Billy made to step between them but Drummond blocked his path. “How many times do I have to say it before I make myself clear:you’re not welcome here. You’ve no business coming round—hell, you don’t even work for us anymore. You got your bloody landback, grubbing bastard that you are, what else is there to discuss? If there’s some issue with the cattle, you can speak toJoe about it; otherwise, bugger off.”
Again Billy tried to pass. This time Drummond placed a hand on his shirtfront, as if to hold him there, this gray-haired city stiff with round reading glasses and a chin as weak as piss. There were so many things Billy could do to him, the man had no idea. But the longer their standoff continued, the longer Billy refused to retreat, the more the hand on his chest faltered and Drummond’s stare swirled with doubt. So used to being obeyed he became powerless when he was not, and so alien to violence that the prospect clearly terrified him—Billy saw the panic building, the realization of what he’d begun.
He leaned his face closer. “Get out my fucking way.”
Billy barged past him, and something in Drummond’s expression changed. Slack-jawed and gormless, like he’d only just realizedwhat Billy was doing here, why he was so concerned. Billy barked a laugh and mounted the steps, the homestead looming overhim, windows glinting in the sun, and Katherine inside somewhere, carrying his child. He strode along the hall to the atrium,calling out her name, his presence huge in the still, quiet house. Upstairs, around the balcony landing, calling out again,then along the corridor toward her bedroom. A latch clicked, the door opened, and out she stepped wearing a white nightdress,holding herself with both arms. Billy halted. She’d been crying, he could tell, and immediately he guessed what had gone on.He almost went back after him. Could have caught up with that carriage in no time at all. But last night by the campfire he’dvowed to never leave her, to protect her, so instead walked forward hesitantly, as if unsure whether he dared.
“Where were you?” she asked timidly. “Where have you been?”
“Working,” was all Billy could say.
“With him?”
“It was nothing. What happened? Are you hurt?”
“It’s never nothing with that man.”
“Katie, tell me.”
“You first.”
Billy took a long breath, his gaze on the floor. There was ten feet between them; it might as well have been ten miles.
“We went down Drew Bennett’s place, he had a runaway trooper hiding in his barn. I was to mind the family, make sure nothing went wrong. And it didn’t—we just took the boy and left.”
“Why you, though? Why would he want your help?”
“Because Drew knows me. And the runaway was one of them from before.”
“You mean . . . ?”
He nodded. “Noone threatened us, me and you, even Tommy—he knows where he is, said he’d see to it he hangs.”
“He knows where Tommy is? Did he tell you?”
Billy shook his head. “He’ll be lying. But that’s it, that’s all that happened.” He waved at her. “Now it’s your turn.”
She touched her face reflexively, sniffed, wiped her eyes. “Charles, last night . . . well, he didn’t, but he might have done.He certainly tried.”
“He hurt you?”
“No, not really.” A snatch of laughter. “If anything, he came off worse.”
Billy stepped a pace closer, glanced at her midriff, couldn’t help himself. “Is it true? Are you . . . ?”
If she was shocked she didn’t show it. “Who told you? Noone?”
“He said he came here. Somehow he knew.”
She let her arms fall open, looked at herself too. “Yes. I mean, I think so. God, Billy—I’m so scared.”
He went to her, and held her, and she pressed herself against him, no thought about the state of his clothes. He felt hertears warm and wet on his shirtfront, the same spot where not five minutes ago her father’s hand had been. He would show thatbastard. Him and all the rest.
Katherine peeled away. Billy slid a filthy hand to her belly and cupped the tiny bulge, the hand dark against her bright whitecotton nightdress. Billy couldn’t feel anything. He’d expected maybe a pulse or kick. He looked at her doubtfully.
“Are you pleased?” Katherine said.
“Of course I’m bloody pleased. Christ, Katie—come here.”
Tenderly he kissed her and again they embraced and stayed like that for a long time. The rush of their breathing, his heartbeat against her cheek, the warmth of her hands on his back. Holding on so tightly, each all the other had.
* * *
They were married three days later in Bewley’s little church, in front of the whole township, it felt: people crammed intothe benches and stood shoulder to shoulder along the walls. Billy wore a new suit the tailor had rushed through and Katherinewas in the same gown she’d worn last time around—to hell with superstition, she wasn’t waiting for a new one to be made. Noteveryone thought likewise. The wedding had a whiff of scandal about it from the start. There were grumbles that the vicarhad even allowed it in the church, her being a widow and all. But the marriage of a Sullivan—any Sullivan—was as close toa state occasion as the people of Bewley got, and to a local hero, no less. Nonetheless, opinion was divided on the union.Some claimed to have long suspected there was something going on between them; others correctly predicted she’d been knockedup. There were those jealous of Billy’s windfall—a bride like that, plus an empire—while some could see the justice in it,what with Katherine losing her first husband and all Billy had been through as a child. Mostly they said good luck to them.Nobody in their shoes would have turned the opportunity down. You only get this one life, might as well take from it whateveryou can.
And so, before the townspeople, and before God, the sun streaming through the windows as if announcing His presence there, they faced each other at the altar and made their vows, Billy slipping his mother’s wedding ring onto Katherine’s finger, his stomach knotting when it fit. His family should have been
