Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  She stared down at her feet peeping out from her gown's hem. There, by her right shoe, lit by the sunlight fingering in through a crack in the wall, lay a strand of blue thread.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. If Dominic had seen it . . .

  But, he hadn't. She would finish the gown and cloak as Crenardieu demanded. If—and only if—Dominic discovered her duplicity, she and Ewan would be long gone from Clovebury.

  I would never forgive myself, Sweet Daisy, if aught terrible happened to you that I could have prevented.

  Each of her steps leaden with guilt, she walked back to the worktable. Dominic had spoken with such sincerity. For one, fleeting moment, his words had melted through her fear.

  How she wished she could confide in him, especially after Crenardieu's threat to betray her to Ryle. Could Dominic help her—more importantly, help Ewan—escape the danger hovering over them like a dragon poised to attack? Could she possibly barter with Dominic, exchanging what she knew about Crenardieu and the stolen cloth for her and Ewan's safe passage out of Clovebury?

  Or, if she told, would the truth shatter all? Dominic's revulsion, straight from her nightmare, filled her mind. He'd despise her for not being honest when he first told her about his mission in Clovebury. Furious, he might arrest her. He would take Ewan away.

  Oh, God, she could not bear to be separated from her son!

  Fear became a brutal knot against her breastbone. Without her protecting Ewan, every moment of every day, Ryle would find a way to get to him. Her charming, clever former husband would manipulate his way into Dominic's circle of acquaintances. Ryle would murder Ewan. And then, Dominic.

  She couldn't let that happen.

  With stiff hands, she whisked the chemise from the table. After hanging it back on the wall peg, Gisela crouched, raised the loose planks, and withdrew the silk gown. It shimmered in her hands, taunting her with its exquisite beauty.

  When she laid the gown on the table, the fabric rustled. It sounded like rain falling on a spring afternoon.

  One day, soon, she'd feel rain on her uncovered hair. Wipe it from her upturned face. See it sparkle on Ewan's eyelashes.

  A smile touched her lips as she shifted the gown.

  Freedom, the sound whispered. Freedom.

  After Gisela's shop door closed behind him, Dominic stopped in the street. A relief, that she was hale, and he had no cause to worry. He looked forward to sharing a meal with her and Ewan later.

  Still, he couldn't dismiss the unease chewing at him like a mischievous hound.

  Something was wrong.

  He sensed it as acutely as the dust rising from the road in a hazy cloud.

  Massaging his right shoulder, he tried to ease his aching, fatigued muscles. His suspicion could well be the result of being overtired from his night at the tavern. Fatigue had the power to influence one's judgment. While Gisela had seemed uncomfortable at times during their meeting, he'd seen naught in her shop to justify his anxiety.

  Yet, . . .

  A peddler, leading two heavily laden horses, ambled past. Farther down the street, two women strolled along, heads bent together, caught up in their private conversation. A group of men crouched beside a cart with a broken wheel, clearly trying to decide how best to repair it.

  He glanced back at the men. His gaze fixed on the dark-haired, broad-shouldered one standing behind the wagon. The lout faced the street, his face partly covered by a floppy leather hat.

  A chill coursed through Dominic.

  The man was one of Crenardieu's lackeys. He'd hovered close by the Frenchman at the tavern. Where he stood, the man had a clear view of Gisela's shopfront. No one could come or go without him noticing.

  Gisela was being watched.

  Or, was Dominic the target of Crenardieu's spying?

  The chill inside Dominic transformed to burning anger. No one had followed him that morning. Regardless how addled he'd been, he was certain of it.

  Why, then, would Crenardieu send a man to spy on Gisela? He'd not waste his hired thugs unless she was important to him somehow.

  How? And why?

  A silent growl rumbled in Dominic's chest. He would find out.

  The man looked up, squinting toward Gisela's shop. Straightening his tunic, Dominic acted as if he was merely casting a casual glance down the street. He must be very careful. Whatever he did, he mustn't endanger Gisela.

  Fighting the impulse to lunge at the man, Dominic sauntered past him and down the street. Balling his hands into fists, he focused on the crunch of dirt beneath his boots.

  Mutters erupted from the group of men. Moments later, an answering crunch sounded behind Dominic.

  As he'd hoped.

  A grim smile curved his mouth. He walked on. The footfalls continued.

  Ahead, an alley veered off the street. Dominic turned into it. A mound of wooden crates stood stacked against the side of a building.

  Perfect.

  Darting forward, he crouched beside the crates and pressed his back to the stone wall. The cold seeped into his clothing and bandages.

  Footsteps sounded in the mouth of the alley.

  "Merde," the man said softly, then started in.

  Five strides, Dominic counted. Six. Seven . . .

  The lackey's shadow fell upon him. Dominic leapt to his feet and threw his weight against the man. The lout's hat fell off as they crashed together into the opposite wall. Dominic gritted his teeth against the pain jarring through his ribs.

  "What—" the thug spluttered.

  Dominic shoved his arm against the man's throat. Glaring into the lout's eyes, Dominic said, "Now, you and I will talk."

  Crenardieu's thug choked out a curse, spittle glistening at the corner of his mouth. He struggled in Dominic's hold while his fingers clawed into Dominic's tunic.

  The oaf had the strength of a mad bull. 'Twould be difficult to keep him restrained for long.

  Dominic blocked a kick. He snarled in the man's face. "Why are you following me?"

  The lout's gaze narrowed. Jerking his head to one side, he wrenched sideways. Dominic knew that trick well. He'd used it himself a few times—especially in the dark streets of Venice—to escape unwelcome confrontations with thugs.

  Dominic pressed his arm tighter against the man's Adam's apple. The lackey stiffened. Eyes wide, he flattened back against the rough stone. He swallowed, and his throat moved against Dominic's sleeve.

  "Answer me," Dominic said between his teeth. "Why are you following me? Why are you spying on G—"—he remembered at the last moment—"Anne?"

  The man's harsh breath fanned across Dominic's cheek. The barest glint of acquiescence shone in his eyes, before he pressed his lips together.

  He spat in Dominic's face.

  The spittle landed on Dominic's nose. "Tsk-tsk. Not very nice." Ignoring the cooling wetness on his skin, he leaned harder against the man's throat. "Now, I ask you again—"

  Stones skittered to Dominic's right. The thug's gaze shifted in that direction, and Dominic risked a glance. The lout's friends might have come to his rescue.

  A little peasant boy ambled into the alley after a ball. The toy bounced off the wall and rolled toward the crates. His gaze on his prize, the grubby-faced child toddled closer.

  Dominic clenched his jaw.

  The thug twisted. Dominic sensed the man reaching for his belt. No doubt, to draw a knife.

  God's blood.

  The boy suddenly seemed to realize he was not alone in the alley. Eyes huge, he looked up. He stumbled to a halt. His face paled.

  A woman's voice carried from the street. "Pip? Where did ye go?"

  Concern sharpened her words. How easily Dominic imagined Gisela in such a situation, calling for Ewan who had disappeared from view. Dominic's mouth flattened. He was not a parent, but no man could be immune to a mother's worried voice. Peasant or lady, when they feared for their children, all women were equals.

  Dominic glared back at the lout. Smug triumph glinted now in the m
an's eyes. A warning cry seared through Dominic's anger-hazed mind. The thug intended to draw blood. Despite the child standing so near. Despite possible risk of injuring the boy.

  "Run away, son!" Dominic shouted to him. "Go!"

  "Mama," the child whined. His eyes welled with tears as he glanced from the men to the ball lying close to Dominic's boots. His dirty face clouded with indecision. He seemed torn between what was wise and what he wanted.

  "God's teeth," Dominic muttered. He'd never forgive himself if the boy got hurt.

  Geoffrey wouldn't forgive him, either.

  Swallowing bitter disappointment, Dominic stepped away from the lackey, just as the blade of a knife glinted in the man's hand. Dominic darted back, his boot heel thudding against one of the broken crates.

  "Pip?" A woman stepped into the alley. Her gasp echoed. "Oh!"

  Spinning on his heel, the thug faced her. Then, he shoved the blade into his belt and sprinted past.

  "Mama." The boy rushed toward his mother. Wailing at an earsplitting volume, he buried his face in her patched skirts.

  Dominic dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the oaf's spittle. His emotions were wound so tight, he felt like yelling, too. That release of pent-up emotion would be most welcome.

  However, he'd have another opportunity with that lout. He would make certain.

  Dominic stooped and picked up the ball. The woman had swept her son up into her arms. Cooing to him, she hurried back to the street. Safe in the sunlight and crowds, she stopped and hugged the little boy tight.

  Dominic approached her. "I believe this belongs to your son." He held out the toy.

  Bewilderment registered on the woman's face, weathered from long days toiling outdoors. "Milord." She tried to drop into a curtsy, but he waved a hand. With a shy nod, she took the ball. "Thank ye."

  Turning his face out of his mother's skirts, the boy beamed.

  Dominic smiled back. He could not help it. The child's delighted grin was immensely . . . gratifying.

  One day, his own son would look upon him so.

  He shook aside the peculiar thought. Such notions held no purpose when he had a great deal to do—above all, send a missive reporting his progress to Geoffrey.

  Nodding to mother and child, Dominic spun on his heel and strode away.

  Smoothing a hand over her gown, Gisela opened her shop door. A gust of late afternoon air swept in, swirling over the freshly swept planks. She inhaled a slow breath, savoring the smells of the living town. How she'd hated spending her day shut inside, cloistered to the outside world, enslaved to her commission for Crenardieu.

  Soon, she would no longer be forced to any man's will.

  She cast a careful glance about her premises. Twice she'd swept the floor to be sure no threads remained. She had even moved the table and wooden stool, to be extra certain. Dominic would discover naught out of the ordinary.

  He will never know I lied to him about the silk, she reminded herself. However, he will know the truth about Ewan. That, I cannot keep a secret from him.

  A hot-cold shiver trailed through her. She crossed the room and, with sweaty hands, placed the broom back in its usual corner. Aye, she would tell Dominic. Today. When they had a quiet moment to talk. She'd come to the decision that afternoon when her only companions were needle and thread. No matter how difficult the truth might be, Dominic deserved to know.

  Guilt gnawed, along with intense anticipation. Was it fair of her to tell him and then vanish? Nay. He would resent her. Mayhap even come to hate her. Gisela's eyes burned, for the thought of hurting him in such a way made her soul weep.

  You know there is no other choice, Gisela. Not if you want to protect Dominic from Ryle's viciousness.

  Again, the memory of Ryle's contorted face barged into her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block him out, but his violent roar echoed in her mind, followed by the sharp pain of his dagger piercing her flesh. Shuddering, pressing her hand to her scarred breast, she fought to defeat the memory. Fought, with her strength of will, as she should have fought that evening, if only she hadn't been so weak.

  Reaching out, she grasped the worktable. Her fingers clutched its solid strength, until the memory dissipated and her shaking subsided.

  She forced up her chin, ignoring the lingering pangs of dread. With freedom so near, she would not be cowed by memories of Ryle. Dominic would arrive soon. She must bolster herself for what she was to tell him. Moreover, she needed to plan what she and Ewan would take when they fled.

  She went through into her home, her gaze straying to the bread, cheese, and bowl of hazelnuts on the table. A simple repast, but 'twould do. With it she would serve the last of the mead she kept in the cupboard. Good to drink it up, since she wouldn't take it with her and Ewan. They must take only what was light and easy to carry.

  Booted footfalls echoed in the shop. "Hello?"

  Dominic.

  Her pulse began an erratic thunder. "In here." She crossed to the doorway, drying her suddenly damp hands on her skirt.

  How bold and handsome he looked, poised in the light streaming in from the doorway behind him—as though he commanded the sun. He no longer wore the embroidered tunic, but a simple, well-fitting one the gray of a winter sky. As he neared, her gaze took in his hair's unruly tousle, the graceful curve of his lips, and the stubborn purpose about him.

  How much he reminded her of Ewan.

  A breath shivered from her, for, as it had that morning, concern glinted in Dominic's eyes. Gesturing to the street outside, he said, "The door was open."

  Surprise skittered through her. "I wanted to let in some fresh air."

  His head dipped in a half nod. "Did you have visitors?"

  "I only finished working a short while ago, and then I opened the door. No one came or went."

  "Ah." His gaze skimmed the room, pausing to linger on the chemise hanging on the wall peg. She'd hoped to sew more on it that afternoon, but would have to return to it that evening. If she worked through the night, she could finish it along with Crenardieu's commission.

  Reaching back, Dominic swung the door closed. It clicked shut, and the room plunged into shadow, lit only by the fading sunlight fingering in through cracks in the walls.

  Gisela frowned. "Why did you shut the panel?"

  His gaze narrowed, but he did not answer.

  "Please open it."

  "In a moment." His attention shifted from her to the chemise before he strode to it, his boots loud on the planks. His expression thoughtful, he caught the sleeve in his fingers and examined the unfinished cuff.

  He will notice you have not worked on it today. He will be suspicious, her mind shrilled.

  Alarm shot through Gisela like hot sparks. She must distract him. Quickly!

  "Dominic, what is going on?"

  He hesitated, long enough to send a shiver coursing through her, before he glanced at her. "I might ask you that question."

  "W-what do you mean?" She tried to sound puzzled, but her words died on her tongue.

  "Your shop is being watched."

  "What? By whom?"

  Ryle. He has found you. He has come to kill you.

  She fought a blinding surge of panic. Nay. Ryle wouldn't merely watch her; he'd storm in and unleash his temper.

  "Crenardieu's men," Dominic said.

  She exhaled on an oath. Crenardieu didn't trust her, after all. He suspected she might bolt before she finished her commission for him. Did he think she'd steal the silk and sell it?

  Or, did he expect her to betray him to Dominic?

  Resentment welled inside her, so sharp, she almost choked on it.

  Releasing the chemise's hem, Dominic turned to face her. "Why, I wonder, would Crenardieu guard your shop?"

  "I do not know," she managed to say. Liar! her conscience screamed. How can you speak falsely to the man you love? The only man you will ever love, until the day you perish?

  A sad, taut smile touched Dominic's mouth. "I vow you
do know, Gisela."

  A sob lodged in her throat. Aching loneliness filled her soul. She sensed the emotional distance furrowing between her and Dominic, cleaving like an axe through the loving trust that had defined their relationship before.

  Fie! Circumstances were different now. How could she not speak falsely, when her lie would save Dominic from Ryle?

  She crossed her arms and rubbed her sleeves with her hands. "Crenardieu has no reason to distrust me." That, at least, didn't further embroider her falsehood.

  "So you say. Yet, from early morning 'til I came in just now, at least two men stood in the street and kept watch on your premises. They pretended to be repairing a broken wagon. I pursued one of them and tried to wrest an explanation from him, but he was not forthcoming. A short while later, he was back in his spot, watching."

  "Oh, God," she whispered.

  "Crenardieu would not order his thugs here, Gisela, unless he had reason."

  She tried to speak, but desperation froze her mind. All the words that might rush to her defense evaporated like dew.

  Dominic's gaze challenged hers. "From the moment we met, I sensed you withheld something from me. 'Tis more than your running from your husband."

  A tremor shook her.

  He stepped forward, his fierce strength of will rolling toward her out of the shadows. "Are you indebted to Crenardieu in some way? Is that why he watches you?"

  Trying to swallow down a moan, she shook her head.

  Dominic raked his fingers through his hair. His face contorted as though his next words were unbearably painful. "Are you and he . . ." He clenched his eyes shut before opening them again. "Are you his . . . lover?"

  "Never!"

  "Does he fear my relationship with you, then? That I might take what he believes is his?"

  A frantic laugh bubbled inside her. If only Dominic knew how perfectly his words related to the hidden silks. "Honestly, Dominic, I would rather eat a slug than lie with Crenardieu."