The Horseman

by Margaret Way

  Rippling sensations began deep in the cave of her body, slowly at first, then gaining strength and speed. She tried to control the onward surge, but it was hopeless. Ah, the power of the flesh! The will was as nothing. It was hopeless to control this tumult or contain it. She had to go with the tide until the tumult subsided. Her heart was hammering. Inside she was convulsing. Rolfe loomed over her, his own orgasm powerfully fierce.

  A cry gushed from her mouth. His name?

  Tears slithered down her cheeks.

  Faster and faster they rocked. It was a mating dance designed by nature to bring forth new life. Pleasure soared to the highest point she had ever reached.

  She was split open.

  Then….release! Deep internal shifts began that took long…long…minutes to shudder into calm. Minutes more for the heart to settle.

  Utterly spent and dangling one arm over the bed and one across Rolfe’s chest, Cecile in her mind’s eye had a sudden vision of a perfect little boy with golden blond hair and eyes of velvety brown. Rolfe as a child? There were wildflowers all around him. She knew those flowers. They were the yellow and white paper daisies that carpeted the Red Centre after rain. She could hear him laughing. Such a merry laugh, full of security and happiness. What kind of vision was that?

  SHE WAS DREAMING. She was in an abandoned building, a hotel or a derelict apartment building. She could see numbers on the doors although it was very murky with deep shadows. Some numbers were hanging upside down. One of them was hers: 24. A crashing sound came from behind her. Something heavy. A fallen beam? She knew the building was condemned. Then the sound of pounding footsteps. Someone was coming after her. She began to run, too, her heart beating violently in her chest, but the faster she ran, the farther away the end of the corridor grew. There was a terrible sense of danger all around her. Those heavy footsteps belonged to a killer. Her killer. She called on all her strength, but she could hardly breathe. There was a bad stitch in her side. He was coming after her, deadly in pursuit…

  Help me!

  “CECILE!”

  She awoke with a great start. A bedside lamp was on. Rolfe was holding her shoulders, staring into her face. “lt’s okay,” he was saying. His face and voice were full of concern. “You’re quite safe. I’m here with you. Cecile, wake up!” He shook her gently.

  She responded more fully, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Oh, God, I was having a nightmare. It was dreadful.”

  “I know.” His hand curled around her bare shoulder.

  “I was running through a derelict building. One of the doors had the number of my apartment on it. Aren’t dreams strange? Someone was coming after me. I was running fast but never fast enough. It was so real!”

  “They always are.” His arm beneath her, he settled his body alongside hers, savoring their closeness as if at any minute it might be over.

  “What time is it?” She was immensely grateful he was there with her. He was so strong and physical. A man of action.

  Rolfe glanced at the digital clock. “Three-thirty. Breathe deeply.” He began to breathe with her as if to show her.

  After a while her heartbeat quietened. She was feeling better, though the terror of the nightmare clung to her like a fume.

  “Would you like a drink of Water?” he asked, stroking her blue-sheened hair back from her face.

  “Yes, please.” She swallowed on a dry throat.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a moment.” He slid out of the bed, as gloriously naked as a sculpted work of art.

  When he returned to the bedroom, she was propped up against the pillow. “Thank you.” She drank thirstily. He had water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door, so it was deliciously cold. “The storm’s over?”

  “Long over,” he said.

  “And you’re still here.”

  “It seems so” He walked to the sliding glass doors with superb unselfconsciousness. “The moon is riding high in a cloudless sky,” he told her, opening the door wide so she could breathe in the rain-washed air.

  “The odd time, I have the feeling I can’t do without you, Rolfe,” she told him.

  “And this is one of those times,” he answered dryly, coming back to the bed and stretching himself out alongside her.

  She turned on her side to stare into his gold-flecked eyes. There was hunger in them. Hunger renewed. She wanted to hold her tongue, especially at this time, but she found she couldn’t. “I can’t put aside the fact you deliberately deceived me, Rolfe,” she said heavily. “Surely you see it was a deception of some magnitude. You made a fool of me. Made me suffer. I can’t forget that.”

  His response was simple. “You’re going to have to.”

  “Or you’ll depart for Argentina?” she asked, a war waging inside.

  His handsome face tightened as he stared back at her. “I’ve come home, Cecile. Home where I belong. It was a dream I never abandoned. Thoughts of my return have been with me practically my whole life.”

  “Along with thoughts of revenge. They never left you, either. Was revenge at the heart of it?”

  His eyes glittered with a kind of vehemence. “It was part of it,” he admitted grimly. “But far more important, more important than even I realized until I came back, was the love of my land. It’s not just the aboriginals who have it. The white man can have it, too. The red desert sand is in my bones. When I die they can scatter my ashes to the desert winds. I can think of no better end.”

  “Please….” Cecile reached out impulsively to stop his mouth. “You have a long life ahead of you. I don’t want to hear you talk about dying.” She visibly shivered.

  “We all die, Cecile,” he said, lifting the sheet around her.

  “The price of having any life at all. You asked if I’d return to Argentina. The answer is certainly. Argentina is my second home. My mother is there. Ramon, my stepbrother and sister. But it will only be for visits.”

  She lay back. “How would you describe your mother?” she asked, staring up at the plastered ceiling.

  He answered instantly. “A beautiful woman inside and out. I love her dearly.”

  “Did you have problems when she married your stepfather? You Were still a boy, not an adult. Even adults have problems when a much-loved parent remarries. You’d lost your own father in terrible circumstances.”

  “What is this, a therapy session?” He loomed over her so she could see clearly the fine grain of his dark golden skin and the glinting blond streaks in his thick mane of hair.

  “Well, you are lying down,” she pointed out. “In my bed. How did you get here?”

  “The same way you did,” he said crisply. “You wanted me as much as I wanted you. Want you,” he amended, hunger still spilling out of his dark eyes.

  She shielded her face from it with her arm.

  “The lamp too strong?” he asked with a measure of sarcasm.

  “No, leave it on. Is want what holds us together?”

  He didn’t answer for a minute, settling himself back. “A lot of people would think the way we want one another is more than enough. But no, I don’t just want your body, Cecile, though it gives me unbelievable pleasure. I want your heart and your mind. You’re more real to me than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  “So why didn’t you talk to me,” she demanded, engulfed by a kind of desolation. “I would have listened. I would have listened to everything you said. Even though you’ve had much to say about my family that’s really bad. Your story wouldn’t have fallen on deaf ears. You know that now from my grandfather’s reaction. Granddad is a wonderful man.”

  “I know that now,” he said. “I didn’t know it before. Your grandmother’s role in our downfall was all new to me.” And to my mother, he thought bleakly, almost ready to reveal to her the true story.

  “Well, Granddad tried to make amends by buying back your old property,” Cecile retorted. “It’s yours now. You have your inheritance back. So one of your objectives has been fulfilled.” Even after their sublime l
ovemaking she was unconvinced he wanted her for herself alone.

  It must have been the worst thing she could have said because he suddenly caught her chin with strong fingers and dropped a punishing kiss on her mouth. “Time to go, I think,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’ve got enough scars without your adding to them, Cecile.” He slid out of the bed and squared his shoulders.

  She raised herself on one elbow, a whole range of emotions running through her so fast she couldn’t grab hold of a single one. “But it’s the way of things, isn’t it? Each of us hurting the other.” She stared at him, following each swift decisive movement as he pulled on his clothes.

  Rolfe waited until he was fully dressed before he looked back at her. Her black hair was tumbling down her back and brushing her shoulders, accentuating the magnolia texture of her skin. Her eyes were pools of light. Her delicate breasts and her body down to her waist were fully exposed. He couldn’t help the leap of desire, but he choked it down. “I deeply regret I’ve hurt you, Cecile”” he said in a voice she thought had no apology in it, “but, I’m not going to spend the rest of my days apologizing for what I failed to tell you,” he confirmed. “I didn’t, however, lie. You must have learned other things about me. A few good things, surely?” he questioned with a trace of bitter challenge.

  She drew herself up, trying to reach for her kaftan to cover her. “I can’t…I don’t deny I—”

  He cut whatever she was trying to say. short, shouldering into his jacket. “Don’t get out of bed,” he said, already on the move. “I can see myself out.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE PUBLICITY THAT FOLLOWED the arrest and charging of Dr. Peter Wheeler on two counts, one of attempted murder and the other of incest, combined with the fact it was the Moreland heiress, Cecile Moreland, who had been the victim of the murder attempt in her luxury apartment, caused Cecile to want to take flight until the worst of the media coverage had died down. Her family hated publicity. Now they had plenty of it. Her face and her life all over the newspapers. She wouldn’t look at a newspaper for days on end in case it carried yet another photograph of her. So many on file? Why was she always smiling? This was a dreadful business that was being reported. Surely they didn’t have to pick photographs where she was smiling, did they? The only plus for her was that she and her mother were talking again. In fact, her mother had rushed to be with her, shocked out of her mind such a thing had happened to her daughter.

  “I’ve told you, I’ve warned you, Ceci, you’re in a dangerous profession.” Justine had sobbed. Something she never did. “Thank God for Rolfe! How we owe him! Where is he?” She looked around wildly as if he were hiding away in the apartment. “I have to thank him personally. You could never, never, have faced that maniac alone.”

  A lot of people arrived. The apartment was jammed with them. Relatives, friends, colleagues. Justine stared at the crowd for a few minutes, counted heads, then organized lavish refreshments from one of her innumerable sources. She didn’t appear in the least heartbroken over her marriage breakup, Cecile thought. She looked in her element, taking over. Her daughter needed her. That was all that mattered to Justine.

  Her grandfather sent the Learjet for her. Her mother tagged along, saying she couldn’t bear to have Cecile out of her sight. They returned to Darwin where the population respected the family’s privacy. At the weekend they would go on to Malagari where Cecile felt her happiest. She had advised the police of her whereabouts. Her senior colleague, Susan Bryant, would be taking over Ellie’s counseling. Children’s Services would be conducting routine checks on Marcie Wheeler and her children, though Mrs. Wheeler had notified everyone concerned of her intention to move permanently to New Zealand where she had relatives. Cecile was pleased to hear it. She and Ellie and Josh would be out of harm’s way. Mrs. Wheeler further told Cecile when they spoke she never wanted to lay eyes on her husband again. “What he could have done to you and it was my fault!”

  Cecile couldn’t bring herself. to pat the woman’s hand soothingly and deny it. Marcie Wheeler had acted very foolishly indeed. Much as she appeared to hate the thought—and who could blame her?—she would have to sight her husband when the case came before the court. She would have to be strong. So would Ellie.

  “He doesn’t scare us anymore,” Marcie told Cecile earnestly. “He deserves to be behind bars. Ellie is so much better you wouldn’t believe. We’re going to make a fresh start.”

  Wherever they went Ellie would need further counseling. Possibly for years. Cecile made sure Marcie Wheeler fully understood that.

  IT WAS THEIR FIRST NIGHT home in the Moreland mansion. Cecile was preparing for bed when clearly her mother was ready for another heart-to-heart. “What’s she like, this Northam woman?” Justine asked, studying her beautifully manicured nails. She was sitting in a Louis armchair, looking very much like she’d used up most of her olive branches. The worst of the scare was over. They were safe with Daddy now. Justine wanted to get down to business. “I know you visited them at her beach shack…” Her quick glance was accusing.

  Was there anything her mother didn’t know? “Actually it’s quite spacious. I’d be happy in it.”

  “You’d be happy anywhere Rolfe was around,” Justine scoffed. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “The last time I spoke to him he was still in Melbourne,” Cecile evaded.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be back. You’re making a huge effort to play it down, but I know you. Now, to get back to your father. Gilly Massingham saw the two of you having lunch. She said he’d put on a lot of weight.”

  “Nonsense! He looks great, Mum,” Cecile said. “Just great!”

  “Really!” Justine raised beautifully shaped eyebrows. “He’s a great-looking man. She’s in it for the money. Not that there’ll be anything like what she imagines.” Her laugh was full of angry satisfaction.

  “She’s not in it for the money, Mum.” Cecile took a brush to her long hair. “She loves him. I don’t want to hurt you, but he appears to genuinely love her.”

  “Gimme a break!” Justine’s voice deepened with sarcasm. “Your father can go to hell, for all I care. If he genuinely loved any of the women he’s been involved with over the years—”

  “But that’s it, isn’t it, Mum? Your marriage would have been overlong ago. He didn’t love any of them, but he loves her. They need each another. You never did need Dad. Not really. You had Granddad. He’s been the rock in all our lives.”

  “I realize that, Ceci,” Justine snapped. “No need to rub it in. I understand she’s quite plain. A nondescript little thing?”

  Cecile knew she was supposed to say, “And stupid to boot!” Instead she said, “She’s neither, Mum. She doesn’t have your striking good looks or presence, but there’s something really attractive about her. She’s fresh and wholesome, well scrubbed.”

  “Good God!” Justine was genuinely appalled. “No wonder she couldn’t get a man till now. Well scrubbed? Sounds like she had to hang herself out to dry.”

  Cecile sat down in a matching chair. “Okay, here’s the story. She had an invalid mother to look after. She was devoted to her. Her mother died not so long ago.”

  Justine thought about that and what it implied. “So with Mum out of the way Howard decides to call our marriage quits?”

  “It does look that way,” Cecile said, not without sadness.

  “And what am I supposed to do—roll under a bus?” Justine inquired bitterly.

  “The stats on getting run over by a bus are very low, Mum. Start looking for another husband,” Cecile suggested.

  “Another husband? What, more of the same?” Justine asked incredulously. “Besides, I’m getting old…older.”

  “Nonsense. You’re in your prime. Bob Connaught might fit the bill nicely.”

  Justine gave that some thought. “Actually he does, now you mention it. You wouldn’t mind my remarrying?”

  “Whatever makes you happy makes me happy, Mother dear.”

 
; “I’m so sorry for behaving badly!” Unfamiliar tears filled Justine’s eyes. “I’m not sorry for cutting up your father’s clothes. It made me feel really good. He won’t be needing all those Italian suits, anyway, now he’s taken a golden handshake.”

  “He worked very hard for it, Mother,” Cecile reminded her.

  Justine was silent for a few moments. “How about you start calling me Justine?” she suggested.

  “Fine, Justine!” It was no good protesting.

  “By the way, I forgot to tell you Daddy took care of Stuart and his blabbermouth.” Justine smiled as she said it. “Remember Stuart, your ex-fiancé?” she asked waspishly.

  “Vaguely.” Cecile put down her hairbrush and began to rub some cream into her hands.

  “Thought he was going to humiliate us, did he?” Justine shook herself in outrage.

  “It’s not as though he was in perfect ignorance of what you might do.”

  “Indeed!” Justine performed a tattoo on the wooden part of the chair with her long fingernails. “Whatever did I see in him? There must have been something?” She frowned as she looked into her daughter’s eyes.

  “You like people who agree with you at every tum—could that have been it?” Cecile suggested mildly.

  “I don’t think I’m going to get that from Rolfe,” Justine said slyly.

  “Rolfe and I aren’t an item,” Cecile said, determined to maintain her privacy. Justine couldn’thelp interfering, she knew. It was her nature.

  “Codswallop!” said Justine rudely.

  “What a very odd word. I wonder what its derivation is?”

  Justine shrugged. “Who cares! It simply means nonsense. I don’t blame you if you’re not yet ready to totally forgive him. In fact, I suspect you’re relishing keeping Rolfe uncertain about you and the whole situation. It’s really weird because you’d die if he looked in another woman’s direction.”