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Anguish crested again. Enough, Gisela. Far wiser to go back inside your home and cherish your remaining moments with Dominic, before you and Ewan travel north.

Tidying her hair with her fingers, she steeled herself to face Dominic again—aware, suddenly, of the silence in her home.

She turned. Dominic lounged in the half-open doorway, one shoulder braced against the embrasure, his arms folded across his chest. She knew, even before their gazes met, that he’d thoughtfully studied her for a few, quiet moments. Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him approach.

How mortifying for him to have witnessed her in an unguarded moment. That she might have unwittingly revealed her dangerous secrets.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She managed a cheery smile. “Of course.”

“You are not saying that to spare my feelings, are you?” He looked faintly sheepish. “If you hated my tale⁠—”

She shook her head.

“Ah. You ran away, then, because ’twas too close to the truth.”

How softly he spoke. However, the hard undercurrent to his words revealed he struggled to control his feelings. The snarled emotions seemed to reach out to her, an echo of the torment churning inside her.

How her heart ached! “Dominic⁠—”

“Ewan is fine. He is sitting by the fire with Sir Smug, eating a custard tart.” Dominic pushed away from the doorway, his face taut. “You must know, Gisela, that you can trust me.” He withdrew his necklace from beneath his tunic; he held out the jewelry in one fist. “This must prove how much I cared for you. How I still care.”

Helplessness coursed through her, as merciless as the pain piercing her soul.

“Tell me what happened to you. I want to help,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Let me.”

“Nay.”

“Why not?”

She rubbed her quivering lips together. How did she tell him that to spare his life, she must keep her terrible secrets? He wouldn’t understand. “I must go check on Ewan.”

She tried to slip past Dominic, but his arm snaked out to slide around her waist, drawing her against him. He ensnared her not just by physical contact, but by memories of the joy, pleasure, and sheer freedom of being loved by him. The scent of him, clean and male, tugged at every thread of her restraint.

His lips brushed her hair. “Tell me,” he pleaded.

Crushing agony whipped through her. Thrusting up her chin, clinging to her resolve like a broken shield, she met his impassioned gaze. “Because I still care for you,” she said, her voice breaking, “I cannot.”

He frowned.

Before he could say a word, she pulled from his hold and hurried into the house.

Bowing his head, Dominic muttered an oath. Because I still care for you, I cannot. What, exactly, did Gisela mean by that?

He plowed both of his hands into his hair, seizing fistfuls of it before tipping his head back to stare at the shadowed ceiling. His palm still burned where it had pressed against her waist, her body as vibrant as sunlight in his embrace.

A groan broke from him. Wants and needs warred with loyalties to king and lord that had defined his existence from his earliest aspirations of knighthood. With the demons of loneliness and distrust mocking him, his loyalties no longer seemed clear.

Days ago, he hadn’t hesitated to accept Geoffrey’s order to hunt down the thieves with ruthless perseverance. However, now, he also felt bound to pursue the fear haunting Gisela. To slay her demons.

To have her, again, for his own.

Years ago, he’d fervently believed knighthood, honor, and duty were a warrior’s greatest rewards. How eagerly he’d accepted the challenge of leaving all he knew—and his despicable betrothal—behind to champion his king on eastern battlefields. Is that why Gisela didn’t trust him enough to confide in him, because he’d abandoned her to go on crusade?

His jaw clenched. Aye, in his choice between true love and duty, he’d chosen duty. The only decision he could have made, with his father and bitch of a stepmother—barely two years older than he—coercing him into marrying a stranger.

Speak no more of that commoner, Gisela! his sire had raged. She is—and can be—naught to you. You will wed a noblewoman and beget heirs as I expect of my sons. The betrothal is already arranged. Your brother would not have questioned my decision. Neither should you.