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His fingers brushed the silk again. With careful movements, he maneuvered the scrap until he located the knot. With his fingers and nails, he began to loosen it.
Muttering coarse French oaths, Crenardieu tossed the blazing torch into the dewy grasses along the roadside, where it slowly smoldered. He stormed to the back of the wagon, the two thugs by his side. They braced their weight against the cart. Crenardieu yelled at the wagon driver. The stuck wheel spun, spewing dirt, before the cart bounced forward, mobile once again.
The silk’s knot eased free. Smothering a smile, Dominic curled his palm around the cloth.
His face set in a scowl, Crenardieu strode back to retrieve the torch. It had burned out. Tossing it into the middle of the road, he climbed back onto the wagon. It rumbled on.
The thugs remounted their horses. “Not even a word o’ thanks,” the taller thug mumbled. “’E’d best not be stingy with ’is promised coin.”
“We get the silver today,” the other man said. “As soon as those merchants from London pay ’im.”
“Shh!” came a sharp reprimand from behind them.
The taller thug swiveled. “Why?” Wrapping the reins of Dominic’s horse around his wrist again, he said, “’E’s a dead man. ’E will tell no one.”
Dominic shrugged away a twinge in his right shoulder. His gaze settled on the torch, lying in the road, and he fought a grin. Foolish oaf, you are the dead man. Just you wait…
The thug pulled on Dominic’s horse’s reins, and they began to walk again. Opening his hand, he released the silk. He dared not glance back to see where it had landed.
On they journeyed, while the road and its surroundings surrendered to the dawn light. Water glistened, visible here and there through the trees alongside the road. They traveled through a forest.
Birds shrilled overhead, while light slipped through the trees, illuminating lush patches of ferns and nettles. A doe and her fawn, grazing on roadside flowers, raised their heads and then bounded away into the brush. As Dominic watched the young deer’s leggy gait, he suddenly thought of Ewan and Gisela. Were they all right? If only he knew.
Just as Dominic shifted his leg, which had gone numb, Crenardieu ordered the wagon down a pitted road winding into the forest. Jarring on the rough ground, the wagon rolled down through the trees to a wide, cleared stretch along the riverbank. A crude wooden dock stretched out into the water. Rowboats rocked on the gentle current. By the opposite bank, ducks paddled and bobbed for minnows.
Crenardieu leapt down from the wagon. “Stand guard with the cloth,” he ordered his cohort, who began to climb down.
The thugs ahead of Dominic halted their horses. Crenardieu’s boots crunched on the dirt as he strode toward them.
Twisting his hands, Dominic felt the rope’s knot give slightly. Ah. Excellent.
“The buyers will be here soon,” Crenardieu said to his men. “When the merchants arrive, I want you to stand watch by the silks. Naught is to be loaded into the boats until they have handed over the coin.”
“Aye, milord,” the men said.
Crenardieu’s gaze sharpened. A chill prickled the hairs on Dominic’s nape as the Frenchman inhaled a dramatic breath of the crisp, fragrant air, then smiled at him. “A fine place to die, oui?”
“I cannot say,” Dominic said with a careless smile, “for I do not intend to perish here.”
Crenardieu snorted. “Still, you believe you will escape? That your loyalty to de Lanceau means aught?” He spat on the ground.
“Killing me will not stop de Lanceau. He has many trusted men in the riverside towns, and he will find you. When he does…”
“Ha! Once the silk is gone”—the Frenchman waved his hand—“who is to say I stole it? Who will tell de Lanceau?” He grinned. “Not I. Not you. And not your Gisela.”
Dominic’s pulse lurched at the mention of Gisela. Rage burned the back of his eyes, but he fought the urge to acknowledge Crenardieu’s taunt. “What of your men?” He raised an eyebrow. “They are loyal to you? You pay them well enough to ensure their silence?”
An inkling of doubt shadowed the Frenchman’s gaze. Then, he smiled. “You are a clever one, de Terre. Yet, I grow weary of our talk.” Addressing the thugs, he said, “Get him down from the horse.”
“When do we slay ’im?”
“When the negotiations are done. Then we may take as long as we like. No one will stop us.”
Anger boiled inside Dominic. The impulse to dig his heels into the horse, to spur the animal to a gallop, screamed in his wounded muscles. But, the man with the crossbow would slaughter him before he reached the trees’ protective cover. Better to wait until a more opportune time. Better yet, until he’d seen the faces of the London merchants who would dare to buy de Lanceau’s stolen cloth.
The man by the wagon waved his hand. “Milord.”
Crenardieu’s head swiveled. “What is it?”
