Savage Possession Page 15

  “Wait a minute.”

  They collapsed in a heap for a moment. Cursing, he extricated himself from their tangled limbs, climbed out of bed and dragged on his pants.

  “I’ll have to see what Sam wants.”

  Striding across the room, he wrenched the door open. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Did I, um, interrupt?” Sam gave an embarrassed cough.

  Martin wanted to flatten him. “You know damn well you did. What is it?”

  Sam moved away from the doorway forcing Martin to follow him.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s been a fight in town. They put young Alistair Campbell in jail. You’ll have to see if you can get him out.”

  “You interrupted me for that?”

  “Listen to me. They plan to take him to Melbourne. You’ll have no hope of intervening once they get him there.”

  “Why should I help him?”

  “Because of Elizabeth? You know how close the pair of them are. What do you think this will do to her?”

  “All right.” Martin tried to control his frustration and fury. “Sorry for my rudeness, you caught me at an awkward time.”

  “When Mrs. Irvine told me where you were, I did wait half an hour.”

  “I’ve been away for ten days.” Martin gave a rueful grin. “What happened in town?” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Mueller shot his mouth off in the hotel,” Sam explained.

  “Did you hear what happened to Toby?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth told me how Mueller flogged the poor kid, he should be locked up.”

  “What’s young Campbell got to do with it?” Martin asked, a nasty suspicion forming in his mind.

  “Well, he was having a drink at the hotel when Mueller made disparaging comments about Elizabeth.”

  “What kind of comments?”

  “I’m not sure, you can imagine, though. Anyway, the boy took exception, swung a punch at Mueller. The fight spilled out into the street.”

  “So?”

  “The police came, Mueller slunk off, and they took Alistair to jail for riotous conduct. You should be able to bribe the police and get the boy out. Elizabeth need never know what happened. You don’t want to upset her; Mrs. Irvine said she hasn’t been too well over the last few days.”

  “What do you mean?” Martin’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “She didn’t mention being sick to me.”

  “Not sick exactly. I think she fretted for you. Off her food, couldn’t sleep, wandering around all kind of sad.”

  “Fretting for me? All right, I’ll come.” Women! They’re more trouble than they’re worth. “I’ll have to get dressed.”

  “I’ll have the horses saddled and meet you out the front.”

  He returned to the bedroom, and his little storm girl smiled up at him and pulled the covers aside. The invitation was one he would have given up a huge chunk of his fortune to accept. Dog-tired, he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and taste her sweetness all over again. She looked pale, with bruises smudging the skin beneath her eyes.

  “Not now, my sweet. I have to go somewhere with Sam.”

  “You just got back!”

  “I know. Something important has come up.” He bent and kissed her soft tremulous mouth.

  She put her arms around his neck. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to.” Reluctantly, he removed her arms and straightened up.

  “You treat me like a whore,” she flung at him, obviously believing he had cast her aside once his desire was slaked.

  “It’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. Did you have a woman in Bendigo?” she shrilled.

  “No, I did not,” he ground out, tempted to tell her he was trying to save her useless brother’s hide.

  When fully dressed, he stalked off, slamming the front door of the castle. In three strides, he was beside Sam and he wrenched the horse’s reins out of his hand and mounted. “Let’s go.”

  They rode along in silence for a while. “What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

  “Mind you own business.”

  “Did you have words with Elizabeth?”

  Martin thrust his jaw out and stared straight ahead.

  “After we get the boy home, you can explain what happened.”

  “Why should I?” He spurred his horse into a gallop, leaving Sam in his wake.

  At the police lock up, the constable bore the full brunt of Martin’s fury. “You’ve got the Campbell boy here and I want him released.”

  “There’s got to be charges laid when the sergeant returns,” he blustered.

  “Look,” Sam intervened. “We’re prepared to pay for you to overlook this little incident. How does ten pounds sound?”

  “Twenty,” the constable haggled.

  “Fifteen pounds and not a shilling more.” Martin wondered why he had even agreed to come, much less bargain with this boot-licker.

  “All right, I’ll go and get him.” The constable put his hand out for the money.

  Martin took the notes out and waved them in his face. “After the boy’s handed over, you get the money.”

  When Alistair walked through the door, Martin stared at him in shock. His nose had been bleeding and he sported a nasty cut over one eye, the other eye being swollen and blackened.

  “Sam, Mulvaney, why are you here?”

  “We came to get you out of jail, you young fool,” Sam said.

  “Beth asked you to come?”

  “No.” Martin snapped. “She doesn’t know.”

  “We thought it best not to tell her,” Sam explained. “No point in worrying her for nothing.”

  “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “Who beat the boy?” Martin said to the constable. “I don’t pay for damaged merchandise.”

  “Come on.” Sam turned to leave. “Give him the money and let’s get out of here.”

  “Thanks for bailing me out, Mulvaney.”

  “I did it for Elizabeth. I don’t want her upset in her condition.”

  “Where’s your horse, son?” Sam asked.

  “At the back of the hotel. I’ll be all right now.”

  “Sam and I will ride part of the way home with you,” Martin said. “To make sure you keep out of trouble. Don’t encourage Elizabeth to leave the castle grounds on her own, either.”

  “Why not? Is she a prisoner?” Alistair shot back.

  “No, she’s safer at the castle. Mueller vowed to get even with me and might try to do it through her.”

  “Hell.”

  “Is Fergus home?” Sam interrupted them.

  “No, he’ll be back tonight.”

  “Well, don’t have him going off half-cocked either, son. Tell him you fought with one of your mates.”

  “Blame the Mulvaneys,” Martin put in viciously. “You always have before.” He spurred his horse into a gallop and left the other two behind.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Alistair asked.

  “Don’t take any notice of him. He hasn’t been back long from Toby’s aunt in Bendigo. He’s tired, and he’s had an argument with your sister.”

  “Could Beth be in danger?”

  “I don’t know. Martin’s right, no point in frightening her, though she needs to take care.”

  Chapter Nine

  The weeks passed and Alistair continued his intermittent visits. Beth could not understand why grandfather still hated Martin. The Campbells had suffered at the hands of Black Jack, but why should a son be condemned for the sins of his father?

  As Alistair positioned boxes he had made for the birds, Martin strode up. “What are you pair up to?”

  Beth watched Martin sweep off his hat and run his hand across his forehead. “Alistair helped me put up these little houses for the birds,” she explained.

  “What!”

  “The birds lost their nests in the storm. I didn’t want them to be homeless.”

  “Homeless!” Martin rolled his eyes. “They’ll build their nests aga
in.”

  “I know it sounds silly.” She came up to him and rubbed her head against his arm. The heat of his body seared through her clothes, she inhaled his male scent, and if Alistair had not been with them, she would have reached up and kissed her handsome husband.

  “You always were soft in the head,” Alistair jeered good-naturedly. “Every stray creature on the farm got adopted by Beth. I’m helping so she won’t reach up.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Martin admitted gruffly. “I don’t think your sister realizes the need to take care of herself now, there’s the child to consider also.”

  “Lots of women have babies and still help run their farms, so why can’t I?”

  Martin gave an exasperated snort. “You’re my wife, not an impoverished farmer’s woman. You should have asked me about the boxes if they meant so much to you, I’d have got one of the men to make them.”

  “Alistair brought them over, don’t be angry.” She drew away from him and took a couple of steps back.

  “I’m not angry. I just don’t want you tiring yourself out. I suppose you’re responsible for the little containers of food scattered around the place?”

  “Yes, I didn’t want the birds to go hungry.”

  A smile lit up her face, and Martin felt a strange ache in the region of his heart. Beautiful to look at, yet compassion gave her an inner exquisite glow that troubled him. Had guilt for the way he had treated her, make him unable to utter the words, instinct told him she wanted to hear, while they made love each night? Or, did the thought that she only pitied him because of his hellish childhood, hold him back from baring his soul?

  She filled the castle up with flowers. Hardly a room did not have a vase as she tried to turn his grim mausoleum into a home. How did he repay her efforts? By procrastinating about hiring workers to start the repairs.

  “It’s cold, take your brother into the castle and get Mrs. Irvine to make you a hot drink. I’ll get someone to finish this off for you later.”

  “I want to finish it now in case the rain comes again, the poor birds might get wet.”

  Martin muffled a curse. “All right, where do you want them?”

  Alistair had to climb up on the lower branches with the boxes. Martin’s height meant he could reach up and position them with ease.

  “Happy now?” Once the last one was in position, he swung around to face her.

  “Oh, yes, thank you. We could all go to the house for tea.”

  “Too busy, my sweet, entertain your brother.” He nodded to Alistair before striding off.

  “What an arrogant pig,” Alistair said.

  “He isn’t arrogant. Once you get to know him he’s nice.”

  “If he treats you all right, I suppose I can put up with him, but I don’t have to like him.”

  She touched his hand. “Did you make the arrangements for Amy?”

  “Yes, grandfather asked them to bury her next to her parents.”

  “Martin wouldn’t let me go.”

  “Grandfather told him not to, you were too upset.”

  Instead of going the castle, they strolled over to visit Sam in his quaint little cottage. He showed Alistair the portrait he had started painting of Beth.

  “You’ve caught a good likeness.”

  “I haven’t done justice to your sister. She’s got an inner beauty, an elusive quality so transient, I doubt if any artist could catch it.”

  “Oh, Sam.” She laughed. “You are silly. It’s a beautiful picture, but I don’t look like that, I’m just ordinary.”

  “No you’re not, Elizabeth.”

  * * *

  When the clothes Martin had ordered from Melbourne arrived, Beth could not contain her excitement. Silk and kid gloves, shoes, pure silk underwear and nightgowns trimmed with Spanish lace. He must have some fondness for her to spend so much money. She spread everything out on the bed and what a beautiful array. The moment he entered the room she rushed up to him.

  “You like your presents?”

  “Oh, yes. Look at this.”

  She held up a gown with a short bunched up over skirt in pink and white chintz, which covered the deeper pink skirt. Draping a fur-trimmed cape across her shoulders, she pirouetted in front of him. A pale blue striped muslin blouse with mother of pearl buttons looked exquisite.

  “I’m glad you like them, my sweet.” He laughed at her obvious excitement and pleasure. “I’ve decided to invite one of my friends and his wife over for dinner on Saturday. I’ve been to their home on numerous occasions over the years, so I think it’s time for me to return the hospitality. Ollie might come too, depends on how busy he is.”

  Beth did not think a man who owned a brothel was a suitable party guest, but didn’t like to say so.

  * * *

  Beth and Mrs. Irvine studied recipe books all day Friday. Everything had to be perfect for her first dinner guests. She desperately wanted Martin to be proud of her.

  Mrs. Irvine stood on a chair and dusted the crystal chandeliers in the main dining room. Beth helped polish the silverware, and by days end the castle would stand up to any scrutiny.

  On Saturday, they finished the final preparations for the visitors. Beth could hardly contain her excitement. Martin had been away most of the day, supervising the erection of new fences to prevent feral pigs from fouling his watering holes.

  Beth, who had finished setting the dining room table, was in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Irvine, when he marched in. Mud splattered his pants and boots. He removed his hat, flung himself into a chair and spread his long legs out in front of him.

  “I could do with a cup of tea and something to eat.”

  “You’ll spoil your appetite for dinner,” Beth chided.

  “No I won’t, a couple of biscuits will do, Mrs. Irvine please.” The housekeeper bustled away.

  “I feel so excited. I want everything to be perfect. We’ve been cooking and preparing things all day.” Beth clapped her hands. “What time will our guests arrive?”

  “About eight. I’ll go up and change when I finish this, suppose I better have a shave, too.” He rubbed his knuckles across the dark bristles on his chin.

  Later, after she had bathed, Beth took special care over her appearance, desperate for Martin to feel proud of her. The new pink gown suited her blonde hair and pale complexion, and the black silk evening slippers felt light as thistledown.

  She preened herself in the mirror when he strode in.

  “Well, you do look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You’re very handsome, too.” He wore a black frock coat with trousers to match. A white silk octagon tie held in place by a ruby tiepin, added a final touch of elegance.

  They descended the stairs together and twenty minutes later, Mrs. Irvine came into the sitting room with their guests, a middle-aged couple who Martin introduced as Grace and Sean Atkinson. At the last minute Ollie could not make it thank goodness Beth thought. A man who owned a brothel would not be a nice person.

  Sean was dressed in a similar fashion to Martin, except he wore a narrow shoe string tie instead of an octagon one. Grace had a black tie-back gown on with a sheath-like skirt that touched the ground and was pulled in so tightly, her feet could only move about six inches at a time.

  Once seated, Mrs. Irvine served them the first course, fried whitebait with a dry white wine. Beth had no trouble conversing with this friendly couple, and she sensed their approval was tempered with surprise. Would Martin have told them about her being with child? She felt too nervous to mention it herself.

  Potato and leek soup followed the entree. The main course was roast suckling pig with applesauce, roast potatoes and green peas. Mrs. Irvine instinctively seemed to know when they finished each course. Dessert was an assortment of fruits, and Beth basked in the lavish praise of their guests.

  They finished the meal and adjourned to the sitting room. Beth sat on the couch with Grace. What a nice woman. Every now and again, she felt Martin’s eyes on her, but his expression was
inscrutable.

  “What do you think about all this trouble with the Kelly gang?” Martin took a sip of his port.

  “They should be hunted down and locked up,” Sean said. “What a disgrace, roaming around the countryside, thumbing their noses at the authorities.”

  The Atkinsons, like Martin, felt no sympathy for the outlaws, but when she remembered what Alistair said about the way the Kelly family had been treated she felt sorry for them. She opened her mouth to defend them, and then thought better of it

  What if they did round up a few stray cattle and change their brands? It was a common enough practice amongst poor farmers. On pain of death she would not admit it, but on occasions Alistair had branded clean skins, unbeknown to grandfather.

  As they stood in the doorway to wave goodbye to Sean and Grace, Martin rested his hand on her shoulder, his warm breath caressing the side of her neck. Did this casual gesture mean that finally they were a couple?

  * * *

  September - springtime and Beth’s favorite time of the year. She never left the property except to visit grandfather who refused to come over to the castle again. Alistair dropped in now and again, always trying to visit while Martin was away. She started gaining weight, and fitting into her clothes became a daily battle.

  “Martin.” She cuddled up to him.

  “Mm.” He sounded sated and relaxed after a long session of lovemaking, disinclined to talk.

  “Could you take me into town soon?” She ran her fingertips across his cheek.

  “Go to sleep, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Promise.”

  “Yes, my sweet.”

  Next morning when she woke up, Martin’s side of the bed was empty. He had brushed off her concerns as if they did not matter.

  After bathing and dressing, she wandered down to the kitchen where Mrs. Irvine baked bread. Her stomach grumbled when she sniffed the delicious aroma. The previous morning nausea had now gone, although she still tired easily and often lay down in the afternoon for a nap.

  Her condition was obvious, even though she was less than halfway through her pregnancy. She felt proud of her little pot-belly and wanted to start preparing the baby’s layette.