Swift Runs The Heart

by Jones, Mary Brock

  Then she was on the road and coming up with, then passing, the other horse. She sat back, her hands sawing desperately on the reins as she pulled her faithful mount back to a grinding slide of hooves on the hard dirt track. The pale blur of her skirt draped in a ghostly cloak across the light dun of her horse and Bas swore violently, pulling his own horse up viciously as he fought to stop the pair colliding. Then he recognised her and was off his mount and pulling her roughly from her own, dragging her away from their jibing mounts as each horse sought to avoid the other. He thrust her unceremoniously to the side of the track and for the next few minutes was fully occupied in settling the two frightened horses.

  Then he turned back to her and grabbed her arm. “What in blazes are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?” There were deep shadows in the hollows of his eyes and one hand released her to drag through his hair. “Oh, God, sweetheart, don’t do this to me.” His arms came round her and held her tightly as his mouth came down on hers, and she knew it would be alright.

  Much, much later, he drew back and her tracing fingers sought the betraying lift in the curves of his mouth.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you love me.”

  His arms did not ease their grip on her, but his head drew back at that and he looked down at her. She wished the shadows didn’t hide the look on those beloved features.

  “I showed you in every way I knew. You would believe none of it.”

  “You never said the words. You are a gentleman born, and how could I know that it was not mere lust or good manners that kept you by me?”

  The ghost of a chuckle broke from him then and his arms eased their hold a fraction. “I near get myself killed for you, leave the sweetest little business a man might wish for, traipse all over those blasted hills and make love to you like a man possessed, and that does not convince you—but three little words will! All right, sweetheart. I love you, Geraldine Deverill. All of you, wilful, headstrong, unpredictable and so damned beautiful you drive me half-insane with wanting you. I love you, do you hear – more than money, more than family, more than life itself.” And on his lips when he took her mouth again was a smile as wide as the great arc of the star-filled sky above them.

  Much later, the night air sent an icy gust under her skirts and a shiver shook her. Bas drew slowly back, pulling off his coat and tucking it about her bare arms and shoulders.

  “Time we found somewhere warmer, sweetheart. Dearly as I would love to confine you to bed for the next week, it is not to recover from a bout of ‘flu.”

  She giggled, snuggling in close to his welcoming chest as he lifted her to his horse, then mounted himself, leading hers behind them. He was right. It was a beautiful, clear winter night, but there was a frost forming on the ground and the crunch of ice accompanied the fall of horses’ hooves on the grassy verge.

  They entered the house by the back stair, avoiding curious guests and leaving John to attend to the horses. Bas carried her up the stairs to her room, and finally he showed her the truth of his words. There was no more talk, only the fine drift of hands and the caress of his mouth and body till far into the early hours of the new day. They slept, and woke again in the light of the day to discover that last night had not been a dream.

  Later still, there was time for words. She could tell him the full story of the love she had found in him and slowly he told her of his.

  “I wanted you the first day I saw you, sweetheart, but at the time getting out of town alive seemed more important. Thank God you followed me.”

  “You didn’t act very grateful.”

  “Maybe, but it didn’t stop you, as I recall. I should have been warned then what a stubborn little Miss you can be. How could you be so blind, sweetheart? No matter what I did, you refused to see what you meant to me.” The clear eyes laughed up at her, his long hands tracing a delicious promise over her fine skin, down her shoulders to come to rest upon one rounded breast. She was perched on her knees, the sheets thrust back to her waist, and a warm glow encased her as she recognised the desire yet again rising in the light-filled eyes.

  “For shame, sir, how is an innocent young woman to know you meant more than idle dalliance?” Her hand crept teasingly under the sheets. His own hand dropped and he lay back with a hearty crack of laughter.

  “Just give me half a minute to recover from last night, and I’ll show you idle dalliance, Mrs Deverill.”

  She chuckled with him, and then grew silent, her face withdrawing suddenly.

  “What is it?” He sat up quickly and took her hands in his.

  “Are you sure, Bas? Can you really live here with me and leave your home behind you?”

  “I loved my home and my parents, sweetheart, that I will not deny,” he said slowly, “but I do not belong in my brother’s world. With you, I can build something new, defined only by the wit and skill and passion we bring to it, not be someone hemmed in by the rules and conventions of my class and history.” He brought her hands up and gently placed a kiss on her fingers. “God knows I wanted you as soon as I saw you, but do you know when I first began to love you?”

  She shook her head.

  “When you told me why you came to the goldfields. You said you wanted a life. It’s why I came here too, but no one had ever put it into words for me before. I told myself it was for money, revenge on my prudish brother, but that’s not the truth. A life, the chance of making my own way. That is the secret that draws all of us to the goldfields, and with you, I found it.”

  His lips told the truth of his words as he sat up and drew her mouth toward his. For long moments there was only the silence of lovers in the room. When he let her go, the smile that was his alone played gently on his face.

  Yet still something troubled her.

  “What is it, my heart?” His face was gentle. “No more secrets and misunderstandings. We have lost too much time already.”

  She looked up from the study of her hands caught in his. “That first night at the bothy at Loch Máire. You … you went so quiet. It was as if you suddenly realised what a place you had come to. No long corridors, no magnificence. It struck you then, didn’t it? Just how far was the bothy from your own home, where you belonged?”

  Again a crack of laughter and he flung himself back, pulling her tumbling down in a confused heap on his chest. Swiftly, he twisted them both and she found herself lying on her back, staring up at his laughing face.

  “Something struck me that night, love, but not that. Do you know how long I had dreamed of such a moment? Of making love to you in a real bed, where none could interrupt us, and where I could go to sleep with you by my side and know that I would wake in the morning to the sight of your face beside me?” His voice had softened, the sound of it caressing her. “I had waited so long for that night. All I could see in that moment was a picture of us lying together with the sun shining on our faces—and you wonder I was struck dumb?” Then his face stilled and his eyes darkened. “Please, love, believe in me now. I can’t lose you again.”

  “I do,” she breathed, and the day was lost to them again.

  A week later, they made their fond farewells to her family—including her stepmother, though privately Geraldine thought Sophie relieved to rid herself of their unsettling presence. Now she could talk to her acquaintances of “The Honourable Sebastian Deverills – my daughter-in-law, you know, and her husband”, but need not face the distressing reality of their presence. Young James was genuinely sad to see them go, clinging long to Geraldine and consoled only by a promise that he may come to them for a visit when he was older—but only if he worked hard at his studies.

  Then, last, her father. He held her close, then shook her husband’s hand. “Sebastian here has your wedding gift, something from your own mother and I. Máire would have been happy to see this day. You will give it to Geraldine on the day I said and not before?” he said to Bas.

  Geraldine looked at the
m both, very puzzled. But though both men looked thoroughly pleased with themselves, not a word more would they say to her.

  They rode off, soon outdistancing the wagon that was to follow them by the established tracks, bringing Geraldine’s possessions and many other items her father seemed to feel essential to her new married life.

  They slept that night curled up together in a hollow of the lands, bringing back memories of dry Otago hills and warm summer days. Geraldine found herself looking forward to seeing the dusty streets of Dunstan town again.

  “If you sold Molly’s business, where are we to live?” she wanted to know.

  “I didn’t sell everything, and I have a new business enterprise. We will live there,” was all Bas would say.

  Once across the Waitaki River, they struck inland instead of staying on the road south, which was the usual route inland to the plains and mountains of the goldfields. “I thought we would retrace an old journey,” Bas said.

  So it was that they came one clear winter day to the hill above Loch Máire and wound their way down to the little cottage tucked by the hidden lake. Bas lifted her down from the saddle and carried her in through the small door.

  Mrs Smith must have been in that day to ready it for them, for the little room glowed with well-kept comfort and the logs in the fire needed but a light to be set to bring them to a merry crackle. Bread and cheese lay ready on the table and a pot of mutton broth hung on the fire waiting to be heated.

  She twirled round to Bas, an entranced smile on her face.

  “You finish off the meal, sweetheart, and I’ll bring our bundles in.”

  “Do we stay here tonight, then?”

  “Yes,” said Bas, but his face hid something.

  Thoroughly intrigued now, Geraldine bustled to and fro and, in no time at all, the still-warm broth was beginning to bubble on the fire, the plates and utensils were on the table and all was ready. She went to call Bas from the bedroom. He set his saddlebag on the hook by the door and turned to her, pulling two long packets from within the bag.

  “Take a seat, love.” She obeyed, perched on the only place possible, the side of the bed. He handed her one of the packets.

  “Open it. Your father wanted you to have it now. It is his wedding gift to you.”

  She looked at him, then bent to open it. Inside the oiled outer wrapping lay a long envelope. She opened it and saw the long, flowing script of her father’s solicitor. Her eyes scanned it and a smile grew on her face.

  “It is the deed to the cottage. He kept it for me as he promised; the bothy and the lake, and the land around it. I didn’t lose it after all,” she said, and slow tears leaked from her eyes. She lifted them, shining with happiness, to her husband. “So we can come here whenever we like. See, there is a clause that says the new owner must allow us reasonable access to the lake and bothy. Our children will be able to enjoy this place as I did, and I can tell them of their grandparents, who built a home here in the wilderness. We can come back often, can’t we? It’s not that far across the hills from Dunstan.”

  “As often as you like,” he promised, gently kissing the tears from her cheeks.

  “But… reasonable access. What if the new runholder tries to block us out? What then?”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem, my dearest love,” said Bas, holding out the other package towards her. “This is my wedding gift, to us both, Mrs Deverill.”

  Slowly, she took the second package and unwrapped it. Then she stared at the papers within, her eyes running slowly over the pages. She turned them over and over, coming back finally to the first. Her eyes clung to the words written there.

  “It’s the deed to Loch Máire run. To all of it, everything that my father had here. You bought it all.” This time the tears would not stop. “Are you sure; can you truly be happy here?”

  He came and sat beside her, and drew her into a long, loving kiss. “Look at the date on which I signed the final papers.”

  She looked at where his finger pointed. It was two weeks before he came to find her.

  Her eyes shot up to his, her mouth open in astonishment. “You were so confident that I would come back with you?”

  He shook his head ruefully. “No. But … if I could do nothing else for you, I could do this one thing. If you had refused me, I had resolved to sign the run over to you and return to England.”

  “But … it’s too much.”

  “Then it’s a good thing that I didn’t have to,” he chuckled. “You saved me from a fate worse than you know.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. Bas, I love you and will follow you wherever you want to go. Even back to England, if you could ever bring yourself to taking a rough-mannered colonial girl into those fine parlours of yours.”

  “Never, sweetheart. They would drive you silly in minutes, and I could not bear seeing you turned into a polite lady of that world. No, give me my colonial Miss any day.”

  “Well, thank you, I think. But there are still your businesses. You love the challenge of them. Can you leave them for the life of a runholder? It’s not an easy one, not here in the upland country.”

  “Don’t worry. I still have some interests on the goldfields and intend to split our time between them both. The Smiths have agreed to stay on to run the place when we cannot be here, and to teach me the many things I am going to need to learn if we are to make this place grow.”

  He fell silent, pulling her into the crook of his arm, and when he continued there was a note in his voice she had heard only rarely before.

  “I spent the last week watching your father building that Canterbury run of his into a viable farming enterprise. They are creating something new in this land, the runholders and small farmers. They bring the knowledge of the old world and their observations of the new together to find the best way to do things here. It’s part of why I came to this land in the first place and as the days passed, I thought more and more of that moment when we came over the hills from the Dunstan and saw this place. Your father’s new run is well enough, but here the sky is wide and the land so big, you could lose yourself in it forever. There, the settlers seek to hem themselves in already with the conventions of the old world. Here, a man can breathe. I saw then why you love this place, and can only hope that you will let me have a share in that. What do you say, sweetheart? Will we build our life together here in Loch Máire?”

  She sat on the bed, cradled in his arm, and watching the fire of excitement spread from the light in his beautiful eyes and chase across the fine bones of his face. The quick smile on those firm lips drew her now as on the first day she had seen him, and a matching excitement leapt in her own heart.

  “Yes, my love,” she said, and this time it was she who drew him down to the welcoming depths of the bed.

  THE END

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