Page 12

Tucking the necklace into a rip in her sleeve’s hem, she fetched the salve and returned to Ewan’s side. She gently pushed back his tunic sleeve. The scents of lavender and comfrey rose from her fingers as she applied the salve. “There,” she soothed. “A special ointment made from pickled dragon brains. ’Twill help heal your wound, Sir Knight.”

A grudging grin touched his mouth. “Mama.”

When Gisela rose from the bench, Ada motioned her to one side. Her hushed voice taut with concern, she said, “’Tis all right with ye, Anne, that we pretend ’e’s a noble knight? ’E loves it so. ’Tis but a game, like what ’e plays with the toy knight ye made ’im. I mean no insult. I know we are all common folk.”

“I do not mind,” Gisela said. Glancing back at Ewan, she saw him dipping his bread into the pottage. She studied his profile, defined by the light sweeping over his face. Her thoughts again returned to Dominic in the stable, his visage limned by shadowed light.

What if he lay gravely wounded in the stable? Would the tavern owner help him? Or would Dominic be cast into the street, alone and suffering?

The earthenware pot shifted in her slick fingers. Not wanting to drop it, she crossed to the bedside table and set the salve down. Ada was encouraging Ewan to take another bite of pottage. Taking advantage of the quiet moment, Gisela withdrew Dominic’s necklace from her sleeve.

The thin, softened leather swept like silk against her fingers, as though used to being worn against skin. Tied to the leather was a grubby bit of linen, part of an embroidered pattern of daisies.

Her hand shook. She recognized the scrap she’d torn from the hem of her shift the day they’d said good-bye. With tears running down her face, she’d pressed the linen into his hand as a token of her love, and to protect him on crusade.

“Oh, Dominic,” she whispered. Fresh tears stung her eyes. He’d kept the little scrap all this time. Next to his skin.

Close to his heart.

With gut-wrenching poignancy, she knew he’d never have parted with the necklace unless he needed to show his loyalty to her. To prove she could trust him.

Gisela again snatched up the salve. Her whole body quivered with a tingling excitement, as though the sun had burned free of smothering storm clouds to illuminate a ravaged land, and she stood in its rejuvenating warmth.

She turned to face the table. “Ada, would you mind staying with Ewan a little while longer? There is something I must do.”

CHAPTER 3

Slumped back against the stable wall, one arm cradling his aching ribs, Dominic opened his eyes. Tilting his head a fraction, he strained to hear over the restless stirring of the horse in the nearby stall.

Footfalls.

The light steps outside the stable indicated that whoever approached was either hesitant, or knew he hadn’t left and intended to entrap him. Mayhap the person meant to fulfill the baker and the assistant’s parting promise: “If ye do not leave Clovebury right away, as fast as yer legs can take ye, we will come back and make certain ye leave. We want none of yer thievin’ kind in our village.”

After delivering his threat, the baker had winced as he touched his blackening eye, a stunning punch from Dominic in retaliation for the blow to his jaw. Then, the baker had turned and stalked out, the blacksmith’s assistant at his heels.

For the briefest moment, Dominic hoped the footsteps were Gisela’s. He wondered what she thought of his treasure and whether it meant to her what it did to him. He missed the necklace’s brush against his skin, but he’d had no other means to prove himself worthy of her trust.

Yet, his gesture could well have been for naught. Earlier, Gisela had not welcomed him with knee-weakening kisses sweetened by the joy of a happy reunion. Instead, she’d reacted as though she never wanted to see him again—which meant ’twas unlikely she returned now.

A pebble rattled outside the stable’s doorway. Dominic’s hand dropped from his rib cage. In one soundless, careful movement, he pushed away from the wall into a crouch. Pain stabbed through his right side. He gritted his teeth, agony radiating along his bruised jaw. A groan scalded the back of his mouth, but he swallowed hard, subduing the sound. Now was not the time to dwell on his physical discomfort.

A shadow blocked the light coming in from the doorway.

His vision blurred. His pain became an eerie ringing in his ears. Shaking his head to clear his gaze, forcing himself to focus on whoever approached, he slid his hand into his boot and found the leather-sheathed knife. His fingers closed around the cool handle. As he drew it out, the thin, sharp blade glinted.

He pressed his lips together, then rose to his full height.

If he had to, he could attack with lethal efficiency. He had learned from necessity, when, his body soaked with sweat and his hauberk stained crimson with blood, he’d stared into the dark eyes of the enemy and known he had but one choice: to survive.

The thought of taking another life twisted his innards. However, if whoever approached intended to kill him, survival was the one and only choice—as it had been on crusade.

Straw rustled.

Any moment now, his assailant would round the steep mound of hay.

Edging forward, Dominic tightened his hold on the dagger. His body tensed. Pain throbbed along with the acute tension, but he paid it no heed.

He listened.