mouth contorted
furiously. His blue eyes flashed to hers. Before he could take whatever form of
retaliation he was considering, Sarah clapped her heel to Malahky’s side.
Already made nervous by the unaccustomed human tension surrounding him, Malahky
bolted. Sarah nearly lost her seat as he lunged past Gallagher and out the
door.
Her ride was ruined, of course. Sarah laughed almost hysterically
as she considered how that thought bothered her. Her first hour of freedom in
nearly two weeks, and the taunting insolence of a convict spoiled it. The laugh
died as she thought of the gash her blow had opened in his cheek. He had looked
shocked at first, and then furious. She didn’t want to speculate on what
form his anger might have taken if she hadn’t removed herself so
precipitously from the vicinity. After all, he was a convicted criminal; she
doubted that he was a stranger to violence. From his expression as he had
stared at her after she had hit him, she knew he had been contemplating
inflicting it on her. Sarah felt sick as she remembered the blood on his
fingers and cheek; blood from a blow she had struck deliberately, in anger. She
had never done such a thing before; she hoped never to do such a thing again.
But something would have to be done about Gallagher. Her father had been right
all those days ago on the
Septimus:
the man was dangerous. He was also
insolent, and brutish, and . . . She thought of his hands touching her waist,
her knee, remembered the heat and hardness of them, and felt her stomach
quiver. The reaction she had felt then, and felt again now, remembering, was
revulsion, pure and simple. There was nothing else it could be. The man was a
convict. Sarah knew that if she gave her father or Percival even the smallest
inkling of how he had behaved toward her, Gallagher would be punished. But did
she want to be the cause of another beating like the one he had suffered on the
Septimus
? On her behalf, her father would be ruthless, she knew. And
Percival would enjoy having Gallagher under the whip. The memory of that
earlier beating made her stomach churn alarmingly. In that moment she knew that
she could never wittingly expose another human being to such agony. But neither
could she live the next fifteen years fearing to go outdoors on the off chance
that she might encounter Gallagher and he might take his revenge for the way
she had hit him. It was absurd even to think of it. He would have to be got rid
of. But how could she manage that without revealing her reasons to her father?
Sarah was so caught up in worrying about the matter that she
scarcely noticed when Malahky turned away from the river to head for the grove
of eucalyptus that was his favorite munching spot. Sarah let him have his head,
knowing that Malahky could be trusted eventually to amble back to the homestead
without getting them lost. Which brought her thoughts back full circle to the
problem at hand: how was she going to return Malahky to the stable with
Gallagher there?
The eucalyptus grove, with its bubbling mineral spring that kept
the surrounding foliage green despite the drought, was a lovely spot, but Sarah
was in no mood to enjoy it. Even the beauty of the pink and gray galahs that
rose from the shaggy tree ferns as Malahky approached failed to distract her
from her thoughts. Here where the grass was green, Malahky grazed with relish
on the first living blades he had seen in weeks. Sarah sat on his back, hands
resting lightly on the pommel, absently listening to the gurgle of the spring
and the whistling cry of a rosella in a nearby smoke tree. What was she going
to do about—
Hands closing brutally around her waist brought her instantly back
to the present. She was being dragged backward from the saddle. Malahky,
frightened, reared and ran out from under her. Even as she screamed and had the
scream abruptly cut off by a man’s hard hand on her mouth, she thought
that what she
furiously. His blue eyes flashed to hers. Before he could take whatever form of
retaliation he was considering, Sarah clapped her heel to Malahky’s side.
Already made nervous by the unaccustomed human tension surrounding him, Malahky
bolted. Sarah nearly lost her seat as he lunged past Gallagher and out the
door.
Her ride was ruined, of course. Sarah laughed almost hysterically
as she considered how that thought bothered her. Her first hour of freedom in
nearly two weeks, and the taunting insolence of a convict spoiled it. The laugh
died as she thought of the gash her blow had opened in his cheek. He had looked
shocked at first, and then furious. She didn’t want to speculate on what
form his anger might have taken if she hadn’t removed herself so
precipitously from the vicinity. After all, he was a convicted criminal; she
doubted that he was a stranger to violence. From his expression as he had
stared at her after she had hit him, she knew he had been contemplating
inflicting it on her. Sarah felt sick as she remembered the blood on his
fingers and cheek; blood from a blow she had struck deliberately, in anger. She
had never done such a thing before; she hoped never to do such a thing again.
But something would have to be done about Gallagher. Her father had been right
all those days ago on the
Septimus:
the man was dangerous. He was also
insolent, and brutish, and . . . She thought of his hands touching her waist,
her knee, remembered the heat and hardness of them, and felt her stomach
quiver. The reaction she had felt then, and felt again now, remembering, was
revulsion, pure and simple. There was nothing else it could be. The man was a
convict. Sarah knew that if she gave her father or Percival even the smallest
inkling of how he had behaved toward her, Gallagher would be punished. But did
she want to be the cause of another beating like the one he had suffered on the
Septimus
? On her behalf, her father would be ruthless, she knew. And
Percival would enjoy having Gallagher under the whip. The memory of that
earlier beating made her stomach churn alarmingly. In that moment she knew that
she could never wittingly expose another human being to such agony. But neither
could she live the next fifteen years fearing to go outdoors on the off chance
that she might encounter Gallagher and he might take his revenge for the way
she had hit him. It was absurd even to think of it. He would have to be got rid
of. But how could she manage that without revealing her reasons to her father?
Sarah was so caught up in worrying about the matter that she
scarcely noticed when Malahky turned away from the river to head for the grove
of eucalyptus that was his favorite munching spot. Sarah let him have his head,
knowing that Malahky could be trusted eventually to amble back to the homestead
without getting them lost. Which brought her thoughts back full circle to the
problem at hand: how was she going to return Malahky to the stable with
Gallagher there?
The eucalyptus grove, with its bubbling mineral spring that kept
the surrounding foliage green despite the drought, was a lovely spot, but Sarah
was in no mood to enjoy it. Even the beauty of the pink and gray galahs that
rose from the shaggy tree ferns as Malahky approached failed to distract her
from her thoughts. Here where the grass was green, Malahky grazed with relish
on the first living blades he had seen in weeks. Sarah sat on his back, hands
resting lightly on the pommel, absently listening to the gurgle of the spring
and the whistling cry of a rosella in a nearby smoke tree. What was she going
to do about—
Hands closing brutally around her waist brought her instantly back
to the present. She was being dragged backward from the saddle. Malahky,
frightened, reared and ran out from under her. Even as she screamed and had the
scream abruptly cut off by a man’s hard hand on her mouth, she thought
that what she
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