Stolen Birthright

STOLEN BIRTHRIGHT by

Margaret Tanner

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Published by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS Whiskey Creek Press PO Box 51052 Casper, WY 82605-1052 www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright © 2008 by Margaret Tanner Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISBN 978-1-60313-356-2

Credits Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue Editor: Melanie Billings Printed in the United States of America

Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press: www.whiskeycreekpress.com Devil’s Ridge By the time Ross Calvert discovers that Harry Martin is in fact Harriet Martin, she has already fallen in love with him. Realising she has failed in her final effort to protect her shell-shocked brother, she puts a desperate proposition to her reluctant employer—marry her and she will give his Devil’s Ridge an heir. Ross accepts. However, he is tormented by the betrayal of his former fiancé, Virginia. When on honeymoon he meets her again, he is still infatuated. With the army recalling him to France, he faces a terrible dilemma: Taste Virginia’s passion, or keep his marriage vows to Harry? With the spectre of war hanging over them, there are bigger obstacles for Ross and Harry. Keeping love alive is only part of survival as Ross returns to the trenches and a man seeking wealth at any cost endangers Harry’s life in a way she had never imagined.

Savage Utopia Sentenced to transportation to Australia, for trying to kill her incestuous father, Maryanne Watson boards a convict ship. During the journey she meets and falls in love with an American convict, Jake Smith. Jake hides a terrible family secret that if it ever saw the light of day, would send him to the gallows. When they arrive at the penal colony, she is assigned to Captain Miles Fitzhugh. After he rapes her she flees for her life. She finally meets up with Jake who has escaped from a chain gang, gone bush and lives with the aborigines. They roam the wilderness together trying to find their utopia. When Maryanne falls pregnant, Jake, who has a price on his head, risks coming out of hiding, so he can legally marry her so their child will not be born illegitimate.

Dedication ~~I dedicate this to my pioneering ancestors, who fought a savage land and won.~~

Chapter 1 The Honourable Marcus Lindquist cursed inwardly as another bump almost unseated him. What did this idiot of a driver think he was doing? Bloody half-witted colonial. He had been forced to leave England to save the Lindquist name from being dragged further into disrepute; now he was exiled in this Godforsaken penal colony. Australia was only fit for convicts and destitute immigrants. Sylvia had ruined his life. She had betrayed him. Cast him aside to marry the heir to a Dukedom. He was just starting to think about marriage and settling down to produce heirs, when he had met and become infatuated with Lady Sylvia Hayworth. Just the thought of her full lips and lush, ripe body being given to another man almost destroyed him. “Youse have to stay the night here.” Their uncouth looking driver poked his head through the coach window. “Too late to travel on the road now.” “Road!” Marcus bit off an oath. Is that what they called it? Rutted track seemed more appropriate. He felt bruised and battered as he stepped stiffly from the coach and waited for the other occupants to alight. He stamped his feet to get his circulation moving again after eight hours in the cramped coach. They had stopped only 1

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to eat and change the horses; now he was forced to spend the night in some revolting, bug-infested tavern, undoubtedly run by villainous riff raff. Automatically, he offered his hand to help a middle-aged lady alight. A good night’s sleep would help. The voyage out from England had been nothing short of a bloody nightmare. Still, it did have a few lighter moments, including a troupe of eight painted, but pretty chorus girls who had kept him entertained. “This way.” The driver took charge of the lady’s bag, leaving Marcus to pick up his own. The roadside tavern looked anything but impressive, although the light spilling out on to the verandah offered some reassurance. A large, fat fellow in grubby pants met them at the door, and Marcus shuddered with distaste. Fastidious in his own habits, if this oaf’s appearance was anything to go by, he teetered on the brink of a hideous nightmare. Their driver, having dumped them like pieces of flotsam, disappeared without a word. Not even bothering to hide his disdain, Marcus stepped warily across the threshold. Bare wooden floors had been swept clean. The interior walls appeared to be made from white washed, pit-sawn logs. A number of men lounged at roughly hewn tables with tankards in their hands, and they nodded without much interest. He returned their greeting in a like manner. Another rowdy bunch dressed in dark uniforms caught his eye momentarily. The innkeeper, following his gaze, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “They’re police reinforcements coming to escort Johnny Dawson from Goulburn to the jail in Sydney.” He lowered his voice still further and leaned closer. His rancid breath blowing in Marcus’ face smelt so nauseating he nearly 2

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retched. Thank goodness he had eaten hours ago; otherwise he would surely have lost everything in his stomach. “Rumour has it some of his friends are planning an escape.” Marcus stepped back a pace. “Oh?” His eyes flicked towards the group again. Shrugging his indifference, he started to move away. His smelly tormentor tenaciously followed him, obviously loathe to lose his captive audience. “You’ve heard of Johnny Dawson?” “No, my good man, I have not.” “He’s a bushranger. Been running wild for a couple of years now, treats the troopers with scorn. Usually operates a bit further north, though.” The innkeeper scratched at his head. Marcus winced. Dear God, surely the oaf wasn’t lousy? “You don’t say. My room, if you please. I’m in need of a wash, food and bed, in that order.” Scrubbing his hand wearily across his chin, Marcus felt the rough stubble of beard. He badly needed a shave. It would have to wait until the morning because he couldn’t be bothered now. God, how he missed having servants catering to his every whim. You never knew what you had until you lost it. How true. He hadn’t eaten in hours; food, however unpalatable, was now a necessity. “We have a private sitting room where you could eat, Sir, when you’ve refreshed yourself.” “Thank you.” Marcus followed the innkeeper down a hallway until they came to a door standing slightly ajar. A lantern resting on a wooden dresser partly lit the room. There was a matching wardrobe, large brass bedstead and nothing else. “I’ll bring you some hot water if you want to shave tonight, Sir.” 3

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“Thank you, but the water in the jug will suffice for now. I’ll shave in the morning.” He dismissed the man after ascertaining where the private dining room was situated. As he put his bag inside the cavernous wardrobe, Marcus grimaced at his travel worn clothes and dishevelled appearance. His once immaculate trousers were shockingly creased, his white silk stock almost grubby. Thank heavens his swell London friends couldn’t see him now. It would be too humiliating. He spent a fortune on clothes; his tailor, one of the most exclusive in London, numbered royalty among his select clientele. Later, as he ate roast beef, washed down with several glasses of wine, he once more brooded on his misfortune. His own exploits were mild compared to those of his father, he thought morosely. Only one thing worse than a reformed drunk—a reformed rake. His chances of making a suitable marriage in England were almost negligible now. Not that he particularly wanted to marry if he couldn’t have Sylvia. Still, being an only son he did have certain responsibilities, and a large dowry would help finance some of his excesses. How could he have been so stupid and reckless? It was Sylvia’s fault, damn her to hell. He had gone quite mad for a time. Normally, he acted with discretion when dealing with women, particularly married ones, but he had crossed the line between acceptable philandering and common decency. Getting caught in bed with a fellow officer’s wife had been bad enough, having her cry rape proved disastrous. It had taken his own family’s considerable influence and that of his Godfather, Earl Darrington, plus large sums of money, to hush the affair up and keep him out of jail. He had 4

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been left with no option but to resign his Commission in the army and flee England immediately. **** “George, we can’t let you do it. It’s too dangerous,” Johnny said frantically. “God, if you get caught they’ll hang you.” Three horses, still breathing heavily from their headlong flight, stood close together. The night was black and thick with menace as the riders argued. “It’s the only way,” George said. “I’ll lead them off in the opposite direction. If we split up we’ll confuse them.” The sounds of pursuit came once more, a sudden pounding of hooves echoing in the stillness. George heeled her horse into motion. She gave a reckless yell that resounded loudly in the darkness. The road pounded beneath the hooves of her chestnut mare. The others must get away and separation was their best chance. If she got caught, even dressed in men’s clothing, she could bluff her way out by weeping or even throwing a fainting fit. The local authorities knew her as George, a girl who never wore anything but men’s clothing. There were a number of options open to her that weren’t available for the boys. It had been foolish getting involved, but Johnny was her brother and she couldn’t let him down. She had to keep Billy under control, too. His reckless bravado bordered on dangerous. Please, God, let them get away safely, she prayed desperately. As the gap between her and the police troopers narrowed, she concentrated on outrunning them. Crouching low in the saddle, she suddenly veered off the road and galloped straight into the forest. It was sheer bad luck that a low hanging branch unseated 5

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her, and before she could scramble up, her mare bolted. The sounds of horses sent her diving for cover in the dense undergrowth. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe, willing her heart to stop its frantic pounding. Her pursuers came so close she could have reached out a hand and touched them. She gritted her teeth to stop them chattering from fear and cold. As she waited for the horsemen to disappear into the night, George debated what to do for the best. Undoubtedly, they would find the mare then they would return. It would not take much backtracking on their part to find her trail, even in the dark. She had blundered about like a stampeding herd of cattle, flattening bushes, breaking off small branches and leaving a trail anyone but a blind man could follow. In some ways it was a pity she hadn’t ridden her own horse because Molly would make for home, but it was too risky riding their own mounts in case someone recognized them. When they last visited Johnny in jail and hatched their escape plans, he had been optimistic about success. He didn’t realise that she would be helping Billy instead of Dave Gleeson, who couldn’t come at the last minute. Getting to her feet, George dusted down her close fitting moleskin trousers and overlarge man’s shirt. She decided to head north in the direction of home, a distance of about fifteen miles across country. Just thinking about the arduous journey in front of her made her shudder, but it had to be better than being dragged off to gaol for helping a bushranger escape his captors. She shivered in the freezing frosty air. The excitement of the chase when the three of them were together was a whole lot different to being stranded out here alone. Pull yourself together, she scolded, stop dithering. 6

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She set off running at about half pace. Her boots crushed the ferns and ground-hugging wild flowers so ruthlessly it would have pained her at any other time, but escape was paramount. After what seemed like hours, she saw lights up ahead. Her heart pounded; her breath came out in long tortured gasps and she started to get a stitch in her side. Sheer desperation gave her the strength to force her wavering limbs onwards. Jewell’s tavern, thank goodness. Sam Jewell was a friend of her uncle, O’Rourke. An ex-convict, Sam hated the authorities with a passion, so he would hide her for the night then loan her a horse in the morning. Lady luck seems to be with me, she thought, giving a choking laugh of relief, only hope it’s travelling with the boys, also. It was over a mile to the hotel, but she set off with renewed vigour, keeping to the scrub as much as possible in case the troopers returned. There would be quite a heavy frost here tonight. By morning, the ground would be white and it would be perishing cold. She pulled her jacket even more closely around her and hunched her shoulders in an endeavour to keep warm. Strange how still it was, but this stillness could prove an ally because any sounds of pursuit would carry on the night air. A mopoke crying out caused her to shiver and hunch deeper into her jacket. If only I’d been born a man I could have joined up with Johnny and roamed the bush with him. All her life she had lived in a male household. She couldn’t remember her parents, Maryanne and Jake. O’Rourke had reared her after Aunt Libby died about twelve years ago. No one outside the family knew that Johnny 7

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was her brother. Safer that way, O’Rourke always said. Whenever she asked him about the mystery, he promised to tell her when the time was right. Surprisingly, Johnny agreed with him. In fact he was even more insistent than O’Rourke that his true identity be kept secret. A matter of life and death he always said. She couldn’t understand O’Rourke’s logic, but it never entered her head to defy him. She had lived in his house and been brought up like his own sons. Billy, at seventeen, was just a few months younger than her. Tom, the eldest at twenty-one, worked on a cattle station near the Queensland border. Danny had been eighteen when the police troopers mistook him for a bushranger and shot him dead. Danny stole a few head of cattle as most poor farmers did, but there had been no need to shoot him down like a rabid dog. O’Rourke, like most of the locals, helped the bushrangers whenever they could. Many of them had been persecuted and hounded into crime. She stoked her anger to counteract her fear. Sons of convicts or poor farmers got little chance to make anything out of life with the justice system biased towards the wealthy landowners. O’Rourke supplemented their income with a bit of cattle stealing on the side. She had helped him change brands sometimes or watched as he branded stray clean skins they found wandering in the scrub. His philosophy had been simple. If they belonged to someone they wouldn’t be left wandering around, so any man who rounded them up should be entitled to keep them. George gasped in shock when she arrived at the hotel. Police horses were tied up outside. Probably the reinforcements from Sydney Johnny spoke about. She bit her lip to 8

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stop it trembling. It wasn’t easy being brave on your own. Her teeth started chattering with cold and she could barely feel her toes. Were they frost bitten? She remembered hearing somewhere that frost bitten limbs turned black and had to be amputated. Could you walk without your toes? she wondered frantically, trying to control her terror. Edging along the verandah, she peeped through the window and saw several troopers sitting at a table drinking. By the looks of them they had settled in for a long stay. A sudden pounding of hooves intruded on the stillness. Her mouth dried up, her hands shook even though she clenched them tightly. Her pursuers were hot on her heels. Oh God. If she went in through the main entrance, the drinking troopers would see her; if she waited out here, she would be discovered. Of course, her pursuers had not seen her clearly in the darkness, but loitering near a hotel in men’s clothing so late at night would arouse suspicion. Several rooms opened up off the verandah, so she made a dive for the nearest one. Once inside, she closed the door and slumped against it, feeling weak and exhausted. When her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw that the room was empty. Obviously lady luck still smiled upon her. I’ll stay the night here, better than sleeping outside in the bush and perhaps freezing to death. In the morning, she would ask Sam for some food and a fresh horse to make good her escape. Feeling her way to the bed, George leaned against it to pull off her boots, which she shoved out of sight. After slipping off her jacket, she put it under the bed with her boots, turned down the covers and thankfully, crawled in. It could not be more than about nine o’clock. She was famished, having not eaten for hours, but food was one luxury that would 9

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not be forthcoming tonight. It would be madness to risk capture because of hunger. Sleeping in trousers and a shirt didn’t appeal to her much either, but by the sounds of activity going on outside, this room was going to be a haven. The troopers, who had dismounted and were now making their way on to the verandah, spoke loudly. “Can’t have gotten too far on foot.” “Let’s have a drink and some hot food,” another said. Their voices faded as they disappeared inside. The minutes ticked slowly by and George started to relax. The bed felt comfortable, quite warm even, so she stretched her legs out straight for a moment, wriggled her toes then curled back into a little ball, which was the way she always slept. It had been an anxious, emotion filled day. The warm comfort of the bed lulled her gently, her eyes started growing heavy and her last thoughts were of Johnny. He had only come back into her life a couple of years ago, but she loved him as if they had spent their whole lives together. He was brave, kind hearted and resourceful, and the mystery surrounding him only added to his aura. George would never know what wakened her, the lamplight or the man’s savage oath. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in here, boy?” The aristocratic Englishman looked very tall, she noticed fearfully. His blue eyes, contrasting starkly against his dark wavy hair, were so full of such cold fury, she trembled. “Get out.” “Please, the troopers are after me.” “Too bad. I don’t share my bed with pretty boys.” He strode towards the door. His hand reached for the key, before she could dive out of bed and stop him. 10

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“Please.” Her headlong flight loosened the pins holding back her hair, and it tumbled over her shoulders in a tangled mass of red gold curls. “They’ll shoot me.” She clutched at his arm. His mouth opened and closed in amazement. His eyes narrowed speculatively. “What do you think you’re playing at? Ah!” He snapped his fingers. “You come with the room.” “No. No.” Her frantic hands fluttered against his chest. “I thought the room was empty. I hid here because the troopers were after me.” Fear forced her confession. “Don’t let them find me.” He glowered at her. “I’ll leave as soon as they go. I promise” A fist pounded against the door. “Open up in there.” “Please.” With tear filled eyes she silently begged the man not to betray her. His mouth compressed, his nostrils flared, and George knew she was doomed. He hesitated for a moment before barking out, “I’m in bed. What do you want?” He stepped away from the doorway, dragging her with him. His fingers bit so deeply into the flesh of her arm she wondered whether they would leave a hole. “We want to search the room for Johnny Dawson, the bushranger. Unlock the door.” “Like hell, I will. There are no outlaws in here. What do you take me for?” Even though he spoke in anger, George recognised his upper class English accent. Oh God, what could she do? The rattle of a key turning in the lock caused her heart to almost catapult out of her chest. She frantically prayed for a miracle. Even if this English 11

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gentleman did not betray her, she had no place to hide. “They’re coming in,” she whispered fearfully. He grabbed her before she could even utter a protest and flung her on the bed. Diving on top of her, he somehow managed to pull the bedclothes over them both. The weight of his body pinned hers to the mattress. Her skin burned as if it had suddenly caught fire. His breath, smelling slightly of whiskey, lifted the loosened strands of hair at the side of her throat. The door swung open. The Englishman stifled her cry of terror with his mouth. His lips felt warm and firm. The bristles on his unshaven cheeks rasped against her soft skin. Her breasts were flattened against the hard wall of his chest. His arms were strong, well muscled like the rest of his body. She could feel his hardness. His strength. The sheer animal magnetism of him. She felt a swirling warmth deep within her feminine recess. When he released her lips, she felt strangely bereft. Turning his head, he said casually. “Can’t you see I’m, er, busy?” Propping himself up on one elbow, he kept her hidden with his body. The troopers snickered. “Search the room if you have a mind to,” the Englishman invited. “I don’t think you’ll find any outlaws here. I never, well, let’s say, entertain a lady in my bed in front of an audience. Bad for one’s concentration.” The trooper laughed and his bawdy comment made George squirm. When he left the room with a final snicker, the Englishman shifted his body away from hers. Shockingly, wantonly, she wanted him to hold her again. Was she mad? He stood up, forking his fingers through his hair. 12

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“Right, who the hell are you?” “I’m George.” “Don’t lie to me.” “I’m not lying.” She couldn’t move. The heat of his body had somehow fused her to the mattress. “Georgina’s my name really, but everyone calls me George.” “All right, Georgina, start explaining.” He hovered over her like a giant hawk mercilessly waiting to swoop on its prey. “I thought the room was empty.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to spend the night here and get a fresh horse in the morning. Mine bolted on me.” “You live near here?” “No, about twenty miles away,” she told him, giving a vague wave of her hand. “Your parents know what you’re up to, I suppose?” “I don’t have any parents, only my Uncle. We, that is Billy and I came to help Johnny escape from the troopers. They wanted to take him to Sydney.” She barely paused for breath. This Englishman had her life in his hands. She must make him understand the peril waiting for her outside. “They started shooting; it was awful.” She shuddered dramatically. “I thought they would kill us.” “Johnny?” “Yes, Johnny D…Dawson,” she said, stumbling over his name. “Dawson, the bushranger? You’re mixing with an outlaw, a common criminal?” “He isn’t a criminal. They persecuted him, drove him to crime. The troopers were transferring him from Goulburn to Sydney. You’re an Englishman,” she went on passionately. “You don’t understand how things are here. We have to 13

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help each other. It’s the only way we can survive against the landed gentry and the police.” “All right, I’m not really interested. I have too many worries of my own.” Why had he bothered hiding her? “You’d better find somewhere else to hide. This is my room, and my bed, for tonight at least. I certainly don’t propose sharing it with riff-raff like you.” His cold eyes surveyed her contemptuously. “Please.” She levered herself up on the pillow. “Let me stay here until morning; there’s going to be a snow white frost tonight. I’ll freeze to death outside.” “You should have thought of that before getting yourself into this mess,” he said unsympathetically, taking a bag out of the wardrobe and placing it on the bed. “I’m not leaving.” She tossed her head in defiance, watching as his eyes narrowed. Would he hear the frantic pounding of her heart? They shared a fraught silence for a moment. As if suddenly making up his mind, he gave an indifferent shrug. “The bed is big enough for both of us. If you don’t mind, why should I?” What kind of place was this Australia? Were all its women whores? He had associated with many different women in his time, but never come across anyone willing to give herself to a stranger just to sleep in his bed. Of course, she was mixed up with that Johnny Dawson creature, probably his mistress. Her startling emerald eyes darkened almost to jade. “Please, Mister, don’t take your clothes off.” He watched in surprise as her lips trembled, two fat tears dropped from her eyes and dribbled down each cheek. She knelt on the bed now, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Wearing tight fitting breeches and a man’s shirt, she 14

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could easily pass for a youth, except for the long hair. “You happen to be in my bed. I pride myself on being a gentleman, but I have endured hours in a bumpy, cramped coach and need a good night’s rest, so I’m afraid I cannot offer to sleep on the floor.” “I’ll sleep on the floor.” Slithering off the bed, she faced him. No wonder she could masquerade so successfully as a youth he thought, running his gaze over her fine build. The shapeless man’s shirt hid her girlish—no, womanly, he corrected himself—attributes. He had felt the swell of her breasts and the thrust of her nipples against his chest. Her hair in the lamplight shimmered like burnished gold. She looked exquisite. Her tremulous mouth had tasted as sweet as honey, and her soft feminine curves had moulded themselves into his hard male contours. “Could I have a blanket to wrap myself in?” George deliberately made her voice humble. Those tears had been a nice touch, too. Johnny always said men could never stand watching women cry, and she had been desperate enough to break into heart rendering sobs if the first couple of tears failed to win him over. The floor would be hard and cold. Still, a blanket in a nice warm room was better than sleeping out on a frosty night. It would be beneath an English gentleman’s dignity to sleep on anything but a bed. His shirt was of the finest linen. He had quality written all over him. She had never met such a handsome man before, six feet in height at least, strong and lean, powerfully male. His cheeks and jaw were covered with dark stubble, his vivid blue eyes a striking contrast to his dark brown hair. He didn’t have 15

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the lily white complexion of most newly arrived Englishmen; his skin was tanned to a sun kissed, golden hue. His blue eyes raked her thoroughly, scrutinising, speculative, as if trying to see inside her head. Embarrassed heat crawled across her cheeks. His anger was tanglible as he fought some inward battle with himself. She should be frightened of him, wary at least, but strangely she wasn’t. When he wrenched a blanket off the bed and threw it at her, she almost toppled over trying to catch it. “Good night. Thank you for letting me stay.” He grunted something incomprehensible before snuffing out the lamp, leaving her to fumble around in the darkness until she found a suitable corner in which to sleep. With the blanket wrapped tightly around, she settled down to what was undoubtedly going to be a long night. Creaking springs and rustling bedclothes indicated he was making himself comfortable. She heard him punch the pillow several times. Within a short time she dozed off, but her sleep became peppered with nightmares, and she finally woke up shivering with fright and cold. Climbing stiffly to her feet, she started walking up and down on the one spot trying to get warm. By the regular breathing coming from the bed, the Englishman slept soundly. Who wouldn’t in a comfortable, warm bed? Selfish beast. Her teeth started chattering; her whole body trembled with a cold that seeped into her bones and gnawed at them like a hungry dog. She was in a dangerous situation, which called for desperate measures. The hard floor felt damp, and the cold wind sweeping in through the crack under the door would give her pneumonia. She couldn’t get sick, not yet at least. How would she ever make it back home? For a king’s ransom she couldn’t explain why, but she 16

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trusted the Englishman not to violate her. A man like him would have no need to force himself on any woman. They would eagerly come to him. As silently as a ghost, she crept towards the bed and climbed in, keeping near the edge, as far away as possible from the Englishman. Even though there was a distance between them, she could still feel the warmth emanating from his body. Wait until the others heard about this. They would never believe it. She could hardly comprehend it herself. Sharing a bed with a man? She had never been romantically interested in men, in fact, had always been wary of any emotional entanglements whatsoever. Billy clumsily tried to kiss her a few months ago and she had boxed his ears, but this Englishman’s kiss had not been unpleasant. In fact, she liked it, more shockingly, never wanted it to end. It felt nice being warm again. Snuggling into the mattress she fought against the temptation to touch the Englishman who slept with his back towards her. He was not a restless sleeper, in fact, lay quite still. His breathing sounded regular and even, as if nothing troubled him, which of course it didn’t. What worries could a rich handsome man like him have? On this thought, sleep claimed her once more. **** Marcus stirred and blinked his eyes. Damn that wretched moon shining right in his face. Why hadn’t the drapes been drawn? Of course, this was Australia. Probably didn’t have such things as window coverings. He stretched out his legs and came in contact with warm flesh. Rolling over on to his side, he was amazed to find Georgina asleep beside him. 17

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The moon lit the room up so brilliantly, he could see her quite clearly. He grinned to himself. Being cold or sharing a bed with him, she must have chosen him as the lesser of the evils. Gently, he traced the lines of her face with one finger. He put his lips to the hollow of her throat, and his nostrils filled with the perfume of her hair. Never had he seen such a glorious colour. It looked as if the rays of the sun had gotten trapped in the tangled waves and curls. Her milky white skin felt smooth, soft as the petals of a rose and just as fragrant. A knot of desire began to grow within him as he brushed his hand across her firm young breasts. Her shirt had somehow got caught up, stretching so tightly he could see the outline of her nipples. He could barely restrain himself from drawing one of the tiny pink rosebuds into his mouth and suckling it into life. “Georgina,” he whispered, hoping she would wake up so they could make love. She stirred slightly. Giving a little wriggle, her body curved itself trustingly into the contour of his, and with a contented sigh, she lay still. He felt a sudden unaccustomed shame at his carnal thoughts. Whatever she was, Georgina couldn’t be classed as a common harlot. For a few moments, he dared not move in case he broke the spell. An almost ethereal beauty surrounded her as she slept like a child, with one hand bunched up under her chin. Her hair splayed out in all its glory across the pillow, and when the moon sailed away from the window, plunging the room into blackness, Marcus felt bereft. The blankets slipped away, so he drew them back carefully around her. With one hand resting on her waist, to keep her soft warmth close to him, he let himself drift back into a 18

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contented sleep. **** George woke up as tentacles of pink streaked the dawn sky. No wonder she felt so warm and snug, she was wrapped up in the Englishman’s arms. Carefully, she extracted herself from him and slid out of bed. Hurriedly, she pulled on her boots, retrieved her jacket and pushed her hair up inside her hat. Gazing at the Englishman for one last time, she couldn’t believe how hard it was to leave him. What kind of idiot was she? He had obviously given no thought to her, hadn’t even bothered to tell her his name. You fool, she raged at herself for even giving him a second thought. She decided to borrow a horse from the stables. Stealing a police horse, what a lark that would be, but she squashed this reckless idea—no point asking for trouble. Could one hang for horse stealing? She did not know for sure and vowed not to find out either. Dawn renewed her strength even though she was starving, and once more she felt brave, ready to cope with anything. With some hard riding across country on the little known bush tracks she could be home by nightfall. As stealthily as a thief, she departed the room and crept along the verandah. All seemed still in that interval between pre-dawn darkness and not quite daylight. Giant gum trees and thick bush surrounded three sides of the hotel, with only the laugh of a kookaburra breaking the eerie silence. Around the back, towards the kitchen area George went, her hunger pangs drawing her there against her will. It added to the risk, but her stomach would not be denied. The back door to the kitchen area, which was separate from the main building, would be open. Sam or his wife might even be up 19

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and about by now. I’ll scrounge some food, borrow a horse and leave a note saying I’ve just passed through. Sam could always be relied on for help. His only son had ridden with bushrangers before being captured and incarcerated in the Goulburn jail. No one was about, but a fire still smouldered in the stove. A quick search brought to light some cold mutton and a loaf of bread. Hacking the bread in half, she filled her mouth, before gathering together a little store of supplies. She took a piece of cheese, a couple of apples, half the loaf, and a hunk of cold mutton and stuffed these into an empty flour bag. It seemed unlikely that the troopers would have recognised her in the darkness. She had waited a little distance away with the horses while Billy worked on the chains imprisoning Johnny. They had manacled him like some wild beast to a wagon wheel. She fed her fury and hatred of the police by thinking of this. It would make what she was now attempting easier to carry out. Had there been time, she might have written the Englishman a note. His assistance, though grudging, nevertheless saved her from being arrested or, at least, having to answer some awkward questions. Johnny should never have got mixed up with the bushrangers. What was left for him now except years on the run? He would probably end up being killed in a hail of bullets like Danny, or worse still, dangled from the end of a rope. Why hadn’t he stayed in America where he was safe? She wrote a quick note to Sam saying she had just dropped in on passing, and at the bottom of the page signed it ‘George O’Rourke’. He would guess what the message conveyed and would know that the horse would eventually be re20

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turned to him. A quick glance out the kitchen window showed the yard to be clear. It did not take her long to make for the stables, saddle a horse and ride away. Several times, she nervously glanced back over her shoulder. There appeared no sign of pursuit, thank goodness. The police horses were in a holding yard near the stables so they had obviously decided to stay the night, too. It felt perishing cold. She shivered as her breath wafted on the frosty air in little steamy puffs, before disappearing. Her mount, a sturdy workhorse, had speed as well as stamina. It was springtime now and the bush overflowed with flowers. Blue native flax contrasted starkly with the buttercups nodding their heads in the gentle breeze. The golden wattle bloomed brightly and little balls of yellow fluff floated down onto her hat and shoulders as she brushed against low hanging branches. Nothing broke the silence except for the brightly coloured parrots calling out to each other. Mid morning, she stopped to rest the horse and eat some food. The sun shone now and warmth returned to her freezing limbs. She scrambled down into the creek. Purple sarsaparillas entwined themselves around the trees, which grew almost to the water’s edge. Here, too, dog roses grew in a tangled mass of pale pink flowers. The banks appeared quite steep, and as there was no time to find a safe place to bring the horse down to drink, George did the next best thing. Filled her hat with water and took it to him. Her hair dangled in a snarled mess about her shoulders now, her pants and jacket were grubby, her boots encrusted with sticky yellow mud. How strange, her appearance had never bothered her be21

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fore. It was the wretched Englishman’s fault that she now felt conscious of her shabby attire. Even though he was tired, obviously travel worn, his clothes looked impressive. She shook her head trying to clear it of such foolishness, but the thought of never seeing him again made her feel sad. The hours passed by as she kept up a steady pace, stopping only now and again for a short rest. No signs of pursuit. Her luck seemed to be holding. She worried about Johnny and Billy, would they be safe? Hopefully Billy was home already, relaying with gusto their adventures to O’Rourke. Johnny could not spend even one night at the homestead now, as the police troopers would be waiting to pounce if he came within a mile of their place. He would be away in the ranges lying low at one of his numerous hideouts. None of them knew exactly where he holed up. Too dangerous, he always said, so they could never contact him in person. He knew the troopers were close by because of their signal. It was not an elaborate system, quite simple really. If the cock on the weather vane over her bedroom roof faced north, it was safe for him to come over, if it faced south there was danger. Unseen by anyone from the outside, a string had been attached to the cock, and passed through one of the roof shingles, so she only needed to pull it in the required direction. At night she flashed the lamp, twice for safe, three times for danger. O’Rourke hated the police. Not only because they had murdered his son, but Johnny had been with him on that fateful day, and from then on he became a wanted man. Two boys went out for a leisurely ride; one died, the other became a wanted man with a price on his head. Dusk had fallen by the time she reached the simple slab 22

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homestead that was weathered silver by the elements. Just seeing it standing silently surrounded by trees and mountains brought a lump to her throat. Wearily she watched the smoke drifting in a lazy spiral from the chimney, its woody smell seemed somehow welcoming. Nelson, a large black dog named after Lord Nelson for reasons she could not remember, bounded out to greet her, followed by O’Rourke. He was a huge bear of a man, with a thick thatch of iron-grey hair and matching bushy whiskers. His pale blue eyes were faded from years of squinting into a hot Australian sun, but he still retained a slight Irish accent even after so many years in the colony. Lowering the slip rails, he waited for her to dismount. “I’m glad you’ve arrived home safely. Where are the others?” “I don’t know.” He led the horse while she walked beside him explaining what had transpired. For some inexplicable reason that she didn’t dare dwell upon, she left out the Englishman’s involvement. “Bastards.” O’Rourke swore viciously on hearing how the troopers fired on them. He was not an uncouth man, just thought of her as one of the boys. Once this would have pleased her; now strangely she wondered what it would be like to be treated like a young lady, to wear pretty gowns, perhaps have young men court her. She pulled her thoughts up sharply. What’s wrong with me? I’ve always been quite happy with my lot before. I like being treated as one of the boys. I can’t remember ever owning a dress. Let alone wearing one. O’Rourke had been kind in his rough bushman’s way, 23

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most of the time he forgot her gender. Anything his sons did, she did also. The only concession she received was since the age of about thirteen, O’Rourke insisted she have a bedroom of her own. Admittedly, it was small, with barely enough room for a bed and a dresser, but it gave her some private space that the boys could never enter. “Are you hungry, girl?” “Starving, I can’t help worrying about the other two though.” She bit her lip to stop it trembling as they moved towards the house. “You go inside; there’s some stew warming on the stove. I’ll see to the horse. Tomorrow or the next day I’ll make arrangements to get him back to Sam.” She whistled the dog over and after receiving a pat, he wandered off. Fatigue started to set in now, so it took all her willpower just to drag one foot wearily after the other. Inside the kitchen, she made for a huge fireplace that took up almost the whole of one wall. This room was the main one in the house. One side of the fireplace was used for storing their cooking utensils, tin pint pots, several three legged cast iron boilers and a long handled fry pan. A bookshelf filled with a number of bound leather volumes, took up most of one wall. It always surprised her that they owned books of such fine quality. O’Rourke said they were quite valuable and had been left there by a teacher friend, who never came back to claim them. George and the boys could read and write, as O’Rourke insisted they all attend school regularly because Aunt Libby wanted them educated. Jake, her father, had gone to a university in America O’Rourke told her once. George sighed as she slumped in an old armchair and 24

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rested her booted feet over the stone fireplace. She felt exhausted, and would wait for O’Rourke to dish up the food. If only Johnny and Billy were safe. Johnny was a wanted man with a price on his head and she lived in dread that one day, someone would get desperate enough for money to turn him in for the reward. The sounds of booted feet on the verandah interrupted her sombre thoughts. “Worn out are you, girl? Hot food and a good night’s sleep is what you need. Don’t worry too much about those boys. They’ll be home in due course.” O’Rourke tried to reassure her by sounding cheerful, but nothing could disguise his anxiety. He had lost one son to a police bullet and didn’t want to lose another. They ate their wallaby stew in silence. Cooking was generally shared between the two of them, and she did any other household jobs. She had little interest in such pastimes, but as they lived simply, it did not take much effort to keep the place tidy. Sipping her tea, she once more thought of the handsome Englishman, inwardly cursing herself for not finding out his name. He was obviously newly arrived in the colony. What had brought him here? Where was he heading? He must be about thirty or so. Married? Probably—a man like him. Why this thought caused a terrible stabbing pain in her heart, she dared not admit.

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Chapter 2 Two days passed before a tired and dusty Billy arrived home with the news that Johnny had made it safely to the ranges. After some food and a change of clothes, Billy became his cheerful self once more. He was a tall, slim, cleanly shaven youth with flyaway copper hair. George watched as he devoured a handful of biscuits with youthful enthusiasm, only stopping every now and again to answer his father’s questions. “What’s the matter with you, George?” he asked suddenly. “You’ve gone quiet and moony since I got back.” He flicked her under the chin with one finger and she irritably knocked his hand away. “Leave me alone, why don’t you?” “All right.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. She suddenly felt ashamed of herself. He was a terrible torment, but she shouldn’t have snapped at him for something so minor. He had teased her for years, which had never worried her overmuch before. “I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “I feel sort of low since I got back. I can’t stop worrying about Johnny. The police will put a bigger price on his head now. He made fools out of 26

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them by escaping so they won’t rest until he’s caught.” “It’s all right.” Billy instantly accepted her apology. “Let’s ride over to Stantons’. I want to see Dave Gleeson.” “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I can’t stand Kathryn Stanton. Stuck up snob, she always looks at me as if I’m a lump of cow dung or something.” “Aw come on. Don’t worry about her, we won’t be going anywhere near the big house. I heard she’s very busy at the moment.” He smirked. “Busy?” George snorted. “Miss Kathryn Stanton has never done a day’s work in her whole life.” George tossed her head, causing her auburn curls to ripple across her shoulders. She always wore her hair loose indoors, but when riding or working outside, shoved it up inside her hat to keep it out of the way. Once she told O’Rourke she wanted to cut it off, but he became so upset she never mentioned it again. Glancing down at her brown moleskins, which were tucked into black knee boots, she shrugged her acceptance. Why not go? She had nothing better to do. A ride in the fresh air might be just the thing to force out all the unsettling thoughts buzzing around inside her head. She shoved her hair up into her hat and followed Billy out of the homestead. It was pleasant cantering along, the spring sun shone down from a sky that was vividly blue, except for one or two banks of fluffy white cloud. Willy wagtails swooped and flitted busily from tree to tree, their black and white feathers a contrast against the green gums and yellow wattle. The Stanton family belonged to the district’s gentry. Mrs. Stanton became well known for being an absolute snob, while her husband, a retired Army Officer from a moneyed English 27

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family, acted as the local Magistrate. They only had one child, Kathryn, and everyone knew they were anxious to find her a suitable husband, suitable meaning wealthy and preferably titled. They had only lived in the district for a few years and were disliked by the locals because of their arrogant, patronizing attitude. Dave Gleeson, Billy’s friend, was the son of the head stockman. “Looks like Stantons might be getting rid of Kathryn at long last.” Billy grinned. “How do you mean, getting rid of?” George laughed, feeling much happier now. “Some cousin or other has turned up from England, a Lord’s son I think. Poor bastard, Dave reckons he looks like the victim.” “Victim? What a way to put it.” “Well, she’s an arrogant, stuck up bitch.” “Don’t use such crude language. Let’s have a race. Last to Stantons’ has to do the dishes for a week,” she dared, and Billy immediately took up the challenge. Tightening her chinstrap so her hat wouldn’t blow off, she waited for his signal. When he dropped his arm down, she heeled the mare into action. They raced neck and neck for a time until, under Billy’s ruthless flogging, his horse surged ahead and George realized she would have to do something drastic to win. Molly was a good jumper. Dare she? Veering slightly, she put the mare at one of the fences. Sailing over it easily, she gave a triumphant laugh. George charged across the paddocks, clearing a couple more fences. She would win, by several hundred yards at least. It would be impossible for Billy to catch up now. 28

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**** “Well, really.” Kathryn Stanton narrowed her eyes and tossed her head causing the black curls, which had been carefully caught up in a velvet ribbon, to bounce about her shoulders. Her lips formed themselves into a pout. “I shall speak to father about this. Dave Gleeson has no right encouraging those O’Rourkes here. They’re criminals, low down convicts. They should be in jail with the other bushrangers.” Marcus Lindquist smiled down at his companion. She was quite attractive this cousin of his, and he could do a lot worse than offer marriage. As an only child, she would provide a handsome dowry. His Aunt and Uncle seemed anxious for the match. His own parents must have had this very idea in mind when they suggested he stay here with them. By jove, that lad could ride. He felt Kathryn slip her arm through his and decided to leave it there as they watched the horseman. “Those O’Rourkes are no good. Mixed up with that Dawson creature. Everyone says Johnny Dawson is a regular visitor at their place.” Johnny Dawson? The name sounded vaguely familiar to him. Before Marcus could remember where he had heard it before, he watched the horse stumble after clearing the last fence. It managed to regain its footing at the last minute, but the rider somersaulted through the air and landed flat on his back. Marcus started towards the youth who now lay motionless. “Leave them be.” Kathryn drew him away. “One of the men can see to things. Even Billy O’Rourke isn’t rash enough to jump those fences, but George is crazy. Imagine a 29

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girl dressing up as a...” Marcus did not listen to the last couple of words, but started sprinting to where the rider still lay. He reached Georgina, just as Dave Gleeson and a wildeyed youth who must be Billy arrived. “Don’t move her yet,” he ordered. The others hesitated as he knelt beside the prostrate figure. Gently his hands slid down Georgina’s body, feeling for broken bones. None to be found, thank God. “Georgina.” Her eyelids flickered. He loosened the chinstrap and pushed her hat back, causing the red gold curls to tumble about her face and shoulders. “Georgina.” He suddenly found himself staring into her emerald eyes. “My Englishman.” He bent low to catch her whispered words. “Yes, your Englishman.” She smiled before closing her eyes once more. Her face looked so white it became almost transparent, and he could see the slight blueness of veins sketched under her skin. Even her lips appeared bloodless. When the others returned with some brandy, Marcus put the bottle to her lips, forcing some of the liquid down her throat. She coughed and spluttered then tried to raise herself. “Lie still for a moment,” he commanded. His hands, gentle but firm on her shoulders, held her down. “You bloody idiot, George. You could have been killed.” Billy’s colour started returning. “You all right?” Dave chimed in anxiously. “Yes. I shouldn’t do such idiotic things, but something just came over me and I couldn’t stop myself.” “Here, try to walk.” Marcus pulled her to her feet and she 30

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groaned loudly, screwing up her eyes so the tears would not fall. “Ooh, my head feels like someone’s banging a drum inside it. I’ve twisted my ankle, too, I think.” She swayed, and before anyone else could react Marcus scooped her up into his arms. “I’ll take you to the house where we can check you out more thoroughly.” “No, not the house.” She had an almost overwhelming urge to lift her hand and stroke his cleanly shaven cheek. He wore tight fitting white breeches tucked into black, highly polished knee boots, and his fine linen shirt felt soft against her cheek. His hair, ruffled by the wind, gave him a raffish youthful look. Marcus glanced at Kathryn then at the other two who had dropped back, and now hovered awkwardly in the background. “Father does not allow stock hands or other riff-raff to enter the house.” “Georgina is not a stock hand.” “Really, Marcus.” George watched his jaw tauten and anger darken his blue eyes to violet. “Didn’t your hear me? O’Rourkes are mixed up with Johnny Dawson. They’re Irish convict trash.” “I heard you.” He savaged her with just one look and kept striding towards the house. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Marcus,” she said softly, liking the sound of his name on her lips. He smiled with a flash of even white teeth and George’s heart galloped madly in her chest. He was still the 31

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handsomest man she had ever seen. “Your parents told me to treat this place as if it were my own home, I intend doing so.” George watched with something akin to pleasure as angry colour suffused Kathryn’s cheeks. “They didn’t expect you to get mixed up with the likes of, of…” Kathryn waved her hand around to encompass George as well as the other two. “Convict trash.” They were in the garden now. The lawns were beautifully tended and camellias of pink, red and white were in full bloom, and the fragrance coming from some lilac bushes was as heady as any wine. George, looking around with interest, decided no weed would dare grow in these immaculate beds. There was even a white marble fountain with a birdbath out front. They crossed a stone flagged verandah before passing two giant marble columns that guarded the impressive front door. “I’m all right, Marcus, really I am.” Ignoring both her protests and Kathryn’s fury, he carried her inside where they passed under an archway leading to an elliptical stair hall. A graceful, curved staircase led to a colonnaded first floor. This was capped with a huge dome, and sunlight streamed in from higher up windows. They entered a small sitting room and he deposited her on a crimson brocaded couch. George looked around in awe, never in her whole life had she encountered such splendour. Down one end was a huge black, marble fireplace and near the mantel stood a large urn full of colourful peacock feathers. The claret coloured curtains were made of some shimmering silky material. “What a lovely room.” She touched the brocade, which 32

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felt soft beneath her fingertips. “I thought only Kings and Queens in story books lived in places like this.” He made no comment, just stared at her, his gaze sweeping down the whole length of her body. For the first time ever, George wished she wore a pretty gown like Kathryn’s instead of men’s breeches and jacket. Marcus knelt down on the carpet and rested her foot on his knee. George felt an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through his hair. You idiot, she scolded herself. You almost kill yourself and all you can think about is a man’s hair. His hands were gentle as he removed her shabby boot, before probing her ankle with his fingertips. “Does it hurt?” He applied a little pressure. The pain was excruciating and she bit her lip to stop from screaming. He muttered a swear word under his breath. “You little fool. If it hurts, say so.” “It hurts a bit.” “A bit! The pain nearly causes you to faint and it only hurts a bit.” “Don’t be angry, Marcus.” Daringly, she ran her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it. “I don’t think anything is broken.” He glanced up and stared straight into her eyes. Time suddenly stood still. Nothing was said, but George realised Marcus meant more to her than life itself. She wanted to be with him always, never to let him out of her sight. What an impossible dream. Marcus belonged to the English aristocracy; she was the impoverished daughter of convicts. She watched fascinated as a pulse convulsed in his jaw. He opened his mouth to speak, but before the words came out, 33

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Kathryn, followed by her mother, minced into the room. “Now what is this I hear about…” Mrs. Stanton’s voice trailed off and her body became even more rigid as Marcus got slowly to his feet. “Georgina took a bad spill. I wanted to check nothing was broken.” “No need to bother yourself. One of the servants could have seen to her.” Mrs. Stanton’s animosity felt tangible. She left George in no doubt that she was not worthy enough to even enter her home, let alone sit on her couch. Wicked old witch. “It was no bother.” He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Georgina might like some tea.” “No, thank you, I want to go home.” I’d rather die of thirst than accept so much as a sip of water from here, she thought bitterly. As she went to rise, Marcus rushed to her side. “You took a heavy fall. You should sit quietly for a while until you completely recover.” “Please, Marcus, I don’t want to impose.” For a moment he did not speak, obviously expecting Kathryn or her mother to deny George was causing an imposition. Angry colour ran into his cheeks when they remained silent. “I’ll help you outside, your brother is sure to be waiting with the Gleeson boy.” “Billy’s my cousin.” He helped her on with her boot. She clung to his proffered arm as they started to walk. The pain became so bad it caused moisture to bead her upper lip, but she made no sound. They would have to cut my legs out from under me to stop me 34

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walking away from here, she thought bitterly. I wouldn’t stay in the same room as those Stantons even if I have to leave on my hands and knees. She trembled with the effort to keep moving as they headed towards the hallway. “Georgina.” She suddenly swayed like a drunk, so he scooped her up in his arms again and strode towards the front door. “Put me down. What will Stantons think?” “I don’t give a damn what they think. I’m sorry for what happened in there.” “Don’t be, it’s what I expected. You’re newly arrived from England; you don’t understand how things work here.” “You sound bitter.” “Haven’t I the right? That’s why we help the bushrangers. Most of the time people like Stantons drive them to crime. Grabbing up all the land, swindling people, paying the law to persecute us. We’re sick of being treated like dirt.” “Georgina.” “Put me down please, Billy can help now.” She saw her cousin hovering outside the garden area with their horses. Molly seemed all right thank goodness. In the heat of the moment, all thoughts of the mare had left her head. “Are you all right, George?” Billy asked, wide eyed with worry. “Yes.” “You always did have a hard head.” He gave a relieved laugh. “Marcus, this is my cousin, Billy O’Rourke.” They eyed each other for a moment without speaking. “How do you do, Billy?” 35

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“Can’t you walk, George?” As if just remembering that he still held her, Marcus set her gently on the ground. “Her ankle is injured, see she rests it,” he said shortly, obviously annoyed at Billy’s deliberate snub. “Goodbye, Marcus. Thank you.” She tried to keep the yearning out of her voice. They were unlikely to meet again. The pain in her ankle was nothing compared to the agony of never seeing Marcus again. With Billy’s help she made it to the horses and with Dave holding Molly’s head she carefully mounted. A glance back over one shoulder showed Marcus standing on the verandah staring after them. She lifted her hand, but he did not return her salute, just stood there cold and remote as a statue carved from stone. “You’re an idiot, George. Father will blame me like he always does. You know what he’s like.” “I’m all right.” She tossed her head. “We’ll tell him I tripped over; everyone knows how clumsy I can be.” “I’m meeting Johnny tonight, Dave got a message.” “Johnny! Where?” “You can’t go now, not with your leg.” “What does he want?” Just thinking of Johnny caused fear to surge through her. He was becoming more daring, taking even greater risks. The cold hand of dread clawed her heart to shreds. “It’s too dangerous, Billy. The troopers are everywhere.” “Yeah, I know. Colonel Stanton wrote to Sydney asking for reinforcements. Old bastard’s friendly with some high up officials down there. Dave reckons they’re bringing in black trackers from Queensland, too, might even send for some soldiers.” 36

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“They’ll end up killing him, I know they will. He doesn’t stand a chance. Why doesn’t he clear out while he can, go back to America even.” Her voice broke. Billy shrugged carelessly, but she sensed his mounting excitement. It wouldn’t be long before he took to the ranges. If only Tom would come back; an older brother might have a steadying influence on him. O’Rourke, too eaten up with hatred of the authorities, couldn’t see what was happening around him. George was amazed at these thoughts. Up until a few hours ago she would have been urging him on, even volunteering to go herself. Now all she wanted was for Johnny to be safe—and she wanted Marcus more than anything else in the world. It was hopeless pining for Marcus, a wealthy English gentleman set to marry his oh so suitable cousin Kathryn, pouting, arrogant and vindictive creature that she was. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Come on, George. Hurry up; we’ll never get home at this rate.” Billy rode back to her after only a couple of minutes. He peered into her face and his eyes widened in surprise. “You’re crying.” “No, I’m not,” she lied. “Yes you are, bawling like a bull.” Reaching out, he caught the single teardrop on his fingertip and surveyed it carefully. “I’ve been a pig, sorry.” Before she had a chance to protest, he vaulted on to her horse. His strong young arms wrapped themselves about her waist as he took the reins from her surprised hands. “Billy!” “Let’s go.” He heeled the horse into a canter, leaving his 37

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to follow of its own accord. She leaned back thankfully against him. Her head ached so badly she thought it might split open, while her ankle throbbed so much she feared it was broken. She could end up crippled for life. The tears fell even faster. The sun felt warm on her face. Fruit trees in the passing orchards were full of pink and white blossoms, birds twittered, bees buzzed industriously collecting their nectar, but George’s heart felt weighted down with lead. Within an hour they arrived home. O’Rourke, who had been chopping wood, hurried out into the yard with the axe still in his hands when he saw them riding double. “What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously “George took a spill.” “You all right, girl?” “Yes, just hurt my foot and bumped my head.” She tried to make light of it when she saw how worried he looked. O’Rourke was a man of the bush, and in his abrupt, rough way he had been kind. Few men would have brought up a seven-year-old girl without the help of a woman, especially as she was only his niece. It had never worried her before about having no pretty clothes, even Johnny’s teasing about looking like a man didn’t cause her any great concern up until now. Billy practically leapt from the horse in the yard and waited with outstretched arms for her to slide from the saddle. She held on to him to steady herself. He was young and strong, but would not be able to carry her like Marcus had. Leaning against him she hobbled inside, thankfully collapsing into an old comfortable armchair. O’Rourke, who followed them in, pulled a chair out so she could rest her injured foot on it. Billy took the boiling ket38

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tle from the hob and made some tea, which she drank gratefully. The floor, made from local anthill clay, was bare except for some hessian bags, embroidered with pieces of coloured wool. The curtains were cotton, hand sewn, and faded from the rays of a hot sun over many years, but this humble room had a warm comfortable feel, unlike the cold luxury of the Stanton mansion. They had all spent many happy hours here around the big fireplace. There were only three of them left now. Tom was away, Danny dead, and Johnny was hiding out somewhere in the bush. “I’m meeting Johnny tonight,” Billy informed his father suddenly. “Dave got a message.” “You watch it, son, the police have spies everywhere.” “He wants me to bring him some supplies. I reckon he’s going to lie low for a bit. He knows they’re out in force, the bush telegraph keeps him up to date with what’s happening.” “Will he ever be able to make a new life for himself somewhere else, do you think?” George asked through trembling lips. “Doubt it, things have gone too far now. He’s not safe here, yet he won’t leave. The boy’s a bloody fool, got into trouble almost as soon as he stepped off that ship from America.” “It wasn’t his fault.” “Look, girl, don’t put Johnny on a pedestal. He’s done some dark deeds and got his secrets just like the rest of us.” “What secrets?” “I’ll tell you the whole story one day when the time is right. Better for you not to know now.” O’Rourke seemed so 39

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bitter and angry she dared not pursue the matter any further. I’ll get to the bottom of all this mystery one day, she vowed fiercely. Feeling depressed and sad, she went to bed straight after tea. Her ankle was aching and swollen and her head felt ready to explode. Once they removed her boot, the ankle swelled up to such an extent O’Rourke became really worried. She lay under the blankets, staring up at the calico lined ceiling of this small room, which had been made by putting up a curtain and dividing the main bedroom. O’Rourke slept in his own section, while Billy slept in a closed off part of the back verandah. What dark deeds had Johnny done? O’Rourke talked in riddles sometimes. She turned her thoughts to Marcus once more. He hardly left her mind these days. Why did their backgrounds have to be so different?

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Chapter 3 The next day George felt a little better but still couldn’t put any weight on her ankle. Billy had made a rough crutch, enabling her to get out of bed when the necessity arose. This sapped her puny strength, causing her head to pound so much she was thankful to lay still most of the time. She must have been dozing when the sound of voices floated into her consciousness. Surely that wasn’t Marcus? Yet who else did they know with such a clipped, precise accent? Maybe it was a dream, but no, on pinching herself she found herself very much awake now. **** Marcus glanced around the kitchen and was shocked at what he saw. Though clean, the place looked primitive. He had always lived surrounded by luxury and wealth, and he presumed conditions here wouldn’t be anything much, but a dirt floor, he could scarcely comprehend such a thing. “I’m Marcus Lindquist. I came over to see how Georgina is.” He surveyed the elderly bearded man who must be O’Rourke. “You want to see George?” The old man’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “She’s lying down, you can see her if you want. 41

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Billy told me what happened. We owe you.” “I don’t wish to intrude if she’s resting.” Marcus followed O’Rourke through the kitchen to what was obviously a bedroom, watching without speaking as the old man pulled back a calico curtain. “George, someone to see you.” Marcus had never seen anyone look as lovely as Georgina did just now. Her hair poured over the pillow in all its burnished glory. Her skin was pale as porcelain, and her slightly shadowed eyes were the colour of emeralds. “How are you feeling, Georgina?” He saw surprise flicker in her eyes as she lay with the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. What a pathetically furnished room. An iron bedstead covered by a patchwork quilt and a scrubbed wooden dresser with a chipped china jug on it. He stood there for a moment, with his top hat in one hand, embarrassed about having dressed up so grandly. It only seemed to emphasize the huge social chasm between them. “I’m really all right now, Marcus. O’Rourke told me to rest my ankle.” “Well, if you’re feeling recovered I’d better go. I just wanted to make sure the injury wasn’t serious.” He felt awkward standing in her bedroom. It wasn’t the done thing amongst his social circle for an unmarried man to be in a young lady’s bedroom when she wasn’t his sister or his betrothed. These colonials obviously did not concern themselves with such proprieties. “Sit here.” She patted the bed. Her hands were tanned, a little work-roughened, yet dainty just the same. Feeling self-conscious for the very first time in 42

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years, he did as she asked. After an initial awkwardness, they chatted on various subjects. “What’s your home like? Do you live in a castle?” she asked. He laughed “Not a castle, but it is rather large.” “And servants, do you have lots of them?” “Yes, quite a few.” She was so refreshing, childishly engaging, really, and it surprised him that she could carry on such an entertaining conversation. He didn’t agree with some of her opinions. Though poorly educated, she was obviously intelligent considering her lowly background. When she laughed or spoke passionately about some cause, like banning blood sports, her eyes sparkled like jewels, emphasizing her flawless, alabaster skin. Strange how it did not seem affected by the hot Australian sun. “George, are you all right?” Marcus hastily rose to his feet as someone charged into the room. The young man came to a sliding halt when he realised someone else was there also. “Johnny, you shouldn’t have come,” George cried out. “It’s too dangerous.” Marcus watched fear flare in her eyes, followed by something else he could not put a name to. He was a tall slim young man this Johnny Dawson, maybe five feet eleven or so. He wore dusty moleskin breeches tucked into knee length boots, and a blue work shirt. His beardless face was well tanned. His over-long brown hair was unruly, with one wayward curl in particular flopping across his forehead. He pushed at it with his fingers in a nervous gesture that only seemed to emphasize his youth. Blue eyes, res43

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tlessly darting everywhere, glowed with a reckless light, giving him a slightly wild look. “They told me you had an accident, George.” Marcus was surprised because the young outlaw spoke with an American accent “I took a spill from my horse, cracked my head and twisted my ankle.” Johnny laughed, completely changing his appearance. “A good thing it was only your head, it’s as hard as a rock.” His eyes filled with merriment now and Marcus felt like an intruder. “Johnny, this is Marcus, Marcus, Johnny Dawson, my my…” He picked up her hesitation immediately. “Friend.” The young man scrutinised him. “You’re related to Stantons aren’t you?” “Yes, Mrs. Stanton is my father’s sister.” “Colonel Stanton has set the police on me plenty of times, arrogant old bastard.” “Johnny, Marcus came over to see how I was.” The boy looked edgy. Marcus noticed he kept glancing through the window and pacing restlessly. “I wish you hadn’t come here.” George bit her lip. “The troopers could be watching this place, you take too many risks.” “Billy’s keeping a look out. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t badly hurt.” “Why don’t you give all of this up, Dawson, before it’s too late?” “It’s already too late.” The young bushranger’s voice sounded husky. There was a sudden transience about him now that filled Marcus with dread. 44

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“Don’t say that, Johnny.” Marcus watched the colour drain away from Georgina’s face, leaving it ashen. She raised herself on the pillow, the blankets dropping to her waist, allowed him a glimpse of the faded man’s nightshirt she wore. His first thought—she should be wearing silk and lace, was abruptly driven from his mind and replaced by a burning resentment. Yes, he admitted it—jealousy, as Johnny Dawson rushed over to the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, George, I didn’t mean it. The police will never take me.” He rested his chin on her bright curls, his blue eyes flashing recklessly. “I’ll see them in hell first.” “Don’t say that, I couldn’t bear it if they hurt you.” Tears overflowed from her brilliant green eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Marcus felt like an intruder. With a curt farewell he left them. He shouldn’t have wasted his time visiting this little colonial girl. This poverty stricken farm girl was not worthy of attention from one such as him. He strode outside and mounted the large grey exracehorse he had chosen to ride today. Angrily he spurred it into a full gallop and rode hard all the way to the Stanton property. By the time he handed the horse over to the stable hand his anger had burned itself out. He was a fool for even giving Georgina a second thought. She obviously shared something special with the young bushranger. Probably his mistress. This thought felt like a sword thrusting deep into his gut. “There you are, Marcus,” Kathryn greeted him in the garden. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Mother thought we could go over to the Commissioner’s house, his 45

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wife is giving a tea party.” “Sounds pleasant, I should be glad to accompany you. I went for a ride and must have forgotten the time.” He forced a smile. What was wrong with him? Kathryn would make him suitable wife, and both sets of parents were anxious for the match. They were first cousins, but the family had always been strong and healthy, with little inter marriage over the years. A man nearing his thirties needed a wife and for someone with his background, it was expected he make a good match. **** “Look at the clothes he was wearing, prissy aristocratic dandy,” Johnny said and sneered. “I thought he looked handsome.” George leapt to Marcus’ defence. “Yeah, well you would. You know he wants to seduce you.” “He does not?” Johnny rocked back on his heels. “I can see the lust in his eyes, and that’s all it ever would be. Lust. He couldn’t marry you, George, no matter what.” Once she was alone, she lay back savouring the thought that Marcus had been worried about her. He had looked so handsome in tight fitting white trousers that were tucked into black shiny knee length boots, and with a deep blue cut away coat, no prince could have looked grander. For the first time ever, the humbleness of their homestead bothered her and she desperately wished circumstances could be different. Johnny was wrong about Marcus, he did care for her, but they had no future together. The gap between them was insurmountable. **** 46

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A few days after her fall, George was well enough to help with the annual spring round up. How exhilarating, chasing cattle through the stringy barks and bush that covered most of their property. It took her mind off her hopeless longing for Marcus. Johnny joined them and they shared billy tea and damper in the bush together. They laughed and teased each other, forgetting for a time the problems plaguing them. Just like the old days when Tom and Danny had been with them. Even though she was a girl, they had never left her out of their activities. **** A benign sun shone from a cerulean sky that was intermittently spotted with fluffy balls of white cloud. Perfume from the blossoming fruit trees wafted on the breeze, and brilliant red, the flowering iron barks seemed full of squawking bird life. Shaded by a huge wattle tree, George sat listening to the creek babbling its way over pebbles so white they became dazzling in the sunlight. She thought wistfully of Marcus. Even though she knew she loved him now, the social divide was just too great between an English gentleman and a colonial farm girl who came from convict stock. Nelson flopped down beside her on the grass, worn out from his morning game of chasing butterflies. A big, slobbering dog of mixed parentage, she had loved him since he was brought home as a wet, whimpering bundle of fur by O’Rourke. He was old now as dogs go, and because he tired easily, never wandered away from the homestead. Sometimes, he might follow her to the half-mile post if she rode into town 47

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and he would lie in the shade of the bushes until she returned. If she went out mustering with O’Rourke or Billy, he would wait with devoted patience at the slip rails to welcome her home with a joyous bark. “I have to go into town now, boy.” Nelson’s hot panting breath moistened her hand. “So you have a nice rest until I get back, I might bring you a special treat.” **** That afternoon when George returned to the homestead, Nelson was not waiting in his usual place. After setting some wallaby stew on the stove to cook she went in search of him. Again and again she called his name, but there was no eager answering bark. “Don’t worry, he’s probably taking a snooze somewhere,” O’Rourke comforted when she returned to the kitchen. “He’ll come home when he’s hungry.” Of course, Nelson would come back to eat; even though he was old, he still had a hearty appetite. “Ugly old brute probably wandered off to die,” Billy stopped eating long enough to taunt. “What a horrible thing to say.” George leapt from the table and charged outside. Tears pooled in her eyes before overflowing, and the hot rivulets scorched down either cheek. She searched in all the outbuildings, down by the creek, around the stockyards even, all his favourite haunts, but to no avail. After half an hour of fruitless searching she felt close to desperation. “George, where are you?” Billy’s voice crystallized in the frosty darkness. “I’ve come to help you search.” She ignored him. “Come on. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 48

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He sounded so desperate she finally answered. Two of them could cover a wider area. The thought Nelson might be lying sick or injured somewhere brought fresh tears to her eyes. Together they searched in every place they could think of, only when it became pitch black did they return to the homestead. O’Rourke had cleaned up the dishes and the kettle bubbled on the stove. After drinking some tea, George sadly trudged off to bed. **** For two days her search continued. Even to find his body now would be something, she thought desperately. The uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to him was terrible. He might be lying in agony somewhere waiting for her to come to his rescue. Maybe someone picked him up on the road. This thought came suddenly. Perhaps she should have been searching further afield. She saddled Molly and rode off at a fast trot. An hour’s riding proved fruitless. The faint hope she nurtured withered and died, leaving in its place black despair. It was hot now. Both she and the horse needed a drink, so she rode towards a nearby billabong. Only a few people knew about this place as dense bush surrounded the narrow access path to the water. Circling black crows first alerted her that something was amiss. She dismounted, tethering the horse to a sapling. She pushed her way through the tangled scrub and came upon Nelson in a small clearing. “Nelson,” she screamed. His back leg was cruelly caught in a vicious steel trap. She went down on her hands and knees. He was in a pitiful state, having tried to drag himself to the water. His tongue 49

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looked swollen and he had started frothing at the mouth. Racing to the billabong, she filled her hat up, but he was so weak he could not even lap up the water, so she sprinkled it on his tongue. “Nelson. Oh Nelson.” Her tears fell on to his matted coat as he lay staring at her with big suffering eyes. Frantically she worked to free him, but the steel jaws imprisoned his leg firmly. The nausea rose up into her mouth as she saw that his leg had been torn to the bone, leaving the flesh putrid and covered with maggots. Blinded by tears she struggled with the trap until her own hands became sore and bleeding. She needed help—a man’s strength. “I’ll be back, boy,” she promised, patting his head. Tears filled her eyes as he gallantly tried to lick her hand. Running back to the horse, she mounted and galloped away, urging the mare on to greater and greater speed. In a wild dash through the scrub, she was heedless of anything. Only when a horseman galloped up beside her and grabbed at the reins did she recognize Marcus. “Georgina, what is it?” “Oh, Marcus, thank goodness I found you. It’s my dog.” Tears poured down her face. “He’s caught in a trap.” “Show me.” He followed her to the billabong. He dismounted, and by the time he tethered his horse, she was kneeling beside the stricken dog, with its head resting on her knee. Marcus strode over to them, flicking a speck of dust from his trouser leg as he did so. What he saw took his mind away from his clothing. What a sickening sight. “Can you free him?” she asked frantically “It wouldn’t do any good, even if I could. What happened?” 50

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Between sobs she told him, and grim faced he checked the trap. “You can save him, Marcus, I know you can.” His mouth compressed into a thin, tight line. “Go and fetch some water for him, quickly.” “I gave him some before.” “Bring him some more.” George went to the billabong and filled her hat. Halfway back she saw Marcus striding from his horse with a pistol in one hand. Dropping the hat, she dashed forward and flung herself at him. “No.” “Yes.” He grasped her arm. “I won’t let you shoot him, I won’t.” “It’s the only way; he’s too far gone for anything else.” “You’re cruel. I don’t love you anymore.” Her impassioned words shocked him, slamming into him with the same force as the fists pummelling his chest. “I hate you, I hate you.” “Hate me all you want, but I intend doing what needs to be done.” “I won’t let you kill him. We can save him, I know we can.” “Look at him, Georgina, just look at him.” He shook her slightly. “Even if I could get the trap off he would die. You can see what a mess his leg is, half of it has been torn away. He’s in agony, this is the kindest way.” He pushed her on to a fallen tree trunk and strode off. The pistol shot echoed loudly in the stillness. Birds flew skywards squawking in fright then all became silent again. “I’m truly sorry, Georgina. I really wish I could have 51

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saved him for you.” She lay in a heap on the ground with her face buried in the grass. She sobbed so hard her whole body shook. “Don’t cry, it was the only humane thing to do.” Lowering himself down beside her, he gathered her up into his arms and she buried her face in his chest. Her tears, soaking through his shirt, felt hot and damp against his bare skin. “Don’t cry.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Shh, sweet Georgina, the end was quick, he wouldn’t have felt anything.” He rocked her like a baby and she clung to him as great sobs racked her body. When the storm of weeping finally ended, she lay quietly in his arms. She was so still he thought she must have fallen asleep. Marcus did not move in case he disturbed her, but he rested his chin on her bright curls. Their softness against his skin felt like an angel’s caress, and there was a slight fragrance lingering in her hair, lavender maybe. Oh, Georgina, he inwardly groaned. How sweet and untouched, but completely unsuitable as a bride for the only son of an English Lord. “I’m sorry for being so foolish.” She raised her head to look him straight in the face; otherwise, she seemed quite content to stay in the circle of his arms and he was glad. It felt good having her soft young body pressed up so close to his. “Nelson was the only thing truly belonging to me. O’Rourke gave him to me when he was just a pup. He should have been Billy’s, but I had a doll my Aunt Libby made for me when I first came to live with them. Just an ordinary rag doll made up from scraps of material, but I took her everywhere. I loved her. One day Billy threw her 52

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in the fire because he said dolls were sissy. “I cried for three days until O’Rourke found the pup and gave it to me, so I could have something to love again.” Tears shimmered on her lashes. “Didn’t you have other playthings?” She shook her head, leaving him feeling quite beastly just thinking of all his own childhood possessions. There was silence for a while. Marcus didn’t know how to ease her grief. Finally, she stirred. “We’ll have to bury him.” Her low, sad tones wrenched his heart. I’ll get someone to attend to it after I take you home.” “You’ve been very kind, Marcus.” She stroked his cheek with the fingers of one hand. I want to be more than kind, he thought, taking her small, work-roughed hand in his. He drew her upwards until they stood close together. It seemed fitting for an old warrior to be buried where he fell. The golden wattle would bloom above him in the springtime, the blue bells and other bush flowers would carpet his bed with their beauty while the birds serenaded him. Yes, this was a perfect place for her loyal old friend to sleep. “I…I’m ready to go now.” Marcus lifted her on to her horse. “I can mount myself.” “I know, sweet Georgina, but I wanted to.” They rode along in silence for a time. He didn’t know what to say to ease her terrible grief until he suddenly remembered the party he was hosting. “Georgina, would you like to come to a party?” “A real party, with fancy cakes and things?” 53

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“Yes.” He smiled. “Fancy cakes, mousse, truffles, sorbet, roast turkey, even champagne, though fruit punch for you, I think.” “Thank you, I would like to come. I’ve never been to a fancy party before, it will be like Christmas come early, only better.” The desperate sadness in her eyes lifted although her lips still trembled. “When I complete the arrangements I’ll let you know. It will be something to look forward to especially if you haven’t been to a party before. It will be a chance for you to see men dressed in their evening finery and ladies parading around in their prettiest gowns.” Suddenly her body stiffened. “I’m sorry, Marcus, I won’t be able to come.” “Why? You just finished telling me you wanted to go.” “I changed my mind.” “Because your precious Johnny wouldn’t like it?” “I haven’t got a gown to wear,” she whispered. He laughed. “Of course, you haven’t. All young ladies say that, well.” He debated out loud. “If you don’t have a party gown, just wear another one.” “I don’t have any gowns at all.” He swore under his breath. What a fool he was. He should have realised before, she never wore dresses simply because she did not possess any. O’Rourke had a lot to answer for. “I’ll buy you a gown, the prettiest one I can find.” He laughed, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. She shook her head. “I couldn’t. O’Rourke won’t let us accept charity.” 54

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“Charity?” He stifled a curse. “Look on it as a gift from me to you.” “I can’t, it wouldn’t be proper.” “To hell with what’s proper, no one need know. It will be a secret between the two of us.” She hesitated, and sensing her inward battle he played what he hoped would be a trump card. “You would hurt my feelings if you rejected my offer.” “I wouldn’t like to do that.” “Of course you wouldn’t, so you are going to let me buy you a gown, something special. I can go to Sydney. I have a few things I need to do there anyway.” “I would like a pretty gown, if you think it quite proper,” she said with an almost childlike candour. “It’s settled, in a couple of days I’ll catch the coach to Sydney.” He grimaced on remembering his previous journey. “Thank you.” She leaned across to stroke his cheek with a light butterfly touch. Yes, he would enjoy buying pretty things for sweet Georgina. He edged his mount closer, picked up her hand and drew it to his lips so he could kiss each finger separately. “Beautiful Georgina.” He would drive all thoughts of Johnny Dawson from her mind so she would be his. He wondered whether to suggest taking her to Sydney, but something warned him he must proceed with caution or she would be off like a startled fawn. He wanted to kiss her thoroughly, to take her into his arms and crush her body under his own. Wanted to be the one to light the fuse of passion he instinctively knew lay dormant within her. He nearly suggested they dismount so he could kiss her now, but knew if he started he might not be able to stop at 55

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just tasting her lips. He wanted all of her, and it would be too caddish starting anything while she was so vulnerable. Marcus’ brilliant blue eyes reflected the sky. Slimly built, he nevertheless had a princely bearing and chivalrous manner that set him apart from other men. He was her knight in shining armour. But I’ll never be his lady, George thought sadly, hoping he didn’t notice her trembling hands. They rode along in a companionable silence for a time. “Do you like being in Australia, Marcus?” Once he would have taken great pleasure in telling her how much he loathed the wretched place, yet now, strangely found he could not. To be honest, he did not mind it half as much as he thought he would. “At first I hated it, now I’m not sure. It does have some redeeming features. Given time I could grow to like it very much.” They rode close together with their legs brushing every now and again. Her storm of weeping had not left her with an ugly, blotched face as it did with many women, only her tremulous lips and a slight drooping of her slim shoulders betrayed her sadness. The air hung heavy with the perfume of wild flowers. A kangaroo stopped to stare at them before bounding off, and brightly coloured birds fluttered about chirping merrily. It was a rough untamed place, this Australia, yet strangely beautiful just the same. They passed stringy barks and stands of tall mountain ash, until they rode out of the ranges. No wonder Johnny Dawson could hide out here undetected. The bush grew so thickly in places, a man could pass within a couple of feet of another without even seeing him. 56

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It was peaceful out here with Marcus; his presence did a lot to ease the pain of losing Nelson. “Don’t worry about seeing me all the way home.” She broke the silence between them. He looked at her in surprise. “You go on to Stantons and send someone out, to well…” She bit her lip. “I could see you home first.” “No, please.” She fought to hide her sudden agitation from him. She had seen the mirror flashes a moment ago and Johnny would be waiting, wondering why she didn’t answer him straight away. “Goodbye, Marcus.” She galloped away so suddenly it left him stunned. About to turn his horse towards home he saw the flashes. Johnny Dawson. He cursed. It must be him. Until she saw that signal, Georgina had been quite content for them to amble along together. He ground his teeth in frustrated rage. Jealousy, an unfamiliar emotion raged through him. What hold did that young wretch have over her? There had to be something. She was not indifferent to him. He was experienced in the ways of women and she definitely enjoyed his company. He meant to solve this mystery. God, he had to solve it, or they were both doomed

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Chapter 4 George rode quickly, glancing around as she did so to make sure the coast was clear. She saw nothing, so feeling confident it was safe to do so, veered off the road and struck out straight into the bush. Johnny rarely signalled in daylight so he must need something urgently. The hills were covered with dense bush, the ground rocky and uneven beneath the horse’s hooves. Upwards they went with the terrain becoming rougher, the mountains steeper, and the air colder as it blew down directly from the higher peaks. She dismounted only when it got too dangerous to ride any further. There were fallen trees hidden by undergrowth, and rabbit or wombat holes. A spill here could break her horse’s leg. “George.” Johnny popped out from behind what appeared to be a wall of undergrowth, only she knew it covered a cave. “I heard you coming.” His grin contradicted his wild eyed appearance. He hugged her tightly for a moment. “You weren’t followed?” “No, I kept a good look out.” She followed him into the cave, shivering as they left the 58

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sunshine behind them. Inside, it looked pathetically bare, with just some sheepskins and a couple of blankets in one corner, and a wooden box with a lantern standing on it. “Why did you signal?” “I heard more reinforcements are being brought up from Sydney in the next few days, so I’m leaving the district for a while until things cool down a bit.” He grinned suddenly. “I might do one more job before I disappear.” “Johnny, no. It’s too dangerous.” She clutched his hand. “I need money, funds are getting low. I might head into Queensland for a while. I’ll have to go to Goulburn first, though.” “Goulburn, why?” “There are people I need to visit; it’s important. I’ll tell you one day, George, but not now. Don’t ask me.” An eerie silence shrouded the cave with dread. She shivered, not with cold, but apprehension. Johnny was becoming desperate and desperate men did reckless things. Her once laughing, light-hearted brother had disappeared. Maybe he, too, realised his life had almost run its course. She bit her lip to stop it quivering and tried to push such terrible thoughts away. “What’s wrong with you, George, you’ve gone all morbid. You worry too much.” “It’s Nelson.” Plunging in quickly to cover her turmoil, she told him what happened. “This Englishman means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” “Yes. How did you know?” “Hard to say really. It’s your eyes, I think, they sort of glow at the mention of his name. Be careful of him. I’d hate to see you get hurt.” 59

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“Marcus wouldn’t hurt me.” “Not intentionally maybe, but I think he’d be pretty ruthless if someone crossed him.” She kept to herself the fact he had promised to buy her a new gown so she could go to his party, because Johnny wouldn’t understand. To be honest, deep down, she wondered whether anyone would understand how much this gown meant to her. “George.” He stared straight into her face. “There’s no future for you with him.” “Why not? He likes me, I know he does.” “What I mean is, he would never marry you, no matter what.” “How can you say that?” she asked huskily. “Because he’s an aristocrat and they only marry gentry like themselves.” It was true. Marcus could not marry her even if he wished to. He would need a suitable bride like Kathryn Stanton. George suddenly knew she was destined to be an old maid. If she couldn’t have Marcus she didn’t want any other man. It was foolish thinking like this when she should be concentrating on Johnny. “Like some tea?” “Yes, but where can you light a fire?” “Easy.” He grinned before heading towards the back of the cave. It was not particularly deep, and following close behind him, she gasped in surprise when they came to a rope ladder dangling from one wall. “Come on, you can’t be scared,” he jeered, as she dubiously climbed up on to a ledge. “If I think someone might come, I pull the ladder up out 60

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of sight.” He laughed at her bewilderment. “Come on, the ledge is a bit narrow so keep close to the wall.” They were thirty or more feet above the ground and without the ladder no one would ever find this entrance. No wonder he could elude the troopers. He used several hideouts similar to this, as the mountains were riddled with caves and underground caverns. With her hand clasped tightly in his, she cautiously inched forward in the half darkness, gritting her teeth to stop them chattering and letting him know her fear. Johnny, so daring himself, despised those who were not brave. He once told her it displayed a weakness in one’s character to show fear. The ledge turned sharply and they came to yet another cave. Suddenly, George felt fresh air on her face, and daylight filtered through a bush covered opening. When Johnny pushed the bushes away from the mouth of the cave she saw a lush green valley. “I do most of my cooking and keeping the horses here saves worrying about feed; there’s always plenty of grazing around.” He owned two horses, a grey mare he rode most of the time because she had plenty of speed, and a chestnut gelding with plenty of staying power. Both horses were stolen. One came from the racing stables of a wealthy squatter, the other from a stockman’s camp. It was a pretty little valley completely surrounded by rocky tree clad mountains. The floor was carpeted for as far as the eye could see with various wild flowers, yellow everlastings, tall blue bells and the pretty lavender pink flowers of the black-eyed Susan. A tinkling stream bubbled over shiny 61

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smooth stones. The crystal clear water came from higher up in the mountains, fed by melting snow from the Alps. George sat on a fallen log watching with interest as Johnny prepared the fire in a little stone fireplace. He even had a blackened billy and one or two pots. “Won’t someone see the smoke?” she asked “No, the walls of the valley would block it out. Even if a whiff or two escaped, no one could trace its source.” “How did you find this place, Johnny?” “An old aboriginal I befriended took me here.” A grey kangaroo hopped right up to them. Silently she watched as Johnny put out a hand to pat the creature’s head. “I feed her scraps sometimes. All the animals here are tame. I’ve even got a pet emu who visits me from time to time.” As they drank their tea she told him more about Nelson and how Marcus had helped. “It’s a shame he had to be put down, but the Englishman was right, you couldn’t let him suffer any more. You’ll miss him a lot. I’ll get you another pup if you like.” She shook her head, and her loosened hair swung across her face. “No, I don’t want another dog. You get fond of them, something happens and you’re left with nothing.” Her lips trembled although no tears fell. “You don’t have much of a life do you?” he mused. “I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His moods changed so often now. One minute he was teasing and laughing, the next morose, brooding. She stayed for an hour or so. O’Rourke would worry if she didn’t arrive home by nightfall. During the daylight hours, 62

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she could roam at will; once dusk fell, he expected her to be indoors and it never crossed her mind to defy him. “You better head off, George. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, might be a few months, depends.” Johnny chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “When do you go?” she asked with forced cheerfulness, knowing how much he hated tears and other displays of feminine weakness. “A couple of days, maybe tonight even.” He frowned as if something displeased him. She followed him out of the valley the same way they came in. Finally they reached the place where Molly was tethered. She glanced around to make sure no one lurked in the bushes. What an awe-inspiring experience, a whole mountainside with just two of them on it. As she rode off, she turned around to give Johnny one final wave. He did not return her salute, and George carried with her the image of a young man standing alone against the rugged grandeur of the mountains. If only Johnny would go into Queensland, meet up with Tom and wait for things to die down, he could return to America and lead a normal life. It would be terrible not seeing him, but his safety would more than compensate for any feelings of loss she experienced. On arrival home, O’Rourke was sympathetic in a rough and ready way. The only consolation he could offer was that Nelson was an old dog who had lived a full life. Strangely, it gave her no pleasure to see Billy get upset. His remarks when Nelson first disappeared had been 63

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callous, but he was not normally a cruel person. He wandered off outside. When she made to follow, O’Rourke gestured for her to leave him be. “Let him cope with his grief in his own way, he loved the dog, too.”

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Chapter 5 Marcus boarded the coach for Sydney, feeling annoyed with himself for not having accepted his uncle’s offer of a carriage and driver. He observed his fellow passengers without much interest. A middle aged couple sat next to him and opposite were two young men who, from the snatches of conversation he overheard, were on their way to Sydney to live it up for a time. It was a damn nuisance, but he had promised his Godfather Earl Darrington, he would do some discrete checking at the Public Records Office. Geoffrey McIntyre’s information had to be verified before he could hand over the money the Earl had entrusted to him. Charles, the Earl’s son, had recently announced his betrothal to a Duke’s daughter, so any unsavoury family secrets could prove disastrous. “I want to make sure that imposter is dead, and no bastard he sired will turn up causing trouble at Charles’ wedding,” the Earl had ranted. Marcus always thought his Godfather was somewhat unstable. “Give McIntyre the money if the information is correct, he knows what to do.” Little enough to do really, considering the Earl had been 65

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instrumental in hushing up the scandal and getting him out of England quickly. It did not sit well though, sneaking around checking on other people. He found out from Kathryn the best place to go for Georgina’s gown. He had been loath to confide in her, but she swore she wouldn’t tell a soul. Something special for pretty Georgina. It would definitely be green to match those wonderful eyes. She would be the fairest at the party. What a night it would be for her. The fact she had never owned even one gown horrified him. Most young women he knew had sixty or seventy in their summer wardrobes alone. The ride did not seem to be as bumpy as previously, and there would only be one overnight stop, thank God. He fervently hoped it would not be at the inn where he stayed before. “Bail up.” The voice rang out loud and clear, and the coach lumbered to a halt. “Bushrangers.” The middle-aged man fanned his wife’s face with his hat as he tried to keep her from fainting. “We’ll be murdered by those barbaric ruffians.” She wrung fat, bejewelled hands. “Out of the coach. No harm will come to you if you do as I say.” The married couple alighted first, followed by the young men, leaving Marcus last. Damn their impudence, he thought savagely, thinking of the full money belt he wore under his shirt. They were on a lonely stretch of road with thick bush on either side. A perfect place for an ambush. “Hand over your valuables.” Marcus looked up into reckless, familiar blue eyes. “You!” “Well, if it isn’t the Englishman; so we meet again.” 66

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Marcus felt like knocking him down, but the pistol in Johnny Dawson’s hand deterred him. “Quickly, give me your valuables. It’s your money or your life.” He told the middle aged couple, who hesitated, although the young men readily obeyed him. “Those rings, Madam, I want those.” Anger darkened Marcus’ eyes. Insolent young pup, he was tempted to challenge him. He glanced at the driver who stood close by surveying the scene with an almost casual indifference. “You.” Johnny poked his gun into Marcus’ stomach. “Move over here.” “What!” “You heard me the first time. I’m in a hurry. Don’t try anything,” he warned the others. “I’ll shoot you without a second thought. I’m Johnny Dawson, I’ve nothing to lose.” The woman completely fainted away at this last piece of information. “Silly old cow,” Johnny muttered. Marcus wondered why he was being singled out for special treatment, perhaps sensing him as a rival Dawson decided to get him out of the way - permanently. Strange, he didn’t feel afraid. Ones life could very well end within minutes yet he felt nothing. No fear. No anger, not even regret. “I won’t take anything from you,” the outlaw lowered his voice so the others would not hear. “You’re George’s friend. Think yourself lucky she told me what you did for the dog. She means a lot to me and I don’t want her upset. If I don’t make it look as if you’re being robbed, too, the others might think you’re my accomplice.” He evidently found this amusing as he laughed heartily. 67

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“You have a money belt?” Marcus nodded. “Give it to me.” The bushranger grinned. “Hurry up, you English dandy, give me that nice fat money belt you’re wearing.” He raised his voice so the others would hear. “I thought you weren’t going to rob me.” Marcus glared at him. “I’m not, give me the belt, I just want it to look as if I am.” He swung the belt around in one hand, making sure the others would see before pretending to take out the money. He handed the belt back with a grin. “Better not let them know I didn’t relieve you of its contents or they might put you into the police. An English dandy riding with the notorious Johnny Dawson, what a field day the papers would have with that, eh.” He laughed, as if enjoying every minute of the drama. “I suppose I should thank you.” Marcus knew he sounded surly, but he couldn’t help it. The absolute insolence of this young wretch defied belief. It was insufferable for a man of his status to be humiliated by a common criminal. “Don’t thank me, I did it for George. No other reason.” “Listen to me, Dawson. What does Georgina mean to you?” “Everything.” The reckless excitement died in his eyes and was replaced by a bleak hopelessness. Marcus found he could not utter a sound as the quietly spoken word shocked him into silence. There was no doubting the outlaw’s sincerity. He felt strangely sorry for this young man who had chosen such a way of life. There was only one way it could end. Although he thought of Johnny Dawson 68

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as a rival for Georgina’s affections, had they met in other circumstances they might well have been friends. The boy certainly had a presence about him. “Back in the coach, all of you.” Johnny brandished the pistol again. Everyone did as they were told. It would be foolhardy to refuse. They all realized Johnny Dawson was a wanted man with nothing to lose. What was one more life against the number he must have already taken? **** The weather became warmer over the next few days. Soon it would be summer time; even now, the blossoms were dying and the spring flowers were fading away. George felt sad because Marcus had not come to visit. He had obviously been so angry at her hurried departure last time they were together that he didn’t want her at his party anymore. Billy told her Johnny had left the district. One part of her wanted him to go away where he might be safe, the other selfish part wanted him close so they could see each other. She had not strayed too far from the homestead in case Marcus called over. You’re a fool, she told herself for worrying about him, when he had little regard for her. She despised herself for such feminine weakness but couldn’t do anything about it. Secretly, in her bedroom each night, she practised putting her hair up just in case. The curls always tumbled down, no matter how firmly they were pinned into place. For the first time in her life she wished there was some girl or woman she could ask for advice. **** George was just lifting some loaves of bread from the stove when Marcus called out from the verandah. “Oh, Marcus.” She dashed outside to greet him. “Come 69

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in, come in.” She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but forced herself not to. “How have you been, Georgina?” He strode into the kitchen carrying a large box. “Good.” She pushed back the tendrils of damp hair clinging to her forehead. “I’m baking some bread.” He sniffed appreciably. “I could smell it as I rode into the yard.” “Would you like some? I could make us some tea. Is that the gown? Oh, Marcus, can I look at it now, please?” “I didn’t realize you were so domesticated. In that…” He gestured to the white apron she wore over her breeches and shirt. “You don’t look the least like my tomboy.” Only a little word, but that ‘my’ made her heart sing like a nightingale. “I bought the gown as well as, um, a few other things to go with it.” “Other things?” “Evening slippers, gloves.” He shrugged. “Thank you.” She took the box from him eagerly, and after lifting the lid tears filled her eyes. There in all its glory laid an emerald silk gown, floating with tulle trim. “Are you pleased with it, Georgina?” Her lips trembled with emotion. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” There were dainty satin evening slippers in a matching colour, soft kid gloves. Heat fired her cheeks at the sight of lacy undergarments. “Did you choose everything? I mean...” He laughed softly. Lord, she was sweet. “Just the gown and slippers, someone else selected the rest.” “It must have cost you a lot of money.” 70

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“I can afford it, just so long as you like them.” “What if they don’t fit?” she asked worriedly. It would be just too cruel. She wouldn’t be able to survive such a bitter disappointment. He rocked backwards on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back, obviously amused at her innocent question. How foolish she was, a rich, handsome man like Marcus would have dressed any number of mistresses. He was probably quite used to buying women clothes. She hated these unknown women with a passion. He must have guessed the thoughts flitting through her head. “Georgina, don’t say any more, just take my word for it. Everything will fit perfectly.” Feeling young and foolish, she looked straight into his face. “I’m sorry, Marcus.” “You were going to let me try some of your bread.” His smile changed the grim haughtiness of his features, making him seem younger. She noticed that he had not as yet seated himself. Of course, being a true gentleman he would not be seated while a lady stood. They always kept the kettle on the boil, so it did not take long to prepare the tea. She felt ashamed of the tin mugs they always used. Suddenly, she remembered the willow pattern dinner set in the dresser, a legacy from Aunt Libby’s time. Billy was too rough to use china, O’Rourke never worried about what he ate from, so it had not been used in years. Marcus’ eyes were on her, adding to her nervousness, but she managed to pour the tea without slopping any in the saucer. “Do you take milk?” “Yes, thank you; one sugar, if you have it.” Her head went back proudly. “Of course we have sugar, 71

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we aren’t that poor. Did you think we were?” “I didn’t know whether you were or not.” “Take your old dress back, I don’t want it. We might be poor, but we don’t take charity.” She hacked off two slices of bread and spread them thickly with freshly churned butter. “We have butter, too, see.” She banged the plate down in front of him. “Georgina, please.” “Take the dress back.” She shoved the box at him. “I can’t go to your party. I’d make a fool of myself. Probably end up tripping over something.” He rose from his seat and came over to her. “You’ll look beautiful.” He stood close to her and his skin, tanned to a light honey colour, seemed to emphasize the blueness of his eyes. He had a pleasant body scent. Some expensive soap, she decided. “You’re beautiful.” He crushed her against him and his lips closed over hers. “Georgina. Oh God, Georgina.” He released her mouth to groan, before his lips claimed hers once more. She felt the thrust of his darting tongue as it explored her mouth, deeper and deeper until heated delight started to swirl through her. Tentatively, she entwined her tongue with his and a shudder rocked through his body. “No.” Only when she felt his fingers kneading her breast through the thin cotton of her shirt did she try pushing herself away. “Yes, I’m mad for you.” She kicked out at his legs until he let her go. “Get out.” Tears of anger and fear coursed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I…I 72

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lost my head, I don’t know what came over me.” “Yes, you did.” Her voice sounded dead. “You bought me some clothes. Now you want me to pay for them. I’m not a whore, so don’t treat me like one.” An angry breath hissed from between his clenched teeth. “I didn’t want payment. I just wanted to kiss you a little, that’s all.” “That’s all?” “All right, I’m sorry, I went too far. Will you forgive me?” His mouth twisted. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I feel despicable. Keep the dress and wear it to my party.” She hesitated. “I do want to go to your party and wear a beautiful gown. I’m sorry I kicked you, but you frightened me.” “You were frightened of me? We were only kissing. What I mean is, well, you and Johnny Dawson…” “Johnny and I do what?” “Well, he must have kissed you sometimes.” He felt like a gauche schoolboy fumbling for the appropriate word. He could hardly ask her outright whether she was his mistress. He didn’t think she could be, not in the usual sense, yet he would have given anything to know for certain. “Johnny wouldn’t do anything like that; he cares for me too much.” “He cares for you, yet he doesn’t…? Oh, what’s the use, our tea must be getting cold.” He waited until she sat down at the table before doing likewise himself. He would never understand these colonials, even if he stayed here a hundred years. “Mm, you make good bread, nice butter, too.” He ate with enjoyment, deliberately trying to lighten the tension between them. 73

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She reached across the table to stroke his cheek. “You still like me?” “Like you?” What an understatement. He was besotted, and he positively loathed himself for treating her like a dockside harlot. Her eyes, staring into his were almost childlike, so trustingly honest that his heart constricted. “Yes, I still like you, Georgina,” he answered softly. She smiled, happy because they were back on their previous friendly footing. “Tell me about you and Johnny Dawson?” he asked suddenly, hoping to catch her off guard. “Johnny? How do you mean?” His lips snapped together. “Come on, a blind man could see there is something going on between you. I want to know what it is.” Tension twanged between them now, instinctively he felt it, and he cursed his stupidity for even mentioning the young outlaw. “I can’t tell you, Marcus, I promised. Please don’t ask me. ” Her distress seemed genuine. What hold did that young wretch have over her? Could he be bought? He would spend a fortune to have Georgina for himself. “Let’s forget about it shall we?” Only for the present though, he thought. “I had no right prying into your personal affairs.” He stood up. “I should be going, it isn’t proper for us to be here together when you’re alone. The party is Saturday. I’d like to come over for you myself, but it won’t be possible. You understand, I must be at the house to receive my guests. I’ll send someone to pick you up.” “I’ll be nervous without you.” 74

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“There’s nothing to be nervous about, I’ll be waiting to receive you, my sweet Georgina.” He gave a slight bow then left. Through the window, she watched as he rode away, straight backed and proud in his rich man’s finery. She picked up the box and carried it to her room. Taking the gown out, she held it against herself. The temptation to try it on proved almost irresistible, but she felt hot and sticky from baking and could not risk soiling it. When O’Rourke and Billy arrived home she excitedly told them about Marcus’ visit. “The gown is so beautiful; I’ll feel like a fairy princess.” She dashed into her room, and returned a few moments later holding it out for their inspection. “How do you like it?” “What do you want to wear a sissy thing like that for?” Billy scowled. “And letting some toffy English dandy pay for it. Don’t you have any pride?” “Enough, boy.” “Yeah, well, George never bothered about dresses and stuff before she met him. You’re in love with him,” he jeered. “In love with a toffy English dandy.” She could not deny the accusation, because she suddenly realized it was true. She had fallen in love with Marcus. The son of an English Lord. He was so unattainable, it would be easier to reach up and pluck the moon from the sky. “Shut your mouth, boy.” His father glared at him, while George stood there, unable to move. At this precise moment she came close to hating Billy. O’Rourke took the dress carefully from her lifeless hands. “I do love him, that’s why I accepted the dress. He asked 75

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me to go to his party and I didn’t have anything to wear. He offered to buy me something as, as a present, because of losing Nelson.” She bit her quivering bottom lip. “I thought if I could wear a fine gown he might think I’m beautiful like the other women he knows.” “Like Miss stuck up Stanton,” Billy said and sneered. “I warned you.” She watched horrified, as O’Rourke advanced towards Billy. “Stop it, please. I can’t bear to see you fighting.” “It’s a beautiful gown.” O’Rourke handed it back to her. “Put it away, girl, it’ll get dirty out here. Let’s eat.” George fled to her room. On returning to the kitchen, she found O’Rourke hacking at a loaf of bread while a subdued Billy lounged in a chair with his booted feet resting on the fireplace. It was a sombre meal. She toyed with her mutton chops while her cousin did the same. Now and again she felt him staring at her, but kept her head lowered. Only O’Rourke ate with his usual enjoyment, soaking up the gravy on his plate with slabs of bread. That evening, she sat out on the verandah gazing with unseeing eyes into a star studded sky. If only I was beautiful Marcus might grow to love me, she thought, even if my parents were convicts. “George.” O’Rourke’s voice startled her. “Did I frighten you, girl, I didn’t mean to.” He sat down beside her. “Don’t take to heart what the young fellow said. The boy’s too impulsive for his own good, but he didn’t mean to upset you. Keeps forgetting you aren’t a man. You have no mother and there’s no woman for you to talk to. I brought you up the same way as my sons. Maybe I did wrong but…” “O’Rourke.” She touched his arm. 76

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“Don’t interrupt. Easier I suppose. A man on his own with three boys couldn’t bring you up as a girl. My Libby always wanted a girl. You can’t know what pleasure it gave her when Jake and Maryanne left you with us. Such a pretty wee thing you were. After Billy was born, there couldn’t be any more children.” His voice sounded gruff with emotion. “My Libby loved dressing you up in pretty clothes. Always making something for you, she was. Don’t get me wrong, she loved our boys, it was just because you were a girl. If she had lived and those bastards hadn’t swindled me—” His voice faltered. “You wouldn’t have to accept a gown from a stranger.” “I’ll give it back to Marcus if you want me to.” O’Rourke had never spoken with such emotion before. “No, keep it. Why shouldn’t you have pretty clothes and go to parties? I’ve failed you. I should have done something sooner.” He shook his head sadly. “Your mother and my Libby were two of the fairest girls in the colony.” “Tell me about them; I mean, you hardly ever mention them.” He lit his pipe. “I can’t tell you much, not yet, the time isn’t right, but let me say this. Though both your parents were convicts same as Libby and me, you have nothing to be ashamed of. They came from good stock, but were innocent victims of a corrupt and evil justice system.” He took several puffs of his pipe before continuing. “While your parents were on the run from the authorities, they lived for years in the unexplored wilds of the colony, isolated from other white men. What I wanted to say is this. Don’t be ashamed of who you are. Jake came from the nobility, but his birthright was stolen. You’re as good, if not better 77

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than any of them swells out here. The circumstances of Johnny’s birth must never get out. There are powerful men in England, even after all these years, who want him dead, you too for that matter. They would do anything to keep their shameful secrets from ever seeing the light of day.” O’Rourke ignored her shocked gasp. It wasn’t Jake’s fault, he thought bitterly, but his legacy had cast a dark shadow over all their lives. He should have kept his bloody mouth shut, and taken his cursed secret to the grave with him. “I know what you feel for this Englishman, but there’s no future in it for you. He would never marry you, even if he really cared for you. Men like him always marry someone of their own social standing. He obviously came out here to marry Kathryn Stanton and he could only offer you one thing.” She felt devastated when he voiced the very thoughts continually torturing her. “Marcus wouldn’t hurt me, he likes me.” “Who wouldn’t like a pretty little thing like you? He’s a man. A man who has had plenty of experience with women, too, if I’m any judge.” His voice became savage. “I’ll kill him if he hurts you. His kind have already done enough damage to this family. He mustn’t find out that Johnny’s your brother, either. If the authorities got to know about it, they could use you as a weapon to destroy him. He’d do anything for you, George.” Even risk the gallows, she thought. On pain of death she would never tell a soul she was his sister. She would go to Marcus’ party, nothing wrong with that. Like O’Rourke, Johnny would understand her desire to wear a pretty gown. Who would it hurt if she pretended just for a short time that Marcus loved her? 78

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She wanted to know more about Jake and Maryanne, too, but the questions would have to wait until O’Rourke decided the time was right, whenever that was. It intrigued her, though. Why would people in England want to do her or Johnny harm? What guilty secrets could possibly surface after all these years?

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Chapter 6 The night of the party finally arrived. All day, George worried and fretted; one minute excited about going to her first party, then panic would engulf her. I’ll probably trip over my skirt or something equally stupid. Maybe I’ll be tongue-tied, or perhaps blurt out something unladylike and embarrass Marcus. Her emotions seesawed all day until she felt like a nervous wreck. It took an hour to dress and prepare her hair. No matter how hard she tried, it would not stay up, so she finally brushed it vigorously and left it flowing about her shoulders. The green of the gown emphasized the deep colour of her eyes, worry and apprehension gave them a haunted brilliance. Her skin looked alabaster white, there was slight bruising beneath her eyes, but this added rather than detracted from her appearance, she decided, gazing into her mirror. The dress was made from silk. The low bodice bared her shoulders and would have displayed most of her breasts, except for tulle looped up with flowers across the front. The sleeves were full and caught in at the wrist, while the skirt had flounces and fine pleating around the hemline. Green satin shoes matched perfectly, and they felt so comfortable they might have been specially made for her. 80

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What bliss having lacy pantalets and petticoats caressing her skin. She had never seen, let alone worn anything so grand. O’Rourke stared in astonishment when he first saw her, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down convulsively. When he finally spoke his voice sounded hoarse. “You look beautiful, just like your mother did on her wedding day. I don’t know where you got your hair from, though. Maryanne was ice blonde, Jake pitch black. You have your father’s green eyes, though. My Libby was the one with the flaming hair, the colour of fire, it was.” O’Rourke lowered his head, but not quickly enough to hide the raw pain in his eyes. Billy stared hard at her, too. He blinked several times, as if he could not believe what he saw. “You look beautiful, George. Too good for some bloody English toff,” he finally said. Her lips trembled. “All right.” Billy threw his hands above his head in surrender. “I’m sorry for being such a pig the other day, but I’ll flatten him if he hurts you.” “You need something about your throat, girl. Wait here a minute.” O’Rourke disappeared into the bedroom, returning within a short time holding a gold locket on a fine chain. To her surprise he slipped it around her neck, carefully pushing the strands of hair aside, so they would not catch in the clasp. The oval locket was embossed with gold swirls, and it nestled snugly in the valley between her breasts. “It belonged to your mother. Johnny asked me to save it for you, along with her wedding ring. It’s an heirloom from your father’s family, one of the few things he salvaged from 81

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his old life. God alone knows how Jake managed to keep it safe from those thieving bastards in prison.” “Thank you, O’Rourke.” She kissed his whiskered cheek and, for the first time ever, she saw an embarrassed flush staining his weather beaten face. They waited, all three of them, and it was impossible to tell who was the most anxious. Obviously they realised how much this evening meant to her. She loved the whispering sound the skirt made as it rustled along the ground and the feel of soft silk stockings against her legs. Eight thirty passed, followed by despair. Marcus had forgotten to send someone over. Maybe he didn’t want her to attend his party after all. Perhaps Kathryn had persuaded him that she would not be a suitable guest. Worse still, he had decided to announce his betrothal to his cousin, and wanted to spare her the painful humiliation of hearing it in public. Billy fumed about him letting her down, while O’Rourke tried to allay all their fears. When George was just about at the point of distraction, the sounds of a carriage pulling up out front came to them. Impatiently, she waited for the knock, hoping desperately Marcus had changed his mind and decided to collect her himself. Billy opened the door to the driver who turned out to be Dave Gleeson’s father. George decided Marcus must have made this arrangement on purpose because he was an elderly man and she knew him. The closed in carriage had padded blue velvet seats, and as Mr Gleeson helped her settle in she felt like a fairy princess going to a ball. It was a dark night, fine and quite warm fortunately, as 82

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she had no cloak. The white kid gloves fitted her slender hands perfectly. In fact, everything fitted so well they might have been specially made for her. With mounting excitement, George watched through the window as they drove under the stone archway at the beginning of a long, winding drive. When they pulled up outside the imposing front entrance her stomach felt knotted with nerves. Supposing she tripped over? She was unused to dresses, the hoop skirt made her feel slightly unbalanced, even though she had practised walking for hours on end over the last few days. A uniformed man, probably a footman, she didn’t know for sure, helped her alight, and her feet sank into a soft carpet runner. She was actually walking on carpet outside. Obviously, Marcus didn’t want the grand ladies attending his party to soil their dainty evening slippers. Up on the verandah they went. The servant didn’t utter a word. George was glad, because she was tongue-tied. By the time he escorted her through the main entrance, her legs started wobbling so much she feared they might collapse, and hundreds of butterflies whirled around in the pit of her stomach. “Georgina.” Her eyes widened as Marcus strode towards her, breathtakingly handsome in a navy knee length jacket trimmed with velvet about the collar and cuffs. His matching trousers had a braided side seam and fitted his legs firmly. As her gaze flew back to his face, she noticed a row of lacy frills on his white shirt. A nerve pulsated at the side of his mouth as he dismissed the footman with a brief nod. “You look beautiful,” he said huskily, “just as I knew you would.” “Thank you, Marcus. Everything fitted.” She gave a nerv83

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ous trill of laughter. “No one knows about the gown, I mean.” She bit her lip to stop it trembling. “Of course not. I wouldn’t be so ungallant as to risk you being humiliated. Come along, I want to introduce my beautiful Georgina to everyone.” His white teeth flashed in a reassuring smile, and with her arm linked through his, she felt like royalty as they entered the ballroom. She could scarcely believe her eyes. Such opulence, gilded wall lamps and magnificent chandeliers lit up the room. There were a hundred or more people in attendance. The women wore lavishly decorated gowns. None are as beautiful as mine, she decided with a surge of excitement. Even though the men were handsomely attired, their appearances paled into insignificance when compared to the grandeur of Marcus. He looked like a prince, with just the right amount of haughty arrogance and I’m his princess, for tonight, anyway. George had only seen Colonel and Mrs. Stanton on a few occasions. They greeted her with chilly politeness. They did not want a woman of low breeding here, but at least made some effort to disguise their animosity; Kathryn rudely turned her head away. She engaged Marcus in conversation, purposely excluding George. By the tensing of his arm, which was still linked through hers, George knew he noticed the snub. The older Stantons drifted away, leaving the three of them together. Kathryn did most of the talking, Marcus put in an occasional word while George’s contribution to the conversation was nil. The other girl’s rudeness really shook her up, sapping the small amount of confidence she had built up to attend this party. When the son of a wealthy local family strolled over to speak with them, his open admiration of her appearance 84

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boosted George’s crumbling confidence. “We’ll leave you two together.” Marcus strode off, almost dragging her after him. “Would you care for a drink?” His voice sounded low and savage. “Kathryn had no right treating you in such a rude manner.” “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to being treated badly by the likes of her.” He made no comment, but his jaw thrust out. He caught the attention of a passing servant who brought over two glasses of what turned out to be champagne. It tasted strange at first to her untutored palate. The tiny bubbles tickled, and she screwed up her nose. Marcus laughed softly. “Sweet Georgina.” He took a step closer, suddenly remembered where they were, and stopped dead. “Would you care to dance?” He must have seen her longingly watching the others. “I would like to,” she said wistfully, “but I don’t know how.” “It’s easy.” Taking her glass, he handed it to a passing servant before drawing her in to his arms. Her head barely reached his shoulder and Marcus fought the temptation to crush her body against his own and taste the sweetness of her lips once more. He was an expert dancer. Following his whispered instructions, George felt she was doing rather well. She forced herself not to melt against him. Closing her eyes she inhaled the subtle perfume of him, a tangy pine cone freshness. “I’m not standing on your feet am I?” “No, you’re as light as thistledown.” He gave a soft laugh. 85

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It came from somewhere deep within his throat, causing her heart to flutter as desperately as the wings of a caged bird. During the evening, she danced with several other young men. Some she knew, others were strangers, but they seemed nice and their frank admiration of her appearance was pleasing. Marcus only left her a few times to mingle with his other guests, but George missed him when he left. It was selfish expecting him to spend every minute with her, but this was her special night. He was her prince and she was his princess. Deep down she somehow knew this time would never come again. She was happy. Her cheeks felt flushed, her eyes probably shining with excitement and most probably the two or three glasses of champagne she had consumed. If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget this night, she kept telling herself. I never want it to end. George didn’t know exactly when the atmosphere changed. Nothing specific, just a stifled giggle or a whispered word by some women as she danced by. Later, speculative looks from some of the young men. People were definitely staring at her, but if Marcus noticed, he gave no sign, except for a frown every now and again. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but could not quite dredge up the courage, fearful of saying anything, which might spoil this magic evening. At suppertime, he left her to get them something to eat, so she went to the lady’s retiring room to check her appearance. As she was about to enter, she heard a young woman speaking her name. “Everyone knows Marcus bought that gown for her.” “Expensive, too,” another trilled. “Wonder how she expects to pay for it.” The words were 86

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followed by a tinkling laugh that sucked the warmth from George’s body, leaving her frozen to the bone. “A rake like the Honourable Marcus Lindquist will surely find a way. She’s probably paid for it already. What else would you expect from convict stock?” Somehow, George managed to move away on leaden feet. How could you, Marcus? She felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. How could he have been so cruel? Had he, like everyone else, been laughing behind her back all evening? She trembled so badly her teeth practically rattled. Escape from this fiendish humiliation was the only course left open now. To save her life, she could not have re-entered the ballroom again. “There you are, Georgina, I wondered where you were.” Marcus met up with her in the hallway. “What is it?” There was no way she could hide her heartache. “You promised, Marcus,” she whispered brokenly. “What is it? Are you unwell? Too much champagne, my darling?” “You promised, Marcus, then you told.” She brushed the tears away with trembling fingers. “What’s wrong?” He put out a hand to touch her and this acted as a catalyst. With a strangled sob, she turned away from him and started running. He called out, but she dared not stop her headlong flight. If she didn’t get away, she would surely die. Once outside, the night air pricked her skin with hundreds of icy needles. “Stop. Please, Georgina.” He was only a couple of yards behind her now. She forced herself to greater effort, but the beautiful fairy princess 87

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gown hampered her so much he caught up. “What is it?’ His hand shot out to grasp her shoulder. Hurt turned into angry desperation and she lashed out at him. He cursed with pain when her flailing fists made contact with his face. Shock snapped his head back and she pulled free. Her locket caught on one of his buttons. For a moment it almost strangled her. Finally the chain gave way and she ran as if the hounds of hell were snarling at her ankles. Marcus charged after her, cursing under his breath as he nearly ran into a tree. It was so dark, that after floundering around for a time he realized it was hopeless. Unless he wanted to do himself a grievous injury, the only sensible recourse was retire back to the house and decide the best course of action. On the verandah, he started tidying up his clothes. He suddenly spied the locket caught up on one of his buttons. He slipped it into his pocket, wondering bitterly what had gone wrong. Something had grievously upset sweet Georgina. He would never forget the misery on her face or the betrayal darkening her eyes to jade. She looked shattered, and so tragically beautiful, the image would be imprinted on his brain forever. Not a vestige of colour remained in her cheeks. It was as if all the life had been drained out of her. What had she said? “You promised, then you told.” “Marcus, there you are.” He forced a smile as Kathryn glided towards him. “You haven’t asked me to dance yet. In fact, you’ve neglected me shamefully because of that George creature.” “Be careful what you say about Georgina.” “Why should I?” She tossed her head derisively. “I don’t know how she dared to come here, especially when she had 88

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no gown to wear. You bought....” “You,” he snarled, advancing towards her threateningly. With an effort, he controlled his first impulse, which was to shake her pretty head from her shoulders. Turning on his heel, he strode back into the ballroom, seething at Kathryn’s treachery. No wonder Georgina got upset. Only natural for her to blame him. How was she to know he only took Kathryn into his confidence so he could find a decent dressmaker? He forced himself to circulate amongst his guests, smiling and proffering a greeting here and there. Through this, he finally realized the true extent of Kathryn’s treachery. It became obvious to him, practically everyone at the party knew about the gown. He felt ill just thinking about Georgina’s total humiliation. When he heard some young men making snide remarks about her morality, it took all his will power not to ram his fist down their throats. He would give her a little time to recover before going out into the garden to find her. Everything would be all right once he explained what had happened. George kept running until a stitch in her side forced her to stop. She rested against a sapling, winding her arms about its trunk to support her trembling legs. If she collapsed, she would never be able to get up again. Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks. How could I have been foolish enough to trust him? she castigated herself. No doubt he and his quality friends thought it a fine joke inviting the humble daughter of convicts to such a grand party. Marcus had not seemed a cruel man, but what he had done was vicious, absolutely callous. She had gone to the party with a singing heart and starry eyes, now her humiliation 89

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and betrayal was so great she would never be quite the same again. Her reputation around the district would be that of a girl who sold her body for a pretty gown and the chance to attend a gentleman’s party. It was a long tortuous walk home. In her gown with only light slippers on her feet, it seemed twice the normal distance and she limped by the time their homestead came into view. A lamp still burned in one window so someone was waiting up for her. Even in her despair, she hoped it would be O’Rourke. Billy would ride over to the Stantons immediately clamouring for revenge. As for Johnny, she hoped he never found out, because he would surely kill Marcus if he knew. O’Rourke was waiting up for her and George almost collapsed in his arms. After he forced some brandy down her throat, she became coherent enough to tell him the whole terrible story. He swore, calling Marcus and the Stantons all the worst names possible, rage heightening his Irish accent to the point she had trouble understanding him. “If Johnny finds out about this, he’ll put a bullet in him. Even Billy could do something rash. You’re worth six of them swells, girl, never forget it.” He was kind in his abrupt, gruff way. Only when he pointed it out, did she realise the locket was missing and this added to her anguish. She had lost her mother’s treasured locket. After she changed into her nightshirt, she took the tattered, once beautiful gown back to the kitchen and threw it in the stove. She stared into the fire, watching through tear filled eyes as the hungry flames devoured it, then broken hearted she sought the sanctuary of her bed. Her ordeal had been so trau90

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matic, so life draining that within a short time she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She didn’t hear O’Rourke speaking to the man Marcus sent over to make sure she had arrived home safely. Next morning, subdued and white-faced George served breakfast, all the while waiting for Billy to make some sneering, I told you so, remark. He said nothing, just ate with quick, jerky movements. His eyes were burning with fury, his cheeks spotted with angry colour. “Don’t cause any trouble, boy, you hear me? Stantons will put the police on you for sure. Don’t worry. I’ll think of a way for us to get even, anyone who does an O’Rourke a bad turn lives to regret it.” The threat, quietly spoken, held undertones of menace. George quaked inwardly, knowing full well he was a man who would not allow his family to be insulted without seeking retribution. “O’Rourke, Billy, promise you won’t hurt Marcus.” The mug she held shook in her hand. “Please don’t do anything,” she pleaded. “All right.” O’Rourke agreed gruffly. “You stay away too, boy.” **** Marcus glanced at Georgina’s locket, and in the light of day he became even more puzzled. It was plain gold with bevelled edges. When he opened the back, he found a portrait of a young man who he recognized as his mother’s cousin, Earl Darrington. He remembered seeing a similar portrait hanging in the great hall at Darrington castle. The Earl was his Godfather, but he was too bitter and vindictive to ever like. There were whispers of unsavoury 91

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dealings and some dreadful scandal in his past. On the back of the locket the initials J.D. were engraved. That was the clincher; it had definitely once belonged to the Earl. How did Georgina come by it? A gift from that young wretch Dawson no doubt. He must have stolen it. How and from whom? As far as he knew the Earl had not visited Australia. He would never forget his first sight of Georgina last night. Her cheeks had been tinged delicately pink with excitement. Her milky white throat and shoulders bared by the gown, and her soft tremulous lips had given her the fragility of fine porcelain. She was by far the prettiest girl present. He cursed Kathryn under his breath for ruining the evening both for himself and Georgina. He had so wanted things to be special for her. His aunt and uncle had disapproved of him inviting her to the party. They were vocal in their condemnation of the O’Rourkes. Oh, Georgina, sweet beautiful Georgina. There could be no real future for them. No happy ending, he thought desolately, shuddering at what his parents would say about her convict background. He had never considered himself a snob before. In fact, he despised some of his peers who openly boasted about marrying for wealth and to beget legal heirs, without even a scrap of affection for their wives. When they wanted love, they took a mistress. When they tired of one woman, they ruthlessly cast her aside and moved on to the next conquest. He was honest enough to admit being guilty of the latter. Clenching his fists, he realized he loved Georgina, but in the cold light of day, with his passion cooled, he knew it was impossible to make her his wife. I’ll be damned if I’ll 92

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marry Kathryn either. His parents, of course, were hoping for a match and he himself had seriously contemplated the idea until her show of spite last evening. He abhorred vindictive, spiteful women, no matter how socially suitable or rich they were. “Georgina,” he groaned. Why did their backgrounds have to be so different? God, he wanted her like no other woman he had ever known. If he couldn’t marry her, there were only two choices left: try to forget her or make her his mistress. He would buy her pretty gowns, beautiful jewels; nothing would be too grand for sweet Georgina. Maybe he could buy a property somewhere in the country for them. He had money independent of his parents. Georgina was a creature of the wild whose spirit would wither and die if it got trapped in the confines of a city. He would spend most of his time with her, would worship and cherish her for the rest of his days. Feeling better for having solved his problems, Marcus straightened his cravat. He patted his hair back into place, found his top hat and prepared to ride over to the O’Rourke homestead. The stable hand saddled his usual mount and without wasting a moment more, Marcus set off. He enjoyed riding and without vanity knew he was an expert, having hunted for years back home. He spurred the horse into a gallop. This ex race horse always gave a good account of himself, but after a time he slowed the beast down so he could survey the countryside. What a strange landscape. Spring was almost over, the blossoms almost finished, but little fluffy gold balls of wattle still carpeted the ground with yellow, and the smell of the eu93

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calypts wafted on the air. Such a vast empty land, one could ride for miles without passing another soul. Talk about the far flung corners of the Empire. He would be seeing Georgina soon and he hoped she would not still be upset over last night. Once he explained everything would be all right. Dear sweet, Georgina did not have a vindictive bone in her body, not like Kathryn, who last night showed herself to be a vicious viper. The homestead came up suddenly, nestled against a backdrop of tree-covered mountains. It looked a silvery colour in the bright sunlight. A curl of smoke drifted skywards, and the bawling of cattle came from somewhere close by. He dismounted, tethered his horse then strode across the verandah, holding his hat in one hand. There appeared to be no sign of life, so after tapping on the door several times, he entered the kitchen. Strange it should be at the front of the house. “Georgina.” No answer. Feeling rather guilty for trespassing, he hurriedly returned outside. Maybe she was out the back. Hanging out the washing perhaps? He swallowed down on his feeling of disappointment at the thought she might be away. Nothing on the washing line. He gnawed his bottom lip for a moment before deciding to take a look around. Thank God, he spotted her horse grazing nearby. Instinct drew him towards the creek, and there she was paddling in the water, with her breeches rolled up to her knees, exposing slim legs and dainty bare feet. “Georgina.” She started like a frightened fawn. Her head snapped back, and he watched as the colour ebbed away from her face, leaving it chalk white. 94

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“Go away.” “Please, I can explain about last night.” She just stood there, little and sad. Disregarding the wet sand which could ruin his fine kid boots Marcus stepped to the water’s edge. “Listen to me. I only told Kathryn so she could tell me the best place to buy your gown. You have to believe me, she promised not to tell a soul. I swear it’s the truth.” Her lips started trembling. He held out his arms and she ran into them. “Marcus, oh Marcus.” She sobbed into his chest and he held her close, savouring her nearness. Her hair fell into a tumbled mass, and somehow the rays of the sun became trapped in the bright, wayward curls. He drew her slowly from the water and edged them towards the overhang of a massive weeping willow tree. Then he kissed her. Her mouth remained tightly closed, her body taut as a bowstring. As his questing mouth became more insistent, hers softened and parted under the persuasive pressure. Her body relaxed, becoming so pliant he could mould it into the contours of his own. “Georgina.” Her name came out in an impassioned groan, as he drew her to the ground. “I need you.” For the first time in her life, George was confronted with a man’s passion. This was Marcus, whom she loved, and he would not hurt her. She answered his kisses, tentatively at first, but gaining in confidence under his experienced tutoring. He pushed her hands inside his shirt so she could feel his hot naked flesh. His fingers began caressing her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. Soon this was not enough. He wanted more. 95

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The buttons on her shirt finally gave way to his eager, questing fingers. Her firm young breasts looked as if they were sculpted from white marble. They were crowned with soft pink buds. Desire exploded all the way through him. Red-hot passion seared his loins, his whole body caught fire and he felt his manhood spring into life. The tip of his tongue caressed one of her nipples, slowly, sensuously arousing the soft flesh until it blossomed. When it hardened to his satisfaction he drew it into his mouth and suckled her. She tasted so good he wanted more of her. Much more. He slid his trembling hands between her thighs, inwardly cursing the clothing that acted like a chastity belt, denying him entry into the garden of pleasure and all the delights awaiting him there. His fingers frantically worked on the fastening of her breeches and as he rolled them down over her hips he discovered she wore nothing underneath. His passion exploded with a force that shocked him. His hand cupped the soft triangle of auburn curls nestling between her thighs. He heard her surprised exclamation as his fingers parted the petals of her femininity so he could stroke the silken bud into pulsating life. George’s head started spinning. She closed her eyes to shut out the brightest light she had ever seen. Marcus’ questing hands and mouth took her to paradise. Higher and higher she soared above the clouds in the throes of a hot, all consuming passion that caused flames to sear into the very depths of her soul. She yearned for him to totally possess her, to douse the flames raging through her femininity As the long hard length of his maleness drove into her love canal, it opened like a flower in spring, giving him easy 96

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access. Instinctively, her legs locked themselves around his buttocks and she arched her hips to meet his powerful downward thrust. His passion ran rampant, completely out of control as he drove deeper and still deeper into her heated quivering core. His last coherent thought was how easily Georgina’s body had taken him in. They rocked together in the throes of passion until the ultimate climax came and he exploded inside her. He jackknifed away from her. His passion was immediately replaced by disappointed anger. Johnny Dawson had been here before him, plundering the treasure he thought would be his. “You dirty little whore,” he raged, struggling to tidy up his clothes. George was shocked at his venom. She tried to speak, but no words would pass out of her frozen vocal cords. She couldn’t understand what she had done wrong. Why had he turned on her? “Marcus, please,” she finally managed to whisper. Reaching out a trembling hand, she touched his face. “You still love me?” “Lust, Georgina.” He flailed her mercilessly. “Love has nothing to do with it. What other dirty secrets are you hiding?” He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving her devastated and wishing she was dead.

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Chapter 7 The weeks passed, Marcus did not come near her again. Night after night she lay awake wondering what had gone wrong. Why did he turn against her? The dreadful words he had flung at her made her cringe or cry every time she thought about them. One afternoon, a terrible thought came to her, something so shocking she broke out in a cold sweat. Could she be carrying Marcus’ child? On legs that would barely hold her up, she staggered into her bedroom to check the wall calendar where she always marked the dates of her monthly flow. This normal female thing only stopped when a woman was breeding. O’Rourke, red faced and embarrassed, gruffly explained after she had rushed to him one day, terrified because she found blood on her clothing. She was about thirteen at the time, and they had never mentioned the matter again. Three weeks overdue, it surely must mean a baby. Fear almost engulfed her. What could she do? She buried her face in her hands. Who could she turn to? Oh, God, why has this happened to me? I know I was wicked and shouldn’t have let Marcus have his way, but I loved him, wanted to please him. Thought he would say he loved me, that he would marry me and not worry about 98

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the differences in our social standing. She must find Marcus, even though they had parted on such bitter terms. She choked back on her fear, forcing the tears not to fall, because once they started now they would never stop. He had to help. If he didn’t, she was doomed to a life of poverty and degradation. There was no one home at the moment, thank goodness. She hurried outside and blinking back frightened tears, saddled Molly. When she arrived at Stanton’s she felt too afraid to go to the main entrance; instead she slunk around the back and waited until she caught the eye of a young maid. “I have to see Marcus Lindquist. It’s a matter of life and death,” she pleaded, almost in tears. “I’ll wait out here.” The girl left and George waited and worried, with despair building up as each minute passed. What if Marcus refused to see her after their last bitter encounter? “Georgina.” She nearly collapsed with relief on hearing his voice. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a voice so cold it froze her to the bone. Sheer desperation stopped her from fleeing his anger. She raised her head to face him and he noisily sucked his breath in. “Good Lord, Georgina. What’s wrong?” Tears pooled in her eyes and she stood absolutely still. Even though they had parted in anger and bitterness, his heart constricted because she seemed so distressed. Her green eyes, the only vestige of colour left in her deathly white face, burned fever bright with just a hint of tears. Something dreadful must have happened. “I, I...” Her mouth trembled so badly the words 99

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would not come out. “You better come into the house, you look ready to collapse.” “No. No, Marcus please, I have to talk to you. Not here, not here.” The words tumbled over each other. “Is it young Dawson?” Marcus wondered why he didn’t feel elated because something had happened to the young outlaw who had deprived him of a prize that he would have traded his life for. Georgina’s virginity. “No, not Johnny. Me.” He guided her towards the back garden. “We won’t be disturbed here.” She stood there facing him, little and scared. “Dear God, Georgina. Tell me, what’s wrong?” “I’m going to have a baby.” “What!” He felt as if she had kicked him in the stomach. A black, all consuming rage took possession of him, snuffing out the sympathy her distraught condition had first aroused. “You filthy little whore. How many other men have you given yourself to?” He raised his hand to strike her, but with a supreme effort pulled back. If he touched her right now he would probably murder her. “Get out of my sight,” he snarled. “I never want to see you again. Ever.” George nearly collapsed under his ferocious onslaught. The pain of his rejection almost killed her. This was her blackest hour. Her head was reeling, her heart so weighed down with grief she could scarcely breathe. “There was no one else,” she whispered brokenly, “only you.” “Liar.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “It was bad enough having to take another man’s leavings, but I won’t 100

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be lumbered with his bastard.” He swung away and strode off. As George staggered away, a beautiful young woman, whom she had never seen before, came up to Marcus and slipped her arm through his. **** A couple of weeks after her soul destroying visit to Marcus, Billy suggested they ride over to the picnic race meeting, which was held annually on one of the larger properties. It proved such a popular affair that people came from miles around to enjoy the fun. George agreed to go with him. No use moping around the homestead feeling miserable, this would take her mind off things—temporarily. She wore a pair of buckskin breeches tucked into her usual knee length boots. No need for a jacket over her white cotton shirt, because it was so hot. Summer had come swiftly and she revelled in the warmth of the sun against her skin. Billy’s eyes were blazing and she knew he was planning some mischief. The way I’m feeling at the moment, I’ll join him in any devilment he decides on, she thought defiantly. They rode away together, leaving O’Rourke at home as he professed no desire to waste time on such foolishness. For a while they rode without speaking, then Billy said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” “A surprise? What is it?” “You’ll have to wait. We’re going to have a high time today.” About a mile from the race meeting a lone horseman waited just off the main track. “It’s Johnny.” Billy gave a whoop. 101

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George heeled Molly into a gallop. “What are you doing here?” He looked fit and tanned, and was mounted on a superb chestnut. A wide grin creased his face when they came up to him. “George, Billy.” They greeted each other enthusiastically. “What a horse,” Billy said half in envy, half in awe. “Where did you get it?” “Stole him, what else?” They all laughed, happy to be together once more. “He looks like a race horse.” George let her gaze wander over the animal, it was certainly a splendid creature. “It is. You know something? He’s going to win the two mile steeple chase today.” “You can’t be serious,” George exclaimed. It was risky Johnny even coming to the meeting. To actually run in the race was sheer madness. “He won a big race in Sydney a while back, so he can win here.” “What about the troopers?” The reckless glow in Johnny’s eyes frightened her. “I’m going to give the authorities something to think about. It’s time they realized Johnny Dawson was back in circulation again.” It was crowded at the race meeting, people milled about everywhere. Rich ladies in colourful gowns with matching parasols stood in groups chatting together. The men wore their finest clothes. The poorer folk were dressed in their best also and George couldn’t stop a twinge of envy. She squashed this thought ruthlessly, pretty clothes weren’t for her; breeches were much more practical. 102

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She scanned the crowds to see if there were any troopers around. “You won’t find the police here.” Billy grinned. “They’re out scouring the bush for Johnny Dawson.” “Yeah.” Johnny chuckled. “Someone tipped them off about him being holed up in that prospector’s hut on Mt Lofty.” George laughed, too. She could just imagine the anger of the troopers going half way up the mountain only to find the place empty. “They’ll be furious.” “I know, the bastards. By the time they find out I’m not there then get back here, I’ll be long gone.” They mingled with the crowds. If anyone recognized Johnny they gave no sign. Everyone had heard of Johnny Dawson, not everyone knew what he looked like. Those who did were friends who would not betray him. They stopped at a refreshment tent for drinks. She frowned as Johnny paid for their purchases with gold. She felt thirsty and drank greedily. Why worry where he got the gold from? Those rich people he robbed could afford it. Why shouldn’t poor people share some of the colony’s wealth when they did most of the work? After finishing the drink, she wandered outside to wait for the others as the atmosphere inside was stifling. Finding a shady tree she lounged against it, taking her hat off as she did so. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders and she pushed at it irritably. She hated her hair sometimes and had often been tempted to cut it off, but something always stopped her at the very last moment. All at once she felt the strangest sensation of being watched. Glancing up, she found Marcus staring at her. He stood with a group of well-dressed young men and women. 103

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He started towards her then stopped as a pretty young lady came up to him. With a sickening jealousy that churned her stomach until she felt physically ill, George watched them link arms. The lady spoke to him and when he bent his head close to hers a searing pain lanced her heart. It felt so strong, went in so deep that she wondered why she wasn’t falling to the ground in a screaming, writhing heap. Johnny returned a short time afterwards. “You all right?” He rested his hand on her waist. “You look sort of pale.” “I’m just a bit hot, left my hat off for too long, I expect.” He gave her a long, speculative look. “Your English toff is over there, lording it up with the gentry,” he sneered. “Oh, so he is, I didn’t notice.” Forcing a careless note in her voice she shrugged to further convince him Marcus meant nothing to her. “His type isn’t worth worrying about. Come on, George, the next race starts soon.” “Where’s Billy?” “Met up with a friend,” Johnny answered with a laugh. “A young lady, so I thought I’d better make myself scarce.” “Billy with a girl? You’re joking.” “No I’m not. Are you jealous?” “Jealous?” She burst out laughing. “Oh, Johnny.” She gave him a hug. “What an idiotic thing to say. The laughter froze in her throat as she bore the brunt of a ferocious stare from Marcus. Tossing her head to show him how little he now meant to her, she slipped her arm through Johnny’s and said. “Let’s go and watch the next race.” As they passed Marcus’ group, she insolently looked him up and down without speaking. It should have given her pleasure to see the angry flush staining his cheeks, but strangely it 104

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did not, just made her feel even sadder and more bereft than ever. They placed a bet on the next race. She picked out the favourite while Johnny recklessly chose a rank outsider. The race started and they watched with mounting excitement as halfway home her horse charged into the lead. “You’ve no hope now, George, he’s gone out too soon.” Like dozens of other spectators she urged her horse on. “Come on, faster, faster.” She swung around to face Johnny. A roar coming from the crowd drew her eyes back to the track. A black horse was speeding up on the outside and he urged it on so vocally several heads turned towards them. “Stop it, people are staring at us.” “To hell with them. Come on, use your whip.” He pranced up and down, and by the time the race had finished, with the black just beating the favourite by a head, he was sweating profusely. “You look as if you’ve ridden him every inch of the way,” she teased, feeling happy because his horse had won. “I’m worn out.” He grinned. “Half my winnings are yours.” “Don’t be silly. I’m glad you won, though. You don’t have to give me anything; it was your money I lost on the favourite anyway.” “I got fifty to one. We’ll have to celebrate some way.” A sullen, subdued Billy joined them. “What’s wrong? Lose all your money?” George teased. “Johnny picked the winner.” “I didn’t lose my money.” Billy kicked a tuft of grass. “Lost your girl?” Johnny slapped him on the back. “Plenty more around.” 105

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“Yeah, course there is. Dropped me for some rich farmer. There’s only one thing he wants from her,” he finished off savagely. “Don’t talk in front of George like that.” “Why not? Even she knows the gentry mess around with our girls then go off and marry their own kind.” Colour surged into her cheeks. No one would know better than me. What had passed between her and Marcus was still a raw, festering wound that would end up poisoning her whole system if she wasn’t careful. The only grain of comfort she had to cling to was, she now knew for certain, she wasn’t carrying his baby. Johnny left them to line up for the start of the steeplechase and she and Billy took up a good vantage point. The horses disappeared around the side of a hill and she craned her neck to see what was going on. He had taken a terrible risk by coming here. Her mouth dried up with tension. He acted so recklessly sometimes, almost as if he did not care what happened to him anymore. The horses finally came into sight again. They came to the first hurdle almost in a bunch, except for two or three stragglers taking up the rear. “Let’s go down to see the finish. Johnny’s in front I think. Hope he wins.” Putting her fear to one side, she started jigging around. They hurried towards the finishing line, not daring to take their eyes off the race, in case they missed something. Over the second hurdle and Johnny still led. At the rails near the finishing line George almost bumped into Marcus. “How are you, Georgina?” 106

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“As if you care,” she retorted bitterly, before turning her back on him. “Come on, Johnny, you can do it,” she urged, blinking back hot tears. “Yeah, show them toffs what we’re made of,” Billy screamed encouragement. “I do care, damn it.” Marcus grabbed her arm and swung her away from Billy. “I’m not having a baby after all,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Thank God for that. We need to talk, please, Georgina.” “Go to hell, Marcus.” The colour drained from his face. Without another word he turned on his heel and stalked off. The water jump was coming up now and her muscles tightened with the strain of watching. Billy explained that Johnny had to be the first over the water jump in case some of the horses fell, which they normally did, and brought Johnny down with them. He was over safely, her madly beating heart returned to its normal rhythm. It was an out and out sprint now and Johnny’s mount was surging ahead. “He did it, he did it.” Billy grasped her by the waist and they did an excited little jig together. A few minutes later a grinning Johnny joined them. “Told you didn’t I? First prize is a ten-pound purse. It was so easy beating all those swells,” he gloated, handing the money to George. “No, I couldn’t take your prize money.” “Of course you can, give some of it to O’Rourke. You and Billy are to buy yourselves something special, I don’t need it.” 107

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Reluctantly she took the money. She would give most of it to O’Rourke and they would live handsomely for the next few weeks. Several people came up and clapped Johnny on the back, but dark mutterings came from many others. The gentry would not forgive or forget what Johnny had done to them today. He had humiliated them, beaten their best horses on a stolen mount. George suddenly shivered in the hot sun. Marcus strode over to them. “The police are here, Dawson.” Even as he issued the warning, Marcus wondered why he bothered to help his rival. “I can’t see them.” Johnny swivelled his head. “They’re out of uniform. I recognised a couple of them.” His mouth twisted slightly. “I’ve seen them with my uncle.” “Thanks, Lindquist, I owe you.” “Thank you, Marcus,” George said, but he had already turned on his heel and was striding away, and she did not have time to run after him. Escape was all that mattered now. She started hurrying, but Johnny pulled her back. “Slow down, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” He started whistling tunelessly as he strolled along with his hands dug deeply into his pockets. “Anyone would think you were out for a Sunday stroll; we ought to hurry.” Billy anxiously voiced her thoughts. “No need to panic.” “This place will be crawling with police soon,” she warned. Billy looked as worried as her. Only Johnny seemed not to care. George’s heart was pounding so loudly she felt sure some passer-by would hear it. Fear clawed her stomach to shreds when she saw several troopers just a little distance away. 108

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“Through here, Johnny.” A man’s voice beckoned them from inside one of the refreshment tents. “There’s a flap at the back you can get through.” Hurriedly the three of them entered. There were not many people inside as everyone had left to watch another of the main events. “Good luck, Johnny.” Someone clapped him on the shoulder and he acknowledged the man with a grin. At the back of the tent they found the open flap. George put her head out first to see if the coast was clear before stepping outside. No one was in sight. A commotion inside caused George to hesitate, and Billy’s rough shove almost sent her sprawling. “Come on, hurry up, some of the fellows have started a fight as a diversion.” No need for caution now. They started running, speed was essential if they were to escape. The horses waited patiently where they had been left. Johnny scooped up the reins of his own and George’s while Billy gave her a leg up, and within seconds they were galloping away. “God. What was that? Bastards,” Billy yelled and George nearly fell off her horse with shock. The police were shooting at them. Over the open ground they raced and when Johnny started zigzagging she did likewise. They were all crouched low in the saddle to make themselves as small a target as possible. There was a sudden volley of shots. One came so close it knocked off her hat and she didn’t have time to retrieve it. They rode desperately, heading for the safety of bush. In the open country there was danger even though they were moving targets. A lucky shot could easily bring one of them down. They galloped flat out until they hit the mountains. The 109

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very roughness of the terrain would slow down their pursuers, while the bush itself would conceal them. It seemed like hours before Johnny decided they had outrun the troopers. The horses were breathing heavily by this time and George could feel her shirt clinging damply to her back. “We’ll lie low for a while then you two head off home.” “What about you?” George felt her lips tremble as she fought back frightened tears. Surely he would not do anything rash. He was reckless, but not foolhardy. “I’ll head for the high country. I’ll be safe there until things cool down. I’ve got some stores stashed away.” “You knew this would happen,” she accused. “Going to the races, having the gall to ride in the steeple, it was asking for trouble.” “I hoped it wouldn’t.” He fanned himself with his hat. “I wasn’t taking any chances, though, that’s why I had an escape route planned.” “Johnny, why didn’t you stay where you were safe?” “I missed you.” She moved her horse closer and leaned across to stroke his cheek. “I’m frightened. You made fools of the police today. They’ll never forget such an insult.” Both he and Billy scoffed at her fears. If it weren’t for his father, Billy would have already taken to the ranges. If only Tom would come back and talk some sense into his brother. They walked the horses until they came to a little clearing with a creek running through it. Here they dismounted to water and rest their mounts. Johnny knew the ranges well. The troopers would never catch him while he remained holed up here. It was only when 110

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he came down to the flat country that he courted danger. “Why don’t you leave this place and never come back. I’ll come with you if you like,” she offered. He did not answer for a time. In fact, she thought he wasn’t going to speak at all. “I couldn’t let you leave the only home you’ve ever known, to be hunted down like a wild dog.” His voice became bitter. “They’ll never leave me alone, no matter where I go.” A cold shiver ran through the whole of her body. “Don’t talk like that.” “It’s true, but I tell you both this: they’ll never take me alive.” “Johnny!” Fear churned George’s stomach until she felt sick with it. Even Billy was rendered speechless. A strange silence settled over them now, a silence so ominous it felt tangible and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. “If you want to get home before dark, you better start now,” Johnny said, grinning suddenly and changing the gravity of his features to cheerfulness in a flash. She would never understand him. One minute he seemed bitter and morose at the way fate decreed he must lead his life, then he would become laughing and exuberant. Who was the real Johnny? No one knew. Probably he didn’t really know himself. They left shortly afterwards. George, turning around to wave one last time, thought Johnny looked very young and strangely lonely as he stood beside his horse. “What did you make of Johnny?” she asked. “Make of him? What do you mean?” “He seemed, well, sort of morbid.” “I know. I felt it, too. I’m frightened for him.” Billy moved his horse closer to hers, so he could pick up her hand. 111

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“It’s as if, well, as if…” He had difficulty framing the words. “He was predicting his own death.” The words fell involuntarily from her mouth. “You felt it, too? I thought it was only my imagination running wild.” “Yes, I felt it, Billy.” Suddenly he dropped his hand. “To hell with the police,” he yelled, spurring his horse into a gallop, leaving her with no alternative but to follow. “Billy, wait for me.” She heeled her horse into motion and followed him. There was nothing else left to do.

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Chapter 8 They arrived at the homestead to find it in darkness. With no welcoming spiral of smoke, it seemed lonely, somehow forlorn against the now purple mountains. Billy leapt from his horse, throwing the reins at George who dismounted more sedately. Where was O’Rourke? Was he sick? Injured perhaps? By the time she tethered their mounts, she barely had time to reach the verandah before Billy came striding out waving a piece of paper. “Don’t panic, father left us a note. He’s gone off droving for a few days. “Thank goodness.” She sagged against the verandah post in relief. “I thought something bad might have happened.” “Me, too.” He gave a relieved grin. “I’ll do the milking and bed the horses down, you see to the food.” George poked her tongue at him. Once inside, she raked up the fire, which was now stone cold, meaning O’Rourke must have left not long after they did. She set and re-lit it so they could boil water for their tea. It would have to be cold lamb left over from yesterday, she decided. Were she to cook something, it would be hours 113

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before they could eat. There was plenty of stale bread they could toast. Billy will grouch, but if he doesn’t like what I’m going to prepare, he can always get his own. She grinned to herself; if there was one chore he hated, it was preparing meals. They ate in silence. O’Rourke was not a man who spoke often, yet she missed his presence. Billy seemed too interested in what he shovelled into his mouth to worry about speaking. The way he wolfed his food down, a stranger would think he had not eaten for days. He kept whining about cold meat on toast, yet it did not stop him eating it with relish. “You know something?” He emptied his mouth for a moment. “I’ve been thinking, I might go up and see Tom in a few weeks. I got a letter the other day and he said there are plenty of jobs around. He could get me something on the station where he’s working and maybe we could talk Johnny into coming as well.” “If he got right away from here, he might be able to make a fresh start. You know something, we should all leave here. Sell the farm and go somewhere else.” Her voice was anguished. “I hate this place sometimes.” “I always thought you liked it here.” He gazed at her speculatively. Thank goodness he wasn’t as astute as Johnny. “I do. Sometimes I love it, other times when things go bad for us, especially for Johnny, I hate it. I could never live in the city, but if we got another place perhaps we could run some sheep.” “Sheep! Father is a cattleman who would never run sheep. What a stupid idea.” He rocked backwards and forwards on his chair with mirth. Her thoughts turned to Marcus. Would he be entertaining his pretty lady friend? Sipping tea perhaps? Eating dainty 114

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cakes? Maybe she was playing the piano for him? She belonged to the gentry and all ladies of quality numbered piano playing amongst their accomplishments. Needlework? Embroidery? All the things she never learnt to do. Yes, a lady like that would surely make a perfect wife for the son of an English Lord. “George.” Billy snapped his fingers in her face. “What is it?” “Did you hear anything?” he asked. “No, it’s really quiet.” “Too quiet if you ask me. I’ve got a strange feeling, a horrible prickly sensation at the back of my neck.” It happened suddenly. The door was shoved open and several armed police rushed in. “Get out of this house,” Billy yelled, rising from the table. “Stay where you are. So much as twitch and I’ll blow you in two, might save the hangman a job.” “You have no right bursting in here, harassing innocent people. I’ll, I’ll, complain to the Commissioner of Police,” George threatened indignantly. “Shut up, girl. Search the place.” The sergeant barked out his orders causing the men to scatter. Some went outside, others disappeared into the bedrooms and she could hear them rifling through O’Rourke’s wardrobe. “What do you want?” George fumed. He was a horrible little man with close-set piggy eyes and a dirty, drooping moustache. “We heard Johnny Dawson was hiding here.” “Who told you? Some paid informer? Well he told you wrong, because Johnny isn’t here. Made fools of you today, though, didn’t he?” Billy jeered. 115

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“Watch your mouth, boy.” “Be quiet, Billy. Don’t argue with them.” George glanced at the heavily armed men and inwardly quaked. “Johnny isn’t here; we haven’t seen him for weeks.” “Liar. You were both seen with him today at the race meeting, either you tell us what we want to know, or...” “You’ll what?” “Stop it, Billy you’re only making things worse.” “How does jail sound to you?” A couple of the men snickered. “You can’t take us to jail; we haven’t done anything wrong.” George felt her mouth go dry at the thought. “We don’t know where Johnny is, honestly.” She debated about squeezing a few tears out of her eyes, but knew it was useless. This sergeant was hard as granite. Billy’s sneering attitude was doing them no good either. “Nothing.” Each time the troopers reported the same thing. “Where is he?” “We don’t know, honestly, sergeant.” She deliberately injected a servile note in her voice, inwardly raging. Overbearing oaf. “You’d better come along into town with us, boy, for further questioning.” “Like hell I will.” George watched in horror as one of the troopers advanced threateningly towards Billy. “Stop it, he’ll go with you, just call your man off.” If he didn’t watch himself they would end up shooting him. They were obviously only waiting for such an excuse; resisting arrest is what they would call it. 116

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Without another word she rose to her feet. “Go with them.” She smiled reassuringly. “Just do exactly what they say.” Billy stood up slowly, deliberately taking his time. One of the troopers brought up the horses and she was forced to watch Billy struggling with his captor. A crack on the head knocked him senseless. She would have darted over only the sergeant barred her way. With fearful eyes, she watched them dump Billy in the saddle and rope his hands and feet so he couldn’t move. They set off with one man leading Billy’s horse. She felt frightened as she watched them riding away. Surely they couldn’t send him to jail for nothing? He hadn’t moved from where he was slumped in the saddle. How seriously was he injured? Not knowing was purgatory. Back inside the homestead she paced the floor anxiously. What was the best thing to do? Not panic, or course. In the morning, she would ride into town and demand to see the Commissioner or someone else in authority. They would have to let Billy go. If only O’Rourke was here, he would know what to do for the best. She was tempted to signal Johnny, but dare not as he would only go tearing into town, risking capture when there was little he could do. If Johnny got caught he would hang, but they would have to let Billy go when they found he could not help them. After all he hadn’t committed any real crime. The sound of hoof beats interrupted her thoughts and she raced to bolt the door, cursing herself for having forgotten to do so before. Her hand had barely touched the latch when the door burst open and three troopers charged in, almost knocking her over in the process. 117

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“Where’s your cousin?” “Don’t tell me he escaped.” One of the men dropped a shocking oath. “He isn’t here.” She forced herself not to laugh in their faces. One youth had got the better of a bunch of bullying men. “What will the Commissioner say about this night’s work?” By the darkening of their faces she knew her taunt had reached its mark. “You’ll go in his place if you think it’s so funny.” A big oaf lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “What do you think of that, eh? Where’s your fancy answers now?” “She’ll be better,” another said with a leer. “Dawson mightn’t worry too much about the boy, but she’s his whore and he’ll move heaven and earth for her. Not a bad looking wench, either.” He pushed his face so close to hers she could smell his rancid breath. “We could have a bit of fun with her first,” another horrible creature suggested. “Johnny will kill you if you touch me.” Screaming in fury, she kicked out at him. “Plenty of fight in the wench. Never did like tame women. This one should provide us with a bit of sport. If you be nice to us, girl, we can make things easier for you.” What could have happened next she would never know because the sergeant arrived on the scene. “Let her go, she’s my prisoner until we get into town. After I hand her over, you can do what you like.” “You, you animal.” She wrenched herself free. “Brave aren’t you when you’re fighting me? Twenty of you couldn’t catch Johnny Dawson or Billy. They’re too smart for the likes of you.” “Watch your mouth,” the sergeant snarled. 118

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George fought them all the way, kicking and biting. She could not win against them, that was a certainty, but she wasn’t giving in without some show of resistance. “Bloody wild cat!” One of them screamed his rage as she raked his face with her nails. They dragged her kicking and struggling outside. Dumping her roughly on a horse, they tied her hands and feet together so she was trussed up like a Christmas turkey. The night was so black as they rode away, she could barely make out the dim shapes of the mounted men in front of her. An owl hooted close by. When a dingo howled mournfully from not far away she tasted real fear for the first time in her life. It rose up like bile in her throat until she almost gagged on it. What was to stop these men raping her before she was handed over to whomever it was that wanted her? There was only the piggy-eyed sergeant who didn’t give a damn what happened to her. If his men became persistent, he would certainly not risk falling out with them just to save her. She wondered and worried about Billy. He must have made a clean getaway; otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered with her. It wasn’t Billy they wanted, but Johnny. And I’m going to be used as bait, she thought frantically. Once he knew she had been arrested, he would risk everything to save her. The cords binding her wrists and feet were so tight they cut into her flesh. They would have done it on purpose just to add to her misery. No one spoke and this terrible silence made her feel desperately afraid.

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Chapter 9 Marcus lay sprawled out on a chair in his room. It had been a most satisfactory day. Miss Penelope Fitzgibbon was quite attractive and had been a pleasing companion. It was flattering that she attentively hung on his every word. A man’s spirits lifted when his companion made it so obvious she liked and admired him, especially after the beating his pride took from Georgina. He scowled when he thought of her snub. It hurt more than he was prepared to admit, even to himself. Thank God she wasn’t with child, either his or Johnny Dawson’s. Damn this place, he thought savagely as the sound of men’s raised voices interrupted his reflecting. It was almost midnight. Who would be calling on the Colonel at this time of night? Standing right under my bloody window, too? It was just too much. About to poke his head out the open window to tell them to go about their business more quietly, he froze at the words drifting up to him. “Yeah, did she put up a fight, little wild cat. A night in the cells will cool her temper down. Look at the scratches she put on my face.” “Your wife might have something to say about them,” someone else said with a snicker. “Yeah, redheads are always fiery, even if she is John120

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ny Dawson’s whore.” They were talking about Georgina. Quickly Marcus dragged on the boots he had so carelessly kicked off less than an hour ago, and wearing only his shirt and breeches he left his room and hurried downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. A light still burned in his Uncle’s study. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw a man letting himself out the front door. The Colonel, a big florid faced man, had never appealed to him, and he disliked the thought they were related even if it was only by marriage. “What was all that commotion outside, Uncle?” “Ah, good news, good news.” He rubbed his pudgy hands together gleefully. “Johnny Dawson is as good as dead.” “Who’s the girl I overheard those men speaking about? Was it Georgina?” “What if it was?” Marcus felt an overwhelming desire to reach out and punch him about his fat jowls. “What have they done to her?” “She’s in jail where she belongs. You had the effrontery to bring her here and insult my sweet little Kathryn.” “To hell with that,” Marcus snarled. “Exactly where is she and what do they intend doing?” “She’s in jail sharing a cell with drunks and other vermin.” He chortled, causing his fat jowls to wobble. “You allowed them to put a young girl in with men?” “Yes, fine idea, the sergeant thought of it. Came out to make sure I agreed.” “You couldn’t, I mean you wouldn’t condone such a thing. It’s immoral.” “Of course I would when it concerns convict trash; besides, once Johnny Dawson gets to hear about his whore being 121

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held in the cells with all those brutes having their way with her...” Marcus waited to hear no more. He felt absolutely murderous at the very thought of Georgina being put anywhere near common criminals. Striding angrily out of the house, he slammed the door, not giving a damn whether he woke the whole household or not. He strode over to the stables and banged at the door until he woke up a groom. “Saddle my horse quickly.” The sleepy young fellow just blinked at him. “Damn you, boy, saddle my horse and be quick about it.” Marcus did not even try to hide his fury. Within minutes, he was mounted and galloping out of the yard. The night was as black as a deep hole, but the starlight eerily illuminated the road. He started at a gallop, spurring the horse to even greater effort until the powerful grey was running flat out. When the outskirts of town came into view he still did not slacken his pace, and they thundered down the main street. By the time he reached the bluestone jail, the horse’s heaving sides were flecked with foam. Marcus banged and thumped at the heavy wooden door until a yawning guard opened it. “Colonel Stanton sent me. I must see the Officer in Charge.” “You’ll have to wait until morning; we don’t allow visitors here at night.” “Visitors?” Marcus stifled a curse. He felt like knocking this oaf down but restrained himself with difficulty. Instead, he took out his money purse, which he had fortunately left in his pocket, and it did not take long to bribe the guard into taking him to the Officer in Charge. 122

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He followed the man down a long passageway lit with wall lanterns placed at various intervals. Their booted feet echoed on the stone floor and he suppressed a shudder of distaste as he saw the heavy, iron studded doors on either side. Poor Georgina would be terrified. Fury almost consumed him at the thought they had dared do this to her. The highest authority in the land would hear about this nights work, he vowed. They finally came to a door standing slightly ajar. On entering, Marcus strode straight up to the thin middle-aged sergeant who sat behind a paper-strewn desk. “Did your men bring in a girl tonight?” “You mean Johnny Dawson’s woman?” “Yes. Where is she?” “Safely locked away.” “I want her released at once.” Marcus pulled himself up to all of his six feet one inch height and glowered at the other man. “I’ve strict instructions.” “To hell with your instructions. Do you know who I am?” “Colonel Stanton’s nephew.” “Exactly, now are you going to do as I ask and release this girl?” “I can’t. It would be more than my job’s worth, the Governor said...” “Damn the Governor. My father happens to be Lord Lindquist and believe me, he has friends in very high places in the colony. I demand you release her.” He thumped his clenched fist on the desk. “Immediately.” “I can’t let her go until the Governor says so.” “Look, I can make it worth your while.” Marcus suddenly 123

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felt desperate in the face of this stubborn idiot. Who the hell did he think he was? “It’s not my idea keeping the girl here; it’s highly irregular, but what can I do?” He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “Let her out.” “I can’t, I’ve been given my instructions. I’m only here tonight because someone took ill. I’m a married man with a daughter about the same age myself, but I’ve got my orders.” “You have a daughter of your own, yet you condone this, this, disgusting treatment? Putting a young girl in with hardened criminals. You should be flogged.” “I feel bad about it, but I’ve got my orders. The Commissioner will be here in the morning, no one can release her until then.” “How can you have it on your conscience, a young girl like that? God, man, have you any idea what those animals might do to her?” “I know, I know.” The man rose from his desk to pace nervously about the room. “Pity the boy escaped, they mightn’t have worried about her then, or at least he could have seen nothing happened. I can’t release her, much and all as I’d like to. I tried to get them to put her in a cell on her own, but I was powerless to do anything except protest.” Marcus clenched his hand into a fist. “Will you put me in the cell with her?” “You in a cell?” “Yes, you can do that surely?” The two men faced each other and the older man’s gaze fell away first. “You’re volunteering to spend a night in jail?” he asked, as if he could not believe any sane person would do 124

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such a ridiculous thing. “Yes, can you arrange it?” Still the man hesitated. “For God’s sake, how would you feel if your daughter was in this position? The girl’s not a criminal; you know that.” “Do you have any weapons?” the sergeant asked. Marcus felt a great urge to shake this imbecile until his teeth rattled. “Of course not. If you wish to search me, go ahead, but I tell you this, you have not heard the last of this night’s work. That’s a promise.” “Give me your word as a gentleman that you have nothing concealed on your person, which could be used as a weapon.” “Damn you, man, I just said so didn’t I?” “Your word, Lindquist.” “I give you my word I have no weapons. Satisfied?” “I’ll have someone escort you to the cells. Are you sure you want to do this?” Marcus ignored him, and within a few minutes was being escorted by two men back down the passageway. It turned at right angles and they continued down to the far end before stopping. This had to be the oldest and worst section of the whole jail. He shuddered at the bone chilling damp and the foul stench of something he could not quite put a name to. Slippery slime covered the floor, and it took considerable effort to stop his feet sliding out from under him. To fall flat on one’s back in front of these oafs would be the ultimate humiliation. “Have a pleasant night, M’lord,” one of the guards mocked, while the other pushed a huge key into the lock. The smell of unwashed bodies assaulted his nostrils straight away. Before he had a chance to do more than peer 125

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inside, a shove sent him hurtling into the cell. The door clanged shut behind him. He stumbled against someone lying on the floor and there was a string of abuse, the like of which you wouldn’t even hear in an army barrack. He blinked, trying to accustom his eyes to the semi darkness. The only light came from a feeble glow from the corridor, filtering through a small barred window high up in the door. “Where’s the girl?” He spoke to the shadow of a big hulking fellow who reeked of whisky. The vile smell of unwashed bodies absolutely sickened him and he clenched his teeth to stop from retching. “She’s in the corner over there.” “If any of you have touched her, I’ll kill you. Understand?” Marcus threatened. “We haven’t done nothing to her mister, no man in here would harm Johnny Dawson’s woman.” Marcus pushed his way passed them and there was a muttered curse as he stepped on someone’s leg. God, how could they do such a thing? What sort of men ran this vile place? What decent person would put a young girl in with vermin like this? “Georgina.” He could just make out her silhouette huddled in a corner. “Georgina.” He knelt down beside her. “Marcus, you came to get me out?” She collapsed against him and he held her close as huge sobs shook her slender frame. “It’s all right, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” “I want to go home. Take me away from this horrible place.” 126

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“In the morning, Georgina.” “No, now. I can’t bear it any longer. It’s so dark and all those men...” “Did they touch you, the men I mean?” Her sobbing started to subside as he held her trembling body close to his own, so his warmth might be transferred to her. “Take me home.” “I can’t, not tonight. In the morning.” “Don’t leave me, Marcus, I’m frightened.” “I don’t intend leaving you, I’ll spend the night here, too. Why do you think I got them to put me in here if it wasn’t to be with you?” She cuddled up to him, her damp face nuzzling into his throat. “I’ve been just about out of my mind thinking of you being incarcerated here with these vile creatures. Whatever happened?” Slowly, between small hiccoughing sobs she told him, and he swore savagely under his breath. Someone would pay for this. God, how they would pay. He spoke to her softly, explaining how he had learnt of her being taken to prison, and the sound of his voice soothed her. “Hold me, Marcus. You don’t hate me anymore?” “I’ve never hated you, Georgina. I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did, but I was so shocked and disappointed. Try to sleep; the night will pass more quickly if you do.” He felt ashamed of the way he had abused her that day under the willow tree, but he had been maddened with jealousy and grief because her virginity had been stolen from him. Could he have made a terrible mistake? Georgina dressed and rode like a man, so it was possible she might have lost her vir127

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ginity that way. It was disgusting the way he had accused and berated her without a shred of evidence. Could she forget all those vicious words he had flung at her? He stretched out beside her on the cold stone. No bed or blankets, not even straw, a wild beast should not be treated in such a manner. “Marcus, there was never any other man, only you.” “I’m sorry I treated you so badly. I behaved like an absolute cad.” “Hold me tight. I’m frightened.” “Of course you are.” Any wonder, he thought savagely, ignoring the lurid comments from one of the men. Fortunately, Georgina gave no sign of having heard his suggestive remarks. “Can’t you shut up? Some of us want to sleep,” someone complained in a rough, guttural voice. “Did they touch you, Georgina?” He held her close against the length of his body. “The men in here didn’t do anything because some of them know Johnny.” She shuddered. “The guards, they wanted, they wanted to...” “I can guess what they wanted. Did anyone actually touch you?” he asked frantically, feeling sick to his stomach at what might have befallen her. “No, but they were going to, only the big man in the corner said if Johnny found out he would kill anyone who hurt me.” Not only Johnny Dawson. I’d have ripped them apart with my bare hands, he thought viciously. He held her close, feeling relief as she started to calm down. Suddenly he noticed several pairs of beady eyes staring at them. Dear God, there were rats in here. Thankfully she could not see them as her face was still buried in the hollow of 128

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his throat. “Thank you for coming here, Marcus.” Her voice sounded muffled and he could feel her breath on his bare skin. “I thought you hated me.” “Why?” “Because of what happened under the willow tree. I saw you with the pretty lady at the race meeting, too.” “Were you jealous, Georgina?” “Yes, I hated it because you were laughing and being nice to her.” “I was coming over to see you, but you snubbed me. When Dawson turned up I nearly went mad with jealousy.” She cuddled closer to him, her firm young breasts thrusting against his chest. She wore no undergarments, just a thin cotton shirt, and against his silk one they might both have been naked. “Oh, Georgina.” He groaned the words against her throat, using his hands to keep her body pressed up hard against him. “You’re so warm, I’m not frightened anymore.” She wriggled herself into a more comfortable position until her body fitted snugly into the contours of his, and Marcus loathed himself for the sudden urgent rush of desire this movement aroused. “Go to sleep, my love.” “What’s that noise?” “I don’t know,” he lied, glaring at the three sets of beady eyes surveying them. “Just a mouse, it’s nothing to worry about.” “Is it rats?” He sensed her rising panic. “No, it’s just a mouse.” He 129

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kept her face buried in his chest. She had been through so much the sight of those rats might push her to the very brink of sanity itself. “There’s nothing there, my darling.” He rocked her gently. “Go to sleep, I won’t let anything hurt you. Did I ever tell you about England? You would like it, the countryside is very pretty.” He spoke softly so their fellow cells mates would not overhear. “I’ve been to the Court of St. James, that’s where certain specially selected people get presented to Royalty. You should see the ladies in their court dresses, all made of silk, such vibrant colours. The train is the most impressive part of their whole outfit. It might be made of satin and would be fastened around the waist. They’re several yards long sometimes, trimmed with lace and lined with silk. Some trains are worked in pure gold. In their hair, the ladies wear feathers, diamonds or even pearls.” “What do the men wear?” “Well, let me think. They might wear, say a claret coloured court coat, knee breeches, long white silk stockings and shoes with gilt buckles.” She giggled slightly. “Did you dress up like that?” “Yes, I got presented at St. James Court on a couple of occasions, a few years back.” He felt the tension leaving her body so he kept on talking. Telling her about his boyhood, his school days at Eton, holidays he had taken to Paris and Rome, and his time as an officer in the Hussars. Anything to blot out those horrible scratching sounds. The floor felt hard, deathly cold. He reached out a hand and found the walls damp and slimy to his touch. What a revolting place. If only his officer friends could see him now. It 130

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seemed a lifetime since he was in England among his own fashionable set; in reality, it was only a few months. Strangely, even the thought of Sylvia caused him no pain now. In fact, he had trouble bringing her features to mind. As for that episode which had brought him such disgrace, he wondered how he could have been so stupid as to allow himself to be caught in such a compromising position. God, it would be a long night. The other prisoners were snoring and snorting away in the corner. One man with a shocking cough, sounded as if he was full of consumption. It was a good thing he was here to protect Georgina. Judging by what these men had said, they would not have molested her themselves, but those guards—it was common knowledge they were the dregs of society, released convicts, army deserters and the like. They wouldn’t dare harm her now he was here. In the morning, the Colonel would ensure their release. His uncle didn’t feel kindly disposed towards him at the moment because he hadn’t offered to wed Kathryn. It was the stigma on the family name he would be worrying about. I won’t be leaving without Georgina, he vowed. They could not charge her as she had committed no crime, or none that he knew of, anyway. It was harsh, this colony, yet strangely fascinating just the same, he reflected, resting his chin on Georgina’s hair. He had never seen such a beautiful colour before. It was as if the rays of the setting sun had somehow got trapped amongst the tangled curls. She stirred restlessly and he hugged her closer. She looked so fragile, almost wraithlike yet, she had inner strength and a ton of courage. He had condemned Georgina because she came from convict stock. Couldn’t he now be classified as a criminal? Af131

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ter all he was spending a night in prison, and his own exploits, which had caused his hurried exodus from England, were more than a little sordid. Why should children be blamed for the sins of their fathers?” In the dark filth of the cell, for the first time in his life he took a really good look at himself, and the picture proved anything but impressive. On reflection, he realized he had spent his life surrounded by spoiled pampered people, who overindulged themselves at every opportunity without so much as a thought for the less fortunate. His life was a farce. This revelation was disquieting. He had blamed Sylvia for his demise. She had, of course, been a contributing factor although the real blame lay at own his feet. One woman scorned him so he set out to prove to everyone how much in demand he was, even if it meant cuckolding a fellow officer. Strange, how one could put things into their right perspective in this hideous place. His career in the Hussars had been unspectacular. If there had been a war on somewhere, it might have made a difference. He had always been satisfied with his lifestyle before. It took someone like Georgina to show him what an aimless empty shell of an existence he had always led. He loved Georgina. She would be his wife and to hell with what anyone else thought. It was doubtful whether she would wish to live in England, and he was not in a position to return there until the scandal died down, if it ever did. His mission for Earl Darrington was completed. He had confirmed Geoffrey McIntyre’s findings. A convict calling himself John Darrington had married a Maryanne Watson. Their union had produced a son, also named John. Strangely, 132

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the birth had not been registered until several years later. Nevertheless, the information proved sound, so he paid McIntyre off as the Earl had instructed. What a queer effeminate man McIntyre was. He looked too girlish to have ever served in the navy. Marcus had felt uneasy in his presence. There was something about the man, a predatory madness in his eyes. He eased himself slightly because his hip was aching from where it was pressed against the stone floor. A week or more of this and he would be crippled with rheumatics. “Marcus.” “Go back to sleep. I was just shifting my position a little. I’m aching from lying in the one spot for too long. Sorry if I disturbed you.” “Will it be long until morning?” “I don’t know, probably not. I left Stanton’s after midnight and we must have been here three hours at least.” “Listen to those men snoring,” she said. “I have, one of them has a frightful cough, too.” “Yes, he spat up some stuff before.” “Georgina, please spare me the details.” He shuddered. “I’m glad you came.” She trailed her hand across his cheek. “You need a shave.” “Yes, a bath, too. It will take weeks to wash the stench of this place away. Damn you, get out.” He lashed out at a rat chewing on his boot. “What was that, Marcus?” “Just a mouse running across my leg.” “Bloody well shut up, can’t you,” an irate voice growled from the other end of the cell. A bout of coughing, a couple of snorts, several succulent obscenities were followed by silence. 133

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“Georgina, this is not really the time or the place, but will you marry me?” “Marry? You want to marry me? I thought I wasn’t good enough?” “Please, forget those foul things I said. I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last few hours, and there are things in my past that aren’t particularly pleasant.” “I don’t want to hear about them; the past is finished and should be forgotten.” “I want to tell you, in case you should hear it later from someone else. I can’t go back to England, not for a time anyway.” “I don’t want to know.” She pressed her face against his bristly cheek. “Just hear me out before giving me your answer.” “I do want to marry you. I love you so much nothing else matters, unless…” she trailed off. “You, you aren’t married to someone else?” He picked up the tremor in her voice. “No, I don’t have a wife.” Hugging her close, he briefly explained the circumstances necessitating his hasty departure from England, and his behaviour sounded even more sordid when spoken out aloud. “It doesn’t matter.” “Tell me about Johnny Dawson and what he means to you.” “I don’t love Johnny the way I love you, Marcus. I never wanted to marry him.” “Why not?” “Because he’s…” “Because?” he persisted. 134

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“Please,” she said in a wavering voice. “I can’t tell you about Johnny, I promised O’Rourke. He made me swear not to tell a living soul about, well it’s a secret.” She trembled so badly he let the matter drop—for now. What secret? Probably something to do with her convict background, but where did Dawson fit into the picture? “Maybe you could ask O’Rourke.” “Don’t worry, Georgina, I will.” I’ll shake the truth out of him if I have to. If this marriage between them was to work, there could be no secrets. “You don’t want to marry me anymore?” she asked sadly. “Yes, of course, I do.” He hugged her close. “We can be married as soon as I make the arrangements, would you like that?” “Yes.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I wonder how many men have proposed to their future wives in prison?” “I don’t know.” “Not too many I should think. I’ll have to stand up for a minute my legs are getting stiff.” When he stood up she did also. I’ll always remember this place, she thought. Now she understood what Johnny meant. No wonder he preferred to die than be imprisoned again. Marcus stamped his feet; she did likewise. Without his warmth, she felt freezing, and the dampness seeped so deeply into her bones they started to ache. What they could see of the sky through the little barred window above their heads, showed it to be streaked with pink and grey. Their fellow inmates started stirring also, poor things. Criminals they might be, but the vilest person in the 135

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world did not deserve this kind of treatment. The sun had risen fully by the time Georgina heard the key being turned in the lock. Breakfast time. The congealed mess on the plates was supposed to be some kind of stew. It wasn’t even handed to them, just dumped on the floor. There were four others in the cell with them, dirty, uncouth looking fellows, but Marcus decided they must have some code of decency. Honour among thieves type of thing, as they were quite discreet in answering the calls of nature. He would die before using the primitive facilities himself. Georgina became upset when he asked as delicately as he could, whether she needed to use them. It was a disgrace, he thought savagely, that she should be subjected to such degradation. They both refused the food; starving to death, he felt sure, would be preferable, although the others had no hesitation in disposing of their portions. “When will they let us out, Marcus?” “Soon, Georgina, soon.” “Make them let us out now.” She verged on hysteria once more. How much longer before she completely broke down. God Almighty, what kind of people ran this place? “Stay here, I’ll see if I can make someone come.” “No, don’t leave me.” She clutched frantically at his arm, her fingers biting into the flesh above his elbow. The other men stopped eating to look at them. “At the end of her tether is she?” the big man asked. “Yes, how can I get their attention?” With Georgina clinging to his arm Marcus went to the door and yelled through the grate. Suddenly, the other men 136

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started yelling and banging their tin plates on the stone floor. The din was frightful, but it brought results. A guard yelled out to them through the door. “Get us out of here,” Marcus ordered. “My uncle happens to be Colonel Stanton, who is a friend of the Governor. You’ll hear more of this, I promise.” Another few minutes elapsed before the door creaked open, and he and Georgina were released. Back in the Governor’s office, Marcus gave vent to his fury. “How dare you treat us in such a degrading manner? I’ll make sure every single one of you is dismissed over this outrage.” George just stood there, too weary to say or do anything. All she wanted was to go home and never return to this evil place again. Marcus had proposed marriage, but did he really mean it? Could they really overcome all the obstacles society would put in their path?

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Chapter 10 They were released, finally. A horse was provided for George, and as the gates of the grim bluestone prison clanged shut behind them, she took deep breaths of fresh, pure air. It was the smell of the place that would stay in her memory, a combination of unwashed bodies, dampness and decay. The sun shone brightly from a cloudless blue sky, birds soared about them, while the air hung heavy with the perfume of the bush. She felt dirty and disheveled; her shirt was ripped along one sleeve and her breeches sported damp patches on the legs. Marcus, who was usually so immaculate, had dark stubble covering his jaw and chin. His white silk shirt was creased with damp patches across the back, and his boots looked scuffed and dirty. “We’re a disreputable looking pair,” he said with a grimace. Both of them were hatless. His hair fell into loose waves, while hers felt like it was a mass of tangled knots. “Georgina, you did agree to marry me in that horrible place, didn’t you?” “Yes, if you want me to.” “I want you to, more than anything else I’ve ever wanted 138

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in my life before. I’m selfish and possessive. I won’t share you with anyone.” “I don’t want anyone else, just you.” They rode along in silence. She reluctantly agreed to accompany him to Stanton’s until O’Rourke returned, as he did not want her staying in the homestead on her own. She was tempted to argue with him, but it felt nice having a man organizing everything, especially after the trauma of last night. No sign of life could be seen at the homestead. Billy would not be back for quite some time. He would head out to the ranges until things quietened down, or hopefully leave the area and join up with Tom. They dismounted and Marcus tethered their horses while she waited for him on the verandah. “Have a quick wash. You can have a proper bath at my uncle’s place. Don’t worry about taking many clothes with you. We’ll go into town tomorrow and I’ll buy you some new ones.” Johnny bounded up from a chair as they entered the kitchen. “You all right, George?” “What are you doing here?” she asked fearfully. “Waiting for you. Did they hurt you? I’ll kill any bastard who touched you.” “I’m all right. I was frightened until Marcus came to look after me.” “We’re in your debt, Englishman. I heard what you did,” Marcus’ lips thinned. “How did you know about all this?” “I have my sources.” Johnny grinned. “You look a real mess, George.” “She’s spent a night in a filthy bloody cell, thanks to you. How would you expect her to look?” Marcus snarled. 139

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“Don’t fight, you two, please.” “It has to be said, Georgina, he’s causing you nothing but trouble. He’ll hang at the end of a rope or catch a police bullet before much longer.” “Don’t say that.” She glanced from one man to the other. “Please, I want you to be friends.” “Friends!” Johnny sneered. “I don’t want a bloody English stuffed shirt for a friend.” “And I don’t associate with common criminals.” The air became thick with animosity. “I told you I was possessive, Georgina, and I am. You have to choose, right here and now between the two of us. I will not share my wife with another man.” “Please, Marcus.” “Choose, Georgina. It’s between him and me. If you marry me, you will never have contact with him again.” “You can’t mean that. I have to see Johnny, I just have to.” Her voice broke. Marcus looked ruthless standing there, with his feet planted slightly apart, his arms folded across his chest. “Please.” “It’s your choice, Georgina. I might put up with sharing my mistress, but not my wife.” “Don’t worry about me, do as you like. A prissy looking English dandy wouldn’t make you much of a husband. I don’t need anyone.” She saw beneath Johnny’s air of bravado, and her lips trembled. “Marcus, don’t do this to me, please.” “If I walk out of this door without you, Georgina, we shall not meet again. It will be the finish.” “I have to see, Johnny, I just have to. Please, he’s—” 140

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“Is that your final word?” Marcus interrupted harshly, as a white faced George looked at him, her eyes begging for understanding. “She’s all yours, Dawson.” He swung on his heel and strode away. She started after him, hesitating in the doorway. She loved Marcus, but family ties bound her to Johnny. He was her brother and she couldn’t desert him. She scrubbed the tears away with her fingertips. “I’m sorry, George, I lost my temper. Go after him and explain about us if you have to.” Pain and regret darkened his eyes momentarily. His face was pale, his jaw rigid. He had never looked so sad and vulnerable. “It doesn’t matter. If he truly loved and trusted me, he wouldn’t ask me to make such a terrible choice. How did you find out about me being taken to prison?” “Dave sent a message.” Johnny frowned. “Billy’s safe, I told him to head up north, he could stay with Tom until things cool down. They only wanted him for questioning, so it’s not as if he committed any crime. It’s me they want. I could kill those bastards for what they did to you.” “It was horrible.” She shuddered. “I can still smell the prison on my clothes. I’ll never wear these things again, I swear.” After Johnny heated up some water, she lay in the dented tin bath tub while he waited outside. It was heavenly feeling clean, warm water against her skin. She washed her hair, and by the time she got dressed in fresh clothes her spirits had lifted a little. Just thinking of Marcus made her feel like a lead block had been lodged in her chest. Marcus didn’t love her, not really. In the cold light of day, he’d probably decided she 141

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wasn’t a suitable bride after all. I shouldn’t have believed him, she thought miserably. Lust wasn’t love, and that was all Marcus felt for her. He had admitted as much on that terrible afternoon under the willow tree. She slept in her own room that night while Johnny had O’Rourke’s bed. Sleep did not come straight away even though she felt exhausted, but the happenings of the last few hours were still vividly etched in her mind. She would never forget them. It was dangerous for Johnny to stay in the homestead, but he would not let her sleep alone. Useless arguing with him about the extra risk; until O’Rourke came home, he would stay close by. George awoke next morning feeling none the worse for her ordeal. Johnny brought her in some tea and toast. “You slept in,” he greeted her cheerfully. He had recently bathed by the look of him. His dark hair rested in a mass of damp curls against the collar of his shirt. “You’ve had a bath.” “No, a swim. Beautiful, too.” He waited until she propped herself up on the pillows before handing over a mug of milky tea and a plate containing two slices of toast. “I’ve already milked. When you finish here I’ll give you a hand with the rest of the chores, then we can round up a few strays. I saw several not bad looking heifers down near Logan’s gully.” “I’d like that.” She forced a grateful smile because he was trying so hard to be cheerful. “Don’t blame yourself. If Marcus really loved me he wouldn’t have asked me to make such a terrible choice.” “He acted out of jealousy. Maybe you should have told him I was your brother.” He thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip. 142

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“How could I? O’Rourke made me promise not to tell a living soul until he thought it was safe. Marcus asked me if I was your mistress, I said no. Why couldn’t he take my word for it? He proposed to me last night in jail on the spur of the moment. Probably had second thoughts in the cold light of day and was glad to use you for an excuse to back out. He’s gentry. His father is an English Lord.” “He was jealous. I saw the way he stared at you. He was eating you up with his eyes. There’s something quite fetching about you.” He leaned over and twisted a bright curl around his forefinger. “I’d marry you in a flash if you weren’t my sister.” “Do you know this big dark secret of O’Rourke’s?” “Not really,” he said evasively. “He doesn’t want the authorities to know we’re related, otherwise the traps would hound you into the grave. Oh, let’s forget about it.” Johnny knew the family secret, but like O’Rourke he wasn’t going to tell her. “Forget about it, George. It’s much better if you don’t know.” **** They rode out to Logan’s gully. It was invigorating riding flat out with the wind blowing through her hair. Johnny, a superb horseman, was fearless, equally at home rounding up cattle on one of O’Rourke’s stock horses, or out running the troopers on his racer. They stopped for billy tea and damper, and by the time they rounded up, and drove several head of cattle into the stockyards, the sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains. It still felt warm, so Johnny suggested they have a quick swim in the creek to cool off. Stripped to his pants, his 143

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bare chest tanned to a golden brown and his unruly curls flopping into his eyes, he looked proud and strong. If he had not taken up bushranging, what manner of man would he have made? He had a quick intelligent mind, a lively wit, but a streak of recklessness always seemed to be the dominant force behind him. “Johnny!” He broke into her musings by dumping her fully clad into the water. She shrieked and lashed out at him, but like a fish he quickly swam out of reach. They frolicked for a time until the sun disappeared completely behind the purple mountains, causing the air to become cold. Later, by the kitchen fire they ate hunks of thick bread, washed down with mugs of tea. “I won’t sleep in the homestead tonight, George, I’ve got a funny feeling.” “You think the troopers are about?” “Could be.” He peered out the window. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but something feels, well sort of not quite right. I won’t be far away. If anyone should come, I’ll have a better chance in the bush.” After he disappeared into the night, she sat by the fire for a time thinking of Marcus and what might have been. Perhaps it was for the best. She would never be able to keep up to the standards demanded of a wealthy aristocrat’s wife. Better for it to end now than leave herself open to even more grievous hurt. His parents would never accept her nor would his fine friends. Finally, she sought the comfort of her bed and lay listening to the noises of the night. A mopoke hooting, dingoes howling in the distance and the slight whisper of the wind, as it played in the trees outside her window, soothed her to sleep. 144

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Chapter 11 The sound of gunfire awakened George. Diving out of bed, she rushed to the window, but could see nothing, and as suddenly as it started the firing ceased and silence closed in once more. She dragged a pair of breeches on over her nightshirt, pulled on some boots and headed for the back door. After lifting the latch, she hesitated for a moment, before stepping outside. It was dark. A deep ominous blackness. Fear gnawed at the pit of her stomach until she felt sick with it. Stealthily she crept towards the lookout where Johnny said he would spend the night. Only a mile from the homestead, but his mountain eyrie gave him an uninterrupted view over the whole countryside. Thick bush, overgrown with blackberries and vines, shielded him so a person could pass within feet of the hideout without ever seeing it. Few people knew about this place, and because of the roughness of the terrain it could only be got to at night on foot. Voices floating clearly on the night air alerted her of danger. “I know I got him” She stifled the screams rising up in her throat by thrusting 145

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her fist in her mouth. Men were searching the bush close by. She froze against a tree trunk, scarcely daring to breathe. “Johnny Dawson is as good as dead. Can’t have got far without a horse, especially when he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. The others are watching the horses and the homestead so he won’t get away. We only have to wait until daylight. I can almost smell that reward money.” Two men walked past, they were so close she could have put out a hand and touched them. Police troopers discussing Johnny. Somehow they must have discovered his hideout and cold bloodedly waited in ambush. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her palms became clammy, and the sickening sensation of real fear churned her stomach. It was agony not knowing how badly hurt he might be. Like a shadow she flitted from tree to tree, using the bush for cover. Wounded, perhaps weak from loss of blood, where would he go? Her brain strived to grapple with the possibilities. The cave and his little valley were the logical places, but could he make it so far? She was on foot and dared not go back to get a horse in case someone saw her. There seemed to be no one about as she headed through the bush. The stars shed the only light in the darkness. She could never remember a night being as black as this. “Help me to find him please, God,” she prayed desperately. Except for the call of the mopoke and the rustle of bush animals going about their nocturnal business, there was no sound. She moved like a shadow making no noise, and though she wanted to run, forced herself not to do so. Caution was required now, lest she lead Johnny’s pursuers to his hideout. Once away from where she first encoun146

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tered the troopers, she risked calling out. “Johnny, where are you?” She wanted to scream out loud so he would be sure to hear, but instead used a loud whisper. “George.” Finally she was rewarded when he answered. “I’m hurt real bad.” She followed his voice to a fallen tree trunk half hidden by undergrowth. “I’m inside this hollow log.” A hasty glance around, then she pushed her way through the undergrowth to where a giant tree had lain for years. She dropped to her knees, frantically searching for his hand. When his flesh touched hers she started dragging him out. He could not climb to his feet unaided, and it took all her strength just to get him standing. Even then, he swayed like a drunken man. “Hang on to me, Johnny. We’ll go to that old round hut; it isn’t far from here. I want to see how badly hurt you are.” “It’s on Stanton’s place,” he said in a throaty whisper. “Without a horse, I can’t get you anywhere else, it will be safe. No one would think of looking for you on the Magistrate’s property.” What a nightmare trip. Johnny passed out twice, and by the time they reached the hut, George felt exhausted. He was slightly built, but he leaned so heavily on her, she was almost bent double. As atonement for the pit like blackness, the moon suddenly disgorged itself from behind the banked up clouds to light their way. A small hut, its dilapidation softened by the translucent moonlight, waited with a silent invitation for them to enter. It was a little round brick building with an arched 147

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doorway and small casement windows, but it had stood empty for years. “Only a few more yards, then you’ll be safe.” Where he got the strength from she didn’t know, but he straightened himself and staggered the last few yards. This effort drained him completely and he passed out just near the doorway. Sheer desperation somehow gave her the strength to drag him inside, and she pushed the door shut before collapsing on the floor. It was too dark to see properly, but she guessed he was hit somewhere about the chest or shoulder region, as she had felt blood from that area seeping hot and sticky into her shirt. “George.” He grabbed weakly at her hand. “Listen to me.” His voice sounded rasping and husky. “I’ve got a son.” “What!” His confession slammed into her with the force of a tornado and she almost toppled over. “Danny’s with the Shannons. His mother’s people. They live ten mile north of Goulburn on the Settlement Road.” He started panting now. “Promise me. Look after Danny. Sarah’s dead. His grandmother is dying with the cancer.” “I promise. Why didn’t you tell me before?” He didn’t answer and she realised he was unconscious. Johnny had a son? Was he delirious? He had never mentioned it before? This was the least of her worries at the moment though. His breathing sounded loud and rattling now. On her own, she could do nothing. Who could be trusted to help? Marcus had professed his love for her once, before bitterness and misunderstanding drove them apart, but surely true love would not be destroyed so quickly. She thought of Dave Gleeson, but he was an excitable 148

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youth at the best of times and would be hopeless in a situation like this. “I’ll be back soon, Johnny,” she promised, even though he could not hear her. She ran. Ran, as she had never done before, desperation driving her on even though her heart beat like a bellows and her legs started to wobble. Everyone would be in bed by now as it was only an hour or so before dawn. Which room was Marcus in? Her tortured brain tried to remember. Directly above the big oak tree, yes, he had complained about branches scraping against the window. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and make sure the barking dogs were not roaming free, she started to climb. Climbing had been one of her childhood achievements and it was an easy tree with plenty of footholds. His window was closed and it took several loud knocks before she heard his irate voice. “Marcus, Marcus.” “What the hell.” He poked his head out the window. “Georgina.” “Help me, please. You’ve got to help me. There’s no one else I can trust.” She grasped his hands. One savage jerk found her inside his room and confronted by his anger. “What in the name of God are you up to now?” “Help me.” Her desperation finally penetrated his rage. “Johnny’s been shot.” “Hardly unexpected,” he grated. “What do you expect me to do about it?” “Help him.” 149

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“You made your choice, Georgina. You can expect no help from me.” Was this hard voiced stranger her Marcus? “Please, he’s been shot. You’ve got to help him. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Even become your mistress,” she babbled in desperation, clutching him in the darkness. “You would become my mistress? A stuck up pommy toff like me? My God, he must mean a lot to you. I’ll have to get dressed, you better wait outside.” “I want to stay here, please, I’ll turn my back.” She heard him fumbling around in the dark. A lamp flared, but she kept her eyes averted. “All right, I’m decent.” She swung around. “Georgina.” At his horrified gasp she glanced down at herself. The whole front of her shirt was soaked with blood, the red standing out starkly against the white cloth. “Have you been wounded too?” “No, just Johnny.” A pulse convulsed in his jaw. “If he’s bleeding so badly there’s probably little I can do.” “Please.” He muttered a curse. “All right, I’ll do what I can. Where is he?” “There’s a little round brick hut on Stanton’s further most boundary.” “I think I know it.” “Hurry.” “I’m trying to find something to use as a bandage.” He was wearing moleskin breeches, his shirt left hanging half open. He grabbed a couple of towels off the dresser. 150

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“We’ll need this.” He thrust a silver brandy flask at her. “Is there a lantern in the hut?” “I don’t know.” She started towards the window. “We can go down the stairs and through the side door.” “Someone might see us.” “At three in the morning? I doubt it.” Stealthily they crept downstairs and out on to the verandah without mishap. They made their way to the stables, and by the lamplight Marcus saddled his horse. A sleepy groom called out to them. “It’s all right, boy, I couldn’t sleep and felt like a ride. Don’t trouble yourself about coming down, I can saddle up.” George watched from the shadows as he saddled the grey that was whickering nervously. “It’s all right.” He soothed the skittish animal. He led the horse outside, hoisted George up, then swung up behind her. “You carry the lamp,” he instructed abruptly. Within a few minutes, they were on their way with George giving him the directions. “Hurry, Marcus please.” His arms tightened around her cruelly, as if he was trying to hurt her on purpose. “I’m going as fast as I can. I have no intention of risking my horse’s legs because of you or your outlaw lover.” They arrived at the hut within a short time. She glanced around, but there was no sign of any other presence. Leaping to the ground she almost dropped the lantern in her haste, leaving Marcus to collect the towels from where he had placed them in the saddlebag. All was silent as she charged into the hut and knelt down beside Johnny, who appeared not to have moved at all. 151

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“George?” “Yes, it’s me. I’ve brought Marcus; you’ll be all right now. He’s going to help us.” She blinked suddenly as the lantern flared in the darkness. “Johnny,” she screamed his name. “Quickly, out of the way.” Marcus pushed her to one side and dropped to his knees. The towels would be of little use he saw at a glance. Johnny Dawson looked as if half his chest had been blown away. Blood seeped from his wound, and one arm lay in an ever widening pool of blood. His face was unmarked. The damp tendrils of hair curling on to his forehead only seemed to emphasize his youth. Marcus glanced at Georgina who cringed in exactly the same position he had pushed her. Heart rendening sobs racked her slender body. “Are you in pain, Dawson?” Blue eyes flickered open, but they were already slightly glazed. “Here, drink this.” Marcus held a flask to the young bushranger’s lips and he drank greedily, but started coughing and choking as the brandy burned down his throat. “George.” “I’m here, Johnny.” Marcus watched a white faced Georgina crawl over to grasp a bloodied hand and hold it to her heart. “Don’t leave me, George.” “I’ll never leave you, Johnny. Never, I promise.” This seemed to satisfy him for his eyes closed once more. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” The tortured look in Georgina’s eyes pierced Marcus straight through the heart, and he knew he would never forget it. He would have given up everything he owned if it would 152

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have eased her pain. “Yes.” She had stopped her wild sobbing now, but this terrible silence was even more piteous. “I really am sorry, even if we got a doctor we couldn’t save him.” “George.” “Yes, Johnny, I’m here.” “Am I going to die?” “No, Marcus will save you.” “Your Englishman is here? Englishman…” It came out in a husky whisper, and Marcus leaned closer. The end was near now, the towels were soaked yet the blood still came. It was horrible watching this boy’s life literally flowing into the ground. “Take, take.” The blood started spilling from his mouth. “Take care of George for me and find my son, promise.” What in the hell was Dawson raving about now? He was obviously delirious. There was no time to ask him what he meant, so Marcus gave his vow out loud. “I promise to look after them.” Johnny closed his eyes and Marcus thought he was dead, but life still flickered in the young outlaw. “Hold my hand, George.” He moaned slightly. His face by the lamplight appeared absolutely white, with not a vestige of warmth left, even his lips were bleached of colour. It could not be long now, Marcus knew, as the pool of blood was growing and spreading beneath him. “Englishman.” Johnny struggled to get up. “I’m her brother.” He twitched then lay still. George screamed, desperately throwing her body across his. “Johnny, Johnny.” 153

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“Georgina, you can’t help him now, no one on earth can.” She started sobbing wildly, so Marcus picked her up in his arms and took her outside. The sky was now streaked with pink, the dawn of a new day. Night had departed on silent wings bearing the young outlaw with it. “Stay here, I want to attend to things.” She did not move from where he had sat her and never before had he seen such a look of raw anguish on any person’s face. Inside the hut, he folded the outlaw’s arms across his chest and pressed his eyelids shut. There was not even a blanket to cover him with. He closed the door and walked over to Georgina who was sobbing piteously. “I’ll take you to Stanton’s place.” “No, I want to go home.” “You can’t stay on your own. If your uncle were here it would be different.” “Can you see to things, I mean?” She shuddered. “Yes.” “Don’t let them take pictures of him or anything. They, they do that to bushrangers, even cut bits off them sometimes.” He felt sick to his stomach. Surely they would not desecrate the dead? He remembered reading of such things, but thought it a fabrication of some over-enthusiastic newspaperman’s imagination. “No one will touch him, I’ll see to that. Please, Georgina let me take you somewhere. You shouldn’t stay on your own.” “No, I have to go home. Billy will come there when he hears. Johnny said he had a son. Why didn’t he tell me?” 154

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“I don’t know, Georgina, perhaps he felt ashamed. Probably got some girl with child and cleared off.” “I bet he told O’Rourke,” she said and sobbed. “Nobody tells me anything.” He took her home, his poor broken hearted Georgina. It was frightful leaving her alone, yet there was nothing else he could do. He had never been particularly religious but Johnny Dawson would get a decent Christian burial. Even if I have to sit with him all the time, no one will tamper with the body, he vowed. **** George could never remember how she survived the next two days. They passed in a daze. Marcus organised for Mrs. Gleeson to stay with her. She locked herself in her room and did not move until O’Rourke arrived home. The only thing keeping her sane was the thought of Johnny’s son. She became obsessed with claiming him. The police were reluctant to release the body for private burial, but Marcus used his influence so the funeral could go ahead without delay. He tried to see Georgina, but she steadfastly refused to leave her room. **** Johnny Dawson was laid to rest in the local churchyard with only George, O’Rourke and a small gathering of friends. Marcus attended but stood a little distance away from the rest of the mourners. The Parson gave a short, moving service, deploring the loss of such a young life. Billy did not return, as they had no way of letting him know what happened. After the burial service, a white-faced George, wearing her usual breeches and shirt, made her way to where the horses were tethered. She wanted to be alone with her 155

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thoughts, and O’Rourke understood this. Marcus made to follow, but the old man stopped him. “Leave her be. Come to the homestead this afternoon, she’ll be back by then. She needs to grieve alone.” Slowly, bent double with pain and anguish, George rode to her beloved mountains where the kurrajongs and mountain ash intermingled with the gum trees. The air smelt clean and sweet, native birds flittered around, a bright splash of colour against the somber foliage of the trees. She tethered her horse then wandered around for a time, feeling the warmth of the sun on her body, which had been strangely cold since that terrible day. She went to the edge of the cliff near Johnny’s lookout and gazed about. Down in the distant valleys, grazing cattle looked like tiny ants, while the sheltered gullies were covered in the white and lilac flowers of the Christmas bush. The wind blew gently, waving the heads of tall blue bells covering the side of a nearby hill. Tomorrow, she and O’Rourke would go and find Johnny’s son and bring him home. This thought kept her from going completely insane.

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Chapter 12 George had not returned when Marcus rode over to see O’Rourke. He was determined to ask for her hand in marriage. He loved Georgina. She would be his wife and to hell with the aristocracy. “This is probably not the time or the place, O’Rourke, but I’d like your permission to marry Georgina. I love her. I’m sure I can make her happy. She wouldn’t agree without your blessing, but I can take her away from all of this.” “I have no objection, if she wants to marry you.” “Good. Did you know about Johnny’s son?” “Yes.” “I want to find the child for her. I’d be prepared to bring him up as my own.” “I’m pleased you’re prepared to take on the boy as well. I’m an old man; I couldn’t look after him on my own.” O’Rourke shook his head sadly. “Before you commit yourself to anything, I want to tell you about George’s parents Maryanne and Jake, and my beloved Libby.” “You don’t need to.” “You have a right to know what you’re letting yourself in for before you make your decision. If you find you can’t mar157

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ry her after what I tell you, her and the boy will be all right with Billy and me. If you marry George, you risk being exiled out here for the rest of your days. Genteel society would never accept you, and George as well as Johnny’s son could be in mortal danger.” “Danger! What the hell are you talking about?” “There are people in England who would be prepared to kill her if they ever found out who her father was, and Johnny’s boy is at even greater risk.” “That’s ridiculous.” Was O’Rourke mad? Had the happenings of the last few days addled his brain? “Is it? To hang on to wealth they weren’t entitled to, one of them was prepared to send an innocent man to the gallows. Those bastards would do anything to cover up their dirty secrets.” Marcus was so shocked he couldn’t speak. Years out in the colony had obviously affected the old man’s mind. O’Rourke’s face took on the colour of dirty parchment, his eyes burned fiercely. “The story I’m about to tell you begins many years ago in England.” The hair suddenly stood up on the back of Marcus’ neck. “Georgina’s father got robbed of his birthright. Jake’s father married an heiress even though he already had a wife and son in America. Weren’t good enough for him once he became an Earl. Oh no, he had to marry into the gentry. When Jake found his father and told him his mother had died, he inadvertently played into that rotten bastard’s hands. “All the Earl needed to do was secretly marry this woman he had bigamously married and the son born of that union would be legitimised. What could he do with his first-born son, though? How could he silence him?” 158

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“Good lord, O’Rourke. What did he do?” “Dead men tell no tales, so he tried to have Jake murdered. That failed, so he framed him for killing his would be assassin. No one believed Jake when he said it was self defence because evidence had been planted at the scene to make him look guilty. He would have hanged, only he escaped and took up robbery to survive. When he finally got caught, he faced transportation as Jake Smith, or the gallows under his real name.” What a terrible situation. How could the English justice system get it so wrong, Marcus wondered? “Maryanne was treated unfairly, too. Her father was an incestuous, bible-bashing sadist. He was a member of the clergy so no one would believe her when she tried to tell the authorities what he had done to her sister. They put Maryanne in the insane asylum for trying to kill her stepmother. It was the other way round; this woman tried to kill Maryanne. She was only protecting herself. Another miscarriage of English justice.” O’Rourke spat his distaste. “If my Libby hadn’t looked after her in Newgate prison and on the convict hulks, Maryanne would have died. She was such a sweet, gentle little thing. Not even seventeen, yet they did this to her. Bastards, I hope they all rot in hell,” he finished off viciously. “Once they arrived here in the colony, Libby came to me, but poor Maryanne got sent to some wealthy brute named Fitzhugh who raped her. She escaped with a friend of mine, another young convict. They took up bushranging to survive.” “And Jake, what happened to him?” Marcus asked. It was a sickening, yet riveting story just the same. “Well, Jake got flogged and kept in solitary on the con159

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vict ship. Somehow he managed to survive. God alone knows how. Libby said he looked like a skeleton when they dragged him up on deck. He was destined for a hell-hole called Port Arthur, where the incorrigibles were sent. Somehow he escaped and went bush. Lived with the natives. Eventually his path crossed with Maryanne’s and ours again. We got married on the same day.” O’Rourke suddenly chuckled. “Jake kidnapped a bloody priest to marry us. He had more daring than any man I ever knew. Only thing, he let this obsession with claiming his birthright overrule his good sense. Gave the priest his real name. Had to be legal he says so his son could claim his birthright. Maryanne was already pregnant. Libby and I pleaded with him not to risk the gallows for a pile of crumbling English ruins. He was hoping to find a ship going to America, but once again fate stepped in. Fitzhugh caught Maryanne. God alone knows what horrors were in store for her. Jake missed the ship trying to rescue her. For five years they were on the run, forced to live like natives in the wilderness. Both Johnny and George were born out there in the back of beyond. When George was a toddler they met up with us again, bought a sheep farm and for a couple of years they did well. Jake and Maryanne went to Sydney taking Johnny and the new baby with them. George stayed with us because she’d been sick with measles. They couldn’t wait until she recovered because Jake had a deadline with some wool merchant. Maryanne knew how much Libby loved her, so they left her with us, thinking they’d only be gone a few days.” “My God, O’Rourke, what a dreadful story.” Marcus felt physically ill, and his head was pounding. “Makes me ashamed to be an Englishman.” 160

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“Yeah, well thank God, I’m an Irishman.” “You’re not even Georgina’s uncle, and she’s been living here without another woman…” Marcus trailed off. “Christ, man, don’t you see, that was one of the reasons I couldn’t tell George who she really was. I always let her think Libby and Maryanne were sisters. She was only seven when Libby died. What could I do? Dump her in a foundling asylum? We were living here by then, bloody government swindled me out of my tavern. We worked like slaves building it up. When it started to make money, those bastards came and stole it off us.” “I suppose you didn’t have much choice, but what about Georgina’s parents?” “I couldn’t find them. They escaped to America with Johnny and the baby. I didn’t know this until Johnny Dawson turns up looking for George, telling me his parents and two younger brothers were dead. Apparently Jake tried to register the children’s births in Sydney, wanted them recorded officially. Whoever did the registering tipped off the authorities. There was still a warrant out for Jake and Maryanne. That bloody obsession of his again. Anyway, after they got to America he bought a ranch out west. They were travelling on a coach that got attacked by Indians and there were no survivors. Luckily, Johnny wasn’t with them. “Bloody young fool ran into trouble almost the moment he set foot in the colony, got some young girl with child and had to marry her. He was no angel, but didn’t deserve to be persecuted and shot down like some wild dog.” “Georgina’s name is Dawson?” “No, Dawson was the name Jake used in America, so Johnny continued using it here. Their real name is Darrington.” 161

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“Darrington?” Marcus felt as if the breath had been punched from his lungs by a giant fist. He almost doubled over in shock. “My my mother’s cousin is Earl Darrington,” he was finally able to croak. “Jesus. You’re related to that despicable, treacherous bastard?” “Yes, he’s my Godfather as well.” Marcus felt sick to his stomach and his gut twisted. “I’ve only met him a few times. I spent time at Eton with Charles, the son. He was older than me, of course, but a vicious bully. What if Georgina ever finds out I’m related to those loathsome creatures, she’ll hate me and I wouldn’t blame her.” “George wouldn’t hold you responsible for something beyond your control, just like you shouldn’t blame her.” O’Rourke sighed heavily. “There’s been too much grief and bitterness caused by one man’s greed and vanity. If you love George and want to marry her, go to her. If not, like I said before, we’ll take care of her, but Lindquist, you must ensure the Earl never finds out about her or Johnny’s son.” “My God, O’Rourke.” Marcus felt full of self-loathing now. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about what the repercussions of his actions might now be. “I’ve put Georgina’s life at risk. The Earl asked me to confirm some information he’d been given concerning the marriage of Maryanne Watson and John Darrington, and also their son.” “Christ, man, you didn’t?” “I didn’t know why he wanted it? A man called Geoffrey McIntyre is working for the Earl. I gave him some money once I confirmed the facts. He’s probably an assassin. God, what have I done? “Was there anything about George?” 162

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“No, thank God. I saw the original entry. Only Johnny’s details were written down. Looked like they had started recording something else, but got interrupted. Anyway, who ever kept the register left a gap above the next entry.” “Yeah, ties in with what Johnny told me. The moment his father wrote Darrington they were on to him. Bloody fool. That’s what an obsession can do for you. It even ruined Johnny’s life. If Jake had registered those children as Smith, Dawson even, they would never have had to flee for their lives. I warned him. Libby begged him to forget about it, Maryanne too, but he would never listen.” “Once Georgina and I are married I’ll be telling my uncle, Colonel Stanton, the whole story.” “You can’t.” “Actually.” Marcus stroked his chin. “Colonel Stanton is the one man who can ensure nothing happens to Johnny’s son.” “Are you mad? He always hated Johnny, got no time for me either.” “The Colonel hates the Earl and Charles with a passion, blames them for Anna, his elder daughter’s death. He would love to have something like this to hold over them. “Anna fell madly in love with Charles. Poor, blind little fool was about sixteen and couldn’t see what he was really like. He got her with child but refused to offer marriage, so she killed herself to hide the disgrace. Kathryn was little more than a baby at the time. That’s one of the reasons Stantons came out here. The Colonel begged The Earl to intervene and force Charles to do the decent thing. He refused. Laughed in his face, then said Charles would never marry a whore like Anna. 163

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“He’ll be more than delighted to tell the Earl if anything happens to Georgina or the boy, every newspaper in England will hear about what he did.” “If nothing happens to Johnny’s son, what satisfaction will Stanton get? How can you trust him to keep his word if he’s thirsting for revenge?” “Ah, that’s the beauty of it.” Marcus laughed. “If the Colonel can’t expose the Earl for the evil creature he is, he’ll have the satisfaction of knowing both Charles and the Earl will have it hanging over their heads for years, that at some time in the future, if he wants to, Johnny’s son could claim his birthright. Think of the scandal that would cause.” “Clever.” O’Rourke chuckled. “I like it.” “I thought you might. They’ll be constantly living in fear of exposure and the Colonel will be able to taunt them. Oh, he’ll relish it. I’ll be giving my father and his lawyers the information, too, and just for added protection, my uncle is a friend of the Governor, so we’ll leave a sealed letter with him for safe keeping.” “It’s a good plan,” O’Rourke said gruffly. “Pity we couldn’t expose the bastard though.” “Johnny’s son will be safe with me. One day he might rock the foundations of the English aristocracy.” “Just so long as you look after them both it’s all I care about, too late now for anything else.” “Thank you, O’Rourke, I’m in your debt. I’ll go now. If Georgina accepts my proposal, we’ll be back within a short time. We’ll get married straight away so we can go and collect Johnny’s son.” “Yes, get the boy as soon as you can. If Mrs. Shannon dies, God knows where he’ll end up.” 164

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Marcus mounted his horse and rode away, every inch the aristocratic Englishman. Silently, O’Rourke uttered a prayer that he had done the right thing. In his heart, he felt sure he had. Marcus seemed a decent man, even if he was a member of the English aristrocracy. He obviously loved George and would always look after her. Nothing else mattered. Anymore. **** Marcus found George sitting on the ground with her back resting against a kurrajong tree and staring out into the distance. She did not even hear him ride up so deep was her distress. “Georgina,” he called her name twice before he got any reaction. Finally she turned her head, but gave no other sign of having seen his approach. “O’Rourke told me where to come. I’ve been worried sick. Why wouldn’t you see me?” He lowered himself down beside her. “I want us to be married. I’ve already spoken with O’Rourke and he’s given his consent. I love you, Georgina, and I can make you happy. Normally, I’d wait until you feel better about Johnny. I know how much you loved him, but he’s gone, my darling; pining for him won’t bring him back. O’Rourke agrees with me. We must marry straight away so I can protect both you and Johnny’s son.” His voice dropped until it became little more than a whisper. “He’s free now, don’t you see? No one can hurt him anymore. They can’t cage him. He was like a bird, a creature of the wild that needed to be free. He would not have survived if they’d locked him away, so he wouldn’t want you to be sad, would want you to remember the happy times. Even at the end he wasn’t unhappy because they didn’t catch him. 165

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He remained free.” A shudder shook her, and he held her close. “Cry, Georgina. Cry for all the Johnnys who want to be free and never can be. Cry because you loved him, then forget all the sadness and only remember the good times.” Georgina cried, great shuddering sobs racked her body and Marcus held her close, while the gentle summer breeze, heavy with the perfume of wild flowers, caressed them both. Finally, there were no tears left to shed. “Will you marry me, Georgina?” “I can’t marry you. Your father is a Lord. You’re rich and must marry someone of your own standing. Your friends and family could never accept me, no one in England would.” He swore. “I acted like a swine. Forget those ugly things I said, I was a jealous fool. I’ve loved you from the first time we met in that dingy little inn. I wouldn’t admit it for a time, even to myself. I fought my feelings for you, said all those wretched things. In prison I took a good look at myself and the way I had lived before coming out here. The picture was ugly. “Deep down I knew I wanted you for my wife, but there was Johnny, always Johnny. I was practically demented with anger and jealousy because you preferred him to me. The thought that you were his mistress ate into my very soul. It nearly killed me thinking of what you might have shared together, because I wanted you all for myself. I wanted to be the first man to know you, the only man,” he went on passionately. “It was pre-ordained. You were special. I knew it the first time I set eyes on you.” “Oh, Marcus.” She stroked his cheek. “I wanted to tell you so many times about Johnny, only I promised.” 166

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“Don’t say anything more, Georgina. O’Rourke told me the whole story about your parents. It makes me ashamed to belong to the English aristocracy.” “He’s never told me much.” She felt strangely hurt. “O’Rourke’s a good man. He wanted to tell you, but the right time never came up. Marry me, Georgina. I love you and I can make you happy.” His lips moved against her hair. “We’ll go together to claim Johnny’s son.” “You still don’t understand, Marcus, my parents were convicts.” “Georgina, it doesn’t matter to me now, the aristocracy can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care if I never set foot in England again, not after what O’Rourke told me.” He shuddered, to think a member of his own family, admittedly a distant one, could do such a hideous thing as to deny his own son, worse still, have him framed for murder to hide his own guilty secrets. Marcus kissed Georgina and she clung to him. He held her tightly as if he never wanted to let her go. After they were married and she was under his protection, he would relay O’Rourke’s story to her. She had a right to know and he wanted to be the one to tell her. She would be devastated, anyone would be, but he would be there to comfort her, offer support and do anything necessary to ease her pain.

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Chapter 13 Marcus and George were married the next day at the house of the local Minister, with O’Rourke and Reverend Clutterbuck’s wife as witnesses. As Marcus slipped Maryanne’s wedding ring onto her finger, she had to blink back happy tears. There was no time for a wedding breakfast or even a celebratory drink; they simply mounted their horses and headed towards Goulburn to pick up Johnny’s son. “Not much of a wedding for you,” Marcus remarked after a time. “I always thought when I finally got married there would be lots of pomp and ceremony.” “I don’t care, I’m just happy to be your wife.” She gave an excited little giggle. “Tonight, my darling, when we spend our first night together as man and wife, I hope to make it up to you. I’ll take you to paradise, Georgina, I swear it.” She shifted her horse closer to his so their legs might touch every now and again. George was wearing her normal moleskin breeches and shirt and Marcus was similarly attired. They wanted to travel as quickly and inconspicuously as possible to pick up little Danny. 168

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“You don’t think they would have moved or anything?” George asked worriedly. “We might not be able to find him.” “Don’t worry, my darling, they wouldn’t have heard of Johnny’s death yet. Even if they have moved, we’ll scour the whole colony until we find him,” Marcus promised. When they stopped by a stream to rest and water their horses, and eat some of the sandwiches Stanton’s housekeeper had provided, Marcus told George about her parents. She started crying before he was even halfway through it. “Don’t weep, my darling.” He held her close, resting his chin on her bright curls. “It’s a terrible thing the Earl did, all the lies and treachery.” Marcus shuddered. “It disgusts me to think I’m even distantly related to him.” “How could any man do such an evil thing to his own son?” “Power and money becomes an obsession with some people; unfortunately, the class structure in England encourages it.” “I don’t think we should tell Danny about this. Let him think we’re his parents.” “No, Georgina. When he’s older, he has a right to know so he can make his own decision. If he wants to claim the title and estates, I’ll give him all the help he needs. I’m sure Colonel Stanton will, too.” He laughed. “I made my uncle a happy man when I told him Jake and Maryanne’s story. He’s even forgiven me for not marrying Kathryn. He was planning to return to England in a few months, anyway, now he wants to leave immediately. I’ve offered to buy his place from him. I have money independent of my parents. I’ve often thought about starting up a stud, breeding horses for the army and the mounted police, but only if you want to.” 169

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“I’d live anywhere with you, Marcus.” Daringly, she kissed him full on the mouth. When she would have drawn away, he put a hand on either side of her head to keep her close, so he could stake a claim to her lips. She was so soft and lovely, he thought, letting his mouth devour hers, taking all her sweetness and still craving more. Finally, he dragged his lips away. “Oh God, Georgina,” he groaned. “I want you so badly it’s killing me to be denied.” “If you want to, Marcus, we could…” “No, my darling.” He trembled against her. “When we consummate our marriage, we’ll do it in a nice comfortable bed by glowing lamp light so I can gaze upon your loveliness. I want us to be able to touch and taste each other. I want to make love to you slowly, to worship your body with mine.” He went on passionately. “It has to be perfect for you, not like it was before.” His blue eyes darkened with remorse. “I loathe myself for what happened under the willow tree. I could rip out my tongue when I think of the foul things I said to you.” “Sh.” She put a finger to his lips and he drew it gently into his mouth. “It doesn’t matter now. You love me and you married me and that’s all I care about.” “I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” he promised huskily, reluctantly putting her from him and standing up. “We have to keep moving, Georgina, we’ve got a lot of miles to cover before dark. O’Rourke said we shouldn’t travel at night, too easy to get lost.” They mounted and rode away, and the midday sun beating down from a cobalt blue sky burned their backs. O’Rourke had told him of an inn where they could spend their first night, but they would have to camp out for the 170

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second one. Marcus decided they would take a coach from Goulburn to Sydney and spend a few days there before heading home. He wanted to take Georgina shopping for her and the boy. How they would cope with a child, who was little more than a baby, he couldn’t begin to imagine. On and on, they journeyed through great tracts of bush land. George started to feel weary. She was used to roughing it, so how was Marcus coping? She kept glancing at him, but he did not seem to be showing any real signs of fatigue. When dressed in his fancy clothes he looked like a dandy, but he had spent time in the army and this obviously stood him in good stead now. The sun, drifting behind the distant ranges turned the sky pink. Shafts of crimson seeping across the mountains caused them to look as if they were awash with blood. As dusk fell, they arrived at a small, white washed stone inn. It had wooden shutters on the windows, and was surrounded by trees. A dumpy little Irishman greeted them at the door with a cheerful grin. “O’Rourke recommended your inn to us,” Marcus said by way of introduction. “Ah, how is the old rogue? ’Tis a long time since we shared an ale. I’m Patrick O’Connor.” “He’s all right,” George answered. “I’m Marcus Lindquist, this is my wife Georgina. We need your very best room for the night.” “We got married this morning,” George explained, dragging off her hat and causing her hair to tumble down over her shoulders. “That’s why we want something special.” “You’ll get it. I’ve got a private sitting room. I’ll take you there and the wife will get you a drink and something to eat. 171

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Bet you could do with a nice hot bath?” “Is it possible?” Marcus asked, trying to remember when he had ever felt so dirty. “For O’Rourke’s friends it is. I’ll get one of the men to see to your horses.” “We need to be up and about early tomorrow,” Marcus told Patrick as they followed him inside. The small sitting room contained four tables set with snowy clothes and gleaming cutlery. There was a brocade couch in one corner and two armchairs. “This is nice, Marcus.” “It’s surprising really. I didn’t expect to find a place like this out in the wilderness.” They sat on the couch. Patrick’s wife Maureen brought Marcus the whisky he had ordered and the tea George asked for. “We’d like to have a bottle of your best champagne with our dinner,” Marcus instructed. After George finished her cup of tea, Maureen took her into a room running off the kitchen. A large tin bath filled with steaming water dominated the little room. George wished she had some clean clothes to change into, but they were travelling light, because they wanted to collect Danny quickly in case the Shannons moved away. He was all she had left of Johnny. She lay in the warm soapy water with her eyes closed, and Johnny’s laughing face suddenly swam into view. I’ll look after Danny, she vowed inwardly. I’ll treat him as if he were my own son, Marcus will, too. She glanced down at the simple gold wedding band and suddenly thought of Maryanne. Strange, she found it hard to 172

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think of her as a mother. Perhaps it was because she had been little more than a girl when she died on the other side of the world. All the strange snippets of conversation, the veiled warnings from O’Rourke made sense now. I have to look forward, put the past and all its tragedy and betrayal behind me she thought fiercely. Tonight I’ll truly become Marcus’ wife, and we’ll have years of happiness together. After she finished bathing, George made her way back to the sitting room so Marcus could use the tub. They enjoyed roast beef and vegetables slathered in gravy, with thick slices of freshly baked bread. For dessert they had apple pie and freshly churned cream. She had one glass of champagne because Marcus insisted, but she did not like it. “An acquired taste, Georgina. If you don’t like it, leave it. I’d like to retire soon. I’m anxious for you, my darling.” Desire leapt like twin flames from his eyes. Later, in their bedroom, she eagerly went into Marcus’ arms. His mouth was hot, urgent against hers. Heated delight swirled through her as his hands and mouth explored at will. She felt as if her body had suddenly turned into a fireball. He moved away from her so his eyes could worship her naked loveliness. Such pure white skin. He stroked her from shoulder to thigh, and the surge of desire her beauty aroused, caused him to become almost light headed. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. She caressed his body, shyly at first, but gaining in confidence until she became absolutely wanton. She let her fingers close around his throbbing, silken shaft, while a trembling Marcus growled his approval. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she whispered, let173

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ting him wake the passion that had lain dormant until he fanned it into life. She felt heat in the very core of her being, the deepest recesses of her womanhood. Her desire burned like a raging fire, and only Marcus could quell it. When their desire was finally slaked, they slept. **** They set off at first light after a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and pancakes. This leg of their journey would be the longest and most arduous. In some places, the track disappeared into the bush. Their pace in the summer sun was steady rather than speedy, but the closer they got to Goulburn, the more apprehensive George became. What if the Shannons were gone? Johnny would never be lost to her if she had his son. They passed no one. “I can’t believe what a vast empty land Australia is,” Marcus remarked. When night fell, they camped by a lagoon. George got a campfire going while Marcus attended to their horses. They toasted bread on a fork over the flames, and spread it with butter they had carried wrapped in a damp cloth. With several slices of Maureen’s fruit cake washed down with billy tea, it turned into a banquet. “What do you think of bushman’s tucker, Marcus?” “Nice,” he said, putting out his tongue to catch a droplet of melted butter sliding off his lip. With his hair ruffled, a dark shadow of beard on his jaw, and dressed in moleskin trousers tucked into knee length boots, he looked ruggedly handsome. They built up the fire even though it was warm, to keep wild animals at bay, then stretched out on their bedrolls. They did not speak, but almost at the same time, they moved closer 174

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together and George went eagerly into Marcus’ arms. His mouth claimed hers in a long passionate kiss. His tongue, darting and flicking inside her mouth set her nerve endings on fire. She opened his shirt and rested her palms on his bare chest. Slowly, she moved her hands down his body, and she heard him suck in his breath when her fingers slipped inside the waist band of his breeches. “No, Georgina, for God’s sake.” “Yes. I want us to make love under the Southern Cross, Marcus, with the summer grass under our backs.” The black velvet sky was pin pricked with a million twinkling stars while the fire threw out a comforting glow. Their bodies were seared together by mutual desire. The smell of the summer flowers wafted on the night air, seducing them with their perfume. The night birds serenaded them, and Marcus had never experienced anything so sensual. “Oh, my darling,” he groaned, unbuttoning her shirt with trembling fingers. He put his tongue out to touch the warm tip of one nipple, while he covered her other one with his hand. Soon this wasn’t enough. He started suckling her breast like a baby, while George worked frantically on his breeches. She wanted him now. She couldn’t wait a second longer. She was burning up with need. White hot flames licked at her body and only Marcus could extinguish them. George had never known such exquisite agony. Their need became so great, so urgent they could not be denied any longer. They wanted to feel bare flesh searing bare flesh. When they were both naked, Marcus rolled off the blanket so the cushioning summer grasses could caress their skin. The man in the moon stared down on them from beneath his silvery halo, bathing nature’s bed in a translucent light. 175

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George’s welcoming body was hot and moist, like the petals of a rosebud opening to receive the sun. She let Marcus slip inside, thrusting, drawing back then thrusting just a little further into her warm depth. Suddenly, George’s ripening womanhood exploded into life, convulsing and closing around Marcus like a sheath, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Her eyes were tightly closed, because the stars going off inside her head appeared so bright they were blinding. Instinctively, she put her hands on his buttocks and pushed his body into hers. “Georgina,” he cried out when his control completely snapped. His wild thrusting took him in further than he had ever been before. George felt as if he had touched her very womb itself. Instinctively she knew, tonight under the Southern Cross, Marcus would give her a child. As she plunged from the pinnacle of passion, and sanity returned, she started weeping because she never wanted it to end. “Oh, Marcus,” she sobbed. “You won’t leave me?” “Never, my darling.” He wrapped his legs around her and they lay together, joined as only a man and a woman united in love can be.

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Chapter 14 Geoffrey McIntyre, late of the Royal navy, smirked as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Even though he was over forty, his youthful face remained unlined and he could easily pass for thirty. So, Earl Darrington had asked his Godson to check up on the bushranger called Darrington before handing over the money. Old bastard obviously didn’t trust him. Lindquist had ascertained John Darrington had married Maryanne Watson and produced a son. Could this Maryanne be the convict girl who had shared his cabin on his first journey out to the colony, he wondered. She had been a pretty girl, even he had noticed this and women held no appeal for him whatsoever. Young boys were what he craved, and his appetite was insatiable. He now owned a stable of boys trained to do his bidding. To give their small bodies to him without reserve, so he might perform any act on them he had a mind to. After he had used them for a couple of years, if they were too ruined to sell to other men, Darcy, the old convict who ran his stable, dealt with them. What he did, Geoffrey neither knew nor cared. Just so long as there were plenty of clean, fresh young boys 177

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for him. He hated dirt, and Darcy was nearly as fastidious as he was. It proved expensive running such an establishment. He could have made money by letting the boys serve other men as well, but fear of picking up germs always deterred him. His father, curse his soul, had disinherited him when he found out about his sexual preferences. The old man then spent his money on gambling and high-class whores in Paris until he died virtually penniless. Fortunately, two wealthy uncles each paid him a generous allowance to stay in Australia, but it wasn’t enough, he had to do work on the side as well. He dabbled in blackmail now and again, but wasn’t greedy like other blackmailers. They bled their victims over and over until they got so desperate they either had the perpetuator killed, or reported them to the authorities. He only ever made one, at most two demands. Numerous people in this colony with guilty secrets were prepared to pay handsomely to keep them hidden. He called himself a private investigator. Geoffrey chuckled. He got paid by men like Earl Darrington to dispose of any unwanted progeny, or cover up other scandals. It infuriated him to think the Earl had sent his Godson out to double check on his information. You weren’t so smart, though, Lindquist, you only found a grandson, but I found a great grandson. The Earl would pay handsomely for this last piece of information. Would pay even more to have the brat disposed of. Geoffrey touched his pocket and was comforted by the feel of the silver blowpipe he had had specially made. It fired poison darts, and without vanity he knew he was an expert in its use. So much cleaner than a gun or a knife. He shuddered just thinking about the blood, it was so messy. Often as not, 178

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the puncture wound remained undetected, so death was assumed to be due to heart failure. The Darrington brat was living near Goulburn under his mother’s name of Shannon. Pity he wasn’t older, Geoffrey mused, but he didn’t like boys who were too young. They needed to be able to give as well as receive pleasure. It would obviously need to be a job for the blow pipe. He giggled to himself. One of only a few decent things that had happened to him as a member of his Majesty’s navy, was an extended stopover in Africa. This had not only satisfied his craving for black flesh, but he learnt from a witch doctor all about poisons and the use of darts to kill one’s enemies. Just remembering the things he saw in Africa, the voodoo, cannibalism and human sacrifices excited him. This excitement aroused him to fever pitch until he desperately needed one of his boys now. Tomorrow or the next day, he would set out for Goulburn, no real need to hurry. Darcy always had the boys scrubbed and clean by mid-afternoon, just in case the urge took him. As he reached for his coat and top hat, excitement churned through him, and he started salivating just thinking of the freshly bathed, powdered and sweetly smelling boys prepared for his enjoyment. They had to be clean. Dirt always repulsed him. He had bought some of the boys from their destitute parents, even got some from an orphanage, or just picked them up off the streets. He could never understand why people condemned men such as him. He was saving the boys from poverty and filth. He sniffed self-righteously as he climbed into his carriage. **** 179

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The Shannon homestead was built from bark sheets tied to saplings, and it had a stone chimney. Marcus was amazed at how people could live in such primitive places. A tall, bearded young man came out to greet them. “Is your name Shannon?” Marcus asked him. “Who wants to know?” “I’m Marcus Lindquist, this is my wife Georgina.” “Yes, I’m Michael Shannon. What do you want?” “We’ve come to collect Johnny’s son,” George interrupted. “I’m his sister.” “Oh, yeah?” “I am. Johnny’s dead. He wants me to have his son now his grandmother can’t look after him.” “Johnny’s dead?” “Yes, the police shot him,” Marcus said. “Bastards,” Michael spat the word out. “I rode with Johnny for a while, that’s how he met my sister Sarah.” His mouth twisted. “We had a falling out over the way he treated her. Still, I’ll give him his due once he knew she was with child he married her. Took off the day after the wedding, though. Come inside, Danny’s having a sleep. Ma hasn’t got long. There’s no other woman to look after him, that’s why I sent word for Johnny to claim the boy.” Marcus suppressed a shudder as they entered the house. It looked clean, but had a dirt floor and the walls were lined with newspapers. The chairs and table were hewn from tree trunks. It seemed even more primitive than O’Rourkes, at least he had proper furniture. A wizened up woman with yellow, parchment like skin sat in a rocking chair. “Johnny bought it for her,” Michael explained, fol180

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lowing Georgina’s eyes. “You’ve brought someone to see me, son?” Georgina picked up the Irish accent straight away. “Mrs. Shannon, I’m Johnny’s sister.” “So, you’re George, he mentioned you often.” “This is my husband, Marcus.” “How do you do, Mrs. Shannon?” “You married an Englishman?” “Ma, don’t get upset, Johnny’s dead. George has come to collect Danny.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s the light of my life is little Danny. Wish to God I were well enough to keep him. He’s all I’ve got left of my poor Sarah.” “We’ll look after him.” George knelt beside the chair and picked up the woman’s wasted hand. “I’ll love him as if he was my very own. He’s all I’ve got left of Johnny.” George’s eyes filled with tears. “Jesus, you bloody women,” Michael swore. “Don’t blaspheme,” his mother admonished. “The kettle’s on, make them some tea, son.” “I’ll do it.” George jumped up. “You’ll have to tell me all Danny’s likes and dislikes, Mrs. Shannon.” “After I’m gone, Michael is going to leave this place, too many sad memories here.” “Yeah, well it was never much of a place anyway, Ma.” “Do you know anything about horses?” Marcus asked. “I’m the best horse breaker in these parts, that’s how I met Johnny.” “Well, I could have a job for you. I intend starting up a horse stud, supplying mounts for the army, I’ve got some military connections out here,” George heard Marcus say as she 181

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poured the boiling water into the teapot. “There’s a cottage for your mother, too.” Behind Mrs. Shannon’s back Michael shook his head. “Sounds good, Ma, you’ll be near Danny, too.” “Yes, son.” Mrs. Shannon gave a wistful smile. After they finished their tea, Marcus and Michael went outside. George forced herself not to dash into where Danny slept and grab him. “Did Johnny visit here much?” “A few times before Sarah had the baby, once afterwards. Just stayed long enough to get her in the family way again. Then he was off. After she died, he called in once, said if anything happened to me, you would look out for Danny.” “Johnny wasn’t a bad person, Mrs. Shannon, he was just a little wild. A rolling stone, O’Rourke called him. I didn’t even know about Sarah or Danny until a few days ago. The troopers ambushed Johnny and shot him, with his dying breath he made me promise to look after his son.” “I don’t blame the boy completely,” Mrs. Shannon went on sadly. “Sarah was sixteen when they met. She fell madly in love with him, threw herself at his head, and you know men.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “She was a pretty girl, my Sarah.” “I’m sure she was. How did she die?” “Miscarried, caught child bed fever and was too weak to fight it off, I suppose. That was about six months back. Michael and I have been struggling along ever since. I haven’t been well for a couple of years, got a growth. It’s eating me away, but I’d have to be dead before I let anyone take Danny to the foundling asylum,” she finished off passionately. “I only hung out this long because of him.” 182

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“How old is Danny?” “Two. He’s been baptised and his birth recorded, all legal like Johnny wanted. I don’t know why he was so insistent about it.” “I do.” George inwardly cursed the man twelve thousand miles across the sea, whose greed had wreaked such havoc on her family. I don’t want Danny to have anything to do with them over there. Let them keep their dirty money and evil heritage, she thought fiercely. **** Marcus and Michael had just returned when a noise came from behind the piece of calico dividing this room from the sleeping quarters. A child toddled out, a boy with Johnny’s dark curls and impish smile, but George’s green eyes. She dashed towards him and scooped him up. “Danny, Danny.” She rained kisses all over his face. The child started kicking and screaming. “Ma. Ma.” “Put him down, Georgina.” Marcus ordered quietly. “He doesn’t like me,” she whispered brokenly. “We’re strangers to him,” Marcus said gently, looking into her stricken face. “Give him time.” Michael took the boy from Georgina and handed him over to his mother. “I know it’s stupid, but I wanted him to love me straight away.” “He’ll love you,” Mrs. Shannon assured as she rocked Danny on her lap. “Who couldn’t love a pretty girl like you? You were just frightened, weren’t you, Danny boy?” “We had hoped to take the child and leave straight away. I wanted to spend a night in Goulburn before catching a coach to Sydney,” Marcus said. “There are a few legal matters I must 183

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attend to, and Georgina and Danny will need new clothes.” Danny wriggled off Mrs. Shannon’s lap and headed towards Marcus. “He’s a fine little fellow. You certainly did well by him.” A chubby baby hand touched the top of Marcus’ fancy boot, then he raised his arms. Marcus picked him up and sat him on his knee. “Is this what you want?” He laughed as he gave the child his fob watch to play with. “You see, Georgina my love, you should have been wearing some colourful bauble to catch his eye.” “I didn’t think of that.” She edged towards Danny. “Don’t shrink from me, darling,” she said softy, putting out her hand to ruffle his curls. “I’m going to be your Mama from now on.” “I’ll get his things ready. There isn’t much, just a couple of toys and some papers.” Mrs. Shannon shuffled away. She was bent double and George thought she looked ready to snap in two at any moment. She came back with an old rag doll, some wooden blocks, a picture book and a few items of clothing. “Not much, the doll and book belonged to Sarah.” She handed the things to George and gave Marcus several sheets of paper. “To do with the marriage and Danny’s birth. Go now, better than prolonging the agony.” “Thank you, I swear we’ll look after him for you,” George promised. “I know. I wouldn’t have let you take him otherwise. Goodbye, Danny boy; see them off, Michael.” George’s eyes were full of tears as she kissed Mrs. Shannon goodbye. “God be with the three of you,” the Irish woman said. “I can die easy now.” 184

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“Maybe we should stay with you until…” “No, Michael will see to me. When I’m gone, he’ll join you.” Marcus still held Danny who played happily with the watch. Michael held him while Marcus mounted then gave the boy back to him. “I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks I expect. As soon as Ma goes, I’ll leave this cursed place.” “I’m sorry.” George didn’t know what else to say. “She’ll die a happy woman knowing Danny’s safe.” “Michael, if anyone should come around asking about Danny, say his father claimed him and you don’t know where he went,” Marcus instructed. “Safer for the boy that way.” “Yes. After what you told me; don’t worry, no bastard will get any information out of us.” As they rode away, George turned around to give one final wave to Michael Shannon. She glanced at little Danny sitting happily in front of Marcus, still playing with the watch, his chubby baby fingers trying to pick it open. “Oh, Marcus, I’m so happy, yet sad, too.” “I know, my darling Georgina, but we’ll have a fine life together all three of us.” This was a new land and it promised a golden future, unfettered by the chains of social standing and aristocratic bloodlines. Life would be good with Marcus, she knew, and with Danny around she would always have a part of Johnny. His spirit was free now to roam the mountains that he had loved so much.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Margaret Tanner is an award winning multi-published Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides herself on being historically correct. Many of her novels are inspired by true events—the hardships and triumphs of her pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia. Margaret is a member of the Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, Romance Writers of Australia and EPIC. Margaret is married to Laurie and they have three grown up sons. Outside of her family and friends, writing is her passion. You are invited to visit Margaret’s website at: http://www.margarettanner.com/ .

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