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“Guards!” he bellowed.

Tromped footfalls sounded behind her. From de Lanceau’s ominous stare, she guessed they were coming to forcibly remove her.

“Milord, I know Ryle better than you,” she said in a frantic rush. “I can help you defeat him, as well as Crenardieu. If there is aught I can say, or do, to sway him from murdering Dominic, I will. If I can give you and your men even the slightest advantage to save Dominic, I will.”

De Lanceau shook his head.

Struggling against the men grabbing her arms, she cried, “‘Please! ’Tis my solemn oath. A vow as binding as a knight’s. A pledge I champion with my soul. A vow I make not for myself, but for a little boy⁠—”

“Gisela!”

“—who has been denied so much.” Her tone hoarsened on a sob. “Most of all, his father’s love.”

Raising a hand, De Lanceau halted his men. His gaze softened. “Eloquent words.”

“I meant every one,” she whispered, “milord.”

“Very well. Release her,” he commanded. As the rough hands fell away, he said, “To your horse, Gisela.”

His gaze fixed upon Crenardieu and the four finely dressed merchants chatting on the dock, Dominic dug his nails into the ropes binding his wrists.

The bastards had tied him to a tree out of clear view of the approaching buyers. With the crossbow aimed squarely at his chest, the men had bound his hands behind the trunk. A rope around his chest pinned him against the rough bark, which caught at his hair like fingers. More ropes secured his feet. After grinding a scrap of linen into the loamy soil, laughing with each scrape of their boots, the thugs had tied it in his mouth.

He was securely fettered. Like a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

Never.

He swallowed, tasting dirt from the tight gag. The boughs above him sighed, casting a lazy pattern across the ground, while his nails dug deeper into the grooves between the bonds. They had not restrained him as efficiently this time. They obviously saw no need.

Gloating over the imminent bloodletting, eager for their payment, Crenardieu’s men had sniggered while they tied him. They had sauntered away to stand by the trees closest to the wagon, near enough to keep watch on him, but also to overhear Crenardieu’s bartering.

Wincing as bark scraped against his tender skin, Dominic wiggled his wrists back and forth. The rope gave a little. A fraction more than the last time he’d tried.

If you do not hurry, idiot, you will lose your chance!

He blocked out the voice shouting inside his head. He tried not to think what might happen if he didn’t manage to get free. To never see Gisela again, to never taste the sweetness of her mouth, to never sink with a groan into the wetness of her body…

Crenardieu’s laughter echoed out across the river. The dark-haired merchant beside him, wearing a sumptuous brown cloak, extended his hand.

Hurry!

Dominic dragged in a breath. The scents of damp earth, water, horses—of life—taunted him to fight harder.

After shaking hands, Crenardieu and the merchant strode across the dock and up the bank, followed by the three other men. Other merchants waited in the boats rocking gently on the water. Sunlight slanted over the walkers, illuminating their features—the indulgent faces of men who got rich on others’ hard work and misfortune. Dominic committed the faces to memory, his gaze sharpening as the group approached the wagon. The merchants clearly wanted to inspect the cloth before handing over their coin.

The louts standing nearby shifted, a restless sound matched by the whisper of the wind.

Hurry, idiot.

Dominic dug his nails in again, and the ropes gave a little more. The canvas fluttered away from the cloth, revealing the brilliant jewel tones of the fabric within. The merchants murmured. A smile lit the dark-haired buyer’s face. Reaching out, he fingered the yellow silk, and then the cornflower blue.

“Magnificent,” he said. “As you promised.”

Crenardieu’s chest swelled like an arrogant cockerel’s. “My asking price is fair, oui, considering the quality?”

The man pushed aside several bolts and examined others. Silence spread across the riverbank. Even the birds seemed to have stopped warbling, as if they, too, waited for the man’s final word.

“Agreed.” The merchant motioned to the men in the boats. “We will pay your price.”