He stared at her, clearly pondering whether to chance it. Something in her expression must have warned him not to try. The way she was feeling right now, she would love nothing more than to put a bullet through him. He passed the rifle and the knife. Carefully.
“Head that way.” Sarah stored his rifle in the empty saddle holster and tucked the knife in the bedroll behind her.
Then she gestured with her rifle in the direction she meant.
He glared at her, his expression clearly visible in the flood of moonlight that silvered the vast wilderness around them. “Lowella’s the other way.”
Sarah snorted impatiently. “You must think I’m awfully green. I can tell direction from the stars as well as anyone. It’s a useful thing to learn, here in the bush. Kerry’s Creek is to the west, and so is Lowella. All we have to do is follow the creek.”
“I’m telling you it’s the other way.”
Sarah didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she gestured with the rifle. With a long, hard look at her, Gallagher reined Kilkenny in the direction she had indicated. Careful to keep about two horse’s lengths behind him, Sarah followed. They rode in silence until they reached the creek, which was exactly where Sarah had said it would be. Dominic said nothing as they turned to follow its meandering course. His dark face was shuttered, his thoughts hidden from her. But Sarah had a very good idea of how he must feel—furious, frustrated, and frightened, just as she had for the past three days.
“You know they’re probably going to hang you,” Sarah told him with enjoyment. “If my father lets you live that long. He’ll have had people out scouring the bush for me. He won’t take kindly to having his daughter kidnapped and abused.”
“I don’t imagine he’ll take kindly to having the whole world know that he has a daughter who’s so all fired anxious to take off her clothes and lie down for a convict, either,” Dominic said softly, his eyes filled with malice as he looked at her over his shoulder. “And don’t think I won’t tell him—and anyone else who cares to listen—what a hot little piece he’s sired. Why shouldn’t I? As you say, they’re going to hang me anyway. Why shouldn’t I barter his daughter’s honor for my life? Think of how many people I could tell about his man-starved old-maid daughter before they actually got me to the gallows.”
Sarah’s teeth clicked audibly as she clenched them with rage. “If you say another word, just one more, I swear to you I’ll shoot you right now. And enjoy doing it.”
He laughed, the sound mocking, but he didn’t say anything. For which Sarah was thankful. She was so angry that she might really have shot him, and she had a dreadful feeling that she would regret that as soon as she had done it. In truth, Gallagher posed a terrible dilemma. Just the thought of his being hanged made her uneasy. He might deserve it, unprincipled swine that he was, but she suspected already that she wasn’t going to be able to carry through on her threat to take him back to Lowella to face the punishment that awaited him. And she had another, equally lowering suspicion that she wasn’t going to be able to shoot him, either, if the situation deteriorated to that pass. Not that she was squeamish. Under similar circumstances, with a different kidnapper, she could have shot the man without a qualm if he had given her cause. But despite the fact that she was presently furious with him, Dominic—Gallagher—had carved his own niche in her heart. She actually liked him, when she wasn’t furious at him. And sometimes . . . sometimes he could make her feel things that she had never dreamed she could feel, beginning with a hot, thick passion. . . . Sarah cast the broad back swaying so easily ahead of her a look of acute dislike. He deserved shooting, or hanging, for that if for no other reason. He had shown her exactly how barren was her spinsterish life. And at the same time, by taking her virginity, he had practically guaranteed that she would never be able to marry to try to fill that emptiness. How could she explain her lack of virginity to her husband on their wedding night? She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth—that she had allowed herself to be seduced by a handsome convict. Because the truth was the one thing that was totally unforgivable. Not that she had to worry about it overmuch, she thought. Eligible suitors weren’t exactly beating a path up Lowella’s front steps to offer for her hand. And she would be damned—darned!—if she would have Percival. Sarah shot Dominic another castigating look. She would probably have to guard her tongue for the rest of her life, lest some swear word should slip out.
They rode without stopping through the night and the next morning, following the creek as they headed toward Lowella. Exactly what would happen when they reached the station’s boundaries Sarah wasn’t sure, but she had come to one reluctant conclusion: she could not turn Dominic over to be hanged, or even whipped. She would probably be forced to let him ride away scot-free—she winced as she considered what he would make of that! But at least she could give him a scare first. Letting him think that she meant to turn him over for punishment would serve him right.
Sarah calculated that it was shortly after noon when Gallagher abruptly reined in. Sarah stopped too, warily staying some paces back.
“This is ridiculous, Sarah.” He turned around in his saddle to direct a black frown at her. “You’re practically falling out of the saddle with exhaustion, and so am I. We can’t ride all the way back to Lowella without stopping. We both need rest.”
Sarah sneered—she was getting very good at that, she thought, from watching him. “And just how am I supposed to keep the rifle on you while we rest? Oh no you don’t, Gallagher. I’m not that stupid.”
He sighed. Sarah thought resentfully that he looked handsome even with four days’ growth of beard roughening his jaw and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. She eyed his dark face with disfavor, refusing to think how her appearance must suffer in comparison.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Sarah.” His tone was patient, probably meant to lull her suspicions, Sarah decided. “But you’re not thinking straight. Look at you! You can hardly focus your eyes! And I’m not in much better shape.”
“We’re not stopping,” Sarah said determinedly. “Ride on!” Then, when he just sat there staring at her, she lifted the rifle from her saddle bow and pointed it at him. “I said ride on!”
“Bloody little bitch,” he growled, looking murderous. Sarah pulled back the hammer. He kicked Kilkenny onward.
As the sun rose to glare relentlessly down at them, the day grew hotter and hotter. Shimmering waves of heat rose from the miles of dusty earth pocked with holes and tiny scrub bushes. The creek to their left had narrowed until it was no more than a thin trickle. Overhead, heat-straggled eucalyptus trees did little to protect them from the sun. Often Sarah would glance over and see animals drinking from the creek. A pair of kangaroos, one with a baby in its pocket, waded against the current, stirring up eddies of mud with their long, comical feet; a hairy-feathered emu pecked thirstily at the muddy brown water; three koala bears ran along on all fours through the stream, looking up at Sarah and Gallagher with their shiny black eyes before scampering up a nearby tree. Ordinarily Sarah would have been charmed by the animals and their antics. Today she was just too tired.
An hour passed, then another. Suddenly Dominic reined in again and dismounted. Gathering her exhaustion-befuddled wits, Sarah fumbled with the rifle and pointed it at him. He gave her a single disgusted look and began to walk away into the bush.
“Hold it right there! Where do you think you’re going?”
“Unlike you, I occasionally have to answer nature’s call. You’re welcome to come along with me, if you like.”
Sarah felt scarlet color wash into her face as she watched his retreating back. What could she do? She couldn’t shoot him, and she couldn’t do as he mockingly suggested and follow him, either.
“If you’re not back in a couple of minutes, I’ll take Kilkenny and ride off without you. Without a horse or any provisions out here in the bush, you’ll die just as surely as if they hang you. You can take your choice.” The words were pure bravado. Sarah didn’t thi
nk she could leave him stranded in the bush, but he couldn’t know that. And she fervidly hoped he wouldn’t put it to the test.
To her relief, he returned shortly. She kept the rifle trained on him as he approached, aware that this would be an ideal opportunity for him to attempt to overpower her. But he didn’t even approach her, just stood looking at her for a moment with one hand on Kilkenny’s shiny neck.
“I’ll hold the rifle for you, if you have a similar problem,” he offered, with a taunting smile. He had more energy than she, Sarah thought crossly, if he could still smile.
“I told you before, I’m not stupid,” she snapped, waving the rifle at him. “Get on your horse. I want to reach Lowella tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her mockingly, then turned to fit his foot into the stirrup and swing himself into the saddle. Without another word, he set Kilkenny in motion again.
By the time the sun began to sink in a vivid swirl of red over the horizon, Sarah knew they weren’t going to make it. It was still more than half a day’s ride to Lowella, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Soon she would be falling asleep in the saddle, and that would give Gallagher just the opening he wanted. She had to order a rest stop now, before tiredness fuddled her thinking completely. As for Gallagher, she would have to deal with him as best she could.
“Gallagher, stop!” she called out imperiously. He looked over his shoulder at her, then swung Kilkenny around so that the horse blocked the narrow path and he was facing her.
“What’s the matter?” His voice was sharp.
“We’re going to make camp. I want you to dismount, unsaddle Kilkenny, and carry your gear over under that tree. And watch yourself. I would hate to have to shoot you.”
“Not as much as I would hate for you to,” he observed dryly. With surprising efficiency, considering that he had had no more sleep than she, he carried out her instructions.
“Now come unsaddle my horse,” Sarah ordered when he had finished. She dismounted, careful to keep the rifle trained on him, and stood to one side as he obeyed. When her gear was stowed under the tree along with his, she had him water the horses, then tether them near a bush with a few remaining green leaves so that they could eat, following along behind him all the while. Finally she ordered him to build a fire.
“Now lie down on your stomach,” she instructed when that was done. He was squatting before the small fire. At her words, he got slowly to his feet. Sarah refused to allow herself to be intimidated by the height and breadth of him, but she did take a step backward. It would be foolish to allow him to get too close.
“Planning to ravish me, are you?” he asked sardonically. “You’ll need me on my back for that. But then, you do lack experience, don’t you?”
“Close your filthy mouth and lie down!”
He looked at her for a long moment, in which the issue hung in the balance. Sarah kept the rifle aimed steadily at him, her eyes determined as they met his. At last he grimaced, and dropped first to his knees and then to his belly.
“Now put your hands behind your back.” Triumph gave Sarah her second wind. It was amazing how much difference a loaded rifle could make; the feeling of power it gave her was intoxicating, and it intensified as he obediently put his hands behind his back.
He was lying between the dropped saddles and the fire. Sarah walked over to the gear, careful to keep a wary eye on her prisoner, and extracted a rope. Then, rope in hand, she approached where he lay sprawled in the dust, his face turned so that he could watch her every move, his long legs spraddled, his hands resting one on top of the other in the small of his back. His eyes were a deep obsidian blue as he stared at her. The expression in them made her that much more careful.
“I’m going to put this rifle against the back of your neck and then I’m going to tie your hands,” she said carefully. “It’s loaded, and cocked, so if I were you I wouldn’t so much as breathe hard. Unless you want a hole in your neck the size of Melbourne, that is.”
“Listen, Sarah . . .”
“Don’t talk!” she said, warily approaching. “You’re not going to get me to change my mind with your damn—darned!—Irish blarney. But you’re liable to make me angry, and with a rifle against your neck I wouldn’t want that to happen. Would you?”
He didn’t reply. Sarah watched him for a moment, then decided that it was now or never. She could barely keep her eyes open as it was. Pointing the rifle directly at his head, she moved toward him until the mouth of the barrel rested against the back of his neck.
“Turn your face away. Carefully!” This was so that he couldn’t watch her all the time. If he watched, he was bound to see her concentration slip from the rifle to his hands. And then it would be very easy to surprise her with a sudden quick move.
He obeyed, the movement sullen. Sarah hesitated, then propped the rifle—which she had stealthily uncocked in case of an accident—against her hip, and bent to tie his hands. When they were secured to her satisfaction, she stepped back hastily, the rifle swinging to her shoulder once more.
“Now stand up.”
“Sarah . . .”
“Miss Sarah. And I said stand up!”
He stood, his movements awkward because of his bound hands. She gestured him over to the tree and ordered him to sit with his back against it. He did, but with obvious reluctance.
“Hold still.” She had come up with an ingenious plan for ensuring that he didn’t get the opportunity to attack her while she was tying him to the tree. First she passed the rope around his throat and the tree trunk and tied it tightly. With the rope threatening to cut off his breath if he moved, and his hands bound securely behind his back, she didn’t think there was a chance of him overpowering her while she trussed him up. Her plan worked like a charm. He did nothing more than sit there glowering at her as she passed the rope around and around his body before tying it in a series of knots in the back.
“What are you going to do if our bushranger friends find us? Or some other, equally nefarious characters?” He was taunting her as she stood admiring her handiwork.
“I am an excellent shot, thank you. I believe I can take care of myself.” She refused to seriously consider such a possibility. Her luck couldn’t be that bad—she hoped.
“How am I supposed to sleep like this?” he complained.
“You’re not. I am.”
Satisfied that he was tied securely, she moved away to open her bedroll. His knife gleamed up at her; tucking it with the rest of the gear, she sank down on the blankets with a sigh. Her eyelids felt as if they were attached to lead weights. . . .
“Don’t I even get a meal?”
Sarah roused herself to glare at him. “Don’t you ever shut up?”
“I’m hungry.”
“What a shame.” She had meant to prepare a simple meal, but she was simply too tired. They could eat when she woke. Her eyelids fluttered shut.
“Dammit to hell, Sarah, at least put out the fire before you fall asleep. We could be roasted alive! As dry as this brush is, all it would take is one spark to set the whole countryside ablaze.”
There was sense in what he said, she knew. She had meant to fix tea and beans over the fire, not to let it burn all night. Struggling to her feet, she stumbled to the fire and scooped handfuls of dust over it until not a single ember glowed. Then she just managed to make it back to her blanket before collasping. Her eyes closed as soon as her head found the saddle. Her last conscious thought was of the malevolent glare in Dominic’s eyes as he watched her curl up in the bedroll. She mistrusted the look in his eyes. . . . Her hand reached out to clutch the rifle nestled beside her before she fell deeply asleep.
The sun bright against her eyelids teased them open the next morning. Blinking, staring straight up at the scraggly eucalyptus branches overhead, it took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened. Then it all came back to her with a rush. She turned her head, and her eyes found Dominic. He was leaning back against the tree, his hea
d slumped sideways as far as it could go with the rope around his neck, his eyes shut. The coils of rope still bound him securely to the tree. Sarah first felt relief that he had not managed to work himself loose, and then a stab of compunction at his posture, which looked extremely uncomfortable. But last night she had not been able to think of any other way to secure him so that she might get some sleep.
Picking up the rifle, she stood up, stretching her muscles painfully. With a quick glance at Dominic, who hadn’t moved so much as an eyelash as far as she could tell, she pulled the poncho off her head—she had been too tired and too wary to remove it the night before, although she had managed to take off her hat before falling asleep—and shook it vigorously. The resulting cloud of dust made her cough and close her eyes.
“You’ll find some clothes in one of my saddlebags. I took Darby’s extras when I was gathering up the gear. I would have told you about them earlier, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
Sarah cast him a startled glance, to find that his blue eyes were raking her body, which was covered only by the thin rag that was all that was left of her nightrail. Blushing, she immediately turned her back to him and pulled the poncho back over her head. She was embarrassed that he should see her so scantily clad, but along with the embarrassment was another feeling, a curious tingling that ran all the way down to her toes. Sarah felt her nipples hardening, and silently said another of those words with which Dominic had enriched her vocabulary. Why did he have to be so handsome? she asked herself despairingly. Just the sight of him was enough to make her body throb and burn, despite every reprehensible thing he had done to her. She could not even quell the achy feeling by reminding her hungry flesh that he was a convict and probably despised her, to boot.
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