A Knight's Reward (30 page)

“Beaten!” Anger glinted in de Lanceau’s eyes. “By whom?”

“Varden Crenardieu’s men.” She moistened her dry lips. “He is a wealthy merchant who controls our town, Clovebury. He is responsible for . . . He stole your cloth shipment.”

De Lanceau’s gaze sharpened. He glanced at Aldwin, then back at her.

“Dominic confided in me about his mission to find the silks,” she went on. “He discovered Crenardieu’s treachery and tried to send you a missive yester eve, but they found out and captured him.”

“God’s blood.” De Lanceau sounded furious and worried. “You know this man, Crenardieu?”

“Aye.” Her stomach tightened. She braced herself to reveal her involvement. “He and his lackeys often visited my tailor’s shop. I must confess, milord, I—”

“Mama,” Ewan piped up, “tell how you bashed that thug over the head.”

She gasped. “Ewan.”

Holding a wooden soldier in each hand, the little boy whacked them together. “
Crash!
The bowl smashed into lots of pieces. Just like when you hit Father.”

De Lanceau’s eyebrows raised. He clearly expected her to explain.

Gisela bit back a groan. Not only had she spoken like a dimwit earlier, now he thought her a bowl-smashing madwoman. Pressing a hand to her brow, she said, “Milord, I assure you, I had reason for my actions. You see, I—”

“Geoffrey?” A feminine voice and the whisper of silk carried from the doorway. A young woman, her belly rounded with child, hurried into the chamber as she smoothed the sleeves of her embroidered green gown. Left unbound, her black hair cascaded in glossy curls to the small of her back. “What is the news of Dominic?”

Gisela dropped to her knees again, pulling her little boy over beside her. “Milady.” She sensed the woman’s gaze traveling over them.

“Elizabeth,” de Lanceau said, “this is Dominic’s Gisela.”

“I see.” From the woman’s voice, she had heard of Gisela before, too. “This is your son, Gisela?”

“Aye. He is named Ewan.” She dared to raise her gaze. “Please, milord, do not think me impertinent, but I am not ‘Dominic’s Gisela.’”

The lady was smiling. A warm, knowing smile. Curiosity swirled up inside Gisela like a hundred tossed petals. The lady did not look upon her as though she were a deceitful thief. What, exactly, did Lady Elizabeth know about Gisela?

“She was just telling me about Dominic,” de Lanceau said.

“Good.” Standing at his side, Lady Elizabeth ran a hand over her bodice. “I will listen, too.”

His lordship frowned. “This matter is not of your concern.” His expression softened a fraction as he pressed a tender hand to her belly. “You look weary, damsel. Why do you not return to bed? In the morning, I will—”

“Not tell me a thing,” she said, with a defiant jut of her chin. “I will stay. Dominic is a dear friend of mine, as well.”

De Lanceau scowled. A flush darkened his cheekbones. “Elizabeth.”

She smiled most sweetly. “Geoffrey.”

The two stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Uncertain quite what to say or do, Gisela rose to her feet, then glanced down at Ewan. He sat in the midst of the toys, looking wide-eyed at his lord and ladyship.

“Mama,” he whispered. “I hope she does not hit him with a bowl.”

De Lanceau laughed.

Lady Elizabeth exhaled on a chuckle. “What?”

Grinning, his lordship said, “Ewan told me his mother bashed two men over the head with bowls.”

“I see.” Admiration glowed in the lady’s eyes. Slanting her husband a wry look, she said, “Was she trying to knock some sense into them?”

Gisela blushed. “Oh, nay! You misunderstand. I—”

“You had best tell us all,” de Lanceau said, and his lady wife nodded. “Start from the very beginning of your tale, Gisela. Be sure to reveal all you know of Dominic’s predicament.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Mama, you must eat some bread.” Ewan stuffed more of the grainy loaf into his mouth while he spoke. “’Tis delicious.”

“Mmm,” Gisela said, picking at the wondrously soft, fresh bread before her. She should try to break her fast, but her stomach still clenched with nerves.

She and her little boy sat in the great hall, cleared of the sleeping servants. The pallets on the floor were gone, replaced by trestle tables arranged in rows. Servants hurried about the hall, some adding logs to the blaze in the hearth, others delivering wooden boards of bread and jugs of ale to the tables. A wolfhound sat at Ewan’s elbow, watching every morsel that went into his mouth.

The frantic activity began after she finished telling Lord and Lady de Lanceau her tale. Gisela had relayed the events in detail, including her involvement with the stolen silks. Holding de Lanceau’s gaze and confessing her deceptions was difficult. However, at the same time, a tremendous weight had lifted from her conscience.

She withheld naught. Naught, that is, except Ryle’s slashing of her breast. While Ewan knew she was unwell months ago, she had never shown him the wound or told him of it, and she still preferred to spare him the grim truth. Neither did she reveal that Ewan was Dominic’s son. Until she and Dominic were able to tell the little boy themselves, she reserved the news to share with de Lanceau in private.

As soon as she finished, de Lanceau turned to Aldwin. “Rouse the servants. Rally the men-at-arms. Tell them to break their fast and prepare to ride.”

“Aye, milord.” Aldwin strode away.

His gaze returning to her, de Lanceau said, “You have given me much to consider, Gisela, including your role in what has happened.”

“I do not deny my guilt,” she said quietly. “I will accept whatever punishment you wish, milord. Please, I ask only that you . . . that Ewan is well cared for.”

If necessary, she would fall to the floor and beg him to keep her son at Branton Keep. Her little boy would fit in among the servants. Now and again, she might be allowed to see him. To still be part of his growing up, even if their lives must be separate.

As though attuned to her desolation, the lady’s face shadowed with sorrow.

De Lanceau’s mouth flattened. “We will speak again, Gisela.” He nodded to his lady wife and walked out of the room.

Fighting to hold back her tears, Gisela smiled down at her son, standing at her side, holding tight to the embroidered dragon.

“Mama,” he whispered. “What will happen to you? What about me?”

“Well . . .” How did she tell him they might be separated? Pressing her hands over her heart, Gisela tried to quell the ache threatening to destroy the last of her composure.

“You must both be hungry,” Lady Elizabeth said, “and weary after your journey. Come with me to the great hall, and I will have one of the servants bring you some fare.”

Ewan’s face brightened. “I am starved.”

The lady smiled. “I imagine a growing boy like you is always hungry, just like my Edouard.” Turning with an elegant swish of her gown, she said, “Follow me.”

Gisela carefully took the dragon from Ewan, set it back on the oak chest, and then led him out of the chamber.

At an insistent tap on her hand, Gisela blinked. “Mama, you are not listening.”

The memory of heading down to the hall dissipated, and Gisela was aware again of the servants rushing around the tables, the excited chatter, and the tang of a recently stoked fire. Men-at-arms tromped into the hall, many wearing chain-mail armor. Talking among themselves, they sat on benches along the tables.

“Look at Lord de Lanceau, Mama.”

Gisela glanced in the direction her son pointed. His lordship stood before the raised dais, on which rested the dining table reserved for him, his family, and their noble guests. He was speaking with Lady Elizabeth, who offered him a goblet of wine. A chain-mail hauberk draped to his knees. A broadsword hung by his side, while he carried an iron helm tucked under his arm. Sipping his wine, nodding as his wife spoke, he looked every bit the ruler of an important castle.

De Lanceau handed back the wine goblet. The lady touched his arm, but he shook his head. Gisela fought a jolt of misgiving. Something in his expression . . .

He glanced her way.

When he started toward her, dread cinched her innards.

She forced herself to calm. Now was not the time to succumb to despair. Whatever punishment he meted out for her crimes, she would accept it with courage and dignity. She must be a good example for her son, in the few free moments she might have left with him.

Gisela bowed her head. “Milord.”

De Lanceau halted before their table, his wife strolling close behind. When he frowned down at her, Gisela shivered.

“What is wrong with the bread?” he asked.

“Naught, milord. ’Tis very good. I . . . am not hungry.”

He nodded, as though he understood perfectly the emotions roiling inside her. She swallowed again, wishing desperately that whatever he had to say, he would say it quickly and be done with it.

Tension lined his mouth. “My men and I leave for Clovebury shortly. You will stay here, until my return.”

As she’d expected, he ordered her to remain at the keep, likely under armed guard. Mayhap even in a dungeon cell. Even as his judgment settled in her mind, the sense of rightness burned within her again. She could
not
stay here, imprisoned within Branton Keep’s walls, while Dominic’s life was threatened.

For the love they’d once shared, for all that he meant to her, she must be brave enough to voice what was in her heart.

Drawing a fortifying breath, she looked up at de Lanceau. “I respect your decision, milord, and vow to abide by it . . . upon my return to the keep.”

His eyes flared. “Return—?”

“Aye, milord. You see, I must come with you.”

“God’s blood!”

Fear fluttered beneath her determination, like a butterfly trapped under ice. She didn’t intend to sound disloyal or insolent. She had to make him understand. “I know Clovebury’s streets,” she said quickly. “I know Crenardieu.”

De Lanceau’s lips tautened.

“Geoffrey—” The lady again placed a hand upon his arm.

He thrust up his palm, a clear refusal of his wife’s protests. “I will not be distracted by fear for Gisela’s safety. The situation could be extremely dangerous.”

“I am aware of the dangers,” Gisela said. “Yet, I cannot sit idle while Dominic may be suffering. I am to blame for what happened to him.”

“Mama.” Ewan snatched up his wooden sword lying on the table. “I want to come, too.”

“Nay, Button,” she said gently. “You must stay here, because”—
I could not bear for aught to happen to you
—”you are needed to help protect the castle.”

Doubt shadowed his eyes.

“’Tis an excellent plan,” Lady Elizabeth said with a smile. “You can patrol the battlements with the other guards.”

Ewan’s eyes grew huge. “Really?”

De Lanceau sighed. “Damsel!”

Gisela sensed her opportunity slipping away. Never must she lose her chance to save Dominic. She rose from the bench, then dropped to her knees on the rushes by de Lanceau’s boots, her drab gown pooling around her.

“Please. I beg you. Let me journey with you.”

“Gisela—”

“I love him.”

De Lanceau stood motionless. “What did you say?”

“I love him. Very much.” Her tone roughened with anguish. “I have not yet told him.”

De Lanceau was silent a moment. “By law, you are wed to another. But, you love Dominic?”

Another confession she must make, but she’d not let de Lanceau believe she had any loyalty to Ryle. “Aye, milord, I married because I had no other choice. However, I call no man husband now, and for good reason.”

“Indeed?”

Gisela met his keen gaze, hoping he’d realize she couldn’t divulge more with Ewan nearby. “I will be glad to tell you all, when we return.”

His expression sober, thoughtful, he studied her.

“Let me go with you. Please, milord.”

“Gisela, you remind me of my lady wife,” he said softly. “She is equally as stubborn.”

Lady Elizabeth chuckled, a throaty sound rich with love. Leaning forward, she kissed her husband’s cheek.

Gisela pushed to her feet, hope surging inside her. “Milord, do you mean . . .”

De Lanceau’s mouth ticked up at one corner. His gaze slid to Ewan, then back to her. “My men and I will await you in the bailey. Do not be long.”

***

“’E looks pretty calm fer a man who’s goin’ ta die.”

Despite his black eye, Dominic glared at the two louts who rode ahead of him carrying burning reed torches to light their route. Glancing back over their shoulders, the men spoke of him as though he were as deaf as a tree. The number of times they’d beaten him over the past night, mayhap he should be.

Swaying to and fro on the back of a lumbering mount, his hands bound behind him, he squinted ahead at the horse-drawn wagon leading the way. The gritty
clop
of hooves and juddered creaks of the cart carried into the surrounding blackness. Eerily silent, the world seemed to wait in breathless anticipation to see what would happen to him next.

Scowling, he blew away stringy hair fallen across his face. Whatever transpired, he did not intend to die. Not this day, and not at the hands of these bastards.

His gaze fixed on Crenardieu, seated at the front of the wagon. Moments ago, the thugs had hauled Dominic from the cold, fireless wooden hut into the even chillier outdoors and propped him up beside a horse. Before they had forced him up onto the mount, he’d heard the Frenchman speaking to one of his lackeys.

“—bring them back here,” he’d said. “Ryle is to come, as well.” Glancing over at Dominic, the Frenchman had smiled. “Balewyne will enjoy the bloodletting.”

A chill had crawled down Dominic’s spine. Grinning, the lackey had swung up onto his horse, taken a torch handed up to him by another thug, and galloped off.

Then, Crenardieu had drawn aside the canvas sheet covering the wagon bed. Inside, lying in orderly lines, were bolts of shimmering cloth: De Lanceau’s stolen shipment. On the top were the blue silk and garments from Gisela’s shop. After smirking at Dominic, Crenardieu had repositioned the canvas again and ordered his cohorts to move out.