The Bushranger's Wife

by Cheryl Adnams

  ‘Done and done,’ he agreed. ‘It’s so good to see you smile again. I’m such a fool.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But you’re my fool.’

  Jumping from the wagon, he helped Pru down. She supervised while Jack and the two delivery men struggled to slide the piano down to the ground so they could carry it into the house.

  Jack was looking so completely wrecked by the time the piano was in place in the living room and the delivery men were on their way back to Ballarat, she decided to take pity on him.

  ‘Why don’t I heat you that bath now?’

  ‘Will you play the piano for me while I bathe?’

  ‘I’ll try, but it may be a little off-key from the shift.’

  He lifted her hand to kiss it. ‘I’ll take what I can get.’

  ***

  Jack stripped off his clothes in the bedroom and cringed. Pru was right. They reeked. How could she bear to be near him? She should never forgive him after what he’d said and done. Granted, he’d been under the influence of liquor, but still.

  His hand was on the doorknob just as he heard the piano. It was a soft, lulling tune and he stood where he was, mesmerised by the sweetness of it. Whenever he’d stayed at the Barnett Boarding House, there was always some woman tinkering about on the piano in the parlour. He recognised the melody, even if he didn’t know the name of it or the composer, but he liked it.

  Soundlessly, he opened the door and in a beam of afternoon sunlight, filtering through the window, Pru sat at the piano, running her long, beautiful fingers over the keys. A gentle smile touched her lips and her cheeks glowed in the warmth of the room. She had no sheet music, clearly playing by memory. She was magnificent. And he was an imbecile. What had his pride nearly cost him today? And his childish behaviour. He was a man. A husband. He had to start acting like one.

  He wanted to go to her. To kiss her. To take her in his arms, take her to bed and make love to her. But he’d promised he wouldn’t do any of that until he no longer smelled like the floor of a seedy tap room.

  So instead he crept across the room and stepped into the hot water of the tub she had set up. She cast her eyes across at him but never strayed from the tune. He marvelled at the calming meditation that overcame her, the softness in her beautiful face replaced her previous anger as she became lost, became one, with the music. He thought he knew every one of her expressions by now. He’d seen the despair cross her delicate features when she’d discovered the betrayal by her grandmother. He adored the way her smile came from her eyes as well as her mouth when she laughed, usually at him. And—his favourite, naturally—the expression she wore when in the throes of passion, when they made love. But this new look of peace and contentment, as she filled the house with sweet music, had him falling in love with her all over again.

  When the piece ended, she simply sat there in reverent silence, the last note fading from the room.

  ‘You play beautifully,’ he said. ‘What was it?’

  She turned on the piano stool to face him.

  ‘Chopin,’ she responded. ‘Prelude number fifteen in D flat.’

  Her gaze lowered to his naked chest. And there was that look of passion he adored. Her green eyes shone in the low light, sparks flickered in them, reflecting the various flames about the room.

  She unfolded herself gracefully from the piano stool and toed off her shoes. Barefoot, she walked slowly towards him, undoing the buttons on the front of her dress.

  ‘Is there room in there for two?’

  The seductiveness in her question had him hardening beneath the surface of the bathwater. He thanked God he’d let the smithy talk him into buying the large copper bathtub rather than the smaller, cheaper tin variety.

  ‘I think I can make room,’ he said, just as her dress hit the floor in a pool of fabric around her feet.

  She stepped out of her many complicated undergarments before climbing into the tub, and he was treated to a quick view of her pretty, pale arse as she lowered herself into the water in front of him. Reaching an arm around her, he pulled her back against him. She felt amazing, her backside pressed into him, and his manhood twitched in response.

  With her head back, her long golden-red hair tickling his chest, he nipped her earlobe lightly before taking his hands on a journey across her body.

  ‘Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?’

  She sighed. ‘I took you for better or worse. Maybe this was your worst.’

  He placed a hand over her heart, taking the opportunity to close his hand over her small breast. ‘You’re a tolerant woman, Pru. I’ll try harder to be a better husband.’

  ‘I’ll try harder not to be a nagging wife.’

  ‘You don’t nag. Mrs Cromwell—the baker’s wife—now’s there a nagger.’

  Pru chuckled, and taking his hand, she began to kiss his fingers.

  ‘You still smell of whiskey.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to stay like this so you can’t smell me so much,’ Jack said, sliding his free hand down, down until he could cup the apex between her thighs. ‘And I’ll gladly spend the night pleasuring you, until you forgive me.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’ she asked, her voice breathy and affected as his fingers began to tease.

  ‘Oh, it’ll be a dreadful burden to watch you in the throes of passion, my love,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘You make the best sounds.’

  In confirmation, she moaned at his expert ministrations.

  His thumb grazed across her hard, pink nipple as she arched against him.

  ‘You’re the sexiest woman I have ever known,’ he said quietly, continuing to rub her sensitive places until she was mewling like a kitten. ‘I love watching you discover your sexuality, and … I love you.’

  ‘Jack …’

  He smiled as she lost the battle with her thoughts, and her body gave way to his demanding fingers as he took her up and over the crest.

  Relaxed and satiated, Pru stayed silent for a while as Jack ran his fingers lazily up and down her neck.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Mm?’

  She turned in the bath, sloshing water over the floor.

  He looked down into hooded green eyes.

  ‘I love you, too.’

  He smiled and brushing the hair from her forehead, he kissed her there. No kisses until he no longer stank of day-old whiskey. He knew the rules.

  But she had other ideas.

  She leaned up and fixed her mouth to his. His erection was standing at full attention now with his lovely wife kissing him, her warm tongue crossing with his, her centre lined up perfectly with his.

  ‘The water’s getting cold,’ he said, using every last bit of restraint he had left. ‘Shall we move into the bedroom?’

  She nodded, kissed him again and then as elegantly as possible, she climbed out of the bath before him. He watched her slim naked body in the pale orange light of evening as she headed for the bedroom.

  Chapter 11

  On the rare occasion Jack let Pru coerce him into joining them on the highway, she kept her mouth closed throughout the heist, knowing that a woman’s voice would give too much away. It irked Garrett all the same that she was there, and confused Bobby. Bushranging wasn’t traditionally a woman’s profession, but she didn’t care. It was much too exciting for her to be left sitting at home sewing and cleaning while the boys had all the fun. If she were honest though, she really couldn’t comprehend why Jack gave in and allowed her to travel with them. Not that she would ever bring it up, in fear that he’d begin to agree with his colleagues.

  She was fascinated with the precision and expertise the three men showed in bailing up fast moving coaches. They knew exactly where and when to meet the coach for the best opportunity at halting them without resistance and wasted very little time, taking only what they could find easily and remove from the people or cargo, before Jack sent the coach on its merry way again. They never injured, or even threatened injury, to any of the passengers or coach
driver. Pru didn’t delude herself that the same could be said for other bushrangers who roamed the highways.

  Occasionally, they came across those other types of bushrangers. It could be an amiable exchange of pleasantries between men of the same profession, a quick suspicious ‘hello’ in passing or even a friendly chat about the condition of the roads or the comparison of business. Sometimes an agreement of territory needed to be reached, and that was always a tense discussion fraught with danger. But Pru quickly learned that most other bushrangers deferred to Jack’s gang. Jack the Devil had run with the likes of Mad Dog Morgan and Viktor the Vicious, he was not a man to cross. He was a patriarch of the industry, had been around since before the Eureka Stockade, and was to be feared as well as respected. To Pru, Jack was simply marvellous. A gentleman, and a mastermind. And the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on.

  She may have kept her face covered and her mouth closed, but she was rarely just an observer. Ever since she’d helped them on that first heist, the men had to agree that she knew more about where a lady might hide her valuables than they did, and she often helped them to uncover a stash of jewels hidden in odd places, or recognised the worth of a silver pillbox that the men may have overlooked as junk.

  Astride Misha, by the side of the road of their latest bail up, something about the coach driver bothered her. The young man was fidgeting in his seat, nervous or uncomfortable, she couldn’t tell. All the coach drivers were smart enough to be afraid when bailed up by Jack the Devil, but this gentleman appeared even more agitated than usual. Did he have a gun hidden somewhere? Was he just waiting for the perfect time to take it out and shoot one of them? But why hadn’t he pulled the gun already?

  The man wriggled on his seat constantly. Maybe he just had piles. But she began to wonder if he was perhaps uneasy on his cushioned seat for another reason.

  Catching Jack’s eye, she waved him over. He knew better than to question her these days, so went right to her.

  ‘The driver looks nervous,’ she said, keeping her voice low.

  ‘Of course he’s nervous,’ Jack responded cockily. ‘He is being robbed by Jack the Devil. He’s terrified.’

  ‘No,’ she argued. ‘He’s squirming on his bottom like a dog with worms.’

  Jack grimaced. ‘Lovely image, darling.’

  She ignored him. ‘Look. Either he has a gun he’s about to pull or …’

  ‘Or …?’ Jack urged, his jovial mood disappearing as he, too, noticed the man’s inability to sit still.

  ‘The cushion,’ she said. ‘Look how he sits on it. It certainly can’t be comfortable, it’s a very odd shape.’

  Jack caught on quickly. ‘He’s hiding something under his arse. Smart bastard.’

  Jack made for the driver, gun drawn in case it was a weapon and not what he hoped was hiding in the cotton pillow.

  ‘Stand up,’ he instructed the driver, pointing his gun at his head.

  The man reluctantly did so, his hands in the air.

  ‘Toss that pillow down to me.’

  His hesitation said it all. Pru had been right. Something was stashed away in his cushion.

  Jack cocked the gun. ‘It’s not worth your life, sir.’

  The man tossed the pillow to Jack who caught it awkwardly. Undoing the buttons that kept the pillow case closed, he looked in.

  Then his eyes met Pru’s, a heartbeat pulsed between them, before he grinned like a madman.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Jack addressed the passengers. ‘You may continue on your way.’

  ‘You’ll be hanged, bushranger,’ one of the men called from the carriage window. ‘And I’ll be there to watch your neck snap. I’ll drink to your demise.’

  ‘And I’ll drink to your money.’ Jack bowed as the carriage moved off.

  Garrett and Bobby practically fell over each other to get to Jack, and when he opened the pillowcase, Bobby nearly choked as he dragged in a gasp.

  ‘There’s gotta be hundreds of pounds in here.’

  ‘It’s like a sixth sense,’ Garrett said, aiming a suspicious frown at Pru. ‘She’s like a witch or somethin’.’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to call my wife names, Garrett,’ Jack reprimanded lightly.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs,’ Garrett said, appearing almost worshipful of Pru for the first time. ‘Don’t mean no disrespect. It’s just … she’s diabolical. How did you know?’

  ‘Human nature, Garrett,’ she told him. ‘He looked nervous. Like he was sitting on hundreds of pounds in cash.’

  ‘He was sitting on hundreds of pounds of cash,’ Garrett said, still shaking his head in wonder. ‘You’d best watch yourself, Jack. She’s too smart for the likes of you.’

  Jack was leaning back against a rock, his arms crossed, grinning broadly up at her.

  ‘Don’t I know it.’

  As they headed back to town, just before the fork at the Melbourne Road, where Jack and Pru would part ways with Garrett and Bobby, they could see a group of gentlemen riding towards them.

  ‘Dammit!’ Jack cursed under his breath.

  ‘Is that McAuley?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘It is,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Pru, put your mask on.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it,’ he demanded. ‘And stay quiet.’

  The unusual tenseness in Jack’s demeanour had her doing as she was told, as the group of five men halted their horses at a distance from them.

  ‘Jack the Devil.’

  Pru made a study of the man who’d spoken. He was beefy and tall, and when he removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead, she saw a dark scar running across his forehead. He was obviously the leader of the gang, as the four other men appeared to hang back a little. Another gang of bushrangers, she surmised. Not the amiable type, not even the wary type. This was a gang that had even Jack on edge.

  ‘McAuley,’ Jack returned the greeting with a curt nod. ‘You and your boys are a long way from your usual hunting ground.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ McAuley said, in an easygoing tone that had Pru’s arm hair standing on end. ‘I’m not here to take your territory. We’re just passing through. Young Liam’s mother died. We went back to Geelong for the funeral.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, Liam.’ Jack looked across at the boy Pru guessed was sixteen if he were a day. ‘Our condolences.’

  The boy nodded but didn’t speak.

  McAuley flipped his coat open, revealing the revolver tucked into his belt. ‘Of course, if I wanted your territory, Jack, I’d just take it.’

  Garrett and Bobby flanked Jack and Pru as the two gangs stood in silence, eyeing each other off. Pru began to search the trees for a way out, in case they had to make a run for it. She could feel McAuley’s eyes on her throughout the exchange and her heart began to bang against her ribs.

  ‘Who’s the new feller?’ he asked.

  Jack looked at Pru. In all the time she’d known him, she had never seen the fear in his eyes that she saw now.

  ‘The one who won’t take off his mask,’ McAuley continued.

  Jack turned back to McAuley and grinned. He was a good actor when he wanted to be, Pru thought.

  ‘My nephew Peter. His ma would kill me, and him, if she knew I’d brought him out on the road, but he wanted a crack at the life. It’s safer no one sees his face ’til he’s old enough to drink at least.’

  ‘Ah, I recall your sister.’ McAuley laughed, loud and bellowing. ‘Met her at the Eureka protests on the goldfields in fifty-four. She scared the shite out of me.’

  ‘Aye, she’ll do that. So, if you don’t mind, we’d best be getting him home before she sends out the troopers and we all find ourselves guests of Her Majesty’s Prison.’

  McAuley nodded. ‘We’ve a long ride back to New South Wales. Good to see you, Jack. Let’s go, lads.’

  The four other men, who had stayed quiet throughout the exchange, followed their leader, riding past them while Pru held her breath and kept her eyes down.

  Only once there
was some distance between them did Jack relax his seat on Persephone.

  ‘Hell, Jack,’ Garrett said. ‘I near pissed my pants. Roarke McAuley! In Victoria?’

  ‘Let’s just get going before he changes his mind and turns around,’ Jack urged and they pushed on at a faster pace towards the fork at the Melbourne Road.

  After they separated from Bobby and Garrett, Pru and Jack rode in silence towards Little Windsor.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ Pru broke the stalemate.

  ‘I don’t. McAuley met a friend of mine. He was a little too amorous with her, so I told him she was my sister. When that didn’t stop him, she kicked him the balls. He wasn’t so amorous with her after that.’

  ‘Is that why you had me cover my face?’

  ‘If he knew you were a woman, we would have had a fight,’ Jack said quietly. ‘He would have seen me as weak. Would have challenged me to fight for my territory, and for you.’

  Pru swallowed hard. Jack, Bobby and Garrett would have fought for her, and probably died for her. And she shuddered to think what would have happened to her after they’d lost.

  ‘Blast it!’ Jack finally blurted out. ‘You cannot come out on the road with us anymore. What was I thinking?’

  ‘But Jack …’

  ‘I said no! You could have been killed today, do you realise that? We could have all been killed today.’

  Seeing how furious Jack was, for once Pru kept her tongue. But it was more the look of fear he’d given her out on the road that stopped her from arguing with him.

  ***

  Lying together in bed that night, Pru could feel the distance between them. Jack was on the other side of the bed, barely touching her, and it was the first time they hadn’t dived into bed and made love immediately after a robbery. Meeting the McAuley gang had taken the thrill right out of it, for both of them. Determined to break that distance, Pru curled into Jack’s side, tugging gently at the light spattering of hair on his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you,’ Jack’s voice broke into the darkness.