Then came the summit. All three collapsed in a relieved sprawl in the shadow of a nearby outcropping of rock. Rain and weather had carved a sheltering hollow into the hillside where they could hide for a spell from unwelcome eyes. It was cold, this high, even on a summer night.
“We can spare a few hours to rest up,” said Matiu.
They unwrapped their swags and huddled into their blankets, sealing their combined warmth in a close huddle. Geraldine forced Matiu to take the inside, against the rock face and away from the wind. He may be strong, but he was also only a half-grown youth and she could not forget her responsibility to Auntie Mene to keep him safe. The cold was no problem to her. Bas caught her close as they lay down, pulling her into the curve of his body as one hand sought the mound of her breast under cover of the blanket. Matiu lay only inches away, but still she arched back into Bas, her head settling into the tantalising warmth of his neck, her mouth unable to resist a brief taste of skin, there at the hollow of his neck.
“Soon, sweetheart, soon,” he promised, his low voice sending a shiver through her. His hand spread possessively over her, but then he was still and she relaxed into the comfort of his hard body. Sleep, which had a moment ago seemed a forlorn hope, soon claimed her.
The next day was no easier. They crisscrossed the hills, switching directions in a random and seemingly nonsensical fashion. After half a day of walking, Geraldine was sure she was only a ridge of hills away from where they had started. They slept out again that night, folded in the hills and hidden by the waving tussock. Tonight, the two men took turns keeping watch. Both curtly vetoed her suggestion that it was only fair that she take a turn too. Then the next morning they were on their way again long before the sun rose over the edge of the mountains beckoning in the distance.
Now they were coming down from the hills and Matiu was urging her to even more caution than ever.
“There’s miners all over this country, spreading further outwards each day,” he warned. “Once you get the horses back, ride at night as fast as you can for the pass over the hills to Loch Máire. You been that way before, Mokri?”
Geraldine nodded. “The last time was some years ago, before Papa remarried, when I was still a girl.” She could feel Bas’s gaze upon her at the hint of sadness she could not keep out of her voice, but she refused to meet his eyes. Matiu was unaware of the sudden tension between them, saying blithely, “It’ll come back to you. Between what you remember of the route and Tipene’s directions, you’ll have no problem.”
They lay low near a large, precariously balanced megalith for the rest of the day. Once darkness brought its kindly cloak, Matiu gave a short cry of a bird and almost immediately an answering call came from nearby. Two large shadows, led by the smaller shape of a man, emerged from the other side of a nearby outcrop of rock.
“So you made it, little brother?” teased Tipene.
“Auntie Mene?” asked Geraldine as soon as he was near enough.
“All safe. That man who chases you is very bad, but also very stupid. This land fools him easily.” A ready grin lit up her childhood friend. “By the time they find their way out of the gullies we led them down, you will be safe over the hills. As long as you haven’t quite forgotten all we ever taught you?” he couldn’t help adding, a laugh in his voice.
Geraldine smiled back. Tipene was obviously rather pleased with himself. She almost felt sorry for Black Jack. He had clearly been led a very merry way by the Maoris and if Tipene said the man was lost, then it was well and truly so. She gave a warm hug to both brothers, listened carefully to their instructions as to the best route to follow, laced heavily with admonitions and cautions, then she and Bas mounted and were ready to set off.
There was a last salute from the two brothers, then Tipene added a final warning. “Tell that husband of yours to curb his wants a bit longer. You need to be on your guard till you get over the hills and are safe on your own land.” Geraldine blushed bright scarlet and Bas glared at the young Maori.
“I know how to keep my wife safe.”
Tipene only lifted his eyebrow, his gaze switching sceptically from the autocratic, impatient man to the woman beside him. The quick sweep of his eyes down the curves of her figure spoke volumes, but he wisely refrained from further comment, much to Geraldine’s relief. She turned her horse and set her heels to its flanks before Tipene could think twice of keeping silent, forcing Bas to hurry his horse after her if he was not to lose her in the blackness of the night.
Chapter 11
Bas’s silence lasted throughout the few hours of moonlight left them. Soon after leaving Tipene and Matiu, she had been forced to slow her pace as they crossed the broken land rising up to the hills. There was an easier route to the east, but they must avoid that for fear of meeting the travellers who spread further in this direction every day. Some were shepherds and stockmen from nearby runs. For the most part, though, they were men hungry for gold who, reaching the fields too late to claim easy pickings, were now forced to range far and wide chasing rumours of golden windfalls.
Bas let her take the lead at first, staying always just behind her, never coming close enough to touch her. Her horse jibbed at twigs and stones, her own tension seeping through to her mount. He would not touch her, but she was aware of his presence with every inch of her skin. For two days, he had been forced to follow another’s lead; first hers, then Matiu’s. Now they were on their own, and his patience was nearing an end.
Then the moonlight disappeared, hidden behind heavy clouds sultry with a false promise of rain. The dry tension in the air told Geraldine that no blessed relief of rain would come. The air was too heavy for that, setting on edge both horse and rider. Her horse stumbled hurrying too swiftly over a dry creek bed. The rattle of stones sounded loudly in the air as she jibed at its reins, too harshly pulling in her mount’s hasty strides on the uneven stones. Its back legs scrabbled for purchase and its head came up wildly.
Bas reached out, grabbing the reins from her and pulling the horse firmly under control.
“We stop here,” he ordered.
“It’s too soon. We’re still too close to the diggings.”
“Maybe, but the way you’re going on, every miner for miles around will be following us.”
Her head swung up, eyes lifting to his in challenge, then wished she had not. Even in the dark, she could see the angry shine in their shadowed depths. She tried to meet it, but soon dropped her head. With an oath, he was off his horse and dragging her out of the saddle. Barely had her feet hit the ground than his mouth engulfed hers. There was anger there, yes, but it was the sheer hunger that set her senses alight. All last night, she had slept but intermittently as images of his lovemaking swamped her. She had lain still, overly sensitive to the lean shape of her husband on one side of her and on the other, the lightly sleeping form of Matiu, so close that any movement of hers towards Bas would be immediately known to the youth. She was not about to so much as lay a finger on Bas in front of Matiu. What she had shared with this man was still too new, too amazing to allow for the intrusion of outsiders.
Now, she ceased to think, to remember any warnings, and whatever Bas’s intentions had been when he dragged her off her horse, he was no more immune to the magic that flared between them than she. They were safe enough here with the horses to warn of any newcomers, but in truth neither thought of that nor cared. His mouth claimed hers totally as his hands took possession of the warm curve of her breast and thigh. Clothes were discarded at some unknown time and her fingers greedily sought the hard line of muscle and thigh. A blaze roared hot in her and she could wait no longer. Her hands pulled at him and he needed no urging. Those long fingers sank into her hair, cradling her face hungrily as his mouth traced a path from her stomach, up her breasts, neck, then took command of her lips again, tongue thrusting eagerly into her mouth in perfect counterpoint as his body took possession of hers. And it was like the last time, only more so. She had wondered in the long nights past if s
he had dreamed what had happened between them, but no. He did not love her, had been forced to marry her, but he desired her as much as she did him, and their bodies were made for one another.
Slowly, she came to her senses again. It had been madness; dangerous and stupid to forget their surroundings. She lifted her head slowly from his chest, one hand reaching slowly to stir the strands of bright hair.
Gently, his lips nipped seductively at her fingertips and his other hand traced a slow dance down the curve of her spine.
“This was not wise.” But the rueful smile on his lips gave the lie to his words and he still held her close. “I had begun to wonder if I had dreamed the other night,” he said in echo of her thoughts, “or if you had forgotten that’s my ring on your finger. Don’t ignore me again, sweetheart. I don’t handle it well, not when the sight of you is driving me crazy.”
Her eyes dipped shyly, unused to such talk. He would not allow it, lifting her chin and dropping a gentle kiss on her lips, one that started as a brief touch but deepened as the magic between them sprang to life again. But he was sated now and common sense intruded. Slowly, he pulled back from her. She lifted one finger to his lips, tracing the line of the smile clinging to them. There was a tightness there still, she discovered, despite what had just passed between them, and she knew his words had been no lighthearted teasing. There were things needing to be said.
“About Tipene. As children, he was the nearest I had to a brother,” she began slowly.
“I understood him,” he shot back. “So would I treat a stranger coming to claim a sister—especially one bringing the kind of trouble I have embroiled you in.” There was a closed stillness on his face lying underneath the pleased satisfaction
“Then?” She tried again. “You are angry with me,” she guessed.
“What do you expect, sweetheart?” He pulled himself up, leaning on one elbow and staring down at her. “One minute you melt in my arms, then you ignore me. What do you think I am – an animal who would leap on you in full sight of a barely grown youth, however different his upbringing may be from my own? Do you have no trust at all in my good sense? Or me?” he added bitterly.
She could not look at his face after that, staring up at the sweep of the stars above as she searched for words. Not the truth. I love you with my whole heart and body and am terrified you will learn of it and be more trapped than you are already. No, never would she tell him that.
“I do trust you,” she said quietly. “How can I not when you have turned your life upside down and set aside all your dreams in order to help me?” She shut her eyes, suddenly unable to bear the beauty of the stars, and her voice sank to a whisper. “I apologise for all you have been forced into. For the coldness of my friends, for disrupting your business. For – having to marry me.”
Her voice disappeared on the last word and she rolled suddenly away, one tear seeping in betrayal down her cold cheek.
Then his hands caught her shoulders and pulled her gently back to him. The tension had gone from them and for long minutes he studied her face, one finger delicately tracing the moist pathway of sorrow down her cheek and below her chin.
“I regret nothing, sweetheart.” For an instant, there was a strange, self-mocking twist to his mouth, then his wicked sense of humour reasserted itself and his face split in a wide grin. “If nothing else, for the gift of this between us.” His mouth claimed hers again. Swiftly, in a blur, a blaze of passion ignited and carried her to the brink before she was barely aware of it.
“My wife,” he declared in triumph as passion climaxed in a glorious peak.
After, there was peace between them. He lifted himself slowly from her, his fingers stirring the soft strands of her hair. He opened his mouth to speak.
A horse snorted, scrabbling feet telling of some fright. He leapt up, grabbing his clothes with one hand and catching the reins of the horse with his other.
“Time to move. We need more cover than this place offers before we lay up for the night. I would have preferred to push on further but,” he glanced up at the sky, “with that cloud cover coming over, it’s too dangerous to carry on stumbling around in the dark.”
She nodded, self-consciously rising and tugging on her own clothes. She would dearly love to know what he had been about to say, but he was right. They could linger here no longer. Silently, both mounted and rode carefully on. A while later, Geraldine led them up a narrow defile to a hidden patch of tussock and scrub. They picked their way round the thorny bushes and settled the horses into the long tussock. Safely hidden from curious eyes, Bas took the first watch while Geraldine gratefully sank to the ground. It was hard, bumpy and the only pillow available was her arm, but she was so tired that it could have been the softest feather bed and the next she knew, Bas was shaking her roughly.
“Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart, but I have to get a few hours’ sleep.”
For the rest of the night, she sat staring with hollow eyes at the stars, ears sensitive to every slight whisper on the air. She was glad they did not dawdle over breakfast the next morning, and soon after first light they were on their way up the broad valley of the Manuherikia River.
It was flatter with easy going in the centre of the wide basin, but that way was still a natural highway for the miners and traders who were flooding into this wild region. Geraldine and Bas still kept to the lower slopes of the ranges, clinging to the hidden sides of ridges and using the long tussock to disguise their passage. Even so, from time to time they were forced to detour around encampments of miners searching out likely creek beds for unclaimed diggings.
That night, they again laid up in a fold of the hills and the next day was much as the first. They must reach the bottom of the gorge of the Manuherikia as it led up to the saddle over the ranges before nightfall. All that day, they hugged close to the hidden flanks of the lower hills, only breasting the skyline if absolutely necessary.
When they paused for a halt at midday, they saw far to the right of them, a group of travellers heading to the fields. Geraldine saw Bas watching the distant figures and felt more wretched than ever. Mercenary she may call him, but she had seen the excitement in his eyes when he was plotting ways to relieve the unwary of their riches. It was not gold that lured men to the fields, she knew well; it was dreams. Wealth here did not defer to rank or birth. Overnight, a pauper could become a rich man, able to join the ranks of station owners or business barons.
And she had taken Bas from that.
Thankfully, they must press on, with no time for speech beyond the barest essentials. When they began again, their route lead them away from the busy valley floor as they began to track around the base of the hills and head northwest. Only the odd shepherd hunting for stray stock would meet them here.
She sensed a relaxation in Bas as they entered the emptier hill slopes. Geraldine had seen his discreet backwards study of track behind them and knew what he looked for. Had they left too many signs of their passing? Given the thick tussock cover, it was impossible to leave no signs. The trampling of the thick stalks by their horses’ hooves and the sliding shifts of gravel and stones could not be hidden.
But Geraldine had picked their route carefully, keeping possible signs of their passing to a minimum. She couldn’t avoid them altogether, though. At one point, they were forced to push through dense patches of the native spear grass. The plant was well named, breaking off and stabbing at the horses’ legs. Shiny spots of red blood marked their tracks and Bas cursed.
“Isn’t there any way around this?”
“Not if you value your neck.” They were on a long, broad spur of land covered with the stiff leafed, flax-like plant. She pointed in answer to the steep bluff on one side and the treacherous slide of old flood gravel on the cliff on the other side of the slope. It was probably a good thing that she couldn’t catch what he muttered, before kicking his horse to keep moving. When they shoved throught the last of it and escaped back to the sofer tussock, their horses looked as reli
eved as they to be free of the vicious stalks.
When the sun began to sink, Geraldine led them up another slope and away from the edge of the still pool set in a busy creek where they had watered their horses. Finding a suitable site some distance above the creek bed, she got off her horse and quickly checked over the site. There was a suitable patch to bed down on, well enough hidden by brush and tall grass to make it safe to light a small fire to boil a billy, and no one could come up on them unobserved. One hand absently felt for the flint kept dry in her top pocket. Satisfied, she gave a quick nod then turned to unsaddle her horse.
It was then she noticed Bas. He had stopped at the edge of the small hollow and was leaning on the pommel of his saddle, hands loosely holding the reins and with a thoroughly amused smile on his face. She looked back at him defiantly.
“You really are born to this country,” he said.
How she was meant to take that, she didn’t know, and kept silent.
“Even the miners who have been here some time would have camped a bit closer to the creek and not have to walk so far for water.”
“They’d be devoured by sandflies,” she replied gruffly.
“And how far away will that fire you are planning on lighting be seen?”
“It won’t be seen at all.” Did he think she knew nothing of this country, or was it that she knew too much for his liking, proving beyond doubt how far from a properly raised young lady she was? Her voice held a gruffness she couldn’t hide. “There will be little flame and not enough moonlight tonight to see the smoke - and the wind is blowing in the wrong direction to carry the smell of burning to anyone following behind us.” She dropped her head and tugged at the strap of her saddle. It wouldn’t seem to undo and she couldn’t see it clearly enough through the mist over her eyes to be able to do more than fumble at the buckle.
A hand came over hers and slipped the strap free, pulling the saddle off and depositing it to one side. He lifted her chin and wiped away the slow tears. His mouth descended and the lightest of feather kisses brushed her lips.
Swift Runs The Heart Page 16
