by Colette Gale
And, just as compelling of a motivation…she might even find a small pool where she might bathe.
After all, with Papa and Kellan gone, there was no one to see her but a glimmer-headed tyra and perhaps a parrot or two.
Some time later, Jane found herself pushing away thick, heavy green brush as she made her way into the jungle. She hadn’t gone far, but she was already warm from the heavy, humid heat. The treehouse loomed behind her, and she used it as a landmark to make certain she didn’t wander too far from the relative safety of the small inlet of seashore.
Jane hadn’t come unprepared. She carried the loaded pistol, and she had several items tucked into a loose belt: more bullets, matches, a small packet of food, an old-fashioned skin of water, a knife, and Con Bellingworth’s Pictorial of the Madagascar Jungle. Since convincing Papa she should accompany him on this journey, she’d been studying this treatise so as to familiarize herself with the inhabitants of the African jungle. Despite its title, however, Jane was disappointed with the lack of pictures in the book. There were drawings, but they were often crude and lacked enough detail for her to be certain her identifications were accurate.
She could do a much better job of sketching the flora and fauna than whoever had done this.
Regardless of her studies of the book, she had no intention of going far from the encampment this first day. The last thing she wanted to do was get lost and have to spend the night in the cold, dark jungle filled with feral creatures—as Mr. Bellingworth had done. He’d written about it in great detail.
And, she thought with a pang, it was quite possible the same had happened to Jonathan when he was lost in the jungle. Perhaps she’d find evidence of a camp he’d made, or some of his belongings still intact against the weather. If she could just find a sign of him, any sign….
She just hoped it wouldn’t be a pile of his bones.
Submerging that horrible, gruesome—yet sobering—thought, Jane continued on and turned her attention toward finding a place to bathe.
She pulled aside a swath of ferns, each leaf of which was nearly as large as her torso, and stepped on soft, squishy moss. A bird called in the distance, another answered high above her, and something rustled in the leaves. Springing up everywhere were the wrist-thick liana branches, which grew from the ground up into the trees and anchored, vine-like, around them. Mr. Bellingworth indicated they were strong enough to hold the weight of a man, and he’d described seeing monkeys and even orangutans using the lianas to glide from one tree branch to another. She touched a tree trunk and something skittered away beneath her fingers: a flat, gray insect that had been camouflaged by the bark.
At last, Jane heard a soft rumble that sounded like water falling.
Patting the small bag she wore crosswise over her torso, she thought longingly of immersing herself and washing her hair. The bathing opportunities on The Fledgling had been limited to hip baths and pouring pail after pail of water over her long hair. She’d nearly been frustrated enough to cut her hair short, but something had held her back.
Hope.
Yes, Jonathan had loved her long curls. And if there was any chance of finding him alive, well…she wanted to be just the way he remembered her.
In her small bag, she optimistically carried a small bar of soap, a comb, and a bit of lavender-scented cornstarch and bicarbonate soda to sprinkle beneath her arms and in her other private places after her bath.
In her impractical skirt, Jane trudged through the thick brush, following the sound of rumbling, gurgling water. The thick, rich scent of loamy soil, damp and filled with nutrients, was pleasant and fresh. The aroma of pink, yellow and orange flowers seemed to carry further and more readily on the soft breezes than that of the roses and lilies in her gardens back home.
Once, something rustled in the leaves and Jane went stock-still. Her hand went to cover the butt of her pistol and her heart stopped beating for a moment. Then a small yellow and black lizard appeared, scuttling along a tree branch that sprang from a thick cluster of leaves. Jane was not a particularly squeamish person, and she reached out to touch the creature’s back.
She touched its warm, dry, scaly skin before it skittered off about its business, disappearing into the thick green leaves. And then, ducking beneath a series of low-hanging vines that acted almost like a screen, she found a small circular pool.
In her most exorbitant fantasies, Jane had never imagined such a beautiful place. She paused, overcome by the sheer loveliness of crystal blue water, spilling from the side of a small mountain into a parlor-sized pool below. Water so blue, it would put her sapphire earrings to shame. The rough, stone side of the mountain that rose above was softened by lush green ferns, vines, and leafy bushes. Flowers of every shade of pink to red to salmon to rose grew in abundance in the small glen.
Jane wasted no further time. She pushed past lianas thicker than her wrist and pliable vines as slender as her pinkie, hurrying over springy moss toward the pool as if summoned by some powerful entity: cleanliness and relaxation.
Moments later, after assuring herself there was no evidence of human presence currently in the vicinity, she was barefoot on the soft, warm moss. She unbuttoned her shirtwaist and draped over a bush.
Jane stepped out of her skirt and had a momentary thrill of excitement, wearing only her chemise and a short, relaxed corset in the middle of the jungle.
She looked at the sparkling blue water, frothy as a cream soda where it spilled down into the pool, and drew in a deep breath. Then she unfastened her corset, tossed it aside, and then, at last, whipped the light cotton chemise over her head.
Yanking pins from where they anchored her braid in place, Jane arranged them in a pile on a smooth rock and shook her long hair free and loose. And then she dipped a curious toe into the pool, busy with waves and surges from the waterfall.
“Ahhh,” she moaned aloud. The water was cool and refreshing without being icy-cold.
With one last glance around, a broad, enthusiastic smile on her face, Jane gave a soft laugh and walked into the pool. Only four steps in, and the water was up to her hips.
She dove forward, sliding into the sleek embrace of the warm, churning pool. Her hair fanned about her under the water, creating a red-gold aura that straightened and then coiled up with every rhythmic stroke.
Jane, who’d learned to swim at Bassenthwaite Lake the summer she was ten, had never known how freeing it was to feel completely unencumbered, for of course she’d never swum naked, her breasts free to bounce and sway with the movement of the water, the water cool in the warmth between her legs. The freedom was glorious.
When she surfaced, it was in the midst of the waterfall’s spill. She tread water there for a long moment, enjoying the droplets of mist on her skin and feeling the way the water rumbled beneath the surface.
It churned so powerfully that the vibration of the falling stream caused the water to surge around her in strong, insistent vibrations. Jane slid onto her back, floating, paddling herself gently, feet-first into the tumbling, chaotic mess, allowing her knees to relax open.
She gasped aloud, arching in surprise when the rhythmic pounding of the churning water surged against the hot, sensitive lips of her quim. It was a sensation she’d never felt before: strong, yet soft, insistent and pulsing.
Oh…
She closed her eyes, allowing her legs to relax, using delicate movements of her hands to keep her positioned in the fiercest part of the waterfall. The erotic slide of water washed over her breasts, leaving them free and tight under the sunshine…then another rush of water slipped over them like seductive fingertips. Little bumps rose on her skin as the roiling pool pounded against her quim, licking and surging over the sweet little pea that brought her so much pleasure.
Pound, pound, pound….
Jane sighed as the familiar heat of lust swelled inside her, weakening her knees, warming her torso, building and surging into a sudden, long stream of pleasure that had her moaning into the darkness
of the jungle.
When she opened her eyes, she realized she’d floated away from the turbulence and was now near the shore near where she’d entered the pool. Her body felt alive and full, warm and sated and she smiled to herself.
She looked up and screamed.
— IV —
Two dark, beady eyes stared at Jane. Beneath them was a long, hairy snout and bared teeth. It seemed to leer at her as it stepped into the pool and smacked its long, hairless tail in the water.
She choked on another scream as she floundered beneath the surface, her idyll shattered as terror galvanized her into movement. Jane hardly knew what she was doing as she slapped and struggled through the water across the pool, getting as far away from the large, hairy, rat-like creature as she could.
She stumbled onto shore and, heedless of her nakedness, ran from the pool and its dog-sized rodent as fast as her trembling legs would allow. Branches and bushes scratched and caught at her, snagging her long hair and twining it around twigs. She yanked at it, pulling with her hands as she tried to free herself and eventually make her way back toward the treehouse…but she realized with a horrified start she could no longer see the landmark.
The trees were too tall and thick, nearly blotting out the sun. Jane broke off a branch, freeing her hair, and thrashed blindly to the right, hoping she’d find her way back to a clearing where she could look up and get her bearings. She pushed through a small space webbed with a tight netting of vines and lianas, shoving them out of the way furiously and with no little desperation.
But as she pushed through them, more looping vines fell and twisted, tangling around her as if they were grasping at her limbs. Jane fought them away, but it was as if she’d stepped into a Cat’s Cradle made of gigantic yarn, twining and tangling around her hair and her arms and legs. The more she fought, the more entangled she became until she realized she was truly caught.
Jane stopped moving, trying not to panic, forcing herself into calmness. This isn’t a gigantic spider web, she told herself. Clearly, these were green vines, the same ones she’d pushed aside and walked through during her trek to the pool. They just happened to be very tangled and thick here, and she’d knotted herself up in them.
No need to panic.
And so she tried to painstakingly loosen her hair, using arms bound by finger-thick vines, standing on legs imprisoned by other, thicker ropes. It was an impossible task: her hair was too thick and long and curly, and it had caught up high and wide in the vines, and she was going to have to call for—
Jane realized she was speaking aloud to herself when all at once, something dropped down in front of her, and she opened her mouth to scream—and realized it was already open.
It was a man. He’d jumped down from some great height in the trees and landed no more than ten feet away.
A soft strangled sound came from her throat and Jane thought she might faint. She closed her mouth and willed herself to stay calm even though her heart was beating as if it were about to burst free from her ribcage.
She’d never seen a man who looked like him. He was…wild. Uncivilized.
What was he going to do to her?
He was naked except for what looked like two pieces of animal skin tied around his waist, one each at front and back. He had brown hair with some lighter streaks as if the sun had touched it. The longest hair she’d ever seen on a man reached past his shoulder blades, and was in odd finger-sized, curl-like ringlets. His skin wasn’t as dark as an African’s, but was more the color of shelled almonds, and he had a light smattering of darker hair over his chest that narrowed into a slender trail, disappearing beneath the animal skin.
His arms were large and muscular, and he had broad, square shoulders and a torso so firm and sleek it could have been carved from oak. Jonathan certainly hadn’t looked so…taut. And tight. Powerful. And this man’s legs were massive, muscular, and completely exposed from foot to hip.
Jane swallowed hard, trying to keep her mind from going blank with terror. He was huge, and obviously strong, and she was completely defenseless. She realized she was panting with fear and drew in a deep breath, which only served to remind her how helpless she was. At her movement, the vines swayed from their moorings above, but didn’t release her.
She looked at the man, terrified at what she might see in his eyes. They were blue, confirming that he was clearly not a native, and perhaps even of European descent. And instead of wildness or threat, or even lust in them, she saw…curiosity. And…concern?
They looked at each other, neither speaking or moving for a long moment. At last, seeing nothing in his eyes to alarm her, Jane relaxed a little. Her arms, aching now from their unaccustomed work swimming, and then struggling, hung helplessly from where they were caught up in the vines.
She moistened her lips and said, “Please. Help me.” And she gestured as well as she could, trussed up like a goose.
He made a noise, soft and gruntlike, and then stepped closer. Jane forced herself to keep from recoiling, expecting the wild man to bring the unwashed stench she’d experienced from being in close quarters with men on The Fledgling. But the only thing she smelled was sharp freshness, like grass and leaves and nature, and something that could only be described as man.
Her heart pounded so hard she was sure her breasts—oh, God, they were naked and exposed!—were jolting visibly with the rhythm. Try as she might, she couldn’t twist to try and hide her private place with a well-positioned thigh, either.
He sniffed, lifting his face like a hound scenting the hunt in the air, and she watched his expression change as he seemed to recognize whatever it was he was smelling. Her? Her soap? Something else? Whatever it was, it turned his eyes darker and his nostrils flared as if wanting to draw in as much as possible.
Jane swallowed and tried to keep herself calm as she read the naked, needy expression in his eyes. “Please,” she said again. “Help me.”
He seemed so wild and primitive. Would he understand? Was he more man than beast, or would the animalistic side of him win out? She knew there were natives who lived in small villages, deep in the jungle. But he didn’t seem to be one of them.
The man reached out and she braced herself, not sure whether to expect greedy, grasping hands like Kellan Darkdale’s, or impersonal, efficient ones like Efremina’s. But instead of either, he touched her chest, just above her breasts, right below her throat, with his forefinger. He made a low, growling, rusty sound: “Uh-mun.”
She didn’t move. What was he saying? Was he claiming her? Warning her in some native language?
He looked at her, and she could see concentration in his expression. Fierce concentration, and then determination. He touched her again. “Wuh…mun,” he said, more clearly this time and with less effort. Then, “Wo…man. Woman.”
Jane sagged in relief, then felt a spark of empathy for the man. He was trying to communicate with her. She could see intelligence in his eyes as his mind worked quickly and with determination. For a moment, his expression reminded her of a schoolboy, concentrating on spelling chrysanthemum, or reciting a half-remembered passage from Shakespeare.
Before she could think how to respond, he thumped himself on the chest. “Man.”
Yes. You are definitely…man.
The thought popped into her mind with great force. She shivered, not unpleasantly—and wasn’t certain why. Then she nodded. “Yes,” she said, and tried out a wobbly smile.
“Woman,” he said again, the word surprisingly clear and intelligible as he touched her once more. “Man.” He touched himself. This time he smiled.
Jane’s breath caught as a wholly human, completely male expression of pride and arrogance accompanied the grin. Aside from that, it had the effect of turning his long face into a pleasing, handsome one with surprisingly bright teeth and attractive creases at the corners of his eyes.
“Yes,” she said, swallowing hard and nodding as she kept her smile in place. “Perhaps now that we have that settled, you’ll�
��er…assist me?” She gestured as much as she was able, trying to draw his attention to the fact that she was still tied up. “All the blood has rushed from my arms, and they’re going numb.”
The smile faded as he tilted his head to the side, like a bird or dog, cocking an ear as if trying to understand. She saw furrows of concentration in his forehead, and then he winced slightly, as if something had flitted just beyond his grasp.
Jane would have spoken again, but he reached toward her once more. She stilled, holding her breath, as his hand went above her head and she waited for him to loosen her wrist….but instead, he touched her hair.
With a gentle caress, he smoothed his fingers over one of her imprisoned curls. Then, as if growing more confident, he stroked the whole length of it, sliding the lock between two fingers.
“Fahr,” he said. “Fah-er.” His brows knitted in concentration as he stared at his fingers caught in her hair. “Fire. Fire.”
Jane wasn’t certain why the wonder in his voice, and the accomplishment reverberating there, made her feel her own sense of pride for him. And why the deep, rusty sound of his voice made odd fluttery feelings come to life inside her belly.
She sensed this man didn’t mean her harm. That he was studying her just as her father studied the delicate tropical butterflies.
Then it occurred to Jane that she, just like the insect specimens in the British Museum, was pinned in place, on display. Imprisoned and vulnerable. Naked.
A wave of apprehension jolted through her with such force that she startled visibly. This seemed to draw the man from whatever reverie he’d been in, apparently mesmerized by her hair. His hand fell from her head to hang at his side once again.
Jane drew in yet another deep breath. She wondered if he would understand this time. “Please,” she said once more. “Help me get free.” And she pulled more violently at the vines, trying to get him to understand her meaning.
