Page 35
Ewan frowned.
“Do you know how lucky you are to have such a caring mother?”
Looking down at Sir Smug, the boy shook his head.
“My mother died years ago. She was a very wise woman, just like your mother.” Dominic’s tone softened. “Every day, I miss her.”
Ewan’s gaze moved slowly to Gisela.
“Do as she has asked you,” Dominic said quietly.
The little boy pouted. “But, I have not shown you my sword.”
“I will be back to see you.” Dominic patted Ewan’s shoulder. Holding the boy’s gaze, he leaned close to his ear. “If you go now, without a fuss, I will tell you the story about the maiden and the dragon next time I visit.”
“Tell me now!” Ewan said, his eyes bright.
Dominic shook his head. “Now, you will obey your mother.”
Ewan looked one last time at his knight, then up at Gisela. He turned and, with obedient steps, went back into the home.
Dominic rose. His tender smile suggested he might enjoy being a father one day.
Oh, Dominic, if only you knew…
“Thank you,” Gisela murmured.
He nodded, still staring at the doorway through which Ewan had disappeared. “He is a good child. He reminds me so much of myself, when I was young.”
That is because there is much of you in him, a voice inside Gisela answered, rousing a new tangle of emotions. No matter how difficult it might be—no matter what obstacles her revelation might toss in her path toward freedom—she must tell him. He deserved to know.
The moment stretched ahead of her in the quiet room. When his attention returned to her, she clasped her unsteady hands together.
“Dominic,” she began, half-aware of voices outside in the street. One sounded familiar. Brusque, as gravelly as a table dragged across dirt, it carried over the tramp of approaching footfalls.
Varden Crenardieu.
“Aye, Sweet Daisy?” Dominic said.
“—you men wait outside.” The voice, heavy with a French accent, came from just outside her shop door. Still, after several meetings with the rich merchant, his voice sent misgiving pooling inside her like icy water.
Even more so, after Dominic’s tale about de Lanceau’s missing cloth.
Her stomach twisted. What wretchedly bad timing for the French merchant to arrive while Dominic stood in her premises—almost directly over the silk stowed under the floorboards.
Oh, God, if Crenardieu mentioned the commissioned garments…
Her heart thudding against her ribs, she turned to face the doorway. A broad shadow blocked the embrasure before Crenardieu stepped inside. Tall as Dominic, his imposing stature was accentuated by a forest green cloak draping in shimmering folds from his shoulders to his ankles. Trimmed with black fur, the sleeves and hem glittered with gold embroidery clearly meant to flaunt his trade and his wealth. His black leather boots creaked as he walked.
“Bonjour, Anne.” Glancing from her to Dominic, he strode farther into the room. The rings on his fingers glittered as he pushed his straight, blond hair back over his shoulder.
“Good day,” she answered.
“You are well this fine morning?”
“Aye, thank you.”
“And your son?”
