A Wicked Deception (10 page)

Dawn appeared, t
he first faint flush streaking the horizon with pink. The air hung heavy with the rancid odor of burning canvas and timber. Spasmodic firing gradually receded as they left the goldfields behind.

Robbie
slumped, a dead weight against her. She could feel a sticky warmth seeping on to her skin as his blood soaked through her clothing. He was badly wounded. Not knowing the extent of his injuries was a nightmare. She urged the horse on, gritting her teeth to stop herself from screaming, or falling down in a dead faint. His life depended on her now. No one else could save him.

They had to find somewhere safe to hide so she could bandage his wounds
and staunch the bleeding. “It’s up to you.”
She hammered the words into her brain and called upon a reserve of strength she didn’t even know existed. As they pounded along the track, her heels urged the horse to even greater speed. They must get as far away as possible from the stockade. Find somewhere to hide during the daylight hours so he could regain his strength, before making good their escape under the cloak of darkness.

H
is sudden groan was music to her ears. He was still alive. “Hang on. I’m taking you home so you can rest for a while.” Hearing no sounds of pursuit she slowed the horse down and glanced around to get her bearings.

They had ridden so desperately, she had taken little notice of where they
headed. Shock punched the breath from her lungs. They were at the farthermost side of Guilford Lodge. For a moment she thought of Michael. A few years ago he would have helped them. Not any more, though. His father had been a high-ranking officer in some famous British regiment, so all his sympathies would be with the redcoats.

“Don’t go home. It will be the first place they’ll search,” Robbie gasped before lapsing into unconsciousness.

They couldn’t ride much further since the horse carried double and Robbie still bled profusely. If she didn’t stop the bleeding he might die. She remembered an old shepherd’s hut that used to be close by.
Oh, God, please let it still be there.
This would be their best chance. If they hid for a few hours until he regained some strength she could ride for help. Why wasn’t James here to help them? Never in her whole life had she needed her brother more.

She urged the horse into the scrub
. Few people knew about this hut as it had been derelict for years. Once there had been a stream close by and with any luck it would still be running.

T
he hut, when they came upon it, appeared even more dilapidated than she remembered. The door hung crazily on one hinge. Pieces of bark had been blown from the roof, but it would still be a haven from the military. She dismounted, and without her support Robbie slumped to the ground.

“Robbie
!” she screamed his name. His eyes were closed, his face devoid of all color, except for a coating of dust and a trickle of blood on his cheek.

She tethered the horse to a sapling
. Kneeling down next to Robbie, she frantically felt for a pulse. A blond curl straggled across his forehead, making him look young and vulnerable. By the rise and fall of his chest he was still alive. Grasping him under the armpits, she pulled him toward the hut.

He
cried out so she must have hurt him, and she badly wanted to give into screaming hysterics. Although only slightly built, he was a ton weight. It took all her strength to drag him through the doorway, and she collapsed exhausted on the floor next to him.

“Melanie?”
he croaked.

“Yes, you have to help me, you’re too heavy. I’ve got to get you away from the door in case someone tries to come in.”

She helped him raise himself, and leaning heavily against her they staggered to the back of the hut. His strength spent, he toppled to the ground in a dead faint.

In the dimness, the earth floor felt rough, and the smell of disuse and decay assailed her nostrils.
Hopefully this place didn’t harbor some savage animal. Propping Robbie up as comfortably as possible, she dashed outside to the back of the hut. What a relief, the murmur of running water sounded sweeter than a lover’s serenade.

The creek opened up into a small sandy lagoon, surrounded by trees and
tangled vines. She scooped up a handful of water. It tasted cool and fresh as it trickled down her parched throat. Robbie would be thirsty too. With an ounce of luck there would be some kind of drinking utensil in the hut. She would search for something later on. The most important thing now was bandaging his shoulder to try and staunch the bleeding.

S
he ripped off a strip of petticoat and dangled it in the creek, squeezing out the excess water, before scuttling back to the hut.

He hadn’t moved
. Even in the dimness she noticed his eyes remained closed, but they flickered as she knelt beside him and started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“Am I hurt bad?”
He sounded vulnerable and frightened.

“No, I don’t think so.” Forcing a note of cheerfulness in her voice, she eased off his shirt. She clamped her lips together to prevent a scream of horror escaping. His shoulder looked a gory mess. She knew little about these things, but once the area had been cleaned up, it was obvious even to her inexperienced eye that the bullet still lay embedded in his shoulder. It would have to be surgically removed.

When the wound was as clean as she could get it, she tore more strips from her petticoat. Folding one piece into a pad, she used another piece as a bandage to hold this firmly in place.

“You should have been a doctor, you have gentle hands
,” he whispered. “Leave me now. I can make it on my own. You can’t risk getting caught with me, my love.”

“I’m staying. No one will find us here.” She
gently wiped the blood away from his cheek. “When it gets dark I’ll sneak back to the homestead and get us some food, James might even be home. If not, we can try meeting up with him on the road.”

“Could you get me a drink
? I feel so weak.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood
. Wait here, I’ll see if I can find a mug.”

“Check the redcoat’s saddle bag. They always carry a water bottle
. Hide the horse, too. Anyone would pick it out as army issue.”

“
What an idiot I am for not thinking of that.” Such carelessness could prove fatal. She wouldn’t put it past the redcoats or the police to shoot both of them on sight.

“I won’t be long.” She
dashed outside. Where could you hide a horse? No place came to mind except the lagoon, which was surrounded by trees and scrub. Taking up the reins, she led the animal to the water. He must be thirsty too, so she let him drink his fill, before leading him into the undergrowth and tethering him to a tree. She dared not unsaddle him in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

She rummaged through the saddlebags. No water bottle,
but a silver flask. Taking out the stopper, she sniffed dubiously. The empty flask had recently contained whisky. If Robbie got stronger after he had a drink, it would probably be best for her to try getting home straight away.

A quick glance at her clothes squashed this idea. Her gown hung on her, ripped and heavily stained with blood. Her hair had come undone and untidy strands tumbled all over her face. Even the briefest glance in the light of day would reveal she had taken part in a ferocious battle. No, better for them to sit tight until
darkness fell.

A change of clothes, a wash, and no one would suspect her of being a participant in the bloody battle at the Eureka Stockade
.

Dawn finally broke,
the sun edging its way up into the cloudless sky, promised another hot day. Racing to the lagoon, Melanie filled the flask and returned to the dimly lit hut. The early morning rays could not penetrate the thick vegetation covering the window.

In her absence, Robbie had somehow managed to drag himself up into a sitting position. “Oh, Melanie,” he croaked. “What have I done to you?”

“Nothing.” She handed him the flask and he drank greedily until it was almost empty. “Try and sleep. As soon as it gets dark I’ll ride home for some food and clean clothing for us.”

“Peter Lalor got shot up bad.
” He spoke in a harsh, staccato whisper. “They cut us down like dogs. Burned the tents where some of the wounded took refuge. Some bastard betrayed us.”

“I know. I saw it all.” She
wound a blond curl around her finger. “Don’t think about it now, you have to rest.”

“The army had spies. I’ll hang if they catch me.”

“No!” She jerked back on her haunches. “Oh, Robbie, no.”

“Yes.” His voice held no fear, just a resigned sadness.

“James will help us. He’ll get you into New South Wales, or maybe down to Melbourne, you’ll be safe there.”

“Leave me, Melanie. If they catch you with me, you could be in serious trouble. I shouldn’t have involved you
. I … I panicked.”

“Go to sleep,” she soothed, stroking his forehead. Too late for recriminations now, she was already involved
, up to her neck in it if the redcoat, whose horse she stole, ever saw her again. “I love you, Robbie. I’ll never leave you. When you’re stronger we’ll both go away, start up afresh somewhere else.” She sealed the declaration with a kiss on his forehead.

The flask needed to be refilled as he would be thirsty again when he woke up. Strange how loss of blood made a person thirsty. She remembered reading in the bible, as Jesus hung on the cross he cried out for a drink, too. If only they had a proper water bottle, it would save her going backwards and forward all the time, increasing their risk of discovery.

Gently, so as not to disturb him, she checked his shoulder. Blood seeped through the bandage, although the bleeding appeared to be easing. Rising quietly, she slipped out of the hut, darting a quick look around first, to make sure they were still alone. The parrots made a splash of color flittering between the trees. The creek babbled over shiny white pebbles before disappearing into a tangled mass of vines and creepers.

After she filled the flask, she flicked some of the refreshing cold water over her face. She hadn’t eaten for hours but didn’t feel hungry. She returned to the hut where Robbie lay. He looked young and defenseless as he
moved restlessly.

“The police had spies,” he mumbled. “They trampled our flag into the dirt.” Most of what he said sounded meaningless, only an odd sentence now and again made any sense. “I have to get away.” He struggled to get up, and
she used all her strength to hold him down.

“Please don’t die,” she
sobbed, as her tears splashed on to his face.

Ripping another piece off her petticoat, she soaked it with water from the flask and sponged his feverish face. If things ke
pt on the way they were, she wouldn’t have any petticoats left. Hysterical giggles rose up in her throat, and she forced them back. What kind of fool worried about torn petticoats, when they were in such a precarious situation?

Why didn’t a person realize what they had until it was snatched away from them?
She loved Robbie more than life itself. “God, please help us.”

To keep herself calm and alert she went through her life from babyhood to the present time. She had been lucky to have loving parents, and
, after they died, a brother prepared to care for her. They were closer than most brothers and sisters, yet Robbie was the one she always had the closest affinity with.

The hours
crawled by. Robbie woke now and again. He had a raging fever, tossing and turning, mumbling and raving, as if he were going out of his mind. She kept bathing his face, running backwards and forward to the creek to fill the flask. Why didn’t the soldier have a military issue canteen?

As the day wore on, each trip became riskier, the threat of discovery greater. It wouldn’t be long before the military started searching the outlying areas for any miners who had escaped from Ballarat.

Tiredness bore down on her. Hour upon hour she fought against it, until finally she could fight no more. A short rest would refresh her. Slumping against the wall and giving into the temptation she closed her sore, gritty eyes. Her head ached so much she wanted to vomit.

Something woke Melanie. She would never forget this moment even if she lived to be a hundred. Oh, God, men and horses
moved around outside. The sound of male voices, the jangle of harnesses filtered through the walls of the hut. Fear clawed her throat as she sat up straighter, moving slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb Robbie, whose head rested in her lap.

She fumbled in her pocket until her fingers touched the pistol’s cold steel. The door creaked open. If the intruder merely glanced inside they might escape detection. If he came right inside, they were doomed
. They would have to kill her to get her away from Robbie.

With trembling hands she cocked the pistol and waited. Time stopped dead. Sunlight poured in as a man entered. He was so tall he needed to stoop before stepping inside the hut. As he straightened up, her heart turned to stone.

The pistol shook erratically in her unsteady hands. “Michael.” For a split second he stared at her, shock and disbelief clearly etched on his face.