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A gasp echoed behind her. She spun to see Dominic clutching his side. Sweat glistened on his brow. Despite his sun-bronzed skin, his face looked pale.
“Are you all right?”
“My ribs dare to complain.” His lips curved in a wry grin. “You walk so fast, I vow the wind rushes beneath your feet.”
Another attempt at flattery. However, his strained tone conveyed the extent of his discomfort. “I am sorry. I thought it best to hurry.”
“If ’tis far, I should rest a moment.” Stepping sideways, he leaned against a shop wall, one arm cradling his rib cage.
“My home is around the next corner.” Worry pinched her. “What can I do to help? Would it ease your pain to lean on me?”
The lines around his mouth deepened. “I will manage.”
She frowned. “Are you certain?”
Drawing himself up straight, he offered a roguish grin. “God’s teeth, I do not wish to be seen leaning on you like an invalid. ’Twould completely destroy my reputation as a strong, lusty lover.”
A disbelieving smile tugged at her lips. “That would be devastating.”
He pressed his palm over his heart. “Exactly.”
His bemused expression looked like Ewan’s. Right down to the dimples. Her smile vanished on a wave of regret. “The sooner we reach my home, the sooner we can tend your injuries.”
He nodded and carefully eased away from the wall.
Gisela slowed her strides to walk beside him. He didn’t make any further complaints, but she sensed the effort it took him to maintain his indolent strides. Moments later, she motioned to her shop several yards ahead, distinguished by the painted sign depicting a needle and thread hanging over the doorway. “That is it, there.”
Dominic blew out a breath. His shoulders seemed to sag.
She hurried to the wooden door. Pressing one hand against the weathered panel, she dug in her cloak pocket for the key. Her fingers shook. When she pressed the wrought-iron key into the lock, a sense of inevitability weighed upon her, as though she stood poised to venture into a new, uncertain portion of her life.
Indeed, she was.
The lock clicked.
She slipped the key back into her pocket and pushed the door open. Motioning for Dominic to step ahead of her over the threshold, she said, “Come in.”
CHAPTER 4
Amélange of smells assailed Dominic when he stepped from the sunlit street into the darkened tailor’s shop. He noted first the fading aroma of cooked fare. As he walked farther across the planked floor, he discerned the distinct smells of place, including the earthiness of wooden floors and walls. He also caught undertones of virgin cloth, ready to quiver free of confining bolts, sprawl in careless abandon across a table, and be cut and stitched into garments to delight and pleasure.
He inhaled again. The room’s smell piqued memories of long ago days in the Port of Venice. He’d traveled there with Geoffrey and worked with rich merchants Marco and Pietro Vicenza while Geoffrey slowly regained his strength after surviving grave wounds from crusade.
More recently, Dominic had toiled alongside Geoffrey at Branton Keep, unloading shipments of fine silks and other fabrics Pietro had sent from Venice.
When the shipments arrived, that is.
Dominic halted in the middle of the shop, aware of voices coming from a room beyond. Ignoring the ache in his side, he squinted in the shadows to take in the whitewashed walls, the table covered with tailor’s implements, and the half-finished gown hung on the wall. A rolled length of brown wool rested on the table, alongside other bolts of fabric. He crossed to them and then trailed his fingers over the cloth. Far from the quality of Geoffrey’s imported fabrics. None were silk.
Why, then, had he thought he caught a hint of expensive Eastern silk?
He reached up to rub his brow. Pain lanced through his ribs, almost sending him reeling against the table. He grunted, then winced at the answering twinge in his jaw. With his senses chafed by pain, he couldn’t completely trust his perceptions. He’d imagined the scent of silk, no doubt, because his thoughts had drifted.
Cold, clammy sweat collected between his shoulder blades. Under his breath, he prayed his knees wouldn’t buckle. Just as he wiped sweat from his upper lip, the door to the street closed. The room plunged into inky shadow, streaked here and there by light piercing through holes in the wall.
“I will fetch some light.” Gisela’s voice wavered. Was she worried about being alone with him in the dark? A mischievous voice inside him dared him to roar like a wild beast, to make her shriek, but somehow, he doubted ’twas the right moment for jest.
The chamber’s air shifted as she swept past him. Her floral scent blended into the surrounding smells. He turned, following her scent. Savoring it like perfume.
