Abraham, surreptitiously watching her as he stirred the mealworm stew, knew she was berating herself for imaging herself in love with him, and whilst he wanted to reassure her and comfort her, he knew he couldn’t. She was hurt and vulnerable, and to do so would open yet another can of worms, and he didn’t need that right now.
He tensed. Something wasn’t right...
Suddenly the clearing was unexpectedly filled with Indians.
Eleanor started in fright. Crying out, she fell off her pack and quickly scrambled over to Abraham. Hiding behind his impressive form, she waited in fearful anticipation of what was to come, but she frowned, puzzled. Abraham was smiling.
Sheathing his knife, he took a step forward. Quickly, in an effort to save him, she grabbed his arm.
“Abraham, don’t. They could be cannibals.”
Abraham shook off her arm and, moving forward, proceeded to greet the man in front of him.
Eleanor looked in fascinated horror at the Indian. He was short and stocky with a mass of black hair, and he had a bone through his nose and smaller ones piercing his ears. His face was covered in tattoos, making him look fierce and unfriendly.
Abraham, conversing rapidly with him in some language Eleanor was unable to comprehend, but thought was partly Portuguese, appeared fully at ease. The man replied, smiling widely, showing broken and rotting teeth, and, gesturing with his spear, abruptly turned around and made his way back into the jungle, the Indians following closely behind. Abraham, catching hold of Eleanor’s hand, began to follow, but she was having none of it, and digging her heels into the earth, she pulled back against his restraining arm.
“Abraham, what are you doing? We can’t possibly go with them. They probably think we’d make a nice change to armadillo or whatever they usually consume and want to eat us.”
Throwing back his head, Abraham laughed, a rich, deep chuckle that rose from his chest.
“Behave yourself, Eleanor. There’s nothing to worry about, believe me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Scuttling behind Abraham, fearful of what might befall her, Eleanor, holding tightly onto the back of his shirt, tried not to show her trepidation. They were so near civilization, and to fall prey to a pack, or whatever large numbers of cannibals were called, at this stage of their journey hardly bore thinking about. Without any warning, they entered a massive clearing. Here there seemed to be a thriving village. Huts with roofs made of straw and barely big enough to swing a cat, but seemingly homes to large families, were dotted in a circular spread to the clearing. Campfires blazed merrily outside doors and were tended to, she surmised, by the women. It would be too much to hope that women’s lib had found its way this far into the jungle. Large pots filled with she knew not what were suspended over the fires, and some had what looked like chickens skewered onto makeshift rotisseries, but there was also a large central fire with a number of old women sitting around it. Animals—chickens, goats, and scrawny dogs—ran free, scratching at the dirt, and appeared to live openly with the people.
Women and children joined the men gathering around them, and Eleanor averted her eyes from their nakedness. No one appeared to possess any clothing, their modesty barely covered by jangling jewellery, colourful beads, and pieces of bone all threaded onto twine.
The women converged on her, and, frightened, she squeaked and hung more firmly onto Abraham’s shirt. Laughing, he prised her clutching fingers from the material, and reassuring her that she was going to be fine, he handed her over to what appeared to be the matriarch.
Led away toward a hut by the woman with the others following closely behind, she sent Abraham a beseeching look, which he ignored, and with no other option open to her, she shuffled on laden feet to where they led.
The hut was quite large but dark. With her eyes adjusting to the gloom, she took in her surroundings. The smell was what first hit her. She wrinkled her nose, trying to identify the aroma. It was…she wasn’t sure, but it was probably the remains of a meal, and she wondered in horror-stricken fascination whether the meal had been a man or a woman. Closing her mind to further ghoulish thoughts, she concentrated on her surroundings. The floor was mud-packed down until it was hard, and scattered across its surface were mats made from some sort of woven grass. There were pots standing in a corner, and a small kind of table which held a dish containing berries and nuts. A large-ringed urn was at the rear of the hut, and a woman speaking badly broken Pidgin English and sign language told her not to touch it, a piece of advice that to Eleanor’s mind confirmed her macabre convictions. The woman pulled at her clothing, obviously wanting her to disrobe, but she clutched hurriedly at the neckline of her blouse, not wanting to take it off. Shaking her head, she indicated that she wanted to keep her clothes on, but they were having none of it and kept pulling at her shirt and trousers. Backing up against the wall of the hut, Eleanor held out a hand warding them off. She didn’t care what Abraham said. She was sure they were cannibals and only wanted her to strip so they could toss her in a pot and eat her.
“No!” Eleanor cried vehemently, grasping at the collar of her shirt. “Do you understand? No!” She shook her head.
Laughing, the woman converged on her, and amidst the struggles, her clothing was removed and was taken away by a young giggling girl.
Naked, Eleanor attempted to cover herself, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her breasts. What if they really were going to eat her!
The matriarch approached, and with the aid of young girls began to rub some kind of oil into her skin, confirming her conviction that she was being basted for the pot. Next came the adornment, jingling necklaces and bracelets and a sort of belt made from bone and dried berries that sat loosely around her hips, and a tear dropped against her waxed pussy. Giggling, the woman pointed to her bare mound and then indicated their own dark, curly bushes.
Helplessly, Eleanor smiled, just a small tightening of her trembling lips. Where was Abraham? How could he have abandoned her now when she most needed him?
Grabbing her arms, the women led her from the hut out into the open and up to the large communal fire in the centre of the clearing. The fire was blazing, and a large pot stood steaming among the flames. It was then she realised that they had adorned her with beads and oil as a sacrifice to some unknown God before devouring her! Pulling back, she dug her heels frantically into the dirt.
“No, no I won’t let you eat me!” she screamed, struggling against the restraining arms.
Hysterical tears ran down her cheeks, and she kicked and scratched. Then suddenly she was free. Turning to run, she was brought up short against a hard wall that was warm and—she opened frightened eyes—had hair!
“Going somewhere, princess?”
“Abraham!” Pathetically, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed out her fear.
His arms closing around her heaving body, Abraham listened silently to her hysterical ranting about being eaten.
She came to a stuttering halt, her head still against his chest, and snapped open swollen eyes. He was laughing at her!
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“Do you really think these people are cannibals?”
“Well, aren’t they?” She looked at the sea of grinning faces around her. “They look like cannibals.”
“In what way?”
“Well, they have bones in their noses and things…”
Throwing back his head, Abraham laughed even louder.
“You beast!” Eleanor screamed, thumping his chest. “You knew and you didn’t say. You’re not clever, and you’re not funny, and I hate you.” She stamped her foot for good measure and, turning, stormed toward the jungle only to halt and look uncertainly back at him.
Abraham stood like a god surrounded by his following, legs akimbo, hands on hips and grinning.
Lifting a questioning eyebrow, he waited.
Grinding her teeth in temper, Eleanor turned around and stomped back to him, her face glowering and her lips sulle
n. Oh how she hated him and his smug, superior attitude!
A brief conversation between the chief and Abraham and they were led back to the fire amid guffaws of laughter.
* * * *
It was dark, the clearing lit up by a huge fire and lanterns made from fat-based cloth. The stars were out in a clear, velvety sky, and people were milling around. Eleanor, conscious of her nakedness and the eyes of the chief’s son on her attributes, did her best to, if not enjoy the evening’s festivities, then to tolerate them as best she could. The pot she discovered contained a kind of stew. It was rich and contained meat and vegetables, and as she was starving, she tucked in with a healthy appetite. Offered a cup containing liquid, she sniffed it cautiously. It smelled like liquor, and she eyed it dubiously. It was a funny cream colour, but, as Abraham was partaking, she did the same, grimacing at its strong taste and coughing as it burned its way down her throat. However, upon asking one of the men how it was made in a mixture of sign language and shouting, she nearly heaved up her supper when she was told it was made with saliva and fermented corn.
Her hunger satisfied, Eleanor sat back, replete. The fire was still burning brightly, and most of the men were either lying around stone drunk or well on the way to it. Abraham, Eleanor noticed, had only had one drink and was completely sober. He was conversing in Portuguese with the chief, who was sending her admiring glances. Shifting uncomfortably under his admiring stare, she clutched at Abraham’s sleeve.
“What’s going on? What’s he saying?”
Grinning widely, Abraham, noticing her agitation, decided to put her out of her misery.
“Don’t worry. He’s not thinking about eating you—well, not in the way you think anyway. He was just admiring your, err, attributes, saying you would make a comforting bed-mate, a bit too skinny for his taste but a warm body for a man to sink into after a hard day’s work. He offered, that if I wasn’t interested, his son would quite like to take you off my hands and give you a good fucking.”
“Well really!” Eleanor responded huffily. “Women these days are more than just a convenience for men to slake their thirst on. We’re intelligent individuals, who own their own bodies, and we say what we want and with who we want it with. Get it!”
Abraham held up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. You wanted to know, so I told you. If you can’t hack it, then don’t ask.” He looked at her, considering. “Maybe I should just let the son have his way with you tonight. It might teach you to appreciate what you’ve had.”
“What! You don’t get to say who I have sex with, mister.” She poked him hard in the chest. “I am my own person, not an object that gets passed from man to man. I say what, when, and who, get it!”
Eleanor, feeling miffed with Abraham and his indifferent attitude toward her, looked over at the son and gave a slow “come hither” smile. “But, you know what, maybe I should take him up on his offer.” She tilted her head to one side. “He looks fit enough, and he’s not that bad looking, considering, and…”
Her eyes dropped lower, taking in the man’s already rising cock. “He does have very attractive attributes of his own.”
Raising an eyebrow, Abraham looked calmly at her then at the son of the chief.
“Knock yourself out, princess.”
Thoroughly annoyed with his response, Eleanor glared at Abraham’s profile. She couldn’t believe he would let her go just like that. He’d made it plain he didn’t love her, but to willy-nilly pass her to another man for the night just beggared belief.
Eleanor stood up and glowered defiantly at Abraham.
“Fine!”
“Fine!” parroted Abraham, watching as she sauntered over to the son.
She’d show him. Mouth dry, Eleanor flicked her hair back over her shoulder and, thrusting out her breasts, walked as sexily as she could over to the man, her training on the catwalk perfect for such a situation.
Slowly lowering herself to the ground beside the man, she smiled beguilingly and, pointing to her chest, said her name. After repeating it, he gave his as Manual and, without any preliminaries, placed a dirty hand on her naked thigh.
Eleanor lent further against Manual, put her hand on his shoulder, and, glancing across to Abraham, blew gently into the man’s ear.
Manual needed no further encouragement, and before she had time to do more than place a restraining hand on his chest, his mouth was on hers and his tongue was stuck down her throat. Gagging, she suffered his bad breath, rotting teeth, and invading tongue with a modicum of dignity, before pushing him urgently away. Looking into his disgruntled face, she laughingly fanned herself. One thing she didn’t want to do was make him angry. She’d only started this just to make Abraham jealous, but it wasn’t turning out the way she expected. She had wanted Abraham to jump up snatch her from Manual’s arms and declare that she was his and his alone, but that wasn’t happening.
Abraham looked on with interest, wondering how far Eleanor would go before she cried for help. He knew her game, knew she wanted him to act the possessive male and save her from a fate worse than death, but he was beginning to get fed up with her antics, and what she was doing now was just playing with fire. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get badly burned.
Chapter Eighteen
Eleanor was beginning to get worried. Why wasn’t Abraham stepping in? He couldn’t really believe she wanted to have sex with this man, could he? He was, well, he was just vile, and the thought of him inside her made her squirm in disgust. Manual grabbed a breast and began roughly squeezing it. Suffering in silence, she chanced a glance at Abraham, but he was looking into the fire, completely unconcerned with what was happening with her.
Ready to end the silly game she had begun, Eleanor shoved at Manual’s chest, but he was too quick for her, and one minute she was sitting beside him, the next she was sprawled on the ground and his weight was on top of her, pressing her to the ground. Her legs splayed, he was wriggling his way between them. Choking back a sob, she began fighting in earnest.
Then the next moment she was free, and Abraham was standing like an avenging angel above her and Manual was scuttling off into the undergrowth.
Reaching down a hand, Abraham waited until she placed a small trembling hand in his, and then he hauled her to her feet.
“Are you out of your tiny little mind!” he asked angrily. “Do you know what you were asking for, playing such stupid games? Men like Manual, men from this tribe, don’t indulge in sophisticated games. If a woman shows she’s willing, then they don’t ask questions. They just take what’s on offer. Is that what you wanted?” He shook her slightly. “Answer me, dammit.”
Lips trembling and tears shimmering in her eyes, Eleanor wrung her hands.
“I–I.” She swallowed. “I didn’t think. I just wanted to…”
She broke off and looked at him appealingly.
“What? You wanted what?” he demanded. “Get yourself raped!”
“No, no, never that! I, err, I just wanted to show you, that’s all. I never thought it would go that far, I thought you might, you might have ...” She began to sob, her shoulders hunching in misery.
Abraham looked at her down bent head and vulnerable neck.
Taking her in his arms, he held her until the sobs grew less and she quietened against him.
“Yes, I know what you thought, but I furnished you with a bit of common sense. However, it appears I was wrong to let you lose on your own. Come on. Let’s get some rest. We’ll be out of here in the morning, and then we’ve only another day’s walk and we’ll be at the pickup point.”
Eleanor looked back at the fire, her eyes appearing enormous and bruised in her pale, tear-stained face. “But what about—what about Manual?”
A grin slashed across Abraham’s face. “Don’t you worry about Manual. I’ve claimed you as mine, so he won’t bother you again. He’s considered quite a catch among the single women here, so he’ll be snuggled up against another girl by now—one who’s not quite
so unwilling.”
Entering the hut she was first taken to, Abraham lit the torch and looked around.
“You should be safe here. There’s nothing to cause you any harm.”
He turned to go, but Eleanor stopped him by placing a hand on his arm.
“But where will you be?”
“Not far. I’ll just be by the fire.”
“No! No please, please stay.”
Abraham looked thoughtfully at her. She looked exhausted, her face pale in the harsh light from the torch. He cupped her cheek, and she rubbed her face against his hand, her eyes looking imploringly at him.
“I’ll not be far, Eleanor. You will be perfectly safe, I promise you.”
“Please, Abraham, please stay. I’m—well, I’m frightened. Please stay!”
Drawing a deep breath, Abraham, knowing when he was beaten, nodded.
“Very well. I’ll stay, but…”
He held a hand up when she was about to interrupt. “But we just sleep, Eleanor. That’s all, okay?”
Eleanor nodded, breathing a sigh of relief.
* * * *
It was dark when Eleanor awoke. She sat up. Her arm was asleep from where she’d been lying on it, and she moved it gingerly, wincing at the pins and needles that stabbed at her flesh. She looked across at Abraham, who was lying on his back a short distance away. His chest was softly rising and falling with his breathing, and he was asleep. Reassured, she lay back down, wondering what the time was. Turning on her side, she determinedly closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep, but she was wide awake, and sleep became elusive.
Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 10
