The Stolen Princess (14 page)

Mrs. Barrow's jaw dropped open. After a stunned moment she slapped the wet cloth across his chest. “If you knew she was a princess, you should've warned me,” she scolded. “I've been calling her
lovie
! And
you
shouldn't be sitting here half naked in front of her.”

“I don't mind,” Callie said, meaning she hadn't minded being called lovie.

His lips quirked. He winked and Callie blushed, realizing her words could also mean she didn't mind his semi-clothed state. And though she hadn't meant that at all, it was not untrue.

Even beaten up and covered in scrapes, his body fascinated her.

Mrs. Barrow poked him. “You don't wink at princesses. I'm sorry, Your Highness, but he wasn't brought up to be so rag-mannered. It's all that time he spent in foreign parts. Lift up and I'll check for broken ribs,” she ordered him. He lifted his arms for her, and she poked carefully along the line of each rib.

Callie watched anxiously.

Mrs. Barrow noticed. “Don't you worry, Your Highness,” she assured Callie. “There's nothing broken. It looks worse than it is.”

“But—”

“He's been much worse and survived, Your Highness. Like a cat, he is. Besides, never happier than when he's in trouble, Mr. Gabe. Fretting himself to flinders, he was, Your Highness, before you arrived. Bored to death and miserable with it. Blaming hisself for things that weren't his fault. Turn.”

He turned. “I never believed your name was Prynne,” he told Callie. “You're a terrible liar.”

“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.

She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. She wasn't going to cry about it, she wasn't. She was angry.

“Who prepared the milk?” he asked when she had mastered herself.

She gave him a bleak look. “Me. I heated it myself, and took it up to him. Not one other person touched it, or touched the cup after I washed it.”

He frowned. “So how did they do it?”

“He'd poisoned the entire jug of milk. One of the servants put some in her tea. She was very sick, but she'd used just a few drops of milk, not a whole cup.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her body. “He didn't care how many people he killed, as long as Nicky died, too.”

“Count Anton?”

“Yes, he is next in line for the throne after Nicky.”

Mrs. Barrow clicked her tongue. “Such wanton wickedness!”

Callie nodded. “He is truly evil.”

“So that's when you ran.”

“Yes, I'd thought of escaping for some time, but when that happened, I knew I had to act.”

“You didn't try to have Count Anton arrested?” Gabe asked.

She threw up her hands. “Of course I did. I told Count Zabor—Uncle Otto—he is uncle to both my husband and Count Anton, and currently the regent, ruling on Nicky's behalf until Nicky turns eighteen.”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “Uncle Otto thinks I am just a silly woman. He thinks I mollycoddle Nicky too much, and ‘worry my little head over nothing.'” She mimicked his voice. “It makes me so angry the way they all think they know better.”

“Who do you mean by ‘they'?”

She bared her teeth at him. “Men, of course.”

“Of course. I suppose you showed them the poisoned milk.”

“No, because when the kitchen maid got sick, the other servants threw the bad milk out. I couldn't prove anything. And though I knew it was Count Anton, he wasn't even in the palace at the time. Besides, poison is such an unlikely weapon for him to use. He's known and feared for his ungovernable temper…”

She shrugged and mimicked, “‘Milk goes off sometimes, and people get sick, Princess. And young pups taken too soon from their mother can die. That is sad, Princess, but it's life.'”

She looked at him and added fiercely, “But the puppy was
not
too young to leave its mother. And the milk
was
poisoned. So, yes, I will run and run and run, if it will keep my son alive. What other choice do I have?”

“You can't keep running. Count Anton must be stopped.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know I should shoot him, but I don't think I
can
kill a man in cold blood. If he was attacking Nicky, I could, of course, but—”

His lips twitched. “That's not what I meant.”

“You mean I could pay someone to kill him? I know, but that would make me just as wicked as Count Anton. And I don't want my son to have a murderess for a mother.” She frowned and looked at him indignantly. “Besides, I don't want to
be
a murderess.”

“I'm very glad to hear it,” he said, amused. “And don't look at me like that, I didn't suggest you should murder anyone.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He gave her a long look. “I have a plan,” he began.

“And we've got
dozens
of leeches!” the crown prince of Zindaria announced from the door. “And some of them are still on me!” A wide grin split his face. Mud and water dripped from him. He was utterly filthy, and as happy as she'd seen him for…ever.

“Nicky, look at you!” Callie exclaimed. “I thought Tibby—”

Tibby stepped into the doorway. Mud and water dripped from her. She, too, was utterly filthy. “I tried to stop him falling in, I truly did. But I slipped.” She met Callie's eye and started giggling. “I've never been so dirty in my life.”

Ethan stepped in. He was also covered in mud. “Me new coat, too,” he said, looking dolefully down at the mud-caked garment. “Miss Tibby fell in tryin' to save Nicky and I fell in tryin' to save her.”

“I didn't fall in at all,” Jim announced proudly. “I just picked the leeches off 'em. The ones I could see, anyway. Here y'are.” He handed over a jar containing a black mess of writhing leeches. Callie felt squeamish looking at them.

“What do you mean, the ones you could see,” Tibby said suddenly. “Do you mean I could still have some of those horrid creatures on me?”

“Bound to,” Jim said cheerfully. “You did a lot of splashing around and they like that. And you wouldn't let me look on your legs, remember?”

“She wouldn't let me look, either,” Ethan murmured.

Tibby gave him a severe look. “I should think not.” She turned to Callie. “I must go upstairs immediately. Could you help me, please?”

Pick those dreadful, slimy things off someone? Someone on whose flesh they'd attached themselves, whose blood they were drinking? She felt her gorge rise at the thought.

But someone had to help poor Tibby. There was only herself or Mrs. Barrow. She looked at Mrs. Barrow, who was attending to Gabriel's injuries.

She could face any amount of blood without turning a hair, but those ghastly wriggling, black, slimy things…She felt queasy just thinking about it.

She turned to Mrs. Barrow and in her most gracious, princessly manner she said, “Mrs. Barrow, would you mind assisting Miss Tibthorpe? I will attend to Mr. Renfrew's injuries.”

“Yes, of course I will, lovi—Your Highness,” Mrs. Barrow said. “You've gone quite green, haven't you? Miss Tibby, you get along upstairs and get those wet things off you. Take this salve.” She took the small pot from Jim and handed it to Tibby. “Leeches hate the smell of that; one touch and they'll drop right off you, no harm done to you or them. I'll see to Mr. Gabe here, then I'll come up and check you over for any in places you can't see.”

She turned to the boys. “You boys go upstairs with Mr. Delaney. Change into clean clothes and ensure no leech remains on any of you.” She handed Ethan another little pot and gave them a look that had all three exiting meekly.

“If Mrs. Barrow had been a general, I would not have been at war for eight years,” Gabe said to no one in particular.

“Right, let's see to you,” Mrs. Barrow said. She reached into the jar and fished out several leeches. They looked like dark, slimy worms.

Callie's stomach lurched as Mrs. Barrow placed the creatures against the swollen and discolored flesh under his injured eye. The creatures instantly attached themselves to the tender flesh.

Callie shuddered and turned away. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“Not a bit. Can't feel a thing, as a matter of fact,” he told her cheerily.

After a few minutes Mrs. Barrow said, “That's that. Now, Mr. Gabe, you know what to do—you can see Her Highness can't stand the things—they take some people like that, I know. When they've finished, put 'em in the jar again. There's a market for good leeches and young Jim could earn a few pennies for 'em. I'll go and see how those others are doing and then I'll be back to do the rest.”

“I am perfectly capable of tending injuries,” said Callie feeling ashamed of her weak stomach. “Tell me what needs to be done after those creatures are finished.”