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 m
y 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 thugs. 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.
“Head for that tree. ’Tis shielded from the road.” Dominic gestured to the ancient willow gilded in the orange hues of sunset.
Gisela followed him beneath the broad, spreading branches. She stood in the shadows, looking down at the tangled tracery of roots, as though there lay the answer to her dilemma.
At last, the moment had come. The moment he got his answers. Anticipation ate at him, creating an uncomfortable ache in his gut.
He waited until she looked up at him, then raised his cuff to reveal the silk encircling his wrist like a bracelet. The edges of the fabric were not frayed; this indicated the scrap wasn’t torn from a larger piece of cloth, but neatly cut. Only well-sharpened shears left such a neat edge.
“How did Ewan come by this blue silk, Gisela?”
“I guess he . . . picked it up.”
“He said you gave it to him.”
Gnawing her lip, she shook her head. “I did not. He must have taken it from the pile of scraps on my shop floor. I did not notice.” Self-condemnation crept into her gaze. “I should have. I should have expected him to sneak some of the cloth for his sword.”
“You know the whereabouts of the stolen silk.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “Some of it.”
“’Tis hidden close to your home?”
“Under the floor of my shop.”
“God’s teeth!” No wonder the planks had sounded odd in places. But, he’d assumed ’twas due to wearing of the floorboards and the building’s poor construction.
“When he first gave me the bolts of silk, he told me to keep them hidden to protect them from thieves. He reminded me of the many break-ins over the past few months.”
“He,” Dominic repeated. “You mean Crenardieu.”
“Aye.”
French snake! “How did you come to know him?”
She folded her hands, her fingers moving in a restless pattern as though trying to escape confinement. “One morning, he came to my shop. He said he had heard of my fine work and asked me to make some garments for him. I agreed. I had no reason to decline.” She paused. “Then, one evening, he returned with two bolts of blue silk.”
“I knew he was involved with the stolen shipment,” Dominic growled. “Something about his manner—”
“I did not know at first that the cloth was stolen,” she said, words rushing from her lips. “I thought he had bought the fabric for a wealthy client. With his connections, he could buy any cloth he wanted.”
“True,” Dominic said, “yet surely you were suspicious. Silk is rare and costly.”
“Indeed, when I heard of the stolen silks, I had my suspicions, but I kept them to myself. I did not want him to know I distrusted him. I did not want to lose . . .” Her voice trailed off before she looked across the meadow. Her fingers moved with a more frantic rhythm.
“Lose what?” Dominic demanded. “His confidence? His patronage?”
“Nay.” Her lovely face tautened. “His payment.”
An exasperated cry tore up from Dominic’s gut. “Payment!” She had betrayed him out of greed?
Shocked fury threatened to overrule his rational grasp of the situation. While her admission sank into his consciousness, his heart rebelled. Avarice hadn’t blemished her soul years ago. Surely her moral fortitude hadn’t changed so much, especially when she was responsible for raising a child.
Moreover, the humble residence she called home and her worn garments contradicted all impressions of a greedy woman who spent every coin she earned.
“I know what you are thinking,” she said, her voice cutting his thoughts like shears. “You believe I acted upon greed.”
“That is, indeed, what I thought.”
Gisela’s body went rigid. His words clearly hurt her. “I needed his money, Dominic. From the first day Ewan and I arrived in Clovebury, I hoarded my income. Coin by wretched coin. Not an easy task, when I earned so little, but I had promised . . .”
Her words broke on a sob. He resisted the u
rge to reach out and touch her arm.
“Promised what?”
She thrust her shoulders back. He glimpsed rage in the watery gleam of her eyes. “—to keep Ewan safe. To do whatever I must to protect him.”
The discomfort in Dominic’s belly did an awful twist. “I . . . see.”
“Do you?” Her tear-soaked gaze fixed on him. “How can you possibly understand? You, with your fine clothes, coin to splurge on your every whim, and the friendship of a powerful lord. You want for naught.”
The desperate fury in her voice flayed so deep, he almost flinched. Aye, Sweet Daisy, I did want. I wanted you. Always, you.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she slashed the air with her arm, ordering him to silence. “You saw what my husband did to me,” she said in a fierce whisper. “The night he cut me, I made a vow. I swore I would die before I let him hurt me again.” She shook with the effort of her words. “Never would I let him kill Ewan.”
“What?” Dominic choked out. “Kill . . . Ewan?” Horror made him stagger back a step. “Why—”
Touching anguish shadowed her gaze. She looked at him as she had long ago, with a bittersweet tenderness. “Ryle wanted to hurt me. To wound me . . . in the worst possible way.” She shook so fiercely, she looked about to topple over. Dominic caught her elbow and guided her back toward the tree. With a shuddered sigh, she leaned against the trunk.
When her head tilted back, her hair slipped in a golden ribbon over her bosom. Her chest lifted and fell on a tortured breath, and he fought the need to stare at her right breast, its grim scar concealed by her gown. How he longed to know every detail of the night Ryle disfigured her.
“Gisela, why would your husband wish to kill his own child?”
Her lips formed a sad smile. “He was jealous.”
Dominic frowned. “Of the child?”
“Aye. Of the affection I showed Ewan. Of the wonderful, pure love . . . from which he was conceived.”
Her soft voice and the shadowed atmosphere tugged him into the realm of long ago. He forced the recollections away, saying, “There were difficulties in your marriage, then, after you gave birth to Ewan.”
Her expression hardened. “There were difficulties before. Ryle. He . . .” Her lips pressed together, suggesting her next words were difficult.
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