The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(69)

“I don’t know, my lady.”

“One-hundred-league boots.” George sat back in satisfaction. “Can you imagine? You put them on and the wearer can cross one hundred leagues in a single step.”

Harry’s mouth quirked. “I shouldn’t ask, my lady, but how would that help the Leopard Prince get to the Mountains of the Moon?”

George stared. She’d never thought of that. “I haven’t any idea. They would be wonderful on land, but would they work in the air?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “It is a problem, I fear.”

George absently fed him the rest of her beef while pondering this question. She was offering the last bite when she realized that he’d been watching her the entire time.

“Harry…” She hesitated. He was weak, barely recovered enough to sit upright. She shouldn’t take advantage of him, but she needed to know.

“Yes?”

She asked before she could rethink the idea. “Why did your father attack Lord Granville?”

He stiffened.

She immediately regretted asking. It was more than clear he didn’t want to talk about that time. How mean of her.

“My mother was Granville’s whore.” His words were flat.

George stopped breathing. She’d never heard Harry mention his mother before.

“She was a beautiful woman, my mother.” He looked down at his right hand and flexed it. “Too beautiful for a gamekeeper’s wife. She was all black hair and blazing green eyes. When we went to town, men used to watch her pass. Even as a lad it made me uneasy.”

“Was she a good mother?”

Harry shrugged. “She was the only mother I had. I’ve none other to compare her with. She kept me fed and clothed. My da did most everything else.”

George looked down at her own hands, fighting back tears, but she still heard his words, rasping and slow.

“When I was small, she used to sing to me sometimes, late at night if I couldn’t sleep. Sad love songs. Her voice was high, and not very strong, and she wouldn’t sing if I looked at her face. But it was lovely when she sang.” He sighed. “At least I thought so at the time.”

She nodded, barely moving, too afraid to interrupt the flow of his words.

“They moved here, my da and my mother, when they were first married. I don’t know exactly—I’ve had to piece the story together from conversations I’ve overheard—but I think she took up with Granville soon after they came here.”

“Before you were born?” George asked carefully.

He looked at her with steady emerald eyes and nodded once.

George let out a slow breath. “Did your father know?”

Harry grimaced. “He must’ve. Granville took away Bennet.”

She blinked. She couldn’t have heard correctly. “Bennet Granville is…?”

“My brother,” Harry said quietly. “My mother’s son.”

“But how could he do such a thing? Didn’t anyone notice when he brought a baby into his house?”

Harry made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Oh, everyone knew—quite a few hereabouts probably still remember—but Granville has always been a tyrant. When he said the baby was his legitimate son, none dared disagree. Not even his lawful wife.”

“And your father?”

Harry looked down at his hands, frowning. “I don’t remember, I was only two or so, but I think Da must’ve forgiven her. And she must’ve promised to stay away from Granville. But she lied.”

“What happened?” George asked.

“My father caught her. I don’t know if Da always knew that she’d gone back to Granville and looked away or if he fooled himself that she had turned over a new leaf or…” He shook his head impatiently. “But it doesn’t matter. When I was twelve, he found her in bed with Granville.”

“And?”

Harry grimaced. “And he went for Granville’s throat. Granville was a much larger man, and he beat my father off. Da was humiliated. But Granville still had him horsewhipped.”

“And you? You said he horsewhipped you as well.”

“I was young. When they started on Da with that big whip…” Harry swallowed. “I darted in. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“You were trying to save your father.”

“Aye, I was. And all I got for the effort was this.” Harry held up his mutilated right hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“I tried to shield my face, and the whip caught me across this hand. See?” Harry pointed at a long scar that cut across the inside of his fingers. “The whip nearly severed them all, but the third finger was the worst. Lord Granville had one of his men cut it off. Said he was doing me a favor.”

Oh, God. George felt bile rise in her throat. She covered Harry’s right hand with her own. He turned it over so they were palm to palm. George carefully linked her fingers with his.

“Da was out of work and so badly crippled by the whipping that after a while we went into the poorhouse.” Harry looked away from her, but he still clasped his hand with hers.

“And your mother? Did she go into the poorhouse as well?” George asked in a low voice.

Harry’s hand squeezed hers almost painfully. “No. She stayed with Granville. As his whore. I heard many years later that she’d died of the plague. But I never spoke to her again after that day. The day Da and I were horsewhipped.”