Mary Brock Jones (20 page)

“I do love you. That is truth. I need you, yes, but even more, I need you to be happy.”

She said nothing. It was not a rebuttal, and he took it as the only encouragement she dared give.

“You love your brother, and you made a promise. I understand that. You refuse to make a life for yourself until that promise is fulfilled. I accept that.”

Her hand pulled back. He clamped his own around it, stopping her. “What I cannot accept is that a promise made when you were a child stops you and me ever having a life together.”

She wrenched her hand back and shot up, all stillness banished. She glared at him, for once forgetting to hide the fire in her eyes.

“What about what I feel? You love me, you want me, you need me. Did you ever ask if I feel the same about you?”

He thrust up, sending the chair flying. “Did I—? Have you no idea how much I have wanted to hear just that? I tell you I love you, but you give me nothing. All right. Tell me. Do you feel anything for me?” With each phrase, he took one step forward. Closer and closer, till he was almost touching her, then stopped as if hit, as the fire in her eyes vanished and the polite mask returned.

“I am very flattered, of course—” she began.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t lie to me.” He stepped forward again, grabbing her arms. Then his mouth descended, and he used lips and tongue and hand to show her exactly the truth of his words.

At first she stood so still, so stout in her refusal that he feared he had been mistaken. He drew on every ounce of experience he owned. His lips gentled, his tongue slowly traced the line of hers, nipping softly at her full, luscious, lower lip. It was then her mouth softened. Her hands opened and swept over the cloth of his coat, slowly, tentatively. The tide of relief that washed over him was so great that for a minute he ceased to breathe. Carefully, as if she were the rarest of fine china, he drew her against his body, let her feel the strength of his muscles and delighted in her soft curves. His hands lightly smoothed her arms, rose to frame her face and trace lightly over the fine bone of brow and cheek. Her lips followed his lead, and her arms stroked over his chest. He could feel her hands reaching to slide over the muscles of his back like two paths of fire. His hand reached up to cup the small, perfect sphere of her head, pulling her in as he deepened his kiss, delighting as she followed him, her lips opening to his. He deepened it further, one hand wandering slowly up her arms to mould over the exquisite mound of her breast. She gasped.

“Ah, sweetheart, shh. Let me…”

But even as he spoke the words, he felt a tremor—recognised, as his tongue stroked hers, the flicker of fear. He eased back, gentling the kiss. Not yet, it seemed. She was not yet ready.

He lifted his head, searching her flushed face, His finger traced each perfect line of brow and chin. He reached down, set his lips on hers again, then set her back and watched her marshal her defences.

“Deny it however much you like. There is an honesty at the core of you that you cannot hide from. Your body tells me the truth.”

She opened her mouth then closed it. Then slowly lifted her hands. She opened her mouth again.

“My promise still stands, Mr Reid.”

His fingers still cradled her face, and he used them now to tilt her chin up. The soft glow of surrender lingered in her eyes, but the set of her chin was firm.

He sighed. “All right, you win. There are a couple of spare horses at home for you and your brother to ride. I’ll take you to Campbell’s.”

“Why?” Her eyes snapped wide. He watched, fascinated. Then they narrowed and she began again. “Thank you. I can be ready to leave as soon as you wish.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I’ll take you, but in two days time, and only if you promise to keep off that foot till then. And to send me word by the packers if ever you need to be brought back after.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, it is. To me. Take it or leave it. You won’t be fit to walk to Campbell’s on that foot for a couple of weeks, and none of the packers will take you if I give them the word.” The fire was fully back in her face. He could not resist stirring it up further. “You can stay here till then, or you can come with me on horseback in two days, but only if I have your word now.”

There was no way out and she knew it. For a minute, he thought she was going to try stamping her foot again, and was relieved when common sense prevailed. He had seen enough pain in her eyes.

“Very well. I promise to rest and to send word if I wish to come back from Campbell’s. Does that satisfy you?”

He laughed. “Not by a long mile; but it’ll do for now,” and he proceeded to take a bit more on account, reaching down to capture her lips again.

The horse beneath her was real. He had kept his promise, and they were heading up the hills to the diggings. John rode slightly ahead of her, while a glance behind showed Philip alternating between glowering at John and slipping into a smile of happiness at finally being on the move.

“What does he expect in return?” Philip had snarled when she had first told him of John’s offer.

“Nothing.”

“No special favours, no promises?”

She had almost slapped him. The horror of it lived with her yet. She had never raised a hand to Philip in his life. The Lord knew he had enough to do, living up to their father’s expectations without her turning tyrant.

The half hour of argument that followed strained her control to the limit “Would you rather be stuck here for the two weeks before I can walk on this stupid foot?”

He had walked out, slamming the door at that. Only to return a while later, chastened and white. “Don’t treat me like a child, Ness.” It cut her to the quick. Then: “Are you going to marry John Reid or not?” He had asked her.

The sun had been shining outside and the ever present babble of the packers’ town could be heard outside.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you love him?”

How to answer? “I could,” she said cautiously.

“Forgetting all else and sacrificing your life to his. Like Mother did?”

“John Reid is not like Father. I would never deny you.”

He gave that funny grimace she was coming to recognise. It was the boy becoming man, half afraid and learning too quickly what life demanded.

“We are family. That will not change. Nor would John expect it.”

He harrumphed at that, but let it be. “And Campbell’s?”

“You think I would let you go off on your own. Who will wash your shirts or watch your back, brother mine, if not me?”

His face lightened, and she could breathe again. “Oh, Ness, you are the best sister ever.”

“And you will soon have your fortune. You can go home and become the scholar you were meant to be.”

“Yes. Of course.” But there was a new note in his voice. Uncertainty. Nessa had said nothing, but kept the memory in her head. Philip was growing. Were his dreams changing too?

She shook herself, jolting the horse which gave a disgruntled snort and settled back into its slow plod up the steep slope. Up ahead was even steeper and rockier. The men were dismounting to lead their horses up the path. She pulled her horse to a halt and began to swing her leg over.

“No need,” said John, coming back to her side. “Dobs here is as sound a horse as you will find, and you are no weight for him. Stay where you are. He can carry you easier than either of us could.” He took her horse’s reins in the same hand as the long rein to his own horse. He led Dobs to the front, letting his horse drop back behind hers. In his other was a stick to help him up the slope. Philip brought up the rear, and they set off up the hill again.

The air was still. It was early morning, and they had passed the last sign of man about a mile back, a small store and a couple of rough huts. Now it felt like there were only the three of them and their horses in all the world. Above, the track made its way through the rocks and bluffs and up the hill. The sky was a cloudless mantle spreading its boundless light over them. A single bird flew high, swooping, then disappeared. It came to her then. She was happy.

It was a hard slog up the rest of the hill. As they went higher, the cold began to seep into her. She tried to hide it, but John caught her shiver. He called a halt and reached into his saddlebag, to pull out a man’s over-sized jacket.

“Put this on.”

She looked at it.

“There’s snow up on the tops. You’ll need this to stop freezing. There’s a muffler and mittens in the pockets.” He turned to Philip. “There’s the same in your bag.”

Nessa was soon very glad of the jacket. She may have looked like an overstuffed ball, but she was warm. Then at last they came over the final crest of the hill.

The top was a landscape like none she had seen before. Before her spread a barren and flat tableland, already under snow in many places. The tussocks had petered out, giving way to ground-hugging plants growing in a strangely geometric patchwork. They halted to give the horses some of the corn they had brought with them and a drink from a small spring while the men caught their breath. John lifted Nessa down and gave her his stick to let her ease her legs. She took a few steps, glad of the break, but too soon the men were ready to mount up again.

“Stop.”

“Not now, Ness,” said Philip, watching her as she ran a wondering finger over the alien mat at her feet. “Do not even think of pulling out that sketch book of yours.”

He was right but her hand itched for a pencil.

“We can come back again another day,” said John’s deep voice, “but today, we need to get on. There is a way to go yet.”

Not long afterwards they came to a great monolith of stone rearing up from the bed of snow at its base.

“That’s Old Man Rock,” said John. “We use it as a marker. Even in deep snow, it stands out. Remember it. It might save your life one day. In a storm, Old Man can shelter you from the wind and that’s what kills up here. The chill from the wind, not the snow or anything else. When it blows here, it’s cold enough to die from.”

Nessa could believe it. Summer had barely ended, but winter already ruled these tops. She huddled deep into John’s greatcoat, taking comfort from the rich male scent as much as from the warmth it provided. She looked around her in wonder.

John watched her. “Not what you expected?”

“It’s like something from some long lost, mythical tale. So flat, and like nothing I’ve seen before.”

She mounted her horse, still trapped in wonder at the land stretching out then falling away from them. Farther to the south, there were more hills in the far distance, fading into a misty oneness with the sky. Philip had mounted now and came up beside her, but it was the nearer tabletop he examined. She looked to see what it was that had caught his eye, and saw a series of faint lines spreading across the tabletop. Fresh and nearly covered paths through the snow.

“Who made the tracks?” he said.

“Packers,” said John, also having mounted and come up. “That trail leads to Potter’s One field, and over there is the way to Campbell’s.”

“So all we have to do is follow the trail? Can’t think why the packers at Chamonix made such a fuss about this route.”

“It’s easy to follow today with the sun shining and no new snow, but today’s a good day. The weather here can cut up pretty rough, and without warning.” John nudged his horse in the side, and rode on after that. Philip wisely said nothing, to her relief, and they plodded on after John.

Nessa had assumed it would get easier from here on. They were on flat land, the sun was properly high in the sky, and they must be nearly at their destination. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Snow covered the track across the plateau. The first time her horse fell in a hole, she nearly toppled off. It was John who caught her horse’s loose rein and put out an arm to keep her in the saddle.

“Let me—”

She saw what tracked across his face, no sooner glimpsed than shut away and hidden again. She put out a finger, laying it across his lips and forced herself to ignore the shiver of pleasure that rippled through her. “Don’t say it,” she whispered. He ignored her.

“Come back with me.”

She could not speak, too scared of what she might say. She could only shake her head and pull back from the haven of his arms, settling herself back into the saddle. It had all happened so quickly that Philip only now noticed she had paused, glancing back to check on her.

“You all right, Sis?”

“Yes. Just a stumble.”

She was more careful after that, mistrusting the treacherous smoothness of the snow. She found the best way forward was to give her horse his head, with a loose rein, and trust in his ability to keep them both safe. It was used to the cold sludge and plodded deliberately after John’s horse ahead. The plateau stretched endlessly before them, the edge coming no closer, and a cold wind had come up, belying the yellow sun above. The wind niggled at her clothes, icy fingers sneaking under any loose flap of fabric. She tugged the scarf tighter about her head and neck.

Finally, the land began to slope downward, and the snow cover thinned. Clumps of spiky speargrass poked through the crust like so many giant hedgehogs scattered over a field of slaughter. Instead of the glory she usually felt on a hilltop, here she was exposed, vulnerable to whatever may come from the south.

South. A word that should mean warmth and summer and the joy of lying against a sun-baked wall. But that was on the other side of the world in the places of her childhood. Here it meant cold, harsh grey clouds scudding in, and a biting wind straight off the great unknowns of the Southern Ocean. Nothing safe or comforting came from the south in this new country. She shivered, as much from a sudden fear as from the chill breeze pulling at her. She held tight to the pommel of her saddle, and her legs clung to the solid warmth of her horse.

They plodded on.

Nessa thought she had seen the worst this land could throw at them. Campbell’s proved her wrong. They had passed through one small settlement on the way. Potter’s Gully Two. John said there were about sixty miners here, but they could scarcely be seen, scattered widely over the gully. Nor were they panning for gold in a creek or river like she was used to. Here, the miners must dig for their reward, sinking holes about four feet deep to bring out the pay dirt, then washing it with water. From where, she could not guess, seeing no sign of spring or stream.