Page 91 of A Knight’s Reward

With a shrill whoop fit for battle, Ada shoved the door closed and dashed forward, bowl raised. Both men turned, their eyes wide with shock.

Gisela grabbed the bowl from the table. The cool, glazed earthenware felt slick against her sweaty palms.

With a grisly clunk, Ada’s bowl connected with the bloodshot-eyed lout’s head. The pottery shattered. Bits of it dropped onto the floor while he howled and staggered sideways, reaching for his sword.

Spitting a curse, the kneeling man began to rise. Gisela sucked in a breath. Raising her arms high, she brought her bowl slamming down. Anticipating the blow, he twisted away at the last moment. The heavy earthenware smacked into his shoulder. Bone cracked. He roared in agony and cradled his wounded arm.

Gisela shuddered at the sound of the man’s pain. Remorse poked at her conscience, but she forced it aside. Qualms had no place in this fight. She would not kill the thug, only stop him from pursuing her and Ewan. Their lives—and Dominic’s—justified desperate measures.

A sharp cry drew her gaze to Ada. Before the red-eyed lout could turn his weapon on her, Ada kicked him in the groin. Shrieking, clutching his crotch, he careened into the wall and slid partway to sitting. Fisting both hands together, Ada walloped him on the head. He crumpled to the floor, his sword landing with a clang.

“Ha!” She smacked her hands together. “Got ye.”

Adjusting her grip on her still-intact bowl, Gisela snapped her gaze back to the man before her. Glaring at her, his shoulder positioned at an awkward angle, he struggled to draw his sword. Gisela lifted the earthenware high. The lout stepped back to avoid her strike, but his boot heel hit Ryle’s arm. He stumbled, at the very moment Gisela brought the bowl arcing down. With a loud crash, it connected with the man’s skull and shattered into pieces. He wavered, before falling across Ryle’s body. He lay still.

Ada grinned. “Well done!”

Gisela wiped her palms on her skirt, relief rushing through her. “Thank goodness ’tis over.”

Ewan crawled out from underneath the table, leapt up and down, and waved his sword in the air. “Mama, you are a warrior, too.”

A warrior. Aye, indeed.

“Thank you, Ewan. Now, fetch Sir Smug and your mantle. Quickly, now.” Stooping, Gisela picked fallen coins off the floor and set them back on the table with the others.

“Where are we going, Mama?”

Gisela glanced back at him. He had not budged. “You and I must leave. I want to be far from here before these men awaken.”

A smile brightened Ewan’s face. “Are we going on a journey? Like the bold knights in the chansons?”

“Aye. Now, fetch your things, so we can begin.” While she spoke, Gisela hurried to the pallet, lifted it up, and withdrew her box, as well as a jangling bag of silver—her entire savings, carefully hoarded. She stuffed the items into a cloth satchel, donned her cloak, and slung the satchel’s strap over her shoulder. She turned to check Ewan’s progress. Humming under his breath, he was shoving his arms into his outer garment. Never had he put on his mantle so fast.

As Gisela crossed to him, Ada scooped up the coins on the table. Intercepting Gisela, the older woman pushed the money into her hands. “Take this and go far from ’ere,” Ada said, her gaze earnest. “’Tis enough ta pay yer way ta the next county.”

Gisela looked down at the mound of coins. Ada was right. This silver, added to what she’d saved, would be enough to begin a new life. Nowhere near as much as Crenardieu had promised her, but enough.

In her hands, she held freedom.

As though attuned to her thoughts, Ada said, “If that Dominic cares for ye, ’e would not want ye ta be in danger, or yer son.”

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Gisela said, “His son, too.”

“’Is—” The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She glanced at Ewan, back at Gisela, and then at Ryle sprawled on the floor. “Oh!”

Gisela blinked hard, fighting to stifle her distress. “Ada, are you certain you can spare the silver?”

“Fer ye and yer sweet boy, aye.” Ada patted Gisela’s hands. The woman’s lips formed a shaky smile. “’Urry, now.”

Drawing an unsteady breath, Gisela took a last glance about her shop, her home for the past months. Her gaze settled again on Ewan, standing by the door, sword in hand and Sir Smug under his arm. He stood guard over the fallen men.

“Thank you,” Gisela whispered to Ada. “I will repay you.”

The midwife flicked her hand. “Nay, Gisela. Now, be off with ye, afore I ’ave ta wallop these louts again. And afore ye say it—or start ta think it—I will not be ’ere when that French idiot returns. ’E does not know where I live. I shall stay out of sight, and all will be well.”

“Mama, come on,” Ewan called.

Gisela dropped the silver into her bag of coins, pushed the satchel’s strap up on her shoulder again, and hurried to Ewan’s side. With a last wave to Ada, she said, “Let us begin our journey.”