Kingdom's Dream (4 page)

‘Just thinking,' he said mildly. He never raised his voice to Rhiannon the way he did to the men who worked for him. Then he went on, ‘Just thinking that the work on the line isn't progressing as it should. We're at least three weeks behind.'

‘Well, love, you know as well as I do that some jobs always do take longer. It's the weather as much as anything and no one can blame you for that.'

‘Still, it sticks in my craw that men like Seth O'Connor encourage the navvies to take time off on the lamest excuse. They claim they're sick when they're just full of beer and worn out with whoring.'

Rhiannon came closer, her eyes speaking volumes. ‘Well, Bull, a bit o' that's a good thing, isn't it?'

He felt his loins begin to ache. Rhiannon had that effect on him. He stared at her, trying to analyse what it was about her that he needed. He felt affection for her, but not love. And she didn't make him feel ten feet tall the way Katie Cullen did.

Rhiannon was lovely to look at even now, in her plain gown, the fullness of her breasts emphasized by her tiny waist. But she was a camp woman. She had been a camp woman when he met her and she had never pretended to be anything else. He wondered how many men she had slept with. She was only about twenty-two, with a fine skin browned by the sun and dark hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, but she had lived life to the full.

‘Why are you lookin' at me like that, Bull?' Her eyes slanted up at him. ‘Fancyin' a bit of lovin', are you, boy?'

‘Aye, but I've got work to do.' He rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘What – now? It's getting late, Bull, time you came home with me and let me look after you – like a wife would.'

Bull looked up at the dying sun, at the red seeping among the clouds that threatened more rain. More time lost, more days to spend living rough in a shed at the side of the track. ‘Don't say that, Rhiannon.'

She hugged his arm. ‘I don't really want to be your wife, I'm happy as I am.' But she was lying, and they both knew it.

‘Go on you, make a brew and I'll get back as soon as I've finished here.' He needed to talk to the engineer: the next consignment of sleepers, bolts and screws had not been delivered, and no man could build a railway without the right tools. And later, when it was supper-time at the Big House, he would be seeing Katie again.

He found Cookson seated in the public bar of the Castle. The inn was crowded with navvies, and thick smoke filled the room, hanging like a pall over the heads of the drinkers.

‘Something wrong?' The engineer indicated a chair. ‘Sit down and talk, man, I don't like the look on your face.'

‘I need supplies.' Bull sat opposite Cookson, aware of the other's fine clothes, the crisp linen and good leather boots he wore. He rubbed his calloused hands along his moleskin trousers and vowed that one day he, too, would dress in fine clothes.

‘I know, and I'm making enough noise about them to wake the dead.' Cookson smoothed his beard. ‘The materials are on their way, that's all I can say.' He waved to the landlord. ‘I'll get you a beer. It's time you relaxed a bit, man.'

Bull sank back in his seat. Cookson was right: he needed respite like everyone else. He closed his eyes briefly and a vision of the little Irish girl flashed into his mind.

‘Evenin', sir, Bull.'

Bull looked up to see Dan O'Connor standing beside him. ‘Won't take up much of your time. I jest wanted to say you did good to stop the men fussin' that little girl. She was so frightened she was run over by a carriage, wasn't she?'

Bull frowned. ‘It's no thanks to your brother that she wasn't killed. Your Seth was disrespectful to her, and if he acts like that again he'll find himself out of a job.'

‘I know, and that's why I'm offerin' an apology, see? Seth don't mean no harm – it's just that the drink runs away with what little sense he's got.' He touched his forelock to Cookson. ‘Sorry to take up your time, sir, but I jest needed to have me say.'

When Dan had gone Cookson leaned forward in his seat. ‘I don't know what he was referring to but I do know some of these navvies can't behave properly around a decent woman.'

‘It was a young Irish girl, sir, Katie Cullen, sweet little thing, but no real harm done, I assure you.'

‘And that's because you stepped in. You're a good man to have around, Bull. I've got a lot of respect for you, and one day I hope to get you some kind of promotion. In the meantime, see the young girl in question gets an apology from me.'

‘I'll do that,' Bull said, smiling. Even if he was spotted hanging around the Big House he had the perfect excuse to do so now.

Katie saw him before he saw her. Bull Beynon was walking swiftly uphill and her heart lifted. She had escaped from the house without too much trouble although Cook had been more than a little suspicious when she said she needed some air.

‘Air?' Mrs Grinter had sniffed. ‘Everyone knows night air does more harm than good. Still, I suppose this is one of your funny Irish ways.' Mrs Grinter was never going to accept that Katie had been born and bred in Swansea.

Bull was coming nearer and Katie fell back into the shadow of the doorway. He did not see her until he was pushing open the back gate and walking up the path through the lavender bed.

As she looked at him now in the evening light she noticed that his hair was thick and springy, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal powerful arms. She felt a surge of triumph that such a man was even bothering to talk to her, but that was quickly followed by common sense: he was so good-looking, so manly, that he probably had hordes of women chasing after him.

‘Evening, Miss Cullen,' he said. ‘The engineer, Mr Cookson, asked me to give you his apologies for the men's uncouth behaviour.'

‘Oh, I see.' Katie felt disappointment. ‘I suppose that's your only reason for coming all the way up here, is it?'

‘No, of course not,' Bull said quickly, ‘I told you I'd be here and I always try to keep my word.' He leaned against the wall of the house. ‘But if I'm asked any awkward questions I've got a good answer. I can hardly disobey my boss's express wishes, can I?'

Katie smiled. ‘No, I suppose you can't.' She looked at him, not knowing what else to say. Why was she so stupid, so tongue-tied? She really wanted to make a good impression on him.

Suddenly the back door opened and Mrs Grinter was on the step. ‘What you up to, Katie Cullen?' She stared at Bull in disapproval. ‘And who are you, might I ask?'

Bull smiled. ‘I'm Bull Beynon, foreman on the railway,' he said easily. ‘My boss Mr Cookson was worried about Miss Cullen's accident the other night and sent me up to apologize on his behalf.'

Mrs Grinter's features softened. ‘Oh, I know all about the accident. Poor Katie was knocked down by Mr Morton-Edwards' horses. That's why he gave her a job, see?'

‘So the apology is accepted, is it?' Bull was smiling and Katie could tell that Cook was charmed by him.

‘Well, yes, I suppose it is.' Cook lingered on the doorstep. ‘I think Katie better come in now, though. Don't do no good for a girl's reputation to be alone with a man when it's getting dark.'

Cook took her arm and Katie had no choice but to go into the house with her. She turned briefly to wave to Bull and then the door was closed.

‘He seems a nice man but you got to be careful of them navvies, whoever they are. Got a bad name, they have, as well you know. Now, girl, get off to your bed. You'll have to start work proper tomorrow.'

Later as Katie lay and stared at the flickering candle flame on the washstand she felt like hugging herself. Bull liked her, he really did, and she was the happiest girl in all the world.

Bull was striding along the line away from the site of the blasting. Thankfully the rain had ceased in the last hour and he had been able to get some work done. He heard Seth O'Connor call a warning and looked up to see Katie Cullen coming towards him. ‘Damn it!' He hurried towards her and took her by the shoulders. ‘Katie, what are you doing here? Don't you know this is a dangerous area? We're blasting rock any minute now, girl!'

‘I'm sorry,' she said, her face white. ‘This is a short-cut home. I have to collect the last of my things before the landlord lets the house to someone else. Am I really in danger?'

Bull was conscious of her sweet scent. ‘Of course you are. Come on, now, let me take you back to the road. You'll have to call to the house later.'

He smiled, realizing that Katie was very aware of his hands on her shoulders: a rich colour had come into her face and she was looking at her boots.

‘How often do you get a day off?' he asked abruptly.

‘I don't know. I'll have to ask Cook. What if I let you know when I get time off to fetch the rest of my things from Greenhill?' She grinned. ‘Mind, I know what she'll say – I've only just started work and I want days off already!'

‘I'd better arrange to meet you then, if only to stop you killing yourself on the workings here.'

‘I don't want to give you any trouble. Look, I'd better go, I'll see you again, I'm sure.'

Bull was disconcerted by her precipitous departure but as he watched her hurry away from him into the narrow streets of the east of the town, he knew that one day Katie Cullen would play an important part in his life.

CHAPTER THREE

Dafydd Buchan strode through the pottery yard, pushing back his unruly hair impatiently as he tried to imagine life as a married man. He paused in the vestibule of the offices and stared through the small glass window. He could see Shanni Morgan, head bent over a ledger, brow furrowed as she studied the figures on the page. Shanni had come a long way from her childhood, spent in the slums of Swansea.

Marriage suited her, he reflected. She had a bloom about her now that the rough edges had been knocked off the rebel child she once was, and the aura of a confident young woman had settled round her like a cloak. The change in the girl had been wrought by Llinos Mainwaring, who had educated Shanni and, more importantly, had told her always to hold her head high.

Llinos . . . His mind drifted to the days when he had lain in her arms, delighting in the passion he shared with her. She had been his darling then, and would always be his love. He would be with her now if he'd had the choice, but she had made her decision to return to her family and he had had to let her go.

He liked to think that she had left him and returned to her husband and child for duty rather than love. He knew that something magical was still between them, the attraction so heady, so irresistible, too strong a bond to break. The pain of her going had not left him and even now Dafydd yearned for her. Would he ever get her out of his mind, his heart?

He saw her in his dreams, smiling at him, sated and flushed with love. The thought of her brought the familiar heat to his loins, an urge to taste her sweetness, if only one more time, before he tied himself to Jayne Morton-Edwards in holy matrimony.

His eyes focused again on Shanni: tendrils of red-gold hair fell across her alabaster cheeks. As if attracted by his gaze she looked up at him and her face was illuminated with happiness. She was in love with him, had been from the time they first met. Even marriage to Pedr Morgan had not altered her feelings. She was a lovely girl with a fiery nature, but he would take Llinos Mainwaring before Shanni any day of the week.

He raised his hand in greeting and stood there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the pottery, which had brought him such satisfaction, more even than the farmlands he owned but had never worked – he had tenant farmers to do that for him.

Shanni made to rise from her chair but Dafydd was not in the mood for dalliance this morning. He had a fitting to attend and other matters to arrange so that his wedding should meet all expectations. Two of the richest families in Wales were going to be joined in marriage. It would not be a union made in heaven but Jayne was pretty enough, young, enthusiastic, and would probably be content with the outward trappings of a good marriage. And children, oh, yes, he wanted children – legitimate sons to take over his great fortune.

He was a man and he would find it easy to lie with his young bride. Besides, he needed relief from the pent-up feelings that plagued him day and night, and if that meant a darkened room and the image of Llinos behind his closed lids as he made Jayne his wife, so be it.

Swansea was bright with sunshine and it was market day: herds of cattle were penned behind wooden fencing in readiness for the sales that would take place later in the morning. Dafydd paused to inspect them. Some were from his own farmlands: they were well fed and strong, good animals for breeding as well as eating.

The tailor's shop was housed in a long narrow building on the edge of the market, and as Dafydd let himself in a bell chimed, summoning Mr Perkins from the dimness of the interior.

‘Ah, Mr Buchan, your suit is almost ready. One more fitting and it will be finished.' This man was the finest tailor in the whole of South Wales.

Grudgingly Dafydd allowed himself to be dressed in his wedding attire. He stared at his reflection in the long, speckled mirror, and saw himself as a man with an aura of youth still upon him although closer inspection would reveal lines of pain and disappointment around his eyes and mouth.

‘How is your brother, sir?' Mr Perkins mumbled, through a mouthful of pins.

‘Not too well, Perkins. He was never strong but he can't seem to shake off the fever he caught last winter.'

But it was more than just the fever. Ceri had not been the same since the rioting back in ‘forty-three, when a crazed farmer had injured him. ‘I'm afraid, Perkins, that my brother grows weaker by the day.'