She had tucked her multi-layered muslin skirt into the ribbon tie at her waist and thanked her creator she hadn’t worn an afternoon dress that would have made it near impossible to run this forest trail behind a dog. The faint chirps of birds settling for the night were the only sounds in the cooling air heavy with the fragrance of damp earth and decaying leaves.
They had scrambled deeper and deeper into the forest, descending gradually at first and then more sharply into a steep-sided canyon. Graysie heard the sound of water gurgling over rocks as they worked their way down, getting louder as they descended.
The half-light upset her sense of balance, but there was still enough illumination to see places where grasses on the trail edge had been crushed under heavy boots, the imprint clearly delineated, and she spotted animal scat—the pebbles of mountain sheep probably—as she moved onward. She didn’t want to think of just what other animals might be lurking in the gloaming.
She had paused to survey her surroundings and wonder if she should go on without Vulcan’s lead when she spotted his white and brown form bounding towards her. She could have sworn he was smiling, and he gave a little yipping bark of welcome. He rushed on ahead of her, as if reassuring her they were on the right path. The trail was bottoming out, the chuckling of the stream growing louder by the minute.
Vulcan had come to another halt, and when she peered at him to see why, she gasped. A man lay spread-eagled, tethered to stakes, in the middle of the clearing. She rushed forward, aghast at what she would find. As she crashed to her knees at his side, he opened the one eye he could see out of and gave a laconic smile.
“What took you so long?”
“Nathan. Nathan, oh heavens above… Nathan. You’re alive.” She bent over him and gently kissed the top of his head. “I thank God you’re alive.” The intimacy of her gesture hung in the air between them. Then Vulcan sounded a deep throated low growl. He was standing guard, hackles raised, looking back up the valley.
In a whirlwind of movement she pulled out the sharp bladed knife she always tucked down her boot and, in seconds, she had whipped around him in a circle, slashing free the cords that held him down.
With a low, urgent whisper, she leaned into his ear. “I’m going to have to move you, whether you like it or not. Brace yourself.”
As he struggled to raise himself, she slipped behind him and circled her arms around him in a chest lock. Then she began dragging with frantic energy towards the stream bank, into a low depression overhung by mulberry bushes.
In panicked haste, she laid him down, scattering dead branches and deep leaf litter over him to camouflage him as best as she could.
“Stay still,” she hissed. Then she skirted away from the clearing and, giving the forest trail a wide berth, she stole back up the hill. Twenty or thirty yards up, but still with the valley floor in sight, she found a boulder large enough to crouch behind.
She’d only been in position a few minutes when the man who had menaced Nathan with the shotgun, no longer wearing the scarf, came stumbling down the track with her weasel-faced attacker behind him. Weasel Face was grumbling to his companion about something, but not loudly enough for Graysie to hear. The other man responded to his belly-aching in a peevish voice. The higher pitch of his whine carried to Graysie more clearly.
‘He won’t like it.”
“You watch yerself or you’ll be next.”
Then: “Let’s just get on with it.”
As they rounded the bend into the clearing where Nathan had been staked, the man in front stopped suddenly and the one following barrelled into him.
“Oi, watch it! What the blazes…?”
Mouths gaping, they stood staring at the empty ground, the stakes sticking up out of the dirt with the frayed ropes still attached.
As Graysie watched, hardly daring to breathe, they edged to the spot where they had left Nathan.
“I told you we should have put a bullet in him to finish him off,” Weasel Face moaned.
The bearded man shook his head in vigorous disagreement. “And leave bullets for the sheriff to see? When was the last time you saw a bear with a Colt 42? I told you, Martens wants it to look like misfortune. That’s why if he wasn’t already dead I thought we’d dump him in the river. How the hell did he get away? And where is he? He can’t have got far.”
The bearded man turned in a slow circle, surveying the area. “Looks like someone pulled him this way.”
Graysie’s leg was cramping from being jammed in one rigid pose, but she held on, biting her lip to stay silent. The leading man breached and reloaded his shotgun and turned towards the river bank.
Graysie rose in alarm; she knew she was way out of range for her revolver and it was no match for a shotgun, but she had nothing else. She had pulled the gun out of her bag. Now, holding it at her side, she worked her way down to the next big boulder, crouching low. Aiming to get close enough to get in a shot, even if she could distract them, she thought wildly. If they found him first it was only a few seconds’ work to blast him at close range and then dump his body in the river.
She was hesitating on the edge of a scree incline when she spotted a small flock of mountain sheep settled for the night in a rocky hollow off to one side. She could just make out the rounded shapes of woolly backs and the whorl of a ram’s horn in the darkening gloom.
And then it came to her. If she could distract Nathan’s attackers long enough to skirt back around the back of the clearing… She picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it with all the force she could muster. It landed right in the middle of the resting sheep, who a second before had been chewing lazily, eyes closed. Their reaction was immediate. With the ram leading the way, they leapt up and charged off down the slope, away from danger.
Head down in a menacing charge, the ram landed with a thump on a scree incline, which began moving under his weight. The ewes and lambs panicked and followed blindly, setting more rocks rolling down the hillside. From a silence broken only by the call of an owl a few minutes before, the dell echoed with the sound of sliding rocks and scree and the panicked bleating and rattle of hooves on the cascading mass. Once they began moving, the sheep were carried by the momentum of the moving scree. They could not have stopped if they had wanted to.
The man with the shotgun swung around at the noise and fired wildly, but the sheep continued on down the slope. Weasel Face was slower to react and was closer to the advancing flock. As he turned, screwed-up eyes straining to see what was causing the commotion, the horned ram hit him hard at crotch height, carrying him along for several yards before trampling right over him as the ram continued on.
The man went down with a scream, clutching his groin. Graysie could see blood was spurting from the top of his thigh like a fountain. The man with the gun swung and fired again, this time hitting the ram full in the side. The animal’s run seemed arrested in time. He collapsed with a pitiful bleat on the forest floor, panting. The rest of the sheep veered to the right in one woolly mass and disappeared into the trees.
Weasel Face lay sprawled on his back, screeching. His hard canvas trousers were soaked in blood. His bearded companion put down the gun and bent over him. What was he likely to do next? Before she had time to decide, she caught the white flash of more movement below her. Not more sheep disturbed by the shot gun noise, surely?
With explosive force Vulcan leapt from a head high jumble of rock debris, aiming right at the bearded man’s throat. The conflict was over within a minute. Vulcan’s muzzle was bloodied; the bearded man lay like a broken doll, bleeding to death over his accomplice’s prone form. The dog sniffed once, then loped back up onto the rocky ledge, raised his head and howled to the moon which was just showing over the top of the trees.
Twenty
“You saved my life.” His voice was a trembling whisper, but it was the best he could do.
Heedless to the muddy puddles that soaked through his clothes, Graysie Castellanos slid onto her knees at his side and carefully took ho
ld of his wrist, gauging his pulse.
He smiled into her eyes. He couldn’t remember a day when it felt better to be alive.
“You certainly are one out of the box, Graysie Castellanos. I don’t know another woman who could do what you’ve just done.” The lines of exhaustion in her face softened. She shook her head in slow denial, watching him. He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “It should have been me protecting you.”
His awareness of everything except Graysie Castellanos fell away, spiraling into one image: This amazing woman, looking at him with rapt attention, as if nothing existed except them. The caress of the cooling breeze on his face, the doggy smell of Vulcan snuffling in leaf mold, the iron tang of fresh blood, the heightened reality of their surroundings all vanished. There was just him and her, gazing at one another in wonder. His stomach somersaulted. Warmth curled up from deep within him.
She hesitated, and then he saw the moment when she remembered where she was. She rolled back on her haunches. “Nathan, I’ve got to get help. Minette is alone up at the wagon.” She shook her head, as if she too had to drag herself back from the seduction of togetherness.
Nathan dropped his hand. “Of course.” He placed his hands on either side of his thighs and tried to lever himself upright. “We have to get out of here.”
She gave a light laugh and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. “There’s no way you’re walking out of here. You stay put with Vulcan. I’m going to collect Minette from the wagon—where she is hopefully fast asleep—and then I’ll get some of John’s men to carry you out. I imagine they’ve got a search party out looking for us by now anyway.”
She caressed the side of his face. “I am so glad we managed to survive this, Nathan. Life wouldn’t be the same without you. And stranger still—whoever those men were—we didn’t kill anyone. Nature—in its various guises—did it for us.”
Nathan placed his hand on hers and held it in place for a few moments before pulling it away and gently kissing her palm. He held it longer than he needed, reluctant to lose the connection. He cleared his throat.
“One of them was Octavius Weavers. No doubt about that. And when they were arguing I thought one of them mentioned Martens’s name. My brother isn’t going to like that. Proving it though—that’s going to be a whole lot harder.”
*****
She’d had to leave him in the glen, the faithful Vulcan standing guard over him, while she climbed back up the path to Minette. Minette! How long had she been gone? Her legs felt like lead, but she pushed on. It was much harder going uphill in the dark than it had been following Vulcan down, but the thought of Minette alone drove her on. It felt like she’d been away half the night, although it was probably no more than an hour and a half.
From the trajectory of the moon, she guessed it was around ten o’clock. She tiptoed to the wagon and gave a long slow sigh. The child was fast asleep under her quilt, breathing at a slow, regular pattern that betrayed no sign of anxiety or distress. She really was a remarkable little girl.
The hours that followed went by in a haze. She had barely started out for Gold House before she was met by the search party out looking for them. She escorted the farm manager and stable hands with a stretcher back to where Nathan lay. Sir John had been a silent commanding presence as his Chinese servants bathed Nathan’s wounds, applied herbal lotions, and given him a draft of sleep-inducing tea.
When he was satisfied there was nothing more to be done for Nathan that night, he drew Graysie aside in the hall outside Nathan’s room. “Tell me. Sorry, I know you’re exhausted. You need sleep. But what is going on?”
She’d given him the briefest of accounts. Two men dead, but not by their hand. That Nathan had recognised Octavius Weavers. “Oh, and they mentioned Willoughby Martens when they were arguing.”
John’s face darkened ominously. “Really.”
It wasn’t a question.
*****
That night, as she pulled off her blood-stained dress and poured the warm water left by one of the servants into the porcelain wash bowl, she went over the day’s events
Thank God for the sheep.
They were getting closer every day to uncovering the truth, but how much time did they have left? As she patted her face dry, she asked herself the question that had been nagging her for days: could she save the lives of those closest to her by giving up on her quest? Just admit defeat. Accept the poor offer. Tonight it had very nearly been Nathan who had died. Who would it be tomorrow?
An image of Lisette Guilliame’s drawn face came to her mind. If they were going to acquiesce, Lisette would have to give in to the extortion as well. She felt a burning indignation at the unfairness of it all.
One last image seared her brain as her eyes fell shut. She was scrabbling in the ditch where she’d left Nathan concealed, desperately searching for him. But instead of Nathan, all she found was a scarlet red stain in the shape of a man’s body. She woke with a churning stomach and lay wide awake until dawn broke.
Twenty One
Wednesday, July 8
“Look at me! Look at me!” Minette was holding on tightly to the front of the saddle, smiling from ear-to-ear as she sat abreast a docile pony being led around the garden arena by an easy-going Geraldine Ranch stable hand.
It was a gloriously warm, still afternoon, with just enough breeze from the mountains and shade from the well-planted garden to keep the guests from getting too hot or sunburned. As Graysie gazed out on the merry crowd assembled for the Cornish Choir concert and picnic, hosted annually by Geraldine Ranch owners Sam and Rebecca Winthrop, she had to shake herself to recall that this time yesterday she’d been fighting for her life.
Minette’s gay laughter pealed out across the lawn, and Graysie gave a sigh of gratitude for the child’s resilience. To her it all seemed a big adventure, especially with Vulcan playing a leading role.
A crowd of about fifty of Grass Valley’s merchants and business owners had gathered at the Winthrops’ to hear the acclaimed Cornish Choir and enjoy a picnic lunch at tables that were set under trees against a long rose arbor. Pania had insisted Graysie and Minette accompany her to the festivities. Graysie had just finished chatting with local dressmaker Cressida Washington about a new shipment of fabric she was getting in when she saw Nathan gradually making his way across the garden towards her.
Her heart lurched at the sight of him, and although he stopped every few feet to talk with different people, appearing to randomly mix with friends and neighbors, she was certain he was deliberately making his way to her without being obvious about it. His wavy blonde hair was partly obscured by a gauze dressing, but he’d dispensed with the previous night’s full head bandage, and although he had a black eye and bruises, he looked fit and focused.
Butterfly tremors flickered in her stomach, and she challenged herself. Where was she going with this? She suddenly felt self-conscious and even a little shy about seeing Nathan again and was putting on a very good show of being oblivious to his approach when he came up alongside her.
“And how are you today, Miss Graysie Castellanos? Fully recovered? I must say I woke up this morning very glad to be alive—thanks to you.”
She felt herself blushing.
Before she could respond, he leaned towards her and dropped his voice to a murmur, “I’m planning to take Minette on a little expedition to the duck pond to feed the ducklings.” He straightened and waved a twist of paper in the air. “Got some bread from the housekeeper here. Would you like to accompany us?”
They moved across the lawn towards Minette, who was being helped off the pony. Nathan said in a low voice for Graysie’s benefit only, “I can’t say how devastated I am at having put you both at risk from that madman Weavers. I deliberately provoked him when I went and saw him. I had no inkling he’d turn outlaw on us…”
They paused at the pony stall, and Graysie bent down to hug Minette. “Would you like to see the ducklings now? Mr. Nathan has some food for them
.”
Minette skipped off down the gravel path ahead of them, enticed by the promise of a new diversion. As Graysie turned back to Nathan, she felt as if they were linked by an invisible wire down which an electric current flowed, holding her in his thrall.
“You put us at risk?” She gave him a sideways glance. “I think it’s the other way round entirely. After all, isn’t it my interest in the mine that’s sparked all this trouble and put both you and Minette at risk? Perhaps even got Vance killed?”
She cleared her throat.
“Just think about it. Lisette and I, both with interests in neighboring mines, both the subject of peculiar threats. I’m wondering if we’ve all narrowly escaped harm, all because of my fixation with re-opening the Ophir. And no human life is worth that.”
They‘d reached the pond. Nathan busied himself passing bread to Minette to feed the five ducklings who circled behind their mother at the water’s edge, webbed feet paddling furiously.
Then he turned back to her. “Someone—in all likelihood de Vile—is aiming to frighten you and Lisette into selling cheap, okay. We get that. But kill to do it? That’s craziness, not business. And de Vile isn’t crazy.”
He searched her eyes, seeking a sign - but of what she wasn’t sure. She stepped back a pace to put some distance between them, to try and reduce the magnetism that drew her in. “You remember that first night we met, you wanted me to go back to San Francisco? I think you said something like ‘you’ll find a place that will take Minette’.”
His cheeks reddened and she laughed.
“Only teasing.” She gazed at him, enjoying his discomfort, the slightly sheepish grin that tipped the corners of his lips upwards. She waved a hand, dismissing the joke. “The thing is, Nathan, I’m beginning to think you were right. Maybe I should just give in. Let them win. I don’t want to put anyone else at risk. Otherwise how far will it go?”
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 12