“It’s more puzzling to me why you think you don’t. We both know how much Brig wants Ballaburn. To his credit he tried manipulation first. He wanted me to divorce you and marry him.”
“Is that why you asked me for an annulment?”
“I wanted to hold out some hope to Brig, but I never would have married him. I’d have left the country and you would have been safe. Not being married to either one of you, Irish would have had to rethink what he wanted to do with Ballaburn. I suspect he’d have settled on a fifty-fifty split and you and Brig would come to some kind of agreement on how the place should be managed.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “So you’ve given this matter a great deal of thought.”
“I had, but you wouldn’t grant me the annulment. That changed everything. Nathan, if Brig makes me a widow, then I’m free to marry him. He’ll try to get Ballaburn that way. I left Sydney with you so I could protect you, not the other way around.”
“I was afraid it might be something like that,” he said. “You’re Mad Irish’s daughter, you know that, don’t you?”
“Let’s say I’m beginning to understand what people mean when they say that to me.”
Nathan chuckled. “It’s not entirely a compliment.”
“I’m learning that, too.”
“So how were you going to protect me out here?” he asked.
Lydia did not mistake his tone for anything but patronizing. “I have one of Irish’s guns in my saddlebag,” she said. “No derringer this time. It’s a Remington and I know just enough about using it to make Brig think twice about hurting you.”
Nathan released her immediately. He sat up, looking around for her saddlebag. He found it and the gun inside. Swearing softly and succinctly he put them both down out of her reach.
“Nathan! Put that gun over here!” She started to sit up. The cold and the force of his arm drove her back down again.
“God, Lydia, that you could be so naïve. You’re not to do anything to Brigham, do you hear me? I’ll handle him. I’ve known all along that he might use you to get to me, and if he succeeds, Lydia, he’ll still use you. He’ll make you his wife, take Ballaburn, and at the end of a year you’ll have a very tragic suicide, your wrists slashed, the blood drained out of you. He might rape you first, your hands tied tightly to the headrails of your bed, and it won’t matter if you struggle because I suspect that Brig would like that.”
Lydia’s hands were covering her ears. “Stop it, Nathan! You’re not—”
He took her hands away and held her as closely and tightly as he could. “I love you, Liddy,” he whispered against her ear, then her mouth. “I love you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, do you understand?” He felt her nod and drew her head against his shoulder. His hand nestled in her hair. “I can’t protect you if I’m dead and that’s what I’ll be if you get between Brig and me. That you’re willing to risk so much means everything to me, but I don’t need proof that you love me. God only knows why you do, but I know you’re telling me the truth.”
“Yes,” she said. There were tears pressing against her tightly closed eyes. “Hold me, Nathan. Please, just hold me.
Nathan did. In the stillness of the night, with Lydia’s gentle breathing reminding him of the passage of time, he came to know the profound nature of love.
Chapter 15
Nathan turned away from the small group of stockmen engaged in energetic conversation around him. He didn’t wonder any more how he could always sense Lydia’s approach, he simply accepted it as one of the unique pleasures of loving her so deeply. He strode over to where she had reined in her horse and helped her dismount, relieving her of the wicker basket she carried on her arm. A blue-and-white checked cloth covered the contents of the basket and the deliciously warm fragrance of Molly’s spiced chicken and apple cobbler had Nathan’s mouth watering.
“Well, I like that,” Lydia said as she watched her husband investigate the contents of the basket. “Not so much as a peck on the cheek or it’s-a-pleasure-to-see-you.
Nathan glanced up from the basket, grinning wickedly. His free arm snaked around Lydia’s waist and he jerked her toward him, playfully rough. Bending his head, he caught her mouth with his and kissed her hard and long, breaking off only when his mind registered the light smattering of applause from the circle of men off to his right.
Lydia’s theatrical curtsy in their direction prompted him to take a bow. There were several good-natured taunts that followed Nathan and Lydia as they linked arms and disappeared over the hillock for their picnic.
“Thought I told you never to wear that skirt again,” Nathan said, settling against the trunk of a red gum tree. He felt about her split riding skirt the same way he imagined a randy knight felt about chastity belts: it didn’t belong on his wife when he was around.
Lydia twisted the cloth basket cover and snapped him in the chest with it. “Perhaps my aim should be lower,” she said, eyeing the taut fly of his trousers. “I thought you were going to ravish me back there.”
Nathan routed through the basket, found a chicken leg, and bit into it hungrily. “You can’t decide what you want,” he said around a mouthful of food. “First I get taken to task for not welcoming you properly, then I get the same when I do. I’d be grateful if you’d make up your mind.”
Lydia leaned toward him, taking aim with the twisted tea towel, but at the last moment she unraveled it and carefully tucked one corner in Nathan’s shirt, smoothing the rest of it across his chest like a dinner napkin. She smiled innocently at him as she completed the small wifely task. “Don’t get too used to it,” she said, giving him an arch look. “I came out because Irish is napping and Molly and Tess said there’s no room for me in the kitchen. The coach just left a little while ago. This came for you.” She handed him a small square packet. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, as if it might hold a few coins.
Nathan glanced at it, smiled, and slipped it under his coat to put it in the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Not now.”
