Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  "You must tell me."

  Dominic's voice, taut with emotion, forced her gaze back to him. The angles of his cheekbones looked harsher, all teasing boyishness gone from his expression. A steely tension surrounded him. He would look this way in the moments before he charged into battle.

  Looking back at the table, she picked up a clean bandage and dried her fingers. She struggled to deny the command in his stare. Refusing him was akin to denying the sun's warmth. Impossible.

  Their gazes locked. Such resolve gleamed in his brown eyes. His desire for answers obviously consumed him.

  A similar consuming heat, rooted in the love they'd once shared, bloomed within her. Gisela struggled to smother it, to quell the other emotions taking root—longing, desire, and regret. She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue and set aside the bandage, while fighting to bolster the courage that had kept her and Ewan alive. "Dominic, please, I cannot—"

  "Who has wounded you so?" His tone almost a growl, he said, "Who, Gisela? Your lover?"

  Tears burned her eyes. "I have no lover." I have loved no man, Dominic, but you.

  His gaze sharpened to a piercing stare. "Your husband?"

  She had anticipated the question. Still, a gasp jammed in her throat. The room blurred around her. Her fingers skidded blindly over the table, seeking hold, finally clamping to the edge of the scarred but serviceable oak. A wheezing sound broke from her.

  The bench creaked. Before she could wave him away, Dominic stood beside her. His hands pressed to her shoulders.

  "Gisela," he whispered. Such fury crackled in his voice. It turned her innards as cold as a bleak winter night.

  The heat of his palms warmed her through the gown and shift she wore underneath. His touch thawed some of the numbness inside her, threatening to melt it. Oh, God. If only she could accept the comfort he offered.

  "You fear your husband," Dominic said quietly, as if he needed her to confirm what she'd unintentionally revealed.

  Deny the truth, part of her shrilled. Do what you must—say what you must—to keep Dominic from knowing about Ryle. However, Dominic's touch, offering trust and compassion, held a coaxing persuasion all its own.

  "I call no man 'husband,'" she bit out. "Not anymore."

  "What happened?" he whispered.

  Misery, anger, and shame tangled up inside her. She fought a sob.

  Dominic spat an oath. He gently massaged her shoulders; he must have felt the tension cinching her muscles into knots. "Tell me what he did to you, Sweet Daisy."

  Nay!

  Gisela twisted in his hold. His hands fell from her shoulders, and his arms dropped to his sides. He did not, however, step away.

  Her bottom pressed against the table's edge, she faced him now. Her gaze met the swell of his bandaged chest. His masculine scent rose from his skin, tempting her with memories of lying naked beneath him, of the mingled fragrance of their bodies when they'd made love.

  Fisting her trembling hands, she looked up at him.

  He didn't scowl or quirk a domineering eyebrow. Nor did his gaze sharpen with command. He stood absolutely still, his silence more powerful than words, for he clearly believed he had a right to stand so close. Long ago, with the meadow grass beneath them, the wildflowers watching over them, the sun streaming down upon them, he'd become integral to her existence. As vital as rainwater to a daisy.

  "Gisela," he coaxed.

  His breath warmed her brow. She fought for emotional detachment. For the safety of distance. Forcing out the words, she said, "I cannot."

  Dominic's gaze darkened. "Do you fear he will know what you have told me? I will never betray you."

  She hated the bitter words burning her tongue. But, she had to force Dominic away, to quell the dangerous emotion into submission, before it crested beyond her control. She'd rather die than give Ryle the opportunity to kill Dominic. "What is between my former husband and me is not your affair."

  Instead of recoiling in anger, an indulgent smile spread across Dominic's face. "Aye, Sweet Daisy, 'tis. Ever since I laid eyes upon you in the market."

  Why? You belong to another woman. I mean naught to you. Throwing up her hands, she cried, "You cannot help me!"

  "How can you be certain? I know Geoffrey very well. Mayhap he can intervene."

  "Nay! Ry—H-he . . . is a very dangerous man. His temper—"

  "Is he the cause of your fear? How, Sweet Daisy, did he show you this fearsome temper?"

  She looked away. How her disfigured breast ached. The pain cut into her with the bite of a dagger. She longed to press her fingers over the scar, to ease the discomfort, but 'twould only rouse Dominic's suspicions further.

  Her gaze fell to the side table beside her pallet. His necklace lay there, the bit of embroidered linen very white against the oak. She had no right to keep his memento. Brushing past him, she crossed to the table, collected the necklace, and handed it to him.

  With a wry glance down at his bandages, he said, "Will you put it on for me?"

  "Of course." Stepping behind him, she fastened the jewelry. Her fingers brushed his tangled hair spilling over his broad shoulders. Magnificent shoulders that bespoke years of physical training required of a knight. Would he notice if she lingered, just for a moment, and appreciated his beauty?

  Gisela, do not be foolish!

  He turned to face her, his fingers touching the ragged scrap that brushed the edge of his bandages. "I have missed my necklace. It seemed as though part of me were missing."

  Do not say such lovely things. Blinking away the threat of tears, she said, "I am astonished you kept it all these years."

  He smiled. "Your token brought me luck in battle." His tone softening, he added, "I am certain it brought me back to you."

  Oh, Dominic!

  Before she realized his intent, he touched her cheek, a caress so exquisitely tender, she wanted to weep. "Be honest with me, Gisela. Are you afraid to speak to me because your former husband knows where you live? You fear that if he learns you confided in me, he will be angry with you? That he will come here to confront you?"

  How dangerously close Dominic came to the truth. While she could never tell him the truth, she refused to let him believe Ryle lived nearby and she was too weak to try and elude his influence. "He does not live in Clovebury. Neither does he know where I live." Her voice hardened. "He will never know."

  A curious light warmed Dominic's eyes. "With every word, Gisela, I grow more and more intrigued."

  Fear tingled in her veins like shards of ice. She'd said too much. He owed his allegiance to de Lanceau, who, if he knew she'd fled from Ryle, could well order her returned to her husband. 'Twas the law.

  "Please. No more questions." She turned away, forcing his hand to drop from her cheek.

  Before she took two steps, he said very quietly, "You ran away."

  Gisela swallowed, the sound impossibly loud. Panic shrieked inside her. She froze, her mind scrambling for a reasonable explanation to undermine Dominic's words. But, when she glanced back at him, she saw acknowledgment in his gaze. He knew he'd guessed correctly.

  Oh, God!

  Through a haze of shock, she heard her shop door open. Footfalls pounded on the planks.

  Exhaling a sharp breath, Dominic glanced toward the inner door.

  Ewan rushed into the house, his hood askew. He held up an earthenware pot. "Mama! Ada gave me some honey."

  "What a wonderful treat," Gisela said. She glanced at Ada, plodding through the open doorway, wiping sweat from her brow. "I wanted to buy some this week, but after the farmer raised the price on his cabbages—"

  The older woman waved a hand. "Ye do not 'ave ta explain. I like ta make this young 'un smile."

  Ada's grin was so infectious, Gisela smiled back. She hoped her little boy did not sense her strain. Looking back at him, she said gently, "Did you say thank you?"

  Ewan swung to face Ada. "Thank you."

  "Ye are most welcome, little knight."

  Gisela
cast Dominic a sidelong glance. A taut smile curved his mouth before he picked up his tunic. Ada's narrowed gaze skimmed over his bare back, lingering where the muscles rippled at the edge of the linen strips. The bandages looked flimsy, somehow, compared to his strength.

  Gisela forced down an offer to help him with the tunic. Dominic didn't want Ewan to perceive him as weak. Unless Dominic asked for assistance, she'd let him don the garment on his own.

  Scampering over, Ewan thrust the pot at Gisela. "May I have some honey on a slice of bread? Please?"

  "Aye, in the morn, to break your fast."

  "Aw! Can I have some now?"

  Gisela tousled his hair, much in need of a cut. Tomorrow, if she could convince him to sit still long enough, she might trim his locks. "Did you not just eat some pottage?"

  "Aye, but . . ." His lower lip stuck out. "I am still hungry."

  Despite the strain still humming inside her, Gisela chuckled.

  "He is a growing lad," Dominic said while easing the tunic over his head. Gesturing to his untouched bowl of pottage on the table, he said, "One reason why I did not eat the portion Ada gave me. 'Twas a kind offer, but I am already a grown knight. I would rather Ewan ate it."

  The little boy grimaced. "I hate pottage."

  Dominic winked. "'Twill help you grow into a big, strong warrior."

  Ewan's little chest puffed out. "I am a warrior. One day, I will be a knight."

  Smoothing a hand over his tunic-clad chest, Dominic paused.

  Gisela sensed his astonished glance in her direction. He no doubt wondered how Ewan aspired to be a knight when he wasn't of the privileged class.

  Oh, but he did have noble blood.

  Sadness threatened to snatch away Gisela's smile. Refusing to look at Dominic, she rubbed Ewan's shoulder. "I will fetch your bread. Why do you not remove your mantle and hang it back on the peg by the door?"

  Ewan thrust the honey pot into her hands. Gisela strolled past the trestle table toward the smaller, oak table where she prepared food. Beside it stood a battered cupboard, standing on four squat legs, where she stored vegetables and salted meats. Dominic's gaze followed her—she felt his stare so intensely—but she resisted the temptation to look back at him.

  When she cleared the trestle table, an object on the floor ahead caught her gaze: Ewan's toy sword. Adorning the grip was the scrap of blue silk she'd given him the other day.

  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."
<
br />   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 linked together daisy stems to make her a necklace. She still had that fragile, delicate daisy chain in her box of treasures.