Australia: Outback Fantasies: Outback Heiress, Surprise Proposal / Adopted: Outback Baby / Outback Doctor, English Bride. Margaret Way
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to him for support. As a child; as an adult. Still she was afraid. If Bryn wanted her even for a brief moment there was much to be afraid of. In the heat of the moment both of them had taken a great step into the unknown.
‘Francey, I’m sorry. I’ve obviously upset you.’ He could see her anguish.
‘There’s no future in this, Bryn,’ she pleaded. ‘You know that. More likely there will be consequences.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He cut her off more harshly than he knew. ‘You sound like you might never be seen again.’
‘Like Gulla Nolan?’ The name tumbled from her lips. What mysterious force had prompted her to mention him? And why now?
A darkness descended on Bryn’s face. ‘Whatever made you bring up Gulla Nolan?’
‘God knows.’ She found the strength to break away. ‘I can’t pretend I do. His name just came into my mind.’ Her eyes were shimmering like silver lakes. ‘The last thing I want, Bryn, is to threaten our friendship. It means everything to me.’
His handsome features tightened. ‘Francey, I’m much more than your friend.’
She rounded on him. ‘So don’t break my heart. Don’t break Carrie’s heart. I’m speaking for both of us.’
His reply carried swift condemnation. ‘I guess that means you don’t want to break out of your safe little hidey-hole?’
She reacted as if he had slapped her. Her cheeks flushed. ‘You might say that. I have to forget what’s happened here, Bryn. I’m sure you will too. It’s an odd day all round. There’s so much at stake.’
‘Like what?’ he asked sharply, staring at her with what she thought was a lick of contempt.
She reacted by throwing up helpless hands. ‘You know the answer to that. What is it you want from me? Really?’ Tears gathered again behind her eyes. ‘I’ll never forgive you if you tell me those kisses meant nothing.’ Could romantic dreams possibly become romantic nightmares?
The answer was yes.
‘I wasn’t the only one who lost my head, Francey,’ he told her bluntly. ‘If that’s what you’re convinced it was. I always knew there was a lot of passion behind the Madonna façade.’
‘Well, I’m not proud of myself,’ she uttered emotionally. ‘You’re a very sensual man, Bryn. I admit I lost my head. But it’s not as though you intend to make a practice of it.’ What she had most ardently desired was now worrying the life out of her. But such was her perilous world. The world of the Forsyths and the Macallans. Enough money and power to act any way they liked. Great wealth created impregnable cocoons. Carina would not be mocked.
‘I’ll be fighting not to for a while,’ he told her, bitterly sardonic. ‘But let’s leave it there, shall we?’ He turned purposefully towards the door, tall and commanding. ‘This conversation is going nowhere.’
‘Because it can’t.’
His black eyes were full of scorn. ‘So you’re still the little girl afraid to step out of her cousin’s shadow?’
She reacted with spirit, even though she could see the smouldering anger in his eyes. ‘That’s a brutal thing to say, Bryn.’
His laugh cut into her deeply. ‘The truth often is. But I won’t press it further. Not today, anyway. But it’s high time you took up a full life and started slaying your dragons, Francey. You’re the best and the brightest of the Forsyths. Wake up to it.’
It was a pep talk he obviously thought she was badly in need of. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. ‘I’m sorry, Bryn. I’m sorry we got into this.’
‘It didn’t feel like you were sorry when you were in my arms,’ he pointed out, so cuttingly she flushed. ‘Anyway, forget it. What’s done is done.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. She couldn’t bear to see him walk away in anger. She made a huge effort to change the subject before he left. ‘Can you tell me something before you go? Please? Something I’ve always wondered about. That old story of Gulla Nolan … the way he disappeared without trace.’
Bryn froze in his tracks. Hadn’t he mulled over the old mystery for years? How strange Francey should bring it up now. But then that sort of thing often happened with Francey. Over the years she had said many things to catch him off guard and cause him to re-think. ‘What is there to tell? No one knows anything. A thorough investigation was carried out. The tribal people on and around the station were questioned.’
‘Maybe they did know something but feared to speak out.’ She looked back at him, huge-eyed. ‘Who would have believed them anyway? Things being what they were—still are—an aboriginal’s word against the findings of Sir Francis Forsyth? Unthinkable! They hated him with a passion. Maybe they even put a curse on him and his family. My family. My parents—’ She broke off, knowing she was deeply overwrought.
He retraced his steps. ‘No, Francey, no!’ He made no further attempt to touch her. ‘Don’t even go there,’ he warned. ‘My grandfather had Gulla’s disappearance investigated. He shared a real bond with Gulla. But in the end no one knew anything. Gulla went on extended binges. That in itself was a danger. His disappearance is just another bush legend.’
‘You don’t really believe that,’ she said. ‘I can hear it in your voice. You’re just saying it to make me feel better. Even if he had died out there and the dingoes had taken his body the bones would have been found, traces of his clothing.’
Resolutely he turned on his heel, ignoring the dull roaring in his ears. ‘We should go downstairs.’
‘You mean before Carina comes up?’ Her voice shook.
‘Neither of us should put it past her.’ His tone was openly ironic. ‘Look, Francey, I don’t want you walking around in a state of dread. I won’t even look sideways at you if you don’t want it.’
‘Don’t look at me at all might be better.’
He gave a hard, impatient laugh. ‘I can’t go so far as to promise that. So don’t expect it. Let’s just take it one day at a time, shall we? And do try to remember I’m not a married man. Not engaged either, last time I checked.’
Douglas McFadden, distinguished senior partner of McFadden, Mallory & Crawford, the Forsyth family solicitors, was seated behind the late Sir Francis Forsyth’s massive, rather bizarre mahogany desk in the study. The desk was lavishly decorated with ormolu mounts and lions’ feet, the gilded claws extended. Francesca had been truly frightened of those claws as a small child.
Like the rest of the mansion, the ballroom-sized study was hugely over the top. A life-size portrait of Sir Francis in his prime—some seven feet tall and almost as wide, its colours enriched by the overhead light—hung centre stage on the wall behind the desk. It said a great deal for her grandfather—undeniably a strikingly handsome man, if not with the look of distinction the Macallans had in abundance—that the portrait was able to dominate such an impressive room. The artist was quite famous, and he had captured her grandfather’s innerness, Francesca thought. The man behind the mask. Francesca found herself looking away from those piercing, somehow gloating blue eyes.
The beneficiaries, some fourteen in all, looked suitably sober. With the exception of Bryn they were all Forsyths, like herself: some the offspring of her grandfather’s two younger sisters, Ruth and Regina, who wisely lived very private lives, well out of their brother’s orbit. Four of the grandsons, however, worked for Titan. Sir Francis himself had recruited them, as some sort of gesture towards ‘family’. They did their best—they were clever, highly educated—but they could never hope to measure up to Bryn Macallan in any department. At least one of them—James Forsyth-Somerville—knew it. Bryn Macallan was his hero.
Bryn, the outsider, sat as calm and