Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  "You will be sorry," he said between his teeth. "You will never deceive me again."

  The knife glinted, a silver flash of light that seemed to reflect off every surrounding surface. The light transfixed her, imprisoned her with sheer horror. What did Ryle mean to do? Was he going to kill her?

  Run! her mind screamed. Get away while you still can.

  Even as her mind shrieked, she remained frozen. Frantic thoughts clashed, undermining her instinct to bolt. If she fled, would he come after her? Or, would he storm up the stairs and use the knife on Ewan?

  Her breath locked tight in her lungs. Several times, Ryle had vowed to hurt anyone she loved if she ran away. He was cruel enough to wound a sleeping child. Another man's son.

  Sobs welled inside her. With every ounce of willpower, she forced herself to remain motionless. Curling her hands into fists, she watched the knife plunge down in a bright arc.

  With a sickening rasp, the blade whisked across her bodice, cutting silk and flesh as though they were soft cheese.

  Pain careened into her mind. A crimson stain ribboned across her bodice. Blood, thick and warm, spewed between her breasts, ran down to her stomach, and stuck her delicate chemise to her skin.

  She stared down at her blood-soaked gown. A strange sound echoed in the chamber. A gasping, wheezing noise.

  The sound of her own breathing.

  The agony of her cut flesh . . . Hideous pain! She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Never would she reveal her anguish. Ryle must not have the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd hurt her. Nor would she wake Ewan and have him see her injury.

  The suppressed scream scorched her throat. With a trembling hand, she fingered the torn silk. A cut with neat, clean edges, she noted dully. The sign of a deadly sharp knife.

  She glanced up, wavering as the room spun at a peculiar angle. Squinting down at her, Ryle met her gaze. The menacing force of his glare commanded her to cower before him, crying, bleeding, and wounded.

  Never again would she yield to this beast of a man. Never!

  When she continued to stare, his squint hardened. She dropped her gaze. She did not want to, but to challenge him when he was in such a rage was foolish. Better to use her remaining strength to find a way to defend herself if he attacked again.

  There. The flower vase he had bought her as a gift. She would smash it over his head. Somehow, she must reach out and grab it.

  Ryle exhaled a rough sigh. The knife winked again. As her arms instinctively flew up in self-defense, the dagger landed with a thump on the table beside them. After running a hand through his silvery hair, he reached for his wine.

  Relief weakened her legs. They threatened to give out, to send her collapsing on the floor.

  Drawn by grim fascination, her gaze slid to the knife. Blood glistened on the blade. Her blood, cleaved from her breast. God, oh, God, how it hurt!

  Vomit burned her mouth. The slick, crimson liquid on the knife began to spread, growing like a murky pool across the table. Wider, wider, it grew, covering the table, consuming . . .

  "Gisela," Dominic said from nearby.

  The scarlet haze in her mind slowly faded to the mottled green of tree shadows. Dominic's arms were around her, supporting her, Gisela realized dully. He stood behind her, holding her about the waist, supporting her while . . .

  While she moaned like a little girl lost in a nightmare.

  "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—

  "Dominic?"

  He half-glanced at Gisela and tried very hard not to look at her mouth. Her lips were as much temptation as if she stood before him naked.

  "What are you going to do?"

  She spoke bravely, but he caught the anxiety threading through and around each word.

  She fell back. A few paces ahead, he turned to look at her. A sudden me
mory of her on the day they'd said good-bye superimposed itself over her standing in the shadowed meadow.

  Aware their voices might carry to the road, he crossed the trampled grasses back to her. In hushed tones, he said, "We will return to your shop, where you will show me the silk."

  Her stare did not waver. "What will you do then? Tell Lord de Lanceau?"

  Dominic nodded. "I must."

  "Will I be"—she hesitated—"arrested? Will I be imprisoned in his dungeon?"

  "I do not know." An honest, if vague, answer. As much as Dominic could tell her right now.

  He knew Geoffrey well enough to plead for Gisela, to insist her actions were those of a mother desperate to protect her son.

  Dominic swallowed. His son.

  Geoffrey also was the father of a young boy, his lady wife pregnant with their second child. Geoffrey would understand a parent's protective instincts. Apart from that, Dominic couldn't say what his lord would believe, or what might transpire.

  "Will he take Ewan from me?" Gisela asked, her voice as thin and brittle as dried flowers. "I beg you, do not take him from me."

  Dominic fought the need to embrace her again. How he wanted to kiss her, to yield to the volatile emotions twisting up inside him. Yet, nightfall gathered across the sky. 'Twas not safe for them to delay.

  "We will discuss this later," he said. "We must get back before dark. Come."

  He started for the wall again, and her reluctant footfalls sounded behind him.

  As they neared her shop, and she drew her key out of her cloak pocket, Dominic glanced about. Still no sign of Crenardieu's watchers. The Frenchman must need them elsewhere this eve.

  She unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. The panel to the main part of the house was closed, and light fingered through the cracked wood. Ewan and Ada's voices, raised in lively conversation, came from beyond.

  "Arr!" Ada roared. "I will eat ye bit by bit, Sir Smug. I will save yer toes fer last."

  "You will not eat my toes," Ewan yelled back, "or any other part of me! Prepare to fight, dragon!"

  A mighty battle cry echoed, at the same moment Gisela closed the door. She secured it before removing her cloak and crossing to her home's entrance.

  "Gisela," Dominic said. She was not going to escape showing him the silk.

  "I will let Ada and Ewan know we have returned," she answered, "and fetch some light."

  She opened the door. For a moment, she stood surrounded by a golden aura.

  "Mama!"

  Ewan's delighted tone touched deep within Dominic. One day, would the little boy greet him with such joy? Or, would Ewan hate him, for revealing his mother's deceptions to de Lanceau?

  "I missed you, Mama."

  "I missed you, too, Button," she said, before the door shut, leaving Dominic in near-darkness. Voices carried, softer this time, before the panel again opened. Gisela stepped through holding a burning taper.

  She nudged the door closed with her foot, headed to her worktable, and lit the candles. Dominic waited, aware of the stiffness of her movements. If she foolishly refused to show him the hiding place, he would go over the floor plank by plank, on his hands and knees, until he found it.

  Wiping her hands on her gown, she walked near to where he stood. She knelt and pressed her palms to the worn boards.

  He stared down at the crown of her head, shining in the candlelight. At the elegant sway of her body, outlined by her shabby gown. He remembered kissing the soft dimples and hollows of her back, as perfect as a Roman sculpture's. How he longed to kneel beside her, catch her chin, and tilt her face up for a kiss. To tell her that whatever she'd done, he could forgive her—because he loved her.

  But, she had lied to him. More than once.

  With a grating rasp, the panel beneath her hands shifted. Blackness gaped beneath.

  He dropped to a crouch, bringing his face to the same level as hers. Her lashes flicked up. Her gaze held his for an instant before she again looked at the plank, gave a slight tug, and drew it free.

  He reached for the neighboring board. The edges were perfectly smooth. The planks joined without the slightest space in between. Whoever had constructed the hidden storage area—likely a smuggler and one of the shop's previous owners—was a clever craftsman who had ensured the cavity remained invisible to all but those who knew its location.

  A grudging smile tugged at Dominic's mouth. No wonder he had not found it. While he knew precisely how to investigate Crenardieu's deceptions, the nuances of plank floors were a complete mystery.

  Gisela withdrew two more boards. Then, sitting back on her heels, she pointed into the opening.

  Blue silk shimmered. A small fortune in cloth.

  Shaking his head, Dominic said, "Do you have any more hidden in your shop?"

  "Nay."

  "Are you absolutely certain?"

  Her jaw tightened. She nodded once.

  "This silk is only a small part of Geoffrey's shipment. There are many more bolts, somewhere." Giving her a pointed look, he said, "Do you know where Crenardieu hid them?"

  "I do not." She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. A shrill giggle erupted from her home—Ewan's laughter—and she exhaled a heavy sigh.

  Dominic reached into the hiding place and examined the contents. Neatly folded atop two bolts of silk were a gown and a partly finished silk cloak. Exquisite garments.

  "What was your agreement with Crenardieu?" he asked, inspecting the bolts.

  "He will visit tomorrow morning to collect the garments and remaining cloth."

  "At that time, he will also pay you," Dominic said.

  "Aye."

  Dominic smiled.

  Gisela's eyebrows arched. Misgiving glinted in her eyes. "I know that look."

  "I vow you do."

  With a little huff, she pushed up to standing. "What do you have planned? I must know."

  Must. Ah, what a subjective term. He had made it quite clear to her, days ago, that he must discover the location of the stolen silks.

  He stood and brushed off his hands on his tunic. "When I return later this evening, we will discuss this further. Right now, there are matters to which I must attend." Of primary importance, he must write a missive to Geoffrey detailing his findings. The more men-at-arms Geoffrey could send to Clovebury by dawn tomorrow, the better.

  "Dominic, we will discuss your plans now."

  A stunned laugh shot from him. She was telling him what to do? "You are overbold, Gisela, considering your circumstances."

  She didn't avert her mutinous gaze or look the slightest bit embarrassed. Indeed, she seemed even more resolute. "I respect your duty to de Lanceau, but you cannot be rash in this instance. 'Tis not only your life you jeopardize, Dominic. Think of Ewan."

  Dominic's mouth tautened. Lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper, he said, "I do, Gisela. He has been in my thoughts every moment since you told me he is my son."

  Distress flickered across her features. He'd not meant to speak so harshly, but the words had slipped out, laden with frustration and resentment.

  "I know you are angry with me," she said quietly.

  He raised his hands, palms up. Now was not the time for an emotionally wrenching discussion. He had a great deal to do.

  "I cannot fault your rage," she went on, her gaze pleading, "but Ewan must not suffer for decisions I made. He must not come to harm. I will protect him, with my own life if need be, if you tell me what you intend to do."

  Admiration softened the edge off Dominic's annoyance. Her love for Ewan shone brightly in her eyes. Whatever transpired, Dominic had no wish to endanger their son's life.

  Or hers. Regardless of her crimes, he wouldn't fail to protect her, like the chivalrous knights Ewan admired.

  "I am sorry, Gisela, but I cannot tell you yet."

  "Why not?"

  "You might betray me."

  She jerked back as though he had bellowed. Her face paled. "To Crenardieu? Never!" Standing tall, she clenched her h
ands by her sides. She looked as determined as Ewan when he'd attacked with his wooden sword.

  Mayhap he was a witless fool, but Dominic believed her. She wouldn't deliberately betray him. However, betrayal occurred in the most subtle of ways. A wrong word, an unintentional glance, a gesture—

  "You do not trust me," she said before Dominic could reply. "I cannot blame you. Yet, please believe me when I say Crenardieu is a very dangerous man."

  "I know."

  "He and his hired thugs control Clovebury. They will kill you, if they sense you are conspiring against them."

  "Then they must not find out." Crouching again, Dominic reached for the boards to cover the hiding place. "I will return shortly." Raising a brow, he looked up at her. "I trust you will let me back inside?"

  Gisela scowled. "If I do not, you will merely find another way in."

  He chuckled at her surly tone. "Very true." The planks back in place, he rose. "Do not let anyone in while I am gone. I will return as soon as I can."

  Without another word, she let him out. Twilight had turned the street into a land of shadows, on the cusp of darkness.

  He began to walk away.

  "Dominic," Gisela called after him. "Be careful."

  "Mama, where is Dominic?"

  As her hand dropped from the door handle, Gisela glanced to where Ewan sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the pallets. Ada sat opposite him. Between them they held the cloth dragon and Sir Smug, poised for more rambunctious play.

  "I heard Dominic a moment ago. Is he still in the shop?"

  Expectation brightened Ewan's eyes. He obviously wished to see Dominic again—to have his "warrior to warrior" talk. A bittersweet pang dimmed the unease pressing upon Gisela's soul. When they told him Dominic was his father, he would take the news well—one good element from the unraveling string of disasters.

  "Dominic had to leave," she said, managing to smile. "He had some business to attend."

  Ada's brows drew together. "Now? 'Tis nightfall."

  Ewan rolled his eyes. "Dominic is a grown warrior."

  "And a rogue," Ada said under her breath, while straightening the kink in the dragon's tail.