Trev pressed his fist inside the stiff curve of his bandaged hand. "So… we can't take him back, and we can't turn him loose, and we can't keep him at Shelford."

She shook her head. "I don't see how we can-at least until he grows out of this dye."

"How long will that take?"

"Oh my-his winter coat will be coming on, but- some months I should think, before there is no trace of it."

"Splendid," he said dryly. "We'll have to conceal him, then."

They both gazed at Hubert. He chewed rhythmi cally, with a faraway, dreamy look in his deep brown eyes. He swished his tail, thumping it against the cupboard with a sound like a hollow drum. Inside the cupboard, the dishes rattled.

"Perhaps some spectacles and a mustache," Trev suggested.

"Yes, and a bagwig," Callie said curtly. "He could sit on the bench and conduct the assizes."

Trev squinted at the bull. "He does resemble some of the judges."

She pursed her lips and gave him an arch look. "No doubt you're familiar with any number of them."

"Sadly I am, and I fear I'll come to know them even better if we don't discover some way to deal with this monster." He crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the overturned table. "If you believe we can't turn him loose, we must get him well away from Shelford, Callie, in truth. And rapidly at that. Is there anyone you trust to take him?"

She frowned and clutched her gloves together, holding them to her chin. In spite of his increasingly urgent anxiety for his own skin, Trev found himself hard put to suppress a smile at the look of earnest concentration on her face.

"I have an excellent drover," she said, "but he knows Hubert very well, and I wouldn't know how to explain it all. And where would we take him?"

"Somewhere among a great number of cattle would be best. A market or such."

"We can't sell him!" she exclaimed.

"I don't mean to sell him. Only somewhere that he would blend in among a lot of others of his kind for a while."

"I don't believe Hubert will blend very well. Particularly in this color. The only black cattle that are common are the Welsh type. They aren't so large, and you don't see many of them hereabouts. I heard there were a few at the last exhibition."

"The exhibition!" Trev stood upright. "We could take him there. Cattle by the score."

Callie gasped. "Are you mad? We can't let him be seen there!"

"It's perfect. It's an exhibition, yes? You don't have to enter for a prize. He's an alien bull, just come over from… from Belgium. Kept under wraps until he's revealed at the show. New blood, all that. We could even start up a rumor claiming he's larger than Hubert. And you would publish Hubert's dimensions-slightly reduced, of course-and express your displeasure with this upstart-"

Callie's mouth fell open wider and wider. She was shaking her head.

"It's hide in plain sight, you see," Trev said. "We'll offer a challenge! A hundred guineas. While everyone scours the countryside trying to find Hubert, so that the two can be compared, he's standing right in front of them. But they won't see it."

"You're mad! Of course they would see it. I recog nized him instantly!"

"Did you?"

"Well, I-it did take me a moment to realize-but, I'm sure anyone who knew Hubert would see it quickly."

"How many in Hereford know him that well? He doesn't have any scars or nicks. It's not so easy to recognize an animal with no markings as one might suppose. I've seen enough dark horses to know, you may believe me."

She turned and gazed at Hubert, assessing his generous bulk and shaking her head. Trev could see that she was about to dispute him, when a faint cough from the door made them both look round quickly.

"Maman!" Trev exclaimed. "What are you doing down here?"

The duchesse leaned one white hand on the door jamb, peering into the kitchen. "No, I ask you!" she whispered. "What does this animal do here?" Her eyes danced. "You and Lady Callista… have a scheme together, eh?"

"We're taking him out directly," Trev said. He moved toward the door, avoiding the smashed pie. "As soon as I help you back to bed."

"Oh no, do not suppose-" She coughed, clinging to the door. "You expect me to… be in bed… while all my house falls down!"

"Better that, than you fall down," he said, taking her arm.

"I will… sit up in the parlor," she said with dignity. Her voice strengthened. "I am much… better. We have a great deal to discuss, I think, Trevelyan."

"And where is that nurse?" Trev asked. He guided her away from the door, but she set herself against climbing the stairs.

"No. And no. I will… sit up," she said as firmly as her weak voice could manage. "And we will discuss, Trevelyan!"

"May I remove this bull from the premises first?" he asked courteously.

"You may," she said with a little smirk at him. "Only do not… destroy what Limoges ware I have left to me."

"I make no guarantee of that," Trev said, guiding her to a chair in the modest drawing room. "I can only hope he doesn't lodge at the turning and pull the whole place down around us."

Hubert proved himself a splendid gentleman, worthy of his exalted lineage and genteel upbringing, in his transit from the kitchen to the front door. Following Callie and a trail of carrots, he moved one ponderous step at time, his big head swaying gently under the replaced blindfold. There were a few breathless moments at the turning, in which his hip caught on the doorjamb and the ancient f loorboards squealed in protest at his weight, but a mighty shove against his rib cage by Trev, and Callie's encouraging voice, swayed him just enough. His hind foot found purchase on the top stone stair, and he pushed through.

Once he reached the garden, however, he summarily shed his well-bred manners and showed a loutish tendency to trample the dahlias and browse on the tender shoots of a sweet pea vine. Trev had tied the horses in the stable yard and made sure the lane was empty of passersby before they brought Hubert through the door, but he felt his alarm rising as the bull disregarded the carrots and planted himself amid the f lower beds, cropping great swaths of blossoms and vegetation with each mouthful.

"Callie!" Trev hissed, pushing at Hubert's rump. "Move him along!"

"I'm trying!" she returned in a fierce whisper, as if they weren't standing in full view of the lane with a massive black bull taking up the twelve feet of garden between them. She clucked and tugged at the animal's nose ring. "Hubert! Walk on!"

Hubert f licked his ear, lifted his nose an inch, and then went back to tearing up daisies.

Trev had been praying that Jock and Barton's absence meant that the pursuit was still decoyed away. Jock knew full well they needed time, and plenty of it, but Sturgeon had not left the premises willingly-not unless it was to go for a musket. So when Trev saw a f licker of motion through the leaves and overhanging branches far down the lane, a warning that someone was marching briskly toward them, he felt a surge of true panic.

"Someone's coming." He would have stampeded the bull in any way he could, but with Callie standing in front of the bull he didn't dare. She'd be crushed in an instant if the beast overran her. He threw a wild look round, saw a white expanse of bed linens hung out to sun over the side fence, and finished off Hubert's work by trampling down the delphiniums to reach them. He tore the sheets off the fence and waded back, dragging them in his arms, tossing the whole spread over Hubert's back. "Take the ends! We're airing linen."

Callie nodded, with a wide-eyed glance toward the lane. She grabbed a sheet corner, pulling it toward her. Hubert ignored the drape as Trev hurriedly arranged one edge over a rosebush, trying to cover him entirely under a tentlike affair of bed linens. Callie held out the ends, waving them up and down as if to shake out wrinkles while she made a pavilion over Hubert's lowered head.