Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Knowing Ryle, he'd fabricated a clever lie to explain why she'd left him. He'd have stitched enough concern for her into his tale to convince Dominic he must find her—and bring her back.

  The anguish of her thoughts struck her like a fist. Oh, Dominic, how desperately I have missed you. Every day, since you left me, I have wept inside. To see you here is my most cherished dream come true.

  Yet, the cautious little voice inside her repeated Ryle's threat. You can trust no one, Gisela. No one!

  Dominic's smile had faded. Now, his expression held a tormented blend of surprise and regret.

  Misery weighed upon Gisela. How she loathed what she must do. But, she had no choice. Protecting herself, and especially Ewan, was more important than her fondest wishes.

  Forcing the lie through her stiff lips, she said, "You have mistaken me for someone else."

  He frowned. "Nay."

  The falsehoods snarled together in her mouth like tangled thread. Still, she managed to say, "My name is not Gisela. 'Tis Anne."

  Shock widened his eyes. He shook his head, clearly grappling with her words. "'Tis Gisela. I make no mistake." The barest smile touched his lips. "I would never forget you."

  A treacherous, pleasured warmth bloomed inside her. Oh, what wondrous words.

  How very clever of him, if he aimed to undermine her wariness.

  "My name is Anne."

  "Anne is your middle name. 'Tis also your mother's name." He crossed his arms, then leaned one broad shoulder against the stable wall, a posture that implied a lazy ease, though she well knew she couldn't run past him to the door. "I remember the day you told me," he murmured. "We lay in the meadow, with the buttercups and daisies. You made me say it over and over—Gisela Anne, Gisela Anne—so I would not forget. Do you remember?"

  Aye, I remember. A sob rose in her throat.

  From somewhere outside came men's voices. They drew near.

  Dominic's jaw hardened before he pushed away from the wall.

  Fear jolted through her. The men approaching might be his cohorts who had followed his pursuit. Reinforcements, to help take her away, if she put up a fight.

  Her shaking arms failed her. The metal spade hit the floor with a loud clunk.

  "Gisela." Dominic moved a measured step closer. "I do not understand. I thought you would be glad to see me. Why are you so afraid?"

  She stumbled back. Her foot knocked the fallen implement, and she winced. "Oh, Dominic," she whispered, all of her anguish bleeding into her voice. "Please. Turn around and leave. Pretend you never saw me."

  "Why?"

  Shaking her head, she fought not to weep. "Please."

  His searching gaze traveled over her. "Do you fear someone will find us here together?" He paused, before adding, "Mayhap your husband?"

  A horrified gasp broke from Gisela. When Dominic took another step toward her, desperation spurred her into motion. She bolted for the space between him and the hay bales. The musty crunch of straw, as loud as her own breathing, filled her ears.

  If she were quick enough, if she surprised him before he realized her intentions—

  Just as she brushed past Dominic, his arm slid around her waist. She shrieked, struggled against his hold, but before she could draw another breath, she found herself spun around.

  Kicking his shins, pounding her fists against his chest, she tried to wrench free.

  Dominic grunted. "Gisela!"

  With a sharp oath, he wobbled, then keeled sideways. Before she could pull free from his hold, the stable blurred around her. She was falling!

  Gisela landed on her back in the mound of straw.

  With a loud "oof," Dominic landed beside her. He'd shielded her fall so she did not hit the hard-packed dirt, she realized with a twinge of gratitude.

  Flicking bits of straw from her face, she struggled to rise.

  Leaning on one arm beside her, his face a hand's span above hers, Dominic shook his head. His broad, tanned palm splayed on her belly. "I will not let you run away, Gisela. I will have an explanation."

  Dominic stared down into Gisela's ashen, frightened face, barely resisting the urge to shake her. Concern and frustration twisted up inside him with punishing intensity. Why did she look upon him as though he were a fire-breathing, maiden-devouring dragon, rather than a past lover?

  How different she seemed from the self-confident, sensual woman he remembered.

  In the stable's dim light, he studied her. Her long, golden hair, loosened from its confining leather thong, tangled about her in the straw. Her thickly lashed blue eyes looked huge against her pale skin. Strong cheekbones, more prominent than he remembered, defined her oval-shaped face, coaxing his gaze to slip down to her wide, generous lips, which parted as she sucked in an anxious breath.

  He swallowed the bitter aftertaste of regret, for he remembered every luscious nuance of her mouth. How he'd lost himself in the eager brush of her lips.

  That seemed an eternity ago.

  Clearing an uncomfortable tightness from his throat, he dragged his gaze from her mouth. Meeting her watery gaze, he coaxed, "Tell me why you are so afeared."

  Beneath his splayed hand, her belly rose and fell on a ragged sigh. Layers of woolen cloak, as well as her garments, separated them. Yet, as though 'twere yesterday, his palm remembered the softness of her skin, deliciously pliant beneath his caress and warmed by the meadow sun.

  A shudder raked through him.

  She must have felt it, too, for her eyes flared even more. With a gasp, she twisted sideways, clearly about to scramble across the straw. Catching her arm, he hauled her back. Meeting her furious glare, he said, "You are not making this easy for me, now, are you?"

  "Please, Dominic." She trembled in his grasp, while her tone became urgent. "I beg you. Do not take me from here."

  Frowning, he reached out to pull away straw dangling from her tresses. "Why do you fear I would?"

  She shrank from his touch. Never before had she recoiled from him, a reaction that implied he epitomized danger, not reassurance. Anguish fueled his impatience. When he caught the wayward straw and flicked it aside, voices again carried from the tavern yard. Two men, he discerned, from their brisk conversation.

  Gisela shivered.

  He gently squeezed her arm. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

  Staring up at him, she rubbed her lips together. For a moment, in her eyes, he caught a glimmer of trust. He sensed she yearned to confide in him. Then, as though catching herself, her gaze again darkened with suspicion.

  Resisting the urge to curse like a drunken fishmonger, he let go of her arm. The roughness of her sleeve still prickled his palm. "I cannot help you, Gisela, if you will not trust me."

  Her chin rose to a wary tilt. "How can I be certain you wish to help me? Many years have passed since I last saw you."

  "True, but—"

  "Nay, Dominic," she cut in, pushing up one arm, her eyes blazing with blue fire. "For all I know, you might—"

  "—have been captivated by you in the market? So much so that I had to follow you, and then discovered you were my long-lost love? Aye. 'Tis the truth of it."

  "If I may finish," she said softly, "you might—"

  "—still, after all the years we have been apart, crave your kiss." Refusing to break her stunned gaze, he trailed his fingers down her cheek.

  A gruff shout came from just outside the stable.

  "Nay!" she croaked, twisting away so his hand dropped to her shoulder. She scrambled to her feet.

  Dominic pushed up from the straw. When he moved, he felt the leather-sheathed knife, concealed in his boot, pressing against his calf. At least, if the situation turned threatening, he had a way to protect himself. And her.

  Her spine rigid, hands curled into fists, Gisela hesitated several paces away. Ah, God. How he wanted her trust. To prove that, despite what she imagined, he was still very much the man she'd known long ago.

  Mayhap there was a way . . .

  Reaching to his
nape, he swept aside his hair, then untied the thin strip of leather he'd worn around his neck every day since they had parted. With careful fingers, he drew the necklace from beneath his garments.

  "Here." He offered it to her, the tattered white object at the end luminous in a slant of sunlight.

  She took his necklace, just as footfalls crunched on the straw. Two men rounded the mounded hay bales—the baker accompanied by the blacksmith's assistant, whose broad shoulders and stout arms proved him a man of formidable strength. Clenched in the baker's right hand was Dominic's cane.

  Unease rippled through Dominic. Upon seeing him, the baker's weathered face twisted into a scowl. The blacksmith's assistant smirked.

  Dominic brushed straw from his peddler's mantle. He did not like the looks upon the men's faces.

  The baker glanced at Gisela, who had concealed the necklace in her fist. His scowl softened, betraying his genuine affection for her. 'Twas a look a widowed man would bestow upon a comely woman he hoped to woo.

  Dominic's gut clenched.

  "Are ye hale, Anne?" the baker asked her.

  Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Gisela nodded. "I am fine. Thank you."

  "Ye do not look fine." Thrusting an insolent hand toward Dominic, the baker said, "I saw 'im run after ye. Quite a sight, that was, seein' 'im 'obblin' alon' one moment, then droppin' 'is stick and breakin' into a run."

  Dominic forced a good-natured chuckle. He would be wise to offer some kind of explanation, before the situation escalated into a brawl. "My good man—"

  The baker's lip curled. "If I had known ye were a trickster, not a crippled peddler, ye would not 'ave got even one crumb from me."

  A guilty flush warmed Dominic's face. "'Twas most kind of you to give me the bread to break my fast. Very generous, indeed. I will be sure to pay you for it."

  The baker snorted. "Sure ye will." His gaze narrowed. "Ye may not be aware, fool, but 'is lordship, Geoffrey de Lanceau, does not take kindly ta thieves in 'is lands."

  A smile tugged at Dominic's mouth. Being Geoffrey's closest friend, he knew his lord's opinions extremely well. Having fought beside Geoffrey on crusade, helped him recover from mortal wounds cleaved by Saracen steel, and supported his recent quest to avenge his father's murder, Dominic vowed he knew Geoffrey better than anyone—apart from Geoffrey's lady wife, Elizabeth.

  Pride threatened to undermine Dominic's determination not to grin. Geoffrey had many knights and men-at-arms at his command. He could have sent any of them on the crucial mission to find out who'd stolen his cloth shipment. But, he'd chosen Dominic. The decision signified tremendous faith in Dominic's abilities—and he would not fail his friend.

  Raising his hands in a gesture intended to ease the tension, Dominic looked at the baker, then the assistant. "Look, I meant no insult to you or your lord. My disguise was necessary, you see, to avoid knaves who tried to rob me earlier. If I may explain—"

  Spitting a coarse oath, the baker threw the cane onto the straw. It landed with a thump by Dominic's feet.

  "I had hoped to resolve this without a fight," Dominic muttered, sensing, even as he spoke, that the situation had gone beyond a peaceful resolution.

  "Please." Gisela touched the baker's arm. "There was no harm done. I do not wish anyone hurt."

  The baker tipped his head toward the stable doorway. "Go on, now, Anne."

  She shook her head. "Not 'til I know the disagreement is over."

  Lines of strain marked the corners of her mouth. Dominic suppressed an inner groan, for he'd never intended to cause her worry. "'Tis all right," he said gently.

  She glanced at him. A ribbon of sunlight, streaming in through a botched repair in the wall, flowed over her, wrapping her in shimmering gold. "Mayhap if you explained that you are an old . . . friend of mine—"

  Dominic doubted that would resolve the situation. Still, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I shall." He passed her the bread she'd left atop the grain barrel. "Go, now, like the good baker said."

  Gisela sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a gesture of reluctance he had adored long ago.

  "Go," he said gruffly.

  "I . . . Good-bye."

  "Good-bye, Anne."

  Spinning on her heel, her hair tangling about her shoulders, she hurried away.

  Her footsteps faded to silence. Flexing their hands, the baker and his assistant grinned. The stable's shadows seemed to darken with menace as the men stepped toward Dominic.

  Anticipation of battle, as familiar to him as his own name, surged to life in his blood. In the east, he had fought and killed more men than he could remember. 'Twould be a shame to harm these two villagers who were riled over a misunderstanding—one, regrettably, he couldn't clarify due to his mission for Geoffrey.

  With a lopsided grin, he made one last attempt to reach them. "Come now. Surely we can settle our disagreement like grown men. Shall we head to the tavern for a few pints of ale?"

  The baker spat in the straw. He drew back his arm, then launched his fist toward Dominic's face.

  Gisela unlocked the door of her tailor's shop, located on the ground floor of a two-story townhouse. When she stepped inside, the scent of cooking pottage greeted her. Her belly rumbled. With a sigh, she felt some of the tension slide from her shoulders.

  Some, but not all.

  Muffled voices reached her through the stout wall separating her shop and one-room home. She recognized the brusque but affectionate inflections of the middle-aged widow—the town midwife—who'd become a close friend and often watched over Ewan. Gisela also discerned her little boy's excited ramblings. After locking and bolting the entrance door behind her, the bread loaf under her arm, Gisela stood for a moment in the shop's shadowed silence, simply listening to the swell and lull of sound.

  Hanging on a wooden peg on the opposite wall, she discerned the form of a woolen gown she'd pinned together yester eve, a commission for the blacksmith's wife. On the long table underneath glinted the earthenware bowl in which she kept spare pins. Although she couldn't make them out in the darkness, she knew her cutting shears were there, too, along with bolts of cloth, spools of thread, and a wooden rule.

  Like the sounds of conversation inside her home, the tailoring tools were familiar, an integral part of her daily routine. They should have brought her a measure of comfort. Yet, the disquiet growing inside her didn't abate.

  Images of Dominic—the bold, controlled warrior cloaked in shadows—crowded into her mind to blend with her memories of him as a younger, tormented man. On her journey home, she'd pondered whether she'd made the right decision to leave the stable, for her shattered soul yearned to trust him, as he had asked.

  After the hellish past four months, would it be so wrong to trust at least him?

  Running away was the safest choice. It allowed her to take refuge behind the emotional tower she'd raised around her heart in order to survive. It meant she never had to see Dominic again, if she didn't wish to.

  But, she did.

  How desperately she missed him, craved the sound of his voice, yearned to be in his arms and know all that had happened to him since they had parted.

  That same, lonely part of her insisted she was a fool not to trust him. After the powerful love they had forged together—proof of which was with her every day—he was the least likely person to betray her to Ryle.

  Her mind spun with the weight of her thoughts. Worry plagued her, too, tightening her stomach into a painful knot, for she could not help but wonder what was happening to Dominic.

  'Tis all right, he had assured her, before she fled. Was he truly all right?

  The baker and blacksmith's assistant were furious with his deceptions, no doubt due to the recent thefts in Clovebury, committed, some claimed, by vagrants. Others blamed the rich merchants, such as Frenchman Varden Crenardieu, who wanted his own share of England; by encouraging his thugs to undermine the local traders, he took more and more control of the town.

  A few sennights
ago, the potter's shop was broken into, his clays ruined and his crockery smashed. The potter, a good friend of the baker's, had raged 'twould cost him a month's wages for the repairs. A good reason, mayhap, for the baker to be suspicious of a peddler who was more than he initially seemed.

  However, the men's manner had been extremely threatening.

  A shrill cry, followed by laughter, echoed from inside Gisela's house—a reminder Ewan awaited, and of the bread she'd bought for his dinner. Struggling to harness her unsettling thoughts, she crossed to the sewing table and set down the loaf. Keeping her hand closed so she didn't drop the necklace Dominic had given her—which she'd not yet had a moment to look at—she shrugged out of her cloak. She hung it on the peg outside the door that opened into her house.

  Her hand lingered on the iron doorknob. What if the men had harmed Dominic?

  What if he lay unconscious on the stable floor, bruised and bleeding?

  Gisela forced herself to exhale a calming breath as she retrieved the loaf. Angry as he might be, the baker, in all her dealings with him, seemed a fair man. Above all, Dominic was a battle-hardened fighter. A warrior who had survived crusade and achieved knighthood was more than capable of defending himself.

  She depressed the door handle. The panel swung inward, and she stepped into her home lit by candlelight and a fire in the opposite wall's stone hearth. The hearth, with its chimney disappearing into the unused floor above, was a rare feature for a commoner's home, which usually had a stone-ringed fire pit; it had convinced her to pay the extra rent, for with the fire venting outside, her fabrics would not smell of smoke.

  Moreover, the entry to the upper story had been sealed off and the stairs removed by a previous owner, so she didn't have to worry about Ewan running up or falling down the steps.

  Laughter soared in the room like bright birdsong. "Ha!" Ewan cried. "Ha!"

  Crack! At the sound of wood smacking against wood, Gisela jumped.

  "Blocked ye again, ye red-cheeked weakling!" Ada roared. While Gisela pressed the door closed with her palm, Ewan darted into view, his gaze fixed on his opponent and his cheeks flushed with excitement. His dark blond hair, unruly at the best of times, looked completely wild.