Page 8 of A Knight’s Reward

“Nay!” she croaked, twisting away so his hand dropped to her shoulder. She scrambled to her feet.

Dominic pushed up from the straw. When he moved, he felt the leather-sheathed knife, concealed in his boot, pressing against his calf. At least, if the situation turned threatening, he had a way to protect himself. And her.

Her spine rigid, hands curled into fists, Gisela hesitated several paces away. Ah, God. How he wanted her trust. To prove that, despite what she imagined, he was still very much the man she’d known long ago.

Mayhap there was a way…

Reaching to his nape, he swept aside his hair, then untied the thin strip of leather he’d worn around his neck every day since they had parted. With careful fingers, he drew the necklace from beneath his garments.

“Here.” He offered it to her, the tattered white object at the end luminous in a slant of sunlight.

She took his necklace, just as footfalls crunched on the straw. Two men rounded the mounded hay bales—the baker accompanied by the blacksmith’s assistant, whose broad shoulders and stout arms proved him a man of formidable strength. Clenched in the baker’s right hand was Dominic’s cane.

Unease rippled through Dominic. Upon seeing him, the baker’s weathered face twisted into a scowl. The blacksmith’s assistant smirked.

Dominic brushed straw from his peddler’s mantle. He did not like the looks upon the men’s faces.

The baker glanced at Gisela, who had concealed the necklace in her fist. His scowl softened, betraying his genuine affection for her. ’Twas a look a widowed man would bestow upon a comely woman he hoped to woo.

Dominic’s gut clenched.

“Are ye hale, Anne?” the baker asked her.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Gisela nodded. “I am fine. Thank you.”

“Ye do not look fine.” Thrusting an insolent hand toward Dominic, the baker said, “I saw ’im run after ye. Quite a sight, that was, seein’ ’im ’obblin’ alon’ one moment, then droppin’ ’is stick and breakin’ into a run.”

Dominic forced a good-natured chuckle. He would be wise to offer some kind of explanation, before the situation escalated into a brawl. “My good man⁠—”

The baker’s lip curled. “If I had known ye were a trickster, not a crippled peddler, ye would not ’ave got even one crumb from me.”

A guilty flush warmed Dominic’s face. “’Twas most kind of you to give me the bread to break my fast. Very generous, indeed. I will be sure to pay you for it.”

The baker snorted. “Sure ye will.” His gaze narrowed. “Ye may not be aware, fool, but ’is lordship, Geoffrey de Lanceau, does not take kindly ta thieves in ’is lands.”

A smile tugged at Dominic’s mouth. Being Geoffrey’s closest friend, he knew his lord’s opinions extremely well. Having fought beside Geoffrey on crusade, helped him recover from mortal wounds cleaved by Saracen steel, and supported his recent quest to avenge his father’s murder, Dominic vowed he knew Geoffrey better than anyone—apart from Geoffrey’s lady wife, Elizabeth.

Pride threatened to undermine Dominic’s determination not to grin. Geoffrey had many knights and men-at-arms at his command. He could have sent any of them on the crucial mission to find out who’d stolen his cloth shipment. But, he’d chosen Dominic. The decision signified tremendous faith in Dominic’s abilities—and he would not fail his friend.

Raising his hands in a gesture intended to ease the tension, Dominic looked at the baker, then the assistant. “Look, I meant no insult to you or your lord. My disguise was necessary, you see, to avoid knaves who tried to rob me earlier. If I may explain⁠—”

Spitting a coarse oath, the baker threw the cane onto the straw. It landed with a thump by Dominic’s feet.

“I had hoped to resolve this without a fight,” Dominic muttered, sensing, even as he spoke, that the situation had gone beyond a peaceful resolution.

“Please.” Gisela touched the baker’s arm. “There was no harm done. I do not wish anyone hurt.”

The baker tipped his head toward the stable doorway. “Go on, now, Anne.”

She shook her head. “Not ’til I know the disagreement is over.”

Lines of strain marked the corners of her mouth. Dominic suppressed an inner groan, for he’d never intended to cause her worry. “’Tis all right,” he said gently.

She glanced at him. A ribbon of sunlight, streaming in through a botched repair in the wall, flowed over her, wrapping her in shimmering gold. “Mayhap if you explained that you are an old… friend of mine⁠—”

Dominic doubted that would resolve the situation. Still, he gave her a reassuring smile. “I shall.” He passed her the bread she’d left atop the grain barrel. “Go, now, like the good baker said.”

Gisela sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a gesture of reluctance he had adored long ago.