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“Ewan! Stop,” Gisela cried, grabbing for his sword arm.

Whack. “Take that!” Ewan yelled.

Gisela caught her son’s elbow. “Cease! Right now, or⁠—”

A flash of blue pinned her gaze and froze the rest of her words. Tied around the sword’s grip was a length of cornflower blue silk. Ewan must have picked it up off her shop floor when he discovered the lump of wax. He’d hidden the cloth so she wouldn’t take it away.

“Nay,” she whispered, making a frantic grab for the sword.

With a loud smack, Dominic’s hand closed over the toy’s blade, halting it in mid-thrust.

“That is enough, Ewan.”

Dominic’s authoritative tone sent tremors racing through her. She prayed he had not seen the silk, that she would have a chance to untie it and stuff it into her gown.

“Let go of the sword,” Dominic said.

“Aye, let Mama have it, Ewan.” Gisela’s pulse drummed a frantic rhythm.

A sob broke from Ewan.

“I know you are unsettled, Button. I will explain all. I promise,” Gisela soothed, rubbing his shoulder. “Right now, I want you to give me the sword. I will keep it safe for you.”

With a reluctant nod, Ewan released the toy. Gisela grabbed for it.

Too late.

Faster than she thought possible, Dominic flipped the toy weapon toward him. Holding it by the blade, he raised the grip to eye level. The silk trailed down in a blue wisp.

He fingered the scrap. “Ewan, where did you get this?”

She begged for him not to answer, even as he sniffled out, “M-Mama.”

Very slowly, very deliberately, Dominic’s gaze slid from the silk to her. “Indeed, we still have much to talk about.”

When Gisela’s face went ashen, Dominic fought a flood of disbelief and rage. Her reaction told him a great deal. Most of all, that ’twas no coincidence Ewan had blue silk adorning his sword.

She knew of de Lanceau’s stolen silks. She knew!

How long had she known? Was the cloth in her possession? Here in her home? When he’d taken her into his confidence days ago and told her of his mission, had she listened, even offered him encouragement, while she hoarded the prize he sought?

Whatever the truth, she had lied to him. A dagger-sharp ache gouged Dominic’s soul. How could his Sweet Daisy betray his trust?

Lowering the sword, Dominic glared at her. She still stared at him, her eyes enormous in her pale face. Ewan cried against her skirts, while she rubbed her hands over his back. Her soothing, protective gesture said a great deal, also—most of all, how much she loved her son.

His own mother had comforted him in such a manner when he was a child. “There, there,” she’d murmured, patting him while he bawled about a stubbed toe or losing his favorite toy horse in a bramble patch. After a moment, she had pushed him back enough to turn up his face and dry his tears with her thumbs. “Save some tears for another time, now.” She’d winked, a twinkle in her warm brown eyes. “How about a story to cheer you? I know an exciting one about a maiden and a dragon…”

He forced aside the cherished memory. His personal sentiments must not—indeed, could not—overshadow the important duty Geoffrey had bestowed upon him. Gisela had withheld information vital to his mission, while knowing she committed a crime.

With brisk tugs, he untied the clumsy knot holding the silk to the sword. He sensed Ada’s stern, curious gaze upon his back. From where she stood by the door, he doubted she saw much of the interchange with the toy weapon—or the silk bound to it. Good. The fewer who knew the damning truth, the better.

After closing his fingers around the cloth, he held out the sword. “Your weapon, little warrior.”

Ewan turned his splotchy face away from Gisela’s skirts.

“The battle between us is over. A draw.”

A puzzled frown wrinkling his face, the little boy sniffled.