Mystic Mountains

hear his breathing as he stood there for immeasurable minutes. Then he tapped lightly on the wood and called her name.
    Isabella held her breath. There was no lock on the door. He could just push it open and enter. What did he think she was? Did he really expect to come crawling to her bed and she would just let him in? But he did nothing more than call her name again, and when she didn't answer he went away.
    She relaxed, returning the candlestick she 'd been gripping to the bedside chest. Frightened that if she lay down she would doze off she sat for at least a half hour, listening to Tiger moving about next door. Eventually there was silence in the house.
    Not bearing to dwell on what she was doing in case she weakened, she picked up the small bundle of belongings she 'd shoved beneath the bed. She checked that the long-bladed knife she'd stolen was fixed securely down her belt. With one long look about the room that had been such a joy to her until the night he'd shattered all her hopes, she opened the door carefully and peeped out.
    The house sighed and groaned as it settled for the night. A mouse scampered across the rug, heading for a gap at the side of the fireplace. Tiptoeing across the kitchen, Isabella propped the letter by the lamp in the middle of the table. Her only regret was leaving Thelma and Dougal without telling them where she was going. But she wasn't sure of her destination, and didn't want them coming after her.
    Before she could change her mind she went out and closed the front door, setting off down the path resolutely. It was a cloudy night with the promise of a storm in the air. Her bundle wasn 't heavy, for she'd not brought much with her. What did she need with the things Tiger Carstairs had given her? Her new owner would supply her with the essentials. Striding out along the road to town she experienced a moment's regret for what she'd left behind. In a wild fit of rage and frustration she'd taken a knife to the gown she'd worn to the ball, ripping it to shreds.
    Her anger gave her strength, and for the first few miles she kept up a steady pace, but as she neared the town her spirits began to droop along with her energy.
    She would make for Gracie's place of employment. The government official she worked for would put her in touch with the right authority. If she ended up at Parramatta in the female factory, so what? Tiger had turned her into a whore, so if she had to satisfy the lusts of the officers in that brothel at least she could begin to earn a few pennies of her own.
    At that thought she sank down by a tree, curling her legs beneath h er. How had her life, which looked so promising, turned into this desolate mire? She would have done just as well to have gone with Malloy that first day. He wanted her for one purpose alone, but Tiger had turned out to be no different. The only difference was she'd foolishly given him her heart. What a fool. Life didn't hand out happy endings to people like her.
    Scra mbling to her feet, she walked on. She'd only once been to the home where Gracie worked. Uncertain of the exact whereabouts she stood in the shadow of a double storey building while she took her bearings. Looking up she saw she was on the corner of Pitt Street and King Street. It wasn't far from there, she knew.
    Gnawing her lip she listened to the noises coming from the wharf area. She would be able to get a job down there easily enough. But did she have the audacity to just walk into a tavern and ask for work? No. The thought of entering one of those vile dens sickened her. Ever since Malloy kidnapped her she'd lived in fear of entering The Rocks. Remembering that night brought on memories of Tiger, and how he'd rescued her. Was she a fool for running away? Could she have borne a life as his whore?
    Shaking her head she emerged from her hiding place and stealthily limped on. She went rigid with fright when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and the strong aroma of rum, tobacco and sweat surrounded her. Her captor 's other hand gripped her about the waist, so tightly it nearly cut off her breath.
    "Well, well, what 's a nice little tart like you doing poking about in my territory, eh?" When she tried to struggle free the man laughed evilly. "It's not often I get such a juicy bit of female flesh practically falling in me lap." He guffawed, squeezing one of her breasts until she cried out at the pain. "Yes, very juicy." With a small sound of surprise he discovered her weapon and