Dominic's hand itched to seize a knife, to face her former husband man to man, to gouge a wound of equal size on the bastard's body. How could he have disfigured a woman as beautiful as Gisela? Or any woman?
"Let me see your scar."
Her watery gaze snapped to his.
"Let me see. I must know what he did to you." Even as Dominic spoke, his hands reached for her crossed arms. He eased them away from her body.
He half-expected her to fight him, lash out at him, even. Yet, she sat motionless, resignation in the set of her mouth, while he eased his fingers inside her chemise, next to her skin. He gently drew aside the fabric to expose her breast.
God's. Holy. Blood!
A puckered scar sliced the swell of her flesh. The pinkish gouge ran in a near-diagonal line, down her breast to the center of her rib cage. Not a light grazing of the knife, but a deep cut—the twisted bastard's mark of possession.
Oaths flew from Dominic's lips.
She struggled. "Dominic—"
"Who is he? What is his name? Where will I find him?"
"Dominic!"
He clutched her shoulders. "Where? Answer me!"
At the same moment, over the rage thundering in his ears, he heard the shop door creak open. A woman's startled cry. A child's gasp.
"Mama?"
At the sound of Ewan's voice, Gisela jumped. Oh, God, she could only imagine how her and Dominic's encounter appeared to her son—and what thoughts must be racing through his mind.
Stifling a dismayed cry, she wrenched out of Dominic's grasp and yanked her bodice to cover her breast. She shoved him away. This time, he didn't attempt to thwart her, but moved in a graceful back step-turn that somehow conveyed the interruption had rattled him as much as she.
Dragging his hand over his mouth, Dominic faced the open doorway where Ada and Ewan stood. A flush stained his cheekbones. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and she sensed him trying to quell his frustration.
If only she could appear as controlled. Her emotions seemed as fragile as tattered parchment.
Forcing a smile, Gisela slid off the table. "Ewan."
Her little boy stood pressed against Ada's skirts, his expression a gut-wrenching blend of shock and rage. Her hand pressed to her mouth, the older woman gaped.
Gisela swallowed down bitter regret. While she was immensely glad of the interruption, she had never, ever wanted Ewan to discover her and Dominic having a disagreement. Months ago, she'd vowed to protect her son from strife. Today, she had failed him.
"'Tis all right, Ewan." Gisela started toward him.
Her son's gaze riveted to Dominic. "What were you doing to Mama?"
The harshness of Ewan's voice made Gisela pause. He did not sound three-and-a-half years old, but much older. She clasped her sweating hands together. "We—"
"We were . . . having a discussion," Dominic said.
The little boy's mouth flattened. "I do not believe you."
"Nor do I, milord," Ada said with an indignant sniff.
"You were shouting." Ewan's whole body quivered with pent-up emotion. "You tried to hurt Mama."
Behind Gisela, Dominic groaned, a sound of distress. "Nay, little warrior."
"I saw. I thought you were a knight. A man of honor."
"I am." He raised his hands, obviously trying to calm Ewan's fury. "Believe me—"
"Knights do not hurt damsels. Especially mothers."
"Ewan, I did not lie to you. I was not hurting your mother. Why would I wish to do so?"
Scowling, the little boy stepped away from Ada. Fisting his hands, he loosed a fierce yell.
His cry held such pain—the ache of betrayal along with the anguish of shattered trust—Gisela stretched her arms out to him. Instinct propelled her forward, to take her son in her embrace, kiss him, and whisper comforting words.
Before she could slip her arms around him, he bolted past her. His footfalls pounded on the planks. Blinking hard, she watched him pull open the door to the living quarters and disappear inside.
"Ewan?" Gisela whispered.
Behind her, Dominic cursed. "I will go after him."
Gisela whirled. "Do not!"
Dominic frowned. "I will not have him believing I was doing you harm."
"I will speak with him. I will explain." How? Her mind shrilled. What will you say that shall make a difference to Ewan? He is a child. How can he possibly understand the complex relationship between you and Dominic?
"I want to speak with him," Dominic said, his tone barely a civilized growl. "Are you saying I cannot?"
Frustration became a cruel fist digging into Gisela's ribs. Before she could reply, Ada touched her arm. "Are ye all right? Did he hurt ye grabbing at yer bodice?"
Waving away the woman's concern, Gisela said, "I am not hurt."
Ada flicked her black braid over her shoulder and turned to the open doorway to the street. "Good. I will scream fer 'elp."
"Nay!" Gisela cried. 'Tis all she needed, to attract more suspicion from Crenardieu's men—or to have Dominic beaten again in misguided heroics.
Glancing back, Ada scowled. "Do not feel ye must protect 'im. Even if 'e is a lord, 'e—"
"Thank you, but I am certain we can resolve this situation on our own." Brushing past the older woman, Gisela shut the door.
Ada's lips pursed. Planting her fists on her hips, she said, "I saw 'is 'ands upon ye. 'E was yellin' in yer face." Her indignant gaze slid to Dominic. Jabbing a finger at him, she said, "Before ye say one word, milord, do not try ta be clever and tell me ye was shoutin' because she did not 'ear ye. Anne 'as perfectly good 'earin.'"
"I would not dare to be clever with you, Ada," Dominic muttered. "You are right. I did shout. While I should be chivalrous, drop down on one knee, and offer a gallant apology, I will not."
Ada's brows raised.
When Dominic's sharp gaze settled on her, Gisela shivered.
"Anne and I have important matters to resolve between us. I raised my voice because I lost my patience with her."
"Ooh! So ye cannot control yer temper, then?" Ada crossed her plump arms.
A tight smile curved Dominic's lips. "In this instance, nay. I am not a man who likes to be teased—"
"Ha, milord! Teased?" the older woman snapped.
"—with the barest snippets of information. She owes me the rest. I will have it."
The sheer determination in his voice sent a shudder raking through Gisela. Part of her—the idiotic, naïve part—had hoped that with Ada and Ewan's arrival, Dominic would cease questioning her about her scar. However, their conversation seemed far from over.
In his opinion, mayhap. She had other pressing matters. Giving Dominic a pointed glance, she said, "I am going to check on Ewan."
"I will come with you."
"He is my son." Not just your son, her mind corrected. Be fair, Gisela—
A thump sounded inside her house. She hurried across the shop. Booted footsteps came after her. Dominic.
Spinning to face him, she snapped, "Ewan is very upset. Please. Wait here—"
A shrill cry erupted inside her home. The little boy ran out, brandishing his wooden sword. His face scarlet with fury, he lashed out at Dominic.
Whack. The flat of the sword hit Dominic's thigh.
"Ewan! Stop," Gisela cried, grabbing for his sword arm.
Whack. "Take that!" Ewan yelled.
Gisela caught her son's elbow. "Cease! Right now, or—"
A flash of blue pinned her gaze and froze the rest of her words. Tied around the sword's grip was a length of cornflower blue silk. Ewan must have picked it up off her shop floor when he discovered the lump of wax. He'd hidden the cloth so she wouldn't take it away.
"Nay," she whispered, making a frantic grab for the sword.
With a loud smack, Dominic's hand closed over the toy's blade, halting it in mid-thrust.
"That is enough, Ewan."
Dominic's authoritative tone sent tremors racing through her. She prayed he had
not seen the silk, that she would have a chance to untie it and stuff it into her gown.
"Let go of the sword," Dominic said.
"Aye, let Mama have it, Ewan." Gisela's pulse drummed a frantic rhythm.
A sob broke from Ewan.
"I know you are unsettled, Button. I will explain all. I promise," Gisela soothed, rubbing his shoulder. "Right now, I want you to give me the sword. I will keep it safe for you."
With a reluctant nod, Ewan released the toy. Gisela grabbed for it.
Too late.
Faster than she thought possible, Dominic flipped the toy weapon toward him. Holding it by the blade, he raised the grip to eye level. The silk trailed down in a blue wisp.
He fingered the scrap. "Ewan, where did you get this?"
She begged for him not to answer, even as he sniffled out, "M-Mama."
Very slowly, very deliberately, Dominic's gaze slid from the silk to her. "Indeed, we still have much to talk about."
When Gisela's face went ashen, Dominic fought a flood of disbelief and rage. Her reaction told him a great deal. Most of all, that 'twas no coincidence Ewan had blue silk adorning his sword.
She knew of de Lanceau's stolen silks. She knew!
How long had she known? Was the cloth in her possession? Here in her home? When he'd taken her into his confidence days ago and told her of his mission, had she listened, even offered him encouragement, while she hoarded the prize he sought?
Whatever the truth, she had lied to him. A dagger-sharp ache gouged Dominic's soul. How could his Sweet Daisy betray his trust?
Lowering the sword, Dominic glared at her. She still stared at him, her eyes enormous in her pale face. Ewan cried against her skirts, while she rubbed her hands over his back. Her soothing, protective gesture said a great deal, also—most of all, how much she loved her son.
His own mother had comforted him in such a manner when he was a child. "There, there," she'd murmured, patting him while he bawled about a stubbed toe or losing his favorite toy horse in a bramble patch. After a moment, she had pushed him back enough to turn up his face and dry his tears with her thumbs. "Save some tears for another time, now." She'd winked, a twinkle in her warm brown eyes. "How about a story to cheer you? I know an exciting one about a maiden and a dragon . . ."
He forced aside the cherished memory. His personal sentiments must not—indeed, could not—overshadow the important duty Geoffrey had bestowed upon him. Gisela had withheld information vital to his mission, while knowing she committed a crime.
With brisk tugs, he untied the clumsy knot holding the silk to the sword. He sensed Ada's stern, curious gaze upon his back. From where she stood by the door, he doubted she saw much of the interchange with the toy weapon—or the silk bound to it. Good. The fewer who knew the damning truth, the better.
After closing his fingers around the cloth, he held out the sword. "Your weapon, little warrior."
Ewan turned his splotchy face away from Gisela's skirts.
"The battle between us is over. A draw."
A puzzled frown wrinkling his face, the little boy sniffled.
"When I get back, you and I will talk. Warrior to warrior. All right?"
Ewan stared at him a long moment, dried his eyes on his sleeve, and nodded. Reaching out, he took back the sword. "You said, 'when I get back.'"
Dominic managed a firm smile. "Aye."
"Where are you going?"
He refused to let his smile waver as his gaze slid up Gisela's arm and bodice to meet her worried gaze. "Your mother and I need to finish our discussion."
Her throat moved with a swallow. "Later, mayhap—"
"Now."
His growled order clearly shocked her. Her spine stiffened. Her hand stilled on Ewan's shoulder. How Dominic hated speaking harshly to her. Yet, no longer could he hold back the bloody thorns of emotion stabbing him.
He yanked up his tunic sleeve and tied the bit of silk around his wrist, tucking the ends under so they did not dangle. Spinning on his heel, he faced Ada. "You will stay with Ewan."
Her eyebrows arched. "Will I?" Her lips pursed. "Ye may be a lord, and ye may well 'ave me 'ead fer speakin' me mind, but ye are a bossy, arrogant, no-good—"
Raising the edge of his tunic, Dominic withdrew a small, leather pouch. It jingled as he drew apart the top and turned it upside down. Silver coins spilled into his palm.
Ada gaped. Her mouth worked several times without emitting a sound. Then, she scowled. "Oh, ye are devious. Ye try ta bribe me, now?"
"Nay, good woman. I pay you to look after Ewan while his mother and I go for a walk."
A soft rustle alerted him that Gisela no longer stood motionless. He sensed her scrambling to think of a way out of her predicament. One she'd brought upon herself.
Anger lanced through him. She should have told him the truth days ago.
Dominic reached out, caught one of Ada's hands, and dropped the coins into it. "Until we return."
Ada's gaze shifted from the coins to a point past his shoulder. No doubt she exchanged glances with Gisela. "But—"
"Good. 'Tis settled." Dominic turned back to face Gisela, who appeared to be edging inside the house. "Fetch your cloak."
Resistance glinted in her gaze. "Will we be long?"
He almost laughed at her challenging tone. "That depends on you." And, God help me, what I decide to do with you, Sweet Daisy, once I know the truth. Not just what you wish to tell me, but all of it, right down to the last, sordid detail.
Her mouth pressed into a stubborn line, but she reached out, took her cloak down from its peg, and pulled the wool about her shoulders.
"Where are you going?" Ewan looked up at him. Concern shone in the little boy's eyes.
"Not far." Dominic ruffled the boy's hair.
"Why do you look angry?" Ewan shuffled his feet. "You look like you are going to shout. Like Father."
Dominic grimaced. Never did he wish to be compared to Gisela's former husband.
"Ewan—"
"I do not like it when you look so. It makes my tummy go squishy."
Squishy? Dominic suppressed a groan. "Your mama and I need to clarify some issues. Then, I hope not to be so . . . annoyed."
Gisela crossed to his side, garbed in her cloak. She yanked the hood up into place.
Dominic reached out to tuck in a stray length of her hair. "Walk by my side, as though we are associates taking a casual evening stroll."
"How else would I walk?" she muttered, striding toward the door.
He matched her pace. "Not like that."
Gisela threw up her hands. "Dominic!"
"'Tis best if Crenardieu's men do not follow us," he cut in. "You will arouse suspicion if you march along as though you wish to pummel someone—namely me."
The barest smile kicked up the corner of her mouth.
Ada gave a gleeful snort.
Hands on his hips, he leaned closer to Gisela. The scent of her hair, her body, her sweetness, posed their own challenges to his determination, but he pointedly ignored them. "I am trying to be chivalrous," he said, in a voice only she could hear. "I wish to hear your explanation, understand why you deceived me, and know how you came to have the stolen silk. However, if you insist on thwarting me, I will haul you from here, tie you to my horse, and take you to Branton Keep to answer to de Lanceau himself." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Your choice."
"I have not refused to go with you," she said between her teeth, mutiny in her eyes.
"Do as I ask, then." Brushing past her, he opened the door and gestured to the shadow-robed street. "After you."
She stepped over the threshold and moved aside to let him pass. With a nod to Ada, he drew the door closed. He tipped his head in the direction of the market square and, as he had suggested, she walked at his side, her shoes rasping on the dirt.
The end-of-day breeze held a heavy note, redolent of the coming twilight. As he strode along, he cast a discreet glance up and down the street. No sign of Crenardieu's t
hugs. Either they had gone to report to him, or they had snuck away for their evening meal.
He quickened his strides a fraction, encouraged when Gisela did the same. While he wished to speak to her alone, without Ewan or Ada to distract or interfere, he didn't want to be out after dark. His dealings with Crenardieu last evening had shown him a glimpse of Clovebury's seedy underbelly. Once was enough.
He crossed through the market, over to the streets on the other side, past houses and shops until the glint of river water appeared ahead. He'd discovered this picturesque spot while walking the bank, searching for clues as to the silk theft. How apt, that his wounded heart brought him here.
"Will you please tell me where we are going?" Gisela said, a catch in her voice.
"Just up here." The stone wall running along the roadside—a remnant of ancient Roman conquerors—disintegrated a few yards on. A passing cart, veering out of control, must have careened into it, leaving behind a gaping hole. Crumbled rocks trailed into the wildflowers and weeds growing alongside, as though the stones tried to bury themselves again in the earth, to return to familiar ground, rather than risk being mortared back into the wall.
Turning his body sideways, he stepped through the jagged opening into the meadow that led down to the riverbank. Facing Gisela, he extended his hand to help her. She looked at his outstretched fingers, an expression of both longing and determination tightening her features, before she braced her slender hands upon the crumbled stone and eased herself through.
Dominic snuffed a sting of disappointment that she did not allow him to assist her, then turned on his heel and started across the meadow. Shadows, lightened here and there by patches of fading sunshine, flowed like gray cloth across the grasses and wildflowers. Greenery crunched beneath his boots, stirring up hidden creatures—not vibrant butterflies or giddy bumblebees, but small, buzzing insects.
Behind him, he heard the whisper of grasses brushing against her cloak, accompanied by her footsteps. Years ago, she'd followed him so, her strides lazy and coy, her smile as bright as spring sunlight. Now . . .
He glanced over his shoulder. A pensive frown on her face, she scanned the slow-moving river, the wooden bridge spanning the banks farther down, the trees and cottages on the opposite bank. She rubbed her arms, as if to warm herself.
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