A Knight's Reward (6 page)

Biting down on her lip, she looked up at Dominic, leading her toward the stable’s doorway. If he’d noticed her reaction to his touch, he didn’t acknowledge it, not even by the slightest glance back. Drawing her close behind him, he stepped out of the stable’s shadows into the sunlight.

Dirt crunched under his strong strides—markedly different from the clumsy, shuffled gait of the peddler he had pretended to be. At a swift pace, he led her toward the narrow alley. Rowdy laughter came from the tavern. She dared a sidelong glance and saw two men stepping through the open doorway.

The weather-beaten panel swung shut.

She blew out a relieved breath.

With a wry chuckle, Dominic drew her into the alley. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “’Twas a heavy sigh, Gisela.”

“We do not appear to have been followed.”

“That we know of.”

She swallowed. “You mean—”

“We will not dally.” While he spoke, he urged her to a quicker pace. “There may be thugs waiting for us at the street ahead.”

“Waiting for you, you mean,” she said. “You must be a dangerous man, Dominic.”

His shoulders stiffened. Tension, now, defined his strides. As they hurried on, the smoky tang of the blacksmith’s market fire carrying on the breeze, Dominic muttered, “I had not thought so.”

“You had reason, though, to be disguised as a peddler. Do you have enemies in Clovebury?”

He suddenly froze, as though hearing a suspicious noise, and pressed her back against the stone wall of a nearby building. Flattened beside her, he said quietly, “We will discuss the matter later.” After freeing his hand from hers, he slid the knife from his sleeve. He glanced at the entry to the alley. Tense. Alert.

A guarded secretiveness shadowed his handsome face. Resolve defined the set of his mouth. As she looked up at him, a wilder, tougher version of the man she’d loved, she wondered how much she really knew him. And whether he would answer her question.

Years ago, even though he was the son of a rich lord and she but a common merchant’s daughter, they would have told each other anything. Promised each other anything.

Now . . .

Pressing her fingers to the building’s rough stone, she tried to ignore the anguish of lost dreams. Both of their lives had changed, too much for her to hope he’d be in her life again with any more permanence than a shifting sunbeam.

Despite what they’d shared in the past . . . and what they had in common now.

Dominic no doubt had hundreds of beautiful, wealthy noblewomen vying for his attentions. Years ago, after the arranged marriage his father and stepmother had tried to force upon him, he’d vowed he would never wed. How he had railed in the meadow, stomping through the grass and cursing his entrapment that had naught to do with love, only his father’s ambitions. To escape his betrothal to the highborn lady barely thirteen years old, he’d joined the king’s crusade and left England.

Now that he’d returned, an older and more worldly-wise man, he likely viewed marriage differently. He was probably wed to a lady worthy of his noble status, with children of his own.

Swallowing down the distressing thought, Gisela watched him peer into the alley. He grimaced, revealing the motion hurt. Then he laughed and shook his head. A mangy cat bounded past, a mouse in its jaws.

“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.