Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (293 page)

“Murphy and his curs will know this bush like the back o’ their hand, Will. We’re no’ trackers, we canna follow without knowin’ the right direction, aye?” said Callum.

William scanned the ground, trying to pick up the tracks. Then he whirled on Callum and thumped his palm with his fist. “You’re right, we’re not trackers, but by God, I know who is,” and he thundered off into the bush with Callum in pursuit.

• • •

Electra was exhausted. She had not slept for more than thirty hours and every inch of her body ached. A twisted knot in the tree to which she was tied pressed into her back; she squirmed, trying to ease the pain. Her head throbbed unbearably and she had vomited on her sleeve and on the ground as she regained consciousness. The men were some distance away, gathered around a campfire. Probably discussing her fate.

So far she had seen only Murphy’s face and she shuddered at the memory. He was as ugly and cruel as the stories suggested, and she knew without a doubt that he would show no mercy in his treatment of her. A tear slid down her face; not of self-pity, but of anger. An indignant fury at those who had once again deprived her of her freedom. She cursed herself anew for not returning directly to William when she came from Isabele’s room.

Isabele looked so sweet and innocent, lying on her side with her small fist curled under her cheek. Barely able to breathe, Electra bent over and gently pushed the sleeve of Isabele’s nightgown up her arm. The child moaned in her sleep but did not waken. As she gazed at the small heart-shaped birthmark, her heart slowed in her chest. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek as she tiptoed from the room. It was not possible to return to the room she shared with William and pretend everything was going to be the same. Outside the bedroom door, she kissed her fingers and pressed them against the warm oak. “I love you, Will
,”
she whispered. Then turning away, she fled down the stairs and, grabbing a light coat, left the house.

Of their own volition, her footsteps led her to the river. A clear, crescent moon overhead sent small glimmers of moonlight scurrying across the surface of the water, pretending all was well. The gentle movement of the river brought a momentary sense of calm. But it was not long before the anxiety crept back in.

She had no doubt Charlotte would use all her persuasive powers to convince William to accompany them when she and his daughter returned to England. His daughter. She tested it on her tongue and the dread filled her again.
Look at the river
, she commanded herself. There was nothing she could do, it would have to be William’s decision. And she knew better than anyone the extent of his integrity. Because she loved him, she vowed again to keep her pregnancy a secret until he had decided.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small sound. It could have been an animal but some instinct told her it was not. The first sound was followed by a high-pitched screech. Like the creak of a rusty door hinge. It was difficult to determine the direction or distance, as in the predawn silence, sound carried so clearly. She finally decided it was coming from the stables and got to her feet, uncertain of what to do. The thought crossed her mind to alert William but when there were further muffled sounds from the stables, she made the fateful decision to see for herself.

As she rounded the side of the stables, a heavy instrument struck her on the head. Her body spun and dropped to the ground. For a few seconds her mind struggled to draw in information but the blackness dragged her down.

Electra slipped in and out of consciousness for an interminable time. When she finally came to, she was bouncing like a sack of wheat, slung across the front of someone’s saddle. Her hands were tied and she had lost both her slippers. Her captor smelt of stale, dried sweat and rotten meat and something else; did evil have a smell? An attempt to turn her head was met with a nauseating dizziness and she moaned aloud.

“The wench is awake, Mick.”

“Good. It’s time to be stoppin’ and ye’ll be keepin’ her quiet ’til I’m ready for her, Red.”

“I don’t know as why we had to take her, Mick. We could have had her there, grabbed what we wanted from the house and be gone. She’s gonna be trouble, I can tell jes’ by lookin’ at her.”

“Ye’ll be findin’ out what trouble is boyo, if I hear yer whingin’ voice again.”

The voices blurred as the fog resettled over her mind. And anyway, none of the voices were familiar. Her mind snapped back to consciousness as the name “Mick” registered. Oh God, she thought, sickened, it’s Mick Murphy. I’ve been captured by Mick Murphy and I know what he does to women.
William, where are you?
Then she remembered. He didn’t know she was gone.

And now here she was, tied to a tree, helplessly awaiting her fate. Electra decided to try and loosen the ropes on her wrists, but her struggles only tightened the knot. She steadied herself and looked around, taking note of her surroundings. They were in thick, scrubby bush with only a smattering of light visible through the branches of the towering eucalypt trees. The ground was littered with broken branches and dry leaves and a mist threatened in the distance. By the angle of the land, she determined they were on a ridge and the slight chill in the air indicated they had climbed in altitude. This was unfamiliar country and her despair deepened at the knowledge William would not find her.

A branch snapped as someone approached. Electra closed her eyes, hoping whoever it was might leave her alone if he thought she was not conscious.

“Wake up, bitch,” muttered a low voice.

She stiffened, but kept her eyes closed.

A damp, fleshy hand slapped her face. Hard. Her head slammed against the tree trunk and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“You bastard!” she hissed. “Are you such a coward that you have to hit women?”

He laughed, an eerily familiar laugh. “That’s the least of what you’re gettin’, whore.” He trudged back to join the group of men.

Something about the man was scratching at her memory. Ridiculous of course, she had no acquaintances among the bushranger community. But it was the laugh. She was sure she had heard it before and the unease grew in her mind.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Eh, boss, devil man ’im chasin’ you?” yelled Billy, through the dust and flying stones as William and Callum thundered into the Pretty Creek Camp. The women and children scattered into huts and nearby bushland.

William dismounted and calmed his breathing before he spoke. “I need the best tracker in this area, Billy. Mick Murphy has kidnapped my wife and I have to find her before that scum touches her.”

A high-pitched, disembodied voice uttered a sharp question and Billy turned to throw back a response. There was a scream and wail as Yaraay appeared from the bush pulling at her hair. Interspersed with her wailing, were orders to one of the children who trailed behind her. He scooted like a bandicoot into the bush and William turned back to Billy for an explanation.

“Bulanggi best damn tracker I know, boss. Picaninny bring ’im quick time,” said Billy. He turned to respond to Yaraay as she pointed at the bush and at herself and turned back to William. “We all come, boss. You got ’im guns?”

“Yes, guns and knives.” William frowned at Billy. “Won’t the women slow us down?” he asked, desperate to begin the search.

Billy chuckled. “Nobody move like us black fellas in the bush, boss. You gonna take them noisy animals?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you take ’em for a bit but then we leave ’em behind. Them bushranger fellas hear us comin’ miles away. Okay boss?”

“Callum?”

“Oh aye, they’re right, Will. These laddies are the experts.”

It seemed like only minutes before the child reappeared with Bulanggi at his side, his face hard with anger. He told them he would put a spear through the heart of any man who touched the missus. Looking at the group gathered around them, William realised each one would gladly lay down their life for Electra. She had captured the hearts of so many in the short time since she arrived in the colony.

He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. To dwell on what Murphy might do to her would take his mind from the hard, cold focus he would need to find her and punish those responsible.

William and Callum mounted their horses and with the four natives trotting easily beside them, they retraced their steps to the western boundary where the visible tracks disappeared.

The three men and two women stood silently watching Bulanggi crouch over the footprints.

Without raising his head he said, “Look like dis many men.” He held up five fingers. “’Em be pull ’im ’nuther one.”

William started to ask a question but Bulanggi held up his hand. He had not finished. He spoke rapidly to Billy who translated.

“One fella ’im real tall and big, one fella ’im — ” he indicated a shorter height, “ — but real fat. He like to spit and don’ like movin’ too fast. ’Nuther fella, ’im short and skinny. He got red colour hair … ” he held up a red hair he found on the ground. “This one fella, he not so big too. He walk funny and he real scared. Las’ fella not too tall but strong. Missus, she not awake.” He looked up at William and Callum. “Who these fellas, boss?”

“I would guess the big one is Mick Murphy but I have no idea about the others. What do you mean my wife was not awake?”

“She not movin’, boss. Don’ worry. Don’ mean she dead.”

That was true, they would not continue to carry her body unless she was of use to them. William tried to keep his face impassive and concentrate on the task of finding her but he could feel the strain on his features and a chill in his heart.

“How — how long ago were they here?” he asked.

“Look like the wind bin blowin’ these one marks since before sun ’im come up.”

At least six hours. William cursed anew the time spent sleeping but refused to lose hope. He had been crouching next to Bulanggi and stood up. “Which way, Bulanggi? Let’s get going.”

Bulanggi stood and looked around, noting every aspect of the surroundings. He picked up broken twigs, disturbed groundcover, and even a small insect trampled into the dirt.

“This way boss.” And he was off into the bush.

As they rode beside the natives, William’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Billy, how the hell did he know how big those men were?”

“Those feller’s footprints jes’ like lookin’ at ’em close-up.”

“What do you mean?”

“That big fella, ’im got deep, straight one foot mark. That fat one, he got deep mark too but he not walk straight, he walk like he — ,” Billy blew out his cheeks and indicated a wide girth. “That small one, walk funny, ’im go deep on the outside of his boots an’ light on the inside but not so deep like them two big ones.”

“Well, that all makes sense, but how did you know one of them was scared?”

“Easy boss. That one he jump around an’ walk to them horses an’ then walk back. Then that big one, he maybe smack ’im an’ he fall back. Then his feet real still. He real scared.” Billy reached over and touched Will’s arm. “Them fellas no match for black fella, boss. We find missus.”

Bulanggi nodded his agreement then held up his hand. “No more talk. We go.” He ducked through the trees and out of sight.

Despite Bulanggi’s continual disappearance, the other natives never faltered. They had a sixth sense that told them exactly where he was at all times. At regular intervals, the group would come upon Bulanggi standing motionless like an ancient ebony statue. Then his nostrils would flare, his eyes would flicker and he would be gone again.

After hours of intense, silent tracking, Bulanggi held up his hand to bring them to a halt. He indicated they should leave their horses. William and Callum hobbled the horses, slung the saddlebags over their shoulders then waited for his explanation.

“Bulanggi say them fellas go ’long them Blue Mountains. That my mother’s land, Dharug country, boss, plenty family there,” said Billy. He pointed to his left. “Them fellas stop there.” He made an eating motion. “’Em not too smart.” He knocked the side of his head with his knuckles. “Make ’im fire. You look.”

William looked to where he pointed. Sure enough, there were the remnants of a fire, coals still smoking. He kicked at it, angry they had not caught up. There must be some clue, he thought, scanning the area, something to tell him she was alive.

“Boss!”

“What is it? Is she alive?”

“She alive all right, boss,” said Bulanggi, holding out a piece of ripped fabric.

“She bin tied to this tree and bin kickin’ real hard.” He pointed to the marks on the ground at the base of the tree.

William knelt down and could see where the groundcover had been cleared and furrowed by someone struggling and kicking at the ground. There were also small indents on the trunk of the tree where rope had severed the bark.

Yaraay joined him, surveying every inch of the area. Suddenly she yelped, clutched his shoulder and pointed to the ground. He leaned over and picked up a leaf which was covered in a brownish-red, viscous substance.

The others hurried to his side and Callum shook his head. “Weel, I’ve seen enough in my time to know that’s dried blood, lad.” Bulanggi and Billy nodded their heads in agreement. William froze, unable to speak. His hands fisted at his side, gripping so tightly his arms started to shake.

“Not much blood, boss. And maybe belong other fella,” said Billy hopefully.

William dragged his focus back to the task and told himself Billy was right, there was not enough blood to be life-threatening and she did indeed seem to be very much alive by the evidence. He uncurled his fingers and flexed his hands and hoped she had kicked one of the bastards in the face. That it was his blood.

Bulanggi walked some way up the ridge and gestured to Billy. They all followed eager for clues.

Billy pointed to the ground, indicating disturbed groundcover, broken branches, and bark scratched from trees. “One fella he take them horses up here. He go ‘lone. Other fellas, them walk. Other way. Not long,” he said, pointing toward the misty outline of the mountains.