But she didn’t duck fast enough under his next attack, and found herself sailing through the air again, hitting the back wall ten feet away and thudding against the side bar. The candle sconce tore her shirt, gouged a furrow down her back, but she rolled as he came at her, hit the wall, and had made it back to a defensive crouch when they heard the yelling.

“My lord. My lord. ”

It was the note of it, fearful, full of apprehension, that had Ruskin’s head whipping toward the door and Danny blinking, seeking in her mind. Scrambling to her feet, she almost beat Ruskin out the door onto the covered porch, into the evening that had settled in, the sun disappearing for the day.

Dev stood, swaying, just inside the fence line. He almost blended in to the sand and scrub of the background, for he was caked with mud, sticks, spiny leaves and grasses plastered into it. Beneath all that, he appeared to be naked, devoid of even the one knife they’d let him keep. When he saw her, that void in his mind dissipated, like a dam of clay dissolving beneath a flash flood. He fell to one knee, but before he could fall face forward, she had him. On her knees, holding him up, his face pressed against her shoulder.

“He just rose up, there, right outside the fence, out of the ground, and walked in before we could do anything, my lord.” Ruskin’s lead man was babbling, terror in his eyes at the fury on Ruskin’s face.

When Dev mumbled, she turned her head to his. “What, Dev?” she asked. God, he felt good in her arms, even filthy and reeking of three days of sweat and blood, his own and others.

“Munaintya . . . no, maybe Yertabulti. Don’t want . . . to start over. Too tired.” Charles turned on them. She shot her glance up to him, her eyes narrowing, body tensing. But he shook his head after a long moment, his eyes cold. Swiping at his bloody lips with the back of his hand, he gave her a look of disdain. “As I said before this started, you are not easily cowed, Lady Danny. I give you that.”

“You’ll give me more than that,” she said evenly. “My servant has paid your tithe. Declare our debt paid, as you promised.” He barked a short laugh. “You will say ‘please,’ or you will get nothing. I will hear you beg, Lady Daniela, once, or I will have him killed here, and say he never made it.”

She stared at him. Dev muttered again, and this time Ruskin was close enough to hear it.

“Tell that . . . arrogant bastard . . . to bugger off.”

Ruskin’s eyes flamed, but Danny held up a hand, her jaw flexing. “Please, Lord Charles. You are a sporting man. Honor a worthy opponent. I am . . . begging you.”

Though savor it, you bastard, because I’ll never do it again.

“Very well. For a worthy opponent. I suspect he’s not one who easily allows a woman to hold the reins. You may regret marking him yet.” Ruskin held her gaze a long moment. “Your debt for Ian is paid, according to Council law. But you remember what I said, Lady Danny. If you cannot accept my authority, I suggest you skulk back to Brisbane and the Queensland Territory and cede this property to my holdings. Otherwise, I expect to see you with the other vampires at my territory meeting in Darwin in two months, offering your allegiance to me.” His attention snapped to his men, lingered on his lead man, whom Danny knew wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Ruskin would have someone’s blood for this. Perhaps if it was the lead man, he would spare the children his wrath.

It was a slim hope, she knew.

“I’ve had enough of this rustic place. We leave within the hour. Pack us up.” As they moved off, Ruskin turning on his heel to return to the house, she felt a light hand on her shoulder. The dark-haired, blue-eyed maid who’d foolishly tried to come to her defense. “What did he say, marm?” she asked in a soft voice that reminded Danny of fresh daisies. “That first thing. About . . . Yerbulti?”

She put a hand to Dev’s hair, knowing he’d slipped into unconsciousness, for she was bearing his full weight against her.

“Munaintya is Dreamtime. The beginning, creation of the world, according to the blacks. Yertabulti is the place of slumber. It’s what they used to call Port Adelaide, because it was where the birds went to sleep. I think in his muddled way, he was trying to say he wanted to go to sleep.” Or to die.

Pushing that thought away, she turned it to the practical. “Bring buckets of water,” she commanded. “We’ll wash the worst of it off him out here, and then I want a bath drawn for him inside. A full bath. He’s earned it.” Danny eased Dev down so his shoulders and head were in her lap. Until he was conscious or clean, she wouldn’t know the extent of his injuries, but for now, she laid her hand on his chest, where under the caked mud she knew the raven mark would be, felt her heart rate settle.

“Hotcakes. Cook promised hotcakes.”

“Soon.”

When he cracked open an eye, the pull at one corner of his mouth speared her heart, because she felt how the mere effort of it tore something inside him. He was wounded, but his worst wounds had nothing to do with his flesh.

“First, you need this.” Steeling herself for his resistance or revulsion, the idea of which bothered her far more than it should, she started to bring her wrist to her mouth to puncture it. “A couple tablespoons will be enough. A Mistress’s blood is highly restorative to her servant, when he has need.”

Reaching up with an unusually clumsy hand, he closed it over her right breast. Gently, his fingers traced a random path over it before his arm gave out and he let it fall back to his abdomen, his eyes closing. “There. Like you said. Liked the way you did . . .

the water. Need . . . something . . . need . . . death.”

“No. I forbid that, Dev. You’re my servant. You serve me.”

She wouldn’t let him push her away, but he tried. She didn’t want to hurt him, fight him here in the yard in front of the leers of Ruskin’s men. But those words cut into her, the confusing swirl of his thoughts a mixture of pain and exhaustion, so deep she almost felt the lassitude in her own limbs.

“It will be all right,” she said, letting it go for now and giving him something different. Sliding her other arm around him, she held him close, burying his face into her breast, the promise of it, letting him hide from himself. “Let me take care of you, Dev. Don’t think.

Just sleep.”

It took two rinses in the yard to get most of the surface debris off him, enough so that he wouldn’t turn the water in the inside tub into a mudhole. He was only semiconscious through the porch washing, so thankfully he didn’t have to see Ruskin’s departure.

Danny had to leave her staff to do the washing of the outer crust while she performed the necessary cool good-byes to the Region Master. Trying to block the whimpers and cries of his remaining children, she overheard one stockman relaying instructions that, once back in Darwin, they would be put back into their individual small cages and starved for the next week as punishment for their failure. She couldn’t bear to look at their faces, and actually hated the Vampire Council for their apathy.

Lord Ruskin’s farewell was curt, though his eyes were hard on her face. “I will restock my pack before the meeting, so they will perform far more ably. So I advise you to improve your manners, as well as those of your servant. Otherwise, you will be part of the excellent entertainments I’ll have planned.”

She cheerfully and viciously hoped he would drive straight into Hades as the entourage passed out of her gates and headed down the dusty track to start the long journey back to Darwin. However, she couldn’t take her eyes away as the last Rover passed and the three caged children in it watched her, fear and pain in their gazes.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Turning back toward the porch, she saw her small handful of stockmen standing there, including old Jim. At her glance, he stepped forward. “Any orders, my lady?”

“You’re in charge until Dev’s on his feet. For tonight, have the men retire to quarters and handle their stock duties as normal.”

“Yes, ma’am. Aye. Right-o.” There was a general pulling of forelocks, an exchange of glances, none of which she perceived as being duplicitous, and then they were off to the sleeping quarters. From old Jim’s long look, she knew she could rest easy, at least for tonight. However, she couldn’t delay long in determining whom she was going to send off. The rest, including the house staff, would all need two marks for her to monitor them. Right now, though, she had only one thing to do that really mattered to her.

Her men had brought the semiconscious Dev to the kitchen and into the tub. That young maid was busy washing his hair, and the cook was pouring in some more clean water. At her entrance, they both looked up, but she waved a hand so that they could continue, though her gaze narrowed thoughtfully on the young woman.

“Ruskin didn’t assign you to watch me. Who are you?”

“No, marm. I’m Elisa. Your mum, she took me on right before she died. She said . . . you’d probably like me.” Her cheeks tinged and she rushed on. “I mean, that I’d be useful to you. I’m a very good lady’s maid, as well as . . . I can do household duties, also.

Mrs. Rupert”—she nodded to the cook—“she can tell you I’m a hard worker.”

“A little too pretty,” the cook said gruffly. “But, yes, my lady. The blokes fall over themselves when they see her, but she keeps her mind on her work.” Her gaze shifted. “Your mum . . . she arranged it so Elisa would never be bothered by the old master. His oath to her. Possibly the only one he ever honored, and that was because she hasn’t been gone very long. Plus, he was still occupied with Mary. This one was a little too strong willed for his tastes.”

Danny arched her brows and the woman flushed. “My apologies—”

“None needed,” Danny said. “Thank you for that honesty. Elisa has already proven her worth to me today. As you have.” There was a rumble, a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Danny adjusted her glance to see Dev considering the young woman through half-slit eyes. Elisa’s position put her wobbling bosom, though covered by the maid’s uniform, right over his face. “I like her fine already,” he observed.