A Knight's Reward (15 page)

He plucked the daisy from her hand. Holding the bloom between his fingers, his trembling hand slid down to her bodice. “Lie with me, Gisela. Be mine. Now. Always.”

Her skin longed for his touch. However, caution welled, intruding on her anticipation of bliss. “Dominic—”

“Sweet Daisy.” His hand slid lower, to her cleavage. There, between her breasts, he tucked the flower. Trailing a finger over the upper swell of her bosom, he said, “Tell me what happened to you. Tell me.”

Hopelessness crushed her rush of pleasure. “Dominic—”

“Tell me.”

His hand skimmed down to her right breast. Horror bloomed inside her, as insidious as a weed, choking the last of her joy. She tried to speak, to warn him, but she couldn’t force air into her lungs.

The fabric of her gown disintegrated, as though burned away by the sun. Her scarred flesh lay bared to him.

Dominic’s face crumpled with revulsion. He looked at her, his gaze harsh with loathing. He pushed her away.

With a gasp, Gisela’s eyes flew open. She blinked away the wetness clinging to her eyelashes while she heaved in another breath. Her body shivered through an anguished aftershock.

As her groggy mind began to clear from the dream, she realized she didn’t lie on her pallet. The scent of silk rose from beneath her and was accented by the acrid tang of candle smoke. Her forehead rested on her curled arm.

She’d fallen asleep at her sewing table.

Gisela shoved up to sitting, wincing at the crick in her neck. Sensation returned to her numb arm like hundreds of pins poking into her. She massaged her flesh and stared in dismay at the unfinished gown, creased by her slumber. Thank the saints she had not drooled all over it.

How
could
she have fallen asleep? She
knew
she couldn’t waste one moment finishing Crenardieu’s commission.

The squeaky rumble of a cart reached her from outside. The townsfolk were beginning their morning routines, which meant she had slept for quite a while.

“Stupid, stupid!” she muttered, swiping damp hair from her face. When she slid off her work stool, she caught the glisten of wax at the upper corner of her table. Overflowing from the candle holder, the wax formed a milky pool. Moments away from damaging the silk.

Lurching forward, she whipped the fabric out of harm’s way. As she moved, her foot caught the stool’s edge. With the
screech
of wood against wood, it tilted sideways and fell over with a
thump
.

Gisela groaned. She might have woken Ewan. She must work quickly, now, to stow the fabric before he came to investigate. So far, she had managed to keep the hiding place beneath the floor a secret from him. ’Twould be best if he never knew.

With clumsy hands, she folded the silk. If she damaged the expensive cloth, she’d owe Crenardieu most of her hard-earned savings. From this point forward, she must be more careful. She wouldn’t fall asleep again.

Crouching by the opening in the floor, she tucked the gown beside the cut pieces of the flowing, ankle-length cloak and the bolt of remaining silk. Just as she reached for the planks to cover the cavity, the door to her home opened.

She set down the floorboard and hurried to the door, catching it before it opened too far.

His hair an adorable mess, Ewan blinked up at her, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Mama, I heard a noise.”

“I knocked over the wooden stool. ’Tis all. Why do you not go back to sleep?”

His sleepy gaze darkened with a frown. “When did you wake up?”

“A while ago.” Not quite the truth, but not quite a lie, either.

“Can I sit with you in your shop?”

“Mayhap this afternoon.” She gestured to his pallet. “Go on. I will wake you later.”

He slowly pivoted on his heel, as though to obey her. Before she guessed his intent, he whirled and darted past her with a cheeky giggle.

Gisela rubbed her tired brow with her hand. “Ewan!”

She knew the exact moment he saw the hole in the floor, because his footfalls slowed. Turning, she saw him crouched at the edge, peering in. He glanced back at her, his eyes shining. “’Tis a secret hiding place.”

Gisela nodded. “Now you have seen it—”

“Are there dragons down there, Mama?”

The question was so unexpected, she laughed. “Nay, Button.”

His hands clenched. “Are you certain? Mayhap I should get my sword and have a look.”

“Nay, you should not.” The last thing she needed this morning was for him to scramble into the cavity and not want to come out. Knowing him, he’d claim it as his fortress. Walking past him, she knelt, picked up a plank, and slotted it back into place.

“Aw, Mama!”

Three more boards and the floor returned to normal. “There.” She brushed off her hands. Giving him a pointed look, she said, “You must not tell anyone about this hiding place, all right? ’Tis another secret you must keep. Promise me.”

Staring down at the floor, Ewan scowled. “I did not even get a good look.”

“Promise, Button.”

“All right! I promise.”

Gisela headed to her worktable, aware of Ewan stomping along behind her. She swept a small pile of silk scraps, wax, and blue thread onto the planks before crossing the room to fetch the broom. She turned to see Ewan, holding a lump of wax, fingering through the pile.

He’d be after another bit of silk to replace the one she’d tied to his sword days ago and then destroyed. A disaster.

“Button, please go and get dressed while I sweep up here.”

His fingers curled around the wax, concealing it. “I want to watch.”

She whisked the broom over his bare toes, and he squealed in surprise. “Hey!”

“I might sweep you up by mistake if you stand there.”
Whisk
. “Ha! Got you again.”

Laughing, he scampered toward the doorway. “Catch me now, if you can.”

Gisela pretended to pursue him, and he disappeared through the doorway. Resisting a chuckle, she swept up the discards, carried them into the house, and stoked the fire. She tossed the silk into the crackling flames. With a smoky hiss, the evidence disintegrated.

Humming under her breath, she strolled past the pallets and gave the lump under Ewan’s blanket a nudge with the broom. “Got you.”

His head poked out the other end. “Aw, Mama!”

After replacing the broom and blowing out the candles in her workroom, she made them both bread and honey, then helped him don his tunic and hose. Fatigue weighed down her eyelids and made her limbs ache, but she shrugged her discomfort away. She pulled Ewan’s tunic down over his head and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Aw, Mama!” he groaned again, but his eyes sparkled with delight.

Gisela smoothed a crease from his sleeve, unable to resist a sigh. How had she not noticed that the tunic she’d made him two months ago was already too short through the sleeves?

Never mind. Right now, she had other priorities. Once she’d got them both far away, she would have all the days she liked to sew him clothes.

Ewan plopped down on the bench so she could fasten his shoes. Swinging his legs, looking down at her crouched by his feet, he asked, “Where are we going?”

She caught hold of one foot and pushed on his shoe. “We have some errands to attend. Then, we will return home so I can work.”

“I want to play outside. Remember that big field—”

“Not today.”

He huffed. “You never let me play outside.”

And for good reason, Button. One day, you will understand and forgive me
.

After fastening both of his shoes, Gisela rose, ignoring his frustrated glare. She smoothed a hand over her weary brow and disorderly hair. Today, even if she were able to let him romp in the field, she couldn’t dally. She must finish the commission for the blacksmith’s wife. There were preparations to make, too, for as soon as she received payment from Crenardieu, she intended to take Ewan and flee.

Leaving Dominic behind.

The thought brought a fresh stab of torment. Struggling to ignore it, she slipped her cloak from the peg on the wall.

“Mama, can I bring Sir Smug?”

“Of course.” Draping her cloak around her shoulders, she said, “Fetch your mantle, Button. I will wait for you by the outer door.”

While she walked through her shop, she cast a quick glance around to be sure she hadn’t missed any blue threads. A yawn tugged at her mouth, but she smothered it with the back of her hand. A moment later, Ewan trudged into her shop, the toy knight tucked under his arm. As he neared, he yanked his mantle’s hood up over his head.

“I am glad Sir Smug can come, too. He is bored with being inside. He wants an adventure.”

Gisela smothered a chuckle and drew up her own hood. “Come along, then, my two little warriors.” She gave Ewan’s hood an extra tug, to ensure his face was completely covered, then opened the door. They stepped into the street, and she locked the door behind them.

Dust and stones kicked up under her shoes while they walked. Dogs scampered into alleyways looking for scraps, while grubby children tossed rocks in a made-up game. Ewan stared longingly in their direction, almost stumbling over his own feet.

With brisk strides, Gisela headed toward the shop district. The scent of baking bread, yeasty and enticing, led her to the right street.

“Mama, you walk too fast.”

She caught Ewan’s hand, urging him along when he wanted to investigate a mound of sticks. A few premises away, past a crowd of early shoppers, she spied the shop run by a kindly husband and wife. She often purchased thread and cloth buttons from their well-stocked establishment. They’d even referred several customers to her.

The front window was open. Relief brought a smile to her lips.

Ewan’s fingers wriggled in hers. How easily he became distracted. “Mama—”

“Not now, Ewan.”

She skirted two men chatting while eating pastries likely purchased from the baker.

“Mama!”

The distress in her son’s voice made her glance at him. Ewan’s anxious gaze darted from her, then away. Holding Sir Smug tight to his chest, he scooted closer to her side.

A reaction she knew well.

Glancing back, she saw Crenardieu striding past the two talking men, his cloak almost skimming the ground. His bright gaze slid from her to Ewan.

Warning buzzed in her mind. The way he looked at her son seemed almost . . . possessive.

Facing the Frenchman, she drew Ewan against her. Without the slightest protest, he obeyed.

Crenardieu smiled. “
Bonjour
.”

“Good morning.” She nodded politely, hoping to continue walking. Before she could step away, he moved to block her path.

Warning shrilled more sharply. Others in the street were watching them. Most likely Crenardieu’s thugs.

Do not let him see your fear,
she told herself, forcing her chin higher
. Find out what he wants and be on your way as quickly as possible
.

Crenardieu seemed to sense her discomfort, for he smiled. “I would like to speak with you. Do you have a moment?”

Nay
, her mind answered. But, she couldn’t refuse him. She needed his payment. Smiling in return, she said, “Aye.”

His hand touched her elbow—a hold that sent shivers racing through her—and he guided her to the side of the street. They stopped beside an empty shop. An iron padlock secured its splintered front window. Gisela remembered the merchant who’d sold pots and pans from this premises, which was recently broken into. His wares ruined, the man had closed up his shop and left Clovebury.

The blackened space at the bottom right of the window yawned, vacant and eerie.

“Now then.” The warmth of the Frenchman’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I meant to visit you later today. I did not expect to see you wandering through the town.”

Again, his gaze dropped to Ewan. With her arm, she nudged her son behind her, removing him from Crenardieu’s view. “Ewan and I had some shopping to finish this morning,” she said.

The Frenchman nodded. “How are you faring with my commission?”

“The gown is almost done. Both garments will be finished next week as you asked.”

Crenardieu’s lips tightened. “Ah. But, you see, I need them in two days.”

Despite her best efforts, a stunned breath burst from her. “
What?
”

“I will collect the items from you before dawn, along with the remaining silk.
Oui?
”

Her stunned mind scrambled to form a reply.

“A regrettable change in plan. Yet, ’tis so.”

She fought the angry panic heating her face. Forcing a civil tone, she said, “You know I cannot work on your commission during the day. You told me not to. You swore me to secrecy, although you have not explained why that must be so.”

A dark flicker sharpened the Frenchman’s gaze. For an instant, she regretted daring to toss out the challenge. Yet, it had slipped out before she could smother it. “’Tis not necessary for you to know. Your task is to create the gown, with the fine skill for which you are known.”

His flattery only deepened her unease. How she longed to ask if the silk was stolen—to have an answer to the question gnawing at her conscience. However, to do so might jeopardize her dealings with him. If he resented her suspicion, he might take away the unfinished garments, and the money he’d promised would be lost.

“Tsk-tsk! Do not look at me so, Anne—as though I ask you to commit some kind of crime. ’Twould be a shame to spoil my customer’s surprise for his mistress,
oui
, if word got out about the commission?”

“True,” Gisela answered, even as a chill wove through her. “Did your client ask for the garments to be finished sooner?”

The Frenchman’s head dipped in the barest nod.

“Mayhap if you explain to him that to do my best work, I need until next week—”

Crenardieu shrugged, his luxurious cloak whispering with the movement. “I did not foresee a problem. If you cannot complete the garments—”

I will find someone else to do the work, and you will not receive payment
, her mind finished for her. “I will do as you ask.”