Page 49 of A Knight’s Reward

Gisela headed to her worktable, aware of Ewan stomping along behind her. She swept a small pile of silk scraps, wax, and blue thread onto the planks before crossing the room to fetch the broom. She turned to see Ewan, holding a lump of wax, fingering through the pile.

He’d be after another bit of silk to replace the one she’d tied to his sword days ago and then destroyed. A disaster.

“Button, please go and get dressed while I sweep up here.”

His fingers curled around the wax, concealing it. “I want to watch.”

She whisked the broom over his bare toes, and he squealed in surprise. “Hey!”

“I might sweep you up by mistake if you stand there.” Whisk. “Ha! Got you again.”

Laughing, he scampered toward the doorway. “Catch me now, if you can.”

Gisela pretended to pursue him, and he disappeared through the doorway. Resisting a chuckle, she swept up the discards, carried them into the house, and stoked the fire. She tossed the silk into the crackling flames. With a smoky hiss, the evidence disintegrated.

Humming under her breath, she strolled past the pallets and gave the lump under Ewan’s blanket a nudge with the broom. “Got you.”

His head poked out the other end. “Aw, Mama!”

After replacing the broom and blowing out the candles in her workroom, she made them both bread and honey, then helped him don his tunic and hose. Fatigue weighed down her eyelids and made her limbs ache, but she shrugged her discomfort away. She pulled Ewan’s tunic down over his head and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Aw, Mama!” he groaned again, but his eyes sparkled with delight.

Gisela smoothed a crease from his sleeve, unable to resist a sigh. How had she not noticed that the tunic she’d made him two months ago was already too short through the sleeves?

Never mind. Right now, she had other priorities. Once she’d got them both far away, she would have all the days she liked to sew him clothes.

Ewan plopped down on the bench so she could fasten his shoes. Swinging his legs, looking down at her crouched by his feet, he asked, “Where are we going?”

She caught hold of one foot and pushed on his shoe. “We have some errands to attend. Then, we will return home so I can work.”

“I want to play outside. Remember that big field⁠—”

“Not today.”

He huffed. “You never let me play outside.”

And for good reason, Button. One day, you will understand and forgive me.

After fastening both of his shoes, Gisela rose, ignoring his frustrated glare. She smoothed a hand over her weary brow and disorderly hair. Today, even if she were able to let him romp in the field, she couldn’t dally. She must finish the commission for the blacksmith’s wife. There were preparations to make, too, for as soon as she received payment from Crenardieu, she intended to take Ewan and flee.

Leaving Dominic behind.

The thought brought a fresh stab of torment. Struggling to ignore it, she slipped her cloak from the peg on the wall.

“Mama, can I bring Sir Smug?”

“Of course.” Draping her cloak around her shoulders, she said, “Fetch your mantle, Button. I will wait for you by the outer door.”

While she walked through her shop, she cast a quick glance around to be sure she hadn’t missed any blue threads. A yawn tugged at her mouth, but she smothered it with the back of her hand. A moment later, Ewan trudged into her shop, the toy knight tucked under his arm. As he neared, he yanked his mantle’s hood up over his head.

“I am glad Sir Smug can come, too. He is bored with being inside. He wants an adventure.”

Gisela smothered a chuckle and drew up her own hood. “Come along, then, my two little warriors.” She gave Ewan’s hood an extra tug, to ensure his face was completely covered, then opened the door. They stepped into the street, and she locked the door behind them.

Dust and stones kicked up under her shoes while they walked. Dogs scampered into alleyways looking for scraps, while grubby children tossed rocks in a made-up game. Ewan stared longingly in their direction, almost stumbling over his own feet.

With brisk strides, Gisela headed toward the shop district. The scent of baking bread, yeasty and enticing, led her to the right street.

“Mama, you walk too fast.”