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She tightened her grip on her sewing shears. “’Tis me you want, Ryle.”

“Gisela!” Dominic rasped. “Do not goad him.”

Aye, she would—must—goad him, as a knight would provoke a dragon. “I ran away,” she went on, as Ryle’s eyes cinched into slits. “Remember how I left you? Remember how I betrayed you?”

Ryle glowered at her. “I remember.”

She edged closer, holding the shears against her skirt. “Never again will I run from you.”

“Gisela!” Dominic gasped.

Surprise widened Ryle’s eyes. His knife wavered, and his face twisted into an expression akin to anguish. “At last, will you love me?”

Love him?! “Nay. Always, I will love Dominic.”

Throwing his head back, Ryle roared like an angry dragon. The very moment his body began to swivel toward Dominic, she rushed forward. Raised the shears. Slammed them down into Ryle’s chest. Stumbled back.

He dragged in a shrill, disbelieving gasp. Gaped at the wrought-iron handles protruding from his torso. Blood oozed in a crimson stain.

Moaning, he clutched at the shears. “Look what you have done!”

“She has killed a dragon,” Dominic murmured.

Ryle fell to his knees. Swayed. “Bitch!” he spluttered, his voice trailing off on another moan.

His gaze lost focus. Dimmed. His lips parted, as if to spit his last words. With a gurgled hiss, he collapsed sideways on the ground and lay still.

Sobs welled inside Gisela. She pressed her hands over her breast, unable to tear her gaze away from Ryle’s corpse and the blood seeping into the dirt.

“Gisela.” Dominic slid an arm around her waist.

The sob burst free, becoming a wail.

“Gisela,” he said again, gently turning her so she faced him. Holding her close, he kissed her hair, her brow, the side of her cheek.

Sobs racked her body. Leaning against him, she wept like a woman lost.

Nay, she was not lost. Finally, she was free. She was alive, in the arms of the man she loved. Never again would she live in fear of Ryle.

Trembling, she looked up at Dominic. Tears ran down his face. He didn’t speak, but his gaze seemed to convey every tangled thought and emotion coursing through her.

Dipping his head, he kissed her, very gently.

“I killed him,” she whispered. “I took… his life.”

“You saved mine—and no doubt, the lives of others.” With a small grunt of pain, Dominic hugged her tighter. “You were incredibly brave, Gisela.”

“I agree.” De Lanceau strode toward them, sheathing his broadsword.

“You saw what happened?” Dominic asked.

De Lanceau nodded, and Gisela shuddered as his gaze settled upon her. “You may be common born,” he said with a smile, “but you are as noble as any highborn lady.”

“Gisela, the Fair Lady Warrior,” Dominic added with a wink.

She smiled, and de Lanceau chuckled.

Shouts drew her attention to the riverbank. Standing by the dock, their hands bound, a scowling Crenardieu and the London merchants stood under the watchful guard of de Lanceau’s men-at-arms. Three thugs lay dead, their bodies sprawled in the shallows. Aldwin stood on the dock, relaying orders while helping the other men transfer the silks from the boats back into the wagon.