A Knight's Reward Read online

  Varden had given her the silk.

  Quite possibly de Lanceau’s stolen silk.

  If Dominic came around the table and saw the sword—

  Her strides slowed, while her sweaty fingers tightened around the honey pot. Would she be wisest to tell Dominic of the bolts of silk concealed beneath the floor of her shop? To admit she hadn’t realized the cloth might be stolen when she agreed to sew the sumptuous garments Varden commissioned?

  Do not speak of it! If you tell Dominic, de Lanceau will send his men-at-arms to investigate. Whether the silk is stolen or not, you risk losing the payment Varden promised. You need that coin to flee north—as you have dreamed—and begin a new life, where Ryle will never find you. Surely Ewan’s life is more important than your qualms.

  “Ewan!” Ada’s scolding voice broke into Gisela’s thoughts. “Did ye not ’ear yer mama? She said ta ’ang yer mantle up on the peg, not leave it in a ’eap on the floor.”

  Half-listening to her son’s grumbles, Gisela drew in a steadying breath. She must do whatever was necessary to ensure her little boy’s future. As much as she’d once loved—still loved—Dominic, Ewan was completely dependent upon her. Not just for food, shelter, and comfort. For survival.

  Picking up the sword and untying the silk would draw attention to it. She must hide the sword.

  Where?

  As she glanced about the small kitchen area, Dominic said, “So you wish to be a knight, do you, boy?”

  “Aye.” Ewan sounded faintly defensive.

  “You will need to learn to fight. To work very hard.”

  Ewan snorted. “I practice every day.”

  “Do you, now?”

  Gisela’s frantic gaze settled on the shadowed area beneath the cupboard. She pushed the sword with her foot. The toy rasped across the dirt floor. She prayed the sound wouldn’t be audible over the conversation.

  “I have my own sword,” Ewan said. “I will show you.”

  Nay, Ewan! Nay!

  With a swift shove, she sent the sword skidding under the cupboard.

  Her son’s footsteps sounded close by. “Mama, have you seen my sword?”

  Setting the honey pot on the food table, she faced her frowning son. “Nay, Button.” An unwelcome twinge in the vicinity of her heart chastised her for lying to her own child. Surely, though, ensuring his safety justified a little falsehood.

  Ewan’s frown deepened. “I am certain I left my sword in here.” He studied the floor.

  “I did not see it.” Anxious to distract him before he peered under the cupboard, Gisela gestured to the bread. “We will look for it after you have eaten.”

  Scooting closer, his face shadowed with disappointment, Ewan muttered, “Sir Dominic does not believe I am a warrior, Mama.”

  She put her arm around him and tried not to smile at the insulted pride in his gaze. “I am sure he does.”

  Dominic cleared his throat. He sounded as though he struggled to suppress a chuckle. “Mayhap Ewan can show me his sword-fighting skills another day. I must be on my way.”

  Ewan twisted in Gisela’s embrace so his shoulders pressed against her belly. Sliding her arm loosely around his torso, she said, “Dominic, are you well enough to leave?”

  “After your excellent care, I should be.”

  Gisela blushed. “I did not do much.” Except stir up his suspicions and unwittingly reveal you ran away from Ryle.

  Yet, she saw no hint of their prior conversation in his expression. “I feel far better than I did when I arrived. You are an excellent bandager, Gisela. Where, if you do not mind my asking, did you acquire such a skill?”

  Ada. But, Ada would not tell.

  Gisela sensed the older woman’s concerned gaze, but resisted the urge to glance at her. Forcing a careless shrug, Gisela said, “I have tended a few of Ewan’s wounds.”

  Tipping his head back, her little boy squinted up at her. “When did I need linen bandages?”

  Regret clawed up inside her. She’d told another lie, more easily than the first. But, she wasn’t going to admit she’d been forced to care for her own wound after Ryle stabbed her. If Ada hadn’t come upon her and crying Ewan that rainy afternoon, after Gisela had collapsed on the verge on the town’s outskirts . . . If Ada hadn’t kindly taken them into her home, bought Gisela salve and fresh bandages, and taught her how to tend her wound . . . Gisela shuddered. She didn’t want to think what might have happened.

  Dragging in a shaky breath, she said, “’Twas a long time ago, Button, when you were small.” Patting his shoulder, she looked at Dominic. “Before you leave, would you like some bread and honey?”

  “Thank you, but nay. I have already stayed longer than I ought.”

  Ada made a sound of complete agreement.

  “Also, I have much to do this day.”

  Gisela nodded, for she didn’t miss the hidden meaning in his words. He intended to resume his search for de Lanceau’s stolen shipment.

  “If you need me, Anne, I plan to get a room at The Stubborn Mule Tavern.” Smiling pleasantly, he bowed to Ada, his movements clearly hampered by his injuries. “Good day to you.”

  “Good day, milord.” She dropped into a stiff curtsy. With a loud sniff, she said, “Since I am on my way home, I shall accompany you out.”

  Gisela expected Dominic’s expression to darken with irritation. He merely grinned, clearly enjoying the woman’s tart tone. “How thoughtful of you, Ada.”

  Surprise widened the woman’s eyes. She blinked like a stunned owl.

  Still grinning, Dominic faced Gisela. When his keen gaze fixed upon her, her arm instinctively tightened around Ewan. “Good day to you, young warrior,” Dominic said. His gaze held hers for a long, breath-stealing moment. “Good day, Sweet Daisy.”

  Ada’s breath whooshed out. “Sweet Daisy? Why, you are an impertinent, mischievous rogue.”

  Dominic chuckled. He sauntered past her, through the open doorway, and out into the darkened tailor’s premises. “Are you not going to accompany me, Ada? Do not disappoint me. I shall be devastated.”

  Muttering under her breath, Ada stomped after him. The door slammed behind her.

  Ewan tugged on Gisela’s sleeve. “Mama, why did he call you ‘Sweet Daisy’?”

  Gisela tore her gaze from the wooden panel. Still, she half-listened for the sound of the outer shop door closing. To know at last, she and Ewan were once again alone.

  “Mama?”

  “Years ago, Dominic and I were very close . . . friends,” she said softly, guiding Ewan into the kitchen area. “‘Sweet Daisy’ was his name for me.”

  “What does a daisy look like?”

  She looked at her son, standing beside her, his expression serious. “You do not remember the daisies growing in the grass by our old home?”

  Ewan shook his head.

  She sensed his thoughts turning to the beautiful manor where he, she, and Ryle had struggled along as a family. Her happiest moments had been when Ryle was traveling to promote his cloth business. She and Ewan had spent carefree days in the garden, playing on the swing she’d made for him in the cherry tree, chasing a ball around the grass, and counting the sparrows that had swooped down to eat crumbs from their lunches.

  Fie! She did not want to discuss their old home today.

  “Mama—”

  Gisela picked up the knife and bread loaf. “I will make you a daisy.” She cut a slice and then opened the honey pot. Using the tip of the knife, she put a dollop of honey in the middle of the bread. “The center of the daisy is bright yellow like the sun,” she said. Then, with more honey, she drew rounded petals. “The rest of the flower is white.”

  “Like snow,” Ewan said. “Remember, a few months ago, when the snow made it hard to walk to the market?”

  Gisela smiled. “Aye.” She pushed the bread toward him. “Daisies thrive in meadows and fields where there is lots of sunshine. They are such happy flowers.”

  Indeed, Dominic had commented so when he’d link
ed together daisy stems to make her a necklace. She still had that fragile, delicate daisy chain in her box of treasures.

  Ewan chewed a big mouthful of bread. “I think I will like daisies.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Mama, do you think dragons eat daisies?”

  Sadness wove through her. “Aye, Button,” she said softly. “I do.”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, sunshine streamed in through the open window of Gisela’s shop while she sat on a wooden stool stitching the pinned sleeves of the gown for the blacksmith’s wife. Earlier, Gisela had drawn her worktable away from the wall and pushed it into the space by the window, to take advantage of the natural light—and thus not waste her dwindling supply of candles.

  A warm breeze swept in over the fold-down board fronting her premises, stirring the linen shifts and girls’ dresses she’d hung on each side of the opening. From outside came the gritty footfalls of passersby, the squeaks and rumbles of wagons, blended with snatches of conversation. Somewhere close by, children shrieked and giggled, likely playing a game in the street.

  Another yawn broke past Gisela’s lips: her penance for working so late into the night. She had not been able to continue with Varden’s commission until Ewan had fallen asleep, Sir Smug tucked in beside him. Her little boy had lain with one arm curled under his tousled head, the other resting on his wooden sword—no longer tied with blue silk—lying atop his blanket. “I am sleeping as a knight on crusade,” he’d said in such a serious tone.

  She’d nodded, tucked the worn blanket about him, and lain beside him until his eyelids drifted closed and his mouth had drooped in sleep. Then, as quietly as possible, she’d retreated into her shop, raised the floorboards to reveal the concealed storage space, and carefully removed the luxurious silk. Burning far more candles than she could afford, she’d measured, cut, and stitched the shimmering blue cloth that reminded her of a summer sky.

  Ewan’s roar echoed inside the living area of her premises, startling Gisela from her recollections. “Ha! You will never defeat me, stupid dragon! Slink away, O beast with stinky breath, or you will feel the bite of my sword!”

  Shaking her head, Gisela smiled. How he loved Sir Smug and the cloth dragon she’d made him from fabric scraps. From the sounds of things, quite a battle raged in her home.

  Smoothing a wrinkle from the gown’s sleeve, she blinked fatigue from her gaze. She raised the fabric closer to her eyes to catch a tricky stitch . . .

  The light in her shop window vanished.

  A customer? She glanced up.

  Dominic stood outside, his hands braced on either side of the window frame. With him standing at such an angle, his broad body blocked most of her incoming light. The majority of his face and torso looked in shadow. Leaning forward, grinning, he murmured, “Good morn.”

  The gown dropped from her fingers. A wave of sensation whooshed through her—surprise, delight . . . Guilt. A damning blush rushed to her cheeks. “Hello, Dominic.”

  His smile widened, revealing his pleasingly straight teeth. “You did not expect to see me?”

  She cleared an awkward croak from her voice. “I did not know quite what to expect after yesterday. You did not say you would visit my shop this morn.”

  Oh, God. She hadn’t meant to sound petulant—as if she’d anxiously counted every passing moment since he left and wondered when she’d see him again.

  Although she had.

  With such passionate intensity, she’d pricked her finger three times yester eve. She’d had to wait for the blood to dry before she could continue her sewing.

  “Surely you did not believe I would simply vanish after finding you again?”

  How softly he spoke. Yet, each word seemed to sink down inside her, like gold coins tossed into a lake.

  Fie! She could not read more into his words, or hope that whatever they had shared before could ever be theirs again. “I thought mayhap your . . . affairs might keep you away.”

  Dominic shook his head. Drawing one hand from the window, he pushed windblown hair from his eyes. Sunlight struck him full on the face and torso.

  Gisela gasped again. “Your tunic!”

  Dominic laughed. “Quite fetching, is it not?”

  The wooden stool scraped on the planks as she jumped to her feet. No longer did he wear simple, plain garments. Today, he wore a wool tunic the rich, dark blue of a twilight sky. Red and silver embroidery twined about the collar and sleeves. Stepping around the table’s edge, she moved between it and the window for a better look.

  “Where did you get such a tunic?” she whispered. “’Tis magnificent.” Her fingers itched to skim over the luxurious fabric and gauge the texture and softness.

  His roguish smile invited her to touch. “I packed the tunic in my saddlebag.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I donned my best hose. Would you like me to pose for you?”

  “Um . . . Well, I—”

  Stepping away from the shop front, Dominic placed one hand on his hip. He thrust the other out with a dramatic flick of his hand. Face tipped up to the sky, he pranced in a slow circle, right there in the street.

  How utterly ridiculous he looked, a muscled warrior posing like a puffed-up cockerel. She pressed her hand to her lips, but a giggle broke free on a mortifyingly loud snort, and then she laughed like a silly girl, as she had all those years ago. How natural it felt to laugh so . . . as though she were destined to enjoy Dominic’s antics.

  Facing her, he chuckled.

  Still giggling, she wiped the corners of her eyes with her fingers. “Dominic,” she murmured.

  His gaze softened with tenderness. How devastating he looked in his refined garments, with the sun streaming over him. His clothes bespoke the privileged life into which he, as a lord’s son, had been born.

  Years ago, her parents had bought her several exquisite gowns, not to please her, but to show off her breasts and slim waist in hopes of a proposal from one of their merchant associates. Ryle had bought her sumptuous finery. Now, such garments were so far beyond her means, she didn’t even dare remember the feather-light brush of silk against her bosom.

  Her hand trembled. Hot, stinging tears moistened her eyes. The boundary between laughter and sadness seemed treacherously fragile, akin to the parchment-thin husk of a seedpod, dangerously close to splitting apart. Years of anguish, regret, and struggle—carefully buried in her heart—threatened to slip loose, to plant new roots in the banished reaches of her soul. To grow, once again, for the sun.

  “Well? What do you think?” Dominic swept a hand to indicate his clothes.

  She blinked hard, forcing the betraying tears aside, and smiled brightly at him. “Magnificent.”

  Looking pleased, he smoothed the front of his tunic.

  “Why are you dressed so?” she asked. “Or, should I say, since you are no longer an old and crippled peddler, who are you today?”

  He laughed before executing a careful bow. “I am Dominic de Terre, a wealthy merchant, traveling south to the Port of London,” he said. “I am most eager to buy Eastern silks.” He winked. “Have any you would care to sell me?”

  Her pulse lurched, just as a soft scrape sounded behind her. She turned to see Ewan lingering in the doorway to her home, holding Sir Smug to his chest. The toy knight’s head, covered by a gray woolen helm, stuck out above the little boy’s clasped hands, while his cloth- booted legs dangled against Ewan’s belly.

  “Button.” Tilting her head, she ordered him back inside the house.

  Standing firm, he shook his head. “I heard Dominic.” His gaze slid past her to the open shop window.

  “He is Sir Dominic, to you,” she gently corrected.

  “’Tis all right. He is a fellow warrior, so he does not need to call me ‘Sir,’” Dominic said with a chuckle, his voice rumbling from the window. “Good day, Ewan.”

  “Good day.” Clutching Sir Smug tighter, the little boy stepped farther into the shop.

  Gisela’s hand tightened. “Ewan, remember w
hat I told you.”

  His mouth tightened with stubbornness.

  “Ewan,” she repeated.

  “I found my sword,” he said, still looking at Dominic. His gaze slid back to Gisela. “I cannot find the bit of cloth you gave me, though. ’Tis gone.”

  Aye, Button. Yesterday I burned it in the fire.

  “Do not worry. I will find you another.” She gestured to the house.

  Her son’s gaze sparked with defiance. “That cloth was very soft. I liked the color. I want the same again, Mama. I like bl—”

  “Button, go, as I asked you. If I must tell you one more time—”

  While she meant to scold, her words emerged far sharper than she’d intended. His eyes widened. Regret dissolved her last words.

  His chin quivered. Rebellion, though, still brightened his gaze. “I am tired of being indoors.”

  Her heart squeezed. “I know, Button, but—”

  “How long must I stay inside this house, Mama? Every day ’tis the same.” His voice broke on an angry sob. Squishing Sir Smug in his hands, he scowled, and then threw the toy on the floor. “I want to go home. I do not wish to see Father—he shouted too much—but I want to go back to the big house with the swing. There, I could run outside whenever I liked. There—” He stamped his foot with a frustrated cry.

  How keenly she felt his frustrations. Turning from the window, Gisela went to him, crouched, and slid her arm around him.

  Crossing his arms, he jerked away. He stood in profile, staring at the wall, his face set in a mutinous scowl. Tears glistened along his eyelashes.

  Oh, Button. You have never drawn away from me before.

  The fragile part of her wept. Her little boy was growing. Changing. Testing her, it seemed, in front of Dominic. Pressing her lips together, she steeled her fortitude. Focused on the courage and instinct that kept him safe.

  Never could she forget those.

  Aware of Dominic’s gaze upon them, she rubbed Ewan’s back, a soothing habit he’d enjoyed since he was a baby. “Right now, you must go inside our home, as I bade. Later, we will speak of what troubles you.”