Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Gisela's mouth watered. "How did you visit the baker's shop? He must have recognized you."

  Dominic's lips curved in a smug grin. "A young woman tended the shop, likely his daughter." He winked. "I plied my charms on her. She was akin to quivering jelly when I left."

  He was teasing. Still, ridiculous jealousy bubbled inside Gisela. "I see."

  Dominic winked again. "A well-deserved ploy, I vow, to get what I want."

  His voice softened to the whisper of silk. A sluggish tension coursed through Gisela, tightening her belly with anticipation. She tried to resist—oh, how she tried—but she could not deny the pull of his stare. Their gazes locked. Held.

  Gisela's breath caught. Her whole being felt suspended, captivated by Dominic's gaze, poised to dive into something wonderful.

  Something forbidden.

  A loud thud, thud echoed, akin to her heart falling and shattering on the floor by her feet. Again, Ewan pounded his fists on the table. "What else did you bring?"

  Dominic's attention slid away, but the slow, sensual awareness still glided in Gisela's veins. Picking up a smaller, cloth-enclosed package, he said, "Cherries, dates—"

  "Dates?" Gisela exclaimed. "They are very expensive."

  "—and honey." Dominic withdrew a large earthenware pot.

  Gisela sank onto the nearest bench. "Oh, my. What a feast."

  "Fit for a lady," Dominic said, "and her knight."

  Delight warred inside her, along with a crushing sense of dismay. What a chivalrous gesture, for Dominic to bring such a meal. Yet, she couldn't easily forget 'twas all a pantomime in which they pretended to be what they were not. She was no lady, Ewan no knight, and Dominic no rich, cloth-buying merchant.

  How many nights she'd lain awake, listening to her son's steady breathing, wishing she could give him a better life. And for Dominic to be able to cover the table with treats so far beyond her means—

  "Can we eat now?" Ewan asked.

  Dominic chuckled. "Take what you like."

  The little boy's hands plunged into the chicken. He grabbed a leg, slick with grease, and sank his teeth into the flesh. "Mmm."

  "Slow down," Gisela said. With a wry laugh, she realized he probably hadn't heard her over his delighted sighs and groans.

  "What tempts you?" Dominic murmured, pushing the chicken toward her.

  Her mouth filled with the promise of delicious tastes. She selected a chicken leg, drew it to her lips, and inhaled the scent of succulent meat. The last time she'd eaten chicken was at a feast held by one of Ryle's merchant friends. In January.

  She bit off a morsel and chewed. Her eyes drifted closed.

  The bench creaked beside her.

  "Good?" Dominic asked.

  "The best fare I have tasted in months."

  He smiled at her in a kind, but knowing way. She averted her gaze to look again at the moist chicken. At what she'd denied herself and her son so she could save for their move north. For good reason, her conscience reminded her. All the more reason to indulge now.

  Suddenly, she could no longer hold back the urge to seize the temptations before her. She bit off more chicken, chewed, and then snatched another bite, ignoring the juice running down her chin. "Mmm. This tastes wonderful."

  "Mama, taste the dates." Ewan chewed noisily. "And the sausage pastries."

  He'd taken one bite of the chicken, one from the pastries, and was reaching for another date, his mouth smeared with evidence of all he'd tasted.

  Wiping her chin, Gisela laughed.

  Around a mouthful of semi-chewed fruit, he said, "Dominic, tell the story."

  "Button, mayhap Dominic wishes to eat first."

  "'Tis all right." He tore off a chunk of bread. "'Tis a fine moment to tell my tale. Did I tell you 'twas told to me by my mother? 'Tis one of my favorites." His voice softened. "I will always be grateful she shared her stories with me. One day, I will pass them on to my children."

  Gisela swallowed hard, for grief etched Dominic's features. Clearly, his mother's death still pained him. Gisela remembered him speaking fondly of his mother, of how she'd bravely faced the illness that had sapped her strength. "I am sorry she died," Gisela whispered.

  "As am I." He shrugged and the anguish in his gaze faded. "Long ago, she used to say, there lived a very beautiful woman. Tall and slender, she was the loveliest in all the land."

  "Like my mama." Ewan grinned around a big mouthful of chicken.

  Dominic nodded before scratching his chin. "Somehow, I cannot remember the woman's name. Let me think—"

  "Gisela!" the little boy yelled.

  Heat warmed her face. "Nay, I do not think—"

  Dominic snapped his fingers. "Well done, Ewan. Her name was Gisela."

  She snorted. "I suppose in your tale, roosters could lay silver coins?"

  Dominic grinned and swallowed his bite of bread. "Her beauty was so extraordinary, the villagers knew she was the one—the maiden to be left as an offering for the fearsome dragon ravaging their lands."

  Ewan's eyes grew enormous.

  A shiver trailed down Gisela's spine, as though she felt Ryle's hands upon her. The way Dominic had said "dragon" suggested his story held a hidden meaning.

  "The woman refused her fate. However, the villagers feared the dragon's wrath. They believed giving her to the beast was the only way to pacify it. Before she could run away, they tied her hands, dragged her to the old oak tree near the dragon's cave, and bound her to the trunk. They ignored her pleas for mercy and left her to become the creature's slave."

  Ewan grimaced. "Ugh."

  "Indeed." Dominic pulled off another morsel of bread and held it between his fingers. "The beast was hideous. As big as a stable and a hundred times as smelly."

  Ewan clapped a hand over his nose. "Ew!"

  "The dragon had glowing yellow eyes, huge fanged teeth, and claws like sharpened daggers. When Gisela saw it lumbering toward her, she almost fainted with fright. She tried to get free, but her bonds held fast. Breathing fire and smoke, the beast mocked her attempts to escape. It slashed her bindings with its claws, picked her up in its jaws, and carried her back to its cave. There, she became its slave. She toiled amongst the bones of its prey, always aware the dragon might gobble her up, too."

  "She could run away," Ewan said. "When it slept."

  As I ran, Gisela thought, while Ryle dozed, slumped over in a drunken stupor, the bloody knife resting on the table beside him.

  His expression grim, Dominic shook his head. "She longed for her freedom, but the dragon kept her chained. When it no longer chained her, it kept close watch upon her. Only after many weeks did the beast cease watching her so closely. One night, she slipped away, taking a lantern to light her way."

  As I fled, Button, with you in my arms and Ryle's knife in my bag. I sold his wretched dagger to buy you food. I went hungry, but I did not care. I cared only that you were safe.

  "What happened?" Ewan asked.

  "She fled far away, where she thought the dragon would never find her. She began a new life. She met a young farmer and fell in love. For the first time in months, she was happy."

  Refusing to look at Dominic, Gisela discarded the leg bone and took another piece of chicken. Strange, how his tale seemed to mirror her life. A coincidence. Naught more.

  Ewan groaned. "You are not going to tell about them kissing, are you? Ugh! What about the dragon?"

  Dominic laughed. "The beast was furious when it realized Gisela was gone. It stormed off into the surrounding lands, looking for her, destroying all in its path. One day, it found Gisela and her beloved farmer."

  "Uh-oh," Ewan said.

  "Aye. The dragon demanded she come back to its lair. Gisela refused. Desperate to help her, the young farmer offered the dragon as many sheep as it wanted to eat, in exchange for her freedom. However, the selfish beast coveted her. It narrowed its eyes and roared fire."

  As Ryle will roar at me when he finds me—right before he kills me.

&nbs
p; Gisela sensed Dominic's gaze upon her. The chicken in her mouth seemed tasteless, its flavor obliterated by bitter fear.

  "Gisela could not go back to her life of slavery," Dominic went on. "She would never leave her young farmer, and she did not want the dragon to kill him or anyone else. In secret, she took one of the farmer's knives. When the dragon tried to take her in its jaws, she pulled out the dagger and plunged it into the beast's heart. The mighty dragon bellowed and thrashed its tail, but she had delivered a mortal blow. It died. Gisela and her farmer rejoiced."

  Ewan rolled his eyes. "Remember, naught about them kissing."

  "All right," Dominic agreed. "However, they lived long, happy lives together. Never again were they threatened by dragons."

  "I liked that story," Ewan said. "Did you, Mama?"

  Gisela set aside her chicken, unable to stop the cold tremor rippling through her. "Aye, Button. 'Twas an imaginative tale."

  She doubted a woman could single-handedly slay a fire-breathing dragon. As, despite how she loathed Ryle, she doubted she had the physical strength to defeat him.

  "Imaginative, true," Dominic said quietly, "but 'tis astonishing what one can accomplish, when one's desires are strong enough."

  "Like me, eating two pieces of chicken!" Ewan piped up.

  Gisela raised her lashes to meet Dominic's gaze. How intently he studied her. A smile touched his lips. Did he smile because he thought she resembled the Gisela in his story—because he believed he knew what she had endured? Did he want her to confront her dragon like the woman in his tale?

  Dominic couldn't know what she'd suffered at Ryle's hand, and the very real danger he still posed to all of them. Not unless she told Dominic, or showed him her damaged breast.

  Oh, God, she couldn't bear for him to see her scar and recoil in revulsion. Not only was she as common as a roadside daisy, but disfigured. Even less worthy of him than years ago.

  A wave of anguish snatched her breath away. The intimacy of her small, dingy home became a weight pressing down upon her. Rising from the bench, she said, "I must make certain I locked up my shop. I will be back in a moment."

  "Do you have any more stories?" Ewan asked Dominic, stuffing yet another date into his mouth.

  Gisela stepped into her premises, leaving the door ajar to let in light. While Dominic and Ewan's voices carried from inside her home, she drew a slow breath and crossed to her worktable. She pressed her fingers into the gown's coarse wool. With each finished project, she brought her and her son closer to their new life.

  To freedom.

  Her hair tumbled forward as she bowed her head and slowly rolled her shoulders to ease her tension. Once she completed Crenardieu's commission, she'd have enough money to take her little boy far away from Clovebury. The realization held much less pleasure than days ago.

  The thought of leaving Dominic behind, of never seeing him again, hurt so very, very much. Worse than the memory of Ryle cutting her.

  Yet, what other choice did she have?

  None.

  Staring down at her fingers, she swallowed, her throat painfully tight. She had to forget Dominic . . . because she'd loved him years ago.

  And, God help her, she still loved him.

  "Do not lie to me, Gisela. You still love Dominic, aye?" Ryle sneered, crouched naked on their bed, his hand closed around her neck and pinning her down on the pillow. His face glistened with sweat. "You want Dominic in this bed, not me. You dream of him, not me. Your body aches for him, not me."

  "Ryle," she gasped. "You . . . are hurting . . . me."

  His lips curled. He snatched her fluttering hand from the bedding and shoved it between his legs. Her fingers connected with soft, flaccid flesh. So very different from Dominic's manhood.

  Tears scalded her eyes. She writhed, desperate to break free.

  Ryle's mouth contorted on an oath. His fingertips dug into her neck, punishing her.

  "Please—" she croaked.

  Again, he pushed her hand to his groin. "This is because of your treachery. Your fault. Yours! I swear to you, Gisela, if I ever see Dominic, I will kill him!"

  With a strangled cry, she broke from the horrible memory. She straightened, sucking in a ragged breath, her whole body shaking. Still, she could feel Ryle's fingers biting into her flesh.

  Uncurling her hands from the gown on the table, Gisela massaged her neck, eager to erase the awful sensation. How she despised the power Ryle held over her. Would she ever be truly free of him?

  Aye. She would.

  Drawing in slow, even breaths to regain her calm, she snipped a stray thread from the gown and hung it on the wall peg. She smoothed the fabric's folds, her hands steadier than before, and smiled, comforted by a sense of pride. While cut from common cloth, the simple, well-made gown would last for years—unlike the frivolous fashions of the courts that changed as oft as the seasons.

  Dominic's lady wife no doubt had such a wardrobe.

  Anguish crested again. Enough, Gisela. Far wiser to go back inside your home and cherish your remaining moments with Dominic, before you and Ewan travel north.

  Tidying her hair with her fingers, she steeled herself to face Dominic again—aware, suddenly, of the silence in her home.

  She turned. Dominic lounged in the half-open doorway, one shoulder braced against the embrasure, his arms folded across his chest. She knew, even before their gazes met, that he'd thoughtfully studied her for a few, quiet moments. Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn't heard him approach.

  How mortifying for him to have witnessed her in an unguarded moment. That she might have unwittingly revealed her dangerous secrets.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She managed a cheery smile. "Of course."

  "You are not saying that to spare my feelings, are you?" He looked faintly sheepish. "If you hated my tale—"

  She shook her head.

  "Ah. You ran away, then, because 'twas too close to the truth."

  How softly he spoke. However, the hard undercurrent to his words revealed he struggled to control his feelings. The snarled emotions seemed to reach out to her, an echo of the torment churning inside her.

  How her heart ached! "Dominic—"

  "Ewan is fine. He is sitting by the fire with Sir Smug, eating a custard tart." Dominic pushed away from the doorway, his face taut. "You must know, Gisela, that you can trust me." He withdrew his necklace from beneath his tunic; he held out the jewelry in one fist. "This must prove how much I cared for you. How I still care."

  Helplessness coursed through her, as merciless as the pain piercing her soul.

  "Tell me what happened to you. I want to help," he whispered, his voice raw. "Let me."

  "Nay."

  "Why not?"

  She rubbed her quivering lips together. How did she tell him that to spare his life, she must keep her terrible secrets? He wouldn't understand. "I must go check on Ewan."

  She tried to slip past Dominic, but his arm snaked out to slide around her waist, drawing her against him. He ensnared her not just by physical contact, but by memories of the joy, pleasure, and sheer freedom of being loved by him. The scent of him, clean and male, tugged at every thread of her restraint.

  His lips brushed her hair. "Tell me," he pleaded.

  Crushing agony whipped through her. Thrusting up her chin, clinging to her resolve like a broken shield, she met his impassioned gaze. "Because I still care for you," she said, her voice breaking, "I cannot."

  He frowned.

  Before he could say a word, she pulled from his hold and hurried into the house.

  Bowing his head, Dominic muttered an oath. Because I still care for you, I cannot. What, exactly, did Gisela mean by that?

  He plowed both of his hands into his hair, seizing fistfuls of it before tipping his head back to stare at the shadowed ceiling. His palm still burned where it had pressed against her waist, her body as vibrant as sunlight in his embrace.

  A groan broke from him. Wants and needs warred with l
oyalties to king and lord that had defined his existence from his earliest aspirations of knighthood. With the demons of loneliness and distrust mocking him, his loyalties no longer seemed clear.

  Days ago, he hadn't hesitated to accept Geoffrey's order to hunt down the thieves with ruthless perseverance. However, now, he also felt bound to pursue the fear haunting Gisela. To slay her demons.

  To have her, again, for his own.

  Years ago, he'd fervently believed knighthood, honor, and duty were a warrior's greatest rewards. How eagerly he'd accepted the challenge of leaving all he knew—and his despicable betrothal—behind to champion his king on eastern battlefields. Is that why Gisela didn't trust him enough to confide in him, because he'd abandoned her to go on crusade?

  His jaw clenched. Aye, in his choice between true love and duty, he'd chosen duty. The only decision he could have made, with his father and bitch of a stepmother—barely two years older than he—coercing him into marrying a stranger.

  Speak no more of that commoner, Gisela! his sire had raged. She is—and can be—naught to you. You will wed a noblewoman and beget heirs as I expect of my sons. The betrothal is already arranged. Your brother would not have questioned my decision. Neither should you.

  Listen to your father, the sharp-tongued witch had agreed. You are a great disappointment to him, you know—unlike your brother. You never gave your mother one reason to be proud before she died. Surely you will not disappoint your sire, too?

  The memory brought a bitter smile to Dominic's lips, for after telling them what he thought of them manipulating his life, he'd revealed he had accepted his duty—not to them, but to his king. Like past warriors in the de Terre lineage, he would fight for the crown. Since he might die on crusade, his betrothed would be wise to find herself another husband.

  His father, clearly stunned, couldn't deny the merit of such a decision. What sire did not want his son to be a battle hero?

  "Eat up that last bit of tart," Gisela said, her voice drifting into the shop.