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“Why do you look like a ghost?” Ewan asked.

“Wretched thieves broke into me shop. I was at the tavern, enjoyin’ a drink with me friends. Did not know what ’ad ’appened ’til I returned ’ome.”

“I am sorry,” Gisela said. She could well imagine the destruction wrought by the thugs.

“They smashed the front of me shop, broke me tables, ruined me breads”—the baker gestured to the powder clinging to his clothes—“and cut most of me flour sacks. ’Twill cost me nigh a month’s wages, I vow, ta straighten out the mess.” Shaking his head, he said, “I reckon they was called away afore they finished. They did not damage all me flour, or steal me ’orse and wagon. They would ’ave done, I vow.”

A knowing ache gnawed at Gisela. The thugs were likely Crenardieu’s men, called away to subdue Dominic.

“’Tis all ’is fault,” growled the baker. “That deceitful, clever-mouthed⁠—”

“Crenardieu,” Gisela said with a firm nod.

“Eh?” The baker’s scowl darkened. “Not that French swine. The peddler who was not in truth a peddler at all. Me friends believe they saw ’im at the tavern, wearin’ fine clothes.”

“His name is Dominic,” Gisela said. “He⁠—”

“Ye know ’is name?” The baker wagged a floury finger. “Anne, stay away from ’im. ’E is a⁠—”

“—knight in the service of Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau.”

In mid-sentence, the baker quit talking. His mouth gaped. “What?”

“Dominic was sent here to investigate the recent cloth thefts. To spy for de Lanceau.” Raising her eyebrows, she added, “A very important duty.”

The baker’s raised hand shook. “Oh.” Curling his fingers into a loose fist, he cleared his throat. “Ye mean, I pummeled an innocent man? De Lanceau’s man?”

Gisela nodded.

“That was silly,” Ewan said.

Dismay clouded the baker’s face. He groaned and dragged a hand over his mouth.

The sense of purpose glowed anew inside Gisela. Smiling, she touched his arm. “Do not worry.”

“Why would I not worry? Me shop is destroyed. I wounded de Lanceau’s spy.”

“You still have a horse and wagon, aye?”

The baker blinked. “Aye.”

Gisela reached into her satchel and withdrew the jingling bag of coins. She offered it to him.

His eyes grew wide. “Anne⁠—”

“My real name is Gisela,” she said.

“Gisela.” He frowned. “Why, then, did ye tell me yer name was Anne? Why⁠—”

“Later, I will explain.” She pushed the bag into his hands. “There is enough here to pay for repairs to your shop and to sustain you over the next few months.”

“Why are ye givin’ it ta me? What of yer tailor’s shop?” Glancing at Ewan, who had finally stepped out from behind her, he said, “Ye have a growin’ child ta raise.”

Gisela drew in a tremulous breath. “Days ago, you told me if I ever needed help, to ask you.”

“True.”

“I am asking now. I need you to take us to Branton Keep.”