Page 88 of A Knight’s Reward

Fight, Gisela! For your son. For Dominic.

Forcing words through her wooden lips, she said, “I did.”

Ryle’s chuckle faded. His shoulders stiffened. Gisela sensed anger pouring from him, but still, he didn’t turn and face her.

“You should not have run away,” he said.

She shuddered at the whipping lash of his words.

“I warned you,” he said, too quietly. “I told you what would happen.”

“Father,” Ewan said, shoving off the bench beside her.

Alarm jarred her into motion. “Nay⁠—”

Ryle whipped around, his eyes flashing. Thrusting a finger at Ewan, he roared, “Do not speak to me!”

Ewan recoiled. His little body lurched back into Gisela. Confusion and fear clouded his face.

Ryle’s mouth twisted on a sneer. “Sit.”

Ewan scrambled back onto the bench. A sob broke from him. Clucking her tongue, Ada put her arms around him again.

Warning bubbled inside Gisela, urging her to watch her words. Yet, months of worry, living in hiding, and scrounging to make ends meet converged into one, powerful spirit that refused to stay silent. “Never speak to Ewan that way again.”

Ryle’s head jerked. His sharp gaze fixed on her, bored into her, with enmity. “Why in hellfire not? He is my son.”

He is not. He is Dominic’s son, as you well know! However, she could not say that aloud. Ewan did not yet know.

“No child deserves to be treated in such a manner.”

“A child should be taught what is right, and what is wrong,” Ryle said with an ugly smile. “Just like a wife.”

Oh, God. Oh, God.

She clenched her fists, her mind whirling for a distraction. “What do you want, Ryle? Why did you come here?” Good. Keep him talking. Keep him occupied.

His smile did not falter. “I want what is mine.” His gaze traveled down over her worn gown.

“I have never been yours.” How she meant those words, voiced from the very depths of her soul.

“You are, Gisela.” Ryle leaned forward as he spoke, looming like a dragon preparing to exhale flames. His breath reeked of liquor. “You fooled the people of this town by hiding behind the name Anne, but you are the woman I married. The priest declared us man and wife. Remember? You belong to me.”

Belong. Like a garment, or a shoe, or some other possession.

“You will come home, Gisela.” He reached for her, his broad fingers splayed to close around her arm.

She lurched backward, bumping into the end of the bench, almost keeling over. “I will never return with you. Never!”

“You will!” Ryle grabbed for her again.

“Stop!” Ewan shrieked, leaping to his feet. Tears ran down his face. “Do not shout at Mama.”

Ryle shoved a dismissive hand at him, ordering him to be silent. His boots creaked as he lunged again. His fingers clamped around Gisela’s wrist in a bruising grip.

She gasped. His harsh fingers felt like a manacle. Pain and panic spiraled from the place he grasped, flooding through her in a punishing wave. A vision of him raising his arm and striking her a fierce blow across the side of her face flashed through her mind.

If he struck her unconscious—as he had before—she couldn’t protect Ewan.