Page 23 of A Knight’s Reward

Gisela’s mouth tightened. Did he take her for a fool? “I have never seen a dragon. Nor has anyone else I know. Do you mean to tell me such creatures with fangs and wings are real?”

An indulgent grin softened Dominic’s mouth. “Dragons come in many shapes and sizes, Gisela. Some are loud and dangerous. Others, more insidious.”

Loud, dangerous, and insidious. All of those qualities applied to Ryle.

“What I am trying to say,” he went on, his tone quiet yet intense, “is that not all dragons are fire-breathing monsters with wings and fangs. Some come in the guise of fellow men and women. Some could be better described as obstacles that keep us from what we desire most. However, they are dragons just the same.”

There was such truth to his words—which meant he, too, had encountered dragons that had scarred him. His father and stepmother. The Saracens he’d faced on the eastern battlefields. All fit his description of dragons. So did the men he’d fought today.

“What you imply, then,” she said, “is that your wounds were caused by a brush with two angry dragons.”

A wry smile tilted Dominic’s mouth. “Something like that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “The cut on your cheek was caused by a scratch from a dragon’s claw?”

“Nay, a blow from a wing, I vow,” Dominic said.

“And your hurt ribs?”

“A consequence of trying to climb up the dragon’s back. I planned to run up its scaly spine to its head and stab out its eyes, but it threw me off.”

She smiled. “A dangerous ploy.”

“I have never been afraid of a little danger.”

His words ended on a velvety huskiness that reminded her of a lazy afternoon long ago, especially the breathless moment before he’d kissed her and eased her down in the sweet-scented grass. A tingling sensation skittered across her breasts.

Quite apart from his voice’s raw sensuality, he spoke with hidden meaning. He told her, in his own way, that she could confide in him. He would help her vanquish her dragons.

A silent cry welled up inside her. How she wished she could melt into his embrace, tell him all that had happened to her and why she couldn’t trust anyone. He, of all people, deserved to know. However, she simply… could not.

Dominic’s intense gaze had not left her face. A painful sense of vulnerability—of unbearable longing for him—swept through her.

Somehow, she forced a careless grin. “Well, Sir Dominic the Mighty Dragon Slayer,” she said, “we had best take care of your wounds before they fester.”

Remorse glimmered in his eyes for a moment before he nodded.

Gisela picked up several long, linen strips. “If you remove your tunic, I will bind your ribs.”

He reached for his garment’s hem. As his hands moved, she had a sudden memory of him taking off his tunic in the meadow. He’d drawn the garment over his head and then tossed it aside, revealing the sun-bronzed planes of his torso. Dark, curly hair sprinkled across his chest. For a vivid, stunning moment, she recalled the springy texture of that hair beneath her palm and the heat of his muscled body as he lay back in the long grasses, his lop-sided grin encouraging her to explore his nakedness.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she blinked down at the table. She fiddled with the other bandages, barely seeing them, trying to force aside the tantalizing image in her mind.

Beside her came a whispering sound, followed by a gasp. “God’s blood,” Dominic groaned.

She dropped the bandages and turned to face him. His tunic bunched about his raised arms, imprisoning his movements. The lower part of his face hidden by the fabric, Dominic gazed at her with desperation.

“I am as helpless as a trussed rooster.”

An astonishing thought. She laughed.

Dominic scowled and wiggled his arms, clearly trying to shift the tight fabric. He groaned again.

“Careful! Your ribs⁠—”

He grunted like Ewan in one of his petulant moments. “You must help me.”

“Of course. Hold still.”