by Téa Cooper
He watched with scorn as the Dungarven men mounted their broken down hacks. “Retrace your steps and get my message to your lord and master quick-smart. And remember it is not his horseflesh up for negotiation. It’s his daughter.” Dragging his eyes from Miss Dungarven’s enticing pink lips he issued his final instructions. “Give him my note and remind him if he, and her husband, want to see her again, it will cost them five hundred pounds at The Settler’s Arms in seven days’ time.”
“I doubt my husband is going to be remotely interested since he was killed over four years ago.” Her icy voice dripped with disdain.
The silence was palpable. Tom cursed inwardly, regretting his mistake. Even though he’d called it right about her father’s brand he was mistaken in his assumption of her matrimonial state. A widow. She was so young, so beautiful–perhaps that explained why she used her family name.
“I’ll tell your father what happened, miss. We’ll be back soon. Don’t you worry.”
She nodded at the overseer’s words and the purple of her eyes shadowed with a mixture of frustration and impotence. “Thank you. George. Please make sure you impress upon him the fact the horses are unharmed.” She shot him a resolute look as if to emphasize her words.
The sound of Jem’s hand delivering a resounding whack on the horses’ rumps reverberated in the dusty air and the Dungarven men hightailed it down the road back to their dubious welcome.
Tom’s sigh of relief lifted his hair from his forehead and he clapped his hat back onto his sweat-soaked head. “Miss Dungarven, we’re leaving.”
He pulled the coil of rope from his back pocket and caught the bridle of her horse and slipped it through the bit ring just before she sprang into her saddle. As he glanced up at her he caught the flash of defiance in her eyes and his breath hitched. She tensed and pulled her elbows tight against her sides and then yanked on the reins.
His head jerked back and he stared wide-eyed as time skewed and the massive black stallion lifted onto its hind legs and reared in front of him. He raised his arms and covered his head. A cold sweat broke out on his face as he ducked below the flailing forelegs. Cradled beneath the steaming belly of the stallion, he glimpsed the blue sky between the muscled hindquarters and the silhouette of its mighty testicles. The bulging veins on its haunches throbbed and pulsated to the rhythm of his shallow gasps, and the overpowering musty smell of horse sweat enveloped him.
The roar of blood in his ears deafened him, and as suddenly as it had begun, the shadow lifted and the stallion retreated step by practiced step. He struggled to his feet, his legs rubbery from the shock as a moist rush of air from the beast’s cavernous nostril brushed his cheek.
“I assure you I am quite capable of riding without a lead rope.” She looked down at him, her shoulders straight and her proud haughty face strikingly beautiful in the harsh sunlight.
He forced a tightlipped smile and let his breathing settle before he spoke, praying his voice wouldn’t crack. “I have no doubt, madam, after that display. It’s for that very reason I’ve attached the lead rope. I have no intention of losing you.”
Her slender fingers gripped the reins tightly as she stared back at him. He could see defiance and total control in every line of her body and that of the massive stallion. She and her mob of horses had plenty in common–quality and bloodlines. Breeding showed every time.
Another shudder snaked up his spine. Her vitality and courage drew him like a magnet and he knew he would have to watch himself. It was blatantly obvious that she could handle her horses and now her unusual attire made perfect sense. Nevertheless, they had little time to waste with displays of derring-do and one-upmanship. Every moment he spent with this incongruous group on the road, the more likely the chances someone would spring them and there’d be hell to pay. It was going to be a long hard ride but he had no doubt she was up to it.
Her high-pitched whistle cut the air and he turned just in time to catch the cool flick of her wrist and all the horses edged forward in response.
“Bonnie rides as well as your men. Have no fear for our capabilities.” She flashed him a supercilious smile and whistled through her perfect white teeth again. Tom found himself pulled into her wake. The realization of his predicament hit him. It was essential to hang onto the control of this group tightly, as tightly as the fit of Miss Dungarven’s breeches if he wanted to keep the upper hand.
“Let’s get a move on. I want to get to Wollombi before we camp for the night.” He dragged his eyes away from the rounded curves of her buttocks. “Jem, take us up over the track past The Giant Lizard at Yellow Rock so we avoid the road. We’ll drop down onto the Coolawine Trail.” He tugged at his reins and urged both horses into a loose canter resolutely setting his own pace.
* * * *
Lily flexed her hands, determined not to transmit her tension to Nero. The last thing she needed was for him to catch a pothole and go down. Not only was he Wordsworth’s prize stallion, more importantly he was worth his weight in gold at the Windsor races. The story she’d told was true. The horses were for export, however, Nero was hers, something special and worth far more than any remount destined for the Indian army. She’d have to bide her time. Making a break would be nigh on impossible while she was tethered like an incapable novice to the bushranger’s horse, and she must consider Bonnie.
She turned in her saddle and gave Bonnie a reassuring smile. Bonnie grinned back, her wide eyes glanced toward Will and Lily nodded. Now she knew which way the land lay. Will’s lanky cornstalk good looks had obviously caught Bonnie’s attention. No wonder she appeared so remarkably at ease answering his questions as they rode side by side. At least there was one less thing for her to worry about.
Her gaze roamed the incongruous group. Jem, the tracker rode ahead way out in front, his long legs dangling, relaxed without a saddle, the string of spare horses tethered behind him. They weren’t over burdened, the packsaddles sat comfortably on their muscled rumps. She let a sigh escape her lips and relaxed into her seat. She caught the bushranger’s eyes and a smile lit his sun-bronzed face, his teeth straight and white in contrast. She couldn’t help but respond even though she knew she shouldn’t.
Wresting her gaze away, she turned her mind to her father and the smile instantly fell from her face. His rage would know no bounds.
Poor George. If her father had been at the bottle, or worse still, had a crop in his hand, the man would be black and blue. Their first chance at redeeming their waning financial position had disappeared out of the window. She knew there was no chance her father would be able to raise the five hundred pound ransom money. If Nero won at the racetrack, he might recoup a portion but without the payment for the horses there would be nothing he could do except raid her inheritance again.
“Woo hoo.” Tom’s cry sliced through her thoughts. Her gaze scanned his lean body and trailed up to the shadows of the eucalyptus leaves playing across his chiseled face.
“Lean well forward and take it easy, madam.” Her toes flexed in her stirrups as his smile curved across the perfect symmetry of his face. “We’ve got some pretty rough terrain.” His finger pointed ahead and his deep voiced warning increased her tension. Every cell in her body shuddered as a wave of foreboding traced her skin.
The bush track disappeared and the gum trees crisscrossed at odd angles against the tumble of gigantic boulders.
“Watch out for loose rocks, we don’t want to have to shoot any of these precious animals because they’ve broken a leg.” As if by design, the raucous cry of an invisible bird punctuated his warning. Lily pulled her cloak around her shoulders, cold despite the afternoon sunlight.
Looking ahead she spotted the Aboriginal tracker even further in front than before. His seasoned gaze never seemed to falter as it swept across the dense bush reading the rocks and trees like a map. Will and Bonnie followed him, two abreast, the remaining horses hitched together on a lead rope.
Lily chaffed at the uncomfortable intimacy the ever-prese
nt lead rope caused as she and the bushranger brought up the rear. As the restricted track drew them closer and closer together she sat up straighter in the saddle until her posture was rigid and her muscles screamed. Sensing her discomfort Nero pushed and shoved against the other horse. The atmosphere closed in as the shadows lengthened and the boulders increased in size, narrowing their path even further. She pushed her hat back off her head frantic to catch any breath of air and dropped her cloak. The radiant heat from the rocks added to the cloying mood overtaking her. She was convinced she was being dragged back in time. The antiquity of the place seeped through her skin speaking of secrets she couldn’t fathom. She shuddered and broke the ominous silence, unable to shake her sense of unease. “Have you been this way before?”
“Only once, about five years ago with another tracker.” He turned in his saddle to look at her, his face grim, lines etched around his mouth. “The Aboriginals say a great goanna made its way across the country creating the valleys and mountains. When it got near here the warriors told it to stop and it refused. They smashed its head and killed it.”
She couldn’t control the shudders running down her back. A strange aura hung over the place and a feeling of foreboding permeated the air.
“All that’s left is the petrified yellow rock and these boulders. Legend says they are the warriors keeping guard.”
Lily let her reins fall onto the pommel of her saddle, and rubbed the goose bumps stippling her arms. She looked at him closely, his face mirrored the surrounding rocks, and she guessed even he could feel the tension of the place.
“We turn off this track soon and pick up the Coolawine Trail. The terrain lightens up after that, another seven or eight miles and we’ll be in the Wollombi Valley. We’ll camp by Narone Creek for the night.”
“You seem to know the area.” Her futile attempt at conversation did little to lighten the atmosphere. “Were you born around here?”
His harsh bark of laughter bounced off the rocks in a spine-chilling echo. “No. I’m here courtesy of Her Majesty’s Government.”
Bile burned at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. She should have guessed but it hadn’t even occurred to her, she hadn’t imagined he could be an absconder. The last convict transportations had only stopped a few years ago; perhaps he had reoffended. No doubt he was on the run.
With the fading light the events of the day suddenly seemed less of an adventure.
What had she done?
What had an escaped convict to lose if he was on the run from the law? She gritted her teeth, no point in beating around the bush she was better off knowing what she was up against.
“So you came out here as a convict?” Her question hung in the air like a heavy cloud. He turned his piercing black eyes to her. Determined not to be intimidated she held his skeptical gaze.
“What do you reckon?”
Chapter 2
Jem’s great yellow goanna stalked across Lily’s dreams and she tossed and turned under the thin blanket. Waking with a start, the clarity of her predicament finally struck her as the morning sun breached the horizon. There was only one option. She must get away and find help. The responsibility was hers and hers alone. Tired of the claustrophobic atmosphere at home and her father’s irrational behavior, she had pleaded and coaxed him until he had finally given in. Poor Bonnie had only been dragged along because of her own obstinate determination to accompany the horses to Sydney. Her overwhelming desire to experience the freedom of the road had already given her more than the taste of adventure she had craved.
An unladylike snort escaped from her nose and she closed her eyes to ponder her dilemma. Fate had a habit of answering prayers. She’d got her freedom and her taste of adventure though not quite in the way she had envisaged. Was he on the run? Was he an escaped convict, a felon? The questions plagued her. He appeared to have the manners and language of a gentleman. Why take to the bush?
The scorched smell of crushed casuarina needles invaded her senses and she opened her eyes. Her captor stood over her. A slow warm smile spread across his face and his eyes held a hint of apology, almost as though he regretted the position he had placed her in. Squatting down beside her, he offered her a piece of damper and a mug of water. She sat up and unlaced her hands from behind her head. Her empty stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“This will have to keep you going for now,” he said. “We’ll get a decent meal tonight when we get to the Common. There’ll be food waiting for us at the camp.”
As his fingers brushed hers, a frisson of pleasure travelled up her arm. She massaged the spot before taking the tin mug and murmuring her thanks. Trying to mask her confusion she lowered her eyelashes, determined not to give anything away. She felt sure he could see straight through her with those incredible blue black eyes.
“Did you get some rest? We have a long way to go today.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, his concern sending a wave of guilt washing over her. Mindful of her plan to escape, she attempted to force aside the strange emotions rocking her and gazed up at him through her lowered lashes.
“Where are we going today?” She pushed aside the attraction sparking between them determined to interpret every nuance of his answer. It might give her the opportunity to get her bearings. She smiled demurely at him.
“We’ll cut up across the valley and through Blaxland’s Arm, then cross the Great North Road and drop down onto St Albans Common. We’ve a spot there.”
Relief flowed through her; it would be easier than she’d thought.
“We’ll only be a short ride away from The Settler’s Arms. Will we wait there for George to return with my father’s answer?”
His grunt of acknowledgement told her everything she needed to know and she tried to visualize the survey maps her in her father’s library at Wordsworth.
“We’re leaving soon, if you need to freshen up use the creek.”
His large strong hand rested flat on the ground as he pushed himself to his feet and towered over her. Her breath caught, and when he turned to leave, a wave of regret swept through her.
His long easy strides covered the distance to the horses and then he stooped to pick up her saddle. Quite capable of saddling her own horse, his thoughtfulness warmed her and she struggled out from under the thin blanket. Her arms and legs cramped when she stood up and she stretched her overused muscles. As they sprang back to life she picked her way across the sand to the creek edge.
The crystal clear water looked inviting but Lily tossed aside any thoughts of bathing as the icy cold droplets hit her skin. She scrubbed away the dirt and sleep-dust from her face and combed her fingers ineffectually through her unruly ringlets, looking around at the idyllic setting. The startling violet of a creeper growing down the bank of the creek caught her eye and she broke off a length. Winding it around her hair she pulled her curls away from her face. She didn’t need anything to impair her vision today. Her heart lurched with excitement at the thought of making a break for it.
Be patient.
She scoured her memory, searching for the picture of the map. If she was right, they would cross the Great North Road at the convict wall and that would be her opportunity to back-track to Laguna and head for Wollombi to rouse the magistrate and the troopers.
Nero whinnied his welcome long before she had the opportunity to greet Bonnie and Will. She ran her hands down his flanks and realized that someone, Jem or Will she guessed, had rubbed him down the night before. They had done a better job than she had when she’d finally fallen from the saddle, too tired to speak. Obviously they knew how to treat their horses. It was another thing she could cross off her list of concerns for the time being.
The unexpected harshness of her voice surprised her as it crackled against the riotous morning birdsong. “Good Morning Bonnie, Will.” They turned as one at her greeting their faces bright with promise.
“It’s such a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Bonnie’s voice reflected her o
wn growing sense of anticipation.
The whole party had an air of expectancy as though they were heading off for a day at the picnic races.
A piercing whistle interrupted Lily’s thoughts.
“We’re out of here. Let’s go.” Tom’s cry mirrored her enthusiasm.
She pushed the enticing picture of him astride her large gray-flecked gelding, its white tail flicking in the early sunshine, to the back of her mind. Today was business. She must concentrate and get her bearings. There was little or no point in making a break if she ended up lost in the bush or, worse, back in the hands of her captors.
Lily settled on Nero’s solid back relishing the security he represented and followed Bonnie and Will down the slight incline. Her spirits soared as she realized there were no lead ropes. The change in attitude was interesting. Today Tom appeared to think her trustworthy. A flash of warmth coursed through her at his misplaced belief but it was pointless worrying about it–it was a trust she intended to abuse before the day was out.
“I’m right behind you, miss.” Jem’s voice broke the silence and the hairs on her neck prickled. The man was uncanny. She turned toward him; his white teeth shone against the dark skin of his face as he smiled and nodded knowingly.
She urged Nero forward along the sandy bank of the creek, determined to move to the front of the group where she could see the landscape ahead and plan her move.
* * * *
Tom leaned back in his saddle intent on learning the rhythm of his new mount. The famed Dungarven breeding was no myth; they were some of the best horses in the colony. Years of travelling with the survey parties would have been more efficient if they’d had horses like these instead of the broken down nags available to them. They could have covered the entire Liverpool Plains in a matter of months instead of the years it had taken.