Page 56 of A Knight’s Reward

A silent growl rumbled in Dominic’s chest. He would find out.

The man looked up, squinting toward Gisela’s shop. Straightening his tunic, Dominic acted as if he was merely casting a casual glance down the street. He must be very careful. Whatever he did, he mustn’t endanger Gisela.

Fighting the impulse to lunge at the man, Dominic sauntered past him and down the street. Balling his hands into fists, he focused on the crunch of dirt beneath his boots.

Mutters erupted from the group of men. Moments later, an answering crunch sounded behind Dominic.

As he’d hoped.

A grim smile curved his mouth. He walked on. The footfalls continued.

Ahead, an alley veered off the street. Dominic turned into it. A mound of wooden crates stood stacked against the side of a building.

Perfect.

Darting forward, he crouched beside the crates and pressed his back to the stone wall. The cold seeped into his clothing and bandages.

Footsteps sounded in the mouth of the alley.

“Merde,” the man said softly, then started in.

Five strides, Dominic counted. Six. Seven…

The lackey’s shadow fell upon him. Dominic leapt to his feet and threw his weight against the man. The lout’s hat fell off as they crashed together into the opposite wall. Dominic gritted his teeth against the pain jarring through his ribs.

“What—” the thug spluttered.

Dominic shoved his arm against the man’s throat. Glaring into the lout’s eyes, Dominic said, “Now, you and I will talk.”

CHAPTER 10

Crenardieu’s thug choked out a curse, spittle glistening at the corner of his mouth. He struggled in Dominic’s hold while his fingers clawed into Dominic’s tunic.

The oaf had the strength of a mad bull. ’Twould be difficult to keep him restrained for long.

Dominic blocked a kick. He snarled in the man’s face. “Why are you following me?”

The lout’s gaze narrowed. Jerking his head to one side, he wrenched sideways. Dominic knew that trick well. He’d used it himself a few times—especially in the dark streets of Venice—to escape unwelcome confrontations with thugs.

Dominic pressed his arm tighter against the man’s Adam’s apple. The lackey stiffened. Eyes wide, he flattened back against the rough stone. He swallowed, and his throat moved against Dominic’s sleeve.

“Answer me,” Dominic said between his teeth. “Why are you following me? Why are you spying on G—”—he remembered at the last moment—“Anne?”

The man’s harsh breath fanned across Dominic’s cheek. The barest glint of acquiescence shone in his eyes, before he pressed his lips together.

He spat in Dominic’s face.

The spittle landed on Dominic’s nose. “Tsk-tsk. Not very nice.” Ignoring the cooling wetness on his skin, he leaned harder against the man’s throat. “Now, I ask you again⁠—”

Stones skittered to Dominic’s right. The thug’s gaze shifted in that direction, and Dominic risked a glance. The lout’s friends might have come to his rescue.

A little peasant boy ambled into the alley after a ball. The toy bounced off the wall and rolled toward the crates. His gaze on his prize, the grubby-faced child toddled closer.

Dominic clenched his jaw.

The thug twisted. Dominic sensed the man reaching for his belt. No doubt, to draw a knife.

God’s blood.