Authors: Catherine Kean
“Hello again,” he murmured.
“Dominic.”
With a slight flinch—no doubt because his ribs still hurt—he lifted up the bag. “I hope you have not eaten. I brought enough fare to feed the king’s army”—he winked—”and their hungry hounds.”
Gisela bit her bottom lip. She should protest his kindness. If she accepted his generous offer, she became indebted to him, and she couldn’t afford to repay him for the food.
Thrusting up a hand, Dominic shook his head. “I know what you are thinking. Please, do not refuse my gift. ’Tis freely offered, with no demands or persuasions.”
How well he still knew her. She couldn’t hold back a little laugh.
Oh, the fare smelled heavenly. And ’twould be so much nicer than eating the hard, day-old bread.
Gisela motioned him inside.
He brushed past her into the unlit shop, bringing with him the mouthwatering scents. She pushed the door shut, secured it, and inhaled deeply once again.
“Do not linger, Gisela,” Dominic called over his shoulder while he strode toward her home. “The food will be cold before you get to it.”
She shook her head. How deftly he took control of the situation.
As he still had a hold on her heart.
Before she took two steps, the door to her home crashed open. Ewan appeared in the embrasure, his toy sword clutched in his hands. Feet planted apart, his weapon poised to attack, he yelled, “Who goes there?”
Her hand over her pounding heart, Gisela said, “Button, you know ’tis Dominic.”
Dominic raised his hand, curtailing her protest. “’Tis I, Sir Dominic.” Not a trace of mockery underscored his words.
“Sir Dominic who?” Ewan shouted.
“Dominic de Terre, sworn knight of King Richard.”
“Hmm,” the little boy said, sounding highly suspicious. Adjusting his hold on his sword, he said, “Come into the light, where I can see you better.”
“As you command,” Dominic replied.
Gisela rolled her eyes. “Ewan, stop being silly. You know Dominic. These dramatics are unnecessary.”
“On the contrary. He is protecting his home and a lovely maiden,” Dominic said, halting in the swath of light spilling into the shadowed shop. “Do you accept me, little warrior?”
Ewan squished up his nose. “We-elll—”
“Let me in, and you may have two custard tarts.”
“Custard tarts?” The boy beamed. “Two?”
“Aye. As well as sausage pastries.”
Ewan immediately lowered his sword. “Come in, Sir Dominic.”
“Why, thank you, little warrior.”
“On one condition,” Ewan said, holding up a finger.
“Hmm?”
“You must tell me your story. The one—”
“About the dragon and the maiden.” Dominic laughed. “Agreed.”
With an earsplitting whoop, Ewan scampered away, swishing his sword to and fro.
“I hope you will keep your promise,” Gisela murmured. “Otherwise, he will be a very unhappy little boy.”
“I will keep my promise,” Dominic said, entering her house. He headed to the table, set down the sack, and began to unload the contents—as though he belonged in her home.
Shrugging aside a peculiar tingle, Gisela closed the door and strolled to the table, her gaze upon the cloth-wrapped packages.
After tossing his sword on his pallet, Ewan hurried toward the food. “What did you bring? Where are the custard tarts?”
“Here, I believe.” With a flourish, Dominic drew apart the edges of the cloth. “There you are, my sweeties.” He picked up a larger package and opened it. “Chicken, freshly roasted.” Another package emerged from the sack. “Fresh bread from the baker’s oven.”
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
.
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.