Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • • •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The man, Carver, raised a knife to Sean’s throat and aiming his gun into the tent, pulled the trigger. Tom screamed in pain and Sean howled his grief.

  Carver grinned. “I told yer to get offa him. Do it or I slit the squealer’s throat.” As he spoke, he inserted the point of the knife into the soft skin under Sean’s chin, drawing blood.

  William moved his hands from Gleeson’s throat. He was under no illusion that any of them would be spared by the two men. Gleeson drew back his head and spat in William’s face.

  Sean swore he saw everything in slow motion. The spittle flying through the air, William’s hand, in a blur of movement, whipping the knife out of his boot and hurling it at Carver. Sean even felt the wind of it lift the hair off his head.

  There was a bloodcurdling scream as Carver fell to the ground motionless, the knife through his right eye.

  With no more back-up, Gleeson, in desperation, lunged forward, throwing William onto his back. Gleeson’s hand scrabbled for his knife on the ground, gripped the hilt and raised it above William’s head.

  A deafening explosion jolted Gleeson’s body forward. Sean was on his knees shaking, the musket smoking in his hands. William pushed Gleeson’s body away and rushed to the tent. Tom lay near the opening, a feeble smile on his face when he saw William. He clutched his blood-covered hand. Sean stood, rooted to the ground, still holding the musket.

  “I’ll not be doing too badly, sir. Just a graze across me hand with plenty o’ blood to make it look worse. Me scream was more for effect to make them think I was done for and they’d leave me alone. It worked a treat.”

  “Good God, man, I thought you were dead.” William exclaimed, relieved. “I think you missed your calling. The theatre is where you belong.”

  After a number of long slugs of whisky, they put the bodies in the dray and took them to Richmond to explain to the local authority. With each of their statements — taken separately — corroborating the circumstances, their injuries, and William’s reputation, the deaths were accepted as self-defence. Tom had his hand seen to, but William insisted his arm and face were fine. Getting home was all he had on his mind. Sean had moved past the shock and was, by then, boasting of his prowess with a musket.

  • • •

  Electra leaned forward, concern in her eyes. “But the snake, what of the snake?”

  William cleared his throat, shifting on the bed. “I’m feeling a bit tired now, that story can wait.”

  Sean snorted and Tom turned his face away, hiding a smile. “Never ye mind, sir. If it’s tired ye’re feeling, I can be carrying on with the story of the snake.”

  Callum and Electra looked at each other suspiciously. “Yes, please Tom, that would be greatly appreciated,” she said.

  William removed his hand from her grasp and scowled. “I said it is not necessary, Tom.”

  Tom looked at Electra innocently; she nodded for him to continue.

  “Well, ye see we be tryin’ to get home before the storm and we made a quick stop for some water and a bite to eat. Himself had taken off his boots and decides he needs to be going into the bushes to tend to his business.”

  William groaned. “You will bloody pay for this, O’Reilly.”

  It was clear Tom was enjoying himself as he continued with the story. “Anyway, as I be sayin’, Mr. Radcliffe, he’s kickin’ le
aves and sticks into a pile when one of the sticks, it rears up and strikes him in the leg. Ever so brave he was though, mum, ’cos he be pickin’ up the great slimy devil and breakin’ its back against a tree before yellin’ fer help.”

  William rolled his eyes. “If you think a bit of flattery will save you, think again man.”

  By this time, Callum had thrown his head back, hooting with laughter. Electra unsuccessfully tried to control the quiver of her shoulders as the laughter bubbled in her throat.

  William sat with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the hilarity in the room to die down. It seemed he greatly preferred being the wounded hero rather than the object of their mirth. But it was impossible to retain his solemnity and soon he was biting back his own laughter.

  When the last snickers finally subsided, William drew his face into a frown. “Well, so glad my brush with death has provided you with entertainment. Now leave me to my rest.”

  Still chuckling, Callum and Tom left the room together. An explosion of laughter sounded outside the closed door.

  Electra wiped tears from her face and took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself. Then without thinking, she leant forward and kissed William on the forehead. “Rest well, I will be back later.”

  • • •

  William lay back; his heart felt light for the first time in many weeks. The laughter had shifted the knot of anger and resentment from his gut. For some reason, everything seemed better. He was surrounded by good, loyal men who would put their lives on the line for him, just as he would for them. But it was more than that. It was Electra. Despite what he had thought of her and the offensive way in which he had spoken and treated her before he left, she had been there for him. She had braved a violent storm, traversed a flooded river, and stayed by his side day and night while he fought the fever. There was even a vague memory of her soft, warm body pressed against him on the cot downstairs. And the desperate desire to never let her go. He pulled at his sheet, thankful to be alone as his body hardened at the memory. He cursed the circumstances that would keep them apart. If he thought she was not just biding her time to join the captain, he would tell her what she had come to mean to him. With these muddled thoughts drifting through his head, he finally sank into a restless sleep.

  • • •

  It still took her by surprise when night fell so suddenly, like a black curtain jerked across a lighted window. No hours of lingering twilight to gently wind down the day. There were so many differences here. Differences she was beginning to accept. Perhaps it was because they were buffered by the strange assortment of wonderful people now a part of her life. Or did it have something to do with her ever-changing feelings for William?

  It had become her habit to sit on the veranda and watch the colours of the setting sun paint the river each evening. As the light faded, the red-pink river turned to silver and then a dark pewter. Sometimes the kookaburras would come, indignant if she did not have supper ready. Tonight she was marking time, allowing William to rest before taking dinner with him. Then they would talk. She needed to hear from him why he had attempted to take her so roughly that night and why he left for the Hawkesbury so suddenly and without explanation. The anger still burned in her belly, and the ache of pain jabbed at the memory of his behaviour. She was not prepared to let it go unchallenged. There would be no more avoidance. She stood and straightened her skirt and went to instruct Shi Liang.

  • • •

  William’s eyebrows shot up in question as Shi Liang placed two meals on the small table in his room. He moved his book to the side to make room.

  Before he could comment, Electra, who had followed Shi Liang into the room said, “We won’t need you any more tonight, Shi Liang. Go home when you have finished in the kitchen. I will deal with these dishes.” The little cook looked slyly at William, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. William pushed his chair out and Shi Liang scuttled out the door, chuckling.

  “Are you joining me for dinner, Electra?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. But I won’t pretend I don’t have a motive.” Now she had made the decision, she couldn’t go back. She swallowed her nerves and plunged on.

  “Oh? The pleasure of my company not enough for you?” he said, grinning.

  “You may be surprised to know the pleasure of your company is more than enough for me.” If only he knew how much.

  He looked absurdly pleased with her comment. “And?”

  She looked down, straightening her skirt unnecessarily. “And I think it’s time we talked about a few things.”

  “Do you indeed? Well, you are probably right.”

  She raised her head and gazed directly into the blue depths of his eyes and smiled at his response. He swallowed and looked down at his dinner, intent on forking potato into his mouth.

  She watched him as he ate. He had thrown on a soft linen shirt that hung loosely over tight breeches but, not expecting company, had left the shirt buttons undone. His brown, muscular body never ceased to send tingles down her spine, and tonight was no exception. It was inevitable her mind would return to the night she stood naked before him. She remembered the unbearable hunger in his eyes as he watched her clothes fall to the floor. That night he had tried to quench some desperate need in him that had nothing to do with her. Before this night was out, she decided, he would make love to her. Not some shadow of the past. Or she would leave him to his pitiful memories. She wanted nothing less than the fierce, unremitting, and loyal love he had once given to another.

  “Electra? Are you listening?”

  “I’m sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you are going to eat your dinner, you have hardly touched it.”

  She pushed it away. “I don’t seem to have an appetite for food tonight. And I must admit to being a little nervous about what I wish to say.”

  He smiled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Well, that will be a novelty,” he said, a mischievous grin lifting the corner of his mouth. “I’ve not seen too much stop you from speaking your mind. Go ahead, I don’t bite.” She must have frowned as he added, “I promise I won’t tonight.”

  She moved her hands from the table to her lap. This was a subject she would never have broached a few months ago.

  She took a deep breath. “I need to know why you handled me so callously that night.” Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth, but her eyes looked straight into his face, as she needed to see his responses as well as hear them.

  His head jerked up, startled at her words. “I-I, oh God Electra, I am so sorry. I know I’ve said it before but — ”

  “No William, I don’t want your apologies. I want to know why you did it.”

  A deep red suffused his neck and face as he tried to form words and then left them unspoken. He reached for her, his eyes pleading for forgiveness but she moved back. He shook his head. “I was angry. I was weak and my pride got in the way-”

  “Was it her, Will? Was I paying for Charlotte’s sins? Did I remind you of what she had done?”

  Shock registered on his face. “What do you know of her?” He stopped, “Don’t answer that, it doesn’t matter anymore.” He looked past her.

  “Shelagh told me. Everything.” She watched the old pain harden his features.

  “She had no right — ”

  Electra sprang to her feet, sending her chair on its end. “Of course she had a right,” she sputtered. “You found me guilty of Charlotte’s sins and punished me for her behaviour. She had every right.” The tears of frustration and anger flowed and she swiped them away, annoyed he could see the extent of her pain.

  His lips were a thin line and his breath came in deep, slow exhalations. She picked up her chair and sat again as William stood and walked to the window. He still had not spoken.

  She could see he was in agony over his actions but she wasn’t finished. It was important to ask it all. “And why
did you continue to reject me? Why did you leave for the Hawkesbury as if every minute in my company was distasteful?”

  • • •

  He registered, not so much the words, but her pain and sense of isolation at his behaviour. There had never been a woman more undeserving of the hand he had dealt her. If he thought he felt shame and guilt at the way he treated her that night, it was nothing to what he felt as he saw the innocent confusion in her eyes tonight.

  “You’re right. Everything you say is true. And I don’t deserve you. Not for a moment.”

  She sniffed. “It is? You don’t?”

  “Damn, I had the woman of every man’s dreams in my hands and I tossed you away for my own petty insecurities.” Words might mend the treatment he had meted out before he left for the Hawkesbury, but they would not suffice for the other. At least he could try.

  He moved back to the table and sat. He reached across for her hand and when she did not pull away, he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “You know, Electra, from the first moment I saw you in that stinking ship, you frightened me.”

  She looked confused at his words.

  “You frightened me because I felt somewhere deep inside me that if I let you in, you would obliterate everything that had gone before. But as hard as I tried, I could not get you out of my mind. It was too late. It was too late the minute I saw you in the hold of the ship when you raised those tantalising eyes and told me to leave and go about my business.”

  “I wanted you to stay.”

  “Yes, I suspected you did.” He bent forward, grasping her other hand in his. “You see, Electra, you are so beautiful and foolhardy and opinionated and brave and frustrating and wonderful that I knew if I let myself love you, it would change my life.” Her eyes closed, as if measuring his words. “And that would mean letting go of the anger and hatred that have been my constant companions since leaving England. I don’t think I was ready to do that.” Another tear trailed down her face and dropped onto her bodice as her hand brushed his cheek.