“There’s no mistake. I caught him kissing Dolly in her bedroom at four in the morning.” She blinked back tears. “I can’t stop crying,” she whispered.
Even though pain had ravished her pale face and her eyes were shadowed, she looked so tragic, so beautiful, a lump formed in Ollie’s throat. Martin was a damn fool to risk losing her.
“Would you like to come into the house for a cup of tea?”
He started to refuse, then decided making tea for him, would give her something to do.
“Thank you, I do feel rather thirsty,” he lied.
Following her inside, he glanced around with interest. So, this humble abode was the notorious Fergus Campbell’s lair.
“Where’s your grandfather?”
“Out the back, I’ll call him.”
“Not yet, Elizabeth.” He took the chair she motioned him to. “I’ve known Martin since our school days, and I’m sure he wouldn’t do such a heinous thing to you.”
The sudden hope flaring in her eyes, quickly died, replaced by abject misery.
“I saw them together,” she whispered. Hunched over with grief, she prepared their tea. “Grandfather said he did it for revenge because he hates the Campbells.”
“You’re carrying his child. It pleased him, he told me so.”
“He wants the baby,” her voice faltered, “but not me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’ve changed him, made him well, softer, I suppose.”
She gave a bitter laugh and continued pouring the tea.
“It’s true. He has tried to please you. Before you came along Martin would visit the Black Stallion at least four times a week, stayed for days sometimes if he got into one of his black moods. Since being with you, he hasn’t been near the place except to visit me or pick up the bookwork.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. Remember when you visited the cemetery and became upset about stepping on those unmarked graves?”
“Yes.”
“Martin got in touch with the cemetery trust, offered to pay for a headstone for every burial plot they could identify.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me. Don’t you see? That’s your influence on him; he wouldn’t have worried about it before. You’ve made him a better person.”
“He stood in her bedroom. The top of her nightgown had slipped down over one shoulder. She was half-naked, moving around in his arms. There’s no mistake. I saw them with my own eyes.”
“I don’t know what it is.” Oliver defended his friend. “There must be an explanation. Maybe she tricked him. Dolly is a consummate schemer.”
“Has he known her long?”
“Years, on and off.” He shrugged. “She used to dream of becoming Mrs. Martin Mulvaney once, but men like Martin never marry their mistresses.”
“He wouldn’t have married me, except he had to,” she whispered sadly. “I would have been better off if he hadn’t.”
“No one forces Martin to do anything. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s a fool if he lets a beautiful girl like you go without a fight.”
“Oh, Oliver.” She gave him a watery smile. “I wish I had fallen in love with you instead of him.”
“I do too.” He grimaced slightly. “For you, sweet Elizabeth, I’d give up the Black Stallion.”
“You would?” Thank goodness grandfather arrived on the scene to ease the tension building up between them. Oliver cared for her? “Oh, here’s grandfather.”
Ollie stood up. So, this snowy haired old man was the infamous Fergus Campbell.
“Grandfather, this is Martin’s friend Oliver Driscoll.”
The old man’s eyes snapped. “Ye own that whorehouse, don’t ye? I suppose Mulvaney sent ye over?”
“No, he didn’t.” Beth gave a sad little smile. “Oliver was riding over to the castle when he met Sam, who told him what happened.”
“There must be an explanation; Martin wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“Of course he would,” Fergus growled. “He’s a vicious animal like Black Jack.”
Ollie made to protest, caught a beseeching look from Beth and stopped himself.
“I should be going. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“Ye stopped my wee Bethie’s tears, I thank ye for that,” Fergus said gruffly. “Ye don’t have to go. She hasn’t stopped weeping since returning from that cursed place. Not good for her or the bairn she carries.”
“You’ve got every right to be upset with Martin.”
“I’ll not have his name spoken in my house.” Fergus shook his fist.
“I really do have to go. Elizabeth, will you see me out?”
Before Ollie mounted his horse, he picked up Beth’s trembling hand and held it for a moment. “If Martin comes over, promise me you’ll give him a fair hearing.”
“All right, I promise.” She had cried so much her voice sounded scratchy.
Ollie stared into her eyes and he had never witnessed such pain or anguish. What in the name of hell, did Martin think he was doing?
“Are you going over to see him now?”
“No, I’d punch him in the mouth if I did.”
“You look fierce.” She clasped his hand between her own. “Thank you for coming over.”
“Look after yourself, sweet Elizabeth.” He mounted and rode away.
* * *
The day after Oliver’s visit, Beth dozed on her bed cuddled up with the doll she had received for her seventh birthday. She woke with a start when Martin called her name.
“Elizabeth, I knocked, but no one answered.”
She rolled into a tight ball, clutching the doll even tighter, as he hovered near the bed.
“Go away.”
“Listen to me.” He put out a hand and she shrunk away. “I want you to come back to the castle with me. I can explain about Dolly.”
He looked tired and drawn, yet his eyes burned a vivid blue in his pale face.
“I know things look bad; it wasn’t what you thought. Dolly is frightened of spiders. She has a terrible, uncontrollable fear. I heard her scream out and I rushed in to her room so you wouldn’t wake up. I was only comforting her.”
She wanted to believe him but dared not, so she shook her head.
He stared down at her for a moment before swinging away. As he reached the door, she heard him mutter. “A damn spider has ruined my life.”
This acted as a catalyst for her frozen limbs. She leapt off the bed and dashed after him. “Martin, I do believe you.”
He turned around and she ran into his open arms.
“Oh, storm girl, I’ve missed you.”
She started laughing and crying all at the same time. He buried his face in the loosened hair floating over her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, storm girl,” he whispered into her neck. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We’ll go to Melbourne again. I’ll buy you jewels, sapphires to match your lovely eyes, new gowns.” The words tumbled out, one on top of the other. “Anything you want.”
“I want your love, nothing else.”
“You’ve got it, my sweet. Now and for always.”
“R…Really?” Dare she believe him? She desperately wanted to, yet doubts still crowded into her mind.
“Dolly’s gone and she won’t be back.”
He crushed her unresisting body close, and his mouth claimed hers in a desperate frenzied kiss. Beth felt a tremor pass through his body as he held her close, heard his rapid breathing and she believed his declaration of love.
After a long moment, he tore his mouth away. “I’ll never hurt you again, I swear it,” he promised in a voice husky with anguish and remorse.
“I wouldn’t survive if you did,” she whispered brokenly.
“You’ll come back home with me then?”
“Get yer filthy hands off her, Mulvaney.” Fergus stood in the doorway with his rifle raised.
Martin
stepped away.
“Grandfather please, I’m going back with him.”
“Are ye mad, lassie?”
“Martin explained what happened and I believe him. Dolly was scared of spiders. He only went to her room to stop her hysterics from waking me up,” she gabbled.
“Ye be a filthy liar, Mulvaney.”
“I believe him.”
“All right,” Fergus lowered the rifle. “I suppose ye have to follow yer heart, lassie, I’ve always said that.”
Beth ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, grandfather. I am following my heart. I love Martin. I want to go back with him.”
“I think ye be foolish to trust him, Bethie.” He kissed her cheek. “If he ever hurts ye again though, I’ll…” He left the threat hanging between them.
“I won’t hurt her again,” Martin promised with conviction. “Have no fear, old man.”
“Ye better not, or ye be a dead man.”
They left for the castle straight away. When they arrived, Martin found a note from Sam. Mrs. Irvine’s sister had become dangerously ill and he was driving her over there, then he would visit an artist friend in Wangaratta for a few days.
“We’ve got the place to ourselves.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve missed you like hell.”
His mouth was hot, urgent on hers, his tongue a darting, flicking torment as she clung to him, returning him kiss for kiss, straining herself against him. Her heart raced, her body became suffused with heat, and a desire so great it became almost unendurable caused her head to spin. Her legs buckled, so he swung her up in his arms and headed for their bedroom.
They made wild passionate love then fell into a sated, exhausted sleep, woke up and made love again. If I’m dreaming, Beth thought, don’t let me ever wake up.
“Hungry, my sweet?” He nuzzled into her throat.
“Only for you,” she whispered brazenly against his chest.
He laughed, untwined his limbs from hers, slid out of bed and stood staring down at her. “We’ve made love all afternoon, so we should eat now.”
Striding into his dressing room he returned wearing a loosely belted silk dressing gown. “I’ll go down and rake up the fire for you. No point us getting dressed, we’ll be back here once we’ve eaten.”
After he loped off, she felt very much alone. With Martin by her side everything felt right, wonderfully, passionately right, but when he left, doubts weighed her down.
You fool. He loves, you even if he doesn’t say so. Didn’t he show you this afternoon what you meant to him? Lust wasn’t love. Was it only lust he felt for her? Was he capable of distinguishing the difference? She had thought after his declaration at grandfather’s that he could, now she wasn’t so sure. God, please let him love me. It will destroy me if he doesn’t.
I have to believe he loves me. She patted her stomach. I have to believe he loves both of us. Dreadful to doubt him after what they had so recently shared. She wanted to scream out for him to come back, to reassure her, but could do nothing except climb slowly out of bed, put on her dressing gown and go down to the kitchen to eat.
* * *
Next morning, frantic knocking at the back door interrupted their breakfast.
“Mr. Mulvaney, Satan’s been seen with a mob of wild horses.”
“What! How did he get loose? Those damn lazy grooms need a good thrashing,” Martin snarled. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be with you. Round up all the men.”
When the man left, Martin said more calmly. “I have to help find him, storm girl. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Be careful.” She clung to him and received a passionate goodbye kiss. Ten minutes later, Martin and a group of men galloped off.
To fill in time until he returned, she decided to bake some scones. It was nice having such a large, well laid out area to work in again. Grandfather’s place seemed so small now, with a kitchen and parlor combined.
Martin had still not returned by lunchtime, so she buttered a couple of scones and ate them with a cup of tea. Halfway through her second cup, two masked men burst into the kitchen causing her to scream in fright. Dear God, did they intend to kill her?
She turned to flee and the shorter of the men grabbed her, pinning her hands to her sides with his arms.
“I’ll scream for my husband.” She struggled to be free, kicked and threshed about.
The taller of the intruders, a thickset man, gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Mulvaney’s scouring the countryside for his stallion. Scream all you like.”
She fought to survive. Kicking, twisting, trying to head butt his chest. When the man gave a yelp, she knew her foot had contacted with his shin. Beth saw him raise his fist, felt a blow to the side of her head, then blackness.
When Beth regained consciousness, her head throbbed and every bone in her body ached. She tried to move but could not. They had trussed her up like a Christmas turkey. The more she struggled, the tighter the binds became.
She tried to scream; no sounds passed out of her throat. It was black, pitch black like a tomb, and she now realized a hood had been placed over her head and face. A hole cut out near the nose stopped her from suffocating. Oh God, I have to do something to get away, but what?
She fought to control her hysteria and panic. If she did not remain calm, she would not survive.
By the motion and a bump every now and again, she was in a wagon. Rough wooden boards rubbed against her back. They were not on the main road because it felt too bumpy. Somehow, she knew the air she breathed was not coming from directly outside. A covered wagon perhaps?
The men knew about Martin going after the stallion. They must have planned for him to be away so they could abduct her. Why? A ransom? A pay back for something she had done? She didn’t have any enemies, not like Martin. Ruthless, wealthy, plenty of men would want to revenge themselves on him, women too for that matter.
Sweat formed on her body, its hot stickiness broke out on her neck and shoulders and in the valley between her breasts, although her feet and legs felt icy cold.
Her skull thumped so hard she feared it might crack open. She was glad her eyes were covered because direct sunlight would be excruciating. She could not distinguish any sound except a slight crunching of wheels on stone. As the wagon swayed more violently, it was obvious they travelled over rocky ground.
Time passed, she could not tell how much, although it seemed an eternity before they pulled up. Footsteps, an oath or two, then she felt rough hands on her body. She wanted to fight her captors but decided not to, better for them to think she was still unconscious. She relaxed; her body went floppy as someone manhandled her.
“The slut is still unconscious,” one of her captors said, flinging her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“You hit her too hard,” the other one whined. “Mulvaney won’t pay if she’s dead.”
“Shut up, she isn’t dead. I think the pretty wench is foxing, but we’ll have some fun before we hand her back. Wonder if Mulvaney will still want her after we’ve tasted all that smooth white flesh, and me cock’s been inside her?”
Fear such as she had never known before submerged her in a tidal wave, bearing her down, down into the deep uncharted depths of purgatory. I would rather be dead than defiled by these creatures. She tried not to scream out in fear as her captor dumped her on the ground.
“Maybe we should untie her, Butch?”
“Shut up,” the oaf called Butch snarled. “The slut stays like this until we get our orders.”
“What if Mulvaney won’t pay?”
“He’ll pay. He’s mad for her, mounts her every chance he gets, so I hear,” Butch said with nauseating crudity. “Not that I blame him. I’m partial to milky white flesh too, and I plan to have my fill of her before much longer.”
“You can’t, he mightn’t pay.”
“He wants what’s growing in her belly even more than her.”
How did they know so much about her an
d Martin? Someone close to him must have betrayed them. Who? Why? She heard the men move around, a match strike, followed by the smell of tobacco.
“I don’t like it here in the bush,” the younger one sniveled.
Beth decided he was young because of his high-pitched, almost girlish voice.
“There could be savages around here.”
“Shut your mouth. Heat up those beans and boil some water. I want to eat before I head into town to meet you know who.”
“You can’t leave me out here alone. I’m scared.”
“Shut up and do as you’re told you gutless sonofabitch.”
Who were they? Beth racked her brain trying to think, it helped lessen the terror. She sensed the young one’s nervousness right from the start, and him being the weakest link, she should exploit this to her advantage. Butch sounded merciless, hard as granite. The devil himself would be kinder.
Should she call out to them? She could almost kill for a drink of water. Clear cool water on her parched throat would be bliss. A cup of tea would be even nicer. Useless begging anything from Butch, who would delight in her agony, better to remain silent until he left. The young one was her best chance.
Had she met Butch somewhere before? The more she listened to him the more certain she became that they had met. Maybe he worked for Martin? Perhaps they met through Alistair? Her brother numbered outlaws among his friends. They would know she was his sister, and bad and all as some of them might be, they would never treat a pregnant woman in such a dreadful manner.
The smell of beans and bacon filled her nostrils, and one of the men slurped his tea. Butch most probably. What an absolute oaf, devoid of any decency whatsoever.
She must have dozed off or fainted, because the next thing she remembered was someone shaking her and the young man saying. “Do you want a drink?”
He lifted off the hood; she could not recognize him because he wore a kerchief across his mouth, and his hat was pulled down over his forehead. All she could see were nervous brown eyes.
“Yes, please,” she croaked.
“I thought you might be dead.” He shuddered. “I didn’t want to do this, Mrs. Mulvaney, they made me. I’ve got big gambling debts and I need money fast. They’ll kill me if I don’t pay up. I can’t untie you. Butch is an animal when he’s roused, and the black widow is a sadist, they both scare me.”
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