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Oh, God! Oh, God!
Sounds broke through the shrill humming in her ears. Battle cries, emanating from the forest. De Lanceau’s men streamed out of the woods.
“Crenardieu!” a lackey yelled.
More shouts, followed by the clang of swords. De Lanceau’s men split into two groups. Following their lord, some of the guards raced toward those surrounding her and Dominic. Aldwin and the others charged down to the dock.
Halting a few paces away, de Lanceau glared at Ryle. “Put down the dagger.”
“Who in hellfire are you?” Ryle sneered.
“Geoffrey de Lanceau, Lord of Branton Keep.”
Ryle spat on the ground. “I know your name well—”
“Ryle!” Crenardieu said, warning in his glare.
“—for you ruined my cloth business. You ruined me!”
As Ryle’s fingers flexed on the knife, Gisela’s hand flew to her aching scar. Down by the docks, swords clashed. A man screamed, followed by a splash. Ryle, too, would not yield without a fight. Men would die before this battle ended.
De Lanceau’s face hardened with anger. “Balewyne, set down your knife. The rest of you, throw down your weapons. You are all under arrest. No one steals my cloth and sells it to other merchants.”
“Arrest him!” Ryle shouted, thrusting a finger at Dominic. “I caught him with my wife, embracing and kissing her. A moment more, and they would have been fornicating there in the woods. Ask the others. They saw, too.”
“Gisela is not your wife,” Dominic said. “You do not deserve her.”
“I married her. By law, she is mine. She will obey me as her wedded husband.”
“Never,” Gisela said, resolve giving her voice. “Never again.”
Wrath lit Ryle’s eyes. “Shut up!”
“You shut up,” Dominic shot back. “By law, you never were her husband.”
“Lying bastard!”
Gisela shuddered at the violence of Ryle’s tone, even as a brittle laugh broke from Dominic. Waving a hand at the surrounding men, he said, “Admit it, if you have the ballocks. Your marriage was never consummated.”
Gisela’s breath locked in her lungs. Oh, Dominic! Beware!
“That means your and Gisela’s marriage is not—and never was—legally binding.”
Ryle’s face turned scarlet. “I care not what you say. She is my wife.”
Arching an eyebrow, Dominic said, “Nay. You were not man enough to make her so. Not on your wedding night, or any instance after that.”
A wary scowl creased Crenardieu’s brow. “How would you know?”
“Gisela told me.”
Sucking in a furious gasp, Ryle glared at her. He looked angry enough to exhale flames.
Crenardieu swallowed as though to rid his mouth of a foul taste. “C’est impossible. Ryle has a son—”
“Nay,” Dominic ground out.
“—whom he sold to me for fifty silver coins. To help pay off some of his debts.”
