But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He was a man, a human being. He had Rupert’s eyes. He was Rupert’s cousin, her son’s closest male relative. She would gladly see him dead, but she could not be the one to do it, not in cold blood.
He read it in her eyes and sneered. “You’re a coward, like your weakling son.”
“There’s not a cowardly bone in either of them.” Gabriel placed his hand over hers and took the sword back. “But she’s no cold-blooded killer.”
He paused, then added silkily, “I, on the other hand, after eight years at war, am.”
“Princess, Captain Renfrew, don’t do this,” Sir Walter begged. “It would be murder, cold-blooded murder.”
Mr. Renfrew looked at Callie. “For you, I’d do anything. Just say the word.” His eyes were very blue and very steady.
Callie closed her eyes briefly, then reluctantly shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“By Jove, what’s this? A reception committee?” A tall man wearing buckskins, an elegantly cut, though dusty coat and high, black boots strolled through the open door and tossed his curly-brimmed beaver hat on the hall table. He raised a quizzing glass and inspected the collection of people standing in the hall. The glass hovered on Callie’s tiara for a moment, then moved on.
Having finished his inspection, he smiled faintly and said, “If you’re going to skewer that fellow, Gabe, get a move on. I’ve ridden all the way from Aldershot and I’ve got a devil of a thirst.”
“Well said, Rafe.” A second gentleman, better-looking but less elegant than the first, followed. Pulling off his leather gloves, he, too, glanced at the frozen tableau and said with a frown, “But not in front of the ladies and children, Gabe, there’s a good fellow. Badtonto murder people in front of ladies and children.” He bowed gracefully to Callie and Tibby.
“Yes, a little consideration, brother mine,” a third man declared. “Take the fellow outside to skewer him and save Mrs. Barrow’s nice clean floor.” He met Mrs. Barrow’s eye and winked. This must be Harry, Callie thought dimly. He was the image of Gabriel, tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, only his hair was dark brown instead of almost black and his eyes were gray. He looked from his brother to Callie and back again. His eyes flickered to her tiara and one brow rose faintly.
“Go ahead, Mr. Gabe, don’t mind me,” called Mrs. Barrow. “I’d be delighted to mop up that villain’s blood. And I wouldn’t mind watching, neither. In fact I’d downright enjoy it!”
“Me, too,” said Jim. “Bloody stinking—” Mrs. Barrow muffled him with her hand.
Gabriel looked at the count’s stiff countenance and turned his head toward Callie. “Last chance.”
She shook her head. “Let him go.”
He lowered the sword and jerked his head. “Right, get out.”
“I have the right to—”
“Just get out man! Don’t make it any worse than you already have,” the squire told the count, shoving him bodily toward the door.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Count Anton muttered. The squire grabbed him by the arm and pulled him outside, saying, “Bad enough to have clouted that ragamuffin brat, but to draw steel on a child, and that child your own crown prince! I’m shocked, Count, shocked! There’s something devilish havey cavey about you and no mistake!”
Outside Callie saw the count’s men waiting in an oddly still group.
Then she saw Barrow standing nearby, with a silver pistol in each hand trained on the waiting men. Callie recognized those pistols.
“I’ll just see them off the premises,” Gabriel told her, and he followed Sir Walter and the count outside.
“Shall we?” said the elegant man called Rafe, and without waiting he strolled outside, followed by his friends. Callie noticed they each had produced pistols as well.
Gabriel drew the magistrate aside and spoke to him for a minute or two. Sir Walter turned, stared at the count severely, then nodded.
As Callie watched the count and his men disappear from sight, her knees suddenly gave out and she plonked down on the stairs.
When Gabriel returned he said immediately, “Are you all right?”
Callie looked up at him. Was she all right? Yes, more than all right—she felt wonderful. Just a bit shaky, for some odd reason. She looked up at the man who’d offered to kill her enemy for her and asked him, “Do you have any brandy?”
“Yes.”
“Then could I have a large glass, immediately.”
“I’ll have one, too,” declared the man called Rafe.
