Shades of Pink

by 33 authors

  * * *

  “But I’ve made it so that I don’t need to be here!” Henry said, the petulant whine in his voice a little louder than intended. Samuel, the group’s designated leader turned a sideways glance at the witch.

  “Are you sure that it is wise? The infant seems to have overcome his ailment. The witch may curse it while you are gone and bring more ungodly misfortune upon us,” said Samuel.

  “I have warned her. The witch knows her task.” Henry covered his mouth with his hand and coughed.

  “Besides, my friend, you are too ill. You will be winded before we get started and make too much noise with that cough of yours. I cannot risk coming back empty handed. It will be better if you stay behind with the others and tend to your…domestic matters.”

  “I am not a woman! And you will return empty handed unless I accompany you!” Henry shouted, which brought another full round of spastic barking coughs.

  Samuel moved to place a sympathetic hand on Henry’s shoulder, but decided against it. Instead he concentrated on the curved blade of his billhook, as though double-checking its sharpness. “I know, but there are no women here to properly see to the child’s needs.”

  “No tending need be done, I have seen to it. The feeble thing only needs to be at her breast to eat. Upon my return I will retrieve him for the night. Now, I can track better than any of you! And, by God’s bones, I should be included!”

  “Henry, you are too sick. Besides, I have already decided.”

  Henry lashed out. “Don’t speak to me as though I was a child!”

  Samuel moved from one foot to the other, a tentative look on his face. “Henry… there is another matter we should discuss.”

  Henry’s face reddened as he glared through watery eyes. “What matter?”

  “The matter of your illness. It was decided last evening that while we are gone, you are to move your tent farther down from the rest of us, next to those that share your illness. For the benefit of the Colony. You must understand our position, Henry.”

  Henry couldn’t speak as pressure seemed to build up within his chest and cheeks. The Colony? They were no Colony! He held his breath but his lungs were too weak. His face turned purple and contorted, almost comically so, as he stared accusingly; a man betrayed by a mutinous crew. Henry tried to stop himself from doubling over but his lungs itched and burned. It was too much and he finally erupted. Loud, chest rattling coughs sent him to his knees. Members of the hunting party hopped back like skittish rabbits, whispering quick protective prayers.

  * * *

  Henry wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The witch had made the baby better, of that he was now certain. An immoral act or not, Henry’s mind focused on this single idea, twisted around it. Lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice the crafted edge of a sun-bleached barrel resting in a large tuft of reed grass. He recognized it immediately and whooped aloud. The joyful outburst cost him dearly and it took several minutes to recover. When the dizziness abated, he pulled the barrel from the weeds and slowly began rolling it back to camp. A smile decorated his pale sweating face as he coughed the entire way.

  “Blessed be those … who … persevere!” Henry choked.

  As the sun lowered, Laura wished she had more than the bottom half of a tattered dress to keep warm by. She could hear Ethan crying and though her heart swelled at the healthy sound, she hoped that he wasn’t cold. Merriment, loud and joyful, erupted on the beach as the hunters celebrated with retellings of their exciting pig hunt again and again, performing drunken reenactments with good natured teasing while settling bets made earlier that morning.

  Henry stumbled past the party goers with the baby in his arms and a cup of wine clutched in his hand. When he plopped down in front of Laura, spilling half, it was plain to see that this was not his first cup. The sight of puckered pink nipples atop her large breasts wasn’t shocking to anyone anymore, but the influence of the wine left Henry staring without discretion or the usual distaste. He placed the baby in Laura’s sling and began to consider the reason for the positive turn in the baby’s health. Ethan, accustomed to this arrangement, immediately began to suckle. While taking long sips of wine Henry stared at Laura’s breasts. Fear hadn’t flooded her blood for many days, but as Henry leered, her knees trembled with it. She felt very cold and jumped when Henry finally spoke.

  “This is all your fault—the ship, this sickness, my sister’s death! We wanted to get away from evil. But it seems we brought it with us.” Henry took another slow sip. “Demon.” He spat as if the word tasted sour. “That’s what you are. A demon who tricks the weak and lures the innocent to suckle at her breast. And, well, it is really all about your breasts, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Laura answered, pulling her knees closer, shielding Ethan within her lap.

  “Ha! A demon’s teat! Ha!” Henry pointed and choked and laughed.

  Laura flinched.

  “Who was it that removed your chain, witch? Who did you seduce?” He hadn’t strung so many words together in a long time and it was somewhat exerting. The resulting lung-compressing coughs caused Henry to spill the rest of his wine as he hacked. When Laura didn’t answer, Henry repeated his question between angry spasms.

  “No one. I swear, I don’t know who did it.”

  “Someone unpinned that shackle! You couldn’t have done it. No, we both know where your dark magic lies.” His words slurred together as he eyed her breasts, this time with a malevolent curiosity that Laura didn’t like.

  “Don’t lie to me witch! Who’s been washing that demon skin of yours?” He sounded like an Examiner; cruel and merciless.

  “I was asleep, I didn’t see who it was.” Fear etched her words.

  “Liar!” Henry resumed coughing and the frustrating agony of it incensed him. He stood up in an attempt to draw air into his lungs more easily, but the deep breath only wrought more coughs. He suddenly thrust his hands toward Ethan.

  “No!” Laura screamed, but Henry’s violent coughs engulfed her voice.

  “Give him … to … me!”

  * * *

  Rowtag crouched in the tree line, closely watching the man stumble toward the woman, Laura, with the babe precariously held in his arms. Rowtag’s muscles grew taut, poised. He flexed his fingers around the handle of the knife to steady his nerves. When the feeble man finally placed the infant into Laura’s sling, Rowtag let out a silent breath of relief.

  The Shaman demanded that he wait patiently to be certain. Only The Red-Haired Mother could save them from the sickness. The prophecy had come to the Shaman in a vision the same night the warrior was born. Rowtag grew in high honor, knowing that he was destined to bring health to The People; The Red-Haired Mother, with breasts, full of healing milk that flowed like the river.

  She had been a part of his life since before he could remember and he always imagined that she would be an older woman, matronly, like his mother. But she looked to be the same age as him. Rowtag’s heart had never beat this solidly before at the sight of a woman. This confidently. It wasn’t the same pounding charge that came with the pride of a successful hunt. This was a powerful thump, thump, thump that made his chest swell, and his rough brown fingers itch to touch the delicate skin of her pale cheek. He wanted to slide his lips down the slope of her soft, smooth neck and gently nip with his teeth, until her warm skin prickled with desire. Rowtag loved this woman. He knew it from the first moment he saw her.

  Upon first seeing her, Rowtag feared, with gut wrenching surety, that she would die. She was too frail, too weak. She hadn’t the strength to even be aware that he’d come to her in the night with food and water. She hardly responded to his touch when he soothed her burned skin with the salve from his pouch. Rowtag had finally been able to remove the iron ring from her ankle and apply stronger medicine. He even climbed into the tree to place extra branches above, so that the sun wouldn’t beat down on her during in the day. He’d washed her, massaged the blood back into her thin muscles. W
ith every stroke of his hand he loved her. And he whispered promises into her ear that he would take her away from there, soon.

  Whether she was the woman he sought or not. Rowtag had considered untying her that first night, but her health was too poor. She was in no condition to travel through the forest. He’d made this long journey on his own. The Shaman wouldn’t risk anyone else getting sick. So it was up to Rowtag to prepare her. Once he saw that the infant’s health had returned, as the Shaman predicted, Rowtag knew that his efforts had not been in vain. Though his gut had told him sooner, and his heart had convinced him immediately.

  * * *

  A loud fit seized the man with thunderous energy. Rowtag’s stomach churned. The instinct to flee from disease was difficult to resist. Then the man became enraged, raised something small and round, and then swiftly brought it down. Rowtag felt his eyes widen in shock. His heart thrummed inside his chest. The knife was in his palm with the speed born of instinct and he lunged from the brush.

  “No!” Laura screamed, but her throat was too dry for her voice to carry. A terrible pain pulsed at her temple and she felt dizzy, disoriented. Ethan’s startled cries called her back from an enveloping darkness and she tried to draw her knees closer, tried to protect her son from Henry as he loomed above her in the night.

  Laura felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her eyes followed the cup as it rose up again in the moonlit night. But Henry’s arm hesitated and a strange curiosity formed on his face.

  Henry found his breath and gasped, “Savage!”

  The other men couldn’t hear over their primal mirth made loud by wine and success; two men had begun beating the sides of empty barrels while others sang and danced. Henry felt his chest tighten, he couldn’t find his voice. His lung capacity was substantially less, shouting wasn’t possible. He filled his lungs with as much burning oxygen as they could hold, attempting to shout anyway, but the savage moved too quickly. He felt a sudden stabbing pain in his shoulder and then a hard crack against his jaw. His back teeth grinded against one another. Henry felt woozy and then suddenly he found himself on a bed of sand. He got to his knees, but could only watch them leave—the savage with the witch riding on his back, the infant tucked neatly in his arms.

  In the silvery night, Henry saw red.

  * * *

  Raw adrenaline provided Laura the strength to hold on. All night long, Rowtag trekked through the dark forest with Laura holding onto his back and Ethan sleeping in the sling now tied over his shoulder. He supported her weight with one and sometimes two hands, by cupping her bottom. The effort of holding onto his sweaty, muscular shoulders that constantly bunched and rippled, exhausted her reserves. She couldn’t keep her ankles locked around his waist. Yet, even though her temple throbbed and fatigue plagued her muscles, Laura experienced something very keen. Desire. She had never touched so much of a man’s skin with her own. Never imagined how erotic it would be to have her nose buried in the thickness of a man’s hair, smelling his sweat. Listening to his working breath and masculine grunts of effort as he carried her through the forest was a concoction of nonstop, streaming arousal.

  As they traveled, Laura’s breasts swelled against Rowtag’s back. They ached from engorgement, which did nothing to staunch her arousal either; it seemed to feed her desire. The tingling sensation that always precluded the flow of milk prickled a final warning and Laura panicked.

  “We have to stop!” she said urgently, as Rowtag finished climbing down one hillside, preparing to ascend the next. The sound of rushing water reminded Laura that she was thirsty too. “Please, I have to feed Ethan.”

  Rowtag hesitated, and craned his neck to look at her, his lips tantalizingly close to hers. She could kiss them if she wanted to. Beads of sweat dripped from his smooth face. The sound of his voice, deep and breathless, reminded her of exactly where his hands were. Dear Lord, he’s so real.

  “Soon. This hill. Then we stop.” He breathed and nodded toward the next hillside. Transfixed on his lips, Laura could hardly breathe herself, let alone argue.

  Rowtag climbed as the sun rose.

  Just as she feared, her milk came in. Her nipples hardened and thin double streams flowed. Milk quickly puddled between her breasts and then spilled over, streaming freely down Rowtag’s back. Laura was mortified. This man of enduring strength couldn’t move fast enough. Finally, he crested the hilltop and then descended. The surrounding trees thinned and Laura’s eyes settled on the waterfall from her dreams.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, staring at his bronze skin glistening with sweat and milk.

  Rowtag let Laura down and she sat against the wide trunk of a sugar maple. He placed Ethan in her arms. The baby grunted, yawned then rooted around until he found a waiting pink nipple. Rowtag smiled.

  “Happy baby.”

  “Yes, he is.” Laura agreed, then smiled wanly. “I am sorry about—”

  Rowtag raised a hand. He thought for a moment, sorting through the words he’d been taught. The old Shaman made sure he would be able to communicate with The Red-Haired Mother as previous men came to their beaches. He wiped his lower back and then rubbed his fingers together. He shook his head. “Not sorry. I am much honored. Mother is the most…true?” He shook his head once more, searching for a different word. “The most pure.”

  She’d spent a lifetime running from un-acceptance and superstition, and this man wasn’t repulsed or fearful of her. But, somehow, she already knew he wouldn’t be. Her breath quickened as she really saw him for the first time. In the morning sun she tried not to stare, but he was so strong and beautiful, so real. Everything she’d dreamed. Rowtag began speaking. She listened intently as he explained, with broken sentences, about the prophecy. That his people knew The Red-Haired Mother was coming. And he explained how Laura was born to stop Rowtag’s people from dying.

  An entire tribe of people depended on her? The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Remembering the orphanage, she tried to recall how many infants she’d saved. Seven? Eight? Those were her happiest moments. She’d felt satisfied and proud. Her head throbbed where Henry had struck her and she let out a slow, pained breath. Recognizing her pain, Rowtag told her that he’d be back and passed behind a grouping of trees, beyond her vision. Laura let her thoughts occupy her mind while Ethan nursed from her other breast. Rowtag didn’t return for quite a while and she began to worry. A pang of fear needled her heart. What if Henry or one of the other men had somehow tracked them here? She doubted Henry could climb any hill. Still the thought worried her.

  Ethan had his fill, so she propped him over a shoulder until he burped then spread the cloth sling over a bed of moss. After he fell asleep Laura stood up for the first lengthy stretch in ages. Reaching her arms above her head, she arched her back and let her muscles extend and flex. Rowtag returned, his hands full. He stopped mid-step and stared at her with heat in his eyes.

  “Want… to eat?” The lusty rumble in his voice reignited Laura’s veins with a heady desire. Her cheeks burned. Rowtag gently took her hand and pulled her a few steps from Ethan.

  “Let baby sleep.” He raised an eyebrow and then offered a plump, summer-grown blueberry to Laura’s lips. His eyes, dark as night, looked at her lips and Laura opened her mouth.

  “Good?”

  “Yes. Very good.” Laura’s eyes hungrily took in the sight of this man, essentially naked before her. A torrent of lust surged in her middle and she could hardly stand it. She swallowed hard.

  Rowtag offered two dainty green leaves and made a motion for her to eat them. “Medicine, for …” He indicated her temple. She took them and chewed. They tasted horribly bitter and she made a sour face. Rowtag smiled understanding and offered more blueberries to cover the bitterness. Laura eagerly opened her mouth to each one. When her hunger was satisfied, Rowtag removed the pouch looped over his chest and retrieved a small cloth from it. He then pulled his breechclout away, exposing himself. Laura’s face flushed anew and her own exposed nipples
tightened; she couldn’t find breath. The statuesque sight of him flustered her. Rowtag took a step closer. He tilted her chin with a gentle finger and then lowered his head to press his lips to hers.

  “Come.” He guided her into the cool water. She lifted the filthy gray skirts with clumsy fingers, then stepped in up to her knees. Rowtag sidled behind her. His lips so close to the nape of her neck that she could feel his breath. Shivers traced her spine. His hands covered hers, lifting them and the ruined dress up over her head until the dirty layers came free. For the first time, Laura felt modest about her nudity and covered herself with her arms. Rowtag tossed the dress onto the bank and then set to unbraiding her long red hair. The long tresses provided some cover and Laura let her arms slide to her sides. After a quick glance toward Ethan, she allowed herself to be escorted deeper into the pool. From behind, Rowtag dragged the cloth over her shoulders, squeezing fresh water over her skin. He gently cleaned the small cut at her temple and then slowly washed the grime from her neck and arms. Beneath the water his rag glided down to her back, over her rump and then around to her stomach. His chest felt hot compared to the cool water, and Laura couldn’t help herself. Succumbing to this slow seduction, she leaned back and melted against him.

  She felt the hard, heavy thickness of his arousal pressing against her lower back, his skin hot against her skin. This was all familiar, yet foreign. The waterfall, the cloth against her skin, the scent of the man holding her so possessively; all intricate pieces of fate finally coming together. A design so ingrained and immeasurably certain that Laura abandoned herself to it. She turned around, looped her arms around the neck of the man she knew from her dreams. She let her fingers glide through his long hair and kissed him. His hands cupped her breasts and he gently squeezed, expressing milk into the water. Laura moaned into Rowtag’s mouth and then tilted her head back, letting him have her. Teeth grazed her delicate skin with tiny nibbles that cause her nipples to tighten. He took each one, pink and puckered, into his warm mouth and flicked his tongue against the hard point.