Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (265 page)

They headed down to the river and dismounted. Callum dipped a cup from his saddlebag into the water and handed it to Electra. She clasped the cup, cool against her warm palms, and drained it in one gulp. Meanwhile, Callum pulled a small pot and a handful of dried tea leaves from his saddlebag. Within minutes, he had gathered dry leaves and sticks and was fanning a small fire. He filled the pot with water, threw in the tea leaves, and hung it on a forked stick over the flames. Once it boiled, they dipped Shi Liang’s hard johnnycakes into the tea. The simple fare tasted wonderful, especially as she had hardly eaten since the night before. Neither spoke as they chewed hungrily on the wet cakes. Electra drew in a deep breath, enjoying the distinctive, earthy smell of the gum trees mixed with the slight peppermint tang of the leaves. She couldn’t help but admit that not everything about this country was unpleasant.

• • •

Before Callum could resurrect their earlier discussion, she spoke. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting your wife, Callum. I would like to thank her for assisting me with clothing on my arrival here.”

“Aye, she greatly looks forward to meeting ye also Mrs. Radcliffe. And ye can be sure she will be up to make your acquaintance afore long. Only the poor lass has been sick abed since ye arrived.”

“Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that.” She stopped. “Callum, before I forget, please call me Electra.” He smiled and nodded, obviously pleased at her gesture. “Is there anything I can do for your wife?”

“Ah no, she’s a braw lassie and will be up and about in no time.”

She nodded and then drew breath for her next question.

“Callum?”

“Aye, lassie?”

“What brought William to New South Wales? Someone with his wealth and skills would have done just as well in England. It seems a strange decision to make.”

“It’s no’ a simple story, lass and one I havena’ the right to tell. I’m afraid ye’ll have to ask William about that one.” He paused, met her gaze. “What about your wee problem then?”

Electra hesitated, not sure how to start. Not sure she even wanted to, but the need to tell someone was too strong and she trusted Callum.

“The details are a bit personal, but I overreacted to an attempt by William to — er, get to know me better and I hit him. With an iron poker. He was incredibly angry with me.”

Callum laughed. “Christ lass, ye’re no’ making things easy for yourself are ye?”

She shook her head, biting on her lower lip as Callum chuckled at her dilemma.

“Dinna fuss yourself about it. He’ll get ower it, but ye may have to put a bit o’ effort into the fixing. That’s if ye want it fixed. Do ye?”

She hesitated, thinking about his question. “I believe so. Yes … yes I do.”

“Weel then, there ye go. Come on, drink your tea and we’ll get on with it.”

Electra’s shoulders relaxed and she felt the tension leave her face. Not only had she shared the problem, but Callum’s probing had forced her to acknowledge the importance of making things right with William — again.

But this time she had not just blundered into a meeting looking like a wild convict; this time she had struck at the very male core of him. The damage, she knew, would be far greater.

• • •

Still pondering her dilemma sometime later, Electra had her foot raised to cross the kitchen threshold when she froze. In the doorway was a bundle of white fur, horribly splattered with what looked to be fresh blood. As she bent to touch the bloodied corpse, she heard a low, guttural growl behind her. Hardly daring to breathe, she turned slowly to see bared, yellow fangs as the dog inched menacingly toward her. Her eyes darted frantically from the house to the grounds — anywhere — seeking help. Fear crawled along her skin as the animal’s teeth gnashed another warning. Where was everyone? Not knowing what else to do, she reached a trembling hand toward the dog.

“Keep your hands by your side and your eyes averted, and step slowly backwards away from the rabbit,” said William, appearing around the side of the building.

Lowering her eyes, Electra stepped back.

“Hero! Down!” The dog obediently dropped to the ground.

She looked from the dog to William and back again. The dog appeared completely harmless, when seconds ago it was ready to rip her to shreds.

“I’m sorry for that, Electra. I hope you’re not too shaken. You’d best come and meet Hero.”

She did not trust the dog but would not show her fear to William. Cautiously, she edged toward the animal. William took her hand and held it out for the dog to sniff. Dogs can smell fear, and this one was sure to react when he smelt hers. But to her relief, he licked her hand and turned back to the rabbit.

“Hero and his brother Dante are responsible for most of the fresh meat we have on the table,” he explained, patting the greyhound’s head. “Wild duck and kangaroo are their preferred prey, but anything that runs really. Except the sheep, they know not to touch them.”

“I expect he thought I was stealing his catch,” she said.

“Yes, but only because he didn’t know you. It won’t happen again and I’ll introduce you to Dante as well. How did you go with Callum?” he asked.

“The farm is wonderful. You must be very proud of what you have achieved.”

“It’s good fertile land and I have access to convict labour.”

She frowned, annoyed at his words.

“It serves everyone, Electra. It’s cheap labour and some are good workers. And when their time is up, if they choose to stay, they are given their own land. Most of them are from the cities and know nothing about farming. Callum and I teach them farming practices and that prepares them to farm for themselves.”

When put like that, it made sense. He and Callum would be teaching these men skills that would help them to survive in a harsh land. “Yes, you’re probably right. I wonder if I will ever understand this country.”

William shrugged and headed for the house.

Their conversation had been civil, but without warmth. She didn’t follow her husband into the house, but sat in the gardens for some time wondering how to penetrate his emotional armour.

Her thoughts slipped back to the night before when he had taken her face in his hands. There was no denying the thrill of his kiss, and his touch on her body had fired a confusing array of emotions. That was, of course, before she hit him. She was not sure what she wanted from him, except an end to this unpleasant impasse. Perhaps an opportunity to make peace would present itself.

• • •

When, sometime later, she climbed the stairs to her room, she could hear low voices in the library, followed by an exclamation from William. She opened the door quietly to see William, shirtless, facing away from the door while Shi Liang applied salve to the red welt across his back. As she ran appreciative eyes over the hard, muscled expanse of his upper body, she saw a large, jagged scar under his left shoulder.

Electra walked into the room and silently indicated to Shi Liang that she would take over. He handed her the jar and tiptoed out of the room. The jar contained an herbal mixture with a slightly tangy smell. She began to apply it.

William sucked in a breath and she felt the sinews harden in his back as he tensed. His hand grasped her arm.

“What are you doing? Leave it.” He tried to rise from the stool.

With her free hand, she put gentle pressure on his shoulder and pulled her wrist from his grasp. “No,” she said as she continued to gently spread the salve. “Please let me help, William. After all, I did cause the injury.”

He grunted and sat down. “It’s nothing and I would have paid it no heed, except Shi Liang saw it and insisted on the salve.”

Despite his initial resistance, she felt him relaxing under the gentle rhythmic movements of her hands. How long had it been since a woman had touched him like this? Would she ever feel his touch on her bare skin?

Electra’s hand passed over the old scar, impressive despite its age. It ran up through his shoulder blade, curving onto his shoulder. “Do you mind if I ask how this happened?”

Her question was met with a stony silence. Finally he answered, his voice abrupt. “It was a bayonet. In Spain, near Talavera. It doesn’t matter now.”

Her hands continued their soothing movements. “If you are willing, I would like to hear about it.”

He was silent for so long, Electra was sure he would not speak of it, but then he began. “I was an officer in the British infantry under Lieutenant General Wellesley. We had crossed the border from Portugal into Spain to join the Spanish army and move against Joseph Bonaparte. A small group under my command was sent ahead with intelligence that the French were retreating. We were to bring back word of their position.” He paused, seeming reluctant to dredge the memory forward. She remained silent, continuing to move her fingers over his back.

“It seems the intelligence was faulty and the French unexpectedly advanced through the night. Our group was taken by surprise by a French scouting party and none but myself survived the attack.” She drew in a sharp breath as he continued. “I watched a young boy, no more than fifteen years, bleed to death. The French had moved on, thinking we were all dead. I must have gained consciousness and could hear the boy’s rasping breath. I crawled over to him, and do you know what he said?” She shook her head even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “He said, ‘
You did everything you could, sir.
’ Can you believe it?” He slammed his fist down on to the arm of the chair. “The little blighter was worried about how I felt!” He shook his head. “I don’t remember much after that. I spent a year recuperating in Spain. It took months for my injuries to heal.”

His body had become rigid as he spoke, his next words spoken so quietly, she nearly missed them. “I should have died with my men.”

Electra’s instinct was to hold and comfort him, but after her actions of the previous night, she had no right. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder. “I … I don’t know what to say. You must believe you could do no more, surely.”

When there was no response, she realized he was not yet ready to forgive himself for not protecting his men. But to wish death? Electra suspected it was more than the attack prompting those words, but pushed him no further. She also curbed her curiosity regarding the scar under his eye. Instead, she concentrated on easing the tension that had built in his body with the telling of his story.

By the time, she handed him his shirt, the hostility and discomfort between them had lessened. She left the room, unsure as to what would take its place.

• • •

The next morning, following a light breakfast in her room, Electra sought out Mary Buckley. The girl was in the drawing room sweeping the floor.

“Mary, can I have a word, please?”

“O’ course mum, you’re the boss. Ain’t that right?”

Electra chose to ignore the insolence and tried another tack.

“I wondered how your baby was going. Is he well and do you need anything for him?”

Mary looked up, surprised at her words. “Oh yes mum, he’s a luv’ly boy. A bit small and I’m worried that he’s not growin’ real fast like.”

“Can I see him? Perhaps he needs better food. Or, are you still feeding him yourself?”

Mary nodded. “I am but I fear as how I ain’t got enough milk for him.”

“Then it sounds like it’s you we have to feed better. Come on, put down the broom and we’ll go and see him now,” said Electra, ushering Mary out the door.

Electra had not been to the workers’ cottages before this and discovered the farm had up to fourteen full-time workers at any one time. Mary informed her that during harvesting and shearing, the numbers swelled. As they approached the cottages, Hero loped toward them. Electra stilled, hardly daring to breathe, until he sniffed her hand, sat on his haunches, and lifted his paw for her to hold. Absurdly relieved, she took his paw, and stroked his sleek head. She looked up in time to see Mary entering one of the huts.

As she followed Mary into the small hut she shared with the other maidservant, Annie, Electra was greeted with a full-throated wail from little Freddy Buckley. The twelve-year-old babysitter gladly thrust him into his mother’s arms.

Mary’s pinched, surly features took on a Madonna-like glow as she reached for her son. Her practiced hand loosened the laces at the front of her smock and she gently manoeuvred Freddy into position. He latched onto her breast hungrily but all too soon pulled away, kicking and screaming in frustration.

Electra left the hut and hurried back to the kitchen followed closely by Hero. She grabbed a clean piece of muslin and had Shi Liang pour some warm goat’s milk into a bowl. Back at the hut, she dipped the muslin into the milk and put it to the child’s mouth. He spat it out at first but soon tasted the milk and pursed his lips for more. Together she and Mary sponged goat’s milk into Freddy’s mouth until he finally fell back in Mary’s arms, sated and fast asleep, with milk dribbling down the sides of his mouth.

Mary looked at Electra, her eyes shining. “He ain’t never been so happy before. Thank you, mum, and I’m that sorry I was such a bleedin’ horrible sod an’ all.”

“Well, it was a strange situation for us both,” said Electra, stroking the baby’s silky hair. “Let’s forget that now and see about a good diet for you so you have enough milk for little Freddy. It means you will have to be nice to Shi Liang if you want his help. Do you think you can do that?”

“Gawd, this is all a bit much for one day, mum.” She looked over at Freddy and sighed. “Orright then, I’ll do me best but he still makes me all squeamish like.”

Together they went to find Shi Liang. He eyed Mary suspiciously, but when he heard about the baby, his face softened. If she came each morning early, he agreed to provide fresh milk, ale to increase her milk, and good portions of red meat.

• • •

William had been out early with Callum and returned to the library to deal with his correspondence. The soft tinkle of laughter caught his attention. He pushed the papers aside and peered through the window. Surely he was imagining the scene below. Electra walked toward the kitchen with her hand casually on Hero’s head as he trotted at her side. On her other side walked Mary Buckley, talking animatedly, devoid of all earlier hostility. A small grin stole across his face.
Well, well, she has managed to bring both the dog and the surly Mary Buckley to heel.