Swift Runs The Heart

by Jones, Mary Brock

  She flushed, and nodded reluctantly. “I can’t help that,” she said defiantly, “but I do know someone who can help me leave town undetected.” She turned to Bas. “This time I give you my word I will go. There’s no need for you to leave everything you have worked so hard to build up. Once I’m gone, MacRae can’t use me to threaten you. Or do you think me so pigheaded that I would put my wants ahead of your life?”

  “Don’t be stupid. We’re leaving together and that is final. Who is this person who can help us? The young native with the surprising lack of English?” Bas was still coming the aristocrat personified and she felt an annoyed flush spread over her. She nodded affirmation.

  “Last I heard, he and some of his family are camped a few miles up the gorge. They know this land far better than any European and can lead us through the hills. There is a place about some days north of here where we would be safe from intrusion.”

  “Oh? What’s this magic spot that’s somehow stayed safe from the gossip trails?”

  “It’s where I grew up,” she said. “The house is abandoned, but my father’s outriders keep an eye on it, and unless you know its whereabouts, it’s not an easy spot to find.”

  Bas fell silent and it was left to Braddock to declare his satisfaction. “So that’s MacRae dealt with. Now, what about the enraged father?”

  “Go fetch a preacher,” said the resigned voice of Bas Deverill.

  Chapter 10

  “What!” Geraldine had shrieked. Then a whole lot more unsavoury comments. None had any effect and in far too short a time she found herself standing in the shelter of some rocks listening to the township’s only parson recite the words of the wedding rite. Her only preparation had been to dust down her skirts and wash the grime from her face and hands. She was too stunned to regret that her marriage should be this rushed affair, attended only by Molly and Sergeant Braddock. No flowers could be got after the scouring winds, but Bas had inveigled a ring from a trader already resetting his stand and collecting his goods. He was holding it out to her now, and pushing it on to her finger. From somewhere she heard her own voice, responding automatically to the age-old vows.

  Then it was finished and they were riding away through the chaos that littered the township, heading for her friends’ campsite with all she owned strapped to the back of her horse. A mile or so from town, reality hit in all its painful brutality.

  “Stop!”

  She lunged for Bas’s reins and started hauling both their horses behind a nearby escarpment of rocks. He took one look at her face and let his horse go where she chose. Once safe from prying eyes, she leapt to dismount and he quickly followed her. Then she turned to face him, eyes wild with distress. “This is ridiculous. We can’t do this,” she cried.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re not falling into MacRae’s clutches, and that’s final.”

  “No, not that – this!” She thrust out her hand with the smooth golden band on the finger.

  “Ah.” And a blinding smile lit up the bright eyes and quicksilver hair. “But, Mrs Deverill, we have done it. For which I have yet to thank you properly.” He took the hand she had thrust so wildly at him, fingers closing on the incongruous yellow band, and drew it up to meet the caress of his lips.

  She clenched her hand closed in denial, his soft touch only highlighting the wrongness as she was made cruelly aware of the rough calluses marring her palms after the months of kitchen work. Abruptly, she pulled away, shoving both hands protectively behind her.

  “You can’t marry me. Not when you are who you are.” The words were torn from her. “How could you ever take someone like me into that drawing room you once spoke of?” She hunched her head, vainly trying to hide the sheen in her eyes, but was miserably aware that her voice betrayed her.

  After what seemed a long silence, she heard the clumping of hooves. He was leaving, then. The truth of her words was undeniable and he had recognised it, obviously seeing no point in long farewells. The only shame was that she had not forced him to see it sooner.

  So this was it. The end of the dream.

  Then she felt her horse’s reins being pulled from her hands, and looked up in disbelief. Surely he did not mean to leave her mountless. No. Even more confusing, he was leading her horse over to tether it to the same scrubby outcropping on which he had tied his own. So he was not going yet.

  Then he walked back to her, his eyes never leaving her face. He took both her hands, turning them palm upwards, and traced the signs of her hard work with gentle fingers. Then, , he lifted each in turn to his mouth and she felt the heady touch of his lips and tongue following the path of his fingers.

  “Mrs Deverill, I would take you anywhere, if only you would let me,” he whispered. Then his arms pulled her close to the exciting length of him and his lips caught hers, and at the touch of him all fright left her, replaced by sensations far removed. Her body moulded to his as if made to match and his lips and hands woke an answering blaze within her. She reached up her arms and closed them round his neck.

  It was not the spot she may have chosen to discover what lay beyond the marriage vows, but it was the right time and place for her and this laughing-spirited man. Behind the rocks was a soft fold in the hills, hidden away from stray passers-by, and in a hollow right at the back soft tussock grass coated the ground. There was real soil there, protected from the harsh, scouring winds, and in between the tall clumps grew the springy ground covers of the region, making a bed true and fair, well suited to a pair of fey lovers. In truth, this place was more fitting than a careful scene of upholstered bed and fine linen, was Geraldine’s wild thought before sensation and the fine muscles of her husband totally enraptured her.

  They had sunk to the ground and his quick hands had divested her of most of her gown. Long fingers traced the lines of first one, then the other round breast, sending delight such as she had never known coursing through her. Unconsciously, she arched up in invitation. He was not slow to oblige, a queer smile glimpsed on his mouth, before Geraldine flung her head back in wondering shock as his lips found her taut nipples.

  “Sweetheart, so beautiful,” he murmured as his mouth traced a wild crescendo of reaction over her body. Greedily, her hands tugged at his shirt ever more desperately, till with a sigh she could feel no obstruction to the pleasure of touching skin to skin, body to body.

  His hand traced lower, and she opened in welcome to the enticing fingers.

  “Please,” she gasped, unsure what she sought, knowing only an urgent need.

  He laughed gently. “Soon, sweetheart, soon. I have waited too long for this for it to be over yet.” Then his mouth claimed hers and she was too busy to protest. Hands, mouth and body, he worshipped her and acquainted himself with every byway of the curves laid bare to him. He drew back, and she could feel his eyes upon her, wandering slowly from tousled swathes of hair, following the tracing lines of fingers over face, neck and then down. For an instant, it seemed she looked through his eyes. Saw the rich copper of her hair mingling with the silks and russets of the grasses under them. Gazed upon her skin, from the soft touch of peach on her sun-kissed face then down the milky luminescence of her breasts and stomach and legs. He was a tall man, lean and with muscles that could erupt in a blaze of activity, but she was of a size made for him. When he stood, her head could fit snugly into the curve of his shoulder and head. Now, as they lay together, his gaze traced the length of them both, seeing the fitness of the match, and Geraldine saw it in his eyes. She had always known she was considered a beauty in the eyes of men, but now, for the first time in her life, she felt it to be true.

  A pleased smile tugged at her lips, and her own eyes explored the glorious length of him, from laughing blue eyes to the strong shoulders, hard, muscled trunk and long, powerful legs. Her smile of satisfaction brought a sharp reaction. Swiftly his body melded to hers again and once more his lips brought forth a torrent of response from deep within her.

  It was no longer the time for sweet dalliance. Th
e storm was upon them. Hands, mouths and bodies stirred a cauldron of sensation till finally his knee opened her legs and he rose over her.

  Then his mouth caught hers and gently his body drove into hers. She knew then that he had expected the obstruction, yet she was too impatient to need his gentleness. Quickly, she drew her hips up, gasping only slightly at the sharp tear.

  He laughed, then met her demand with the unleashing of his own needs, and it was like nothing that had gone before. Too soon, and not soon enough, Geraldine felt wave upon wave hit her, as suddenly he reared up and drove into her in a series of shattering explosions, before collapsing on her as a shuddering seized hold of her, and her hands reached up to stir through his hair in stunned awe.

  He shifted slightly then, lifting his head enough to catch her eyes, and a smile such as she had never seen from him lit his face.

  “Welcome, Mrs Deverill.”

  They slept after that and were woken only by the cooling breeze of late afternoon, trickling a frisson of chill air down their exposed bodies. Geraldine would have pulled away in embarrassment, but he saw the look in her eyes and he drew her close in a kiss that soon awakened her senses, banishing shyness. Once more before they left that place, she knew the entrancement of his taking. So assiduous was he in his attentions as they dressed after, interrupted frequently by his laughing embraces, that she had discarded all restraint by the time they rode on. In her heart was hope.

  Yet she still could not fool herself into believing he loved her. Why he had agreed to marriage, she could not yet say, but nor could she forget his words to her the day he first told her he desired her. By their marriage, he had lost some liberty within himself, and that was something she was not sure he could forgive her.

  “Tired, sweetheart?” He had caught the look on her face, but she was fast learning to be as good an actor as he.

  “No, just somewhat sore,” she admitted ruefully, blushing, then had to grin as he threw back his head in a guffaw of pleased laughter before leaning across to give her a brief, hard kiss.

  “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If I thought it was safe to stay here longer, you would be off that horse and on your back already. Unfortunately, Black Jack is not so obliging as to leave us in peace. We better press on to find these friends of yours.”

  But as soon as there is time enough, said the promise in his eyes, and a warm glow lit Geraldine’s. He may not love her, but he certainly desired her. And for now, that was a fine thing.

  Then they arrived at the Smith’s camp and she could lay aside her thoughts and doubts in the bustle of their welcome. Auntie Mene was not looking at all pleased, glaring past her to the man at her side.

  “What you been up to, Mokri MacKenny?”

  “It’s Deverill now, Auntie Mene. Mrs Deverill. This is my husband. We were married this afternoon.”

  Auntie Mene was not appeased. “You married all right – and not just by a preacher’s words,” she said, eyeing Geraldine’s tousled hair and grass-stained skirts. “Why?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Geraldine. The tiredness in her voice brought a softening in the old woman’s face.

  “You in trouble then, you and your man?”

  “Black Jack MacRae is after us,” said Bas curtly, and the “hoos” of the rapidly gathering family confirmed their excellent knowledge of English.

  The change in Auntie Mene’s attitude was swift. Tipene had arrived by then, the oldest of her children and obviously the leader of the little band. He looked at his mother and she gave a quick nod.

  “We’re leaving now,” he announced in English, with a strong British accent that brought a sharp glance from Bas. Geraldine relaxed, knowing they would be safe now. Bas did not look as relieved, watching the swift preparations for departure all around him.

  “You said they would help,” he said, pulling her abruptly to one side as she helped fill a basket with food supplies.

  “Yes, we’re safe now.”

  “Safe! With them haring off to God knows where.”

  “Wait. It will be all right.”

  He glared back and Geraldine had the distinct impression that the only reason he had not flung her on her horse and raced off into the gathering darkness was that he had no idea where to go.

  The campsite took little time to strike and very soon the only sign of occupancy was a few trampled grasses and the faint trace of a carefully covered fireplace. Tipene strode over to them. He looked at Bas’s face and a tiny smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. It widened when he caught the quickly mouthed “In English” from Geraldine. “Where did you want to go?” was all he said though.

  “Loch Máire – the bothy,” she replied.

  Tipene nodded. “It’s a good spot. You have a gun?” Bas nodded curtly, fingering the weapon strapped to his saddle in suspicious warning. Tipene just nodded confirmation again. “Young Matiu will guide you two through the hills while we circle back. Black Jack’s chances of following us through this country are not good, but by splitting into two groups, he should be thoroughly confused. You’ll have to leave your horses with us till we meet up again. They won’t manage the hills you’ll be climbing.”

  “Leave the horses!”

  Geraldine quickly cut in. “It’s only for a day and Tipene’s right – Black Jack is far more likely to follow the group with horses. Though are you sure you will be safe?” she added, turning to her childhood friend with a worried look on her face.

  Tipene grinned. “You should know better than to ask that question. MacRae hasn’t a chance against us in this country. He’s only been here a year or two – doesn’t know the first thing about this land. What about your Englishman – can he manage our hills, do you think?” he retorted.

  Geraldine knew a sudden impulse to kick him in his cockily planted shins. He wisely took a step back, glancing pointedly at her sturdily shod feet. Tipene remembered her childhood quirks too well, it seemed. She took a deep breath before opening her mouth again.

  “Fine then. The bothy is still fully stocked?”

  Tipene nodded again. “And as well hidden as ever, the last time we were through. You’ll be safe there.”

  Aunt Mene came up then and handed Geraldine and Bas a woven basket. “Some food to keep you going. Now you look after this woman, young man. She may look orphaned, but she got family all over this country. Her blood may not be Maori, but her Mam was a good friend to me and all my kin. You treat her wrong and you deal with me.”

  This time, Geraldine kicked Bas in the shins before he could tell the redoubtable old lady exactly what he thought of her warning. It was high time to leave. She was very relieved to see young Matiu, an almost-adult version of his older brother.

  “Ready?” he said, hooking his own kit bag over his shoulder.

  “Now ju…” Geraldine’s boot hit hard. Bas swung round to protest, and collected his full kit bag in his arms. At the same time, he saw his horse stripped of his swag and led off. Yet another young man swung into its saddle and rode off.

  “That’s my horse!” Bas glared for a long moment after the departing animal. Then turned back to Geraldine, ignoring the youth standing beside her. “Are you sure you can trust these people?”

  “You heard Auntie Mene. They’re family. My Mam saved her life in three of her deliveries and she did the same for my family more times than I care to remember, teaching us the ways of this land, and now they are putting themselves in danger yet again. Who do you think Black Jack will follow – three foot travellers or a group with two horses? Though he is liable to find both trails petering out too soon to do him much good.”

  Bas stood a moment longer, looking from her to the group disappearing into the evening gloom. “Right, then,” he finally said. He hitched the swag on to his back, stooping to pick up hers too.

  “No, I can manage.” She took it, lifting it with practised ease over her shoulder.

  Then they were leaving, three silent figures melting into the hills in the opposite di
rection to the rest of the family. There was a grim smile on the face of Matiu as he strode forward, motioning them towards the tall tussock to hide their passage. Bas and Geraldine each re-hitched their swags fully onto squared shoulders, Bas with a face as grim as she had seen. She felt the same. Geraldine had travelled with Auntie Mene’s family often enough to have some idea of what lay ahead.

  By the time the thin moon was fully in the sky, she was beginning to wonder if she had wronged Matiu in some past childhood game. The path he had chosen was even tougher than she had expected. At first, they had made their way up through a small gully snaking into the hills, keeping to the shadows between the tussocks. Matiu showed them the way of walking lightly, avoiding the bases of the tussock so that no broken swards of crushed grasses should advertise their passing.

  Then, after an hour of gently rising slopes, he had struck away from the easier path, to head almost vertically up the steep hillside. It was certainly not a path expected by a pursuer, acknowledged Geraldine. A person would have to be mad to take such a route when an easier track was offered. It was made more difficult by Matiu’s continued insistence that they take care to avoid crushing plants or leaving footsteps. How anyone could haul themselves arm by arm up such a face without crushing the tussock swards they clung to is beyond me, thought Geraldine crossly, glaring at Matiu’s unconcerned back and noting how the clumps sprang untouched to life again behind him.

  Bas, though, said nothing against their route. Very soon after they had veered away from the base of the gulley, she had noted a change in him. In truth, the less she liked their chosen route, the more he seemed to approve of it. There were no more sharp questions and his arm shot out frequently to help her up a difficult obstacle. Again and again, Geraldine knew she could go no further, only to find a strong hand at her shoulder, a quick glance from that bright face or a softly whispered “Nearly there, sweetheart” would keep her going, just one more foot in front of the other.