Page 42 of A Knight’s Reward

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.”