A Changing Land(146)

‘You’ve done this before?’ he asked, pulling at her buttons roughly until her arms were pinned down by the stretch of material and her breasts shone nakedly in the Vikings’ domain.





‘Of course,’ she answered as his mouth touched her nipple and his hands gripped her buttocks briefly before exploring further.





She held him by the shoulders, biting her lip until it bled. Maggie experienced a shudder of pleasure, not once but twice.





‘Well you are a greedy little thing,’ he whispered, kissing her briefly as she leant back against the stone wall. If that was all it was, it hadn’t been so bad. Not so very bad at all.





He undid his belt and dropped his pants. Maggie was staggered. ‘Surely we’ve finished?’





‘You may have sated yourself, my virile little mite,’ he pushed her against the wall, ‘but I’ve just begun. And running shoes are worth more than a few pound.’





Maggie moved from a jog to a run. Having broken through the pain barrier her breath grew easier. She lifted her arms high so that the air whizzed about her, her hair lifting into the shape of a butterfly’s wings, and she threw her head back and embraced the pleasure of freedom. She gave a last fleeting thought to Jim’s father, Lord Eliot Andrews, and the brief explanatory note left on her son’s pillow. And then she was running again, running faster than she’d ever been able to in her youth. Maggie ran so fast her feet barely touched the ground and when she leapt from the cliff face she finally knew she’d been born to fly.





Only the buffeting from the horse’s ceaseless trot kept Hamish conscious and for once he was grateful for pain. Having awoken him once they were safe on Wangallon, Luke had stayed by his side. His hands grasping the reins when Hamish’s strength failed, talking to him softly, coaxing him with descriptions of the countryside they passed through. Hamish breathed in the scent of the land he loved and it was the land that propelled him onwards.

Through a haze, snippets of Wangallon seared themselves into his memory; an ironbark tree, a woolly ewe, the contemplative stance of a cow. ‘Tell me what you see, Luke.’

‘Open country, miles of it, Father.’

‘What else?’

‘A streak of blue sky. Do you need water?’

‘What else, Luke?’

‘Birds. There’s a great flock in the air. Probably sulphur-crested cockatoos and in the trees I see pigeons. Oh, and a chicken hawk. He’s diving for something in the grass.’

‘It’s late then.’

‘Late afternoon. Can’t you feel the sun on your face?’

Angus flanked his father on the opposite side. He reached out a hand and touched his father’s arm. ‘We’re nearly home, Father. Lee will be able to brew up some potion. He’ll make you better.’

Ahead lay a body. Luke slowed their passage as he recognised the suit and the spear sticking out from the man’s back.

‘What is it?’ Hamish asked.

Luke rode on quickly. ‘Wetherly. Dead.’

‘You’re sure?’

Luke nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘The man was a traitor,’ Hamish said gruffly. Angus’s eyes were wide.

Luke held up a hand to shade his eyes and peered into the far horizon. ‘I can see dust, Father, great balls of it travelling across the sky.’

Hamish slipped a little further in the saddle. ‘Good. That’ll be the herd. Are they far enough away?’

Luke reckoned the distance at about 15 miles from the river. ‘Yes, Mungo’s done a good job. We’re safe.’

They rode on, Luke becoming more hopeful as they grew closer to the homestead. It was possible that Lee would be able to brew up a potion to help ease his father back to health. Against the background of dust he glimpsed the shimmer of the homestead.





They propped Hamish up in his bed. Luke opened the window.

Lee prodded at Luke’s shoulder.

‘Leave it, it’s only a flesh wound. The bullet went straight through.’

‘Let me help you, Luke,’ Claire offered as Lee ministered to Hamish.

Luke brushed her away. ‘No. It is an old scar, Claire.’ He looked at her intently. ‘It will heal. Such things always do, with time.’