Dark Torment (30 page)

“Drop those knives. Now!”

They didn’t move, just stood there gaping at her, nearly
identical expressions of incredulity on their faces. Clearly, they had
dismissed her as a negligible entity in so masculine an undertaking as a fight.
She, a woman, was supposed to wait cringing in fear until claimed by the victor
as the spoils. Well, this time the spoils was doing a little fighting of her
own.

“Believe me, I know how to use this thing, and I
will,” she said calmly, aiming the rifle right between Darby’s
bulging eyes. “I said drop those knives!”

Darby dropped his knife. Minger and the other man did too.
Dominic, grinning, moved to pick them up. The men glared at him as he threw the
three blades into the bush.

“I’ll get the horses,” Dominic said as he passed
her, chuckling. “You keep holding them off. You’re doing a hell of
a job.”

Sarah didn’t reply, just kept the rifle trained on the three
glowering men. Not one of them made a move. Apparently the thought of a woman
with her finger on the trigger unnerved them to the point of caution.

“Let’s go, Sarah.” Dominic, astride Kilkenny,
drew up beside her, leading Minger’s big roan. “I’ve got
things under control.”

Glancing up, Sarah saw that he had another rifle trained on the
men. Looking hastily at the bulging saddlebags as she mounted—no easy
task, straddling a man’s saddle with her nightrail to hamper
her—she concluded approvingly that he had taken most of the provisions.

“I’m afraid the other horses have—uh—run
off. You should be able to catch up with them in a day or two. But I left you
some food—and your rifles. So count your blessings.” Dominic
saluted the three, who watched sullen-faced as he nudged Sarah’s horse
into a canter with his foot and then wheeled his own to follow.

“You left them their rifles?” Sarah asked
disapprovingly when they were out of sight of the camp. The rifle she had
extracted from Dominic’s gear lay across her saddle bow; he had restored
the one he had taken to the holster strapped to one side.

“Why not?” he said, grinning. When Sarah spluttered,
trying to burst forth with a dozen reasons at once, he leaned over to pat a
bulging saddlebag. “I took the bullets.”

They rode in silence for a little while before Dominic chuckled.

“What’s funny?” She glanced at him without much
favor.

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You are, my girl. Not
one female in ten thousand would have done what you did tonight. Most would
have had hysterics or swooned. But you—you took stock of the situation
and did what you could to correct it. My practical Sarah! Lord, did you see the
look on Minger’s face when you nearly scalped him with that
bullet?” He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the memory.
“They’ll never get over it, being caught off guard by a mere slip
of a girl!”

“Will you?”

He looked over at her, still grinning. “What did you
say?”

“I said, will you—ever get over being caught off guard
by a mere slip of a girl?” She mimicked his words. His grin slowly began
to fade as, with a widening smile, she lifted the rifle from her saddle bow and
pointed it squarely at his midsection. “Start heading west. We’re
going back to Lowella, Gallagher.”

“Dammit, Sarah . . .”

“
Miss
Sarah,” she corrected, enjoying herself
hugely as anger built in his face. It was long past midnight; she had had an
exhausting day and little sleep the night before. She should have felt
dreadful, but having
Gallagher
at her mercy again sent energy bursting
through her.

“You wouldn’t use that.” He was looking at her
from beneath frowning black brows.

Sarah smiled at him. “Try me.” The words were a soft
challenge. The rifle never wavered as she pointed it at his belly. Then,
slowly, she brought the barrel up a little, changing its target. “But not
to kill. I think I’d put a bullet right through your elbow. You would
probably lose the use of that arm for life. Now pass your rifle over here. And
your knife. Carefully.”

He stared at her, clearly pondering whether to chance it.
Something in her expression must have warned him not to try. The way she was
feeling right now, she would love nothing more than to put a bullet through
him. He passed the rifle and the knife. Carefully.

“Head that way.” Sarah stored his rifle in the empty
saddle holster and tucked the knife in the bedroll behind her.

Then she gestured with her rifle in the direction she meant.

He glared at her, his expression clearly visible in the flood of
moonlight that silvered the vast wilderness around them. “Lowella’s
the other way.”

Sarah snorted impatiently. “You must think I’m awfully
green. I can tell direction from the stars as well as anyone. It’s a
useful thing to learn, here in the bush. Kerry’s Creek is to the west,
and so is Lowella. All we have to do is follow the creek.”

“I’m telling you it’s the other way.”

Sarah didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she gestured with the
rifle. With a long, hard look at her, Gallagher reined Kilkenny in the
direction she had indicated. Careful to keep about two horse’s lengths
behind him, Sarah followed. They rode in silence until they reached the creek,
which was exactly where Sarah had said it would be. Dominic said nothing as
they turned to follow its meandering course. His dark face was shuttered, his
thoughts hidden from her. But Sarah had a very good idea of how he must
feel—furious, frustrated, and frightened, just as she had for the past
three days.

“You know they’re probably going to hang you,”
Sarah told him with enjoyment. “If my father lets you live that long.
He’ll have had people out scouring the bush for me. He won’t take
kindly to having his daughter kidnapped and abused.”

“I don’t imagine he’ll take kindly to having the
whole world know that he has a daughter who’s so all fired anxious to
take off her clothes and lie down for a convict, either,” Dominic said
softly, his eyes filled with malice as he looked at her over his shoulder.
“And don’t think I won’t tell him—and anyone else who
cares to listen—what a hot little piece he’s sired. Why
shouldn’t I? As you say, they’re going to hang me anyway. Why
shouldn’t I barter his daughter’s honor for my life? Think of how
many people I could tell about his man-starved old-maid daughter before they
actually got me to the gallows.”

Sarah’s teeth clicked audibly as she clenched them with
rage. “If you say another word, just one more, I swear to you I’ll
shoot you right now. And enjoy doing it.”

He laughed, the sound mocking, but he didn’t say anything.
For which Sarah was thankful. She was so angry that she might really have shot
him, and she had a dreadful feeling that she would regret that as soon as she
had done it. In truth, Gallagher posed a terrible dilemma. Just the thought of
his being hanged made her uneasy. He might deserve it, unprincipled swine that
he was, but she suspected already that she wasn’t going to be able to
carry through on her threat to take him back to Lowella to face the punishment
that awaited him. And she had another, equally lowering suspicion that she
wasn’t going to be able to shoot him, either, if the situation
deteriorated to that pass. Not that she was squeamish. Under similar
circumstances, with a different kidnapper, she could have shot the man without
a qualm if he had given her cause. But despite the fact that she was presently
furious with him, Dominic—
Gallagher
—had carved his own
niche in her heart. She actually liked him, when she wasn’t furious at
him. And sometimes . . . sometimes he could make her feel things that she had
never dreamed she could feel, beginning with a hot, thick passion. . . . Sarah
cast the broad back swaying so easily ahead of her a look of acute dislike. He
deserved shooting, or hanging, for that if for no other reason. He had shown
her exactly how barren was her spinsterish life. And at the same time, by
taking her virginity, he had practically guaranteed that she would never be
able to marry to try to fill that emptiness. How could she explain her lack of
virginity to her husband on their wedding night? She certainly couldn’t
tell him the truth—that she had allowed herself to be seduced by a
handsome convict. Because the truth was the one thing that was totally
unforgivable. Not that she had to worry about it overmuch, she thought.
Eligible suitors weren’t exactly beating a path up Lowella’s front
steps to offer for her hand. And she would be damned—darned!—if she
would have Percival. Sarah shot Dominic another castigating look. She would
probably have to guard her tongue for the rest of her life, lest some swear
word should slip out.

They rode without stopping through the night and the next morning,
following the creek as they headed toward Lowella. Exactly what would happen
when they reached the station’s boundaries Sarah wasn’t sure, but
she had come to one reluctant conclusion: she could not turn Dominic over to be
hanged, or even whipped. She would probably be forced to let him ride away
scot-free—she winced as she considered what he would make of that! But at
least she could give him a scare first. Letting him think that she meant to
turn him over for punishment would serve him right.

Sarah calculated that it was shortly after noon when Gallagher
abruptly reined in. Sarah stopped too, warily staying some paces back.

“This is ridiculous, Sarah.” He turned around in his
saddle to direct a black frown at her. “You’re practically falling
out of the saddle with exhaustion, and so am I. We can’t ride all the way
back to Lowella without stopping. We both need rest.”

Sarah sneered—she was getting very good at that, she
thought, from watching him. “And just how am I supposed to keep the rifle
on you while we rest? Oh no you don’t, Gallagher. I’m not that
stupid.”

He sighed. Sarah thought resentfully that he looked handsome even
with four days’ growth of beard roughening his jaw and his eyes bloodshot
from lack of sleep. She eyed his dark face with disfavor, refusing to think how
her appearance must suffer in comparison.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Sarah.” His
tone was patient, probably meant to lull her suspicions, Sarah decided.
“But you’re not thinking straight. Look at you! You can hardly
focus your eyes! And I’m not in much better shape.”

“We’re not stopping,” Sarah said determinedly.
“Ride on!” Then, when he just sat there staring at her, she lifted
the rifle from her saddle bow and pointed it at him. “I said ride
on!”

“Bloody little bitch,” he growled, looking murderous.
Sarah pulled back the hammer. He kicked Kilkenny onward.

As the sun rose to glare relentlessly down at them, the day grew
hotter and hotter. Shimmering waves of heat rose from the miles of dusty earth
pocked with holes and tiny scrub bushes. The creek to their left had narrowed
until it was no more than a thin trickle. Overhead, heat-straggled eucalyptus
trees did little to protect them from the sun. Often Sarah would glance over
and see animals drinking from the creek. A pair of kangaroos, one with a baby
in its pocket, waded against the current, stirring up eddies of mud with their
long, comical feet; a hairy-feathered emu pecked thirstily at the muddy brown
water; three koala bears ran along on all fours through the stream, looking up
at Sarah and Gallagher with their shiny black eyes before scampering up a
nearby tree. Ordinarily Sarah would have been charmed by the animals and their
antics. Today she was just too tired.

An hour passed, then another. Suddenly Dominic reined in again and
dismounted. Gathering her exhaustion-befuddled wits, Sarah fumbled with the
rifle and pointed it at him. He gave her a single disgusted look and began to
walk away into the bush.

“Hold it right there! Where do you think you’re
going?”

“Unlike you, I occasionally have to answer nature’s
call. You’re welcome to come along with me, if you like.”

Sarah felt scarlet color wash into her face as she watched his
retreating back. What could she do? She couldn’t shoot him, and she
couldn’t do as he mockingly suggested and follow him, either.

“If you’re not back in a couple of minutes, I’ll
take Kilkenny and ride off without you. Without a horse or any provisions out
here in the bush, you’ll die just as surely as if they hang you. You can
take your choice.” The words were pure bravado. Sarah didn’t think
she could leave him stranded in the bush, but he couldn’t know that. And
she fervidly hoped he wouldn’t put it to the test.

To her relief, he returned shortly. She kept the rifle trained on
him as he approached, aware that this would be an ideal opportunity for him to
attempt to overpower her. But he didn’t even approach her, just stood
looking at her for a moment with one hand on Kilkenny’s shiny neck.

“I’ll hold the rifle for you, if you have a similar
problem,” he offered, with a taunting smile. He had more energy than she,
Sarah thought crossly, if he could still smile.

“I told you before, I’m not stupid,” she
snapped, waving the rifle at him. “Get on your horse. I want to reach
Lowella tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her mockingly, then
turned to fit his foot into the stirrup and swing himself into the saddle.
Without another word, he set Kilkenny in motion again.

By the time the sun began to sink in a vivid swirl of red over the
horizon, Sarah knew they weren’t going to make it. It was still more than
half a day’s ride to Lowella, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
Soon she would be falling asleep in the saddle, and that would give Gallagher
just the opening he wanted. She had to order a rest stop now, before tiredness
fuddled her thinking completely. As for Gallagher, she would have to deal with
him as best she could.

“Gallagher, stop!” she called out imperiously. He
looked over his shoulder at her, then swung Kilkenny around so that the horse
blocked the narrow path and he was facing her.