Swift Runs The Heart (23 page)

“The first day. You were still asleep I heard the dogs and slipped out. It was a couple of Loch Máire shepherds on their way back to the homestead. I told them to say we would be over eventually.”

They had been sitting on the edge of the veranda, on a bench Bas had rigged up there. Now he rose and stalked off to the side of the house, staring intently in the direction she had pointed. Then he turned and marched back, forcing her to look upwards.

“And you forgot to mention this? For two weeks you forgot?!”

She could not drop her eyes, try as she might. His hard stare held her and a red blush stained her cheeks.

“You are my
wife
! Is that so terrible a thing that we must hide away here? Do you think that little of me?”

“No!” she gasped, horrified, half rising, then sinking back as her legs gave way.

“Then prove it. Tomorrow we visit the nearest house, then every other one in the neighbourhood in the days after, and you will smile that sweet smile of yours as you announce that Mr and Mrs Deverill have come to call.”

“We're not usually so formal here,” was all she could think to mumble, but she spoke to his departing back only.

It was a strained meal that night and a silent journey next day. All through the cacophony of welcome at the Loch Máire homestead, she wore the sweet smile Bas had demanded and listened to the pleased congratulations of their hosts.

She had known Robert and Esme Smith since she was not long out of short skirts and had a deep and abiding affection for the close-mouthed couple. Yet she was now forced to watch as her husband, in a few short hours, elicited more exclamations of good will and humour from the pair than she had seen in her whole life. They sat drinking tea, a last coda to a day of pleasant gossip and interesting strolls about the grounds. At least, the ladies had strolled; the men had traipsed through every shed and hut in the homestead complex. Geraldine slowly sipped her tea and watched disgustedly as Esme smiled approvingly at her charming husband and Robert Smith regaled him with all the intricate details of the station's history of breeding sheep for the rugged terrain.

As though he would know anything of merinos and cheviots
, she fumed to herself, listening as the outrageous man began to discuss, with all the signs of a spuriously acquired knowledge, the various advantages of the differing breeds of sheep found in the colony.

Thankfully, they were soon leaving. Bas came to help her, with all solicitousness, into the saddle. She plastered on that sweet smile he had ordered, but did manage to dig the sharp heel of her boot into his ribs as his hand lingered secretly on her leg. His slight grunt in response was a balm to her frayed nerves and she ventured a short glance at his face, turned away from their hosts for the moment.

It was too much. Swiftly she swung herself the rest of the way into the saddle and grabbed up the reins. The man was laughing! The unmistakeable signs were clearly written on the lean face as he bent to adjust his own stirrups. Then they were both mounted and all signs were wiped from his face as he turned to their hosts.

“Our thanks for a most pleasant day,” he said in his most mannered of voices.

“The pleasure has been all ours.”

Mrs Smith actually simpered as she spoke and then went even further, blighting Geraldine's day completely. “It is such a joy to see our wee Miss so well settled, and to such a fine gentleman as yourself, sir.”

It was the final betrayal and how she brought out the polite rejoinder required, Geraldine never knew. She managed to restrain herself as they began their journey home, but as soon as they were decently hidden from the homestead she thrust her heel into her horse's side and leaned her head forward into the suddenly straining neck as the animal raced across the ground. For an instant, she was blessedly alone. Then the creature who called himself her husband was beside her, his horse matching hers stride for stride. Finally, the roughness of the ground brought a semblance of common sense to her and she reluctantly pulled her horse in, coming to a dispirited halt by a clump of tall native rushes.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?”

She gave him a flat stare. “Not particularly.”

Slowly, the pent-up laughter drained from his face. He returned her look, measure for measure. But the longer she held his eye, the less she could see what lay behind the blue gaze. It was as if some barrier grew up between them. Then he was off his horse, and pulling her down from hers and into his arms. The magic was there, as strong as ever, but something had happened in those few moments at the Smith's house and for the first time Geraldine felt no call to answer the heat he caused in her veins. She stood unmoved in his clasp and some minutes later, he drew back. He was about to say something, but then read the look in her eyes and, with a softly voiced curse, let her go. His face was now the closed one of a stranger and, with a distant politeness, he helped her remount and they rode home.

The sense of detachment stayed with her throughout the following days. He would come to her and she could feel the warmth swelling inside her, but it was as if a part of her stood to one side, watching.

One day, it all came to a head. He was staring at the skyline again, and to Geraldine suddenly it was as if an anvil was poised over her, waiting to plummet down and flatten every dream she had ever hoped for. Was that why she stood aside, why she had started to build walls? She glared at him and her thoughts formed words before she could stop herself.

“You should leave. It's what you really want.”

He had heard her, swivelling on one so-properly booted heel. “You are an expert on what I want?”

A sick feeling hit her inside. Why had she said that? Then, traitorously, another thought. Why didn't he just get on with it, leave her to her future? She held herself rigid, too scared to put more thoughts into words, even when he stayed looking at her, waiting for the answer she dare not give. Finally, with a slam of his hand on the wall, he turned and walked off. Minutes later, the sound of hooves clattered on the stony ground and a horse burst out from the back of the house.

He had not waited even to saddle up—just a rope bridle—and her heart stopped in fear. She stood motionless, watching to make sure he was safe, but now she saw to the full his superb horsemanship. He should be barely in control of the horse—instead, it was as if he was one with it and his muscles spoke straight to the horse's, guiding it effortlessly over the rough ground.

Then anther thought.
He's not leaving, not yet
. Not without so much as a change of shirt or bag of supplies.

She watched for as long as she could make him out, until his horse disappeared around the lake, driven by the demons in him. Then, slowly, she shut the door, carefully placing the latch just so as if by doing this one small thing properly, she could fix everything else.

He was gone a long time. Work, that was all that saved her; keeping her hands busy to stop her mind endlessly ticking over. Evening was coming on and still there was no sign of him. The stew was bubbling over the fire, and she was in the middle of making a plum duff, when there was a clatter of hooves outside, the door was flung open, and he was back.

His eyes raked her. “You're safe.”

She froze, hands covered in flour. The fierce look on his face was the last one she expected to see.

“Well, yes.”

He shut the door and paced about the room, checking shutters and bolting the back doors.

“You were gone a long time,” she said, more to fill the silence. At least it made him stand still a minute, but the look on his face was so serious, she almost wished he hadn't.

“I met Robert up the top of the lake. There's been a stranger up at the homestead, asking after you.” He was off again, slamming the last shutter closed, before checking the whole room again. “You are not to be on your own, not ever. I am going to stable the horse. Latch this door after me.”

He lifted the rifle from its place by the bed and loaded it, then thrust it at her. “Not ever, you hear me? Keep this by you and do not let anyone in except me.”

He was gone again, with a brief yell at her to latch the door when she did not immediately do so. She clicked the latch down. He did not take long, just enough to stable, water, feed and briskly rub down his hard-ridden horse. Then he was back.

“This finishes. I go back to the Dunstan tomorrow.”

“You can't know that man was a threat. How could anyone have followed us here?”

“That young fool who knew you at Christmas, they followed our trail, saw our smoke, heard rumours, who knows.”

Her hand went to her chest. “And me?”

“You'll stay with Robert and his wife. It's safe there.”

He was leaving.

The raw, gaping stab of agony wrenched her whole body again and for the first time in days, she wanted nothing more than to be lost in his arms. That would not happen. His arms were held rigidly at his sides now and his spoke with the voice of reason.

“We cannot live with the threat of Black Jack hanging over us. It colours everything and I, for one, do not choose to be forever restrained by a miserable rogue like that.”

“Why not? We're safe enough here.” She was fighting for survival.

He gave a cool smile. “No, we're not.
You
are not.”

“In my own home country? Black Jack cannot come here without someone knowing. You do not have to risk your life.”

It was as if she had slapped him. The cool smile vanished, to be replaced by the hated English mask that hid all real thought from her. “There is also the matter of my affairs in Dunstan, sweetheart. Should I let such a man ruin me? I worked hard to build up my businesses and I do not intend to let him reap the rewards of my toil. No, it's long past time I dealt with him, finally and forever, so that I can attend to what really matters.”

She clenched the towel, wiping away at the flour as if at a stain, then flung it down on the table.

“You didn't think so three weeks ago.”

But this time, his voice was layered with a flat finality. “That's not why I left the Dunstan, as you know. It was the only way to keep you out of Black Jack's clutches.” There was a challenging edge to his voice. “I knew of no other way then; now I do”

“Oh, yes?”

“You will be safe with the Smiths while I'm gone. As you remind me, this is your world, they are your men.” There was a sense of bitterness in his voice. “As you point out, Black Jack cannot move here without warning one of them. And in the event of anything happening to me, the Smiths can return you to your father's care.”

So that was the reason for his sudden interest in neighbours – to find somewhere to offload her. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and her hands automatically finished the pudding, patting the dough into the pan sightlessly.

“When do you go?”

“Tomorrow. I've organised with the Smiths to expect us in the morning. There seems little point putting it off.”

She gave up then. He was leaving, discarding her like some parcel at the mail office, stamped ‘Return to Sender'. All she could retain was a bleak vow that he must not know what it cost to lose him. “Of course,” she said.

She searched his face one last time for a sign to give her hope. There was nothing. He wore the polite mask of a stranger, deserted even by the teasing which so delighted her.

She went about her duties that evening by sheer force of will, putting one foot in front of the other and barely aware of what she did, while being acutely aware of each act of his as he packed what he would need.

After their meal, she carefully wrapped the remains to add to his saddlebag by the front door. He let her go to bed first, stepping outside for a last moment as she finished tidying up the small living room, stripping it bare of all signs of their time there. Nor did he come in again till she had shut the door of the small bedroom firmly behind her.

She had not known what to expect of this night, but didn't know that she disgusted him so much he would sleep in the outer room. It was only as she lay beneath the blankets, slowly unclenching her fists, that she finally admitted to herself how much she had wanted one last night together. It was dark in the small bedroom, but a thin sliver of yellow beneath the door showed from the lamplight in the outer room. Then that went black, and after a while she knew the dampness of a tear sliding down her cheek and the reality of newfound loneliness.

She had not thought to sleep, but she must have, for suddenly he was there in her dreams. A hand lifted the blanket and a firm body slid in beside hers. Then a hand tugged at the buttons of her nightdress and slid in to caress the welcoming curves within. She moved in delight.

“Shh, my heart.” His lips invaded hers, then he pulled back and a finger traced the salty track down one cheek. Her eyes flew open. It was no dream. The coldness of the night air on her back told her that as she went to sit up, seeing the dark smudge of a face beside her.

“Please, no words. Not tonight. Just let me love you,” he whispered, then his lips claimed hers again and her arms swept round him in grateful joy. She would have one more night, and it proved to be all that she had hoped and more. When sleep finally claimed them both, far into the night, a smugly contented smile was fixed on her lips.

But in the morning when she woke, there was no head on the pillow beside her. She fell back, her eyes caught fully upwards but seeing nothing. He was gone.

Then a noise outside; the clipping of hooves. Never had she dressed so quickly. Out the door she burst. There were two horses saddled up and he was fastening a carry bag to the rear of the second one. As she took in the familiar shape of it, her heart knew a sudden hope.

“I told the Smiths we would be there for breakfast.” He had finished tying on the bag and came round the side of the horse, expertly checking its gear as he passed the reins to her. “Give me a moment while I check everything is secure here and we'll get going.”