“No, you’re not,” she whispered back. “You, sir, are a rogue!”
“And you, Green Eyes, are very sweet.” He stood for a moment, looking down at her. She could feel his eyes on her and closed her own in self-defense. She had no idea of what to say or do. She was too tired to think.
He gently touched a finger to her cheek. “Good night Green Eyes. Sleep well. You and your son are safe here with me.”
Safe.The deep reassurance of his voice seeped into her bones like a drug. She heard him leave, heard the door shut quietly behind him.
“Thank you,” she whispered belatedly.
She climbed into the bed and snuggled down, feeling…cherished.
Her feet touched something hard that radiated heat. Her toes explored it. Something square and hot, wrapped in what felt like flannel. A spurt of sleepy laughter bubbled inside her. There really was a hot brick in her bed.
And so, in a strange house and strange bed, and for the first time in weeks, Callie slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Three
Despite his late night Gabe woke to the birds’ dawn chorus. He smiled and stretched languorously. He felt alive and eager to meet the day, in a way he hadn’t for years.
He slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out. A chill, clear dawn greeted him, gray warming to palest gold. Wisps of mist hugged the ground. It held the promise of a beautiful day.
He dressed quickly. Her door was still shut as he passed. She’d sleep for several hours more, he thought. She and the boy had been exhausted.
Grabbing a couple of apples from the bowl on the kitchen sideboard, he bit into one with relish, pocketing the other. He’d break his fast properly and have a shave when he got back. He headed out, noting to his surprise that the kitchen door was unlocked. Barrow was up early. Surprising, after such a late night.
Opening the stable door, Gabe paused. Someone was talking in one of the stalls and it wasn’t Barrow. He listened, but couldn’t identify the speaker. He approached the stall, stepping softly…
“You do like them, don’t you?” the light, high voice was saying.
He heard a deep whuffle, as Trojan responded. Gabe grinned. That horse was as close to human as a horse could be. Young Nicky was standing on a bale of hay, biting off chunks of apple and then tossing them over the open half door to his horse. Interesting, for a boy who was scared stiff of horses. Juno sat beside him, watching the passage of apple piece to horse with a jealous eye.
“Trojan is very fond of apples,” Gabe said.
The boy jumped and whirled around, dropping a piece of apple. He clambered hastily off the stool, then to Gabe’s amazement, stood rigidly to attention, like a small soldier awaiting punishment.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said stiffly. “I know I should not have come.” He spoke English well, but with a faint trace of accent. His mother had no accent at all. Juno nudged the boy’s leg, trying to snaffle the fallen apple piece. He stumbled, then straightened to attention again.
“Juno also likes the occasional piece of apple. As for coming in to the stables, as long as you didn’t wake your mother, I don’t mind,” Gabe said easily. “I headed for the stables at every opportunity when I was your age. Come to think of it, I haven’t changed much, have I?”
The child regarded him solemnly. His eyes were not quite as green as his mother’s. After a moment he said, “At home I was not permitted in the stables without Papa or my guar—another man.”
“I thought you didn’t like horses, Nicky.” Gabe finished his apple and held the core out to the boy. “Here, give him this. Only don’t toss it in. I told you, Trojan won’t bite.”
Nicky shook his head, so Gabe cut the core in half and demonstrated. “Hold it on your palm, with your fingers flat, like you’re serving it on a plate.” He fed the morsel to his horse and Nicky watched, wide-eyed, as Trojan extended his nose and took the core delicately from Gabe’s palm.
“It is because he is your horse,” the boy said.
“No,” Gabe said. “He’ll be friends with anyone who brings him apples. Why don’t you try?”
“Very well.” His eyes alive with misgivings, the boy took the other half of the core and climbed back on the stool. With fingers held flat he extended his hand over the half door and waited, his face screwed up in anticipation of disaster.
Trojan leaned forward, lipped the core delicately, then lifted it from the boy’s palm.
“He took it! He didn’t bite me at all, not even a nip!” Nicky exclaimed. “Any one of Papa’s horses would have had my hand off!”
“Fierce, are they?” Gabe pulled out his knife, cut a slice of the second apple, and handed it to the boy.
“Oh yes, they were bred for war, you know,” Nicky said, as he fed it to the horse. “Papa’s are the fiercest horses in all the land. I thought Trojan would be fierce, too, because of his name. And because he’s so magnificent.”
