Page 58
Reaching out, she grasped the worktable. Her fingers clutched its solid strength, until the memory dissipated and her shaking subsided.
She forced up her chin, ignoring the lingering pangs of dread. With freedom so near, she would not be cowed by memories of Ryle. Dominic would arrive soon. She must bolster herself for what she was to tell him. Moreover, she needed to plan what she and Ewan would take when they fled.
She went through into her home, her gaze straying to the bread, cheese, and bowl of hazelnuts on the table. A simple repast, but ’twould do. With it she would serve the last of the mead she kept in the cupboard. Good to drink it up, since she wouldn’t take it with her and Ewan. They must take only what was light and easy to carry.
Booted footfalls echoed in the shop. “Hello?”
Dominic.
Her pulse began an erratic thunder. “In here.” She crossed to the doorway, drying her suddenly damp hands on her skirt.
How bold and handsome he looked, poised in the light streaming in from the doorway behind him—as though he commanded the sun. He no longer wore the embroidered tunic, but a simple, well-fitting one the gray of a winter sky. As he neared, her gaze took in his hair’s unruly tousle, the graceful curve of his lips, and the stubborn purpose about him.
How much he reminded her of Ewan.
A breath shivered from her, for, as it had that morning, concern glinted in Dominic’s eyes. Gesturing to the street outside, he said, “The door was open.”
Surprise skittered through her. “I wanted to let in some fresh air.”
His head dipped in a half nod. “Did you have visitors?”
“I only finished working a short while ago, and then I opened the door. No one came or went.”
“Ah.” His gaze skimmed the room, pausing to linger on the chemise hanging on the wall peg. She’d hoped to sew more on it that afternoon, but would have to return to it that evening. If she worked through the night, she could finish it along with Crenardieu’s commission.
Reaching back, Dominic swung the door closed. It clicked shut, and the room plunged into shadow, lit only by the fading sunlight fingering in through cracks in the walls.
Gisela frowned. “Why did you shut the panel?”
His gaze narrowed, but he did not answer.
“Please open it.”
“In a moment.” His attention shifted from her to the chemise before he strode to it, his boots loud on the planks. His expression thoughtful, he caught the sleeve in his fingers and examined the unfinished cuff.
He will notice you have not worked on it today. He will be suspicious, her mind shrilled.
Alarm shot through Gisela like hot sparks. She must distract him. Quickly!
“Dominic, what is going on?”
He hesitated, long enough to send a shiver coursing through her, before he glanced at her. “I might ask you that question.”
“W-what do you mean?” She tried to sound puzzled, but her words died on her tongue.
“Your shop is being watched.”
“What? By whom?”
Ryle. He has found you. He has come to kill you.
She fought a blinding surge of panic. Nay. Ryle wouldn’t merely watch her; he’d storm in and unleash his temper.
“Crenardieu’s men,” Dominic said.
She exhaled on an oath. Crenardieu didn’t trust her, after all. He suspected she might bolt before she finished her commission for him. Did he think she’d steal the silk and sell it?
Or, did he expect her to betray him to Dominic?
