Darklands Book 2: Something Wild This Way Comes Page 6

  "I don't do vibes, Nathan, you know that."

  "You're a.... “He waved his hand. He'd never actually said the word to her before, nor she to him."

  "I'm a witch, Nathan. And a healer."

  "Well, you must have sensed something.” Nathan tried to rein in his frustration.

  Rowan sat back, considering. “Nathan, she struck me as a very private person. Whatever you or I think or believe or sense, we have to leave it to her until she asks for help."

  "Jeez!" Nathan exploded from his chair, paced toward the window and turned sharply. “She doesn't know anyone in town, except Noelene a little. Who's she gonna ask for help?"

  Max turned from the bench where he was mixing a pancake batter. “Well, maybe she's come here precisely because she wants some privacy. If she is in a bad relationship, maybe she's taking some time out to think about her future. Ro's right, mate, you can't just barge in. You don't even know her."

  "I know ... I know something's wrong.” Nathan's voice was low and fierce. “I found—"

  Rowan raised a slender eyebrow.

  "Nothing.” He looked at his friend. “I want you to talk to her."

  "And say what, precisely?” Rowan eyed him calmly over the rim of her coffee mug.

  "I don't know.” He shrugged, at a loss. “Woman stuff. You know she has a baby girl."

  "Yeah.” Rowan's face softened and she put a hand on her belly and rubbed. “She was a real cutie. I suggested to Camille that she bring Elizabeth to the Mum and Bub clinic on Thursday but she didn't show."

  "Maybe ask her over for coffee, Ro. Tell her you want to ask her advice, you know about—” He pointed to her rounded belly. “Stuff."

  "And with one word he demotes a living miracle to ‘stuff',” murmured Rowan, watching her husband place a plate of fragrant, steaming crepes in the middle of the kitchen table. “Yeah, look, I'll give it another go but I'm making no promises."

  "Great. Thanks, Ro,” Nathan said, and helped himself to one of the delicate little rolled pancakes, dousing it with sugar and lemon.

  "Sure.” Rowan grinned wickedly around her fork. “And if she happens to ask, I'll tell her you're a good sort."

  Nathan couldn't stop the blush from creeping up his neck to his face, making Rowan and Max chuckle. He ignored them and helped himself to two more crepes, followed by a croissant and another mug of coffee.

  The conversation turned to Max's friend Flynn and his disastrous debut as a football commentator on Sydney television, and then to the subject of baby names. Max was still miffed that an ultrasound some weeks before had proven Rowan's prediction correct about the baby's sex. They were having a little girl, and now the debate had turned to names. Implacably, Rowan told him the baby's name would be Isis, but Max was determined to have his say and soon had Rowan and Nathan chuckling with stories of the ridiculous names that the stars gave their babies, from Apple to Moon Unit.

  Nathan watched the way they debated and fought, touching each other frequently and lovingly, without ever making him feel like a third wheel. On first meeting, he never would have picked the somewhat arrogant, debonair Max for easygoing, caring Rowan, but having seen them as a couple for the last year or so, he could see how they rounded each other out.

  He tried to imagine himself having this kind of casual Sunday brunch with someone he loved, but every mind picture was of a slender woman with dark blonde hair and a vulnerable mouth. When he couldn't shake the image, he concentrated on his food until the crepes had disappeared, followed by the croissants. He sighed, patted his stomach and stood up.

  "Gotta go,” he said, helping Rowan clear the detritus from their meal. “Had to stash Mad Dog in a cell last night. He was pretty well gone and I need to see if he's sobered up."

  He also wanted to do some research on Camille Aston but Rowan didn't have to know that. She knew far too much already.

  "All right.” Rowan wandered to the door after him. “Thanks for the croissants. I'll see what I can do to help Camille if she indicates she wants my help, but Nathan.... “She touched his arm. “I won't break a confidence, even for you."

  Nathan kissed her cheek. “Okay, but if you think she's in any danger, stuff like privacy goes out the window, Ro. I have to know."

  He jogged down the weathered stone steps of Ravenswood House, the dogs bounding in his wake until Rowan called them back.

  As he drove down the drive toward the gates, he couldn't see the concern that darkened her eyes.

  * * * *

  Elizabeth wailed and her flailing hand knocked the near-full bottle of milk out of Camille's hand. Camille forced back an oath, picking the bottle up from the veranda for the second time. The day was overcast and sultry and it seemed to be affecting both of their moods. Elizabeth had been uncooperative since she'd woken at six that morning, putting Camille's nerves on edge. The baby had resisted every attempt Camille made to dress her, then she'd tugged on Camille's hair so hard it had brought tears to her eyes, and now the little madam was refusing her milk.

  Blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she wiped the bottle clean and put it to the baby's lips. But Elizabeth wasn't having it, turning her small head away in adamant refusal. Camille gripped her firmly and tried to relax, muttering calming words to the increasingly angry baby. But Elizabeth refused to be pacified and when the child's cries hit top volume, Camille finally gave in.

  She wiped the child's teary face and tried to tuck her into her crib but Elizabeth's body went rigid, her hands in a death grip around Camille's neck. Camille looked down at the little flushed face and sighed. Today was obviously going to be a shitty one so she'd better just give in and let it happen.

  "Poor baby,” she murmured, as the child snuggled her face into the curve of Camille's neck. “Let's just go and sit outside, shall we? It's too muggy to fight in this weather."

  The sky was overcast and low squally clouds were building ominously on the horizon. The wind was hot and spiteful as Camille sank into a cane chair. The garden had wilted under the oppressive heat of the last few days. The hydrangeas drooped their puffy heads and even the drought-loving lavender looked parched. The sky was silent, even the birds were absent, waiting for the cooling southerly wind that the weather forecasters had predicted for later.

  In a wretched half-sleep, Elizabeth wriggled and turned her face, pressing it against Camille's. Her flushed skin was dry and hot, and Camille held her at arm's length for a moment, studying her. The baby's eyes were closed and her mouth was turned down mutinously, emitting the occasional pathetic wail. Camille heaved herself from the chair and went to hunt up the baby thermometer.

  Elizabeth had a bit of a fever, but nothing to get in a stew about, Camille told herself at first. Half an hour later, she shook the thermometer and stuck it back in Elizabeth's ear. The baby tried to twist away, then moaned before falling silent. Camille waited and then read it, a roiling dread growing in her stomach. The baby's temperature had risen another two degrees.

  She wasn't really prepared for this. Of course, she'd read the baby handbook she'd bought after Verity had left Elizabeth with her. But in the weeks since then, the baby had enjoyed such ruddy good health Camille hadn't truly considered the possibility she might get sick.

  She dissolved baby aspirin in apple juice and water, but the baby managed only a few mouthfuls before turning her head fretfully away. Camille took her into the bathroom, the coolest room in the house, and ran a bath. She stripped the child and lowered her gently into the water. Elizabeth cried out as her feverish skin was enveloped by the cool water, but as Camille supported, the baby seemed to relax. Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she slipped into a light doze.

  After five minutes of the cool bath, Elizabeth definitely seemed more comfortable. Relieved, Camille patted her dry, tucked her into a fresh diaper and laid her in her crib with just a cool sheet to cover her. With the night light and baby monitor on, Camille backed quietly out of the room.

  She stood in the dim hallway for a moment list
ening to the wind rattling the window panes in their crumbling wooden frames. For the past hour, she'd been so absorbed with Elizabeth that she hadn't noticed that the storm had arrived. The wind was roaring in from the south, whipping through the trees and keening around the gables of the house. She hurried to shut the windows and doors as the sky above boiled with vicious purple clouds. It was only late afternoon but it was as though a heavenly hand had switched off the lights upstairs. Gloom settled in a tangible pall over the house.

  Despite the drop in temperature with the arrival of the storm, Camille's head throbbed with the combination of the earlier humidity, her worry over Elizabeth and the lingering fear about their situation. She wasn't cut out for this game of cat and mouse. Maybe she should get help. The cop, maybe. Nathan Donnelly. He looked solid, and dependability rated highly in her books—especially now. She bit her lip as she pondered her options. Would Donnelly stick his neck out for her, or would he play it by the book?

  Camille made herself tidy the kitchen and then slumped down in a chair with a glass of wine, but it sat untouched in front of her as tears snaked their way down her face. She took a gulp of wine and let the warmth of it relax her from the inside. By the time she'd finished the glass she felt a little more in control, and her headache had subsided. She probably needed to eat something as she'd not had anything since breakfast. Maybe she'd throw together a salad, then take a soothing bath and turn in early.

  She'd just opened the fridge to hunt up the lettuce when the baby monitor picked up a whimper from Elizabeth's room. Camille halted, waited a second. Another sound. Sighing, she made her way into the little girl's room. Elizabeth watched her approach, her eyes glazed and dull. Fear curdled deep and thick in Camille's stomach as she pressed a hand to the baby's brow finding it burning hot and dry. Elizabeth whimpered again and Camille rushed to get a cool damp cloth, pressing it against the baby's face.

  God, she needed professional help. There was a doctor's surgery in town but it would almost certainly be closed late on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe she should call an ambulance ... but it would have to come from Eden at best, possibly further afield, and by the time they made their way down the rutted track it would be an hour or more.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth, thinking. The woman with the hugely pregnant belly! What was her name? Rowan something. She knew about babies. Maybe she'd be in the phone book.

  Five minutes later, Camille was ready to scream. She'd turned the house upside down looking for the phone directory and turned up nothing.

  Making herself breathe slowly and deeply, she considered her options. She knew where Rowan lived. There was a risk, of course, that she might be out on a Sunday night but in her stage of pregnancy it more likely she was sitting in the most comfortable chair she could find while her husband massaged her feet or back, or whatever bit was aching most today.

  Decided, she grabbed the keys and returned to Elizabeth's room. Seeing her, the baby gave a fretful moan, then closed her eyes as though it was all too much effort. Camille slipped a tee-shirt on her unresisting little body and wrapped her snugly in a cotton blanket, hiding her face from the whipping wind as she crossed to the car.

  As she drove off, Camille caught her reflection in the rear vision mirror, noting her untidy hair and frightened eyes, and tried to get a grip on her emotions. She didn't want to scare Rowan into premature labor. Smiling grimly, she gunned the engine and in less than five minutes was downshifting for the climb up the hill. It all seemed oddly familiar. The narrow road, barely wide enough for two cars to pass, with dark trees overhanging the road and dense forest on either side. Around a sharp bend huge iron gates loomed, the stone gateposts topped by snarling beasts looking as though they had their prey in sight.

  Camille shivered and averted her gaze as she drove between the posts and up to the vast stone house. Sheer walls were topped by small ornate turrets and even a widow's walk, all in warm sandstone with a dark green slate roof. It should have appeared intimidating, but lights spilled from the windows, and the sound of a Tchaikovsky symphony, accompanied by the intermittent yapping of dogs, made it seem less like a castle and more like a home.

  She unstrapped Elizabeth and rewrapped her tightly in a cotton blanket against the chilly evening, before reaching for the pull bell to the side of the front door. The frantic barking inside the house rose a notch and she heard the skitter of paws through the heavy door. She hoped Rowan Byrne didn't keep Dobermans.

  The door was wrenched open by a tall man with a moodily handsome face, short dark hair and piercing black eyes. Two black labrador faces peered round his legs, greeting Camille with joyous barking as though she were a long lost friend.

  The man frowned at her, evidently wondering if he should know her.

  "I'm sorry,” she started, hurriedly trying to explain. “I wondered if ... Rowan ... my baby's sick."

  The man glanced at the bundle in her arms and his frown grew more intense as he saw the child's flushed face. “Come in,” he ordered gruffly and took Elizabeth from her resisting arms. “It's okay. Down, Violet, Jet! Into the kitchen.” The two young labradors gave up their boisterous greeting and slunk off into the kitchen, brushing past Rowan as she waddled out.

  "What—oh, hi.” Her face broke into a questioning smile as she saw Camille.

  "I'm sorry,” Camille said. “I know it's Sunday night but I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. It's just that she's burning up and I thought—"

  "Don't worry, you did the right thing.” Rowan reached out to squeeze her hand and tugged her along in the wake of the tall dark man who carried Elizabeth. He took her into what seemed to be a casual living room and laid her down on the threadbare couch.

  "By the way, in case he didn't introduce himself, the man who just commandeered your child is Max,” Rowan told Camille as Max felt the baby all over. He reached into a bag, pulled out a stethoscope and listened to her heartbeat. “He's a doctor."

  Max looked up. “She has a high fever but she's not in any danger. Have you given her anything?"

  "I tried to get her to take baby aspirin but she refused most of it,” Camille whispered. “She just seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. Can you do anything to bring her temperature down?"

  Rowan shuffled her way to the couch and gently pushed her husband aside. “I think this is where I come in. Hello, little one. Remember me?” she cooed as Elizabeth's dull eyes fixed on her. “Let's see what we can do to make you feel better."

  She laid the slender fingers of both hands on the baby's cheeks and let them lie there for seconds. Camille saw that Rowan's eyes were half closed and she seemed to be in a sort of trance. Elizabeth lay still under her hands, her blue eyes fixed on Rowan's face.

  "What...?” murmured Camille, confused, but Max drew her away.

  "Come on,” he muttered. “You look like you could use a cup of tea. Rowan's got something horribly herbal that'll do the trick."

  "But, Elizabeth—"

  "Is fine,” he said calmly and steered her out of the room and into the kitchen. He filled the kettle and grabbed mugs from the old-fashioned pine wall cabinet. “Can you get the chocolate biscuits from the fridge. Rowan's not allowed to have them but watching us eat them might give her some sort of vicarious pleasure.” His mouth quirked up in a half-grin, transforming his features from stern to austerely handsome. For the first time Camille saw what must have attracted the dazzlingly vibrant Rowan to him.

  Elizabeth whimpered in the next room and Camille turned frantically to go to her until Max laid a calming hand on her arm. “It's okay. Let Rowan do her thing."

  What thing? Camille wanted to ask as she grabbed the biscuits from the fridge and plonked them on the kitchen table. Surely the baby needed medicine. She opened her mouth but Max got in first.

  "Has Elizabeth ever had a fever like this before?"

  "I don't.... “Elizabeth started and stopped. “No, she's always been perfectly healthy.” She avoided Max's eyes as she took the mug of tea he ha
nded her. She took a sip and grimaced. Max gave a bark of laughter.

  "It's revolting isn't it, but Rowan swears that it has calming properties. Would you rather Earl Grey? That's what I'm having."

  Camille handed over the mug gratefully and took the steaming Earl Grey. She sipped it and felt the warmth of the brew spread through her body. “Thanks,” she murmured gratefully, one ear attuned to the next room where the baby's fretful moans had calmed.

  "Must have given you a hell of a shock,” Max said, tipping the biscuits onto a plate. “But babies have fevers and colds all the time. She'll be right as rain tomorrow. Come and sit down."

  He sat at the rustic, broad-planked pine table that dominated the kitchen. Newspapers and baby name books littered the top and he swept them to one side.

  "Do you know what sex the baby is?” said Camille nodding at the baby books.

  "Rowan—and now medical technology—convinces me it's a girl,” he said just as Rowan came round the door cradling the sleeping Elizabeth in her arms. The baby's trademark snore rose in volume with each breath.

  "Out like a light. Poor kid was exhausted.” Rowan laid her in Camille's arms and sat down slowly in her chair, one hand kneading her back until Max's stronger ones took over. “Oooh,” she moaned with pleasure. “Don't stop."

  "The fever's gone.” Camille frowned as she stroked the blonde curls back from the baby's forehead. “What did you give her?"

  "Oh, she just nodded off on her own,” said Rowan airily. “Mmm.” She took a gulp of the herbal tea, which she seemed to find perfectly palatable. “You should get a good night's sleep tonight. Both of you.” She glanced up, studied Camille's drawn face. “Look like you could do with it."

  "We didn't have a great day today,” said Camille softly. “She was cranky from the moment she opened her eyes, and with the heat and humidity...."

  "Oh, tell me about it,” moaned Rowan. “With the hot flushes I was getting, I thought menopause had come twenty-five years early."

  Camille laughed. “Anyway, thanks. I feel really silly bothering you over a fever that just disappeared on its own, but I.... “She caught a knowing glance to Rowan sent by Max. “What?"