“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were so determined to pretend, I didn’t have the heart.”
She made an impatient gesture. “No, not to me—to Count Anton.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean why didn’t I tell him where you were?”
She nodded. “It would have saved you…that.” Her eyes ran over his bruised and battered body.
He stared at her a long moment. “Yes, why didn’t I think of that? What’s the safety of a woman and child, after all, when I could have saved myself a couple of bruises. I’ll remember that next time.”
“I hope there won’t be a next time,” she muttered, dropping her eyes to evade the look in his. There was a short silence.
“You know there’s going to have to be a confrontation,” he told her.
She shook her head. “I’ve already brought enough trouble on Tibby, and now you. I have to leave.”
“And do what?”
“Hide.”
“Again? And when he finds you again—for if he’s been able to trace you across Europe from Zindaria, he’s not going to give up here! So then what—flee and hide again? And again? And again? And is that the way you want young Nicky to live?”
There was a short silence. Mrs. Barrow glanced at Callie. She said nothing, but Callie knew she agreed with Gabriel. So did Callie, for that matter, but what else could she do?
“At least he would be alive. If I’d stayed in Zindaria, Nicky would be dead by now!”
He nodded. “Yes, the poison.”
She was shocked. “How did you know about that?”
“The way you both reacted to the hot milk last night.”
Callie glanced at the door. The boys were still down at the pond. “There have been several attempts to kill Nicky in the last couple of months,” she told him. It was a relief to talk about it to someone who seemed to take her seriously. “I am certain my husband’s death was no accident, too, though I have no proof.”
He nodded.
“The puppy was the last straw. I’d given Nicky a puppy—his first.” She glanced up at Gabe. “He loves dogs, but his father never let him have one, not until he could—well, that doesn’t matter.”
Rupert had promised Nicky a puppy when he learned to ride bareback. Only Nicky couldn’t, not with his bad leg. Rupert would put the little boy on one of his great, savage horses, hand Nicky the reins, and slap the horse on the rump.
The horse would move away and Nicky would try to ride it, but his leg didn’t have the strength, and after some bouncing around he would fall off. His father would pick him up and put him back on the horse, and again Nicky would fall, and his father would pick him up, and he would fall, over and over until his small body was covered with bruises and he could hardly walk.
Nothing she could say to Rupert had the slightest effect. Callie had begged and pleaded with him, then stormed and railed, but it had made no difference. She was just a silly, fearful woman and he was the prince: his word was law.
It had gone on for years, until Nicky was terrified of horses, knowing he would be hurt. But he never refused; he tried his little heart out every time, and though he was hurt, he never once cried.
His father hadn’t relented, hadn’t even praised Nicky’s courage. A prince of Zindaria must never fail.
Nicky had stopped asking for a puppy. There was no point; he would never ride bareback.
So, a year after his father’s death, she’d given him a puppy.
“Of course he took it to his bedroom.” She gave a rueful smile. “You saw how he was with your dog. Love at first sight.”
He nodded. “Even more so with a puppy, especially if it was his first.”
“I always brought him hot milk before bed. That night, instead of drinking the milk himself, he gave it to the puppy.” She tried to remain calm as she said, “It died. Horribly. In my little boy’s arms.” Her face crumpled, remembering Nicky’s desperate grief, and how he’d blamed himself for the puppy’s death.
