Shadow of the Osprey: The Frontier Series 2

by Peter Watt

Fiona blushed as Penelope reached over and took her hand. ‘I do not understand how you make me feel so much,’ she said hoarsely. ‘All I know, is that I want to be with you forever. But I know this cannot be, because I have duties to my family.’

  ‘We are together forever,’ Penelope said gently. ‘Even when we are apart. It is you who I think of when I am alone. No-one else. And now that Manfred will be away for so long I think we should meet more often.’

  That she already spent so much time with Penelope caused Fiona a twinge of guilt. But she recognised how much Penelope meant to her very existence. Was it that she was obsessed by her rather than in love with her? Would the situation ever arise where she might be forced to choose between Penelope and someone – or something – she loved? Fiona glanced guiltily at her daughters. Had her long absences from them already forced that choice?

  Granville White preferred to meet people in his office. In his own domain he felt he had the edge. Across the desk from him sat the priggish McHugh, his hostile glare barely concealed. Not that it mattered to Granville as the tone of the meeting would not be overly friendly.

  ‘I have been informed by one of the shareholders,’ Granville started icily, ‘that you were unable to convince my mother-in-law to step aside and allow me free rein to manage the companies.’

  McHugh shifted uncomfortably under the unrelenting gaze of the man he both detested and was afraid of. The dark rumours that circulated in the smoking room of the Australia Club had given him reason to entertain loathing and fear. White had somewhat dubious contacts with the rougher elements of Sydney’s vicious gangs feared even by the police. He cleared his throat. ‘Lady Macintosh has recently informed me that she has someone under consideration to take over from her,’ he replied nervously, ‘should she ever step down. I felt that it was not my place to question her ladyship any further on the matter.’

  Granville leaned back in his big leather chair. ‘Her ladyship, my mother-in-law, has no-one she can replace me with in the future,’ he scowled. ‘She has simply lied to you to deliberately sabotage my efforts for future expansions in the Macintosh enterprises. And if she remains we will all suffer the consequences of a feeble woman’s inept efforts to manage something well and truly beyond the natural capabilities God gave woman.’

  ‘I must disagree with you Mister White,’ McHugh bristled. ‘In the past, even when Sir Donald was alive, it was well known in educated circles that her ladyship really managed the companies. She may be a woman, and I agree with you that God has set natural limits on a woman’s abilities to manage in a world naturally belonging to men, but Lady Macintosh is something of an exception. I do not wish to cast aspersions on your own capabilities Mister White,’ McHugh continued politely but forcefully, ‘but you are not of Macintosh blood and the shareholders seem to have a peculiar trust in Macintosh blood.’

  ‘Nor is my mother-in-law of Macintosh blood,’ Granville reminded. ‘She is of the same blood as me. A White by birth.’

  ‘Ah, but Lady Macintosh has intimated that she has someone in mind who is of Macintosh blood,’ McHugh said quietly, ‘to take over from her. And that would bide well with the shareholders.’

  Granville reddened and attempted to control his temper in the presence of the smug Scot. ‘Lady Macintosh is senile,’ he snarled, ‘if she thinks there is anyone left alive with her precious Macintosh blood who can replace me, Mister McHugh.’

  ‘I have informed the shareholders that we will accede to her ladyship’s wishes for a reasonable time,’ McHugh replied mildly. ‘She has since informed me that she will disclose her future representative before she sails for England in the next few weeks. So if that is all Mister White,’ he rose from his chair, ‘I will bid you a good day.’

  Granville remained seated, not bothering to display the courtesy of escorting the Scot financier to the door. With a dark and violent anger boiling up in his soul he watched McHugh leave. He had a savage desire to smash anything that was within his reach. It was obvious that his despicable mother-in-law had contacted the Duffys to arrange that the bastard of Fiona and Michael Duffy be groomed as her future replacement. Although unthinkable – considering all she had done in the past to destroy the memory of the boy – Granville realised just how far she would go to destroy him.

  But that would not happen. Before sailing, Captain Mort had briefed him of the arrangements to kill the boy and Granville had great faith in Mort’s abilities.

  As McHugh was leaving the anteroom, where George Hobbs sat poring over his endless books of accounts, he heard a crashing sound. Startled, Hobbs glanced up from his ledgers.

  ‘Och man! I think Mister White’s desk just fell over,’ McHugh said with a broad grin. ‘I think Mister White is having a bad day.’

  The burly Max Braun was uncharacteristic of his stoic heritage. He was prone to emotional displays, and it was hard not to be emotional when he gazed at his Patrick. The boy was the image of the father Max remembered so vividly. A young man he had taught to fight, drink and chase women.

  In those days Bridget had frowned on his influence over Michael. But she had sighed in her resignation when she recollected that the Duffy men were prone to the carnal pleasures of the flesh. Just as they were to a good old Donnybrook. And now she sat in the kitchen of the Erin Hotel, and listened as her son Daniel tried to find excuses for Max not to have time off from his duties at the hotel.

  Max listened with an expression of bitter disappointment and a small amount of surliness as young Daniel chided him as if he were nothing more than a servant to the family. ‘I haf never got one day off Daniel,’ Max replied, ‘since I come to work for your father in ’55.’

  Daniel pulled a pained expression and thrust his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat which was beginning to feel a little tighter each year. ‘I would dearly like to give you time off Uncle Max,’ the young lawyer said. ‘But with the passing of my father, I have come more and more to rely on you to keep the hotel operating. You must understand what I am saying.’

  ‘Colleen can run things,’ Bridget said unexpectedly. ‘She has a lot of experience with pubs. After all, her father owns one in Bathurst, and she grew up around kegs and taps.’

  Daniel glanced at his mother sitting at the table with her hands folded in her lap. He had not expected her to support Max’s request for two weeks’ leave from the hotel. ‘Colleen has the children to look after,’ he retorted. ‘She cannot run a pub.’

  Bridget rolled her eyes and unfolded her hands. ‘What do you think I was doing all these years with your father,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Do you think all the work got done around here by leprechauns? I raised you, Michael and Katie well enough. No, I think Colleen will be able to do her part and I will be able to help her.’

  Daniel shrugged his shoulders. He had long learned that his skills in persuasion as one of Sydney’s best courtroom lawyers did not extend to arguments with his stubborn mother. ‘You can have two weeks off then Uncle Max. But only two weeks. My mother seems to think that she can run things with my wife. As capable as they are, you must remember that a hotel is a man’s business, and not for the weaker sex.’

  ‘Your cousin Katie runs one of the biggest businesses in North Queensland,’ Bridget gently reminded her son. ‘And she is a weak woman like Colleen and myself.’ Daniel’s face clouded at his mother’s unsubtle remark and he stomped from the kitchen.

  ‘Thank you Missus Duffy,’ Max said, with a grateful expression on his scarred face. ‘This is important to me to haf time off.’

  Bridget’s sweet smile faded and a look of curiosity spread across her serene face that was marked by soft wrinkles. ‘I have known you for many years Max Braun,’ she said, staring into his face, ‘and I have come to know when something is troubling you. It is young Patrick, isn’t it?’ He baulked at her question and shuffled his feet unconsciously. ‘I have had dreams Mister Braun,’ Bridget continued quietly. ‘Dreams of muddy water.’

  Max looked up and stared directly into the
slightly myopic eyes of the woman he greatly respected. He knew about her uncanny dreams. The times she dreamed of muddy water inevitably meant a death in the family. ‘Ja. It is my Patrick,’ he replied. ‘I do not know but I must be free to look after him for a little while, before he goes away from us for a long time.’

  Bridget nodded her understanding. ‘I have dreamed of Patrick’s father,’ she said. ‘His ghost is with us, and is troubled by something that we do not understand. I know young Patrick and Martin have seen Michael’s ghost. Sadly, my own son is too educated to believe in such things. He scoffs at me as if I was a demented old woman. But I know as surely as Saint Patrick chased out the serpents from dear old Ireland that Michael is with us even now. I think that you sense the same things.’

  ‘Ja Missus Duffy,’ Max said. ‘I think bad things are happening and I think I should keep a vatch out for my Patrick. But I do not vant Daniel to know about vot I haf told you,’ he added. ‘He vould vorry too much.’

  ‘I can promise you that I will not tell him,’ Bridget said, reaching out to pat the big German’s hand affectionately. ‘The devil took Michael from us but his son has a guardian angel.’

  Max was not always prone to demonstrations of emotion. He was forced to turn away so that Missus Duffy could not see the tears welling in his eyes. An evil force had taken Michael from him those many years earlier. But the evil was not going to take Patrick. He would rather die than let that happen. The devil could have his soul for what it was worth so long as Patrick survived the curse.

  Somehow Max felt that the evil had a human form – and that he had already met him in the main bar of the Erin Hotel days earlier. He had no rational way of explaining his fear for Patrick’s safety, other than he truly believed an ancient Aboriginal curse hung over the family.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  When Luke heard that Kate and Ben were taking supplies to a station located a couple of days south of Cooktown, he immediately insisted on escorting them. Ben was pleased to have the American ride with them. Being bushwhacked by desperate miners down on their luck was becoming a regular occurrence and Luke’s rifle and revolver added impressive fire power to the small party.

  But Kate appeared indifferent to his offer and bridled at his insistence. She had not needed him in the past, she told herself. And now she did not want to appear as if she had come to rely on him being around.

  Despite her protests Luke saddled his horse and announced that he would ride up the track to scout out a camping place for the night. By mid-afternoon he found a suitable location with some shelter afforded by an outcrop of rocks. The location would be ideal as huge, angry thunderheads were boiling up from the west. It promised to be a real downpour and Luke waited with troubled thoughts for the wagons to arrive.

  Just before sunset Ben’s wagon creaked and groaned its way into the campsite.

  ‘Where’s Kate?’ Luke asked with a concerned frown.

  ‘She had to stop back down the track,’ Ben replied, as he brought his team to a halt. ‘Appears one of the beasts might have been bitten by a snake. I said I would wait but she told me I was to go ahead and help set up for the night. Said she would see if her bullock got better. If it didn’t she was going to cut it loose and then come on ahead.’

  ‘How far back is she?’ Luke asked, swinging himself into the saddle.

  ‘Left her about an hour ago, near a bend in the track.’

  Luke did not wait for further directions but kicked his horse into a canter. Maybe he was being over cautious. He knew Ben would not have left Kate down the track alone if he had harboured any doubts as to her safety. Whatever it was, he just knew he had to get back to her.

  With a tremendous rolling crash of thunder and vivid flash of lightning the storm broke. Hunched against the driving rain Luke rode into the rapidly gathering darkness. The rain was a continuous roar sweeping across the rocky, twisted landscape as a sharp wind tore flurries in the air. The occasional branch cracked like a rifle shot, and lightning caused the trees to flicker.

  Luke dismounted and walked his horse, allowing her to feel her way on the slippery trail. The temperature had dropped and he could feel the chill creep through his bones. He peered into the premature gloom, hoping to sight Kate’s wagon on the trail ahead. But it was the lowing of the bullocks that alerted him that she must be close.

  ‘Kate?’ he called above the storm. ‘Kate?’

  ‘Luke!’ Kate’s answer drifted as a faint and distressed sound to him. He instinctively knew something was terribly wrong.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Over here,’ she called back. Luke thought he could hear pain in her voice. He swore as he brushed at the rain pelting his face. If it were not for the lightning flashes he would have been blind.

  ‘Call again,’ he yelled to be heard above the storm. ‘Keep calling and I will find you.’

  ‘I’m over here,’ she replied. Luke strained his senses to pinpoint her location. A lightning flash illuminated the oxen standing in miserable groups off to his right. He guessed Kate was somewhere between himself and the bullocks. Another flash of lightning lit up a tangle of branches from a tree already downed by a strike.

  ‘God almighty,’ Luke swore, as he flung himself from his horse and stumbled to the fallen tree. The wet branches slapped him in the face as he bent to where he guessed she must be. His hands groped amongst the soggy leaves until he felt her flesh. He was touching her face and her hands reached up to grip his. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Kate replied calmly, attempting to dissipate the anguish she knew he was suffering for her. ‘I can’t move. The tree came down when I was hobbling the bullocks. I think it was hit by lightning because I remember something like an explosion. I tried to get it off, but it’s too heavy.’

  ‘I’ll get it off Kate,’ Luke said, as he felt around her body to determine how she was pinned to the rocky ground. His hands slid along a smooth branch as thick as his thigh. When he ran his hand back along the branch, it came to rest against Kate’s stomach.

  She reached down to grip his hand. ‘Luke . . . ’ she faltered. She did not know what to say to him. All she knew was that the terrible fear she had harboured before he arrived was gone. The feel of his strong, callused hand in hers made everything right. It was like it had always been in the past when he had been with her. He felt her hand tighten on his.

  ‘Save your strength,’ he said gently. ‘I’m going to lift the branch. When I do, I want you to get yourself out any way you can. You understand?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ she replied, and reluctantly let go of his hand.

  Luke squatted on his haunches and took hold of the thick branch. With all the strength he had ever known in his life he hauled upwards. The branch did not seem to budge and he called on a further strength, a strength born of the long years of love he had carried with him, across two continents, for Kate.

  It was an uneven contest – man’s muscle and sinew pitted against the hardy spirit of a tree which had tenaciously survived years in the earth of one of the harshest continents on the planet. But Luke’s love proved stronger than the spirit of the tree. Grudgingly it conceded a mere three inches of clearance. But it was enough for Kate to wriggle free.

  Spent from his almost superhuman effort, Luke sank to his knees. Kate’s arms were around his neck. He felt her stomach pressed against him and heard her sobs. ‘I was so scared,’ he tried to say, but his words were lost in the crash of thunder rolling around them. He reached up and drew Kate down to him and stroked her face with his fingers. ‘I was so scared that something might have happened to you,’ he said, unable to see either her face or the expression in her eyes.

  The driving rain, crashing thunder, lightning-torn sky and bitter chill of the night faded from her reality. Nothing mattered anymore except that the years of doubt were being washed away by what was happening between them at this very moment.

  His mouth was on her neck and she was aware of the heat of her o
wn desire as he held her and choked her name in a whisper. In the lightning flashes she could see his face and their eyes met as she felt a wave of convulsive sobs rack her body. Luke felt her fear and vulnerability and held her tightly to him. His kiss was at first gentle and reassuring. Kate did not resist. His mouth was as sweet as anything she had ever known and she felt a strange physical weakness which steadily grew into a strong passion of desire. She returned his kiss with her own rising passion and without a word he began to unbutton the man’s shirt she wore. She shivered as the last button was undone and his hands cupped her breasts.

  He stripped off his shirt and Kate could feel the steel corded muscle of his chest pressed against her breasts. She ran her hands over his back. The hard muscle rippled under her fingers. His face was between her breasts as he breathed her scent deep into his lungs. Her nipples stiffened at the gentle touch of his tongue. Kate threw back her head and closed her eyes. All time became irrelevant except for this precious moment between them. She wondered how his body could have felt so naturally familiar to her – as if it had always belonged to her. She moaned, as he bent her backwards into the wet bed of leaves, and his hand reached down to release the sash about her waist. She was hardly aware of herself helping him pull down her trousers.

  His kisses were all over her body and his breathing was heavy and irregular like a man starving for air. She gasped as he entered her and their coupling took on an air of desperation borne of mutual hunger. Joined together, love and lust became one and Kate was barely aware that the screams above the pounding rain were her own expressions of ecstasy as his body was convulsed by his climax and hers.

  They lay naked together, oblivious to the stinging cold rain and prickly twigs of the old tree. Kate felt as if he had filled every part of her being with himself and her tears of joy ran in rivulets with the driving rain. For now words were nothing more than unnecessary sounds, and nature was speaking for them both, with its spectacular and savage passion.