A Knight's Reward Page 6
The boy was hers. For one stunned breath, Dominic wondered if he looked upon his own child. Nay. He and Gisela had made love only twice. ’Twas unlikely she had conceived. However, from the boy’s age, Dominic guessed she’d married and got with child shortly after he’d left England.
Her husband must not be here at the moment. He’d return, however, to slide his arm around her, kiss her, and draw his son in to join the embrace.
Fighting the unwelcome numbness flooding through him, Dominic smiled at the boy. “Hello, Ewan.”
The boy stared up at him with wide-eyed curiosity. Distrust also glinted in his gaze that shifted from Dominic to Gisela.
“Ewan,” Gisela said in gentle reprimand. “Say hello to Dominic.”
The boy’s lips pursed. Dominic barely resisted a grin. The little lad had a stubborn streak, a trait acquired from his mother.
“Button.”
The child’s shoulders hunched. His eyes narrowed beneath his dark lashes, before he said, “Mama says you are her friend.”
“I am.”
“She says you are a knight.”
“Aye.”
Awe brightened the boy’s gaze. “Really?”
Dominic nodded, then fingered damp hair from his brow. He was sweating like a goose turning on a spit. Hardly the way to make a favorable impression.
“Mayhap you should sit down,” Gisela said quickly. She gestured to the battered bench drawn up to the table. “Ada, is there any pottage left?”
“There is.” The older woman turned to the fire.
With a grateful groan, Dominic sank onto the bench that squeaked at his weight. He spread his booted legs out in front of him. With slow, very careful movements, he rested his elbows on the table. His entire body sighed with relief.
Standing by the fire, Ada cast him a disparaging glance before looking back at the steaming pot.
Closing his eyes, Dominic ran his hand over his face. He could only imagine how he looked to the older woman—like a ruffian dragged in by kindhearted Gisela. He vowed to hold true to his promise to be on his most chivalrous behavior. Above all, he must remember not to curse. That was a sensitive issue, it seemed, for Gisela.
He heard her walk across the chamber and whisper to Ada, and the clank of the cauldron’s ladle. Yet, the rasp of an indrawn breath, along with the sensation of being scrutinized from head to toe, forced Dominic to open his weary eyes. Ewan stood barely a hand’s span away, his little fingers clasped together. They twitched with barely contained excitement. The toy knight, tossed aside in haste, now lay facedown on one of the pallets.
Ewan sucked in his plump bottom lip. “My knight’s name is Sir Smug.”
Sir what? “I see. How did he get such a fine name?”
“My mama made him for me. She tried to sew him a smiling mouth, but she could not get it quite right. She said he looks a bit smug.”
Dominic barely smothered a laugh. “He is perfectly named, then.”
After a silence, the boy blurted, “If you are a knight, where is your sword?”
Ah. An astute question. “’Tis in a safe place.”
A frown clouded Ewan’s face. “Does a knight not wear his sword all the time?”
“Most of the time.”
“Ewan,” Gisela said, casting Dominic an apologetic smile. “Dominic would like to rest quietly for a moment. He is wounded, you see.”
“You were in a fight?” Ewan’s eyes were enormous now.
Ridiculous pride welled inside Dominic. “Indeed, I was. I fended off my assailants with my bare hands. I learned all manner of fighting, you see, when I was on crusade.”
“Crusade!” Ewan gasped. “You fought with the king?”
Dominic nodded.
The boy edged even closer. An excited flush reddened his cheeks. “When were you on crusade? Did you meet King Richard? What does he look like? When—”
“Button! What did I tell you?”
“Mama.”
The little boy looked so disappointed, Dominic could not resist a chuckle. “’Tis all right. He is merely curious.”
The barest smile touched Ewan’s mouth. Anticipation still glimmered in his eyes while his hands twisted into the front of his worn tunic. “Did you . . .” He gnawed his bottom lip. “Did you ever—”
“Pottage, milord.” With a brisk thud, Ada set the bowl down on the table beside Dominic, a deliberate attempt, no doubt, to cut short the conversation.
Dominic smiled at her. “I thank you, good woman.”
She snorted, sounding remarkably like a rheumatic horse, then looked at Ewan. “Why do you not come with me for a moment? Your mama is running out of flour. We will go to my home and fetch some.”
Ewan shook his head. “I want to stay here.”
“I might have a sugared cake for you.” Ada reached for the lad’s hand. “I will see what I can find in my kitchen.”
Snatching his hand away, Ewan said, “I am not going. I want to show him my wooden sword.”
Gisela walked over, carrying cloth bandages and the ointment pot she’d taken to the stable. “Another time, Button. Now, you will go with Ada.” Worry shadowed her gaze as she looked at Ada. “He must wear his mantle. Do not let him push down his hood. He must stay covered up.”
“Of course,” the older woman said. Her soothing tone implied she’d discussed the matter several times before. “We are only going five houses away. He will be fine.”
Dominic frowned. Five houses away? For such a short distance, and on such a fine summer day, the boy did not need to wear his hooded mantle. Why did Gisela insist upon it? Why did she also keep covered up when outside? He longed to ask, but ’twas not his affair.
Scowling, Ewan crossed his arms. He did not budge when Ada fetched his mantle, cut from coarse, mud-brown wool. She held it out, clucking her tongue. At last, rolling his eyes, the boy relented and shoved his arms into the garment that looked several sizes too big.
Gisela stepped forward to murmur in Ada’s ear. Dominic pretended not to listen.
Drowning in his overlarge mantle, Ewan met Dominic’s gaze. “I have to know,” the little boy said in a whisper. “Did you ever . . .”
Dominic arched an eyebrow. He anticipated the rest of the question. Did you ever kill a man? Fight a Saracen? Dine with the king? “Aye?”
“Slay dragons?”
Slay dragons?
Dominic barely caught an astonished laugh. His eyes watered with the effort. Somehow, he forced a solemn expression. “Indeed,” he said, “I have.”
***
Gisela waited until the outer door closed. Then, she released a heavy, pent-up breath.
Sitting on the bench only a hand’s span away, Dominic chuckled.
“Do not laugh so,” she said, trying not to frown. She removed the lid from the ointment pot, releasing the strong, herbal scent.
“Ewan is a charming boy.”
Aye. He takes after his father.
“He is,” she said, lining up strips of linen bandages beside the pot on the table, “but you should not have told him you slayed dragons.”
The bench creaked as Dominic stretched back farther. “Why not?”
She straightened to glare at him. “’Tis a lie.”
“Is it?”
Gisela’s mouth tightened. Did he take her for a fool? “I have never seen a dragon. Nor has anyone else I know. Do you mean to tell me such creatures with fangs and wings are real?”
An indulgent grin softened Dominic’s mouth. “Dragons come in many shapes and sizes, Gisela. Some are loud and dangerous. Others, more insidious.”
Loud, dangerous, and insidious. All of those qualities applied to Ryle.
“What I am trying to say,” he went on, his tone quiet yet intense, “is that not all dragons are fire-breathing monsters with wings and fangs. Some come in the guise of fellow men and women. Some could be better described as obstacles that keep us from what we desire most. However, they are dragons just the same.”
&n
bsp; There was such truth to his words—which meant he, too, had encountered dragons that had scarred him. His father and stepmother. The Saracens he’d faced on the eastern battlefields. All fit his description of dragons. So did the men he’d fought today.
“What you imply, then,” she said, “is that your wounds were caused by a brush with two angry dragons.”
A wry smile tilted Dominic’s mouth. “Something like that.”
She arched an eyebrow. “The cut on your cheek was caused by a scratch from a dragon’s claw?”
“Nay, a blow from a wing, I vow,” Dominic said.
“And your hurt ribs?”
“A consequence of trying to climb up the dragon’s back. I planned to run up its scaly spine to its head and stab out its eyes, but it threw me off.”
She smiled. “A dangerous ploy.”
“I have never been afraid of a little danger.”
His words ended on a velvety huskiness that reminded her of a lazy afternoon long ago, especially the breathless moment before he’d kissed her and eased her down in the sweet-scented grass. A tingling sensation skittered across her breasts.
Quite apart from his voice’s raw sensuality, he spoke with hidden meaning. He told her, in his own way, that she could confide in him. He would help her vanquish her dragons.
A silent cry welled up inside her. How she wished she could melt into his embrace, tell him all that had happened to her and why she couldn’t trust anyone. He, of all people, deserved to know. However, she simply . . . could not.
Dominic’s intense gaze had not left her face. A painful sense of vulnerability—of unbearable longing for him—swept through her.
Somehow, she forced a careless grin. “Well, Sir Dominic the Mighty Dragon Slayer,” she said, “we had best take care of your wounds before they fester.”
Remorse glimmered in his eyes for a moment before he nodded.
Gisela picked up several long, linen strips. “If you remove your tunic, I will bind your ribs.”
He reached for his garment’s hem. As his hands moved, she had a sudden memory of him taking off his tunic in the meadow. He’d drawn the garment over his head and then tossed it aside, revealing the sun-bronzed planes of his torso. Dark, curly hair sprinkled across his chest. For a vivid, stunning moment, she recalled the springy texture of that hair beneath her palm and the heat of his muscled body as he lay back in the long grasses, his lop-sided grin encouraging her to explore his nakedness.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she blinked down at the table. She fiddled with the other bandages, barely seeing them, trying to force aside the tantalizing image in her mind.
Beside her came a whispering sound, followed by a gasp. “God’s blood,” Dominic groaned.
She dropped the bandages and turned to face him. His tunic bunched about his raised arms, imprisoning his movements. The lower part of his face hidden by the fabric, Dominic gazed at her with desperation.
“I am as helpless as a trussed rooster.”
An astonishing thought. She laughed.
Dominic scowled and wiggled his arms, clearly trying to shift the tight fabric. He groaned again.
“Careful! Your ribs—”
He grunted like Ewan in one of his petulant moments. “You must help me.”
“Of course. Hold still.”
She moved closer. His thigh was no more than two fingers’ width from her legs. But, she stopped short of physical contact. That, she couldn’t do.
From his tangle of tunic, he mumbled, “How mortifying. I cannot even undress myself.”
She smiled. “I will not tell anyone.”
“Especially Ewan. If he knew that I was not in truth a brave, skilled knight, but a helpless idiot—”
Gisela rolled her eyes. “Dominic.” Leaning forward, she reached for his tunic’s hem. Simple to catch hold of the right side, but the left . . .
Fighting the urge to blush, she reached across his splayed legs. ’Twould be much easier to stand between his parted limbs, but . . . she simply could not be so brazen. Biting down on her lip, she groped for the tunic’s left edge.
“Be sure you grab the right sections of cloth, Gisela.”
She huffed. “Do not be ridiculous.” Her fingers were nowhere near any part of him that might be inappropriate.
Especially that part.
Oh, God! Why did she even think about that part of Dominic?
Her face burned. She hoped Ada and Ewan did not walk in while she helped Dominic, or she would owe them a very good explanation.
“I was only trying to be helpful,” Dominic said, his voice close to her ear.
Ha! Indeed.
Her fingers slipped over his bare waist, tempting her with the feel of taut muscles and his skin’s smooth warmth. Tamping down a shiver, she caught hold of the left side of his tunic. “Keep still,” she said, more briskly than intended, while she began to draw up the hem.
The movement caught her off balance. Gisela felt herself pitch forward. She must not fall onto him!
With a startled squawk, she let go and stumbled back.
Dominic sighed. “Gisela—”
Impatience thinned his voice. The effort of holding his arms up at an awkward angle was no doubt aggravating his injuries.
Her fault, for being foolish.
Shoving aside her inhibitions, she stepped around his right leg, into the vee between his legs. The fabric of his hose brushed against her gown, a sensuous pull of cloth against cloth.
His gaze sharpened. “I did not think you would come so close.”
“’Twill be easiest to remove your tunic,” she said matter-of-factly, glad her tone did not betray the tiny tremors racing through her.
“Mmm.”
Bending at the waist, she reached for his tunic’s hem again. At this angle, her forehead bumped against his raised arms. When her fingers skated over his bared waist again, his breath rushed out on a hiss.
Ignoring a fresh wave of awareness, she slowly drew the material up. With gentle movements, she eased out one of his arms, then the other, and pulled the tunic over his head. It landed on the table with a muted plop.
He blew out a relieved groan. His arms lowered to his sides, drawing her gaze to his bare chest. His tanned skin flowed over honed muscles. Several pinkish scars marked his torso—healed wounds from past dragon fights. None, though, as deep as the scar on her breast.
She swallowed hard, sensing his keen gaze upon her. Look away, Gisela. You are a commoner, and ’tis not proper to stare. Dominic is no longer your lover. He belongs to a lady.
Oh, God, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her fingers ached to journey over his skin in a deliberate caress, to trace each scar and rejoice he was still alive, and to discover whether the memories she cherished of him were still true. How she longed to touch him.
Do not, Gisela. Do not!
She started to turn away.
With faint scrapes, his booted legs shifted inward. Trapping her.
She gasped. Her gaze locked with his.
Crossing his arms over his naked chest, Dominic smiled up at her.
“Dominic—”
“My limbs felt very weak,” he said with a mischievous little grin. “Thank you for helping me to regain my strength.”
What cheek! “Release me.”
“Aye, Sweet Daisy. When you tell me why you are so afeared.”
Sweet Daisy. His special name for her long ago.
Rebellion and desire warred inside her. He had no right to imprison her in such a manner. However, the lovesick, lonely part of her yearned to surrender to his demand. To draw strength from his strength and risk confiding in him. To know that for one, brief moment, she didn’t have to shoulder all of her burdens alone.
“Go on, Gisela,” Dominic said, his voice as soft as the luxurious silk Varden Crenardieu had delivered to her days ago, now hidden in the storage area under her shop’s floor. “We are alone,” Dominic went on. “No one else will know what you tell me.”
Once she confided in him, though, she could not take the words back. They would flood out, as blood had gushed from her breast and stained her bodice crimson. He would know, then, how very different she was from the woman he’d loved years ago.
He might be driven to confront Ryle . . . and then Dominic would die.
Gisela’s heart ached. She mentally stitched together her resolve and leveled him a cool look. “Your wounds are more important right now than what I would tell you.”
He smiled. The sly twist of his mouth suggested she wouldn’t deter him that easily. “My wounds will still be there after you have confided in me.”
She almost laughed at the stubborn tilt of his jaw. Setting her hands on her hips, she frowned at him. “Why do you insist on being a difficult patient? You are in my home, Dominic. I vow you owe me an explanation. Most of all, why you were in disguise.”
He chuckled. “What a tough little daisy you have become.”
Out of necessity, her mind answered, for Ewan. She flattened her lips to smother the words and reached over to snatch up a linen bandage. Dangling it in front of him, she said, “’Twould be easiest to bind your ribs if you stand.”
He squinted up at her for a long moment. “As you command, Sweet Daisy. While you tend me, I will confide my secrets to you. Then, you will share yours with me.”
***
Dominic pushed himself up from the bench, gritting his teeth against the sensation of daggers piercing his ribs. Gisela’s scent still lingered in the space she’d vacated the instant he’d eased his legs apart. She’d shot away like an arrow fired from a bow.
Now, she stood a short distance from him. She twisted the bandage around her slender fingers, fashioning the length of cloth to her purpose before she neared him again. Gnawing the lush curve of her bottom lip, she examined his ribs before closing her eyes on a little sigh. A sound of reluctance.
Disappointment dulled the awareness still sparking in his veins. Had she changed her mind about treating him because he’d entrapped her?
Before he could ask, she quickly stepped forward, extended her arms on either side of his torso, and stretched the bandage out behind him. For the barest moment, her breasts brushed his chest before she drew back, binding the cloth around his rib cage.