Swift Runs The Heart (28 page)

Bas gave a dry smile. “Much has been said of me, sir, but not that I have acted against my own country.”

“No, but I suspect your family were as glad to see you leave home as Máire's were.”

Bas nodded agreement, the hint of a matching glint to the older man's in his eye.

“It's how we met, Geraldine's Mama and I. It was my ship that was chartered to take her to the Americas. She had family there, it seemed, and my own family was not averse to aiding an Irish rebel. They had left Scotland after their own troubles in the ‘45.”

Bas looked puzzled.

“1745,” Geraldine supplied. “Our ancestors backed Charles Stewart in the uprising.”

“Oh.” Bas pulled himself upright, pride flashing in his eyes. “I will not deny my English blood, sir.”

“No, and nor should you,” replied John MacKenny. “Did I not say you reminded me of my first wife? Just so did Máire look when her Irish heritage was questioned. But I was telling of our meeting. It was a case with us as soon as we set eyes on each other, and halfway to Canada both of us knew our course was set. We called in at the first settlement, were married and set sail for the farthest port we knew of, where neither of our families could say us nay ever again.”

“New Zealand was a wild country in those days, I am told.”

“Yes, but a good one. We were happy in the years granted us.”

Bas sat back slowly, staring long and hard at Geraldine. She shuffled under his gaze, then finally could not stop herself. She lifted her head and met his eyes. There was sadness there and, for an instant, despair. Then he withdrew deep within and she met only the politely indifferent eyes of a stranger. He rose suddenly, giving her a brief nod and bowed politely to her father.

“Thank you for the story, sir. You are not quite right, though. I am not like your first wife. She lost her heart to a man and he believed in her enough to accept it. I also lost my heart, but the lady does not believe in me.”

It was all he said, but abruptly he was gone and the door was closing after him. The sound was like the door closing on the rest of her life. Transfixed, Geraldine stared after him. She rose slowly, her face bleached in shock.

“Oh, Da.”

“Is there something you need to be doing, lassie?”

“I've been so blind.”

“If not completely daft,” agreed her father. “Off with you, now.”

And suddenly she was moving, snatching open the door and running pell mell down the stairs to the horrified gaze of their ball guests. In her full skirts, she tore open the front door, just in time to see a horse canter down the drive.

“John, whose horse is that you're holding?” she called to the groomsman in the driveway.

“Master Steffert's from down the road, Miss.”

“He won't mind me borrowing it. A leg up? Hurry!”

“Not in that thing, Miss,” he said, pointing at her billowing crinoline. Then he stared in horror as she looked down impatiently, before quickly whipping up her skirts to untie the frame of the petticoat. Geraldine paid no attention, grabbing the reins of the bay and hoisting herself into the saddle. Seconds later, she was thundering down the driveway after Bas, her pale skirts flying in a cloud behind her.

“Wait, Bas. Wait up there!”

Geraldine dug her heels into her horse's flanks. Ahead there was only the thundering sound of a horse's hooves. Bas had kicked his mount into a wild gallop almost before the drive had taken him out of sight of the house. Now, he pulled ever farther and farther away from her.

“Please stop,” she whispered, unaware of the trace of tears marring her cheeks. She must catch him, tonight. His words had been so final. But even as she called out to him, the sound of hooves drew ever away, fading inexorably into the stillness of the night.

His horse was too fast for her, the big bay gelding more than a match for the plodding workhorse she rode. Frantically, her mind chased over the ground ahead, seeking something to give her some hope. Where would he go? Not back to his friend's place. No, not after tonight. Too many questions to answer on the morrow. To the town then. To Christchurch, to see a lawyer and arrange his affairs. Then it was the east road she needed. Her mind flew swiftly across the land, seeing trees and streams, rises and hollows. Yes, if she struck off now to her right. The road turned back soon after this to avoid a patch of rough, broken ground, but she knew that bit of country well and, by skirting its other margin, could cut straight through to the town road.

Her horse was turning with the road even as the plan tumbled in her mind. Ruthlessly, she held his head to the straight course, urging him forward into the stony hollows ahead. Soon, they were twisting through a thicket of matagouris, now splashing through the waters of a small creek, then plunging down into a hollow of treacherous shadows between two rocky outcrops. Her horse thought to jibe, but a swift kick drove him on and perhaps her own confidence in the path reassured him. Whatever it was, half an hour's treacherous riding found them approaching the rutted tracks of the main westward road. And on it she heard a longed-for sound; the hooves of a horse now cantering along. He had slackened his pace, but still she knew she would barely catch him.

“Come on, boy. Just once more, I beg you.” As if sensing her need, the tiring horse lifted his head and snorted, then kicked into a fast gallop. They were racing across the grass now, the soft turf cushioning the noise of her horse, and ahead Bas was still unaware of her. Still he kept pushing away from her. “Come on, oh please, my brave horse,” she gasped, leaning low and forward over his neck as she urged him ever faster.

Then she was on the road and coming up with, then passing, the other horse. She sat back, her hands sawing desperately on the reins as she pulled her faithful mount back to a grinding slide of hooves on the hard dirt track. The pale blur of her skirt draped in a ghostly cloak across the light dun of her horse and Bas swore violently, pulling his own horse up viciously as he fought to stop the pair colliding. Then he recognised her and was off his mount and pulling her roughly from her own, dragging her away from their jibing mounts as each horse sought to avoid the other. He thrust her unceremoniously to the side of the track and for the next few minutes was fully occupied in settling the two frightened horses.

Then he turned back to her and grabbed her arm. “What in blazes are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?” There were deep shadows in the hollows of his eyes and one hand released her to drag through his hair. “Oh, God, sweetheart, don't do this to me.” His arms came round her and held her tightly as his mouth came down on hers, and she knew it would be alright.

Much, much later, he drew back and her tracing fingers sought the betraying lift in the curves of his mouth.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she whispered.

“Tell you what?”

“That you love me.”

His arms did not ease their grip on her, but his head drew back at that and he looked down at her. She wished the shadows didn't hide the look on those beloved features.

“I showed you in every way I knew. You would believe none of it.”

“You never said the words. You are a gentleman born, and how could I know that it was not mere lust or good manners that kept you by me?”

The ghost of a chuckle broke from him then and his arms eased their hold a fraction. “I near get myself killed for you, leave the sweetest little business a man might wish for, traipse all over those blasted hills and make love to you like a man possessed, and that does not convince you—but three little words will! All right, sweetheart. I love you, Geraldine Deverill. All of you, wilful, headstrong, unpredictable and so damned beautiful you drive me half-insane with wanting you. I love you, do you hear – more than money, more than family, more than life itself.” And on his lips when he took her mouth again was a smile as wide as the great arc of the star-filled sky above them.

Much later, the night air sent an icy gust under her skirts and a shiver shook her. Bas drew slowly back, pulling off his coat and tucking it about her bare arms and shoulders.

“Time we found somewhere warmer, sweetheart. Dearly as I would love to confine you to bed for the next week, it is not to recover from a bout of ‘flu.”

She giggled, snuggling in close to his welcoming chest as he lifted her to his horse, then mounted himself, leading hers behind them. He was right. It was a beautiful, clear winter night, but there was a frost forming on the ground and the crunch of ice accompanied the fall of horses' hooves on the grassy verge.

They entered the house by the back stair, avoiding curious guests and leaving John to attend to the horses. Bas carried her up the stairs to her room, and finally he showed her the truth of his words. There was no more talk, only the fine drift of hands and the caress of his mouth and body till far into the early hours of the new day. They slept, and woke again in the light of the day to discover that last night had not been a dream.

Later still, there was time for words. She could tell him the full story of the love she had found in him and slowly he told her of his.

“I wanted you the first day I saw you, sweetheart, but at the time getting out of town alive seemed more important. Thank God you followed me.”

“You didn't act very grateful.”

“Maybe, but it didn't stop you, as I recall. I should have been warned then what a stubborn little Miss you can be. How could you be so blind, sweetheart? No matter what I did, you refused to see what you meant to me.” The clear eyes laughed up at her, his long hands tracing a delicious promise over her fine skin, down her shoulders to come to rest upon one rounded breast. She was perched on her knees, the sheets thrust back to her waist, and a warm glow encased her as she recognised the desire yet again rising in the light-filled eyes.

“For shame, sir, how is an innocent young woman to know you meant more than idle dalliance?” Her hand crept teasingly under the sheets. His own hand dropped and he lay back with a hearty crack of laughter.

“Just give me half a minute to recover from last night, and I'll show you idle dalliance, Mrs Deverill.”

She chuckled with him, and then grew silent, her face withdrawing suddenly.

“What is it?” He sat up quickly and took her hands in his.

“Are you sure, Bas? Can you really live here with me and leave your home behind you?”

“I loved my home and my parents, sweetheart, that I will not deny,” he said slowly, “but I do not belong in my brother's world. With you, I can build something new, defined only by the wit and skill and passion we bring to it, not be someone hemmed in by the rules and conventions of my class and history.” He brought her hands up and gently placed a kiss on her fingers. “God knows I wanted you as soon as I saw you, but do you know when I first began to love you?”

She shook her head.

“When you told me why you came to the goldfields. You said you wanted a life. It's why I came here too, but no one had ever put it into words for me before. I told myself it was for money, revenge on my prudish brother, but that's not the truth. A life, the chance of making my own way. That is the secret that draws all of us to the goldfields, and with you, I found it.”

His lips told the truth of his words as he sat up and drew her mouth toward his. For long moments there was only the silence of lovers in the room. When he let her go, the smile that was his alone played gently on his face.

Yet still something troubled her.

“What is it, my heart?” His face was gentle. “No more secrets and misunderstandings. We have lost too much time already.”

She looked up from the study of her hands caught in his. “That first night at the bothy at Loch Máire. You … you went so quiet. It was as if you suddenly realised what a place you had come to. No long corridors, no magnificence. It struck you then, didn't it? Just how far was the bothy from your own home, where you belonged?”

Again a crack of laughter and he flung himself back, pulling her tumbling down in a confused heap on his chest. Swiftly, he twisted them both and she found herself lying on her back, staring up at his laughing face.

“Something struck me that night, love, but not that. Do you know how long I had dreamed of such a moment? Of making love to you in a real bed, where none could interrupt us, and where I could go to sleep with you by my side and know that I would wake in the morning to the sight of your face beside me?” His voice had softened, the sound of it caressing her. “I had waited so long for that night. All I could see in that moment was a picture of us lying together with the sun shining on our faces—and you wonder I was struck dumb?” Then his face stilled and his eyes darkened. “Please, love, believe in me now. I can't lose you again.”

“I do,” she breathed, and the day was lost to them again.

A week later, they made their fond farewells to her family—including her stepmother, though privately Geraldine thought Sophie relieved to rid herself of their unsettling presence. Now she could talk to her acquaintances of “The Honourable Sebastian Deverills – my daughter-in-law, you know, and her husband”, but need not face the distressing reality of their presence. Young James was genuinely sad to see them go, clinging long to Geraldine and consoled only by a promise that he may come to them for a visit when he was older—but only if he worked hard at his studies.

Then, last, her father. He held her close, then shook her husband's hand. “Sebastian here has your wedding gift, something from your own mother and I. Máire would have been happy to see this day. You will give it to Geraldine on the day I said and not before?” he said to Bas.

Geraldine looked at them both, very puzzled. But though both men looked thoroughly pleased with themselves, not a word more would they say to her.

They rode off, soon outdistancing the wagon that was to follow them by the established tracks, bringing Geraldine's possessions and many other items her father seemed to feel essential to her new married life.