Falsely Accused, page 11
“Your other men, what happened to them?”
“Dead or captured I suppose; they knew the risks.” He shrugged indifferently.
“You don’t care?”
“I owe them nothing,” he said flatly, and as he spoke he showed not one flicker of emotion, no softening of his hard features.
“Do you want some warm milk?” She tipped some into a saucepan.
“No, I prefer this.” He pulled a silver flask from his pocket and swigged the contents.
“What happened to you after they took you from the ship?” she asked, emptying the milk into a mug.
“The prison hospital. I tried to escape and received a flogging. Then I tried to get away again, so they entombed me in some rat hole with no windows and walls of eight feet thick granite blocks. No light or sound could penetrate. They planned to ship me off to Port Arthur, but I escaped on the way to the wharf. God knows how, but I crawled off into the scrub, lived off the land until I ran into a tribe of aboriginals who took me in.”
“Is that where you met your, your woman?”
“Yes, the tribe accepted me, and offered me Moondi as a wife.”
“Moondi, that’s her name?” Maryanne asked with a jealous sickness curdling her stomach. “Are you really married?” she asked huskily. To find him only to lose him to another woman was devastating. She wanted to scream and rail against the hand of fate.
“Yes, but under aboriginal law I can take several wives.” He gave a wolfish grin. “Are you offering to be number two?”
“I couldn’t share you, Jake.”
“Possessive, my lovely?”
“No.” Hurt gave way to anger. “It isn’t decent, not after you’ve…”
His eyes savaging hers cut off the rest of the sentence.
“After I’ve lain with a black woman?” The words dropped slowly like icicles off his tongue, and Maryanne shivered.
“Get out of my sight.” His lips twisted. “I’ll be leaving at dawn, be ready if you’re coming.” He swung away and strode out the door.
Maryanne stood there gnawing at her knuckles. He wanted her. His hunger had been clearly evident, and she wanted him, too, but the thought of sharing him with some black girl or any other woman for that matter, was torture. She couldn’t do it. God, she just couldn’t.
She couldn’t sleep, useless to even try. Feeling about a hundred years old, she dragged herself upstairs.
Finding Jake alive was a miracle. How often had she dreamed of them coming together, and having the son he predicted she would one day bear him? Now his black woman would give him a child. This thought slamming into her brain caused her to stagger and nearly fall.
“Maryanne, what are you doing?” Libby came out of the bedroom.
“Jake’s downstairs.”
“What! Are you mad?”
“No, no, he’s here. He brought Shane.”
“You mean Jake is the black duke?”
“Oh, Libby, he’s got a wife.”
“What!”
“A black woman.”
“Jesus.”
“He escaped from prison, lived with the natives and ended up marrying one.”
“Oh, me darlin’ girl, what can I say. He’ll be gone from us soon, so maybe it’s for the best.”
“I’m going with him to look after Shane.”
“You can’t, for God’s sake. They both have a price on their heads, can be shot down like dogs; you, too, if you’re with them.”
“I owe it to Shane. He sacrificed himself for me; he’s too sick to survive without nursing. There’s no-one else.”
“You’re bloody mad.”
“You can’t stop me; I’ve made up my mind. Jake wants to leave at dawn, so we have to be ready.”
“Shane isn’t fit to travel. I’ll find Jake and tell him so.” Libby marched off.
Maryanne tiptoed in to see Shane. How grey and sick he looked. In the lamplight, his curls lay like spun gold on the pillow. His breathing sounded shallow, his hands, when she picked them up, felt clammy.
“He’s not doing too good,” the Irishman said. “Fever could be setting in.”
“You go downstairs, O’Rourke, I’ll sit with him for a while. Don’t die, Shane,” she whispered desperately.
“Maryanne.” His head moved restlessly.
“I’m here.”
“Sorry.” He muttered something else and started flailing his arms. “Water,” he moaned, and she wanted to cry with him. She half filled a mug, gently raising it to his lips and he drank greedily, after that he seemed to settle down.
“Maryanne.” She blinked several times.
“Oh, Libby, what time is it?”
“About four, Jake’s ready to go.”
“Shane isn’t well enough to be moved.”
“Jake says the soldiers are on their way here. He’s been out laying a false trail to buy you extra time. They’ve got tracking dogs with them now, so it won’t take long to pick up your scent.”
Visions of being ripped to shreds by snarling bloodhounds caused fear to knife through her. Maryanne clenched her teeth so Libby wouldn’t hear them chattering together. “I must be brave if I want to survive,” she recited the words several times over inside her head as she helped Libby prepare Shane for their journey.
They swathed his upper torso in bandages, but a trace of blood quickly stained the cloth. He groaned loudly when they raised him from the bed, and stood there swaying.
Jake strode into the room followed by O’Rourke. The two men positioned themselves on either side of Shane before starting the agonizingly slow journey downstairs.
“You’ll be fine once we get you mounted,” Jake reassured. “Two days ride at most and we’ll be safe.” His mirthless laugh vibrated harshly. “The redcoats can search until hell freezes over, but they’ll never find us.”
Shane was only semi-conscious when the men put him on his horse.
“No, you can’t,” Maryanne screamed, when she realized Jake meant to tie Shane to his horse.
“Do you want him to fall off?” he grated.
“No, but it’s cruel.”
Jake dropped a shocking oath.
“He knows what he’s doing, me darlin’,” Libby said
“You’ve got a good woman, O’Rourke. See you look after her.”
There was only time for a quick embrace before O’Rourke helped her mount. Libby exchanged a whispered word with Jake, and Maryanne felt pain about the region of her heart, when the two of them laughed conspiratorially.
They set off in a pit-like blackness, without even the stars to guide them. Maryanne led Shane’s horse while Jake rode a few yards ahead.
On and on they journeyed, and the silence closed menacingly around them. She had no idea in which direction they were heading; in fact, could see absolutely nothing. They rode through dense scrub. She only knew this because the bushes kept snapping back against her legs. Finally, she heard, rather than saw a river, but the wind suddenly felt colder.
“How can we cross in the dark, Jake?”
“We can’t,” he clipped the words out. “We’re taking to the water to throw the dogs off our scent.”
He swung back and grasped her horse’s bridle. “Hold on tightly to your own and Shane’s horse, we have to slide down the embankment, the water isn’t deep.
Her mount baulked. “Use your heels,” Jake ordered.
“I’m trying, but he’s afraid, like me.”
Jake’s oath was followed by several swishing cracks. The horse neighed, hesitated then plunged forward under Jake’s ruthless flogging.
The cold wetness suddenly hitting Maryanne’s legs caused her to cry out. Her arm was nearly ripped out of its socket as Shane’s plunging mount followed hers.
Mercilessly, Jake thrashed the horses until they made it out into the middle of the stream where they were swept off their feet and instinct took over.
“Give them their heads, but keep them out here,” he ordered.
Water seeped into her clothes, and the cold gnawed at her bones like a starving dog. Jake took over leading Shane’s horse, leaving Maryanne to hang on grimly to her own mount. In some places, the water plunged deeply; at other times, it reached only to stirrup level.
Time passed. Pink crept into the sky, and still no conversation was exchanged between them.
“How long do we have to stay in the water, Jake, it’s so cold.”
“Another hour or two at least.”
“What about Shane? He hasn’t made a sound for ages.”
“He’s unconscious, better for him that way.”
“It would be better if we rested, I could re-dress his wounds.”
“Is he worth hanging for?”
“How could you be so callous? I do believe you’d leave us behind to save yourself.”
“I want to live, Maryanne. I have a score to settle before I meet my maker. I can let nothing or no-one stop me.” Gravel rough and filled with hate, his words formed an impenetrable barrier between them.
What was the cause of such hatred, that he could literally drag himself back from the brink of death? Endure more than any other human could, just so fate would not cheat him of a chance for revenge?
“What’s your real name Jake, I always suspected it wasn’t Smith.”
He didn’t reply for a time. Finally, he said. “It’s John Montgomery Darrington.”
“Why did you call yourself Jake Smith?”
“It’s a long story; maybe I’ll tell you one day.”
Eventually, a weak sun drifted from behind a heap of cloud. The river became so overgrown the foliage formed a canopy above their heads, hiding them from any watchers on the bank.
The water gradually got shallower, and shiny white pebbles crunched under the horses’ hooves. Maryanne became aware of a thundering sound, and foam flecked water rushed past them. Around a bend in the river they confronted a sheer wall of water roaring down a jagged cliff face.
“Dismount,” Jake ordered, swinging from the saddle. “I’ll lead Shane’s horse, you follow close behind.”
“We’ve come to a dead end,” she shouted at him above the torrent.
“Hold on tight and trust me.” His green eyes probed right through her head and for a split second, time stood still. She could not speak or even move, then he turned aside, and life flowed back into her frozen limbs.
Jake checked that Shane was secured to his mount. It was awful seeing the young Irishman slumped over his horse with his hands and feet trussed up.
They inched forward, and the roaring became a crescendo. White spray hailed on them from above. Maryanne fought to control her crazed horse, as Jake literally rode straight through the waterfall and disappeared into the rock face.
Oh, God, I can’t go in there, she thought frantically, watching the frenzied, frothing water, and sharp slippery rocks. If they lost their footing, they would be smashed to smithereens. Time passed, Maryanne did not know how long, but Jake finally re-appeared without his mount and strode towards her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m frightened.”
He muttered a savage oath, grabbed her reins and started pulling. The noise became so unbearable she feared her ears would explode and the water rained hard as pebbles on her head and shoulders. Tiny diamond droplets glistened in Jake’s beard, while his wet hair took on a bluish tinge. Deep lines were gouged into the skin at the sides of his eyes, and his face was set into cold, ruthless lines.
What would it take to wipe out the hatred hardening those startling green eyes? she wondered momentarily, before fear drove all coherent thought away. She closed her eyes and hung on grimly.
Suddenly, the cascading water dissipated, and they were in a narrow tunnel. A rank mustiness enveloped them in its cold moist cloud.
“Where are we?” she yelled, even though there was no need to now.
“In the bowels of a mountain and this passage twists and turns for miles. There are dozens of them leading off to God knows where, but one brings us into a valley. It’s my valley, Maryanne. No other white man even knows it exists, so the soldiers will never find it.”
“How did you know about it?”
“The blacks brought me here.”
“Your wife lives here, too?”
“Of course.”
Finally, when they emerged into the light again, Maryanne saw a fertile valley, with white and pink daisies dancing amongst the lush green grass. A little stream tinkled over shiny white stones, and gaudy parrots flew through the treetops.
A lean-to of wattle bark nestled amongst the trees. A fire burned close by, but the woman coming towards them was of greatest interest to Maryanne.
She appeared to be of medium height and build, with straight black, hacked looking hair. Naked from the waist up, her lush breasts were firm and pointed. Hostility burned in her ebony eyes. She obviously didn’t relish the presence of another woman in Jake’s domain. That, Maryanne could understand.
She came up to him, speaking rapidly, passionately in her own language.
“Maryanne, this is Moondi.”
“How do you do?” She felt an absolute idiot. “Shane?” She had momentarily forgotten about him.
“In the hut, Moondi will tend him. I’ll build another shelter for you both, but first, some tea?” His eyebrows peaked in query.
“Yes, thanks, but there’s no need for you to get it, Jake. I…”
“I have no intention of getting it; domestic chores belong to a wife.”
Was he deliberately being cruel? Pain lacerated her heart, when the black woman sidled up close to him and rubbed her head along his arm.
He whispered something, and she gave a soft, intimate laugh.
“I, I might see how Shane is.” Maryanne darted off.
Inside the lean-to, Shane lay under a skin rug, and he looked so white and sick she felt ashamed for having neglected him.
“Are you awake?”
He half opened his eyes. “Maryanne?”
“Yes, you’re safe now. We’re in a little hidden valley so they won’t ever find us. Thirsty? I’ll get you something.”
She glanced around, and spied a bucket made from dried bark, but couldn’t find any drinking vessels. The place was bare except for skins, a wooden tomahawk and some dangerous looking spears. Had Jake forsaken European civilization altogether?
Moondi had spread Shane’s clothes out near the fire to dry, and Jake stood watching with his feet slightly apart, thumbs thrust into his belt.
“Shane wants something to drink, there’s a bucket but I couldn’t find a cup.”
“By the fire.” He picked up one of several vessels made the same way as the bucket.
“You’re shivering. I’ve no clothes for you, but you can wrap yourself in a rug if you wish to preserve your English modesty.”
She hated that sneering, twisted smile of his.
“Well, I wouldn’t degrade myself by running around naked.”
He bounded forwards with his hand raised and she backed away.
“Don’t ever speak that way about Moondi again.” His eyes were cold as forged steel. “She’s twice the woman you’ll ever be.”
Maryanne grabbed one of the drinking vessels and scuttled back to Shane. He hadn’t moved. His eyes flickered open when she called his name.
Raising his head, she put the cup to his lips. “I’ll have to see about getting you some food.”
“I’m not hungry.” He turned his face away after a couple of mouthfuls.
“You’ve got to get strong so we can leave here.” She lowered him gently back on to the skins.
Her wet clothes clung to her causing her limbs to ache with the cold. She picked up a rug, all the time knowing how stupid it was to risk a chill just to antagonize Jake.
Shane still slept; the other two squatted near the fire, so she slipped off her sodden garments and enveloped herself in one of the skins. Had Jake and his woman lain together under this rug? Shared the violent passion she knew he was capable of, or perhaps he treated his dusky bride gently, his long white man’s limbs entwined with her ebony ones? The very thought robbed Maryanne of breath, and she feared she might suffocate. He’s an animal, a savage, she told herself, but still the clawing jealousy would not go away.
She carefully walked back to the fire clutching the rug, trying not to cut her feet on any of the numerous sharp stones. Without speaking, she watched Moondi put a large fish on thick layers of grass resting on hot ashes. These she covered with another layer, and heaped more ashes on top.
The dark girl stood and came towards Maryanne holding a piece of bark on which a heap of berries rested.
“Eat them, they’re good.” Jake strolled over and took a few. “The fish won’t be ready for a while. We eat mainly native tucker out here.”
Both Jake and Moondi sat cross-legged on the ground, while Maryanne huddled in her rug.
“I go out every now and again to get supplies,” he explained. “I can’t seem to live too long without flour, sugar or tea.”
“You mean you commit robberies.”
“If it’s necessary,” he said harshly.
The black girl, realizing she was being ignored, raised herself on to her knees, and thrust her breasts in his face. She started gabbling in impassioned tones, and instinctively Maryanne knew she was offering herself to Jake.
He gave no answer, but his nostrils flared slightly, and she wasn’t surprised when he stood up a few minutes later and sauntered off. The aboriginal flashed Maryanne a triumphant glare before following.
The fire burned brightly, and she felt drained and bone weary. Her eyes grew heavy, and she didn’t even try to keep them open.
***
When Maryanne woke up, she was still alone. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she felt a sudden renewal of energy.
She was in the lean-to giving Shane a drink when Jake came back with a kangaroo slung over one shoulder. In his hands were several spears, all of twelve feet long, fashioned from some kind of reed.
He walked barefooted, stripped to the waist, and a trail of blood ran down his chest from the slaughtered beast. He dumped the carcass down near the fire and came over. Maryanne gasped in shock, because his face had been painted with pipe clay.
