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A puckered scar sliced the swell of her flesh. The pinkish gouge ran in a near-diagonal line, down her breast to the center of her rib cage. Not a light grazing of the knife, but a deep cut—the twisted bastard’s mark of possession.
Oaths flew from Dominic’s lips.
She struggled. “Dominic—”
“Who is he? What is his name? Where will I find him?”
“Dominic!”
He clutched her shoulders. “Where? Answer me!”
At the same moment, over the rage thundering in his ears, he heard the shop door creak open. A woman’s startled cry. A child’s gasp.
“Mama?”
CHAPTER 12
At the sound of Ewan’s voice, Gisela jumped. Oh, God, she could only imagine how her and Dominic’s encounter appeared to her son—and what thoughts must be racing through his mind.
Stifling a dismayed cry, she wrenched out of Dominic’s grasp and yanked her bodice to cover her breast. She shoved him away. This time, he didn’t attempt to thwart her, but moved in a graceful back step-turn that somehow conveyed the interruption had rattled him as much as she.
Dragging his hand over his mouth, Dominic faced the open doorway where Ada and Ewan stood. A flush stained his cheekbones. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and she sensed him trying to quell his frustration.
If only she could appear as controlled. Her emotions seemed as fragile as tattered parchment.
Forcing a smile, Gisela slid off the table. “Ewan.”
Her little boy stood pressed against Ada’s skirts, his expression a gut-wrenching blend of shock and rage. Her hand pressed to her mouth, the older woman gaped.
Gisela swallowed down bitter regret. While she was immensely glad of the interruption, she had never, ever wanted Ewan to discover her and Dominic having a disagreement. Months ago, she’d vowed to protect her son from strife. Today, she had failed him.
“’Tis all right, Ewan.” Gisela started toward him.
Her son’s gaze riveted to Dominic. “What were you doing to Mama?”
The harshness of Ewan’s voice made Gisela pause. He did not sound three-and-a-half years old, but much older. She clasped her sweating hands together. “We—”
“We were… having a discussion,” Dominic said.
The little boy’s mouth flattened. “I do not believe you.”
“Nor do I, milord,” Ada said with an indignant sniff.
“You were shouting.” Ewan’s whole body quivered with pent-up emotion. “You tried to hurt Mama.”
Behind Gisela, Dominic groaned, a sound of distress. “Nay, little warrior.”
“I saw. I thought you were a knight. A man of honor.”
“I am.” He raised his hands, obviously trying to calm Ewan’s fury. “Believe me—”
“Knights do not hurt damsels. Especially mothers.”
“Ewan, I did not lie to you. I was not hurting your mother. Why would I wish to do so?”
Scowling, the little boy stepped away from Ada. Fisting his hands, he loosed a fierce yell.
His cry held such pain—the ache of betrayal along with the anguish of shattered trust—Gisela stretched her arms out to him. Instinct propelled her forward, to take her son in her embrace, kiss him, and whisper comforting words.
