Page 80 of A Knight’s Reward

The woman’s mouth pursed. “Ye know I speak true.”

Gisela looked down at the marred tabletop. After her confessions earlier today, Dominic would not look at her with desire again, only bitterness and dismay.

Ada fingered the coins. “Ye may not want ta tell me what is between ye. But, if I may speak plainly, ye deserve better ‘n’ what ye ’ave in Clovebury. Take the coin. Use it ta go away from ’ere… and ’im.”

Pain, as swift and sharp as an arrow, pierced Gisela. Running now would be another betrayal of Dominic and an admission of cowardice. “’Tis a bit more complicated—” she began.

“Mama,” Ewan called.

Crash.

Gisela whirled. Ewan stood beside her pallet, his eyes huge. The lid of her special box dangled from his hand. The box’s contents lay scattered across the floor.

By his feet lay the remains of her daisy-chain necklace.

Dominic walked at a brisk pace down the inky streets. From an alley to his left came scuffling sounds, followed by the crack of splintering wood and raucous laughter. Another crack. Cheers erupted. Clovebury’s thugs were already at work, like nighttime parasites feeding off the townsfolk’s vulnerabilities.

His strides slowed. He listened, assessing the various sounds. The ruffians were either demolishing a wagon or breaking into one of the local businesses.

As de Lanceau’s loyal knight, he should investigate. Do his best to scare the criminals off. However, he’d be one man, fighting—judging by the different voices—at least four others. Did he risk confronting the ruffians when he might be injured or killed and thus would not be able to fulfill his duty to Geoffrey—or help Gisela and Ewan?

Days ago, he would have drawn his dagger and rushed into the fray. Before he reunited with Gisela and learned Ewan was his son, choices were much clearer. Now… Other responsibilities spoke louder than his battle-honed instincts.

Shutting out the continuing smashes and laughter, he continued down the street. Of primary importance, right now, was writing and sending the missive to Geoffrey.

Then, he’d try to round up a few men to help him thwart the thugs.

Strains of music and the drone of lively chatter guided him to the tavern. Despite the early hour, the door stood open and light spilled onto the dirt yard. The mingled smells of wood smoke, ale, and sweat accosted Dominic as he stepped past the men lolling half-drunk at the closest tables and wove through the standing crowd until he reached the rickety staircase. Snatching the tallow candle from the nearest table, he hurried up the stairs, entered his room, and bolted the door behind him.

The sounds of revelry from the main room crept in under the door and through the cracked panel. Ignoring the distraction, Dominic dropped down onto the straw pallet and set the candle on the floor beside him. He reached for his saddlebag and drew out his quill, ink, and parchment. Pressing the skin to the floorboards, he began to write. The quill scratched across the parchment, obliging him with deft black letters.

My dearest friend and honorable Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau,

With utmost pleasure, I write to tell you I have discovered some of your stolen silks. They were concealed in a most unexpected location. The remainder of the stolen shipment remains missing, but I am certain I have discovered the ringleader of the thieves, a Frenchman by the name of Crenardieu. I vow he can tell us where the rest of the silks can be found.

With utmost urgency, I ask that you dispatch men-at-arms to Clovebury. Tomorrow morning he will be meeting⁠—

A knock sounded on the door.

Dominic frowned at the wooden panel. “Who is there?”

“Who de ya think, luv?” cooed a female voice.

The barmaid.

Dominic smothered an oath. Not only had she rushed to fulfill Crenardieu’s every demand last evening, she’d made her interest in Dominic blatantly clear. He’d refused. However, she must have seen him arrive and decided to pursue him again.

Nails scratched on the door. “Are ye not goin’ ta open up?”

Shaking his head, he shoved to his feet. He could hardly finish his missive with her making such a cacophony. He drew open the panel, holding it firm with one hand while he leaned the other on the rough-hewn embrasure.

The woman stood in the shadowed hallway, holding a tray bearing three ale mugs. Her brown-eyed gaze glided over him with undisguised lust. “What ye doin’ all alone in there?” Her gaze fixed on his right hand. Glancing over, he saw black ink stained his thumb and forefinger. Luckily the scrap of blue silk, still tied around his wrist for safekeeping, had slid down out of sight.

He winked at her. “You found me out.”

Her eyes brightened with mischievous delight. “Did I?”

“I am writing my lover a bawdy letter.”