Caribbean Scot

by Kimberly Killion

  “Think ye I need a bluidy lecture now?” When Reid fell back, she craned her head over her shoulder. “Did he call this place Wallace?”

  “B’alam is determined to name this land after my da. The two of them were verra close.”

  “But your da’s name was Calum MacGregor.”

  “When King James enacted the proscription against Clan MacGregor Da assumed the alias Peter Wallace, which is also the name Da used when he first arrived. As the Mopán people have difficulty making the ‘W’ sound, I have heard this land called everything from Ballace to Billis.”

  Robbie stepped over a tree root belonging to a monstrous tree and briefly pondered Reid’s words. “Peter Wallace was my da.”

  “And my da’s closest friend.”

  Robbie was humbled. War stole the privilege of knowing her da, nonetheless, she’d been proud of his dedication to Clan MacGregor. She smiled inside, thinking of how pleased Grandda would be to learn a land as wondrous as this bore the name Wallace, regardless of the form in which it was pronounced.

  She studied her surroundings, hoping to memorize the flora and fauna so she could describe it with accuracy upon her return to Scotland. A variety of large, vibrant-colored birds with enormous beaks flew overhead beneath a canopy of lush green foliage. Black-furred beasties bounced with gusto through the tallest trees she’d ever seen. Gazing down from the treetops, one of the creatures pitched a partially eaten piece of fruit at them, then opened its mouth and screamed in high-pitched tones.

  She jumped, and the Jaguar King tightened his hold. “Be not afraid. The howler monkeys will not harm Handful of Seed.”

  Her scowl caused the chieftain to release her and take the lead on his own. Regardless of how brief her stay might be here, she refused to be regarded as Handful of Seed. She glared at Reid. “I want a new name.”

  He offered her a crooked grin, shrugged his broad shoulders, then took her hand when she side-stepped around a darting lizard. “Consider yourself fortunate to have been gifted with two names. I was called White Man for more than three years. Ye cannae demand a new name. Ye must earn it.”

  Robbie harrumphed. “How did ye earn your name?” Most likely Reid had bravely killed a giant snake. Or mayhap he’d slithered across the jungle floor while sneaking up on an enemy. She awaited the tale, but Reid held silent and drew tiny circles round and round the skin between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me why they call ye White Serpent.”

  His bronze skin tinted red. He turned away from her and stared off into the jungle.

  The man had another secret, did he? “Mayhap the Jaguar King will tell me how ye got your name.”

  When she skipped forward, Reid jerked her back with a grunt. “You are insufferable. I’ll tell ye another time.”

  “Nay. I want to know now.”

  He growled. His jaw pinched. He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one followed too closely. “When Jax accepted Black Dove as his woman, a celebration took place in the village. I had a wee bit more spirits than I intended and awoke the following morn sprawled out naked on the ground beneath the watchful eyes of a half dozen bairns.” He pushed the crown of her head down to avoid a drooping vine. “Think ye can watch where you’re going?”

  “Nay.” She watched him, somehow knowing he would protect her. “Go on.”

  Reid’s color turned impossibly redder. The rims of his ears shone crimson when he wove his fingers through his disheveled hair. “The sun has not baked all of my skin a golden brown. S’truth, there are parts of me that are as pale as the full moon. And that particular morn a part of me awoke before the rest. One of the bairns pointed at…it…and yelled ‘white serpent.’”

  Laughter bubbled in her gut. ’Twas a welcome feeling, given the emotions she’d suffered thus far this day. The quips piled up so quickly in her head, she couldn’t decide which one to use. She chewed on the inside of her lip, but her giggle burst forth with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes. “Ye are named after your cock?”

  The Jaguar King glanced over his shoulder and chortled.

  Reid curled his hand around her waist and pulled her into his side. “Laugh all ye like, but keep in mind,” his hot breath tickled her ear, “I could have been named White Stub, but White Serpent was far more fitting for a man of my size.”

  Her laughter ceased. The merriment tickling her insides shifted to brazen curiosity. She tried to control the direction of her eyes, but the task proved impossible. Her gaze slid down his meaty chest to the bulge filling the front of his breeks.

  She slammed into the Jaguar King’s back unaware that he’d stopped in front of her.

  He grunted and mumbled a few syllables she didn’t understand.

  “We’ve arrived,” Reid announced when they stepped into a clearing in the jungle speckled with thatch-roof huts. Their dwellings were not so different than the cot-houses in Scotland, but the way the bare-breasted Mopán women labored over their duties was an altogether different story. Again, she was forced to control her wandering eyes. ’Twas not as if she was partial to women. S’truth, it was more about comparison. Unfortunately, the only women with breasts the same size as hers belonged to adolescent girls no more than ten and six.

  She was never taking the corset off. Ever.

  “’Tis like a bawdy house gone awry.” Eoin’s lewd comment wasn’t welcome nor was his presence at her side. The man made no attempt to hide the direction of his eyes when four beautiful women positioned themselves in pairs beside the Jaguar King.

  They all wore braids decorated with bright yellow feathers, but one of them stood out above all the rest. Her beads clung tight to her elongated neck in layers and didn’t cover her favors at all. She was the embodiment of sensuality with circular nipples protruding from perfect round breasts. If that wasn’t enough to hold a man’s attention, her tiny waist, decorated with a motif of black swirls and gold chains was. She looked at Reid from beneath thick black lashes and smiled with full lips.

  Robbie had never felt more invisible.

  “My daughters; Gentle Fawn, Stream Dancer, Songbird, and Wild Tigress.” The Jaguar King named them from left to right, ending on the beauty eying Reid.

  Black Dove stepped up beside Robbie and leaned into her side. “Da calls her Wild Tigress, but the rest o’ the kin call my sister On All Fours as that’s how the harlot spends most o’ her time.”

  “Come.” Jax shuffled Eoin toward a group of men dispersing weaponry. He didn’t refuse, but he didn’t take his gaze from Wild Tigress and her favors either.

  The exchange only emphasized how ignorant Robbie had been. Not only had she been faithful to a lecher, she’d been loyal to a murderer.

  She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding Reid’s hand until the Jaguar King grabbed her by the bodice and jerked her toward him.

  “Stay,” he demanded, then turned to Reid. “We hunt.”

  A wash of unexplained panic took hold. She’d grown accustomed to his constant presence on the voyage. ’Twas ridiculous, but she didn’t want to be separated from him. She looked at him with pleading eyes. “I want to stay with ye.”

  His shoulders fell. His forehead wrinkled, and his hand rubbed his chest over his heart. “Ye cannae possibly know how desperately I wish that were true.”

  13

  ~ THE HUNT ~

  If Reid had to spend another second in his cousin’s presence, he was liable to spear Eoin instead of the mountain cow shaking the bushes.

  Hunkered in the thicket, Eoin wiped the sweat from his face on a drape of wool hanging from his plaide. The sun had baked his skin a crimson red, but the fool hadn’t the sense to pull his lèine shirt back on to protect himself from further damage. He would pay for his ignorance on the morrow, but this night Eoin would reap the rewards of the kill, if only Reid could encourage him to hunt.

  “You’d do well to try to impress B’alam,” Reid whispered to Eoin.

  “I care not about your chieftain.”

  “
You care about his gold. I strongly suggest ye flaunt your skill as a hunter.”

  Eoin’s eyes narrowed on the Jaguar King, but B’alam paid him little heed. Instead, the chieftain dipped his head toward Jax, issuing the silent order to draw the beast out of the bushes.

  Reid’s pulse fluttered as he curled his fingers around his spear and readied himself for the run. He missed the hunt. He missed the thrill of the chase. ’Twas a shame he couldn’t make the kill this time.

  “Try to keep up,” he challenged the competitor inside his cousin just before Jax bellowed in warbling tones.

  The mountain cow shot out of the bushes into a fevered run.

  Reid took the lead, with Eoin fast at his heels. Jax could’ve easily outrun them, but the hunt was so much more than just spearing food. ’Twas a way for a man to prove his worth.

  Lungs burning, heart pounding painfully in his chest, Reid raced through the jungle’s vine-thick maze until they cornered the beast in a clearing shadowed by foliage. Trapped within a wall of trees, the mountain cow grunted, snorted, and squealed in protest.

  Jax raised his spear, but Reid stilled him with the shake of his head. He wanted Eoin to make the kill, and he did so with the skills ingrained in a Scotsman. Eoin’s spear whistled through the air and stuck in the beast’s neck, marking the end of the hunt.

  “You did well.” Barely winded, Jax clapped a wheezing Eoin on the back as the rest of the hunters broke into the clearing. The Jaguar King stepped before the dead mountain cow to study the kill, then turned toward Eoin and offered him a congratulatory grin. “A good kill, white man.”

  Panting, Reid bent over his knees and sucked in air in starving gulps. He couldn’t say with any certainty whether or not Robbie had believed his words. She’d been upset, and her tears made him regret telling her the truth about Fergus, but what concerned him more was that she would hide this truth alongside Eoin’s other transgressions. ’Twas past time she saw Eoin for the man he was.

  * * *

  “Psst.”

  Robbie stilled her hands in the dough and let the thin tortilla wrap over her knuckles.

  “Robbie,” someone whispered from behind.

  She glanced over her shoulder to find Black Dove and three of her sisters peeking around Jax’s dwelling. They waved her toward them.

  From the secrecy of their actions, Robbie assumed they were up to mischief and was flattered to be included. As often as Reid had warned her to practice caution, he’d also warned her not to insult the Mopán people. Befriending the Jaguar King’s daughters could only benefit her cause. Not to mention she’d flattened nigh a hundred of the round tortillas for the white-haired woman hunched over the hot bricks beside her. Robbie didn’t know the woman’s name, but had decided Sour Face suited her disposition.

  ’Twas doubtful Sour Face would even notice her absence, so Robbie got to her feet, brushed her hands free of crushed maize, then walked with haste to the back of Jax’s humble abode.

  Gentle Fawn, Stream Dancer, and Songbird accompanied Black Dove. Robbie gave silent thanks to discover Wild Tigress wasn’t among their group. “What’s amiss?”

  “We’re goin’ to prepare for the merrymaking.” Black Dove held out a basket filled with toiletries; soaps, creams, oils, as well as buffing stones, sharp black rocks and three artist brushes.

  “Come.” Songbird tugged on Robbie’s arm, giving her little say in the matter, and the five women ran in a single line through the jungle.

  Not far from the village, they burst into a clearing and the beauty of the landscape stole the breath from Robbie’s lungs. A waterfall cascaded over the edge of a cliff into a pool of blue water so clear she could see the bottom. Lush green grasses and purple flowers the size of her hand bloomed in abundance around the perimeter, filling the air with their sweet hearty scent.

  ’Twas perfectly beautiful. A paradise. One might wonder if this was the Garden of Eden.

  A splash brought her out of her reverie as Stream Dancer dove from a flat rock into the lagoon. Her sisters followed suit and within seconds they were frolicking naked in the water.

  Unable to help herself, Robbie watched Stream Dancer in awe, now understanding how the woman had acquired her name. She swam with grace, gliding across the surface in smooth even strokes. When she rolled to her back, her round breasts floated atop the water and caused Robbie to flush with heat. She turned away from the scene.

  “You are shy?” Songbird posed the question, which was odd, given she was by far the most timid of the four sisters.

  “Where I come from, the people are more modest about their nudity.”

  Without inhibitions, Black Dove rose out of the lagoon. Shimmering water rolled over her rounded belly into her nether regions where Robbie was shocked to find her completely free of hair.

  “Weel, ye arenae in your Scotland now, are ye?” She giggled and gathered soaps and creams from the basket, then returned to the water.

  Contemplating Black Dove’s words, Robbie curled her hair round and round her finger. Why should she be embarrassed? They certainly weren’t. They were a people unrestrained by social oppression. S’truth, she envied their freedom.

  Without further thought, she pulled her gown over head, then fought the laces of her corset behind her back. The battle lasted longer than she would have liked, but she eventually managed to remove the rigid garment.

  The women chattered in their native tongue and lathered creams in their black hair, paying her no heed, but a brief moment of indecision stole her courage to strip completely naked. Instead, she dove into the water in her sleeveless undershift and stayed beneath the surface for long minutes before finally joining the women in their circle.

  Songbird tossed Robbie a cake of soap. “Make quick. We’ve many work to prepare ourselves for presentation.”

  Robbie hardly called bathing work. ’Twas more of a luxury, but as the women stepped from the lagoon and retrieved the sharp black stones from the basket, she soon understood otherwise. They applied creams to their olive skin, then shaved their legs, their underarms, and their mons with the rocks.

  There was so much to be learned from these people, but when Black Dove held out the sharp stone, Robbie shook her head. “I dinnae do that.”

  They looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns.

  “Ye should.” Black Dove shrugged and tossed the stone back into the basket.

  Mayhap she should.

  Robbie shook off the idea before it had a chance to linger. She focused on bathing, knowing if she let her mind wander, Reid would find his way into her thoughts.

  Content with her cleanliness, she climbed atop the flat rock and basked in the heat while the women braided each other’s hair. Defeated by the day, she allowed herself a moment to rest.

  The floral scent surrounding her was intoxicating. Her eyes slid shut.

  Mayhap the serenity of this exotic place soothed her, or mayhap ’twas simple exhaustion. Regardless of the why or the how, Reid slipped into her head, and she no longer felt guilty about allowing him entrance.

  Flashes of passionate kisses and gentle caresses flitted through her mind, but she’d never been one for love-play. Her fantasy advanced at an accelerated speed to the part where Reid stroked her to climax with his tongue, and because of her new-found knowledge of the Mopán women’s bathing practices, she now envisioned her nether lips as silky smooth petals of flesh.

  She squirmed, and the thick ache pooling in her womb only intensified every time she replayed the scene in her head.

  Oh, she wanted him. She wanted to do things with him she’d never done with Eoin. S’truth, part of her wanted to flaunt her desire for Reid in front of Eoin. Her thoughts felt sinful, but only because she’d been foolishly loyal to the wrong man for too many years. She wanted to hurt Eoin. She wanted him to pay for his transgressions with something he treasured. Mostly because of what he’d done to Fergus, but also because he’d lied to her and traded her like a piece of horseflesh to Reid in their
“bargain.”

  Well, mayhap she should negotiate a bargain of her own. One that would avenge Fergus’s death and protect her loved ones. Eoin cared about no one more than himself, but there was something he valued more than any amount of gold—the chieftainship.

  She lingered on that thought. Would Reid give up his life here and take the chieftainship from Eoin if she asked him to?

  She had no idea how long she’d laid there debating, but when her eyes fluttered open, she found Black Dove and her sisters looming over her with paintbrushes in hand. They were once again clothed in their short skirts and beads, but new embellishments decorated their bodies.

  Robbie sat up, combing her dry hair with her fingers, and studied the artistry painting the women’s skin. Reddish-brown markings that resembled fine laced gloves covered their hands. Swirls of ivy and tiny flowers coiled around their feet and ankles. Songbird sported a painted necklace that dipped low between her breasts and Black Dove’s navel was adorned with an intricate sun.

  “I feel like a bat among butterflies,” she jested and felt even more inferior when they nodded in agreement.

  “White Serpent says ye are kin to the warrior fire-goddess,” Black Dove explained. “Itzpapalotl appears in the form of a clawed butterfly in some men’s dreams. She has wings edged with obsidian spikes and—”

  “Obsidian spikes?” Robbie interrupted. “A clawed butterfly, as in a bat?” She realized at that moment, Reid had named his ship for her, but instead of feeling flattered, she felt uncomely. No woman wanted to be compared to a bat. “I dinnae wish to remind White Serpent of a bat.”

  “We can make you pleasing.” Songbird donned an innocent smile and held up a small gold pot of paint.

  They offered her a gift, and the temptation to accept was far too great to deny. Robbie had never pampered her skin with creams and oils. She rarely decorated her hair in ribbons, and she didn’t possess the means to dress fashionably, but for the first time in her life, she wanted to be beautiful. “Think ye I could seduce the man with paintings of butterflies?”

  The excitement alighting Black Dove’s face made Robbie more than a wee bit nervous. “If ye are thinkin’ to seduce the mon, we must first start with the stone.”