Her Galahad (21 page)

"Tess, you're not—"

"Yes, I am!" She couldn't stop the venom tumbling from her lips. "I'm a coward and a
fool!
I loathed him so much my skin
crawled
when he touched me—but he kept giving me presents, kept taking me places, throwing parties for me—and kept on trying to make me like his kinky brand of sex. He thought he could buy my love like he'd bought me!" She gave a shuddering sigh. "But I stayed three years for the sake of a family that sold me to the highest bidder like a slave, or a hooker. I love them still. I
despise
myself for it, but nothing changes the way I feel." She fixed a stare on him of outright challenge. "Go on, Galahad, fix that if you can. Make me your princess. Heal me of the unhealable illness—my own stupidity!"

She felt the curious stares of other diners in the tight-packed room, but if Jirrah noticed he gave no sign. After a long moment, he spoke. "Stupidity? Is that what you see? No, mulgu. I see a woman who loves her family. A woman whose loyalty was never blind, but too strong to break easily. I see a woman who lived in a life most would envy, with a man any woman would want, yet she wanted neither, because she always saw the sick man beneath the glittering package he presented. I see a woman who stayed in a marriage she hated because marriage is sacred to her, and her family sacrosanct, and they begged you to stay. I see a woman whose awesome unselfishness, courage and integrity I deeply respect. You stayed for all the right reasons, and got out when you were forced to put yourself first. Where's the cowardice in loving a family who brought you up, sacrificing you wants so they wouldn't suffer? Where's the stupidity?"

She felt dazed and wondering, like that sleepwalker again—but waking to a whole new life, dazzling and wonderful. "I shouldn't have believed them, trusted them…"

He took her hand in his once more, caressing her palm. "Had your family ever given you a reason not to until then? Had they ever let your down, failed to be there when you needed them?"

She blinked, light-headed, bewildered, she said, "No … but Emily—I just believed them … and they talked me into not seeing her. They said I'd only grieve more. So
stupid!"

His eyes closed for a moment, as if struggling with his self-control. "You still loved me then, didn't you?" His voice was rough and gravelly with Strain. "You were grieving for me!"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Within eight months you'd lost me and our child. You were only twenty-two. You were catatonic, in mindless grief. You clung to those who love you! You wanted to believe in your family. I wouldn't have done any different!" His fingers kept stroking, caressing her palm, and the waves of peace she'd hungered for for so long washed through her soul! "If I try to forgive myself for not contacting you from lockup and saving you so much pain, can't you forgive yourself for loving your family?" he asked softly.

The tears she'd kept dammed for so long demanded release. Her eyes filled, overflowed, and the runoff splashed onto their linked hands. "Please," she whispered, pulling away to wipe her cheeks, "take me out of here!"

He got to his feet. "Let's blow away the cobwebs!" He held out a hand to her.

Tessa never loved Sydney more than when she and Jirrah were lovers. He knew and loved the harbor city, and showed her places her father's family, fifth-generation Sydney residents, never knew existed. Out-of-the-way curio stores, with hidden treasures buried beneath dust and junk; three-story bookstores, with narrow, winding staircases to find long out-of-print stories of living magic. Dark stairs leading down to tiny, smoke-filled jazz cellars, playing the music they both loved. Little Irish and Old English pubs, with all the flavor and character only expatriates can give: the drunken, rowdy welcome that made her laugh, singing soccer and rugby songs and spilling beer over their feet. Old doll and bear hospitals, with strange and wonderful survivors of a bygone era. Side-street coffee shops where earnest students and intellectuals discussed the meaning of life and legalizing marijuana. Hotels where biker gangs hung out, with their rough-and-ready lifestyle and strange but rigid moral code.

Places where Jirrah's people once walked in peace, fishing, hunting, bringing up their families until the explosion of muskets and the lash of the whip signaled the beginning of English occupation.
Warrane,
where the First Fleet landed, now Circular Quay;
Jabecoulli,
now the home of the famous Opera House.
Warrabri
and
Were-were,
places of good fish, now the Lower North Shore of Sydney Harbour, where the upper class of Sydney built their waterfront mansions.

Windy
Yorong,
where Governor Macquarie's wife sat on her natural-rock chair to look over the pristine, mystical harbor of Sydney Town in 1816, nicknamed Mrs. Macquarie's Chair.

They sat on the grass in the midst of the public park at Macquarie Point, watching ships and ferries and boats' passing lights twinkling in rainbow array on the dark and glittering harbor. Jirrah lay on his back and she fell beside him, gazing at the silver-dusted stars in a rumpled velvet sky.

"So, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"

Startled by his question, Tessa didn't answer for a moment. "I want to find Emily."

"So do I. But I hope that won't take the next sixty years. C'mon, Tess, think. I said the rest of your life, not this week, this month or this year."

"You mean—"

"Yeah," he answered softly. "When Beller's away for good."

"I—don't know," she answered, frowning. "I've never thought beyond getting away from him, until this week."

"I know—I felt the same when they recommended me for parole. But think about it now. Running from him has been your life for too long. Think of the future. What do you want from your life?"

She wouldn't look too deeply, not even into her own heart, for what she knew in her heart she wanted most of all was too dangerous to think about. "What everyone wants, I suppose."

"Loads of money, huh?"

"I've had enough of that, thanks," she replied wryly. "I want simple things. Not having to run anymore. A place to call home. A teaching job I can stay in, and watch the kids grow up."

"You like the job? You want to keep teaching in the country?"

She nodded. "I love the kids, the country, the slower pace—I like knowing I'm a needed part of the community."

"Why not have your own kids? You always wanted half a dozen."

The jagged shaft of pain sliced her open, raw and bleeding, but she shrugged. "I told you—I'm glad I didn't have a child with Cameron. What about you? You always wanted seven or eight kids."

"Still do. I love kids."

"Is that all you want?"

He shrugged. "I have everything else I need. Family, good friends, work I love. I love carving and painting—the idea of creating something beautiful with my hands fulfills me."

"You're a lucky man, then. I hope you find the life you want." She got to her feet and walked to the point, lifting her face to take in the cool wind.

"Tess." His quiet voice came right behind her. "If you want me to stop this, I will."

They both knew he wasn't talking about the conversation.

"You can't stop now. I don't think either of us can." She pushed strands of flying hair from her face. "They deserve punishment for what they've done to us. It's simple justice. At least this way someone wins … and I might find my daughter."

"God, you're amazing." He wrapped tendrils of flying hair in his fingers. "I thought you'd hate me for doing this to them."

By lifting her face, he came closer—closer to temptation. "I can't hate you. You're the father of my child."

"And you loved me once," he said softly. He only touched her hair, but they were almost hip-to-hip. Cool wind, warm bodies a breath from touching, and a current of hunger between.

"Yes." She stared into his eyes, trying to rein in out-of-control yearnings. "I loved you once."

The beauty of the wind-tossed night enveloped them as a magical spell, the clean salt air, the far-off stars, the lights of Sydney Harbour filled their senses. "And you still want me."

Caught in the magic her palm lifted, caressing his cheek, trailing hungering fingertips over his warm skin. "Yes. I still want you."
Only you. Still and always. Until the day I die.

"You look like a witch." His gaze was rapt on her face. "A golden-eyed enchantress from the Dreamtime. You looked at me like this seven years ago," he said, his voice ragged. "You stood there in the sunshine with your hair flowing in the wind, your hypnotic eyes on mine, and put a spell on me I've never been able to break."

The hoarse admission sent a piercing shaft of joy through her heart. "If I did, you did the same to me. I looked at you, and it was like you took my eyes—you took away my ability to see any man but you."

He smiled. "You were crazy—but a wonderful, addictive crazy. You said hi, then took my hand, led me around the side of your house and said 'I love you.' Just like that."

A quiver ran through her, remembering that far-off time of innocent joy and love. "I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop it."

"You didn't even know my name."

She flushed, glad it was too dark for him to see. "I must have seemed insane. I was scared if I didn't tell you right then and there, you'd go away and I'd never see you again."

"And then you kissed me." He stood against her, their bodies just touching. "You were shaking."

She was shaking now, too. It was coming closer, so close, the loving she craved yet wanted to run from… "I was so terrified I wouldn't do it right."

"It was incredible. Wild and scary and innocent and sweet." His free hand cupped the nape of her neck, giving whisper-soft fingertip caresses. She closed her eyes, drinking in the potent force of a simple touch. "You felt like a wild bird in my arms, just learning to fly—and you made me fly right beside you."

Her gaze locked on his mouth. "That's how I felt. When you touched me, I felt like I was flying for the first time."

"My girlfriend didn't know what hit her when I broke up with her that night. She thought—and so did I, until I met you—that we'd get married one day."

She gasped. "You had a girlfriend?"

"Not after I met you." He smiled in knowing sensuality, the touch of his caressing fingertips soft, soothing, erotic. "We'd been together almost two years at the time."

"Why—?"

He wound her hair around his finger, drawing her closer with gentle, compelling force. "I couldn't risk losing you. I thought you'd back off if I told you about Shelley."

"I would have tried." She lifted her hand, drawing her fingertips down warm skin, rough stubble, filled with the pulsing excitement that always came from touching him. "I'd have tried, but we both know I wouldn't have succeeded. I couldn't stay away from you, from the way you made me feel."

"Me, either. You were like air to me from first sight, like that wild bird. I couldn't think or breathe without you. I needed you to help me fly." He caught her hand against his face, kissing the palm and wrist in intimate sexuality. "I want you to fly again, my lovely wild swan." His eyes looked into hers with melting tenderness. "Don't rely on having Emily. She might never be yours. Give yourself a chance at life. Teach at the school you like. Laugh and run and shout with the kids, no more hiding or fear. Dance in the rain and sing in the starlight. Have more kids of your own—have a dozen. Think about forever, Tess, and fly to it."

As if she'd been doused with cold water she jerked back. He released her hair and hand, and she turned to the water, letting the wind cool her face. When be moved beside her, she shook her head. "It's all right, Jirrah, my friend. You don't need to hover. I'm not a helpless damsel, and I don't need saving. I know what's in front of me, and I'm not afraid anymore." She smiled in gentle dismissal. "My family will go to prison. Emily will be a happy child in a family who adore her. You'll go on to have your half-dozen kids. I'll teach and live in peace. Maybe we'll see each other sometimes, when we see Emily—maybe not. It doesn't matter. I'll survive."