Savage Possession Read online

  SAVAGE POSSESSION

  Multi Award Winning

  Best Selling Author

  Margaret Tanner

  Contents

  SAVAGE POSSESSION

  Revised Edition

  Acknowledgements:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Other Books by Margaret Tanner:

  Revised Edition

  Copyright 2017 Margaret Tanner

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Acknowledgements:

  To my friend and fellow author Susan Horsnell. I never could have succeeded with this venture without her invaluable help and support.

  Cover Artist: Susan Horsnell.

  Chapter One

  Australia - North Eastern Victoria 1870’s.

  Alistair was in trouble. With the powerful bond she shared with her twin, fear coursed through Beth’s body. She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to still her trembling hands by twisting an escaped tendril of hair from her plait. How many warnings did her brother need before he stopped consorting with outlaws?

  Standing in the doorway of their split log cabin, she squinted into the distance. A lone horseman flashed into her line of vision. With a hammering heart, she waited. Was it friend or foe? Should she dash inside and grab grandfather’s gun?

  The rider drew near. It was Alistair. Running to the track snaking along the side paddock, she struggled to lower the slip rails so the horse could pass through.

  “Quick, Beth!” He leapt from the saddle. “Get the mare out of sight.”

  “What happened?” Dread clawed at her throat with cruel fingers. Her stomach knotted up. What had her brother been up to now?

  Without a word, he dashed off.

  Her hand trembled as she picked up the trailing rein and led the sweating, foam-flecked mare into the barn. Something terrible must have happened. One of their best horses ridden to the point of exhaustion. She unsaddled the mare and turned her loose before sprinting back to their cabin.

  Rushing to the kitchen, she found Alistair stuffing a sack with bags of flour, salt and sugar.

  Frantically, she grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  Pale and agitated, he stared out the window. “I have to get out of here. The mounted police are after me.”

  “The police? You’re in trouble with the law?”

  After he filled the sack, he dropped it on the floor and paced up and down, banging a fist against his open hand.

  “Martin Mulvaney caught me with Dan Kelly and one of the gang. We found a palomino colt. I had just put my spare halter on him when Mulvaney and one of his men rode up. I stayed so the others could get away.”

  “You fool. Grandfather warned you about the Kelly gang.” She picked up the corner of her apron and twisted it into a knot. “The Judge swore out a warrant for them after they wounded Constable Fitzpatrick.”

  “They were framed.”

  “What did Mulvaney say?”

  “He looked like the devil mounted on a huge black stallion. When I told him my name, he threatened to report me to the police for horse stealing. He’ll be out to get me now.”

  “You found the colt, didn’t you?” She gnawed her lower lip. “It’s his word against yours.”

  “One of his workmen saw what happened. It is two against one. I don’t stand a chance. I’ll head for the hill country and join up with the Kelly gang.”

  “Stay away from them. They are wanted men. I’ll ride over to Mulvaney’s place and tell him you found the horse,” she volunteered with a spurt of bravado. “I’ll try to reason with him.”

  “You think he’d listen? Better for me to leave.”

  “No.” Her hands shook so much she hid them behind her back. Facing up to Martin Mulvaney would be her worst nightmare. “Go to the mountain cabin and wait. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow lunch time, you’d better hide out for a while.”

  The thought of Alistair in jail, manacled like a wild beast or dangling from the gallows, gave her the courage to face their grandfather’s mortal enemy. A man who had helped decimate their family. “Help me saddle Belle. If I go straight away, I should be back here before dark.”

  “No!” His voice rose with agitation, his eyes darkened with worry. “You can’t go there alone, it’s too dangerous. Grandfather warned us never to go anywhere near the place.”

  “He’ll be away for weeks and won’t find out if we don’t tell him. Ride to Riley’s Corner with me if you like then head for the mountains.”

  “I should be horsewhipped for this.”

  Alistair disappeared into the bedroom, returning a few seconds later with their grandfather’s pistol stuck in his belt.

  “No.” Her hands flew to her face in horror. “Don’t be foolish.”

  His expression changed from concerned to belligerent. “I need to defend myself.”

  “Leave the gun or you’ll get no help from me. If the police catch you…” She shuddered, thinking about the dire consequences of such rashness. “They’ll shoot you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, growled a swear word and banged the gun down on the table.

  Tearing off her apron, she dragged on a coat, buttoning it quickly over her white, high-necked blouse.

  She had never met Martin Mulvaney even though his farm was only a few miles away from theirs. He mixed in much more exalted circles, his amorous affairs scandalizing many in the community. The depravity of his father really tainted the Mulvaney name and earned him fearful respect. Would he show mercy to anyone named Campbell? Hatred and bitterness between her grandfather and the Mulvaneys had festered for years, but she would front the devil to save Alistair.

  She patted her hair into place. To keep the fine strands tidy she coiled the long plait into a bun and secured it with pins at the back of her head. How idiotic worrying about hair at a time of crisis.

  “Beth!”

  She rushed outside to find Alistair waiting with their horses. He helped her mount. A cold May wind gusted in from the brooding, distant mountains. Clouds hung dark and heavy, ready to split open and drop their watery load.

  Mulvaney’s castle, so called because of its large size and the two corner towers at the front, was rumored to be haunted. She shivered and snuggled into her coat to ward off the physical chill, but nothing could melt the dread icing up her heart. By the time they arrived at Riley’s Corner, the rain pelted down, cold, relentless.

  “Grandfather would be furious if he knew I let you go over there alone.” Alistair edged his horse closer to hers.

  She leaned across and kissed his cheek. Inwardly quaking with fear, she fought against letting him know. “I’ll be all right.”

  If she had not been so desperate to save him from Martin Mulvaney’s vengeance, she would have turned tail and galloped back to the safe warmth of home.

  “Go on.” She slapped his horse’s rump, and waited until he disappeared into the scrub before continuing on, alone.
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  Riding along the Mulvaney boundary, she diverted her trepidation by comparing the new fences and the fat, contented sheep grazing on well cared for pastures, to their own rundown property. She tried to build up a picture of Martin from grandfather’s description of him. Spawn of the devil he would say. Dread almost overwhelmed her, but she had to push on regardless. Alistair’s freedom depended on it. Maybe even his life. Now was not the time for cowardice. She had to be resolute. If only she had met the man before, it would give her an inkling of the best approach to take. Humble and beseeching? Proud and defiant? Would he be merciful once she explained what had happened? What type of man would throw an eighteen-year-old into prison?

  A set of huge iron gates stood open. Without slackening pace, the mare galloped up a long, pine lined drive. Huge branches formed a green canopy, the sodden pine needles permeating the air with their spicy scent. Grandfather called the castle a monument to evil. If its dark secrets ever became known, they might learn the fate of little Amy Campbell whose disappearance had haunted grandfather for years.

  Jagged lightning split the sky in two. Rain bucketed down. Distant thunder growled like a rabid dog. Bouncing off the mountains, the noise echoed through the trees as she fought to control her skittish mount. At the end of the drive, the grim and forbidding castle loomed.

  A gigantic clap of thunder caused the horse to bolt. Her feet slipped out of the stirrups, and she clung to the terrified animal’s neck as it raced back out the gate. She had no hope of stopping the headlong flight, could only hang on until the mare tired and slowed down. She flashed past the encircled wagons of a gypsy encampment. The horse charged deeper into the forest. Branches brushed against her legs, catching in her skirt before releasing with a loud snap. Sudden pain slashed through her head. She catapulted from the saddle and crashed to the ground.

  * * *

  Leila watched the blonde haired girl stumble into camp and collapse on the wet ground in a shivering heap.

  “Help me, please,” the girl pleaded. Her hair fell in disarray about her shoulders and her panic-stricken blue eyes were wide as saucers. Her bloodless lips trembled and several scratches criss-crossed her ashen cheeks.

  Hurrying over, Leila clamped her hands around the girl’s waist and as she pulled her up, tried to calculate her worth to a man like Darius who bedded any woman crossing his path. Guiding her to the nearest wagon, Leila sniffed her disapproval of a prancing black stallion painted on the door. Just because Darius had mucked out the stables at the Black Stallion whorehouse in town, he had painted this symbol on his own door. May a pestilence descend upon him. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  The girl’s mouth trembled. “I…I don’t know,” she whispered. “I…I can’t remember.”

  Bridie limped over carrying a mug of tea. Leila snatched the mug from her. “Get a blanket and hurry up, or Darius won’t be the only one to beat you.” She slapped Bridie on the backside, knowing her rump would still be sore from a severe belting last night. Stupid creature didn’t deserve sympathy. How many times have I warned her about refusing to give Darius his due? When a man wanted his due, sensible women parted their legs and didn’t complain.

  “Don’t drink too fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” Leila cautioned, hovering over the girl who slumped against the wagon wheel. Darius had a stallion’s appetite, always needing more than one woman. No matter where the girl came from, the clan would break camp in a couple of days and be gone before anyone could find her.

  “Thank you,” the girl whispered as Bridie draped a blanket across her shoulders and limped away.

  “Finish your tea, then I’ll get you out of those wet clothes, before you catch a chill.” Darius wouldn’t want a damn woman sniffling all over him in bed.

  In between moans of pain, the girl gulped the rest of the tea down. “I’m so cold.” Her teeth chattered, her lips were blue and her skin was so pale it had the texture of porcelain, flawless, except for red scratches. Yes, Darius would enjoy her. Any hot-blooded man would. She examined the large lump at the side of the girl’s head. Must have suffered a real bad fall.

  “Where am I? Who am I?” she whimpered as Leila pushed her through the open door of the wagon and propelled her over to a mattress.

  Had the girl run away from home? With child perhaps? She would like to present Darius with a virgin. Looked virginal enough, though. Only one way to find out if her maiden head was still intact.

  Leila undressed her before pushing her on to a pile of blankets, and she landed on her back. Grunting with the strain, she squatted on the floor, pushed the girl’s thighs apart, and ignoring her terrified cries, inserted two fingers into her cavity. Ah! Still a virgin.

  “Wrap yourself in this blanket and rest before the men come home screeching for their tea.”

  After arranging the girl’s wet clothes over a rope stretched along one wall, she left the caravan. Smoke poured from the spluttering fire. “You stupid creature.” She gave Bridie a slap across the ears. “Don’t use green wood.”

  Leila hung the communal cooking pot on a steel triangle straddling the fire to heat up the left over stew from yesterday. Rabbits were plentiful and the men had raided a garden to dig up carrots and potatoes.

  The rain stopped, black clouds threatened more to come, though. Five families belonged to the clan, twenty-six men, women and children, safety in numbers when you roamed the countryside in search of casual work or things to steal. Telling fortunes at fairs paid little these days. Wiping her hand on her skirt, she hurried back to the wagon.

  On either side of the bed-space thick beveled mirrors adorned the wall, but they were hazy, even the gold leaf trim on the paneled roof had dulled. In my day, a true Romany showed pride in their wagon. Decoration reflected a family’s wealth and status. Carved lion heads, gargoyles painted in gold, intricate woodwork on the ceiling and around the windows. Darius didn’t care about heritage. The oaf had painted the wagon green, and added a picture of a rearing black stallion on the door. I’m the only true Romany in the whole clan. She checked on the girl who had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  Leila waited for the men to come back. What would Darius’ reaction be when she handed him her prize? She hated having to ingratiate herself to him, to accept his ill-humored charity, but had no choice.

  Hearing a commotion, she stepped over to the open wagon door and peered out. The men had returned and not empty handed either. Bulging sacks hung across some of the saddles. Children shrieked and cavorted around the men, a couple of them getting a kick from Darius for their pains. She dared not show animosity or this brute of a man would banish her. Her power and privilege had died with her husband. Once the matriarch of the clan she was now beholden to her stepson.

  Darius threw the reins at one of the children and stomped over to the fire. “Food ready?” he growled. Six feet tall and pot-bellied, he was swarthier than most gypsy men were. A wide scar, a legacy from a knife attack, slashed his cheek in half.

  While a couple of men strode over to their caravans, Darius stood by the fire. “Git me some food.” Bridie ran to the pot, slopped several ladles of stew on to a plate, and handed it to him. As she moved away, he grabbed her skirt. “When I’m finished here, I want my due.” He let her go and rubbed his groin.

  Leila hurried over to tell him about the girl.

  “Who is she?” he growled.

  “I don’t know. She can’t remember who she is or where she came from. But she’s a pretty little blue-eyed blonde.”

  “Blonde!” He burped, massaging his crotch in anticipation. “Blue eyes!”

  “Can you handle two women?” one of his men asked.

  Darius’ lascivious grin bared his teeth like a wolf. “You know I can.” Gulping the rest of his food down, he thrust the plate at Bridie and stomped over to the wagon.

  Leila hurried up to him. “She’s a virgin.”

  “How can you be sure?” he growled.

  “I checked for you.”

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bsp; He gave a short bark of laughter. “Won’t be for much longer.”

  She followed him into the spacious wagon, which had a high roof adorned with gold carvings and faded red and blue trim.

  The girl sat up with a blanket clutched around her body, eyes wide, lips trembling.

  “You done well, Leila.” Darius jerked the blanket away, exposing creamy white flesh. He laughed when the girl shrank back.

  “Nice titties.” He leaned across and squeezed one then twisted the nipple between his thumb and forefinger

  “No, please.” The girl tried to grab his hand and he slapped her face.

  “I’ll have my due.” With a feral growl, he grabbed her thighs and forced them apart. He leapt back. “You stupid old woman, you made her bleed.”

  “Must be her courses,” Leila stared at the blood on the blanket.

  “She’s unclean. Bridie,” he roared. “Git my wife. My balls are ready to burst.”

  He undid the buttons on his pants. Leila took one look at his arousal and rushed to the door. “Bridie!” If that stupid creature didn’t hurry up and relieve his sexual need, everyone would suffer.

  The moment Bridie put her foot on the step Leila yanked her inside. Darius shoved his wife down on the mattress. If she knew what was good for her she would open her legs and give him his due without complaint.

  Darius pushed up her skirt and slammed into her like a mare-starved stallion. The wagon rocked with the savage force of his aggression.

  The terrified blonde girl cringed against the wall. Lucky for her Darius was superstitious about going near a woman during her monthly bleed.

  When he threw back his head and roared Leila breathed a sigh of relief, but he was not quite finished yet. Rolling Bridie over, he slapped her backside and mounted from behind. With a couple of thrusts, he emptied himself again, got up, re-buttoned his pants and left the wagon without saying a word.

  The girl cringed to the farthermost corner of the mattress. Tears fell from her eyes yet no sound passed from her bloodless lips.