Page 98 of A Knight’s Reward

They passed a stand of trees, standing like silent guards beside the road, and then a stretch of field dotted with slumbering sheep. Stones rattled under the wagon’s wheels as they took the road toward the castle.

Square and imposing, Branton Keep loomed ahead. Moonlight swept over the fortress, lighting sections of the thick stone walls while hiding others. A moat surrounding the castle glistened a cold, steel gray.

Shouts echoed into the night. The guards at the gatehouse had noted their approach.

The baker moaned and shook his head. “’Twill be the coldest, darkest dungeon cell fer me. I am certain of it. Once de Lanceau ’ears ’ow I ’it ’is spy⁠—”

Gisela smothered a sigh. “At this moment, finding Dominic is far more important.”

“Aye, true. But⁠—”

“There is no need to mention the fight in the stable.”

“Aye, but⁠—”

God above! “If the matter arises, I will say you mistook Dominic for one of the thugs responsible for the break-ins in Clovebury. Moreover, I will insist how very noble you were to drive the roads at night. Being a man of honor, loyal to your lord, you understood the urgency of my plea tonight and did not hesitate to help. Especially when you learned Dominic’s life could be in jeopardy.”

“Oh.” He pushed back his shoulders, pride now in the tilt of his head. He sat straighter on the wagon’s front seat. After a few silent moments, he glanced back at her, worry again creasing his brow. “Do ye think ’e will believe ye?”

Gisela shrugged aside a twinge of doubt. She smiled. “From all I have heard, de Lanceau is a reasonable man. He will appreciate what you have done for Dominic.”

Shouts carried from the keep’s battlements. Men were relaying orders. Moving figures dotted the wall walk now. Archers, most likely, aiming their bows and arrows at them.

The enormity of what she must do pressed down upon Gisela, as tangible as Ewan’s sleeping weight upon her legs. Anxiety threatened to rip her confidence into tiny, irreparable shreds.

Yet, what she was about to do was right. She must focus on her conviction, not her unease.

“Halt!” a man’s voice boomed into the night.

The baker muttered worried words and slowed the wagon. It ground to a stop a short walk from the edge of the moat.

Gisela sensed the suspicious stares of the sentries in the gatehouse, as well as the men on the battlements. Her pulse thundered against her ribs, but with gentle hands, she moved Ewan off her lap to lie in the wagon bed.

“Mama?” He rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“I love you,” she whispered, kissing his brow. Blinking away tears, she stood.

“Who goes there?” the voice boomed again.

“I… I am but a… a s-simple man from C-Clovebury,” the baker said.

Gisela braced her hands on the wagon’s wooden side, sat for a moment on the makeshift ledge, and slid down to the ground. Mutters rippled through the darkness above. Holding her head high, she called, “I am Gisela Anne Balewyne. I must speak with Lord de Lanceau.”

More muttering.

“You are a noblewoman?” the voice asked. “An acquaintance of his lordship?”

“Nay, a tailor from Clovebury.”

A curse echoed, followed by disbelieving laughter. “A commoner, then?”

As humble as a daisy growing in the hedgerow. “Aye,” she said.

“Lord de Lanceau is abed.” The speaker sounded annoyed. “Return in the morning.”

Gisela drew a nervous breath. She had expected such a response. Looking up at the battlements near the gatehouse—where the voice originated—she said, “I am here on an important matter. It concerns Dominic de Terre.”

Shocked mutters this time.