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She stared down at her feet peeping out from her gown’s hem. There, by her right shoe, lit by the sunlight fingering in through a crack in the wall, lay a strand of blue thread.
She squeezed her eyes shut. If Dominic had seen it…
But, he hadn’t. She would finish the gown and cloak as Crenardieu demanded. If—and only if—Dominic discovered her duplicity, she and Ewan would be long gone from Clovebury.
I would never forgive myself, Sweet Daisy, if aught terrible happened to you that I could have prevented.
Each of her steps leaden with guilt, she walked back to the worktable. Dominic had spoken with such sincerity. For one, fleeting moment, his words had melted through her fear.
How she wished she could confide in him, especially after Crenardieu’s threat to betray her to Ryle. Could Dominic help her—more importantly, help Ewan—escape the danger hovering over them like a dragon poised to attack? Could she possibly barter with Dominic, exchanging what she knew about Crenardieu and the stolen cloth for her and Ewan’s safe passage out of Clovebury?
Or, if she told, would the truth shatter all? Dominic’s revulsion, straight from her nightmare, filled her mind. He’d despise her for not being honest when he first told her about his mission in Clovebury. Furious, he might arrest her. He would take Ewan away.
Oh, God, she could not bear to be separated from her son!
Fear became a brutal knot against her breastbone. Without her protecting Ewan, every moment of every day, Ryle would find a way to get to him. Her charming, clever former husband would manipulate his way into Dominic’s circle of acquaintances. Ryle would murder Ewan. And then, Dominic.
She couldn’t let that happen.
With stiff hands, she whisked the chemise from the table. After hanging it back on the wall peg, Gisela crouched, raised the loose planks, and withdrew the silk gown. It shimmered in her hands, taunting her with its exquisite beauty.
When she laid the gown on the table, the fabric rustled. It sounded like rain falling on a spring afternoon.
One day, soon, she’d feel rain on her uncovered hair. Wipe it from her upturned face. See it sparkle on Ewan’s eyelashes.
A smile touched her lips as she shifted the gown.
Freedom, the sound whispered. Freedom.
After Gisela’s shop door closed behind him, Dominic stopped in the street. A relief, that she was hale, and he had no cause to worry. He looked forward to sharing a meal with her and Ewan later.
Still, he couldn’t dismiss the unease chewing at him like a mischievous hound.
Something was wrong.
He sensed it as acutely as the dust rising from the road in a hazy cloud.
Massaging his right shoulder, he tried to ease his aching, fatigued muscles. His suspicion could well be the result of being overtired from his night at the tavern. Fatigue had the power to influence one’s judgment. While Gisela had seemed uncomfortable at times during their meeting, he’d seen naught in her shop to justify his anxiety.
Yet,…
A peddler, leading two heavily laden horses, ambled past. Farther down the street, two women strolled along, heads bent together, caught up in their private conversation. A group of men crouched beside a cart with a broken wheel, clearly trying to decide how best to repair it.
He glanced back at the men. His gaze fixed on the dark-haired, broad-shouldered one standing behind the wagon. The lout faced the street, his face partly covered by a floppy leather hat.
A chill coursed through Dominic.
The man was one of Crenardieu’s lackeys. He’d hovered close by the Frenchman at the tavern. Where he stood, the man had a clear view of Gisela’s shopfront. No one could come or go without him noticing.
Gisela was being watched.
Or, was Dominic the target of Crenardieu’s spying?
The chill inside Dominic transformed to burning anger. No one had followed him that morning. Regardless how addled he’d been, he was certain of it.
Why, then, would Crenardieu send a man to spy on Gisela? He’d not waste his hired thugs unless she was important to him somehow.
How? And why?
