Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (280 page)

“I think ye might be needin’ these, lass,” said Callum, handing her a soggy bundle consisting of her skirt and coat. Grinning, he added, “And ye needna’ ha’ bothered with the brandy. The lads were warm through with the sight o’ ye in your wee shift.”

Electra felt the heat rush up her neck and heard a long groan from where Will lay on the ground. She pulled the wet skirt and coat over the dripping, muddied shift without looking at William again.

“Verra sorry, lad, but it got the wheels on right quick, aye?”

They lifted William and placed him back in the cart. Electra climbed in and rested William’s head on her wet lap.

Once the cart was back on the road, they made good time and were soon rattling wearily toward the welcome lights of the homestead. As the cart rolled to a stop, Shi Liang rushed out to greet them with Shelagh close on his heels. The deep frown did not leave the little man’s face until he prodded William and received a groan in return. He grinned and nodded, mumbling in Chinese, as they carried William into the drawing room. Warm water bubbled over the fire and Electra directed Shi Liang to remove William’s wet clothing and wash him, with special attention to his wounds.

Tom and Sean waited in the doorway, needing to know that William would be all right before they left for their own homes. Shelagh pushed bowls of hot cornmeal and mugs of tea into their hands and drew them toward the fire to dry. As Tom reached for the tea, Electra’s attention was drawn to the bandage on his hand. Taking it gently, she unwrapped the mud-encrusted piece of cloth, cleaned the wound, applied an herbal salve, and bound it with a clean cloth. The two men filled their bellies, warmed themselves, and went wearily to their beds.

William was home safely and now they must do battle with the snake venom. His body still burned with the fever but his muscles seemed to have softened a little. However, the paralysis was still evident in his inability to speak.

Shi Liang tended to William and then turned with displeasure to Electra.

“Missee not happy bring blacks to house, now she want look like one.” Electra glanced in the big mirror over the sideboard and was horrified to see her face brown with mud and her clothes no better. She caught the reflection of Shi Liang behind her, his lips quirked in a grin.

“Hot water in bedroom. You go,” he said, pushing her toward the stairs. She needed no second bidding.

As soon as she bathed and changed, Electra returned to the others, still fearful that William would not survive. The storm finally abated and she insisted Callum and Shelagh return to their cottage and get some sleep.

Between them, Electra and Shi Liang kept a constant vigil by William’s cot. They applied poultices of coolabah leaves and onion to the wound, dripped fever bark tea and honey water into his mouth, applied cool cloths to his burning forehead, and prayed. By the third morning, William’s fever had eased and the discoloration around his wound had begun to recede. His leg was still grossly oversized and felt hot to touch, but the flesh was already pink with blood flow and healing. Electra hardly left him, sleeping on quilts beside his cot each night.

• • •

Late on the third day, William was well enough to take some beef broth from Shi Liang while Electra was outside in the gardens. As the little cook lifted William’s head to sip from the bowl, he groaned in pain. He had a thumping headache and every inch of his body hurt as if a team of horses had trampled him. And he was weak. Even his arm would not obey when he tried to raise it to take the bowl. He was already drifting again when Shi Liang lowered his head and tiptoed out. Vague memories of the journey from the Hawkesbury to Riverside flickered through his mind, but it was a confused jumble of strange and fantastic scenes. It was difficult to discern what was real and what were the illusions of his fevered mind. In one dream, he was floating across a turbulent river in a cart with the cart’s wheels floating behind him. Wood creaked, horses screamed, and then water covered his face. And there was Electra, half naked, drenched through and painted with river mud. Even in his dream state, his body reacted to the wet shift clinging to her body. An image of their mud-covered bodies writhing in slippery ecstasy did nothing to calm his thoughts. He pulled the sheet over his lower body, lay very still and took deep breaths, hoping no one would come into the room.

And was it a dream that she spoke to him, said something quite fantastic, about wanting him to teach her about pleasure? Perhaps it would come to him when his mind cleared.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Electra, entering through the veranda door.

His eyelids were heavy with the illness and the effects of the paralysis but when he raised them, it was worth the effort. She had been in the garden and carried an armful of wild orchids and waratah blossoms. The sun slanted through the window behind her, lighting her hair like a golden aureole. She knelt beside his cot, placing the flowers on the floor.

William closed his eyes again, not wanting to complicate the moment with words. For the hundredth time, he wished he had not overheard her conversation with the captain. He could then have remained under the illusion that she might have stayed. As it was, he suspected her care and concern were out of sympathy, or worse, pity. He remembered the pity in Charlotte’s eyes as she stood beside his father, watching his humiliation and pain.

“How are you feeling?”

He opened his eyes again. “Much better, thanks to you and Shi Liang.” He tried to sit up but fell back, his head spinning. “Still a bit weak. I’m sure I’ll be up tomorrow.”

She laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound. “Of course you won’t. It will be some days yet before you’re on your feet. Once you can eat solid food your strength will return. Your wounds are healing nicely, you’ll be glad to hear.”

William shook his head. “I honestly can’t remember anything other than seeing that wretched snake strike my ankle. Had some very weird dreams though.” He turned his head away from her. “I think I’d like you to leave now. Might just rest some more, if you don’t mind.”

• • •

It was the effect of his ordeal, she told herself. He didn’t mean to be short or rude with her. She placed the flowers in a vase and stood at the door, watching him. He obviously did not remember holding her hand each night as the fever ripped at his body and mind. Nor grasping her fingers, as she cooled his burning face, and kissing them with his dry, fevered lips. She could still feel the imprint of his heated body against hers when some time after midnight on the first night, he had begun to shiver uncontrollably. Having covered him with all available quilts, she had removed her clothes and climbed into the cot beside him, using her own body warmth to ease his chills. He had clung to her, pulling her back if she tried to move, the need seeming more than just the effects of the snake venom. When the sweating had once more begun, it was with regret she slipped out of his bed and removed the layers of warmth. And now the fever had abated, he again spurned her attentions. Why was the man so hard to read, so pig-headed?

Apart from his irrational behaviour, other questions remained unanswered. It seemed the snake was only part of it. Sean and Tom mentioned something about William saving their lives.

What had happened out there?

Chapter Fifteen

She waylaid Callum as he headed in to see Will. “Have Sean and Tom told you the rest of the story yet?”

“Weel, I’ve asked but the wee buggers are no’ tellin’. The most they’ll say is to ask Mr. Radcliffe when he’s feelin’ to talk.”

“Come with me now and we’ll see if he is ready.”

It was ten days since they had brought William home and each day he had grown a little stronger. After a week, still too weak to walk unaided, he asked to be helped to his room. Since then he seemed to have retreated into himself even more, insisting on privacy. Despite his seeming indifference to her, Electra missed being able to see him whenever she walked through the house, and to lie in the cot beside him each night. She would not ask to bring her cot into his bedroom and he did not suggest it.

With an offering of tea and cakes, Electra and Callum knocked on William’s door and walked into his room.

“Och laddie, ye’re spoilt ye are. What with the most beautiful woman in the land at your beck and call, Shi Liang’s cakes and ma great wit to entertain ye, ye’ll never shift your lazy backside out o’ that bed, aye?”

William laughed, obviously unable to remain serious at the sight of his friend’s rough, beaming smile, framed by the jungle of hair. The man looked too big for the room as he looked around for somewhere to place his solid bulk. Electra moved to the table by William’s bed, poured tea into a cup, and placed it in his hand. She sat beside him on the bed and took his other hand. There was a slight resistance as if he would pull it away but then he relaxed. There was a hesitant knock on the door and Tom poked his head in. He was closely followed by Sean.

Callum cleared his throat and looked at William. “If it isna too hard, lad, would ye consider sharing what happened afore the wee snake took a piece o’ your leg? I’ve asked Tom and Sean to take a share in the tellin’, if ye dinna mind.”

William nodded his agreement. Tom’s jaw was set in a hard line and his eyes flickered over to William’s. When William placed his cup on the small table and lay back with his eyes closed, Electra suspected it would not be a pleasant story. The story began with Sean’s sighting of the smoke from Gleeson’s campfire. Between the three men, the story unfolded.

They had returned to their own camp after the altercation with Gleeson. Both Tom and William were uneasy and far from thinking the matter settled.

“We’ll take it in turns to be on watch tonight,” said William. “I don’t trust Gleeson.”

Surprisingly, there had been no sign of Gleeson that night, nor had they seen the smoke of his campfire through the trees. After three days, they dropped their guard.

Then a week later, after being away from their camp most of the day cutting timber, they returned tired and thirsty. William scooped some water out of the barrel and held it for Sean’s horse to drink. He meant to water the horses before slaking his own thirst. Tom walked past him and dipped his cup into the barrel of water, lifting it to his mouth.

Suddenly William leapt at him, slapping the cup out of his hand and spilling the contents onto the ground. “Don’t touch it! There’s something wrong.”

By this time thick, white lather had formed around the horse’s mouth and its body was jerking violently. With a cry of alarm, Sean ran to the horse and desperately tried to support it. Its legs buckled and it fell heavily to the ground.

“Jesus, sir, what’ll be happenin’ to me horse?” sobbed Sean.

Tom crouched on the ground, vomiting, and in between, yelled that his mouth and tongue were numb from the small drop of water he had touched before William reacted.

“It’s poison. Someone’s poisoned the water. I’m sorry, Sean, there’s nothing we can do for your horse,” said William, drawing the boy away from the seizing animal. He pulled his pistol from his waistband and shot the horse between the eyes.

He laid his arm across Sean’s shoulder, speaking gently. “It was the only thing to do. It’s the worst kind of death.”

As Tom continued to retch, each man uttered his own prayer of thanks for deliverance from a certain and agonising death.

“And were it Gleeson, do you think, sir?” gasped Tom.

“I’d wager a hefty bet on it, Tom. I should have known he was the sort of scum who would fight dirty. Thank God it was only the horse we lost.” William looked up. “He’ll be coming back to check on his handiwork. We’ll have to be one step ahead of him.”

• • •

As the first light of dawn lifted night’s cover from the campsite the following morning, Gleeson crept out of the bushes. His eyes lit on the horse lying dead near the water barrel and a slow grin of satisfaction spread across his face. He swivelled his head cautiously and stopped at the sight of a boot, angled awkwardly around the edge of the tent. He edged warily toward it, narrowing his eyes at the body of a boy face down on the ground. He let out an audible breath and looked at the tent, obviously assuming that was where the other two bodies were. He snorted and made to sheath the long knife he held, when William pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of Gleeson’s head.

“Move a muscle and I’ll blow your head off,” said William.

The body on the ground moved and Sean rolled over, holding a musket.

“Will ye be lettin’ me kill him sir, for what he done to me horse an’ all?”

Tom threw open the tent flap and emerged with a knife in one hand and a rope in the other. “Ah no, he’s mine boyo. I’ll be wantin’ to watch him blow in the breeze while I be decoratin’ his body with me knife.”

Gleeson began to shake as he eyed the rope, the noose already tied.

“That’d be murder an’ yer’d be hanged for that yerself,” he said twisting the knife in his hand.

“Well, boys,” said William, “he could have a point there.” Gleeson’s eyes darted furtively from one to the other, reflecting a glimmer of hope.

“So perhaps we’ll have to kill him in self-defence. What do you think?” William stepped away, lowering his pistol.

Gleeson, perhaps sensing an opportunity, kicked Tom in the stomach and at the same time swung his squat body in an arc, slicing at William with the knife. William sidestepped and the knife sliced his arm. He lurched forward and punched Gleeson in the face.

Tom fell back into the tent, still weak from the poison. Gleeson swung wildly, connecting with William’s jaw. Ignoring the pain, William tackled him to the ground, wrenched the knife out of his other hand, and, with an iron grip on his throat, began pressing into his windpipe.

“Let ’im go or yer boy dies,” snarled a menacing voice from behind.

William had been right: Gleeson was not alone. A long, string-bean of a man stood behind Sean, a gun at the lad’s head. The musket lay useless on the ground. Will loosened his grip but did not move.

Gleeson croaked, “Carver, the uvver one is in the tent.”