“His actions are altogether puzzling,” Samuel said thoughtfully. “You say he sent a note to Lydia, asking her to meet him. She goes and he attempts to abduct her. You find out about his plan, intervene, and end up with a bullet in the chest.”
“That’s the jist of it. I couldn’t stop him from leaving with Lydia.”
“I’m surprised she agreed to meet him at all. I thought she made her feelings quite clear to the both of you when she tossed you out of her bedroom window.”
That incident still rankled, but Brigham didn’t show it.
“She did, Mr. Chadwick. At least to me she did. I had quite given up on Marcus’s mad wager. I even told Nathan it was a draw—we both lost. But Nath doesn’t give in so easily. You’ve seen the proof of that. Lydia made an enemy that night.”
Samuel remembered Nathan saying almost those very words. At the time he thought Nathan was referring to Brigham. Now he had reason to understand how wrong he had been.
“My mistake,” Brig went on, “was in thinking I could reason with him. I should have brought help with me. I was trying to avert embroiling your daughter in a scandal. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for her.”
“She was fine when you saw her, though?” Samuel asked anxiously.
Brig had told him so repeatedly, but the older man needed to hear it again. “She was fine. Frightened, but physically well. You must believe that Marcus never intended any harm should come to his daughter. He only wanted to see her.”
Samuel snorted, puffing on his pipe a little harder. “You’re speaking of physical harm. Lydia could be hurt in a thousand other ways. Her note to me said she was eloping with Nathan.”
“She was forced to write it, I’m sure. He meant that she should give the impression of willingness in a play for time. He had to be concerned that you would find them before he could leave the country.” Samuel had never seen the second note meant for him, the one written by Nathan that explained more of the situation than Brigham ever intended to explain. Nathan had meant his missive for Pei Ling’s hands and then Samuel’s, but Madeline intercepted it quite by accident. It had been destroyed long ago and she, perhaps, would have to carry its secrets to her grave.
“He chose a good place to hide in the meantime,” Samuel said, sighing. He had been able to trace Lydia’s message back to the orphanage through the person who delivered it. By then Lydia and Nathan were gone and Father Patrick was unable to tell him anything, bound by his vows at first, then by a stroke that left him paralyzed and speechless. Thus, Samuel was dependent upon Brigham Moore for answers, a situation he approached cautiously and with some repugnance.
“Nathan might have tried to take your life,” he said, “but he also tried to save it.”
“Nothing puzzling in that. That’s the kind of mates we are.” He sat up and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t expect you to understand. We go way back, Nathan and me. I took him in, taught him how to live by his wits on streets meaner than anything you have here. He was my protégé and I was his mentor. I looked out for him for years. It was as much a part of my nature as breathing. Even sentenced to Van Dieman’s Land, I looked out for him until I was released and then I didn’t stop thinking about what would become of him. I traveled to Sydney, took a job in a printing shop, and met Mad Irish through some people there.
“He wanted a son and I made myself one to him. I did everything that man ever asked of me, and I came to love him like a father, but I would have given him the short shrift if he hadn’t taken Nathan in when the time came. Irish had no need for two sons, he said, but he hired Nathan on and let Nath prove himself. And Nathan did what I knew he could. Eventually he was moved from the outbuilding where he stayed with the other jackaroos and stockmen to the main house where I lived with Irish. I wouldn’t have thought then that anything could come between us.”
A ring of blue gray smoke circled Samuel’s head. His eyes were hooded as he took Brigham’s measure. The things he was being told now were all new to him. “My daughter came between you.”
Brig shook his head. He stood and poured himself another drink, leaning against the sideboard when he turned to face Samuel again. “Not your daughter. Marcus’s daughter.”
Ballaburn
“She asleep?” Marcus asked as soon as Nathan entered the parlor.
Nathan nodded. “Molly’s staying with her now.”
“Here, help me into my chair,” he snapped. “Never felt so damn helpless as I did when she fainted like that. What was it all about anyway? Or doesn’t she have any spine?”
Nathan didn’t answer right away. He crossed the room and took Irish’s wheelchair from where it had been relegated to the shadows. Pushing it over, he put it in front of Irish and took the blanket from his lap. Irish braced his powerful arms on the arms of the chair and hauled himself into it while Nathan held it steady. Beads of perspiration dotted his wide brow and he mopped them away impatiently.
“Give me that blanket. Can’t stand looking at these pin legs of mine.”
Nathan handed it over silently and poured whiskey into his tea while Irish tucked it in. Behind him he heard Irish wheel around sharply. “Your daughter has a great deal of spirit, Irish,” he said finally. He stirred his tea, dropped the spoon, and turned around. “Don’t crush it because you’re afraid of her.”
Irish practically sputtered. The expression in his cobalt blue eyes was indignant. “Afraid?” he demanded. “Of her? You’re not thinking clearly, Nath.”
Nathan shrugged. “Have it your way. You’ll lose her, too. She’s got spirit sure enough, but she won’t stand for your abuse. She’ll leave Ballaburn and you’ll never get to know her.”
“She’s your wife,” Irish argued sourly. “She’ll stay.”
“I don’t know how seriously Lydia will take our vows now that she knows she’s been tricked.”
“You’ll make her stay. Or you’ll lose the land. It’s a year, remember? We agreed that she had to stay in the country a year.”
“In the country. Not at Ballaburn.”
