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“Shh,” he murmured against her hair.

She clamped her lips together, curtailing the last of her desolate cry. The breeze whispered through the leaves overhead, altering the shadows beneath the willow with new patterns of light and dark. Sunshine slipped over the twisted roots plunging like fingers into the soil. Those roots anchored the tree. Sustained it through drought and storms. Grew deeper over time and helped it flourish.

Dominic’s arms tightened about her, reinforcing her with their muscled strength. Another moan, of unbearable longing, bubbled inside her. How wondrous to be pressed against him.

How dangerous, to defy the physical distance between them.

She released her pent-up breath. “W-what did I say?”

“Enough,” he said, his breath a warm gust against her hair.

Anticipation swirled from her nape down to her toes. The breeze whispered again, bringing with it the smells of grasses, loam, and river water, mingled with Dominic’s scent.

Closing her eyes, she savored the forbidden essence of him. His masculine scent personified joy, pleasure, passion… all she’d left behind in the meadow the day they parted.

Step away, reason commanded. You must. Your emotions are too fragile. Your love for Dominic can never be as it was. Do not torment yourself. However, before her traitorous body could obey, her head tipped back to nestle between his shoulder and neck.

He drew in a startled breath. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the contact. As he inhaled, his upper chest brushed her back. A low groan burned her throat, for even that touch made her crave him. Tears stung her closed eyes.

Step away, Gisela.

Before she could break from his embrace, his arms shifted. Instead of easing her away, he tightened his hold. For this one moment, it seemed, he agreed to indulge her, while she gathered her tattered emotions.

A gallant gesture. One true to his noble nature.

Oh, Dominic. Tears slipped past her lashes.

“Gisela,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Mmm?” How husky her voice sounded.

Turning her face, she glanced up at him… to find his mouth a breath away. The slightest nudge forward, and their lips would touch.

The memory of their kiss in her shop swept through her. Her skin tingled, recalling the hungry softness of his mouth, and his groans when the kiss deepened.

How would he taste in this secluded meadow?

As though attuned to her thoughts, his gaze dropped to her lips. Desire sparked beneath the dark sweep of his lashes.

His mouth tightened. Turning his face away, he looked out across the twilight field. “’Twill be dark soon. We must start back to your home.”

Dominic strode ahead of Gisela toward the disintegrating Roman wall. His thoughts reeled with the impact of what she’d told him of her husband’s viciousness—and what he’d deduced from her fear-induced near-collapse.

As he walked, he seized a grass head and ripped it from its stem. His warrior instincts roared for retribution. To think of Gisela disfigured, controlled, crushed by a man like Ryle… It explained much about the changes in her from years ago and why in desperation she might make wrong choices—among them, lying to him.

Still, he couldn’t deny his anger, almost as fierce as his hunger for her. She’d deliberately withheld information about Geoffrey’s stolen cloth and Ewan’s paternity. What other secrets did she keep? In what other ways would she betray his trust?

Cease, Dominic, his heart cried. Left with few choices, she did what she thought best to protect herself and her child.

That much was true. What Ryle had inflicted upon her was unforgivable. Dominic scowled. To think of Ewan, his son, living in the same home as Ryle…

Ewan. His son.

Bewilderment plowed through Dominic, causing him to almost stumble over his own boots. In all his dalliances with women, he’d never imagined himself a father. Was the boy really his son? Had Gisela invented her story about Ryle’s impotence and Dominic being Ewan’s father in hopes of bettering her circumstances with him?

Nay. Ewan was his son. In his gut, Dominic knew.

Fury still simmered that she hadn’t divulged the news earlier. But, weaving into his anger, was a sense of wonder and⁠—