A Knight's Reward (32 page)

“God’s blood!” de Lanceau growled.

“When was the meeting to take place?” Gisela asked.

“This mornin’ at dawn. At the old dock along the river.”

De Lanceau ran a hand over his jaw. “Which one?”

“There are several docks close by,” Gisela said in dismay. “There are others on Clovebury’s outskirts.”

Ada nodded. “Ryle did not want ta simply follow the other men. ’E wanted specific directions. They told ’im ta go through Clovebury, then travel into a forest. The dock would be there.”

“A rather vague account,” de Lanceau said. “Still, my men and I will find them.” He nodded to the older woman and turned to walk out.

A dismissal. De Lanceau intended to leave them behind.

Sliding her arm from around Ada, Gisela darted in front of him to block the doorway out into the shop. Determination blazed in her veins with the scorching heat of a summer day.

He leveled her with a cool glare. The torch in his hand crackled.

Gisela shivered at the intensity of his stare. She had no right to stand in his way. If she had any sense, she would humbly apologize and step aside, before she added to her list of offenses for which he would punish her. However, the nagging sense of rightness inside her wouldn’t be quelled. Until Dominic was safe—until she embraced him, kissed him, and told him how much she loved him—’twould never be silenced.

“Stand aside, Gisela.”

His tone warned her not to disobey. Yet, if she did as he bade, she forfeited her own promise to help Dominic. A betrayal she couldn’t abide.

Folding her arms across her bosom, she did not move. “Will Dominic be at the dock, milord?” How she despised the way her voice wavered, making her sound consumed with worry rather than a fearless, determined woman. Yet, she could no more control the tremor rippling through her than she could stop her heart from beating.

De Lanceau’s mouth tightened, but she saw a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. “I expect so.”

“We must hurry. We have to find him, before . . .”
he is murdered
, her mind finished for her.
Before Ryle reaches him and takes out his anger with me upon Dominic.
She couldn’t say those terrible words.

Flexing his fingers on the torch handle, de Lanceau said, “You will stay here. I will assign men-at-arms to wait with you.”

“Milord, I have to go with you.”

“Nay.”

Fighting a growing sense of despair, she said, “When I asked to ride with you, I meant every league of the journey to save Dominic.”

De Lanceau’s steely gaze did not waver. “When I agreed to your request, I was not aware of Ryle’s temperament. You saw what he did to your home. ’Tis impossible to know what he”—de Lanceau paused—”might be capable of doing.”

Committing murder. The killings he vowed months ago. That is what he is capable of
.

How chivalrous of his lordship to try to protect her sensibilities. But, the ache in her disfigured breast couldn’t be more poignant, or more compelling. “I know exactly what he is capable of, milord. He is not a man, but a vicious monster. That is why I do not consider him my husband—and why I must come with you.”

De Lanceau’s eyes narrowed. She sensed his unspoken question:
What did he do to you, Gisela? What did you not tell me before, because Ewan was close by?

Before he could speak, she said, “You have my son, milord—my most cherished possession—within your keep’s walls. ’Twas a very difficult decision, to leave him behind. I would not have done so, unless I felt ’twas the only choice for him.”

De Lanceau growled. “Gisela.”

“I will not try to flee. I will not deceive you. I give you my word, as a woman who accepts full responsibility for her misdeeds. And, milord, as a mother. Please. Do not make my decision to leave Ewan be one made in vain.”

Looking away, he cursed under his breath. “You are willing to risk your life? What if you are wounded or even killed? Your son needs his mother.”

She could not resist a faint smile. “Ewan also needs his father.”

“His . . .
father?
” Shaking his head, de Lanceau said, “You mean Ryle?”

“Nay, milord. I could not tell you earlier because Ewan was with me. He does not yet know.”

De Lanceau’s eyes widened. “Dominic—”

She nodded. “—is Ewan’s father.”

“God’s teeth!” Glancing at the scratched table, de Lanceau asked quietly, “Does Ryle know?”

“He does.” Her voice trembled. “He promised to kill Dominic if he ever met him. ’Tis why he insisted upon directions to the dock. He plans to murder Dominic.”

“If Crenardieu does not kill him first,” de Lanceau muttered. “Gisela, my patience has ended. Step aside.
Now!
”

“Forgive me, milord, but I cannot. Not until you agree that I can ride with you.”

“Guards!” he bellowed.

Tromped footfalls sounded behind her. From de Lanceau’s ominous stare, she guessed they were coming to forcibly remove her.

“Milord, I know Ryle better than you,” she said in a frantic rush. “I can help you defeat him, as well as Crenardieu. If there is aught I can say, or do, to sway him from murdering Dominic, I will. If I can give you and your men even the slightest advantage to save Dominic, I will.”

De Lanceau shook his head.

Struggling against the men grabbing her arms, she cried, “‘Please! ’Tis my solemn oath. A vow as binding as a knight’s. A pledge I champion with my soul. A vow I make not for myself, but for a little boy—”

“Gisela!”

“—who has been denied so much.” Her tone hoarsened on a sob. “Most of all, his father’s love.”

Raising a hand, De Lanceau halted his men. His gaze softened. “Eloquent words.”

“I meant every one,” she whispered, “milord.”

“Very well. Release her,” he commanded. As the rough hands fell away, he said, “To your horse, Gisela.”

***

His gaze fixed upon Crenardieu and the four finely dressed merchants chatting on the dock, Dominic dug his nails into the ropes binding his wrists.

The bastards had tied him to a tree out of clear view of the approaching buyers. With the crossbow aimed squarely at his chest, the men had bound his hands behind the trunk. A rope around his chest pinned him against the rough bark, which caught at his hair like fingers. More ropes secured his feet. After grinding a scrap of linen into the loamy soil, laughing with each scrape of their boots, the thugs had tied it in his mouth.

He was securely fettered. Like a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

Never
.

He swallowed, tasting dirt from the tight gag. The boughs above him sighed, casting a lazy pattern across the ground, while his nails dug deeper into the grooves between the bonds. They had not restrained him as efficiently this time. They obviously saw no need.

Gloating over the imminent bloodletting, eager for their payment, Crenardieu’s men had sniggered while they tied him. They had sauntered away to stand by the trees closest to the wagon, near enough to keep watch on him, but also to overhear Crenardieu’s bartering.

Wincing as bark scraped against his tender skin, Dominic wiggled his wrists back and forth. The rope gave a little. A fraction more than the last time he’d tried.

If you do not hurry, idiot, you will lose your chance!

He blocked out the voice shouting inside his head. He tried not to think what might happen if he didn’t manage to get free. To never see Gisela again, to never taste the sweetness of her mouth, to never sink with a groan into the wetness of her body . . .

Crenardieu’s laughter echoed out across the river. The dark-haired merchant beside him, wearing a sumptuous brown cloak, extended his hand.

Hurry!

Dominic dragged in a breath. The scents of damp earth, water, horses—of
life
—taunted him to fight harder.

After shaking hands, Crenardieu and the merchant strode across the dock and up the bank, followed by the three other men. Other merchants waited in the boats rocking gently on the water. Sunlight slanted over the walkers, illuminating their features—the indulgent faces of men who got rich on others’ hard work and misfortune. Dominic committed the faces to memory, his gaze sharpening as the group approached the wagon. The merchants clearly wanted to inspect the cloth before handing over their coin.

The louts standing nearby shifted, a restless sound matched by the whisper of the wind.

Hurry, idiot
.

Dominic dug his nails in again, and the ropes gave a little more. The canvas fluttered away from the cloth, revealing the brilliant jewel tones of the fabric within. The merchants murmured. A smile lit the dark-haired buyer’s face. Reaching out, he fingered the yellow silk, and then the cornflower blue.

“Magnificent,” he said. “As you promised.”

Crenardieu’s chest swelled like an arrogant cockerel’s. “My asking price is fair,
oui
, considering the quality?”

The man pushed aside several bolts and examined others. Silence spread across the riverbank. Even the birds seemed to have stopped warbling, as if they, too, waited for the man’s final word.

“Agreed.” The merchant motioned to the men in the boats. “We will pay your price.”

“
Bon
.” Crenardieu beamed. The thugs close to Dominic slapped their hands together and hollered. Water sloshed against the dock. One of the men stepped out of his swaying boat and strode up the bank, carrying a leather sack under his arm.

Taking the bag from his lackey, the merchant handed it to Crenardieu. “’Tis all there.”

“I wish to count it. Of course, you understand.”

His smile thinning slightly, the merchant nodded.

Crenardieu took a blanket down from the front of the wagon, spread it on the ground, and dumped out the sack’s contents. Gold shimmered.

Hurry, fool! Hurry! Once he has counted the coins, the men will load the silks into the boats and sail away. You will have failed!

Sweat beaded on Dominic’s brow. Tipping his head back against the trunk, he stared up at the sky, the same exquisite blue as the day he and Gisela had first made love.

The day they’d created a new life. Together.

Together
.

How had their lives become so desperate, dangerous, and . . . separate?

Squeezing his eyes shut, swallowing down grit, Dominic rubbed his wrists against each other. Along with the chafe of rope, he felt a leggy insect—a spider, mayhap—scrambling over his hand.

Tree boughs shifted overhead. As the wind began to fade, he caught a familiar sound. Faint at first, but growing in volume.

Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud
.

Horses approached at a gallop.

Geoffrey had found him! He’d seen the scrap of silk on the road and traced Dominic to this isolated location. Buoyed by a burst of hope, Dominic worked again at the ropes. Once free, he would charge into the battle. Crenardieu and his men wouldn’t escape the retribution they deserved.

Muttering between themselves, the merchants drew weapons and slunk into the underbrush beneath the trees. Rage tightening his features, Crenardieu glared at his men. “Go and see who draws near,” he snapped. “If you do not recognize them, kill them.”

His thugs disappeared into the forest, while the dark-haired merchant—clearly uneasy, but unwilling to leave his gold—drew his sword and faced the road. Drawing his weapon, as well, Crenardieu placed it on the blanket. Faster now, he counted the coins.
Clink. Clink
.

Voices carried from the road winding down to the riverbank. Dominic strained to hear. Muffled by the breeze, what he heard didn’t sound like the shouts of armed men attacking foes.

The hoofbeats slowed to a rhythmic
clip-clop
. Moments later, three men, riding behind Crenardieu’s brisk-striding thugs, came into view.

A cry, sharp with worry, welled up inside Dominic.

Gisela. Oh, God. Gisela!

For riding toward the river were the two thugs Crenardieu had ordered to guard her shop.

And an angry-looking Ryle.

Chapter Twenty

Following behind de Lanceau and Aldwin, her gaze upon the crumbling wall and riverbank meadow where she and Dominic had talked yester eve, Gisela did not notice the man until she heard him say, “Milord.”

Something in the voice made her glance his way. His head bowed in a gesture of respect, he guided his horse onto the grassy verge to let de Lanceau’s contingent go past. Winded from a fast run, the animal snorted loud breaths.

When she drew alongside the man, he raised his head slightly. Their gazes locked. Her pulse gave a stunned jolt.

One of Crenardieu’s lackeys.

He had visited her shop with the Frenchman many times.

The man’s eyes flared. Sweat glistening on his face, he tightened his hold on the horse’s reins, preparing to gallop off.

“Lord de Lanceau!” she shrieked.

De Lanceau looked back at her, just as the man spurred his mount to a canter. He was headed into Clovebury. He would easily be lost in the maze of streets.

She pointed at the thug. “Crenardieu’s man!”

“Aldwin!” de Lanceau snapped, wheeling his steed around while motioning to other men-at-arms. “You are with me. Gisela, wait here with the rest.”

De Lanceau, Aldwin, and five others raced toward the town. Dust blew up from the road, motes glittering in the early dawn light.

She yearned to kick her horse into motion, to rush with them into the pursuit. The thug likely knew where his cohorts had taken Dominic. The sooner he divulged that critical information, the sooner they rescued Dominic. However, she knew naught about chasing criminals eager to avoid capture, and might well hinder rather than help the pursuit. Far wiser to obey de Lanceau and stay put.

The pounding of hooves faded. Moving their horses closer to each other, the other men-at-arms talked amongst themselves. The breeze whispered through the meadow, stirring the grasses and sleepy wildflowers raising their heads toward the sun. How empty the meadow seemed, save for a few birds flitting between the branches of the huge tree.