by Jasmine Hill
“No!” Once more bracing his arms on the desk, William leaned toward George. “How dare you! I don’t have time to deal with your delusions or those of your daughter. You’re going to tell me where Lillian is right now or, so help me God, I’m going to pummel the information out of you!”
Dawson’s face paled and his eyes grew wide. “C-C-Cartwright, you have to do the right thing. And we can combine our two properties. Think of what we could do together.”
William gaped at him. “Is this your agenda? To get your slimy, greedy hands on my land?”
“No, that’s just a side benefit for both of us.” Dawson’s tone turned cajoling. “This is for the best, William. Even Miss Hamilton is in agreement. That’s why she left. She understands that her continued presence would make matters difficult for you and Margaret. She didn’t want to stand in the way of you marrying my daughter.”
“Lillian is mine!” William bellowed, making Dawson jump in alarm. “How fucking dare you interfere with me and what’s mine!” William shook his head, trying to dispel the madness. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, his voice ominously low. “Not now or ever will I marry your daughter!”
Dawson started to protest but William slammed his palm on the desk with a look of warning. “I can’t believe that you prompted and encouraged a young, innocent woman to leave my protection. You are despicable! Now tell me where she is,” he thundered the last.
Dawson cowered under William’s furious glare. “She’s headed for Byrock,” he whispered.
“Byrock?” William asked, incredulous. “How the fuck is she going to make it to Byrock alone, you bastard?” He straightened and shoved a hand through his hair in anxiety. He started toward the door, his mind already working to formulate his subsequent plan of action, when Dawson’s next words stopped him dead in his tracks.
“She’s not alone.”
William turned and stabbed the other man with an intense stare.
“John Steele is with her,” Dawson explained.
A red haze of fury engulfed William, narrowing his vision to a pinprick as feelings of dread, possessiveness and jealousy conflicted and coiled in his gut. “Dawson, you start praying now that nothing happens to Lillian.” William’s voice turned into a turbulent rumble. “If Steele touches one hair on her head, he’s a dead man—as you will be. Now, you start fucking talking and tell me everything that I need to know.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“We should stop soon. It’s getting dark.”
Lillian turned to where John was looking westward, toward the sinking sun. “I agree,” she replied, despondent. All day, she’d been dreading the point when they would stop for the evening. The thought of spending hours in the dark and in the middle of nowhere with John Steele made her uncomfortable. Granted, he’d acted like a consummate gentleman, but she couldn’t help but feel awkward at the prospect of passing so much time alone with him, yet she needed to rest. The unfamiliar position in the saddle for such a long time had her muscles aching and screaming for relief, and she was exhausted. The last twenty-four hours had drained her physically and emotionally. She’d been on horseback, give or take some resting time, for fifteen hours of those twenty-four. She was also dreading the enforced contemplation time, time in which she knew she would think about William. The heartache and betrayal she’d been pushing to the back of her mind would invade her thoughts and haunt her dreams. And the pain in her chest that she had been steadily keeping at bay would assault her at full force. No, the silent, uninterrupted evening hours were an anathema to her, even if they offered some physical relief.
John, dismounting from his horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree, roused Lillian from her thoughts. Her mare had been following John’s stallion and sidled up next to his steed to wait patiently.
“Lillian, we need to rest.” John reached up to help her dismount.
She accepted his assistance, too tired to do anything else. When he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and another under her knees, she sank against him.
“I’m sorry, John, I’m just a little weary.” She gave a small laugh. “I’m not accustomed to spending so much time astride a horse.”
He settled her on her feet, ensuring that she was steady, and grasped her shoulders as he gazed at her intently. “You look pale.” He moved his hands to cup her cheeks in his palms, brushing the sensitive skin under her eyes with his thumbs. “And you have dark circles here. You need to sleep.”
She smiled. “Hopefully, all this fresh air and riding about in the countryside will ensure that I have a few hours of blissful slumber.”
“Good. I’ll build us a fire then we can eat.” John turned back to his stallion and started to unpack supplies. “You get comfortable and I’ll settle the animals.”
As John started to unsaddle the horses and organize food bags, Lillian retrieved a small satchel and blanket from her saddlebags and made a makeshift bed. She wet a handkerchief with water from her canteen and wiped her face and hands, grimacing when the cloth turned a dull brown from the outback earth caked on her skin. What she wouldn’t give for some warm, soapy water at that moment. She sighed and hung the cloth from a tree branch to dry. She couldn’t use any more water than absolutely necessary, particularly for personal hygiene.
She stood and dusted off her skirt, sending a red cloud billowing around her. She turned to where John was unbuckling his saddle. “I’ll collect some kindling for the fire,” she announced and strode from their makeshift camp.
Lillian used her skirt to hold the wood that she collected. The branches were dry and brittle, some bleached to bone color from the severe Australian sun. It would make effective kindling for their fire but she couldn’t help but ponder the arid conditions and harsh environment the outback presented. Still, she mused, she loved it. There was something beautiful and unique about the untamed and unforgiving countryside. It was a land of extremes. The line ‘Of droughts and flooding rains’, from Dorothea Mackellar’s poem, danced through her mind. She straightened and looked west toward the sinking sun where the orange orb was staining the sky a brilliant red and turning the landscape beneath to a coal black. She sighed gratefully as a feeling of peacefulness swept through her at the lovely sight. As if to thank her for her warm thoughts, Mother Nature chose that moment to send three kangaroos hopping across the skyline. They were pitch-black shapes backdropped by a golden sphere. She gasped at the beautiful display and stood mesmerized until the kangaroos vanished over the horizon.
“There you are.”
John’s voice startled Lillian out of her reverie. She jumped and spun around to face him, completely forgetting about the fact that her skirt was hiked up to her thighs. John’s gaze slid from her face down her torso to rest unabashedly on her legs. He licked his lips. Even in the dying daylight, she could make out the lust darkening his eyes. She shivered in apprehension before quickly composing herself.
“I have the kindling,” she said briskly, moving past him and walking back to their camp. She willed her heart rate to slow. John’s obvious desire had made her feel uneasy and she needed to put some distance between them.
She dropped the branches next to a circle of rocks that John had arranged.
“Put the kindling down first.” John instructed, having followed her back. “With some tinder stacked loosely on top.” He scattered bark and dry grass across the small pile.
Lillian watched as he slowly built the fire, starting with kindling and tinder, which he lit, then he blew on the bundle until it was steadily aflame. When the fire strengthened, he added some of the larger branches then he arranged some thicker pieces in a tepee shape over the flames. The process fascinated her and she paid close attention, committing the method to memory.
Soon they had a roaring fire and were boiling a billy of water. Lillian unpacked some cheese and bread that they toasted over the flames and washed down with sweet black tea. It was basic fare but Lillian couldn’t recall anything ever tasting so good. S
he was hungrier than she’d realized and the sugary brew had given her some much needed sustenance. She felt the color return to her cheeks and the food, combined with the warmth of the fire, made her drowsy. She started to doze but was startled when John laid a blanket on the ground next to hers. She looked at him uneasily but he just smiled mildly.
“It will be warmer, Lillian. You know how cool the nights can be.”
“Yes, of course,” she concurred.
Earlier, she’d retrieved her coat and a woolen scarf from her belongings and these she wrapped tighter around her before lying down and trying to make herself comfortable. She felt John sidle closer to her and she willed herself to relax, telling herself that his nearness was just to keep them both warm through the cold evening hours.
She listened to the crackling of the fire and the hooting of an owl, allowing the twilight sounds to soothe her. It wasn’t long before exhaustion wore her down and she succumbed to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
William had never moved so fast in his life. When he returned to Mulga Creek, he quickly packed some supplies before saddling Victory and riding fast in the direction that George Dawson had said Lillian was heading in to meet Steele.
He knew they were both on horseback, which meant they wouldn’t necessarily follow the road. He would bet money that Steele would avoid the road at all costs. The only way he had a chance of catching them was on horseback also. He wasn’t supposed to know they were heading to Byrock, so he had to assume that they wouldn’t be expecting him to follow. Also, he imagined they’d be traveling at a slower rate. Lillian wasn’t used to long periods in the saddle and they would need to rest often.
William decided to ride into the evening to gain some distance. He didn’t usually ride at night but Victory was a sure-footed horse accustomed to harsh terrain, so he’d decided to risk it. It would be worth it to gain some additional ground.
It took him five hours to reach the fork in the road where Dawson had said Lillian was meeting Steele earlier that day. He hoped to God that she’d been able to make her way there. Just the thought of her being lost and alone was enough to undo him. George Dawson had assured him that he’d given her detailed directions, but until William had her in his arms again, his raging fears would not be stilled. He decided to break for a rest and leave at first light. He’d ridden Victory hard and his horse needed to recuperate.
He unpacked a blanket from his saddlebags and made a makeshift bed, not bothering with a fire, confident that his oilskin coat would keep him warm enough. He’d dreaded the act of stopping, knowing he’d be unable to think about anything else but the fact that Lillian was with Steele, alone and in the outback. A deep fear gripped him and a jealous possessiveness coiled and tightened his gut. He’d spent time with Steele in the war, and what he knew of the man didn’t ease his mind at all. No, John Steele was a womanizer and, to make matters worse, his treatment of women in the past had been appalling and anything but gentlemanly. It was obvious that he wanted Lillian, which burned a rage through William like nothing he’d ever experienced. Never had William felt so impotent. He just had to pray that Steele would treat Lillian like the lady she was. Anything less was inconceivable to him.
* * * *
John woke Lillian early and it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was surprised she’d slept so well but, given the arduous events of the previous days, her body had obviously needed the rest. They partook of a quick breakfast of sweet tea and apples. Lillian packed up their belongings while John saddled the horses. Soon they were once more on the move.
“There’s a small billabong that we should reach by midday. We’ll stop there for lunch and fill up the canteens,” John informed her.
Lillian frowned. “What about crocodiles?
He chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t recall that there are no crocodiles in New South Wales. They’re only found in the very northern areas of Australia.”
She thought for a moment and realized that no one had ever informed her of that fact. She’d always been told that water holes were dangerous and to keep away from them. As a sixteen-year-old girl, full of fantastic ideas, she’d assumed that crocodiles were the cause for concern. She told John as much.
He nodded. “No doubt your parents were concerned about the debris and snags hidden by the water. Weak swimmers can drown easily if they’re not careful, but this billabong is remarkably clear.”
It made sense and she was relieved, as their low water supplies had started to concern her. She’d heard more than one story of people dying in the outback from thirst. Such a death was a particularly slow and agonizing one. It was reassuring that John was an experienced bushman and that he was obviously familiar with their environment. She shivered, thinking about the possible consequences of not having John to guide her. She liked to believe that she was a strong, independent woman, but no amount of personal fortitude could have led her successfully through the harsh and unfamiliar terrain.
Sore, with the insides of her thighs throbbing, Lillian wriggled in the saddle. She didn’t dare complain and she didn’t want to ask John their expected arrival time in Byrock for fear of seeming weak and impatient. Instead, she focused her attention on their surroundings and tried to forget the pain and tension in her muscles. The morning passed quite quickly and they made good time. John soon announced their imminent arrival at the billabong. It was eleven o’clock, an hour earlier than John had predicted. She was beyond relieved to have a respite.
They dismounted and led the horses to the waterhole to drink then they filled their canteens and washed. The water level was low but it was cool, surprisingly clear and felt wonderful when she splashed her face and the back of her neck.
There was a shaded clearing not far from the billabong. There, they sat to rest and eat. Lunch consisted of the last of the stale bread, cheese and an apple each. It was basic fare but enough to keep up their strength and ward off the hunger pangs. They were eating the food that would spoil first. After that, they had tinned meat and Lillian had packed two pounds of flour to make damper.
They were quiet as they ate, each busy with their own thoughts. Lillian was thinking about how good it would feel to take a quick dip in the cool water.
“I’m going to rinse off our plates and freshen up,” she told John.
“Fine, I’ll wait for you here. I think we should lie low for an hour or so. It’s the hottest part of the day, so the least amount of time spent in the sun, the better.” He settled back, lying down and placing his bush hat over his face.
With John planning on a nap, Lillian would have some privacy. She rummaged through her bag and retrieved a bar of soap and a cloth, then hurried back to the billabong. She removed her boots and stockings and sat on a rock to re-braid her long hair, coiling it into a chignon at the back of head to keep it off her face and neck. She undressed quickly, whacking her clothes against a nearby tree and marveling at the clouds of red dust that billowed from the fabric. When she finally stepped into the cool water, she gasped in appreciation, walking in to hip depth before slowly submerging herself. The burning in her muscles instantly eased and she floated on her back for a long while, enjoying the sensation. She finally moved to the shallows, soaped herself all over and decided that she would wash out her under things, confident that the light cotton would dry quickly in the sun.
After laying out her rinsed items, she sat back in the water, relishing the cleansing experience. She hadn’t realized just how much red dust and grit had been caked onto her skin. The ocher-colored earth had literally worked itself into every crevice of her body.
She lay like that in the shallows, listening to the sounds of the bush. The cicadas vibrated their song and the warbling of magpies combined with it to create a loud reverberation in the otherwise still atmosphere. So loud were the bush sounds that she failed to hear the figure approaching her from behind.
Chapter Thirty-Five
William had awoken early and left before first light. H
e’d slept fitfully, only managing to snatch an hour in total, his thoughts too wrapped up in Lillian and his fears for her safety. He was too anxious to find her to stay still.
In the early hours, he recalled a small billabong he was certain that John Steele would be aware of. Anyone local to the area, particularly horsemen and stockmen, made it a point to know where all the sources of water were located. He felt sure that Steele would have to recharge their water supply and that area would be a perfect spot to do it. William had no way of knowing when they would arrive at the waterhole, or even if they would stay for any length of time, but the faster he rode, the more chance he’d have of gaining on them.
William’s instincts were all he was operating on. He had to anticipate Steele’s movements and the probable course he was taking to Byrock. It wasn’t hard. He just followed a route that he, himself, would have taken in similar circumstances.
He rode hard, picking up disturbances in the undergrowth that led him to believe he was on the right track. At nine o’clock, he came across the remains of a campfire. He dismounted Victory and crouched by the pile of ash. It appeared to be recent. Standing, he scanned the surroundings, his gaze immediately alighting on a scrap of soiled fabric hanging on a nearby tree branch. He strode over to it and snatched it down, his heart soaring with hope and relief when he noticed the familiar initials embroidered into the handkerchief—L.E.H. Until that moment, he’d completely forgotten Lillian’s middle name, Elizabeth. He clutched the cloth to his face and breathed deeply, just able to discern her lingering scent. The action comforted him and gave him hope that she remained safe and well.
He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and remounted Victory. If he rode hard, he thought that he could make it to the billabong by midday. He was still confident that Steele and Lillian were traveling at a slower pace. Steele, of course, was capable of hard riding too and had a horse up to the challenge, but Lillian’s mare was older and less accustomed to an intense pace. Moreover, Lillian was unused to long periods in the sun and being astride a horse. Even though he expected she’d be trying her hardest to appear unaffected, William knew she’d be hurting. This last thought sent another wave of rage coursing through him. The entire fucking scenario was unacceptable. He still couldn’t believe this whole course of events had been instigated by Margaret Dawson’s lies then perpetuated by her fool of a father. He felt like ripping the man apart, limb by limb, and he might be driven to do just that if anything happened to Lillian.
