“All right, see you in the morning. I’ll be up before you, Mulvaney.”
“Goodnight.” Insolent young devil, Martin thought as the boy left the room. I ought to give him a backhander. He helped Elizabeth into bed then dropped the blanket he wore draped around his waist on to the floor and joined her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “What a horrible day it’s been.” She pressed her body against his, resting her face on his chest. “I’m so cold, my bones ache.”
“Go to sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“You won’t leave me?”
“No.”
“Promise you won’t sneak off when I fall asleep.”
“I promise.”
As they lay in silence, he hoped the heat of his body would seep into hers. Sleep was impossible. He stared into the darkness, wide-awake, in case the wheeze and breathlessness returned. The eucalyptus had worked wonders. He had heard of its medicinal qualities before. Apparently, it was distilled the same as whisky. They would keep a supply at the castle from now on.
In his worst nightmare, he would never have imagined spending a night in Fergus Campbell’s homestead, let alone his bed. Ollie was right, he should take better care of his little storm girl, spend more time with her.
He could take her on visits to his racing friends. He had planned to attend Saturday’s race meeting on his own, as he had done several times since their marriage. It never occurred to him she might like to go.
He had been to clearing sales, race meetings and visits to friends in Wangaratta, without ever mentioning anything to her because he did not want to be bothered with the restrictions her presence might place on him. You’re a selfish devil. He had been on his own too long. She asked little of him except to be taken into town sometimes and he begrudged doing that. He truly loathed himself.
* * *
Early next morning, Mulvaney had not put in an appearance so Alistair poked his head around the bedroom door. He was tempted to take him a cup of tea in bed to emphasize the fact he was up and about first.
His eyes narrowed. He couldn’t see Beth’s face but her hair spilled out all over Mulvaney’s chest. How could she have feelings for a man who treated her the way he did? Keeping her a virtual prisoner in a brooding, decaying castle. Women must be soft in the head.
“What are you doing, boy? Skulking around.”
Alistair jumped when Martin spoke. “I wanted to see if you were still here.”
“Well, I am, so get out.” Martin rubbed his palm across the stubble on his jaw. “Bring me my pants.”
“Get them yourself,” Alistair flung over his shoulder as he marched out of the room.
Martin swore under his breath and eased himself out of bed. Pulling the covers up over Elizabeth’s shoulders, he felt her forehead with the back of his hand; temperature seemed normal, thank goodness. Without even bothering to cover himself he strode out into the kitchen.
Alistair, who was squatted in front of the fire, stood up as Martin stepped over to the chair to collect his clothes.
“You pig.”
“Scared of seeing a real man?” Martin taunted, reaching for his pants. “Well take a good look, boy, you’ll never get another chance.”
“Go to hell, Mulvaney.” Alistair swung away.
“Where’s the old man?”
“Still in bed.”
“Build the fire up and put the kettle on, then you come with me. You can help me retrieve my saddle. I lost a valuable horse because of you. Consider yourself lucky I don’t take the cost out of your hide.”
“Go to hell, I’m not scared of you.”
“Then you ought to be. A word in the ear of the authorities about you warning the Kelly gang and you’ll be in big trouble. Then there’s Fergus. He’d be very interested to know where you dumped your sister yesterday.”
“All right. I’ll pay you back one of these days, Mulvaney, see if I don’t.”
When Beth woke up, Martin’s side of the bed felt cold. He had sneaked off after promising not to. She got out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen.
She still felt heavy-eyed and her throat was scratchy. The kitchen was cozy, the fire well stoked and the kettle on the boil. Grandfather sat at the table reading a newspaper.
“Good morning, how do ye feel?”
“Not too bad. Has Martin gone?”
“Aye, Alistair too. I found a note when I got up. After they pick up the buggy they’ll see if they can retrieve the saddle from Mulvaney’s horse.”
“The drop was so steep I don’t think they’ll be able to get it.” She shuddered. “If Martin hadn’t grabbed hold of me and jumped we’d be dead.”
“Forget what happened. Get dressed and we can have breakfast. I waited until ye got up.” He chuckled. “So ye could cook for me.”
They shared fried eggs on toast and a cup of tea. Beth enjoyed sitting at the breakfast table with grandfather again. Her clothes had dried hard and she noticed a rip in the skirt of her gown. Her cloak and bonnet were still at Oliver’s house. He would have to bring them to the castle, or let Martin collect them. She knew he would never allow her to visit there again.
She tidied up the homestead to fill in time while they waited for Martin and Alistair to return.
Mid-morning, they heard the crunch of buggy wheels on the stones in the front yard. She waited on the porch for them. Alistair rode his horse and led the other one.
“Martin!” She dashed out to meet him. “I’ve been worried about you.” She flung her arms around him and kissed his chin.
“Nothing to worry about, my sweet.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“Did you get the saddle?”
“Yes.” He draped his arm across her shoulders, and once again, his touch scorched through to her skin.
“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”
“Your brother learnt a hard lesson today.”
“Alistair! What did you do to him?” She stared into her brother’s ashen face. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Beth, I didn’t realize until I saw the drop and the dead horse.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “You could have been killed.”
Martin let her go and turned back to the buggy. He handed her a coat, and picked up a sack.
“What’s that?”
“A few supplies for your grandfather.”
“He won’t take them.”
“I’m relying on you, my sweet, to ensure he does. Let him think you thought of the idea.”
Arms linked, they entered the homestead. Martin nodded to Fergus who grunted.
“Elizabeth wanted me to bring over a few items.” He dumped the bag on the table.
“What would they be?”
“We ate your food, grandfather, so we should replace it.”
“Ye be welcome to everything I have, ye know that.”
“It’s to replace what I ate,” Martin said with a bitter twist to his mouth. “You sure as hell wouldn’t want to feed me.”
“Ye didn’t eat much porridge, Mulvaney,” Fergus retorted.
“What I did have was too much.” Martin scowled in remembrance.
“What’s wrong with ye, laddie?” Fergus turned his attention to Alistair.
“Nothing.”
“Ye be as white as a ghost.”
“Martin showed him where the buggy went off the road,” Beth explained.
Alistair shuddered. “They would have been smashed to pieces if they’d gone over. What kind of fiends would do this to people?”
“Ready to go?” Martin asked. Taking Beth by the hand, he led her outside. “We called in to the castle and I’ve instructed Mrs. Irvine to have plenty of hot water ready. A nice hot bath for you, followed by bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed a bath would be nice, though. We’ve got a big white bath at home, grandfather. I can stretch out in it.”
She did not realize what she had said. Fergus watched the triumphant gleam in Mulvaney’s
eyes and his heart filled with pain. Bethie who he loved more than life itself, thought of the castle as home now. He grieved even as he knew he should be thankful Mulvaney treated her well, something he had never expected from such a man.
* * *
A week after their ordeal with the convicts, they lay in bed. “Would you like to go to the races tomorrow, my sweet?” Martin asked Beth as she stretched in languid contentment beside him. She felt tired, but a good kind of tiredness. She always felt this way after a long, passionate session of lovemaking. At times like this, when he took her to the dizzying heights of ecstasy, she thought he might love her a little, even though he never uttered the words she craved to hear.
Since the night of their attack, he had been most attentive. Had their close brush with death made him realize what he nearly lost? He made wild, frantic love to her every chance he got now, but would his ardor one day turn cold?
During their marriage, he had taken her most nights, often in the morning or during the day as well. Sometimes he aroused her quickly, took what he wanted, and when satisfied, rolled away and fell asleep, leaving her feeling used and upset.
He never forced her, didn’t have to, the merest touch of his hands or mouth worked her into a frenzy. The feelings he aroused in her were shocking in their intensity. She had not realized she was capable of such emotion. He expertly brought her to the brink of insanity. She lost all reason. There was no moon, no stars, nothing in the whole world except him.
Martin felt drowsy and sated as he cradled his storm girl. Of late, he had tried to temper his fierce desire because of the child. Worked from daylight to dusk, tumbling into bed exhausted each night, yet still he reached for her. His raging need became so great sometimes he could barely control himself. He despised himself for this weakness. What flaw in his make-up made him crave her, when he could buy any number of beautiful, experienced women?
For the first few weeks in which she shared his bed, his love-making had bordered on cruelty as he worked her to fever pitch, holding back, denying her fulfillment until she sobbed and pleaded, writhed and arched her body in a desperate attempt for him to quell the inferno of her aroused womanhood. God alone knew how he held himself in check for so long when they were poised on the pinnacle of desire. Teetering on the very brink, barely clinging to their sanity, they would come together in a savage coupling. Such intense lovemaking took too much out of her, left her exhausted, drenched with perspiration by the time they were finished.
Over the last few weeks, for the sake of the child, he had tried to stop, tried to treat her more gently. His storm girl was his most prized possession. He would fight for her, kill for her, even, although this did not stop him from wanting total domination.
For many years, he had enjoyed his mastery over women, reveled in the power they unwittingly put into his hands, and she proved to be no exception. As the pregnancy advanced, he might have to pay discrete visits to the Black Stallion and avail himself of Ollie’s high-class women. He could not understand why this thought filled him with repugnance. In the past, he had never bothered about being faithful to any woman, always assumed himself incapable of monogamy, so why did he worry about it now?
Chapter Fourteen
One morning, Martin stormed into the castle.
“Sonofabitch, someone has slaughtered twenty of my best breeding ewes.”
A pulse twitched at the side of his jaw and Beth shivered. His face looked hard as granite.
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Who?” he snarled. “Only one man hates me enough to do this.”
She felt the blood drain from her face and her limbs turned icy cold. “Y…you’re not accusing grandfather?”
“Who else hates me? He’s the only man vengeful enough to have done it.”
“I know he wouldn’t do such a cruel thing.”
“Tell me who did then?” He clenched his hands until the knuckles bleached white.
“I can’t think of anyone who would do such a dreadful thing, but grandfather didn’t. What about Jeb Mueller?”
“Wouldn’t have the guts. That damn Alistair threatened to get even with me. Wait until I get my hands on them, I’ll…”
“Please.” She cut off his enraged threat. “Please, I know they wouldn’t do such an evil thing. I’m begging you.” She grabbed his arm. “I won’t let you hurt them.”
He brushed her aside, stalked into his study and slammed the door with such force the windows rattled.
She dashed after him and pushed the door open. “What are you going to do?” He looked murderous. Her heart filled with dread as fear almost overwhelmed her.
“Get out of my sight before I forget you carry my child, and remember the Campbell blood running through your veins.”
He stood there rigid and unbending, cold as a marble tombstone. She raced upstairs and slammed the bedroom door shut to escape his rage. Useless trying to plead grandfather’s innocence in the face of Martin’s fury. No matter what she did, he would never forget her Campbell bloodline.
She waited to give him time to calm down. After washing her face and hands, she tidied her hair and made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
Mrs. Irvine stopped her dinner preparations to ask. “What happened? The boss stalked in here black with fury, saying he wouldn’t be in for dinner.”
“He thinks grandfather slaughtered his sheep.”
“Good heavens!”
“You don’t think he’d do anything rash, do you, Mrs. Irvine?”
“No. He’s hot tempered but the boss isn’t a fool.”
Martin returned around midnight. Without turning on the bedside lamp, he undressed in hurried, jerky movements. The mattress moved as he slid in beside her.
“Martin,” Beth whispered into his rigid back. She tried again, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Please. What happened?”
He flinched away. “I’ve put the matter in the hands of the police. Go to sleep and leave me alone.”
When she woke up next morning, he was gone. Mrs. Irvine made no comment about yesterday’s happenings as she cooked toast and boiled the kettle. Even as she ate her breakfast, Beth wondered how she could eat so heartily with a broken heart. Of course, being so upset last night she had done little more than pick at dinner.
As soon as she finished eating, she pushed the empty plate aside. “Do you know where Martin went?”
“No.” The housekeeper pursed her lips. “Still in a dirty mood, and when one of the men called for him, he left without a word.”
Beth wandered outside and found Sam. Before she could stop herself, the story poured out. “I’m sure grandfather and Alistair didn’t kill those sheep. I’m so unhappy, Martin hates me. The last few weeks have been wonderful, now...”
“There, there, my dear, don’t get into a state. He’s upset because they were prized ewes. Once he calms down, everything will be all right again,” he comforted. “I’ve known him since babyhood. He blows up, takes a few days to cool down, then he’ll be all right, you wait and see.”
She ended up having lunch with Sam in case Martin returned, because she did not have the strength to face him. After lunch of boiled eggs and toast, she helped with the dishes before returning to the castle. She wanted to go over and see grandfather but decided not to. If Martin found out, it would only inflame the situation.
Later that afternoon Beth heard a clatter on the cobblestones out front. She arrived at the door in time to see an attractive redhead alight from a buggy. The woman wore the latest tie back gown, a lavishly trimmed canary yellow affair. With the arrogance of one used to giving orders, she instructed the driver to take down a brown trunk and deposit it near the front door. Their unknown visitor obviously intended to stay.
Beth hurried out to greet the woman who carried herself with the confidence and poise of a queen.
“New here are you?” the redhead asked in a husky voice. “Bring my trunk inside. I suppose you know I always have the pink guest room.”
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Beth stood there, too shocked to think of a suitable response. Who was this woman? Deep down, she somehow knew this was Martin’s mistress.
Mrs. Irvine hurried out to greet the visitor. “Miss Dolly, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted a few days off, so I thought I’d visit Martin. Naughty man hasn’t been to see me for months.” She pouted her scarlet painted lips.
“Did you write to Mr. Mulvaney?” Mrs. Irvine, looking nonplussed, reached out for the trunk.
“Why should I write? He always told me to treat the castle like my own home. Is this a new maid? About time, he employed more staff. I would have brought my own maid, but the wretched girl up and left. Not a word of warning. Gross ingratitude, servants these days don’t know their place.”
“I’m Elizabeth, Martin’s wife.” Beth almost laughed at the shocked expression on Dolly’s face. The blood seemed to drain away, leaving her painted skin a sickly parchment color.
“Wife? Martin’s married?”
“We’ve been married for over three months.” Beth forced a smile, vowing to keep it pinned in place or die in the attempt.
“Well, I’m surprised, no amazed.” Dolly recovered herself. “You don’t appear Martin’s type. Ah, he got you with child and felt compelled to marry you. Unlike him to be so careless.”
Heat flooded Beth’s cheeks. Hateful woman. No point in denying her condition when it was so patently obvious.
“You’d better come inside.” Through gritted teeth, she forced a smile of welcome.
Dolly swept in, leaving Mrs. Irvine to struggle with the luggage. Beth took hold of one handle, and between the two of them, they managed to drag the heavy trunk inside.
“Where will I put her, Mrs. Mulvaney?”
“The pink guest room I suppose, it’s kept for such purposes, I believe.”
Mrs. Irvine pursed her lips. “I’ll see about getting someone to bring the trunk, upstairs, can’t have you lifting heavy objects. You had better entertain her because the boss won’t be pleased if we neglect his guest. He’s always most concerned about Miss Dolly’s comfort whenever she stays here.”
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