silken tangle. Resolve gleamed in her eyes, while another emotion—wariness, mayhap—hardened her expression. Without answering, she stepped into the chamber beyond and shut the door.

  Dominic sighed. Why did she not invite him into the rest of the premises? Why must he wait here, in this empty room, like an unwanted pup?

  He should march across the floor, yank open the door, and stride through . . . But, his wobbly legs might not carry him that far. And, if he guessed correctly, the connecting room was Gisela’s home. Someone had cooked the fare he smelled earlier. Who shared her lodgings? A friend? A relative? Or even . . . a husband?

  Anguish pressed upon Dominic’s soul. Aye, could well be a husband. A comely young woman like Gisela wouldn’t be without a companion. Far wiser, then, for him to wait for an invitation, than to barge in like an arrogant ass. He didn’t need any more bruised ribs.

  Hushed conversation reached him. Gingerly folding his arms across his chest, he turned to half-sit on the table. How wondrous to take weight off his unsteady legs.

  He closed his eyes to the room’s shadows. Let the quiet seep into him.

  Listened.

  The voices rose, one childlike and insistent. Three people were in the room beyond. Gisela, another woman, and . . . a young boy.

  Dominic’s eyes flew open. Was the child the woman’s, or Gisela’s?

  He uncrossed his arms and pushed to standing, just as the inner door opened. Gisela stepped through, a cautious smile on her lips. She’d removed her cloak, revealing a worn, woolen gown that disguised rather than accentuated her lovely figure. Holding a tallow candle, she walked toward him. “You may come in now.”

  “I have triumphed in my initial test?” he quipped.

  She frowned. “Test?”

  “Trial by endurance,” he said. “Waiting here, all alone, for you to return and fetch me.” He grinned, despite the pain in his jaw. “Sheer agony, I assure you.”

  Her worried frown intensified. Raising the flickering candle
close to his face, she peered into his eyes. How exquisite she looked, her features softened by the golden light, the dewy pout of her lips tantalizingly close—

  “Dominic, did one of the men hit you about the head?”

  “Mmm?” He snapped his gaze back up to hers. God’s blood, but he could lose his soul in the beauty of her eyes. Thickly lashed and the color of an Eastern sea, they glimmered with the most intriguing secrets.

  “Dominic.”

  Still holding her gaze, he winked. “Gisela, I was teasing you.”

  “Oh. I see.” Lowering the candle, she stepped away. Even in the shadows, he saw her blush. She gestured to the doorway. “Please. This way.”

  He followed her to the threshold. Warmth and light enveloped him as he stepped into the small room beyond. The dirt-floored chamber was sparsely furnished, surprisingly so, considering Gisela’s merchant parents were fairly well off. His gaze skimmed the rough-hewn trestle table and bench, the smaller table in the kitchen area for preparing food, a cupboard, side table, and two lumpy straw pallets pushed against the right wall. A fire crackled in the hearth.

  His gaze returned to the trestle table and the black-haired woman wearing a stained apron, who eyed him with suspicion. In front of her, protected by her arm across his chest, stood a young boy of about four years old. His eyes were blue, just like his mother’s. His dark blond hair, however, was inherited from his sire, whoever the man was. Wearing a brown tunic and hose that looked a bit too small, the boy carried a cloth doll under his arm—a knight, judging by the toy’s garments.

  The woman nudged the boy, who was peering down at Dominic’s spurs. With a little jump, the lad executed a bow. The woman curtsied.

  If his ribs were not aching, Dominic would have responded with a gallant bow in return. Instead, he dipped his head. “Good day.”

  Gisela gestured to the woman and boy. “Dominic,” she said, “I would like you to meet Ada, a dear friend of mine.”

  The woman nodded. “’Allo.”

  A curious tension seemed to define Gisela’s posture before she motioned to the boy. “Dominic, this is Ewan. My son.”