Swift Runs The Heart

by Jones, Mary Brock

  Which was what Bas told the corporal when they finally came to a halt near the coach still stuck in the stream. Wearily, she nodded in confirmation when asked if it was true she could recognise none of the men again. It was not quite true. The voice and body of the man who had held her was branded in her memory, yet she said nothing of that. Nor of why she knew without doubt whose men had captured them.

  “I’ll take the young lady back to town now,” said Bas once the Corporal stopped his questions. The man eyed her, and then ordered two men to accompany them. Bas shook his head. “Safer without them,” he said. “Don’t want to attract more attention to the lady than necessary.”

  The corporal sat silently, then nodded towards the gun stowed in Bas’s saddle. “Reckon you could be right,” he acknowledged. Then added with a growl, “ Get her off the fields. Trouble’s out to get her, I’m thinking.”

  “Agreed,” said Bas curtly, then wheeled about.

  Geraldine glanced briefly back. The corporal was watching them leave, a frown on his watchful face. Then he turned back to supervise his troops as they tended to the two injured men on the coach. The driver and second trooper still lived, much to her relief. The rest of the troopers were staying with them until the dray that had been sent for arrived from the lower Dunstan.

  The Corporal’s questions, combined with the grateful thanks of the injured in the departing dray, had been less than welcome. They brought too many difficulties to light. Not the least, her name. Only the naïve young man had believed “Miss Smith”.

  Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said once out of earshot.

  “It was nothing, sweetheart.”

  He spoke the truth, she realised suddenly. This whole adventure was merely an inconvenience in his day, even a bit of fun. So why had he come? It was stupid to push him, but she needed to know and asked the question. From the silence that followed it seemed she would have no answer. Then he did speak, and still she could not feel fully satisfied. Something did not ring true.

  “I owe you,” was what he said, “and Black Jack will think twice about putting a bullet through me if he thinks troopers will get involved. They’d be after him immediately.”

  “You said the troopers have no proof it was him.”

  “They know whose men pulled that raid as well as you and I, and Brannigan will make sure MacRae hears it. At least it gives me some breathing space while MacRae cools down.”

  All of which sounded very plausible. But if that was all there was to it, why had he been so insistent that she leave with him? Then another thought struck her.

  “So Black Jack will be lying low for now, which means I’m safe. I can stay on in the Dunstan.”

  He hauled his horse up short at that and vaulted off. Then he dragged her down to stand in front of him, blue eyes blazing as his hands seized hold of her and he thrust his head furiously towards her.

  “Does nothing ever get through to you? MacRae hasn’t forgotten you. He can’t. Not a woman like you. God knows I can’t. The memory of you is enough to drive a man insane.”

  Then he suddenly groaned and pulled her into his arms, warm mouth descending on hers in a kiss that drew the very heart’s blood from her veins. She tried, but there was no defence against the need in her. Her arms crept up to cling to him and her mouth softened. Fire flared in her belly.

  Then he thrust her back. She swayed unsteadily, only kept upright by the grip of his hands on her arms.

  “No. There’s a wagon train leaving Lower Dunstan this afternoon. You are going to be on it. Go home, sweetheart,” he cried. “Whatever you came here to find, it’s not worth the price you will pay. I have enough on my conscience. Don’t let me add you to it.”

  She looked at him. His white hands clenched hold of her arms, lean body held rigidly back as he lifted his head, meeting the challenge of her examination. There was no smile on his face today, merely a raw twist to his lips, and his eyes returned no answer to her questions. Then he carefully let her go. He stepped back, reaching down to dust unseen dirt from his trousers. When he straightened up, his face was still once more. He reached politely for her hand to help her up to the saddle.

  Fires sparked in her again, but not with the warm glow of expectation. This was the red haze of anger.

  “If you put me on that wagon train, I will be off at the first available stop,” she said, her back as straight as his.

  “Oh?” Then he read the cold set of her face. “As you would have been on the coach?”

  She nodded confirmation. “I meant to leave it at the ferry crossing.”

  “Where you would have been seen by Lord knows how many men travelling on to Dunstan. Black Jack would have heard and been waiting long before you reached town. Do you want to become his mistress?”

  That did not warrant an answer. “You are not so different from me. You know why I will not return home. I don’t see you hurrying home to England.”

  He glared at her, seeking any weakness. She showed none. “So you mean to return to the Dunstan, no matter how often you are turned away?” he said, clearly fighting to hold his temper.

  She nodded. “I have nothing to go home to.”

  “So how do you mean to avoid the attention of MacRae? After today’s work, he will be doubly eager to take you. To find out what you know, if nothing else.”

  “I’ll manage,” she said gruffly.

  A corner of his mouth lifted at that. He watched her closely as the lines of his face eased and one hand reached out to slowly trace the curve of her lips. She stared back, confused. “I believe you would,” he said softly.

  Then his voice lifted in a sudden change of mood too quick for her to follow.

  “Come on, then. Up on the horse. Or do you mean to walk from here back to town?”

  His eyes laughed at her as he vaulted onto horse back and reached down his hand to help her up. She did not need to be asked twice, scrabbling up behind him and holding tight to his lean frame as they turned and headed back to the streets of Dunstan town.

  Chapter 6

  They kept well away from the track on the way back, and stopped by a small gully filled with tall scrub and tussock. Bas pulled up on the far side, leading the horse down into the concealment offered by the hollow. He helped her down, then pulled out the carpetbag slung on the horse’s back.

  “Best change back to your boy’s guise, sweetheart. You don’t want MacRae’s men to see you ride back into town with me. Can you manage walking from here?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we wait for a group you can blend in with and I’ll follow on behind. Hopefully any interested party will be too busy watching me to notice your arrival. You talk to no one and meet me by the back of the blacksmith’s.”

  Again she nodded, suddenly too scared to do more. She took the carpetbag from him and moved behind the bushes. She returned quickly with her old swag over her shoulder and handed the bag over to him. He promptly threw it into the bushes.

  “You are supposed to be on your way to Dunedin. No need to make anyone think otherwise. From here to Dunstan is about half an hour’s walk. Plenty of time to think of what you mean to do next. Maybe you could even consider doing the sensible thing and going home.” She refused to answer that. Then he put out a hand and gripped her firmly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so, sweetheart. I’ll be watching over you. You will be safe.” He quickly bent to brush her lips lightly with his, then shoved her gently out into the open before she could think more about it.

  A group of men were making their way up the road. By the look of the weary slump to their shoulders, they must have walked up from Dunedin, long days from here, and they barely noticed her as she joined in the group. Her shoulders fell as she copied the slouched gait of the others, keeping her head well down to avoid questions.

  She could not look back, but knew Bas followed. It gave her the courage she needed to keep up her deception through the long march into town, and the even longer walk up the main street
. Was it only her imagination that saw her the focus of all eyes as she passed down the street, despite the crowd of men around her? No one sought to stop her, so she must have fooled any observers, but it was a huge relief to gain the shadow of the stables at the rear of the blacksmith’s.

  This stable was one of the few solid buildings in town. Whatever the grandiose appearance of the street frontages, most places were no more than makeshift constructions of canvas and tin. But the blacksmith was a Highland crofter and had built his stables in the mud cob of his boyhood home. It made for a cooler interior than was usual in the township as summer approached and Geraldine was grateful for its shelter as she watched keenly for Bas’s arrival. Finally his dusty chestnut horse made its appearance and her heart began to beat again. She had to fight to keep from flinging herself into his arms as he entered the gloom of the building.

  “You took long enough,” she muttered.

  He only grinned. “Nearly home, sweetheart.”

  She still must wait while he stripped and brushed down his horse and gave it a well-earned measure of oats. Finally, he was finished and could walk cautiously from the building. She strolled slowly after him towards his saloon, intent on appearing as if there was nothing of consequence about her and no connection to the man walking so cheerfully down the street. It was an agonisingly slow walk for Geraldine, and it was with enormous relief that she finally came to his establishment and could slip round the side to the safety of the working area at the back.

  Like the rest of the town, the rear side of the saloon was nothing like the front façade with its false hoardings and faux glamour. Back here, it was seen to be no more than a large tent with a series of tables and shelters where the daily work of the business was carried out. To one side, a series of smaller tents housed the barman, the cooks and skivvies, and the tavern girls, with another shelter hiding the small privy reserved for the women.

  The back wall of the kitchen room had been rolled up to let the hot air escape, revealing the pots, the large stone chimney and the crude benches at which Geraldine had been working … was it only days ago? She stared, a wave of unreality hitting her. Bas was already striding over to one of the tents and unceremoniously jerking up the flap.

  “Molly here?” he demanded, his tone rudely awakening the nearest dozing girl. She eventually came to, seemingly unsurprised at the manner of her arousal.

  “Bas, love. You back then?”

  “In the flesh, Daisy. Where’s Molly?”

  “Attending to business. Now, let me get some sleep. That ruckus you had with Black Jack set this place on fire and we’ve had crowds through ever since, hoping to see him put a bullet in you. Run off our feet we are, with every miner for miles around coming in.”

  “Nice to know my demise would make such a good floor show. I trust you put up the prices accordingly?”

  “‘Course. Molly’s been around long enough to know that. ‘Ere, who’s that with you?”

  “No one you need to meet.” But Daisy had levered herself upright, tardily pulling a dirty shawl about her shoulders as she pushed past Bas to eye Geraldine. Her boys’ clothes did not fool this girl.

  “So. you’re the fancy piece Black Jack’s all fired up about.” She stuck her hands on her hips, and blatantly surveyed Geraldine. “Word is Bas lit out of here with the finest bit of woman flesh on the goldfields. Stolen her from right under Black Jack’s eye. Others said you was Bas’s all along and Black Jack wanted what he didn’t have – as usual. Me, I said no. Bas Deverill would never get into an argy bargy over a woman. Money, yes – a woman, no. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  Daisy circled Geraldine, pulling off her cap and casting a professional eye over the straggled result of her hasty attempt at pulling her hair into a respectable bun. Next minute, she felt a yank and gasped as the saloon girl gave a practised tug, letting her hair tumble about her shoulders. This was getting to be too routine an occurrence.

  The other girl stepped back and looked at Bas. His eyes laughed back. Geraldine felt like stamping her feet in a fit of childish temper.

  “You’ve found yourself a goldmine after all. What happens to the rest of us, I’d like to know?” Daisy crossed her arms and glared at Bas.

  “Believe it or not, Daisy love, it’s not what you think.”

  Geraldine had about enough of being ignored. “It certainly is not! And if both of you will excuse me, I have urgent affairs to attend to.”

  Bas lifted one eyebrow, his face suddenly matching his accent in hauteur. “Can I hope that you intend procuring a ticket for tomorrow’s coach back to Dunedin?”

  “As I’ve told you, I can manage for myself. Though I promise I will think about leaving Dunstan if it proves unsafe.”

  “Liar,” he said softly.

  Geraldine gave him back stare for stare. It was not one of her best ideas. There was something in his gaze she couldn’t meet, and all she managed was to mumble a garbled stream of “thank you’s” before turning to flee.

  “Here, where do you think you’re going?” Daisy had grabbed her arm “Didn’t you hear anything I just been saying? Black Jack MacRae wants you—and he ain’t too particular about what you might be wanting,” she added when Geraldine opened her mouth to point out that Black Jack was not around at the moment.

  “Don’t make no difference. He’s got mates and you can’t go parading about the town. Lord knows there’s few enough women in the field and none with hair like yours.”

  “She’s right, you know,” said Bas, “and since I am in part responsible, it is only fair that you stay here till we think of something better.”

  It was less than complimentary and his hand on her arm almost drove her to argue the point, except she had to admit he was right. Despite it, she had no intention of changing. She had endured too much already for her freedom, and had no intention of giving it away so easily. Her impulsive demand of help from this man was looking more and more like a mistake.

  She put on her most determined face. “I thank you for your kind consideration, but I am not without resources and this is my country.”

  “Very pretty, but a goldfield is a law unto itself and you are new to the fields, my sweet, whatever else you may be.”

  She looked down at where his hand still held her. “Perhaps.” He let go, slowly, and her head shot up. “Yet is what you offer any better than whatever else I can find?” Her hand jabbed outwards, to the saloon and the street.

  Bas just shook his head and looked in amusement at Daisy. “What did I tell you? She may look like a man’s struck gold, but it’s fool’s gold. No man wants to buy an argument after a day’s work on the field.” He sighed and turned towards Geraldine. “Will you just listen first – and without saying a word?” She was dubious, but nodded. “Can you cook?” She nodded again. “Then you can have the job Molly first offered, cook and cleaner. On one condition…”

  She stepped back angrily.

  “No, not that – not that you don’t tempt me greatly. All I’m asking is that you keep that head of yours covered at all times and dress as a skivvy. It won’t fool anyone who cares to look closer, but it will hide your beauty from most. This town can explode into a riot quickly enough as it is. I don’t want the powder that sets it off coming from my establishment. Is that understood?”

  Geraldine blinked, gulped and stepped further back, unable to believe her ears. “That’s what I was doing before you erupted into my life,” she shot back.

  “An error of judgement on my part. Not that I intend to apologise for it. Your presence got me out of a very sticky situation.”

  “And me into one,” she could not help pointing out.

  “It’s true what they say of red hair,” he murmured. Then suddenly he changed tone, his voice that of timeless authority. “Do you accept my offer or not? Have a care what you say. I may stand in your debt, but it is not limitless.”

  She hated the blush that stung her cheeks. For two, hard-fought years, she had managed to hide her t
houghts and passions. Now, only a matter of days in this man’s company and her tongue was betraying her at every instant. Fretful hands smoothed down the creases of her abused jacket and a finger strayed to check the buttons so tightly securing her neckline.

  “Yes, I accept, with thanks,” she managed to say, and refused to acknowledge his satisfied grin.

  Life moved in strange cycles. An interlude in Dreamland, then right back to the start of her adventure. It was some days later and Geraldine swished a switch of tussock irritably over the floor. She was not quite back to the beginning. Before her strange adventure with Bas Deverill, she was all set to explore this new world she had entered. Her boy’s disguise had worked well enough on the trip inland; she’d had no doubt it would be as effective here, but that illusion was gone and instead, here she was. Confined to these mere feet of space and living in fear of the streets, of what they may hold or rather, whom.

  As for her benefactor; he seemed to lead a charmed life from what she could gather. She had begun to doubt he had ever told her the truth. If Black Jack really wanted to kill Bas Deverill, he could have easily done so by now. Instead, the arrogant Mr Deverill strode the streets of Dunstan town with impunity.

  She gave a last twitch to the makeshift broom. A vicious thrust sent a cloud of dust billowing through the door, catching the man who entered full in the face.

  “Aagh.” One hand covered his throat and the object of her anger fell back, coughing harshly. “Water, for mercy’s sake.”

  Geraldine was still angry, yet her hand reached for the barrel standing in the corner, lifting the lid and dipping in the mug hooked on its side. Ungraciously, she thrust it at Bas. It was some minutes before he was capable of speaking and when he did, his voice was still shredded with effort. All the time, Geraldine watched silently.

  He banged the cup onto the barrel. “Is that the normal way colonials treat morning visitors?”

  “No, but nor was I expecting company - since you have made it unsafe for me to walk the streets and meet any who may care to visit.” She snatched back the mug, clunking it down on its hook. “Though despite your warning to me, I understand it is perfectly safe for you to wander about quite untroubled by Black Jack’s attentions.”