To Taste The Wine

by Fern Michaels

  “That’s impossible!” she gasped. “I don’t believe you! You wouldn’t have dared return to England. You couldn’t have cleared yourself.”

  “But I did. When I returned to England this last time, I was determined to clear my name, and I had enough money to oil the wheels of justice. I suffered the most unspeakable conditions to mine opals in Coober Pedy in order to purchase Clonmerra from my uncle, something I’d never have been able to do if I hadn’t assumed my brother’s identity. All I’m waiting for now, Madeline darling, is the final decree from the courts that will finally free me of you.”

  “Aha! Then it’s not settled, is it? You could still lose everything, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose I could,” he answered with more courage than he felt. “My petition to the courts could be denied, and I might still be forced to stand trial for my brother’s crime. There’s a little charge of obstructing justice that rests against me, and of course if I’m imprisoned, I could still lose Clonmerra. My uncle’s terms were conditional at the time of the sale. But in any case, I’d rather take my chances with English law than with you.”

  “I don’t believe you; I don’t believe a word of it. Everyone still thinks you’re Quaid. You haven’t told anyone who you really are. You wouldn’t take that chance.”

  “But I did. You see, there was something I wanted more than Clonmerra, more than anything, and the lies and deceit were standing in my way. If you’d like to see the deeds and the other papers from the courts, I’ll be glad to show them to you. I’m even beginning to think of myself as Luke again.”

  She looked up into his face and saw he was telling the truth. “But what about me?” she cried. “I stood by you; I lied for you. You’d never have gotten Clonmerra if I’d told the truth that night, if I’d told them you weren’t my husband. You said yourself you’d never have been able to buy Clonmerra from your uncle if you hadn’t come here to earn the money.”

  He thought for a long moment. “You’re a greedy woman, Madeline, and I should throw you out, but there’s truth in what you say. I said I wasn’t going to give you another cent, but I will give you this.” He crossed the room and unlocked a desk drawer, withdrawing a little velvet pouch. He poured the contents into Madeline’s outstretched hand; her palm glittered with blue and green fire.

  “Opals, Madeline. There’s more than enough to give you a new start if you’re careful.”

  “How careful?” she asked, her fingers closing over the gems possessively.

  Luke Tanner laughed, this time with relief. Madeline would no longer be a problem; she was accepting his offer.

  The afternoon was brutally hot and airless. Not the slightest breeze grazed the land. It was too hot to cook, nearly too hot to breathe, and the air was so dry it parched the throat. Insects had descended. Flies by the hundreds had invaded the house, despite Chelsea and Tingari’s efforts to keep them out. Outdoors it was even worse, the filthy black creatures pestering man and beast, hovering about the face to take the most meager drop of moisture from the eyes, nose, or mouth. Gaby was plagued with their bites; red, swollen patches bruised her exposed skin. Chelsea was frantic to keep them off her baby, and Tingari, knowing they carried disease, had rubbed the baby with oil of bay; but the hungry, thirsty things persisted.

  “Harlow, won’t you come in and have something to eat?” Chelsea asked softly through the screen door. He’d been sitting on the porch most of the day, even through the worst of the heat, his gaze fixed on the sky. White rain clouds had drifted over the distant ridges of the Blue Mountains earlier that day. But they seemed to hang like cobwebs, never coming nearer to Bellefleur. “You haven’t eaten all day, you know. Please come in. Tingari has cooled some tea, at least have a cup.”

  But he wasn’t listening; she was wasting her breath. A posture of utter defeat had descended upon Harlow, and Chelsea felt her heart swell with pity. She should hate him, but she couldn’t, not really. She was afraid of him, but she couldn’t hate him. She’d used him, betrayed him, and she was sorry for it, terribly sorry. But since the last time she’d been with Quaid, the afternoon Gaby had been conceived, she had tried to be the wife Harlow needed. She’d tried to make it all up to him, somehow.

  Harlow picked himself up slowly, like a man bearing the weight of the world. When he turned to face her, there was an emptiness in his eyes that frightened her almost as much as his rage. “It’s got to be done, you know,” he said quietly, his voice drifting off at the end.

  “What must be done?”

  “Someone must pay. I’m a cursed man, and until I avenge myself, nothing will save Bellefleur.” He turned his head, meeting her eyes directly. “It’s all your fault, Chelsea. Yours and Tanner’s. You’ve brought a scourge upon my land, you and your betrayals and scheming. Martha is gone and Emma is mad and my son has left me. My children, Chelsea, not like that brat of yours. They were my children!” His voice rose, and as the volume increased, his tone grew deadly. “That brat of yours isn’t mine. She’s Tanner’s. The both of you have brought this curse down upon me, and it won’t be lifted until I avenge myself!”

  Terror gripped Chelsea’s throat, choking off the words she tried to utter. She clutched the porch railing, trying desperately to steady herself. Tingari had warned this would come, but she’d refused to listen. “Harlow, please, listen to me. This drought has nothing to do with a curse, that’s foolishness. Listen to yourself, you’re talking crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as you wish! Not nearly as crazy! I’ve been a fool not to know if a child is my own or not. Franklin put it into words, but I’d been thinking it a long time. Ask that black servant of yours. She’ll tell you I’ve been cursed, and she’ll tell you there’s only one way to cure it.” He loomed over her for a minute, a large and powerful threat, and then turned and entered the house.

  “Harlow!” Chelsea called after him anxiously. “What are you going to do? Where are you going?”

  He ignored her frenzied questions and took his rifle down off the wall, murder in his eyes. “Get out of my way, woman. I’ll deal with you and your brat later. Get out of my way!” He knocked her aside, sending her careening into the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Then he paused for a moment, as if to gather his energy before stepping out the door. Determination set in the carriage of his shoulders, his feet marched a steady course.

  Chelsea turned and ran through the house out the back door to the garden house. Her breath exploded in a cry of relief when she saw Tingari offering goat’s milk to Gaby from a little tin cup. “Tingari, I tried, but he didn’t hear a word I said. He took his gun. He was rambling on about avenging himself of the curse. What curse?”

  “Boss Kane’s vines are dead. He knows nothing else. Now he must place the blame.”

  “Tingari!” Chelsea cried. “He took his gun and left the house! He said he’d take care of me and Gaby later. He knows, Tingari, he knows!”

  “Mitjitji stay here, I will come back.”

  “Where are you going? No, don’t leave me, don’t leave Gaby!”

  “I will go and come back. Tanner must be told.”

  “Harlow is crazy, as crazy as Emma.”

  “Tingari has spoken of his mamu. It is almost time. His vines die, and he will die. I tell Tanner.”

  “No!” Chelsea shrieked. “I don’t want Quaid to kill him. He couldn’t live with that. He’d never be certain he didn’t do it for me. He mustn’t,” she cried, “he mustn’t!”

  Chelsea was rocking Gaby to sleep in the comparative cool of the garden house, hoping to put her down for a nap, when Emma appeared.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked. “I can’t find anything. I want to eat. I’m hungry!” She rubbed her eyes, and Chelsea noticed the crusting at the edge of her lashes. Emma, for one, appeared to have taken the water rationing seriously. Her pink gown was smudged and dirty, and Chelsea could almost swear she’d been wearing it for an entire week.

  “Would you like me to fix your hair, Emma?” Chelsea
asked with more patience than she felt. Combing out the tangles and snarls would be a thankless chore, but it was one way to get Emma to leave the little house.

  “Not now. I think I’ll walk down to the lake. Do you still go to the lake, Chelsea?”

  “Not anymore. It’s too hot, and there’s hardly any water there now.”

  “Martha is sending me passage money to go to England. Franklin brought the letter yesterday.”

  Chelsea knew that Martha’s letter had arrived six months ago. Like a fool, Emma had ignored Chelsea’s advice and run to tell her father, who had exploded with rage. Emma had cried and stayed in her room for more than a week. She would never get to England as long as her father was alive.

  Straightening her dirty pink gown at the neckline and patting her tangled hair, Emma chirped, “If I see Mr. Tanner at the lake, do you want me to say hello for you? He’s back at Clonmerra. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know. Emma, don’t go by the lake,” Chelsea urged. “Why don’t you go to the winery? At least it’s cool in there. I’m going to put Gaby down for her nap.” Chelsea’s thoughts were whirling at a frantic pace, but she knew from experience that Emma mustn’t be unduly upset. One wrong word, and she’d have a crying, unmanageable woman on her hands. And right now, she needed to think.

  “You didn’t fix lunch,” Emma complained.

  “There’s some tea that’s cooling and a tin of biscuits. Run along, Emma. I’ll fix you something to eat as soon as Gaby is asleep.”

  Chelsea turned her attention to Gaby, rocking her smoothly, encouraging sleep. “My poor little one,” she whispered. But her tears were for all of them, even for Harlow.

  Luke Tanner watched Tingari for a moment as she stood on the hill behind his house. He would have recognized the tall, graceful form anywhere. Chelsea’s protector, the keeper of his love. The Aboriginal stood for a moment, her dress billowing out behind her, and he was reminded of the day he had seen Martha there, outlined by the setting sun. There had been trouble then, and he knew there was trouble now.

  Tingari towered above him. After the long walk over the hills in the hot sun, she should have been breathless and sweaty, but she wasn’t. Tingari, woman of the desert, could stride along at a horse’s pace for days, taking neither water nor food. Hers was a race older than antiquity, and the Aboriginal kept close to the ancient ways.

  “Tingari comes to tell Tanner Boss Kane comes with a rifle.”

  Luke could feel the fine hairs on the back of his neck as they danced in the hot breeze. He wanted to plunder her with questions, but he was wise enough to realize Tingari would tell him only what she wanted him to know.

  “Boss Kane was shamed by his son,” Tingari said.

  “Because of the gambling debts?”

  Tingari shrugged her proud shoulders. “Franklin is gone.”

  Luke had to ask. “Chelsea? Did Mitjitji send you for my help?”

  “No. Only to warn. Boss Kane comes for one reason only—murder.”

  Luke’s fear for Chelsea prompted him to question. “If Kane is hell bent on murder, how can your mistress manage with a baby?” Something was wrong here, and he didn’t like it.

  “Mitjitji is a mother now,” Tingari said as if that explained everything and anything.

  “What did she name her child? Does she look like Chelsea?” He hadn’t wanted to ask or even to know, but the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

  “Mitjitji calls her Gabrielle, Gaby. The child”—Tingari’s fathomless gaze held him—“looks like Tanner.” And with that she left as purposefully as she’d come, picking her way among the rocks and dry bush that littered the path.

  “Tingari, wait!” Luke shouted. “I don’t understand. Come back here! You can’t tell me something like that and walk away.” Shaken to the core, he chased after her only to skid to a stop. She had said what she’d come to say. He knew she would ignore his pleadings, and he also knew that if he tried to detain her against her will, she would turn and snap him in two like a dry twig.

  The shout, when he heard it, came from his left, followed by a zinging bullet penetrating a gum tree. Luke ducked, covering himself behind the brush. He’d left his rifle back in the house.

  “I won’t kill you, Tanner, not yet,” called Harlow Kane. “This is a warning. You’ve made a fool of me for the last time!”

  A second volley of shots was fired, and Quaid held his breath, crouching low. At the sound of Kane’s horse pounding the dry-packed earth, he drew a sigh of relief. The man was a lunatic.

  For the rest of the day shots were fired intermittently at Clonmerra, breaking several windows in the big house and peppering the winery. Luke clenched his teeth and stalked his property like a hunter in search of big game. He would have liked to go after Harlow, but as long as the madman concentrated the destruction on himself and Clonmerra, Chelsea would be safe.

  Several hours before dawn the next day, Luke awakened to quiet, his heart pounding with dread anticipation. Earlier that evening he had made his presence known in the house, attracting Harlow’s attention away from Jack Mundey and his men. The gunfire had been relentless, periodic, volleys being fired approximately each half hour, almost like clockwork. Sometime during the night Luke had fallen into an exhausted sleep, and now he realized it must be nearly six hours since he’d heard the last of Harlow’s shots.

  Threading his fingers through his hair, he pondered the situation. That Chelsea was in danger there was no doubt, and all he had been doing was bargaining for time. Leaping to his feet, his decision made, Luke left the house, bellowing for his horse to be saddled. He was going to Bellefleur to get Chelsea and the baby. He’d had enough.

  Chelsea awakened with a pounding headache. A premonition of something dark and deadly seemed to hover over her. The sky was just growing light when she crept down the stairs to check on Tingari and Gaby, who were staying in the garden house. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry when she saw Harlow standing in the dim kitchen. At first he didn’t seem to notice her, but at her muffled sound he turned. She’d been dreading this moment, knowing it was to come sooner or later. Harlow’s eyes were hard and staring, glittering with a dangerous light.

  “Can I get you something, Harlow?” Chelsea asked hesitantly.

  Harlow ignored her question, but the hatred in his eyes made Chelsea fly past him out the back door, straight to the garden house. Tingari was up and dressing Gabrielle.

  “Tingari! Something’s wrong. Gabrielle isn’t safe here. I saw what Harlow did to his own children, his own flesh and blood. God only knows what he would do to another man’s child. Take her. Go to the Blue Mountains. Hurry, there’s no time to lose.”

  “Mitjitji come, too,” Tingari ordered.

  “I will. Don’t waste time, take Gaby and go!”

  Tingari hesitated, looking at Chelsea with great concern.

  “I’m going, but not with you. I’ll lead Harlow away from you. You stand a better chance with Gaby than I. You can provide for her and survive better without me. Damn you, Tingari, go!”

  “Mitjitji come with Tingari. Now!” Incredibly long and forceful fingers closed over Chelsea’s arm. Tingari would have it her own way—Chelsea would come with her.

  Emma stood in the kitchen, a frown on her face. Everyone was going away. First it was Martha, then Franklin, and now Chelsea and the baby. She was the only one left. She had to be good, or her father would throw her in the dirt as he had Martha and Franklin. Maybe she wouldn’t go to Martha. Maybe she would stay here with her father. Nobody cared what she did or didn’t do. Maybe she should go back to sleep. She could curl up on a chair and doze for a while until her father came back. No, no one was ever going to come back for her. She would be all alone in this pretty house, by herself.

  Emma was standing on the veranda in her nightdress. Goodness, she’d been wrong; someone was coming to Bellefleur. She should have worn her blue gown and prepared for visitors.

  “Mr. Tanner! H
ow nice of you to come calling. Can you stay for luncheon?”

  “Luncheon! It isn’t even breakfast. Emma, where is Chelsea?”

  “You needn’t be so sharp with me, Mr. Tanner. Chelsea isn’t here.”

  “It’s barely dawn. What do you mean she isn’t here?” Quaid said sharply.

  “Sakes alive, Mr. Tanner. Calm yourself. My father went out before it was light. With his rifle. I think he went to your house. Tingari took the baby and Chelsea and left for the mountains. You must fetch them back, Mr. Tanner. I’m all alone here. Will you fetch them back? Or should I wait and tell my father to fetch them?”

  “Emma, listen to me. I’ll go and fetch them. Now, look at me. In the eye, Emma. Ah, that’s good. I’ll bring them back. There is no need for you to worry your father about this. He has enough on his mind. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Of course I do. But Father will be angry with me if I don’t tell him Chelsea and the baby left. I tell Father everything. I don’t want him to throw me in the dirt the way he did Martha and Franklin.”

  Sweet Jesus, the girl was as balmy as a loon, Quaid realized, frowning. He was just wasting his time here. As he turned away he heard Emma call, “Are you sure you don’t want me to set another place for luncheon?” Waving a hand vaguely in reply, he spurred his horse out to the road.

  Which way to go? On foot or horseback? The Blue Mountains? Why hadn’t Chelsea come to him for his help? Harlow must have threatened her, she’d had to make a run for it. Nothing else made any sense. Thank God Tingari was with her. Well, this time, Chelsea old girl, you’re going to get my help whether you want it or not.

  The strange look in her father’s eyes frightened Emma, who was busily setting the table for lunch. “I knew you’d come back,” she said happily. “I told Mr. Tanner you would come back. He went to fetch Chelsea and Tingari. But Chelsea took food with her. Do you think they’re going to have a picnic, Father?”