Page 41 of A Knight’s Reward

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.