A Knight's Reward by Catherine Kean Read Free Book Online

released her. His hand fell to his side, while his eyes narrowed, as if to shutter his concern. But, it still shimmered in his gaze. “God’s bloody knees, Gisela. When we are somewhere we can talk, you will tell me why you are so afeared.”
    Her mouth tightened at his authoritative tone. So very different from long ago, yet his boldness had likely kept him alive when others perished on crusade. Even as she recognized the toughened warrior he’d become, the maternal part of her surged to the fore.
    “When we are somewhere we can talk,” she said quietly, “you will not curse like a foul-mouthed sot. Agreed?” She did not want to spend days trying to stop Ewan from using the same words over and over.
    Dominic’s brows raised.
    Fie! He had the audacity to look . . . affronted?
    “Also,” she said, keeping her voice low, “when others are about, you will call me Anne.”
    “As the baker did earlier,” Dominic murmured. “Why?”
    “Because in this town, that is my name.”
    “Ah.” With a curious smile, he said, “Are you, also, disguised as someone else?”
    Dread snaked through her. Shaking her head, she said, “Dominic, do not change the subject. Do you agree?”
    “I do.” He grinned. “I will be a very well-behaved knight.”
    He sounded just like Ewan—and his gaze held the same mischievous sparkle. Oh, God, was she wise to take Dominic to her home? What other choice did she have? None. “Let us be on our w—”
    Laughter erupted outside.
    The mirth vanished from Dominic’s eyes. “Help me get out of this,” he whispered, motioning to his long, filthy mantle.
    “What? Why—”
    “The baker and his assistant—and any of their friends—know me as a peddler. I will leave the disguise here.” He handed her the knife, then unfastened the mantle and began to shrug out of it. Pain darkened his eyes.
    “Let me.” With a shaking hand, she helped him remove the tattered garment, aware of his breath warming the wool of her hood, and the heat of his body underneath the bulky garment. The mantle dropped to the straw. Underneath he wore a simple brown tunic, hose, and boots, well-fitting garments that defined his broad, muscular form.
    Their gazes met for a moment before he reclaimed the knife. He stepped ahead of her, shielding her body with his own. The dagger glinted.
    With his free hand, he cautioned her to remain still. He edged forward to peer toward the doorway. She heard his indrawn breath when he moved in a way that strained his injuries.
    A moment later, he gestured for her to join him.
    “The men are heading to the tavern,” he said in hushed tones. “Take my hand, and we will head for the alley.” As he spoke, he turned the dagger so the flat of the blade pressed against his wrist and forearm, hidden by his tunic’s cuff.
    She nodded and slid her fingers into his.
    Sensation glimmered where their palms touched. It spread through her, a delicious warmth akin to the sun slipping free of a storm cloud. A sigh shivered from her. The brush of his callused skin against hers, his snug but gentle grip, the memory of his touch long ago, sent awareness flooding through her. And an undeniable sense of . . . belonging.
    Biting down on her lip, she looked up at Dominic, leading her toward the stable’s doorway. If he’d noticed her reaction to his touch, he didn’t acknowledge it, not even by the slightest glance back. Drawing her close behind him, he stepped out of the stable’s shadows into the sunlight.
    Dirt crunched under his strong strides—markedly different from the clumsy, shuffled gait of the peddler he had pretended to be. At a swift pace, he led her toward the narrow alley. Rowdy laughter came from the tavern. She dared a sidelong glance and saw two men stepping through the open doorway.
    The weather-beaten panel swung shut.
    She blew out a relieved breath.
    With a wry chuckle, Dominic drew her into the alley. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “’Twas a heavy sigh,