The Cedar Cutter

by Téa Cooper

  Once Ruan had reached the fence, Carrick anchored the fishing line with a rock and stood. ‘You want to come out and show yourself, or shall I be coming over to find you?’

  The trees on the other side of the brook wavered and the silhouette moved. A man, tall, cane in hand, stood on the bank. ‘Nice day for a fish.’

  ‘Until you interrupted.’ Shading his eyes Carrick squinted, trying to make out the face. A gentleman. Top hat. Pale breeches. High black boots, shiny. Never done a day’s work in his life, he’d put money on that.

  ‘That’s no way to greet a man.’

  His skin prickled. The man’s laconic drawl snatched at his memory, but he tossed it away. Since Roisin and Ruan had arrived in Wollombi Ireland seemed so much closer. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just appreciating the sight of a man taking his time to relax.’

  Carrick took a few steps to his right. He needed to see the face. That slow drawl and those clipped words tugged. He edged further along the waterline. If he could get the beam of sunlight off the man’s face, he would be able to see him. ‘Who are you …?’ The words died on his lips as the sun slipped behind a cloud and the man turned back into the bush.

  ‘Carrick, I’ve got it.’

  He shook his head, turning to Ruan. Until he returned to Ireland it was the present not the past that was important. The thought of more fishing had palled, but the lad would be disappointed. ‘Let’s move along the brook a bit and try our luck there, nearer the bridge.’ He picked up the line and followed Ruan as he gambolled along the water’s edge.

  ‘I hope we can catch five fish, then there’s one each, and one for Old Pella. That makes six.’

  ‘Old Pella?’ What did Ruan know of Old Pella?

  ‘He’s in the woodshed. He’s feeling much better. Mam says he has to eat otherwise his bruises won’t heal.’

  ‘Bruises, what bruises?’

  ‘The Blind Bunyip got him. Attacked him in the night. Hit him with a stick. He was real sick. We found him in the woodshed. He said he’d stay till you got back.’

  What was the old man doing out the back of Roisin’s place? ‘Right, well we’d better get a move on and find these fishies, then.’ Had the bastard Paterson cutters been up to their tricks again? And then the penny dropped. ‘How’s your treasure box, Ruan?’

  ‘Nearly full. I found a bird’s nest the other day and another egg. And a while back a possum tail. All cleaned, not bloody. It’s real soft.’

  ‘Right.’ Now the blown egg and the feathers, the snakeskin, all of it began to make sense. Old Pella! Just like an old bowerbird collecting bits and pieces that caught his eye and bringing them back to the nest. Carrick wasn’t the only one who’d taken a shine to the lad.

  By the time the light started to fade Ruan and Carrick made their way back along the path, six fat bass swinging from a piece of twine and Ruan’s chest puffed out with pride.

  ‘How will we cook them?’

  ‘Well, now, that’ll be depending on what your mam says.’

  ‘We could ask Old Pella, he might know.’

  ‘He might indeed. We’ll see.’

  It was like coming home, tramping down the street to the house where Roisin would be waiting. A man couldn’t do much better than that. Maisie could keep her rum and Irish stew. A bit of fish and the company of a pretty woman would be hard to beat.

  As they rounded the corner by the General Store, Jane spotted them and let out a screech fit to raise the devil himself. ‘Your mam is ready to kill you, Ruan. Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve got tea and I found Carrick.’

  ‘I can see that. Get yourself inside, quick smart.’

  Ruan disappeared in a flash, up the back steps and into the house.

  The shrill tone in Jane’s voice set Carrick’s teeth on edge. ‘Jane, a minute.’

  She turned and stood at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Is there a problem? Is Roisin all right?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ She wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead she peered down, picking at her apron. ‘It’s difficult to keep up with Ruan. To know where he is.’

  ‘Boys.’ He nodded, though he couldn’t see the problem in the lad fishing down at the brook. ‘Everything else all right? Ruan says Old Pella’s taken a beating again.’

  ‘He’ll survive.’

  ‘Was it the Paterson crew?’

  ‘I don’t think so. They haven’t been in town. This happened a few days ago. Old Pella said he’d stay until you got back.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the woodshed.’ She turned away, wiping her hand over her face.

  Whatever was going on? ‘I’ll have a word with him.’ He shoved open the rickety door and peered into the gloom. ‘Old Pella? You here?’

  ‘You back. ’Bout time.’ The ancient man heaved himself up and dragged his possum skin tight around his shoulders. ‘Where you been?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been. You were there. King Polai.’

  ‘Days ago. Where you been?’

  ‘Organising stuff for next time. To take the tree.’

  Old Pella sniffed. ‘Be better here.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Blind Bunyip throwing his weight around. Watching. Been watching. Old Pella sent him away.’

  Carrick scratched his head. Billy Boy was right. Old Pella spent all his time sleeping and dreaming his stories. ‘Got some fish for tea. Going to cook it down at the camp. You coming?’

  ‘With the boy?’ He shuffled outside.

  ‘With everyone if I get inside and sort it out.’

  Fifteen

  ‘Have you told Carrick about Dankworth?’ Jane whispered as she loaded the basket with tin plates and mugs, a pat of butter, damper and some pickles.

  ‘Ruan, go and get your jacket. It’ll be cold when the sun goes down.’ Roisin lifted her finger to her lips, shaking her head. ‘No. I don’t want to spoil the evening. Not the last one. There’s nothing he can do.’

  Jane waited until Ruan left the room, and then turned. ‘What if he comes back?’

  ‘Dankworth won’t come back for a while. The Governor’s Ball isn’t until next week. They’ve all gone down to Sydney, that’s why we had to have the dress and corset finished. Lady Alice told me they were all going and would stay for a few weeks.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to keep running. I’ll fight him for Ruan. As I should have done in the first place.’

  ‘It’ll be his word against yours. What about Ruan’s records at the church? When he was baptised?’

  ‘Ruan wasn’t baptised. They asked for the father’s name. I wanted to forget. Not leave a tiny baby with the stain of the past. And besides, I don’t hold with the church. What good did it do my mam?’

  ‘I thought children had to be registered. They made it a law. Father Benson’s big on that.’

  ‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And Dankworth can’t prove Ruan’s his son. What man can?’

  ‘What man can?’ Jane repeated, brushing off her hands. ‘You’re right. We won’t be worrying about it, then.’

  But she did worry and she always would. Why did Dankworth want Ruan? He had a wife and surely they’d have children in good time. Lady Alice couldn’t be much older than she was herself.

  Jane smiled and tucked a cloth over the basket. ‘I’ve got the plates and some pickles and damper ready for the fire. Let’s go and see what Carrick and Slinger have planned.’

  ‘Carrick and Slinger?’

  A blush swept upward from Jane’s lace collar, turning her face a pretty pink. ‘Slinger said he’d be down there, too. He plays the fiddle, you know.’

  ‘Does he now? And you’d be looking forward to seeing him again, would you?’

  ‘Oh stop it. Let’s have some fun.’ She grabbed Roisin’s hand and they ran down the steps.

  It would be good to put all the worry behind her for an evening. There was nothing C
arrick could do to stop Dankworth. He’d never asked about Ruan, about his father, no one had, not since that first time she’d lied to Elsie and Maisie. She’d no doubt she had them to thank for that. They would have told all and sundry she was a widow, that Ruan’s father had died. Too late now to tell Carrick, and what difference would it make? Once he and Slinger brought King Polai down he’d be gone, back to Ireland. When he came back, if he came back …

  Basking in the glow of the fire, Roisin picked the last of the fish from the bones and put the tin plate onto the ground. The strains of Slinger’s fiddle wrapped around them, a sad ballad of lost love and a forgotten homeland. Jane sat at Slinger’s feet, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘I’ll not forget you, oh my darling! In the land I’m goin’ to …’ Her plaintive voice harmonised with the mellow notes Slinger conjured from his battered fiddle and weaved a special magic in the night air.

  A fitting end. A farewell, Carrick had said. He sat across the fire from her with Ruan cradled between his long legs, his chin resting on the boy’s head and his arms wrapped protectively around him. Ruan would miss him so much. The first man her son had ever truly known. He’d make a fine father, far better than Dankworth, no matter how much money and how many influential friends he had.

  The memory of Carrick’s ravaged face the night he’d told the story of Liam and Brigid still sent goosebumps trailing down her arms. She couldn’t give Ruan up. Oh, she knew it happened, happened all the time. Children were adopted, taken in by families who had no children of their own. All the Irish lads and lasses fleeing the Famine left their families behind them. Sometimes it worked. They found new homes and happiness. It wouldn’t happen to her son.

  She lifted her eyes and met Carrick’s smouldering gaze across the fire. Heat raced through her, scorching her skin. If only she could convince him to stay. She didn’t want to wait for him to come back from Ireland.

  ‘We should take this lad home.’ Carrick eased to his feet, Ruan tucked close to his body, safe and secure as always.

  Slinger lowered his fiddle into its case, his scarred, rough hands a strange contrast against the delicate neck of the musical instrument. Jane closed the lid, her fingers brushing his. There was no reason the night should be over for Jane and Slinger. He’d be back once they’d cut the tree, although as much as she hoped Jane would find happiness, she couldn’t help being a little envious.

  ‘You stay, Jane. I can manage.’ The girl deserved some time and some admiration, and from the expression on Slinger’s face he’d plenty to offer. ‘Stay. Carrick will help me with Ruan.’

  She tucked the tin plates into the basket next to Old Pella’s latest offering: a sharpened bone, a fish hook, apparently. According to Old Pella, it would draw the fish like a magnet and no one would ever go hungry again. She let out a tiny sigh of pleasure—such a relief to know where all Ruan’s treasures had come from and to know that the shadows she’d seen from the window were no more than the old man’s patrol as he kept his blind bunyip at bay.

  The native stories sparked more than Ruan’s imagination; hers had run riot. All those wasted nights staring out of the window picturing someone in the shadows, watching and waiting. Carrick’s arm slipped around her shoulders, cradling her close as the three of them wandered up the path beneath the canopy of stars, clusters of scattered diamonds thrown by an unseen hand.

  ‘Shall I be carrying him up to his bed?’ The lilt of Ireland in his voice and his fiery blue eyes stirred her blood, made her think back to the first time he’d pulled her into his arms, the touch of his hard body heating her skin, the flurry of sensations scalding her body.

  ‘Yes, if you would.’ Alone she’d have had to wake Ruan; he was far too heavy now for her to carry up the narrow attic ladder. Standing in the doorway, she savoured the play of Carrick’s strong muscles as he edged up the rungs, his body tight and taut, protecting her son.

  Murmured voices drifted down to her: the creak of the bed and the rustle of blankets, sounds of comfort and caring. With this man Ruan would come to no harm. He’d give her son the space to grow and learn, to become strong, loyal, honest and loving.

  Carrick eased back down the ladder and turned to her. Her cheeks grew hot and she swallowed, gulping down a breath. With his dark eyes intent on her face he stood motionless, leaning against the ladder, his head almost grazing the roof.

  Sweeping her hand across her forehead she brushed her hair from her face. He moved towards her, raised his hand. She flinched, then her breath caught and her heart raced as step by step he backed her against the wall. The palms of his hands lay flat against the wall, not touching her, standing so close the heat of his body radiated against her skin.

  A tangled cry slipped between her lips and she clamped her teeth.

  ‘Roisin, my love.’ His voice, low, almost broken, cut through her panic. This was Carrick not Dankworth. She stared into his face. Nothing like the face that had haunted her dreams and filled her with terror. She didn’t want to live her life that way, running and hiding, jumping at every passing shadow. She wanted to live in the sunshine, know what it was to love and be loved by a man, and Carrick was the man she wanted, the man she loved with all her heart. Dankworth would not take that from her any more than she would allow him to take Ruan.

  She snatched a breath as he murmured her name again and again, as if he wanted to imprint it on his mind, then lifted his hand to cradle her cheek. A long, low tug of lust curled in her belly. It was her choice. The past or the future—and she made her decision. She leaned forward and laid her cheek against his chest and his arms came around her, pulling her into his embrace, the base of his throat so close she could reach up and touch it with her lips. The man she loved by choice not by force.

  She could smell him, the pungent scent of the timber and heat and man. His scent raced through her senses, feeding the heaviness in her limbs and the lightness in her head. The first man she’d ever wanted. Her treacherous body gave a wiggle of delight.

  He raised her chin with his hand and bent down until his mouth rested against hers. ‘I never thought I could love again. Never wanted to open myself to the pain of losing. You’ve stolen my heart, Roisin, and I’ll not be the same again.’ He breathed the words into her open mouth, turning her legs boneless, twisting her heart inside out.

  ‘Will you have me when I return? Tell me.’ He tightened his grip on her arms and pulled her close, so close his lean, hard body crushed against her, sending her pulse into a frantic spiral, filling her head with a rhythmic thud that drowned out all reason. A wave of heat stole the breath from her lungs as his lips roamed her face, awakening a hunger she didn’t know she possessed, desires she’d never imagined.

  From somewhere deep inside her came the answer to Carrick’s question. ‘Not when you return.’

  His lips stilled, his eyes dark and questioning.

  ‘Now, Carrick, before you leave.’

  ‘Don’t be tempting me, my love. It’s not the time.’ A sigh came from deep inside him and he dropped his gaze to her mouth, then removed his hands from her cheeks and shook his head.

  She lifted her hands and cupped his face. The longing in his eyes was plain to see and behind that, deep into his soul, was the spirit of the only man she’d ever love. Sliding her hands into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, she stretched up onto her toes and brought his lips back to hers. His rumbling groan echoed against her breast, vibrated on her lips. ‘Yes, tonight.’ She murmured the words against his lips and his body stilled.

  ‘And if I don’t return?’

  ‘You’ll come back. To build our house. You promised me.’

  A frown flickered across his brow and she smoothed it with her fingertips. It was time. The only time they had. Beneath her palm his heart beat steadily and his eyes never wavered.

  ‘Wait, wait until I come back, then we will—’

  She stilled his mouth with her kisses. She didn’t want to wait, wouldn’t wait. ‘Tonight, Carrick, before you go. Lea
ve me memories to cherish.’

  He reached up and gently pulled the pins from her hair. One by one he removed them, letting her hair fall down across her shoulders. His eyes searched hers and she didn’t look away, just stared deep into his blue, almost black, eyes. He trailed his fingers through her hair, sighing softly, then took her face between his hands.

  ‘I want to be with you.’ Even as she spoke his hands moved over her, as though he couldn’t help himself. His body tightened, pressing against hers, telling her all she needed to know. There was no need for words. She couldn’t think of right and wrong, of the future, of what might be, of tomorrow, there was only now. Need rose within her, strong and urgent, making her tremble as she wrapped herself around him, extinguishing the little niggle of fear inside her. Soon their skin would touch, their bodies communicate. It was all she wanted.

  Roisin slid away from him, stretched out her hand and led him to her bed. His arms encircled her, his breath fanning her face, then his lips crushed against hers, his tongue darting and enticing. His hands slid down to her waist and he lifted her, cradling her to his chest as he laid her on her shimmering, silken quilt.

  Goosebumps flecked her skin and her fingers trembled as she reached for the tiny buttons running down the front of her blouse.

  ‘You’re cold.’ His lips curved a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  ‘Not cold.’

  She let her hands fall to her side and he finished unbuttoning her blouse, sliding it from her shoulders, kissing her skin softly.

  Their mouths met, sweet and hot. Even as her pleasure rose she sensed him holding back. His fingers, sometimes unsteady, skimmed over her as if he feared she might break. Then his hands were on her legs, sliding slowly up beneath her skirt. A flash of panic swirled inside her.

  ‘Would you be wanting me to stop?’ His fingers trickled across her skin. ‘You tell me.’

  And he kissed her so gently it made the tears trickle down her cheeks into her hair, damping the pillow beneath her head. She was here in his arms, in the arms of the man she loved. Her choice.