by Téa Cooper
She fought for control and tried to banish the tremble from her voice. “Yes I’m nervous.” She forced a laugh through her dry lips. “But I’m not backing out now.”
“You can call it off if you want, or I can ride Nero.” She answered him with a raised eyebrow and he leaned closer. She dropped her head to his, relishing the gentle tickle of his breath against her ear. “Good luck. You’ll do it and I shall be waiting at the finish line.”
She smiled at him, warmed by his support and crossed through the mêlée to the mounting yard before she settled into her saddle. With a brief wave, she walked Nero to the starting area where another twenty-five horses hassled each other as they stretched out in a haphazard line. The surge of excitement rose in her throat, almost choking her as she pulled her hat down further on her head and clamped the chinstrap tight tucking her hair under her collar.
She could do this. She knew Nero had the power and stamina to win. Her gaze roamed across the other competitors as she assessed their potential. Many of the horses were large and powerful, however, none had the arrogance and flair of Nero, his Arab blood showed through, and she knew she had the advantage of being smaller and lighter than many of the other riders. Would it be enough?
She tightened the reins and clamped her knees as Nero pranced from side to side; the sooner the race started the happier she would be.
“Steady, boy.” She leaned forward over his neck soothing him. “This is nothing. We cleared the wall, we can take on these hacks and win any day.” The winning purse would be the icing on the cake and go some way to repaying Tom for his assistance, but the real prize lay in the stud fees that would come and put Wordsworth back on the map.
Pulling her gloves off, she stuffed them deep in the pocket of her breeches. Her damp hands trembled but she needed the touch of the reins against her skin. The other riders all seemed supremely confident, jostling and tousling for prime position. Sweat trickled down from her forehead and made her eyes sting. She wiped it away and blinked rapidly for a moment. An image of Dom flashed before her eyes. She would need all the skills and horsemanship they’d learned and a large dose of his sheer daring. She’d ride like the wind, forget the other horses and imagine she was racing across the paddocks at home… and pray for luck. A purse of a hundred guineas was a lot of money to anyone–even the daughter of Dungarven Stud.
****
Tom strained up against the barrier waiting for the horses to reappear. At the start, Lily had held her own and at his last sight of her, she was jockeying for position with the buckskin in the bunch near the front. She was going to have to get clear of them once the jumps started otherwise she would be caught in the skirmish around the water jump; one slip by any of the horses and those following would pay the price.
He craned his head toward the empty track below the rise of a small hill. A giant roar from the crowd echoed across the race ground as the first bunch of horses appeared heading for the jumps. His heart pounded in his mouth as Nero cleared the first hurdle easily and pulled ahead of the buckskin to the front with a sudden spurt of speed. It put yards between them. Tom rubbed his hand across his face and raked his damp hand through his hair, the sheen of sweat surprising him.
He pushed closer to the barrier as Lily turned her head and her hat fell to rest on her back, dangling and bouncing held only by the chinstrap. Her hair flew loose and a rumble of excitement rippled through the crowd as her burnished curls flew like a pendant behind her removing any doubt that a woman rode the winning horse.
As Lily neared the water jump she crouched lower over Nero’s neck and Tom could see the ripple of his bunching muscles and he cleared the fence landing clear of the incline on the far side of the water.
His tortured breath escaped in a loud sigh.
“She’s riding as though the bloody devil’s after her,” a voice in the crowd called.
“He is,” stated Tom flatly as a monstrous roar erupted and Lily and Nero crossed the finish line well in front of the opposition. She’d done it. God’s truth, she was a woman. Will had been right from the beginning. He turned and forced his way through the crowd, bouncing with excitement and his chest light with her success. He headed for the gate intent only on reaching her side and telling her how wonderful she was.
****
Lily let her feet slip out of the stirrups and she bent forward, exhilaration surging through her. “Oh darling, you did it.” She sat swaying in the saddle and sucked deep gasps of air into her starved lungs as she settled Nero into a slow walk away from the noisy crowd. Pulling up under the shade of a spreading tree, she dropped the reins and slithered unceremoniously to the ground. Strong arms reached for her and she collapsed against Tom’s warm chest. They’d won. Nero had come up trumps again.
Tom’s husky voice sounded in her ear as his welcome arms tightened around her. “Are you alright?”
As the excitement abated, her body wilted, as limp as a damp rag. “Yes. Yes I’m fine.” She clenched her jaw and a tight burning ache filled her throat as her eyes filled and tears streamed unchecked down her face. “Did you see the way he cleared the last jump? I think he thought it was the convict wall again.”
“Come on. We have to take care of Nero and get you settled too.”
“No. I have to go and collect the winner’s purse and I have to take Nero. Everyone has to see him. See what he is made of.”
“You’re exhausted.”
She smiled, acknowledging his comment as congratulations were tossed her way and ignoring the looks of askance from some of the other punters who were forming a circle around them.
“It’s a fine stallion you have there.” The very arrogant tone drew her attention and she turned to face an immaculately dressed man. His hand lifted to stroke Nero’s lathered neck. Lily’s eyes lit up for a moment.
“I’ll take him now. I’ve got transport arranged.”
Lily whipped around as Tom stepped in front of her. “You’ll do no such thing. What are you talking about?”
“I’ve just bought him from Mr. Dungarven.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief and she pushed Tom aside. “Nero is not for sale,” she stated flatly.
“Not for sale to me or to anyone?”
“To anyone.”
“That’s where you are wrong. Your father said–”
Her heart was beating so fast she felt certain he could see it. She stamped her foot in the dust and lifted her chin. “I don’t care what my father said. Nero is my horse and he is not for sale.”
“I’ve already given him my winnings as a down payment…”
A snort of derogatory laughter escaped her pursed lips. “Then I suggest you catch up with him before he places his next bet or your winnings disappear.” With a look of determination she watched as the man removed his bowler hat, his beetroot red face dripping with sweat, his mouth gaping like a freshly landed fish. “I am absolutely serious and I have the papers to prove my ownership.” She patted her empty pocket daring him to challenge her bluff. He didn’t. Instead he turned on his heel and charged back to the betting ring.
A rush of rage swept over Lily and almost caused her to fall. She leaned against the tree her hands clasped tightly around Nero’s reins. “The cheek of the man. How dare he? I have to go and talk to my father.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t. It’s too dangerous. He’ll call the troopers.”
“He won’t do that; he’s got too much to lose. He wants the horses in Sydney and we can be out of here in a flash. Let’s beat them at their own game. Go and give Nero to Jem and tell him to keep him out of sight. I’ll go and find George and tell him you want to speak to your father, discuss the sale of Nero and ask him to meet you under the…” he looked around, “…under the fig tree over there.”
****
The man’s eyes could freeze the bollocks off a stallion. Tom stood behind the huge fig tree, every muscle tensed ready to move as Dungarven swaggered up to his daughter.
>
Lily held her ground defiantly; her tiny hands bunched on her hips and her eyes blazed. “Nero is not for sale. You have to give the money back to that man.”
“Too late. Deal’s done.” Dungarven’s words slurred as he stood feet wide apart trying to maintain his balance.
“It’s not your decision.” Lily spat the words at him, oblivious to the gathering crowd drawn to a spectacle more engaging than any race.
“We’ll discuss it when you get back home. You wanted to take the horses to Sydney now get on and do it. And you can tell your fancy man the land’s mine.” He pulled a roll of papers from his pocket and rapped them on Lily’s arm. She stepped back, recoiling from his touch.
Tom could contain himself no longer. He stepped forward from behind the tree as Lily shook her father away.
“You’re right, Father. I am going to take the horses to Sydney and I am going to get them on the boat. Afterwards I am going to come back to Wordsworth with Nero. We need him to cover next season’s mares. You find George, tell the man Nero’s not for sale and go home.”
Dungarven took a silver flask from his pocket and the stench of brandy wafted through the air. How the mighty are fallen. The words flashed through Tom’s mind. Disgust or pity; he didn’t know which emotion the man stirred in him. All he knew was he wanted Lily away from him. He stepped up pushing aside the thought Dungarven would recognize him.
“Mr. Dungarven.” He extended his hand. “Thomas Roscomon.” He heard Lily’s intake of breath. He donned a frozen mask of politeness. Dungarven’s damp and sweaty hand lay limp in his hand like a dead fish. His flesh crawled. He wanted to hit him not shake hands with him. He stepped back. “I will be accompanying Lily to Sydney and I assure you she will not come to any harm.”
“Rothcomon.” The slurred words indicated his surreptitious slurp from his flask hadn’t been the first of the day. “Knew your father, or was it your uncle? Back in the old country. He liked a bit of a flutter on the horses. Newmarket. Newmarket far better track than we get here. Still never mind the colony’s on the up and up now.”
“Miss Dungarven and I must be leaving now. We have a long way to go and we want to make sure we get the horses to Sydney in time for the boat.”
“Ah yes. Leaves soon. Yes, my boy.” He waved a stained finger under Tom’s nose. “You look after my horses. And then you come and talk to me about this.” Dungarven waved the papers and took a wavering step toward Lily. Tom clenched his fist in frustrated silence. The dirty old bastard was going to embrace her. His stomach turned but she was one step ahead of him. She took two purposeful steps back.
“Goodbye, Father. I’ll see you in a few days when I get back to Wordsworth.”
Lily’s hand caught Tom’s. He squeezed it reassuringly as they turned on their heels in perfect unison. Surely it wasn’t going to be so simple. Without a backward glance they walked through the crowd of onlookers parting in front of them, Lily’s speed increased and Tom grasped her hand tighter, gritting his teeth as he restrained the desire to run.
“Walk, and don’t look back.”
“Where’s George?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since he tracked down your father for me. We just need to get to the horses and we’re out of here.”
“Wait.” Lily pulled up short, almost causing him to stumble. “What about the prize money; I have to get it.”
Tom patted the inside of his jacket. “I’ve got it.” Her look of amazement made him smile. “I picked it up when I went looking for George, said your father had sent me.”
Tom offered a prayer up to some forgotten god as they left the enclosure of the race ground and he spotted Will, Jem and Bonnie saddled and waiting, the spare horses neatly tethered to their mounts.
“Excellent”, he said nodding in acknowledgement to Will and Jem. “Let’s get out of here and don’t spare the horses.”
They covered the next few miles at a rapid pace and when Windsor was well behind them, they finally slowed to a walk.
“Lily.” Tom said as he pulled alongside her. “Are you going to explain? I’m beginning to think I have a right to know. The man’s dislike for you is patent even through his drunken stupor. I’m sure he hasn’t always been like that. In my experience people don’t randomly hate people with that level of intensity unless there is a very good reason for it.”
“My father doesn’t hate me.”
He’d been too harsh. Of course she wouldn’t want to accept her father hated her. She’d find an excuse for him. A reason. Take responsibility for his actions. Blame herself. It would be too difficult to take. He knew what she was going through. His brother had wanted him out of England. How would he feel if he’d come after him and interfered in his life?
Lily’s voice sliced through his thoughts.
“He hates my mother.”
“Your mother? You told me your mother was dead.”
“She is. Now. She died in the riding accident at the same time as Dom. They both rounded the bend on the track at the same time and the jump had been damaged, there was a tree down across it. There was nothing they could do.” Her voice broke. He watched as the tears filled her eyes and slid uncontrollably down her cheek every one carving a scar across his heart.
He reached out between the two horses and clasped her arm. Both of them killed in the same accident. It was too much of a coincidence. Why would Dungarven want his wife, and his son-in-law out of the picture for that matter?
“He’s not my father.”
What? What was she talking about? Perhaps she was going to disown him. Could a daughter disown a father? He could understand why she’d want to.
“Edward Dungarven is not my father. Not now. Not ever. Never has been.”
“Then who is? Your mother…”
“I am what my father…” The venom she invested in the word made his blood run cold. A death adder wouldn’t stand a chance. “To quote Mr. Edward Dungarven I am ‘my mother’s indiscretion. ’”
Mother’s indiscretion? Holy hell. What was she talking about? He clamped his hat tighter on his head. It was getting more and more complicated by the moment.
Tom reined in his horse and she slowed next to him.
“Lily, I think it is time you told me the whole story from beginning to end.”
“There isn’t time. It’s too complicated. We have to get the horses to Sydney by tomorrow night.
“We will do it easily. We passed Dural sometime ago. It’s only another eighteen miles to Five Dock. When we stop tonight you and I will sit down and leave Jem, Will and Bonnie to sort out the camp and you are going to tell me the whole story. That way, perhaps I can do something constructive. The sooner you realize we are in this together the sooner we can work everything out.”
Chapter 8
She was exhausted, again. All she wanted to do was to creep under a blanket, curl up and sleep. Tonight she wasn’t even sure her resolve would hold. There would be other shipments, other opportunities. Did it matter if the horses didn’t make it to the boat? Nero had won his race. She could stand him at stud and his credentials would be good enough.
She slumped down, the gnarled bark rough against her back as she shivered. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and her eyes drifted shut as she was lulled by the familiar murmurings and comforting sounds of Will and Jem rubbing down the horses intermingled with the smell of the campfire, and the security of Bonnie’s voice as she and Tom lit a fire. Try as she might, the memory of the accident haunted her. The vision of the crumpled, bloody bodies of Dom and her mother still had the power to shake her to her core, even after four years.
“Lily. Here, take this.” She blinked her eyes open as Tom pressed the warm mug of tea into her hands. Struggling upright against the tree, she took it in her hands relishing the warmth and slight smell of eucalyptus wafting from the brew.
He settled down beside her and the comfort of his body seeped into her subconscious as she closed the gap between them. This she
could get used to, this feeling she wasn’t alone, the knowledge someone was in her corner. She sipped the tea, the moist steam soothing her nostrils, the sugar warming her blood.
“Do you want to talk now or shall we wait until tomorrow after you’ve slept?” Tom ran a comforting hand over her hair.
“No I’ll be alright. I’d rather have it all out in the open now.” She tightened her grasp on the mug. “This tea is wonderful. “
“Drink it. You’ll feel much better when you’ve had something to eat. Bonnie’s making some damper and there’s some cold mutton they picked up at Windsor.
Lily nodded and struggled up straighter against the tree trunk, pleased Tom and the eucalyptuses were there. She needed the support.
“Where do you want me to begin?”
“The beginning is always a good place. You were born at Wordsworth,” he prompted.
“Yes. I was born at Wordsworth. I’ve never known anywhere else. Father was awarded the land grant back in 1825 and he built the house for Mother. She stayed in Sydney until it was habitable. When it was she moved out to Wordsworth.” Lily slapped irritably at a mosquito buzzing near her face. “She must have been pregnant when she arrived. I was born about six months later. Through my childhood she was often ill. Confined to her bed. I don’t remember very much about her as a child except for a smell of lavender, darkened rooms and fine lawn handkerchiefs. My father was never around very much. I had a free run. Bonnie’s mother was our cook and Bonnie was old enough to keep an eye on me, so Wordsworth was our playground.” Lily stretched her legs out in front of her and wriggled deeper, the leaf litter at the base of the tree molding her buttocks, easing muscles cramped from the race and yet another full day in the saddle.
“The stud was busy, making money. Everyone in the colony wanted horses. Father had brought three breeding mares in Sydney and he managed to get his hands on a stallion from South America. He stood him at stud and everyone wanted to use him. He just ploughed the money back into mares, bought up every one in the district, every horse he could lay is hands on and the land was there for the taking. Squatting on it, using it meant it was his. He just had to stake a claim. They would mark the boundary fences and build a slab hut.”
