Falsely Accused, page 7
“Yes,” he shot back. “You convict whore.”
Her hand connected so hard against his cheek his head snapped back. “To hell with you, I won’t be offering again.” He gave her a shove. Her head cracked against the ground and her ears rang with the impact.
Cold eventually roused her from her stupor, and she shivered without the warmth of Shane’s body. In the darkness, she spotted the outline of a hump at the opposite end of the wagon. Pulling the coarse blanket a little tighter, she tried to still her chattering teeth.
As dawn streaked the sky with pink, Libby shook her awake.
Maryanne opened her eyes groggily.
“We’ve got time to wash before eating. The men want to be on the move by sunrise.”
“Go away, it’s too early.”
“Come on.” Libby pulled the blanket away. “Hell, you better do your bodice up.”
The shock of seeing her bare breasts exposed by her gaping bodice brought Maryanne to full awareness.
“Why is Shane in such a foul mood?”
“I don’t know, Libby.”
“He mounted you last night didn’t he,” she asked crudely. “Well, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but we argued afterwards.” Maryanne struggled to her feet. “He wanted to marry me.”
“And?”
“He turned nasty when I refused.”
“You idiot, most men take what they want. He actually offered to wed you.”
Libby marched on ahead and Maryanne ran to catch up with the Irish girl. “Wait, please don’t you turn on me, too. I couldn’t marry him. What about Jake?”
“Jake!” Libby dropped an oath. “He’s probably dead by now, besides you baulked at him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me, that’s why.” Libby sloshed water all over her face. “We weren’t the only ones he bedded on the ship.”
A saber thrust of pain nearly doubled her over. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt to hear out loud that Jake had bedded other women, even though he admitted he took them every chance he got. I should hate him, she thought, but couldn’t. The passion they had shared and his transient tenderness inexorably bound her to him.
Libby pulled her upward. “The future is what’s important, the past is finished.”
When they returned to the fire, O’Rourke dished up some gruel made from oatmeal, and a blackened pot on the fire bubbled away merrily.
“Good morning, Maryanne.”
“Good morning, O’Rourke.”
“Ready to eat, ladies,” he went on cheerfully. Intercepting the look exchanged between Libby and him, Maryanne knew for certain they had lain together last night, and wanted to do so again.
“Shane, tucker’s ready.”
“All right, let me finish hitching up the team.”
When he eventually came up to the fire, Maryanne saw that his copper curls were damp, and gingery bristles adorned his upper lip.
“Good morning, Shane.”
He gave a rude grunt, as he squatted down on his haunches to reach for the pot.
As Libby and O’Rourke whispered together, Shane sat in sullen silence, gulping down his food. Halfway through drinking her tea, Maryanne remembered Jake’s instructions. Without a word she stood up, and carrying her cup over to the wagon fumbled through her belongings for the Chinese herbs.
The jackasses laughed loudly as Maryanne clambered into the wagon.
“Be at my place by late afternoon,” O’Rourke predicted.
“Midday,” Shane shot out the word as he whipped the bullocks into motion. “I want to make it to Fitzhugh’s tonight.” He flailed the animals with vigor. Again and again the lash fell with a whistling crack until Maryanne had to put her hands over her ears to blot out the noise. She tried not to watch the bullocks straining for greater and greater speed as Shane laid the rawhide across their backs.
“Ease up,” O’Rourke roared after a time. “The team will be worn out before we get halfway if we keep this pace up.”
“I’m in charge here,” Shane flared back. “I’m in a hurry.”
When the road started to narrow, and become steep, Maryanne felt glad, because he needed both hands to control the team. Mile after tortuous mile the track twisted and climbed while the thick, inhospitable bush brooded all around them. Eventually they came down the other side and made it to flat ground once more. The hot sun scorched down on them from a sky so blue it hurt the eyes.
“When can we stop for a rest?” Libby asked.
“When I say so.”
“Who the hell do you think you are, Shane?” Libby flared, tossing her head. “You’re a convict, no better than us.”
Maryanne listened in shocked silence as the argument became more heated as they traded insults.
“Jealous because I chose O’Rourke and not you,” she jeered.
“I wouldn’t touch a dockside harlot like you.”
“Enough,” O’Rourke snarled.
“Yeah, well how does it feel knowing a hundred others have mounted her first,” Shane sneered. “She might even give you a dose of…”
“I’m warning you, shut your filthy mouth or I’ll be speaking to Fitzhugh.”
Angry red stained the back of Shane’s neck. He said no more, but vented his rage on the unfortunate bullocks. He lashed them with such vicious frequency Maryanne wondered why he did not draw blood.
She crawled up to the front of the wagon. “Shane, don’t flog them anymore, I can’t stand it.”
The rawhide whistled loudly as it fell. “I’m sorry about last night, I’ll do anything you want if you stop.”
“Anything?” He turned his head slightly.
“Yes, I promise.”
“When I find a suitable place, we’ll stop,” he said.
After a time, the road forked and they followed a track leading straight into the bush. Just as Maryanne began to fear they would be swallowed up and lost forever, they pulled up.
“We’ll rest here for a while, O’Rourke, you and Libby get a fire going. We might as well have a brew and something to eat.”
Maryanne let Shane help her down.
“What do you propose doing, M’Lord?” Libby gave him an exaggerated curtsy.
“Oh, I’ll be busy, don’t worry.” He gave a sudden smirk and grabbed hold of Maryanne’s hand. When she stared into his face, a tidal wave of heat engulfed the whole of her body, because none of them could doubt his intentions.
Libby whispered something; Maryanne did not know what, as she stumbled along beside him. “Shane, please.”
“You promised. If I eased off on the whip, you said I could have anything, and you know what I want.”
His lips twisted. “I won’t have much chance once Fitzhugh sees you. Today and tonight, then he’ll have you in his bed.”
He clamped his arms around her and his hungry mouth found hers as he drew her to the ground. She didn’t fight him, there was simply no point. This was her lot in life now, to let men use her body to satisfy their lust until her sentence expired, even then.... Oh, God, please let there be an end to this purgatory one day.
“Good, wasn’t it?” When he finished, Shane bounded to his feet and tidied up his clothes. As she went to close her bodice, he stopped her with a hand on either shoulder. “So white and flawless. I’ve never seen a woman with such delicate skin before.”
“Have you had many women?”
“A few, don’t worry, I’m choosy. I’ve never touched a black woman either, and that,” he sneered, “is something few white men out here can say.”
The fire burned brightly when they returned to the others, the pot already hanging on a forked stick over the flames.
“Got over your bad temper, Shane?” Libby asked.
“Yes.” His smirk caused Maryanne to feel hot all over.
“Didn’t take them long did it, O’Rourke?”
Maryanne couldn’t bear to look anywhere but at the ground. She came close to hating Libby.
“Ah, me darlin’, you’re embarrassed,” she teased. “Won’t you ever forget you’re a parson’s daughter?”
“There are a lot of things I wish I could forget.”
The tea Shane handed her was scalding hot, strong and exceedingly sweet. “We always drink it like this,” he explained, offering her a ship’s biscuit.
“No thanks.”
“Starving yourself won’t help,” he said. “You’re a woman, and out here that means serving men.”
“It isn’t fair.”
“Not for me to complain.” He grinned boyishly, and she suddenly realized he couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than her.
“How old are you, Shane?”
“Nineteen. You?”
“I turned eighteen on the ship coming out.”
“Not much of a birthday, huh?” He reached out and touched her cheek. “If I had plenty of money I’d buy you something special.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll spend the night at O’Rourke’s, a real bed with white sheets on it. How’s that sound, Maryanne?”
“Is it possible out here?”
“Yeah. The gentry sleep on the finest linen, convicts get a straw filled mattress with a couple of blankets if they’re lucky, but I’ll be rich one day,” he vowed. “I’ll dress you in silk. There will be lots of jewels, servants, grand carriages…”
“Don’t be silly,” laughing she interrupted. “You’re only a convict.”
His chin thrust out determinedly. “Maybe so, but there’s money out here for those not frightened of hard work.”
They set off again at a more sedate pace. Thank goodness Shane hardly used the whip at all. The bush brooded darkly on either side, mysterious, impenetrable, and if they lost the track they would surely perish.
Shane started singing Irish folksongs, and Libby joined in.
“Come on, O’Rourke, Maryanne,” she invited.
O’Rourke’s booming, tuneless voice overpowered the other two, and because she did not know any of the words Maryanne hummed the melody.
O’Rourke’s tavern, set amidst the bush, was built of white washed stone and had wooden shutters on all the windows. Several red and black native dogs rushed out barking noisily as they pulled up in the front yard.
An old man limped up to the wagon and nodded to O’Rourke before turning faded eyes towards the rest of them.
“Ladies, meet Tom. Keeps the place running for me, don’t you, Tom?”
The man merely nodded.
“How do you do?” Maryanne greeted him with a smile as Shane lifted her down.
“He won’t answer, he’s a mute,” Shane explained.
“How sad.”
“Yeah well, O’Rourke looks after him.”
Tom unhitched the bullocks and led them away.
“He’ll see to the unloading, too,” O’Rourke chipped in. “Come along ladies, I think we deserve a drink. Real English ale. How’s that suit?”
They entered a large room with a cobbled floor. It was bare except for roughly hewn tables and log seats set at intervals. At one end stood a massive stone fireplace.
“Kitchen is through there.” O’Rourke jerked his finger at a doorway. “Those stairs lead to the bedrooms.”
“Well, you’re surely needing a woman’s touch, O’Rourke me darlin’,” Libby said.
He grinned. “That’s one of the reasons I brought you here, I’ve got plans to expand if the authorities let me. A few coaches stop here to change teams now, sometimes the drivers eat here, but with decent accommodation and home cooked meals, trade will improve. You can wash up out back, ladies.”
Behind the kitchen was the well. It felt heavenly to be able to splash clean, crisp water all over their faces.
“I think I’ll enjoy it here.” Libby laughed. “The customers are nearly all men, soldiers and a few free settlers, so I’ll be able to satisfy them easily.”
“Libby!”
“Not like that, I’m O’Rourke’s woman now.”
Back in the tavern, O’Rourke and Shane were sprawled out at a table with a tankard each.
“Wine,” Libby squealed, “from crystal goblets, too. O’Rourke, have I died and gone to heaven?”
“Something special, ladies, to welcome you to my humble abode.”
Tom kept the men’s tankards topped up, and filled Libby’s glass several times, but Maryanne could only take a few sips of the burning mixture.
It was dark by the time Tom served their food. Mutton chops, potatoes and great slabs of flat bread. Maryanne drank her tea with milk and sugar, savoring this unaccustomed treat.
The others kept on drinking ale until they became more than a little drunk. Libby’s jokes were loud and bawdy, but funny, even if she didn’t always understand the meanings.
“Time for bed, Maryanne,” Shane slurred the words a little.
His face looked flushed, his eyes over bright, and when he stood up he swayed.
“Need any help getting upstairs, me darlin’?” Libby asked.
“No, I’m not too drunk; anyhow, Maryanne’s with me if I need help.”
She almost hated Shane for the way he took it for granted she would be his.
“Off you go.” Libby’s seemingly ordinary words relayed a secret message, telling her to submit without fighting.
“Goodnight, Libby, O’Rourke.” She despised herself for meekly leaving the table and following Shane upstairs.
Cursing softly, he fumbled with the door. By the light of a lamp already lit by the faithful Tom, Maryanne, as she entered the room, glimpsed white washed walls and a huge wooden bed. Shane dragged her into his arms and pressed hot, urgent kisses all over her face.
She did not fight him, easier not to. His attentions were not too distasteful, as long as she didn’t think about Jake’s love making.
“Maryanne,” he gasped. “I’m nearly crazy with wanting you.”
He tugged and fumbled with her clothes until he got them off, then he pushed her on to the bed and came down beside her. While he twisted and pulled himself out of his clothes, he somehow still managed to suckle her breasts. She tried to stiffen away when his fingers started a poking, probing exploration of her lower body.
He did not move away when his desire was slaked, instead rested his head in the valley between her breasts.
“I don’t want Fitzhugh to have you. You’re my woman. Why should I have to share?”
“He might not want me.” She tousled his curls with her fingertips.
“Since he got his holding, Fitzhugh’s hardly left the place. Three years and only native wenches to satisfy him, course he’ll want you.”
“But…”
“You’re a white woman, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Even if you were a hag, you’d be better than some black gin.”
Sick bile curdled her stomach.
“We could get married like you said, Shane. Please.” She clutched his arm. “I don’t want that man near me.” The very idea he would touch her after fornicating with savages revolted her.
“O’Rourke might know someone. I heard about a priest visiting Irish convicts at some of the garrisons out here, so we could get married before we leave.” He wrapped his arms around her and fell asleep almost immediately.
***
After breakfast next morning, they commenced the final leg of their journey. It was terrible bidding Libby farewell. Both of them started weeping when O’Rourke finally prised them apart.
“How foolish you two are. I’ll bring Libby up to see you. Fitzhugh seems a reasonable man.”
“When he’s sober,” Shane muttered.
“Give him no cause for concern. That means you, too, my hot headed young friend, and he might even let you visit with us.”
“O’Rourke, do you really think so?” Libby asked.
“Sure I am, me darlin’ girl.”
They set off. Maryanne hung out of the wagon waving, until a turn in the road obliterated the couple standing together outside the tavern.
“Didn’t you ask about us getting married?”
“Yes, damn it to hell. Last O’Rourke heard, the priest had returned to Parramatta. I’ll tell Fitzhugh we’re betrothed so we’ll see how much of a gentleman he really is.”
On and on they travelled, with the country getting rougher and more untamed. Maryanne became increasingly anxious with every mile that passed, especially as Shane drove along brooding silently.
Would the captain leave her be? God, he had to. I’ll kill myself if he touches me, she almost convinced herself of this, until Libby’s words came back. “Do anything to survive.”
As they traversed a narrow, rutted track, the overhanging bushes and saplings scraped against the wagon. Maryanne became spooked by the sensation of unseen eyes watching their every movement.
With a sudden oath, Shane pulled the bullocks up, and she screamed when several spear carrying natives menacingly blocked their path. They were naked, except for a flimsy covering across their loins. Their faces and upper torsos were disfigured with paint.
“Want baccy.”
“Me give you plenty baccy,” Shane said, reaching under the seat.
“No.”
He ignored her cry, and with a pistol in either hand shot the leading two. Each took the full force in the chest. As they crumpled to the ground, their death throes were so terrible Maryanne knew she would never forget this moment. The rest of the tribe scattered into the bush as Shane whipped the bullocks up and set them in motion.
“You didn’t have to shoot them down like animals,” she said, glancing into his granite hard face.
“Wouldn’t mind being raped by a black, huh?”
She recoiled at his brutal bluntness.
“How do you know they would?”
“Stands to reason, they’d have killed me and taken you. I got in first, that’s all.”
“I hate this brutal country; it turns men into depraved monsters.”
“Only the strong survive in the colony, and remember, you didn’t see anything. Understand? Any convict caught carrying a pistol is a dead man.”
She swallowed down on her revulsion, but it stayed like a lump in her throat until she vomited over the side of the wagon.
The sun rode high in the sky, a scorching ball of fire, by the time they reached Fitzhugh’s boundary. Her head pounded. She was almost swaying with fatigue when they finally broke out of the brooding scrubland.
