Page 99 of A Knight’s Reward

“What do you know of Dominic?”

He is the father of my son. The man I will love until the day I die. “He is in danger.”

“How do you know?”

She glanced about. Shadows loomed like monsters, waiting to lunge. From behind her came the creak of the wagon. She sensed Ewan’s gaze upon her and knew he peered over the wagon’s side, watching all that transpired.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “What I have to say must be relayed to Lord de Lanceau. In private.”

“She is a stubborn wench,” another man groused.

“What might she know about Dominic?” the first voice said, sounding concerned. “Mayhap she speaks true.”

Frustration churned inside her, making her stomach gurgle. “Every moment you delay is a moment lost. Please! Dominic may… die.” Her voice cracked with the agony of that word.

Weariness and the strain of the night’s events brought a rush of scalding tears. “Nay,” she said under her breath, fingering away the tears. “I will not cry. I will not!”

A small, warm hand caught hold of hers. Ewan stood beside her, holding his toy sword. “I love you, Mama.”

A sob stuck in her throat. “Button.”

Her little boy scowled at the castle. “Those men will let you in. I will break down the drawbridge. Just watch me⁠—”

“Thank you, Ewan. ’Tis a very gallant offer, but⁠—”

A metallic squeal erupted from the keep. A moment later, the drawbridge began to lower.

Relief almost knocked Gisela to her knees.

Ewan dashed forward, pulling her along after him. “Hurry, Mama.” Looking back at her, his eyes bright, he whispered, “We are going inside a keep.”

“I… ah… will await ye here,” the baker called after them.

Gisela beckoned to him. “Come on.”

Bowing his head, the baker mumbled what sounded like a frantic prayer. With a reluctant flick of the reins, he urged the horse onward.

Gisela tripped on a half-buried rock, caught her balance, and matched Ewan’s stride. The scents of old stone and water wafted from ahead, a reminder of how very near she was to facing de Lanceau.

Suppressing a shudder, she stood with Ewan in the shadow of the keep and watched the drawbridge lower to the dirt bank. Boots rapped on the wooden planks as four men-at-arms strode out to meet them.

The leader, a young man with corn-silk blond hair, gave her an assessing glance-over. He held a primed crossbow. From his expression, she didn’t doubt he knew how to use the weapon.

“You may enter,” he said, gesturing to the darkness beneath the gatehouse. His voice revealed him as the man who had questioned her from the battlements.

Gisela nodded and, holding tight to Ewan’s hand, stepped onto the drawbridge. Moments later, she heard the clip-clop of hooves and rumble of wagon wheels as the baker followed.

Ewan glanced to and fro, his mouth open in awe, while they walked under the teeth of the portcullis into the gatehouse’s dank shadows and on into the torch-lit bailey. “Mama,” he whispered. “There are many warriors here.”

Indeed, there were. All watching her and Ewan. When Gisela murmured, “Aye,” the blond man glanced at her. His mouth curved into a faint smile.

After handing his crossbow to another guard, he escorted them into the keep’s enclosed forebuilding, up the stone stairs, and into the great hall. At the top of the steps, Gisela hesitated, the expansive, shadowed hall more imposing than she’d ever imagined.

Across the room, a low fire flickered in the hearth far larger than the one in her home. Men, women, and children—the castle’s servants—slept on pallets on the rush-strewn floor; where she and Ewan would sleep, if they lived at the keep. Soft snores carried, along with the restless stirring of dogs. When Gisela and Ewan started down the space between the pallets, mongrels dozing between the warm bodies pricked up their ears and watched them.

The blond man started up a flight of wooden stairs leading to an upper level. His boots made a dull thud on the planks.

“Mama,” Ewan whispered, “where are we going?”