Raking his long fingers through his hair, Zach stood. He stretched his long body, against the pain of bruises that could be seen and those carried deep in his soul, those that couldn't be seen. The pendant was clutched in his hand.
"Was my father serving his sentence when you met him?"
"Aye, seven years. The same as me. We were both given conditional pardon by the territorial government; we were free men, so long as we never attempted to return to England."
The brilliant diamonds and luminous pearls glowed with hidden light. Zach's cold fingers closed over the pendant, the glow stealing into his aching flesh. Felicia Barrington. Some half-formed thought lingered just at the fringe of memory, like something he'd once known and had now forgotten. It was the same feeling he'd had when he'd first seen her name in the journal, like a memory that refused to be remembered but teased at him, nevertheless. It was like the night voices he often heard out in the wilds of Resolute, carried on the wind. The voices of Dreamtime.
He shook his head, unable to understand the nagging restlessness that pulled at him. Now that he'd come home, he realized the answers weren't here. He slammed the door of the small office behind him, the loud snap distant and remote, like the closing of another door, in another time and place.
Something indefinable turned his gaze in the direction of the mountains and beyond, to the sea. He'd promised... something. What, and to whom? His fingers slowly uncurled, and he stared at the pendant, wondering about the woman it had once belonged to. Retracing his steps to the main house, he climbed the stairs and slumped across his solitary bed. Visions of a beautiful young woman filled his imagination and claimed his Dreamtime, echoing the promise.
"Yer daft, clean out of yer mind!" Tobias burst into the wood-paneled office in the main house. The collar of his shirt was askew, his thinning hair was mussed, and his skin had a blotchy pallor due to the whiskey he'd consumed the night before. Bloodshot eyes fixed on the object of their attention across the monkey-wood desk.
"You can't go to England! Yer a wanted man!" He clutched at the desk edge, weaving slightly off center of firm footing as the room suddenly seemed to move uncertainly about him.
"Sit down before you fall down," Zach commanded gently. Reaching across the desk, he pressed a signed voucher into the hands of his foreman, Jimmy Nymagee, known by most as, simply, Jingo. "That should cover any expenses for Resolute while I'm gone. If anything else comes up, you're to see my solicitor in Sydney."
Jingo nodded, grunting out a response only Zach would have understood.
"When ya comin' back?" he mouthed, his speech an odd mixture of English and his native language.
He was full-blood aboriginal and the best foreman Resolute ever had. His ancestors had roamed this valley for generations.
Zach Tennant had saved him from hanging at the hands of the Queen's regulars when both men were young, and he'd hidden Jingo at a remote herder's cabin high in the hills. Loyalty ran deep among the natives. As Jingo saw it, Zach had saved his life, so he was bound to return the favor. Not wanting Jingo to risk life and limb, Zach had convinced him to stay on at the station. And so, Jingo was another who came to Resolute and never left. With Megan's approval, Zach made him foreman at the sheepherding station, and there was no one more knowledgeable about this valley or the mountains beyond. Over the years, Jingo proved his loyalty ran blood deep. He taught Zach the ancient tribal customs of his people, and Zach taught him how to twist the tail of the Queen's enforcers.
"It's a long voyage. We'll have good wind this time of year, but we'll be to sea at least four months. It may be as long as a year before we can get back; that is, if they don't catch me." Zach's twisted half-smile could have meant he was perfectly serious, or sharing one of his many jokes with his friend. Tobias came up out of his chair.
"You can't go to England," he exclaimed. They'll hang you fer certain!"
Zach chose to ignore him for the moment, giving Jingo final instructions. "Minnie will be here to supervise the house. Justin and Rufus will help you with the ranch."
"What about that next season wool? Ya want for me to ship it downriver to Sydney?"
Zach shook his head. "It's too dangerous. When the shearing's done, have the wool processed for storage and transported to MacDonald's warehouses in Adelaide. The British will never look for Resolute wool that far from Sydney.
"It's a longer trip, but I want things to quiet down while I'm gone. That will make the damned watchdog fat and lazy. And make certain you keep the men working on that new area. Post guards if you have to. Just don't leave any witnesses if things go bad with the authorities."
"Right ya are, boss." Jingo tipped his sweat-stained hat, another expression fastening on his face. "Wish I be goin' with ya to that bloody England," he grumbled.
"I need you here, my friend. I can't trust anyone else with Resolute now that Megan's gone."
"Yeah, boy, she sure one fine lady. I'll take care everything here!" He nodded, tucking the voucher inside his shirt pocket. Then he turned and left.
"Now, you were saying?" Zach turned to Tobias and settled into the chair behind the desk, carefully rechecking the list of instructions he'd made for the running of Resolute in his absence.
"Just what the bloody hell do you think yer doin'? You can't go to England! Have you lost all reason, man?" He groaned at his own words, pressing the heels of his hands against his aching eyes.
Zach turned in the chair behind the desk, to stare out the wall of windows. He only half-listened as Tobias continued to argue. His gray eyes, weary from lack of sleep the night before, scanned the valley.
Felicia. In the light of day, the name still haunted him. What had she meant to his father? As he read the journal through the long hours of the night, he felt himself drawn by some intangible force behind the neatly scribed words on the faded paper.
Questions with no answers. Instead of providing him insight to the man his father had been, the journal had only raised more questions. He turned the chair back. Tobias had finally worn down, the effects of the whiskey draining him of all energy.
"Yer a wanted man," the old man pleaded with outstretched hands. Then he slumped into a chair opposite the desk and hung his head, shaking it slowly from side to side.
"They'll hang ya, if you so much as set foot on English soil. It's too dangerous." He raised his head, bloodshot eyes fixing on Zach.
"It's the Raven they want, not me," Zach responded with a smile.
