Ewan stuffed more of the grainy loaf into his mouth while he spoke. “’Tis delicious.”“Mmm,” Gisela said, picking at the wondrously soft, fresh bread before her. She should try to break her fast, but her stomach still clenched with nerves.She and her little boy sat in the great hall, cleared of the sleeping servants. The pallets on the floor were gone, replaced by trestle tables arranged in rows. Servants hurried about the hall, some adding logs to the blaze in the hearth, others delivering wooden boards of bread and jugs of ale to the tables. A wolfhound sat at Ewan’s elbow, watching every morsel that went into his mouth.The frantic activity began after she finished telling Lord and Lady de Lanceau her tale. Gisela had relayed the events in detail, including her involvement with the stolen silks. Holding de Lanceau’s gaze and confessing her deceptions was difficult. However, at the same time, a tremendous weight had lifted from her conscience.She withheld naught. Naught, that is, except Ryle’s slashing of her breast.
