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“De Lanceau’s castle?” The baker’s eyes widened even further. “Tonight?”
Gisela nodded. “I must speak with de Lanceau as soon as possible. Dominic’s life may be in terrible danger.”
The baker shifted the coin bag in his palm. “But, I hit de Lanceau’s spy.”
“Please.” She pressed her hands over his. Unable to stop her voice from breaking, she said, “’Tis my life’s savings. Every last bit of silver I own. I beg you, please help me. Together, we will do what is right. We will save Dominic’s life.”
CHAPTER 17
“Kick him again.”
Crenardieu’s voice cut into Dominic’s slowly returning consciousness. He fought a groan, refusing to yield to the pain throbbing in every muscle in his body. He would not think about the impending kick. Neither would he recall how, after the last lash of the rope, his surroundings had faded to black.
Fear and physical pain would never break his spirit. Never!
Drawing in a breath, Dominic ignored the mutterings of the thugs around him and concentrated instead on the coolness of the dirt floor on which he’d collapsed, the mustiness of damp earth, and the breeze caressing his cheek. He forced himself to recall the meadow where he and Gisela had made love, to focus on the happiness of that memory. Blue sky. Cornflowers. Daisies. Tufted grasses that flattened to the perfect bed.
How gentle the hut’s draft felt against his bruised skin. Like the meadow breeze and Gisela’s lovely fingers skimming over him—
A booted foot plowed into his belly again. Dominic tried to smother another groan, but the sound escaped, raw and fraught with exhaustion.
Crenardieu laughed.
His delighted guffaw sliced deeper than sharpened steel. The idyllic memory faded away, devoured by a scarlet blur. Dominic ground his teeth, tasting dirt. Torture he could endure. The Frenchman’s vile pleasure in eliciting pain, he could not. How wondrous ’twould be to finally slam his fists into Crenardieu’s gut.
Filling his lungs with another breath, Dominic gathered his dwindling strength. His physical endurance might be strained, but his spirit demanded that he get his arse up off the floor and fight. And so he would.
Dominic cracked his puffy eyes open. Four men stood hovering nearby. From their disgruntled scowls, they were disappointed he hadn’t made their work easy.
Ha! One small triumph for him.
A grin tugged at his lips. Tensing his aching muscles, he waited for a thug to kick out again. He watched the lout’s boot swing toward him. Before it connected with his stomach, he caught the boot in both hands. He held tight, keeping the man’s foot immobile.
With a startled yelp, the thug hopped on one foot. He fell to the ground.
Dominic chuckled and struggled to rise.
Snarling an oath, Crenardieu crouched beside Dominic, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked his head back. The sudden movement, combined with the unnatural strain on his neck, sent pain shooting through Dominic’s skull.
“You are a stupid man, mon ami.”
Dominic smothered a gasp. “I told you before, I will never betray de Lanceau.”
A thin smile twisted Crenardieu’s lips, a look that implied he hadn’t yet run out of methods of coercion. “We shall see.”
Aye, you French whoreson, we shall.
Crenardieu wrenched his hand from Dominic’s hair and stood, snapping his fingers. Before Dominic could push up to sitting, two lackeys stepped forward and hauled him to his feet.
Nausea slammed through him, bringing fresh sweat to his brow. His legs felt unbearably weak. Still, he thrust up his chin to meet Crenardieu’s stare.
The Frenchman was still smiling. “If you refuse to talk to me,” he said, wiggling his ringed fingers as though discarding ripped-out strands of Dominic’s hair, “mayhap Gisela will help me.”
Gisela. Dominic’s mouth went dry. He had tried not to contemplate what might be happening to her and Ewan, with Ryle in her home. Worry threatened to drive him mad, to uproot his strength of will and leave him emotionally vulnerable.
Gisela had lied to him about the stolen silks and Ewan, transgressions he couldn’t easily forgive. However, the thought of her enduring more cruelty, from Ryle or Crenardieu…
Fear for her, as fierce as a call to battle, ran in his blood. Ah, God, he mustn’t allow himself to become distracted. He must escape. He must protect her and his son.
