Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (295 page)

“Shut your stupid mouth girl, there be nothin’ out there.”

She felt Yaraay’s hand slip into hers behind the tree and heard the whispered words, “Ecca. Sista.” The comfort of the warm hand settled the fear in her stomach, but there was still danger and she had no weapon.

With her hands behind the tree, she tried to simulate the stabbing motion of a knife to Yaraay. The woman was quick to understand and within seconds, Electra felt the sharp, cold metal of a knife blade in her palm. Whether she had the stomach to use it remained to be seen.

Her tight grip on the hard weapon gave Electra the first glimmer of hope. Enough hope that her mind, until then focused only on survival, started to register what Yaraay’s presence meant. If her friend was here, then the painted ghosts in the bush must be the people from Pretty Creek Camp. Electra blew out a quiet breath of relief. Although there were too many, weren’t there? She shivered, wondering about the powers of her tribal friends. But if Yaraay and the others were here then William must be near. Why hadn’t he come to her? She swallowed her disappointment and reasoned that he needed to disarm Murphy and his men to protect her. She slid the knife into her coat pocket, dropped her hands to her side, and drew her focus back to Murphy and Critchley. They were circling the clearing, their guns cocked ready to fire at the slightest movement, both sweating, despite the chill air.

A low moaning noise came from the bush and Critchley, spooked, fired his gun into the trees. Suddenly, in response, two figures with painted faces and howling a battle cry hurtled from the bush, firing their pistols. Critchley went down but, stubbornly, hauled himself up and barrelled into one of the men. Total chaos ensued with fists flying, bodies rolling, and sparks flying from the fire.

Although the faces of the two strange men were painted, the energy and magnetism of the tall fair-haired warrior grappling with Murphy was as familiar as the hand clenched by her side. With an effort, Electra forced her eyes from him and turned to watch Critchley and what could only be Callum, head-to-head in battle. Despite Callum’s size, the vile Critchley was holding his own.

A spray of sparks lit up the night as Murphy tackled William to the ground, toppling a burning log. Murphy had the upper hand, straddling William’s body with his arm across William’s throat. Electra watched in alarm as Murphy pushed his arm harder against William’s windpipe. He then lifted his head and grinned, the flickering fire distorting his scarred face to resemble a grotesque mask.

“Yer wife was a grand piece of meat, Radcliffe. She squealed like a pig she did, when I took her,” he said, as William gasped for breath.

She saw the cold, burning rage on William’s face and watched as, energised by his anger, he lurched his body up, threw Murphy off-balance and in one quick movement the roles were reversed.

“You’ll die for that, Murphy,” he growled.

There was a glint of metal as Murphy pulled a knife from nowhere and lunged at William. Caught off guard, William released his grip on Murphy’s throat to block the knife. The knife moved closer and closer to William’s chest as he fought for control.

Electra would not let him die. She leapt to her feet, ready to rush to his aid and was jolted backwards by a steely grip on her wrist. Yaraay, now joined by Billy, held her, shaking her head. Electra, weakened by her ordeal, was no match for the wiry woman.

“Let me go. I must help him. Someone, help him, please,” she sobbed, struggling wildly to free herself.

Billy moved in front of her and held his hand up, staring deep into her eyes. “This boss fight. This not your business, missus. Not my business. Sorry,” he said, still holding her gaze.

Her eyes were drawn into the mysterious depths of the black man’s and as she stared, Billy’s voice spoke in her head of ancient tribal warriors, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, fighting to protect their land and the honour and virtue of their women. She blinked, and as the sound of his voice faded, she knew she could not deny William the honour of defending what he believed was his.

She turned back to the broiling fury of the four men fighting in the clearing. In those moments though, something had changed. William, his eyes blazing with purpose and revenge, turned the knife from his own chest to Murphy’s, the sinews in his neck bulging with the supreme effort. The sleeve of his shirt had been ripped from his arm and she saw the sweat gleaming on his bulging muscles, as he and Murphy rocked the knife backwards and forwards between them.

Callum and Critchley rolled away from the fire and she tore her eyes from William in time to see Callum draw back his fist and slam it into Critchley’s face. There was a sickening crack as Critchley’s nose broke. Callum dropped the limp form and headed back to help William. At last, she thought, it will be over.

Murphy, however did not give up and in desperation, plunged his hand into the fire, grasped a burning stick, and swung it onto William’s back. In horror, she watched William’s shirt ignite and heard his roar of pain as the flames lashed his back. She sank to the ground, her eyes riveted on the horrific scene before her.

Then she saw William rear above Murphy, plunging the knife into the man’s chest. “That’s for my wife.” Then again. “And that’s for Annie Holbourne.”

A split second later a huge figure hurled himself onto William’s back rolling him away from Murphy and the fire. Callum’s body smothered William’s burning shirt and they both lay, unmoving on the ground.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“William! Will. No! Don’t you die on me,” she screamed, as she collapsed next to his still form.

She had no memory of Yaraay releasing her hand, nor did she remember moving from the tree to the clearing. Her eyes searched frantically for something or someone to bring him back. Billy helped Callum to his feet and no one spoke. She could not bring herself to look at the carnage on William’s back. And she felt her heart would break. Against all odds, he had found her. He had fought to the death for her life and now she might lose him.

A small movement caught her eye. His hand moved and then a faint sound, something between a growl and a groan came from William’s lips.
Dear God, thank you
.

She brought her mouth down to his ear. “Will? Will, it’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”

At the sound of her voice, his body tensed and he tried to move, grunting with the pain. The best he could manage was to turn his head and, opening his eyes, looked at her in confusion as if she was an apparition. Then, tentatively he reached out to touch her face.

“You’re alive. Thank God, you’re alive,” he rasped.

She stroked his head, sobbing with relief until he carefully hauled himself to a sitting position. They looked into each other’s eyes and then she was in his arms and he was kissing her neck, her face, and her hair.

Suddenly he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back from him. “Christ! What have they done to you?” He gingerly touched her cut, bleeding lips and swollen, bruised face. His eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry. Damn it, I should have protected you.”

She touched his cheek. “Oh Will, how could you? It was all so quick.”

“Not just from this.” He shook his head. “From everything … everything.” He pulled her back to him, crushing her to his chest, seemingly oblivious to his injuries. Then just as quickly pushed her away and looked down. Tenderly, he reached to touch her stomach. “Did he — ? Is our baby all right?” His thoughts seemed too awful to put into words.

She shook her head. “No. He didn’t. How — how did you know … about the baby?”

A gruff voice interrupted them. “Are ye all right, lass?”

She tried to smile through her swollen lips. “I’m going to be fine.” She looked over at her husband. “Just fine.” Callum’s eyes moved from one to the other and he nodded, seeming satisfied.

Electra finally allowed her eyes to move to William’s back. The sight of the shrivelled black lumps of fabric in his red, raw skin made her want to weep again for what they had all endured.

With a deep breath, she turned to Callum. “We must treat these burns immediately. Is there anything we can find to ease the pain?”

“It’s all in hand, lass. And here come the bonnie wee nurses now.”

Electra looked up to see Yaraay and Waruu running toward them with a small bark container and sheets of paperbark. As they knelt beside William, Electra moved closer and the three women gently pulled William’s shirt from his back. Her heart contracted at his gasps of pain but when she asked if they should stop, he shook his head. Once all remnants of the charred fabric were removed, Waruu handed the bark container to Electra and gestured for her to spread the sticky substance over his back. Without question, she began the task. It was only after her third handful she realised she was spreading wild honey over the burns. When his back was covered, the other two women placed the paper bark over the honey and gently wound strips of fabric, torn from Electra’s shift, around his body to hold the bark in place.

Breathless from pain, William indicated he needed water. Unable to watch him suffer further, Electra volunteered to get a water container from the saddlebags. As she walked into the forest, she had to remind herself that there were many ways this could have ended. Despite her ordeal and William’s injuries, at least they were alive. With this thought held firmly in her mind, she followed Billy’s directions and headed toward the supplies.

“Aargh! Hmph … ” Her cry was muffled by the leaves and dirt in her mouth as she landed face down on the ground. Muttering at her clumsiness, she pushed with her arms to raise herself when her head was jolted back by a violent tug of her hair. A pudgy, blood-smattered hand smacked against her bruised lips, muffling any further attempts to make a sound.

Rancid breath assailed her nostrils as her attacker spoke into her ear. “Yer filthy whore. Me whole life turned to shit the day I laid eyes on yer an’ I’ll make yer pay if it’s the last thing I do.”

With a desperate twist, she freed herself from his hands and turned to face him. In stunned disbelief she stared into the cold hatred of Critchley’s eyes. The bile rose in her throat as she realised with dull certainty that this time he would exact his revenge. His weight was on her legs, making it impossible to run. Thanks to Callum, his nose was a bloody pulp spread across his face; he was seriously injured, bleeding from the bullet wound and had no hope of escape. He had nothing to lose by killing her.

A white-hot rage built inside her. Critchley and others like him had taken so much from her already. He would take no more. Her eyes remained riveted on his as her hand slid to the pocket of her coat.

Critchley hesitated for a moment to flash a toothless, blood-soaked grin of triumph, as he raised the large rock above her head. It was all the time she needed to pull the small knife from her pocket and thrust it up and into his throat.

Critchley never made a sound. His startled eyes rolled back in his head. He fell backwards, the rock crushing his chest.

Callum found her, minutes later, crouched on the ground, her face and chest spattered with Critchley’s blood. She vaguely registered him carrying her back to the clearing and placing her gently beside William. But her eyes lost focus and her tongue refused to form words as she retreated quietly into the dark sanctuary of oblivion.

• • •

Callum and three of the natives piled dirt, leaves and finally rocks, onto the two graves. It had been tempting to leave the bodies of Murphy and Critchley to be dealt with by wild animals. But the Dharug natives preferred the evil spirits of these men firmly held down by rocks, not left to roam free on their land.

William stood from his vantage point on a nearby rock and held out a folded piece of paper to Billy. “You’d better take this note to the soldiers so they know what’s happened.” Soldiers of the seventy-sixth battalion had been about a day and a half behind them since alerted by Tom. Or so the Dharug mob had informed them.

“Them soldyas bloody useless if you ask me, boss. Them no come ’til all work ’im done.”

“True, Billy. But I don’t want to have to look at these two for a minute longer.” He jerked his head over at Red and Bench. “So we’ll hand them over and be done with them.” Billy nodded and disappeared into the bush.

Before the members of Billy’s Dharug family left, William tried to express his gratitude but struggled to find the words for what had happened in the forest. They stood quietly with wide grins on their faces, amused at his attempts to understand the phenomenon.

“S’orright, boss. We fellas got ’im magic,” said Bulanggi, enjoying William’s discomfort. “You look, we there. You look ’gen, we bin gone.”

When Yaraay translated his words to the Dharug natives, their hysterical laughter hung in the air long after they disappeared over the ridge.

They travelled back slowly to allow both William’s and Electra’s physical wounds a chance to heal. But more importantly, Yaraay and Waruu had convinced William that time in the bush would ease Electra’s troubled mind and bring her back to herself.

They were partly right. After a week, the tortured look in her eyes had faded and she showed interest in the plants and animals the native women pointed out. But there were many times he found her sitting alone on a rock or cross-legged on the ground, rocking her body, with her arms wrapped around herself. Perhaps she mourned the part of her she had lost that night. He had to fight the urge to gather her in his arms and make the pain go away. But the look in her eyes the first time he tried was like a fist in his stomach. He was a man and it was men she feared.

Thank God, she had survived — survived starvation, torture, and the constant threat of rape. Even after their cruel treatment, it had still taken such courage and desperation to take Critchley’s life. And when it was done, it seemed she had nothing left.

Silence seemed to be her most comfortable state so the small group communicated with touches, gestures, and minimal speech. Yaraay mixed nameless potions each day. To calm the mind, Billy said, and Electra received them wordlessly.