Excerpt from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Tom heaved himself out of the bracken and crawled to where his elder brother stood. He clutched at his legs. 'Please, Billy! I'm sorry. Hit me. Leave Dorry alone. Please, don't hurt him. He didn't mean anything.'

William kicked him away, still holding the child against the tree. Dorry's feet were dancing two feet above the ground.

'Respect, Dorry, you must learn respect.' He relaxed the pressure of his thumbs and allowed his victim to draw a single breath, then clamped down again. Dorian's silent struggles became frantic.

'Take me!' pleaded Tom. 'Leave Dorry alone. He's had enough.' Tom pulled himself to his feet, using the tree trunk to support himself. He tugged at William's sleeve.

'You spat in my face,' William said grimly, 'and this little viper tried to brain me. Now you may watch him choke.'

'William!' Another voice, rough with outrage, cut in from close at his side. 'What in the name of the devil do you think you're playing at?' A heavy blow fell across William's outstretched arms. He let the child drop to the muddy earth and whirled to face his father.

Hal Courtney had used his scabbard to strike his eldest son's hands off the child, and now it seemed he might use it to knock William off his feet.

'Are you mad? What are you doing to Dorian?' he asked, his voice shaking with rage.

'He had to be-it was only a game, Father. We were playing.' William's own rage had miraculously evaporated, and he seemed chastened. 'He has taken no harm. It was all in good part.'

'You have half murdered the lad,' Hal snarled, then went down on one knee to pick his youngest son out of the mud. He held him tenderly against his chest. Dorian buried his face against his father's neck and sobbed, coughed and choked for air. There were livid scarlet fingermarks on the soft skin of his throat, and tears were smeared across his face. Hal Courtney glared at William. 'This is not the first time we have spoken about rough treatment of the younger ones. By God, William, we will discuss this further, after dinner, this evening in the library. Now get you out of my sight, before I lose control of myself.'

'Yes, sir,' William said humbly, and started back up the path to the chapel. As he left, though, he shot Tom a look that left no doubt in the boy's mind that the matter was far from settled.

'"'hat happened to you, Tom?' Hat turned back to him.

'Nothing, Father,' he replied staunchly. 'It's nothing.' He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. It would have been a violation of his own code to carry tales, even of such a hated adversary as Black Billy.

'Then what happened to make your nose bleed and your face swell and turn red as a ripe apple?' Hal's voice was gruff but gentle: he was testing the lad.

'I fell,' Tom said.

'I know that sometimes you're a clumsy clod, Tom, but are you sure someone didn't push you?'

'If I did, then it's between him and me, sir.' Tom pulled himself up to his full height to disguise his aches and injuries.

Hal placed an arm around his shoulder. With the other he clasped Dorian to his chest. 'Come, boys, we'll go home now.' He took the pair down to where he had left his horse at the edge of the woods, and lifted Dorian up onto its neck in front of the saddle before he swung up behind him. He slipped his feet into the stirrups then reached down to take Tom by the arm and haul him up behind,

Tom placed both arms around his father's waist and pressed his swollen, bruised face into the small of his back. He loved the warmth and smell of his father's body, the hardness and strength of him. It made him feel safe from all harm. He wanted to cry but he forced back the tears. 'You're not a child,' he said to himself. 'Dorry can cry, but you can't.'

'Where is Guy?' his father asked, without looking around.

Reprinted from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, a St Martin's Press publication, by permission of St Martin's Press. © 1999 by Wilbur Smith