She struggled to free her arm, vaguely aware of her son running from the table. With an irritated grunt, Ryle tightened his hold.
“Ryle!” she gasped again. “Stop.”
“Ewan,” Ada said, sounding worried. “Do not—”
“Let go of Mama!” Ewan yelled.
Ryle laughed. Still holding her arm, he turned in profile to face her little boy. Ewan stood with his sword raised, ready to attack.
Gisela drew a shaky breath. Oh, Button. Did he hope to save her from Ryle? She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes.
“Look at you,” Ryle sneered.
The boy’s fingers tightened on the sword. “Let go of her.”
“Ewan!” Ada called, clearly trying to draw his attention.
The boy shook his head. “He is hurting Mama. I will not let him.”
“You will stop me?” Ryle laughed. “You are not even four years old.”
Scowling, Ewan said, “I am a little warrior.”
“Little warrior,” Ryle mocked. “Did your mother call you that?”
“Leave him alone!” Gisela choked out.
“Did your mama fill your head with stupid notions of being a knight?”
“Nay, not Mama,” Ewan said. “Dominic.”
Ryle’s face whitened. His mouth compressed into a line before his face turned scarlet. “Dominic!”
“He fought on crusade. He went into battle with King Richard. He knows all about being a warrior knight—”
Fear seized Gisela’s heart. “Ewan—!”
Before the cry left her lips, Ryle struck out. His fist flew toward her son.
“Nay!” she screamed, struggling to get free.
A grisly thud echoed.
Ryle howled. “Little whoreson!” His face contorted into a pained grimace, and he shook out his arm.
Stepping back, Ewan raised his sword again. Pride glowed in his eyes.
“Ewan,” Ada said, pulling at him. “Come over ’ere, now, with me—”
Ryle’s hand flexed. He was going to lash out again at Ewan. Harder and faster than before.
Gisela’s gaze flew to the table. The bowl.
Holding her breath, she waited.
The very instant he moved, she jerked back on her arm. He lost his grip, and she broke free. Snarling like a beast, Ryle glanced at her, but she threw her weight against him, shoving him off balance.
He stumbled sideways.