“Don’t split hairs. That’s not in the spirit of the wager and you know it. She must stay at Ballaburn.”
Nathan’s cup and saucer rattled as he set them down hard. “Word for word,” he said tightly, “the wager with Brig and me was this. Find my child. If Madeline had a son Ballaburn will be split equally among the three of you. But if she’s a daughter, and she’s unmarried, the man who brings her to Ballaburn wedded to him and can keep her in the country a full year after the marriage will receive the lion’s share of the land. The other will receive only the lion.” He raked back his hair, reined in his temper, and proceeded more softly. “The lion, as we both know, is that plot of land extending down from Lion’s Ridge to Willaroo Valley. It’s—”
“A thousand acres,” Irish interjected.
“Of scrub and sand and treacherous gullies. The only part of Ballaburn that amounts to less than nothing. It’s been mined and bored and it’s yielded neither gold nor water. You knew what you were about when you offered it as the loser’s prize. Well, I’ve won, Irish. I’ve brought your daughter to Ballaburn. I can keep her Down Under. But if you want to keep her at Ballaburn that’s your affair.” He started to walk away, going four steps before Irish called out to him.
“Don’t you leave me, damn you!” Irish yelled. “The land isn’t yours yet. The year’s not up and I’m not dead. I don’t even know that sheismy daughter. You haven’t offered me proof of that.”
Nathan halted in his tracks and turned slowly. “It’s Nathan you’re talking to. Not Brig. He entertained the idea of bringing a fake, not me.”
Irish’s smile was smug. “That’s why I sent both of you. Knew that together you’d keep each other honest in your own fashion.” He waved Nathan over to the chair he had vacated. “Now sit down and tell me what’s happened. Your letter of two months ago was short on detail and Lord knows I can’t believe half of what I’ve heard since you’ve arrived in Sydney.”
Nathan hesitated. Mad Irish certainly had a way about him. Domineering. Demanding. Impatient. He was also one of the finest men Nathan had ever known. With a self-mocking grin, Nathan sat down and began answering the questions Irish fired at him.
It was at the end of the lengthy interrogation that Molly Adams poked her head through the open doorway. “I’m taking some tea and biscuits to Lydia now,” Molly said. “She’s awake and asking to see you, Nathan.”
Nathan nodded. “Get her whatever else she wants, Molly, and tell her I’ll be right there.”
“She didn’t ask for me?” Irish asked. Though he was unaware of it, Molly and Nathan both heard the thread of hope in his request, the need and anxiety he would not admit.
“Just Nathan,” said Molly. “And you’re lucky, Irish. Unless I miss my guess, she plans to tear a strip off of him.”
“I’m coming,” Nathan repeated. Molly disappeared and he heard her heavy tread on the stairs. “Molly’s probably right about what Lydia wants. You can hardly appreciate what you set in motion, Irish, and goddamn me for wanting what you offered. Ten years ago I would have been satisfied with the lion.”
Lydia wasout of bed when Nathan entered the room. The covers on the large four-poster were disheveled as though it had been recently and hastily vacated. On either side of the bed was a large window with cream-colored curtains that were drawn back. Sunlight fell on the hardwood floor in two long rectangular patches. The room itself was exactly the way Nathan remembered it.
There was an armoire situated at an angle in one corner, a highboy dresser, oval tables beneath each window, one with a pitcher and basin and linens, the other with a lamp and a stack of books. A rocker, which was rarely used for anything but a pants rack, sat facing the fireplace. The mantel was bare. Their trunks and valises littered the floor but only some of the luggage was open and no attempt had been made to find a place for any of their belongings.
Lydia was standing in the stream of sunlight. There was a penumbra of soft golden color about her head and wisps of sable hair took on a fiery brilliance. Light glanced off her white shoulders and sifted through the cotton shift she was wearing. She dropped the gown she had been holding over the back of the rocker and her hands fell straight to her sides. She stood there, still and proud and silent, tearing a strip off Nathan with nothing more than her dignity.
Nathan shut the door behind him and leaned against it, waiting. When Lydia stepped out of the sunlight he could see the path of dried tears on her pale face. Her eyelids looked tender and swollen and the expression in her dark blue eyes was not accusing, but grieving.
“I’ve remembered everything,” she said quietly.
His eyes closed briefly and behind him his hands folded into tight fists. There was a deeply felt ache inside him that was only hinted at in his voice. “I thought that you had.”
“I can’t even think how to say how much I despise you.” She raised her arms and crossed them in front of her protectively. “It’s all been a lie.”
Nathan didn’t say anything.
Lydia looked away quickly and forced back the sob that hovered on her lips. After a moment she said, “Tell me about Brigham. Did I really shoot him?”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly, as if she expected the answer but had hoped it might be different. “I thought perhaps it was part of the game you both were playing with me, some sort of trickery to make me think I had killed him.”
“No trickery,” said Nathan. He pointed to the open valises. “You were looking for the gun?” She nodded again. “I got rid of it shortly after you found it onAvonlei.I didn’t want you to hurt yourself with it.”
“Or hurt you.”
“That had also occurred to me.”
Unable to meet his eyes, Lydia stared at a point just over Nathan’s left shoulder. “Father Patrick didn’t marry us.”
“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“And all that time on boardAvonlei...”
