How many people in the palace knew Rupert did not love her? Everyone, she decided. She’d made no effort to disguise her feelings. She’d been overflowing with love and happiness and she’d stupidly imagined the whole world shared her joy.
She’d made a complete and utter fool of herself over him.
Never again, she vowed.Never.
And she’d kept her vow. By the time Rupert returned to the palace—two days later—and spoke to her, she had armored herself against him, against the shame deep within her that threatened to break out.
He’d made what he considered an apology: he told her that he was sorry she’d found him with his mistress, but that she had been informed that his hunting lodge was private. She should never have gone there. So that any distress or embarrassment she’d experienced was her own fault.
She had agreed. Calmly and quietly. Then she’d picked up her sewing in a clear dismissal.
He’d seemed relieved.
From then on she’d treated him with cool politeness. Two months after that vile day at the hunting lodge he’d congratulated her on finally growing up. He ascribed it to the maturity that came with pregnancy. Told her he was proud of her.
When Nicky was born, Callie poured all her love into her child.
Rupert hadn’t come to her bed again until six months after Nicky was born. After all, her main purpose was to breed children. They’d coupled quickly, thoroughly, and more or less in silence, then he left. He came to her once a month, but she never fell pregnant again.
Later she’d heard that he’d told people that apart from her inability to provide him with more children, she’d become the perfect wife.
She stared out of the window at the New Forest. This was not the dark and silent forest of Zindaria, and she was no longer that miserable pregnant child, flayed by the folly of her own emotions. She was a widow, calm and mature, free to make the life she wanted for herself and her child.
And for her own peace of mind, it would not involve any man.
They stopped for a picnic on a sunny patch of grass beside a gurgling stream. Behind them the forest spread, sun-dappled and quiet.
Tibby and Callie spread rugs and a cloth and unpacked the food, while the men and boys saw to the horses. Gabe handed Nicky the end of a halter and told him to lead the horse to water.
He glanced at Callie. The moment their eyes met, she looked away. She hadn’t looked at him directly since he’d offered to kill the count for her.
Obviously he’d frightened her off. No doubt she’d taken his statement about him being a cold-blooded killer seriously. He resolved to do something about it fast.
“Mrs. Barrow has outdone herself,” Gabe commented as he surveyed the spread.
“Yes, we’ll never get though all this,” Tibby agreed.
There were boiled eggs, sandwiches, a large egg-and-bacon pie, homemade Dorset sausage, and baked chicken. There were crispy red and green apples, jam tarts, a plum cake, heavy and rich with fruit, and to top it off, Mrs. Barrow’s apple cake, Harry’s favorite. There was also ale, ginger beer, wine, and cold, sweet tea in bottles. Mrs. Barrow had thought of everything.
Gabe laughed. “Don’t you believe it, Miss Tibby. There are five men here who lived on army rations too long to waste anything, let alone Mrs. Barrow’s cooking.”
He sat down beside Callie and began to pour out drinks, as one by one the others arrived. She didn’t move away, though she did inconspicuously lift her skirt away from where it touched his leg.
Experimentally, Gabe casually moved his leg so it touched hers again. Again, without so much as a glance his way, she moved. She was skittish, all right. More skittish than when he’d first met her.
Once Harry, Rafe, Luke, Ethan, and Nicky had joined them, Miss Tibby said grace and they all began to eat.
It was a very relaxed meal, and afterward, Miss Tibby told the boys about the New Forest, how it had been there forever, and how William the Conqueror had decided to make it a place for the protection of the deer he liked to hunt, so he drove many of the human inhabitants out, rating beasts above people.
“It brought him and his family bad luck,” interposed Rafe. “His son, William Rufus, policed the laws most rigorously and horribly mutilated those who broke them. He was killed right here in the forest.”
Luke added, “He was shot with an arrow, while out hunting with friends. His friends abandoned his body where it lay. A charcoal burner later found it and brought in on his cart.”
“And the moral of that tale, young Nicky,” finished Rafe, “is to ensure you make true friends in life.” The men, as one, raised their cups and rank a toast to true friendship.
“Like you all are,” Nicky said.
“Indeed we are,” Gabe told him. “War forges the bonds of friendship. I asked Harry and Rafe and Luke for help, because you and your mother were in trouble, and they came, as I knew they would.”
