Mystic Mountains

his hair as black as a raven 's wing.
    Running her fingers over Dougie 's dark head Isabella spared a rare moment's thought for how things would have worked out if Tiger had been willing to accept the child she had carried was his. Not for anything would she give up Dougie, but everyone admitted he was a difficult and troublesome baby.
    "I 'm taking him in now," she said, rising with the sleeping baby cradled against her breast. Gillie said a quiet goodnight, but Dougal said not a word. As she walked to the room Tiger had added to the rear of the house after Tim's birth she heard them talking in lowered tones about the sheep. Always they discussed those blessed sheep.
    She hadn 't allowed Dougal to touch her since before Dougie's birth, and he grew more sullen as the days passed. When she'd told him she didn't wish to be saddled with a baby every year the ensuing quarrel only widened the breach between them.
    " 'Tis nothing to do with having a baby. You just don't want me near you," he'd tossed at her. She hadn't argued with him. How could she, when it was the truth. The thought of his hands on her body filled her with revulsion. Often now Dougal stayed away watching the sheep for days and nights on end. Although she knew it was wrong of her she was happy when he was away. They barely passed a civil word when he was home, and what little respect she'd held for him had long since gone.
    Tiger 's property had expanded and she suspected he was becoming very rich. Often she wondered why he never married one of the free settlers' daughters who twittered after him. It had been common knowledge that he'd courted Prudence Bacon for a few months, and Isabella fully expected an announcement of their wedding. But nothing had come of it. The girl had since become betrothed to a lieutenant in the King's Regiment. Why that should make her feel exultant she wasn't willing to admit to herself.
    When she 'd asked him about it on one of the rare occasions when they'd spoken to each other he'd given her a strange look, before informing her coldly, "When and who I decide to marry is of no concern of yours, madam."
    "True," she 'd replied nonchalantly. "'Tis just that you're dragging your feet somewhat. Don't you want to start a family before you reach your dotage? Don't you desire children to carry on your name after you've gone? A son perhaps to inherit your farm." A demon inside her drove her to taunt him.
    "I have a son," he 'd told her abruptly.
    "Oh, whose?" She shrugged carelessly, cherishing a mome nt of delight when his eyes narrowed to menacing slits. "One of your mistresses'?"
    "I have Tim," he answered through his teeth.
    With a cynical laugh she retorted, "Tim's mine. He has no father. I shall tell him that when he's old enough to know the truth. I shall tell him his father is dead. He may as well be. His father disowned him."
    She really thought Tiger was about to hit her, his face was so twisted with rage. But he hadn't, and she'd faced him with her chin held high.
    "Oh no, I 'll not lay a hand on you in anger, and you know it. But often I feel I could kill you, Bella," he whispered, turning on his heel and striding off, his hands clenched into fists.
    "And I you, " she shouted at his receding back.
    "Do you think Tiger will head over the mountains, Thelma?" she asked as she put the baby into the crib at the foot of her bed and tucked the covers around him. "I know he's talked about it often enough, but is it just a dream with him, d'you think?"
    "Over the hills," Tim chanted.
    Isabella bent over him, smiling as she secured his arms beneath his bedcovers. He promptly set them free, reaching up to grip her about the neck.
    "Tiger fills his head with stories of life over the other side of those blessed mountains," Thelma said, folding Tim 's clothes. "Aye, no doubt about it, Bella, he'll head off. He's been itching to go for years."
    "Often I think they' re all mad to put up with the dry hot days and the floods and the lack of grazing pastures in this harsh land. We were sent here, like it or not, but so many come of their own accord now. And with so many new settlers coming in it's getting mighty crowded."
    "Aye. Governor Macquarie certainly built Sydney into a fine town, but without the farmers producing the grain and animals, the townsfolk won't get far. I suppose Tiger's right in what he says, there's pasture aplenty over yon mountains, so why not give land grants to any who are willing to go off to places unknown and