The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  Water ran in gleaming rivulets from his glossy curling hair to make bright streamers that lay across his collarbone and sparkled among the black hairs that covered his broad chest. Dulcie's gaze followed the hairs as they dwindled to a narrow path down his belly, then formed a wide triangle at his loins. She stared, then jerked her eyes away, on down his tapered thighs to the green grass at his feet. Unwillingly, her gaze rose again and lingered.

  He was proud of his body.

  Dulcie felt her heart hammering. Surely Adam would hear. Her voice trembled, and she shivered in the heat "Let's go, Claudine. They'll see us."

  "Yes'm. Mastah Adam got a body dat know what to do wiff itseff."

  Dulcie, red to the roots of her hair, said, "You see too much!" She didn't want to talk of Adam as they had the others, not even with Claudine.

  "Yes'm, but he got it all right out dere for lookin' at."

  "We shouldn't have been lookin'!"

  *Take mah word, white folks has got the wrong ideas ^Dout dey bodies. Lawd done made 'em somethin' to enjoy, not somethin' to be 'shamed 'bout."

  "All right!" She mounted Strawberry and swatted her irritably. K only she were a lady, like Mama wanted her to be, she wouldn't have all these confusing fancies that made her blood stir and her body long for . . . something. She lashed her horse again, trying to escape the image of Adam Tremain, posed in naked beauty on the bank of a cool stream.

  Claudine, riding some distance behind, had much the same thoughts as her mistress. But Claudine was enjoying hers.

  Late that night Adam was still lying awake. He punched his pillow for the hundredth time and sought a cooler place in the hot feather ticking. Finally he sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and yawning. He missed having a deck to walk on, a breeze to cool him.

  He pulled on trousers and shirt, tucking in the shirt tails with unnecessary vigor. Barefoot, he walked down the hall, his eyes flicking to Dulcie's closed door and went downstairs into the blessed coolness of the yard.

  The grass was soothing under his feet. He walked aimlessly, his mind seething. He'd never seen Dulcie act toward anyone the way she had toward him that evening— almost desperately flirtatious, roguish, then as if she realized she was taunting and unmaidenly, coolly ignoring him. He deserved whatever she chose to deal him, he knew, for his atrocious behavior toward her; but a nagging doubt wouldn't be dislodged.

  Perhaps Dulcie had really wanted Leroy to win, to put

  him in his place, to humiliate him. He'd ignored her barbed remarks. Did she think Leroy could accomplish what she could not? In spite of Robert's reassurances and Dulcie's denials, was there something between her and Leroy? Leroy had married during her absence. Suppose she had been in love with him and was merely using Adam in some girlish intrigue?

  The idea made him walk faster, his hands behind him. After a number of paces he automatically turned about as he would on deck. Then he stopped short, laughing wryly at himself. He made himself continue down the hill to the folly.

  He sat on a bench, listening to the crickets and the liquid notes of a mockingbird. Above the night sounds came another, a shuffling across the grass. Adam stood up when Claudine came hesitantly into the folly.

  "Mastah Adam, you be all right?" Her voice was soft, concerned.

  "I just needed a walk." He smiled. She continued to look at him, her face unreadable in shadow. "What are you doing out here, Claudine?"

  "Ah got me a lover-man Ah gwine visit wiff. Ah done pick up yo' shirt an' britches an' warsh an' mend 'em fo* you, Mastah Adam."

  "I saw they were gone. Thank you." He tried to see her expression. Surely there was something she wanted, something to tell him.' "What is it, Claudine? Miss Dulcie?"

  "Yassuh," said Claudine, sounding relieved. "Ah see you a man what got a pow'ful need. An' Miss Dulcie a mighty con-foozed lady. She gittin' notions 'bout gent'mens she ain't nevah had befo'. You know dat's a itch ladies cain't git scratched. Ain't nothin' dey kin do 'bout deyseffs, not iffen dey stays ladies. An' de way she actin' this evenin', it try the patience o' a mahble saint. She cain't he'p dat either. Cain't you jes' kinda ovahlook Miss Dulcie's manners 'til she gits herseff set right?"

  Adam laughed. "I can try, Claudine."

  "Thanky, suh." She turned away.

  "Claudine ..."

  She tensed, though she did not turn toward him. "Yassuh?"

  "Oh, never mind. Nothing."

  She looked over her shoulder. "Miss Dulcie never send me out heah. Servants gotta see an' doan see, heah an'

  doan heah. Ah do dat, Mastah Adam, an' sometimes Ah does somethin' 'bout it, an' sometimes Altdoan do nothin*."

  Chapter Fourteen

  During the days following the tournament Adam visited neighboring planters. By the end of the week he had shipping commitments from Whitakers and Actons. Country people enjoyed visitors. A ship's captain was a curiosity, and it was an honor to have such a well-spoken, attractive man call on a county family, even on business.

  It was much the same wherever he went: the leisurely talk with the family, a hearty noon meal, the numerous personal questions asked in a tone of consuming interest. Business was tended to last, for once it was concluded, Adam would leave, taking the one bright patch of the day with him.

  He usually tried to get back to Mossrose by three o'clock. He wanted to spend the time with Dulcie, who had recovered from that one evening's foolish mood. On their walks and rides with the cousins she was gay and spirited. Yet they were seldom alone. She had other guests; and Adam was struggling against a growing desire for her that he did" not want too severely tested.

  By Friday morning he could no longer resist. He took her, chaperoned by Claudine, to the Chilcotes'. They had a pleasant day, Dulcie talking to Blossom with a newly dawning interest in household and marriage, while Adam and Jan conducted their business. They rode home in the hot, golden afternoon.

  Suddenly Adam stopped. "Claudine, will you hold the horses for a few minutes? I saw something in here the other day that I think Dulcie will enjoy."

  He led Dulcie down a narrow woodland path high with weeds to a turning where they were completely hidden from the road. "Adam, where are you takin' me?" Dulcie laughed. Her hair blazed, her creamy skin with the blush of rose glowed in the afternoon sun. "What is it you want me to see?"

  He walked a few paces farther. "Come here, Dulcie." He took her in his arms, her mouth open against his. It was not enough. There could never be enough of Dulcie. He was working himself up fruitlessly—but how good it felt to have her body against him. He pulled his mouth away from hers and pressed her cheek against his wildly hammering heart. "Listen to it, Dulcie, it's telling you all the things I can't."

  Her hand moved across the broad curve of his chest. "Oh, Adam. I've wanted to be with you. Why is it so difficult?" She raised her head. His lips, touching hers in exquisite tenderness, turned harsh, almost brutal. He held her away from him.

  "We're going back to the road," he said grimly.

  "Why?" All her heart was in her gaze.

  Desire stood naked and exposed in Adam's eyes. "We'll go back now, Dulcie, or you'll walk with me deeper into the woods."

  She threw her arms around him, holding herself against him, for his own arms were limp at his sides. "Don't make me decide. Just . . .'*

  Slowly his hand caressed her back. He looked down at the mass of red hair that covered his shirt front. He wanted her, how much he wanted her. But not to be taken like a field hand in the woods. Not with Claudine waiting and knowing. Not with Dulcie a sacrifice to his lusts.

  He kissed the top of her head, raising her face so she looked into his eyes. He kissed her forehead, then placed her hand in his, looking at the slender white hand resting in the cradle of his large tanned one. Tears formed in Dulcie's eyes but did not spill. "I'll come with you, Adam."

  He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Now I know what I wanted to show you—a man who's a fool." They walked down the narrow trail together. />
  Claudine's surprise was only too evident when they returned so soon. Quickly she dropped the reins and moved into the back seat, puzzling over what had happened. She knew about men, and she knew about women. But when a lady met a gentleman, there were such heavy consequences to pay for being pleasured. She wasn't sure what took place before nattire defeated convention.

  That night Dulcie could not sleep. She pretended to, waiting for Claudine to slip out to the quarters, not to

  return until the rising bell sounded. At long, long last Dulcie's door was closed stealthily. She was alone.

  She stood at the window. The moon was bright, throwing the front lawn into deeply sculptured light and shadow. The folly and the white iron benches, ghostlike, wavered in front of her eyes.

  Slowly, as one in a dream, Dulcie untied the blue ribbon of her thin silk nightgown and let it drift into a pool at her feet. She stood naked, bathing in moonglow, smiling to herself at this secret ritual.

  She stood on tiptoe, running her palms sensuously over her hips and along her breasts as a lover might, until she held her hands lifted to the brilliant moon. Adam. Oh, Adam. Hold me, love me, make me yours.

  Though it violated every precept of her time, though it flaunted the stringent rules of moral purity that had guided her from birth, Dulcie had come to recognize and accept her own driving need. She would offer herself to the man she loved. A man who, perhaps not knowing it yet, loved her in return.

  Dulcie drew on her gown and a lacy silk robe. She tiptoed down the hall, past Adam's room and out onto the balcony. Her heart beating quickly with excitement, she stood against the wall, a wraith in the moonlight gloom.

  She would go in Adam's windowy motionless as a shadow. She would stand beside his bed, reach out her fingers, and touch him in his sleep. He would wake, and . . . Adam would know why she had come.

  Or she would tap lightly on his window. He would not be sleeping. He would hear her and come to her.

  In the end Dulcie did none of these things. She could not. The step was too big, too final.

  She stood with her palms pressed flat against the wall that separated them and could not bring herself to go to him.

  Adam, restless in his bed with pent-up passion, was savagely considering going to Savannah to find relief that any woman could provide, but only Dulcie could fulfill. Only Dulcie. He groaned and turned over, his penis hot and engorged between his belly and the smooth sheets. In his fantasy Dulcie lay with him, held him, cradled him. Dulcie, my sweet, my darling.

  He let out a long breath and fell asleep.

  Hi m *

  He went on Tuesday to see Cal Saunders. TTieir business was finished within an hour, and Adam was on his way back to Mossrose in an afternoon so stifling it was like being smothered in moist blankets. It would rain soon. He'd welcome a hard rain.

  He galloped up the lane and dismounted outside the stables. He could hear Hersel arguing. "Miss Dulcie, it be swelterin' terday. You gwme give dis boss de sunstruck. Mastah Jem woan Kke dat.'*

  "Hersel, this makes twice m a week you've refused to do your job. Do you want me to report you to Mastah Jem?"

  Adam looked into the stables. Hersel, his lips in a pout, was tightening the saddle on Dulcie's mare. "You gwine git caught in de stawm."

  "I'll go with her, Hersel. Miss Dulcie'll be all right."

  Dulcie saw him, and her eyes lighted. She smiled* "Thank you, Hersel," she said sweetly. They moved sedately down the lane to the fields.

  "Where am I to escort you, Dulcie?'*

  "Anywhere," she said, still smiling. "As far as we can go."

  "Don't tempt me. I might take you to New Orleans with me."

  She flicked Strawberry lightly, and the mare broke into a canter. Adam's blue roan stayed at her side. "Don't tempt me. I might accept."

  TTiey rode across the cotton fields into the willow oak woods along the creek, following paths Dulcie knew well and Adam had come to know.

  They crossed a dry, fallow field, then entered the piney woods.

  Dulcie reined in. She tore off her snood, shaking her hair until it spilled in a russet cascade over her shoulders. Feeling wild and free, she gazed at the towering pines, conical, spearing the heavens. She searched through the heavy boughs for sight of the wonder the forest promised, then her eyes lowered and met Adam's. They laughed in delight. "Doesn't it smell good, Adam?"

  Around them the calm settled. Birds stopped singing and returned to nest, foxes sought their lairs, deer with folded legs snuggled into the brush. All the woodland

  creatures sought mate and home before the coming storm.

  Adam dismounted. "All I can smell is your perfume. Just flowers." His eyes held hers, and his smile dimmed. He held up his arms, then she was off her horse and standing in front of him. He said her name only once. The dark green trees soughed. His mouth came down on hers hard, his moustache coarse against her lips. With one viselike arm he cradled her against him as though he would never let her go.

  He drew his head away, his breath coming hard. "Dul-cie." His lips met hers again, and she was open to him, letting him in, letting his tongue taste hers. His hand moved under her jacket to the edge of her breast, unfettered except for the thin shirt.

  She turned a little toward his hand, wanting him to touch her, explore her, know her fully.

  He rained kisses on her face, her throat, on her breast through its fragile covering, murmuring without knowing it the words he had spoken only in a waking dream. "My darling. You're all I can think about. Dulcie, let me make love to you. I want you so."

  The summer storm heat closed around them, was within them, throbbing, pressing, urgent, struggling to be free. Slowly, then faster, creeping in sighing gusts, the wind blew through the pines.

  In the distance a sharp crack of thunder rolled across the greeny-gray heavens.

  Dulcie said breathlessly, "There's an old log house . . .'*

  The horses stamped uneasily. The first rain fell softly on the boughs above them. Adam glanced at the restive animals, then looked back into Dulcie's languorous eyes.

  The wind rose swiftly then, the tops of the pines bent and rubbed against each other in a melancholy music. Suddenly mobilized, he lifted her to her horse. They rode quickly down the seldom used forest path.

  They tied the horses in front of a low door that sagged on its hinges. He held out his hand, and Dulcie followed him trustingly. He pushed the door to, its primitive hinges protesting as he closed the world out.

  Dulcie moved away from him, looking into the murky corners of the room where Adam would take her. There was a gaping hole in the roof. There were no windows, no opening for light to enter. She looked at Adam uncertainly. "Well ... we certainly are here."

  A loud booming of thunder, followed by brilliant flashing lightning, made her flinch. Rain poured through the hole in the shingles.

  "You weren't afraid of a storm at sea." He stood tensely, feet a little apart, hands loosely at his sides.

  She was nervous, shivering despite the heat. Her eyes clung to him. Doubts assailed him. Flexible as his tastes were in women, his honor bound him to the customs of the society he lived in. Some women existed for his pleasure alone, and he used them for that. Could he vent mere lust on Dufcie?

  He loved her. The thought rocked him, robbing him of the remorseless desire to take her as he had the others. "You're getting wet, Dulcie," he said, softly teasing. He put his hands out, motioning her to him.

  She lurched into his arms. He held her gently, stroking her. His mouth on hers was tender. More than to possess her, he wanted to protect her. "Nothing has happened. It's not too late to turn back, my love."

  "Oh, Adam . . . Adam . . . Adam, hold me! Don't let me go—ever."

  He buried his hands and face in her hair. She pressed her breasts, her loins against him, wrenching inarticulate sounds of love from the depths of him. With his tongue he forced her mouth open, seeking, and the flame swept Dulcie as it was sweeping him, making his arms tremble a
s he held her.

  Presently she felt her jacket being unbuttoned, and obeying his murmured commands, she began to undress him. His coat fell to the floor, covering hers. His fingers were at the green silk tie around her neck. It floated away in the gloom. Then her shirt slipped from her shoulders. She stood quivering, resisting the impulse to hide her bared breasts from this large man to whom she thought to give herself. "Take off my shirt," he whispered. With shaking fingers she obeyed. The curling black hair that matted his chest sprang into view. He took her hand in his, placing it against his breast as he touched hers. His fingers burned against her flesh, sending an unbearable thrill through her.

  "Touch me as I touch you. Let me feel you caress me, Dulcie." Hesitantly at first, her hands moved over the heavy muscles that mounded smoothly across his chest, feeling their taut contours with growing excitement.

  His arms were around her, bending her backward in the crook of his arm so that his mouth moved down, down to kiss each breast longingly, lovingly. Her long riding skirt fell around her ankles.

  Her voice shook as she said, "I ... I came to you in the night, Adam."

  "What?" He was barely listening.

  "Friday night, very late. I . . . was awake. I stood . . . unclothed. I wanted—I wanted to come to you."

  A bitter vision of himself sprang into Adam's mind.

  "I . . . stood outside your window. Oh, Adam, why didn't you know? I wanted to go on, but I was so afraid."

  He kissed her and held her tenderly. "Are you afraid now, Dulcie?"

  "A little, but I need you. Adam, hold me."

  "Dulcie." He drew her hand down to his throbbing penis. His tongue went into her mouth, moving back and forth, probing, tantalizing. She responded, trembling, eager, caressing him through his trousers.

  He jerked the tape that held up her pantalettes. Dulcie gasped, her breath searing her lungs. She stood naked. The lightning played on her breasts, the gentle swell of her hipbones, on the dark triangle below her belly.

  He ran trembling fingers over her breasts, holding them almost reverently, bending to kiss each taut upturned nipple. The scent of her perfume, sweet as flowers, cool with her innocence yet spiced and warmed by her rapid heartbeats, mingled with that aphrodisiac other fragrance, the strong, sharp scent of her readiness for him.