Silence is Golden: Volume 3 (Storm and Silence Saga)

by Robert Thier

  We continued on. I gave him a little time to recuperate, to lull him into a false sense of security. It wasn’t until noon that day that I put the next part of my plan into action. Again, there was the sound of rustling cloth. Approximately two point five seconds later, Karim cleared his throat.

  ‘Um…Sahib? Sahib!’

  ‘What is it, Karim? Is there a problem? Did you see something suspicious?’

  ‘Err…in a manner of speaking, Sahib, yes! Sahib, she-’

  Mr Ambrose turned, just in time to witness my trousers slipping to the ground.

  ‘Aahh!’ Pulling in another deep, luxurious breath, I stretched my thighs. ‘Much more refreshing like this, don’t you think?’

  ‘I…cannot…agree,’ Karim managed to get out between clenched teeth. I glanced over. The poor man managed to be red in the face, even under a tan as brown as mahogany. He was holding one hand clamped over his eyes, and the other outstretched towards me, as if to ward off evil. ‘Put those back on now!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Making a little pirouette, I surveyed my new attire. ‘I like it like this. Nice and breezy.’

  ‘You…you…ifrit! Temptress! Demon in human form!’

  ‘How would you know? You haven’t taken a good look at my form yet.’

  In answer to this, Karim only muttered a string of highly incomprehensible, and highly impressive, curses. Choosing to ignore him for now, I turned to Mr Ambrose with a sweet smile on my face.

  ‘And you, Sir? What do you think?’

  Silence.

  A very, very silent silence.

  Yet was it a pregnant one?

  Well, to judge by the way Mr Ambrose was looking at my legs, it very soon would be.

  Slowly, very slowly, he raised his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘What in the name of all that is properly attired do you think you are doing, Mr Linton?’

  I gave him a smile, as sweet as solid chocolate. ‘Why, simply adjusting to the climate, Sir, as you suggested.’

  ‘I didn’t suggest for you to run around displaying your unmentionables to the world!’

  ‘The world?’ I raised an innocent eyebrow. ‘But it’s the middle of the jungle. There’s no one here except Karim-’ A groan came from behind me. I ignored it. ‘-me, and of course…. you, Sir.’ I gave him another sweet smile.

  ‘You can’t have anything against seeing my legs, now, can you? After all…’ I stepped towards him until our bodies were nearly touching. Leaning closer to his perfectly still, chiselled face, I whispered: ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw his left little finger twitch.

  Yay!

  ‘Are you going to continue with this lunacy?’ he growled. ‘Or are you going to remember what behoves a decent young English lady and give up now?’

  ‘I don’t really think wearing these-’ I pointed out, holding up my trousers ‘-is what most people think behoves a decent young English lady, Sir - but I’m doing it anyway. Besides…’ A wide grin stretched my face. ‘Have you ever known me to give up?’

  His little finger twitched again.

  ‘Karim!’ he barked.

  ‘Yes, Sahib?’

  The bodyguard snapped to attention, his hand still firmly clamped over his eyes.

  ‘Take your paw away from your face, man, and get to the front! I’ll be guarding the back from now on.’

  ‘Oh Sahib! A thousand blessings upon you! Thank you! May your soul be saved and find its way to the Garden of Eternal-’

  ‘Yes, yes! Move!’

  Thumping against a few trees in the process, Karim made his way around me. Only when he was certain he was well ahead and out of the femininity danger zone did he lower his hand.

  ‘Well, now I know what to do if I ever want to get the better of you.’ I grinned at the Mohammedan’s broad back. ‘I’ll just have to drop my trousers, and that’ll be it.’

  A growl from behind me suggested that Mr Rikkard Ambrose did not think very much of this idea.

  ‘Very well.’ I bent to retrieve my knapsack from where I had dropped it on the ground, taking care to waggle my behind, only covered by the end of a shirt and a thin chemise, at Mr Ambrose in the process. Although I had been wearing men’s clothing for a long time, I had never really been interested in wearing men’s underwear - a fact that was coming in very handy right now. ‘Shall we go? Or were you two planning on lazing around here all day?’

  Whistling, I set out northeastwards, Karim fleeing before me like Napoleon before Wellington at Waterloo. And Mr Ambrose - he followed me like…

  Like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

  There simply was no comparison to describe him. Especially not the way his gaze drilled from behind into my neck and, well, other parts of me. As hard as I tried (and it wasn’t very hard, if I was being honest) I couldn’t keep an impish smile from my face.

  Hm…how many more pieces of clothing did I have left?

  I decided I had better start and find out soon.

  Interesting Ideas

  The sun was setting beyond the horizon, the only hint at a sunset being the glorious solitary rays of golden light streaming in through the trees ahead, when I reached up and, pulling off my hat, shook out the long, tangled strands of my hair. From behind me, I heard a noise like a stone statue being choked to death.

  I smiled.

  Bloody hell, this is fun! So…what next?

  I was just reaching up to find some nice buttons to open when from behind me abruptly came a voice: ‘Stop! I…ehem. I mean we’ll stop here for the night.’

  ‘Already, Sahib?’ Karim asked, and started to turn - until he remembered, and whirled to face away from me again. ‘It’ll be quite a while till the sun is down yet.’

  ‘Don’t question my orders! Do as I say!’

  ‘Yes, Sahib. As you wish, Sahib.’

  Spoilsports! Sighing, I let my fingers drop away from my buttons. Ah, well…tomorrow would be another day. And as for the night…

  My devious smile returned.

  How exactly did one spend the night in the jungle? On the hot, moist ground, pressed up close against each other in a tangle of-?

  My question was abruptly interrupted by something soft hitting me in the back of the head.

  ‘Sling this!’ Mr Ambrose commanded me as I whirled to catch the thing. ‘Go on, don’t laze about!’

  Blinking in the twilight, I held up the object. For a moment, I thought it was a vast gown, designed specifically to entrap females and spare the sensitive nerves of men. Then I realised that it was, in fact, a hammock.

  Hm…that has possibilities…

  ‘There’s one for each of us,’ Mr Ambrose told me, as if he had read my mind. Looking up from the tangle of cloth in my hands, I met his eyes and fluttered my lashes.

  ‘Oh, really? Could you maybe help me and show me how to hang one of these up? I’m afraid I’ve never done it before, and I might do it wrong.’

  Come hither, come hither, I’m a helpless little damsel in distress - until I get you in my clutches! Then I’ll eat you for dinner!

  ‘If you do it wrong,’ Mr Ambrose informed me. ‘You’ll land on the forest floor. A course of action I would advise against, considering the poisonous snakes.’

  With that, he left me standing.

  Damn! He was a tough coconut to crack! But, on the other hand, I was in the jungle now. So I was bound to get some experience in the cracking of coconuts.

  Deciding to make a strategic retreat and resume the battle on the morrow, I looked for two trees standing close enough so I wouldn’t have to stretch the hammock to the length of Loch Ness, and far enough apart for me to not have to fold myself. I finally settled on a pair and began to lash the thing down. The result was less than perfect, but at least provided me with a reasonably dry and soft surface to lie on.

  Swinging back and forth, I lay in my hammock, chewing on a piece of dry bread, while Karim and Mr Ambrose sat around a tree stump, discussing
our strategy in low voices - or discussing ways to force me to leave the rest of my clothes on. How would I know? Lying in my peaceful little haven, I watched the sun go down and wondered what the morning would bring.

  *~*~**~*~*

  By the end of the day, I was definitely starting to have misgivings about my battle plan. Certainly, Mr Ambrose seemed inordinately interested in my increasing lack of clothing. So, however, were the jungle insects. When I woke up next morning, the nasty little beasts had decorated me with a number of angry red stings in places even I didn’t think were polite to mention. Perverts!

  Karim, at least, hadn’t escaped unharmed, either. During breakfast he kept scratching his butt in a manner that, combined with the fact that he had his hand clamped over his eyes the whole time, made it very hard not to snigger. But as for Mr Ambrose - well, whenever I wanted to snigger, I just had to look at him, and the urge would disappear instantly. He didn’t scratch himself once. Not a single solitary bleeding time! Was his stone skin impervious to mosquito bites? Or did the stench of too much money keep the hungry little bastards away?

  Damn him! How dare he just…sit there, perfectly impervious, while I was itching like the devil? For that offense, he deserved to be eternally tortured!

  Well…

  Then I would have to see that he got what he deserved.

  ‘Dear oh dear.’ Sighing, I rose from the tree root on which I’d been sitting eating my breakfast, and stretched, taking care that my chemise rose up as high as the laws of physics allowed. ‘It’s really hot this morning, don’t you think?’

  ‘No!’ Karim barked, almost desperately. ‘No, I don’t think so at all! In fact, I detect a definite chill in the air this morning! Isn’t that right? Sahib, you know best! It’s chilly, is it not?’

  ‘I concur,’ Mr Ambrose said in a voice that could have made the Amazon frost over. ‘Positively freezing.’

  ‘Strange. I somehow feel that I’m too hot. You know what? I think I’m wearing too much clothing. I should…’

  Karim was out of there before I could say another word. With a curse, he jumped up and, hand still over his eyes, stumbled off to scout ahead.

  ‘That’s south!’ I shouted after him. ‘We’re going northeast!’

  ‘I had better be going, too,’ Mr Ambrose stated coolly, rising to his feet.

  ‘What?’ I glanced around at him and, from under lowered lashes, gave him a challenging look. ‘Don’t you want to guard my rear today?’

  His gaze lowered until it fixed on my barely covered derrière. ‘I think your rear will be much safer without me as a guard.’

  ‘Well, that’s too bad,’ I told him, and whirled around, grabbing my backpack and flitting after Karim. ‘I guess I’ll just have to live in danger,’ I called over my shoulder.

  In answer I only received silence.

  Well, apart from the monkeys cackling in the distance.

  We continued our course northeast, just as yesterday: Karim in front, me in the middle, and Mr Ambrose at the back. I would instantly bet money on the fact that it was not a position he was used to. You just had to glance once at Rikkard Ambrose to know that he was always at the front, always first and best at everything. It made me wonder why, in this case, he was content to march behind me. I had great fun wondering, because, really, there was only one possible answer.

  ‘Are you enjoying the view, Sir?’ I asked about half an hour after we had set out. A little small talk couldn’t hurt anybody, right?

  ‘I’ve seen jungles before,’ came the brusque reply.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about the jungle.’

  There were a few moments of pregnant silence, strongly in need of an abortion.

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Be silent!’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’

  ‘And, Mr Linton…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When we return to London, you are buying more underclothes!’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir… Underclothes are quite expensive. Will I get a raise?’

  ‘Don’t stretch my patience, Mr Linton!’

  ‘Oh well, I’ll stretch something else, then.’ And, leaning against a tree, I stretched my aching limbs. It felt good! Especially when, from behind me, I heard an indistinct noise coming from Mr Ambrose.

  It went on like this for exquisite hour upon exquisite hour. With something to keep my mind - and certain parts of my body - occupied, hiking through the Amazonian jungle didn’t feel nearly as difficult as I had feared it would. Not even the stings of mosquitoes could bother me much. After all, to a certain extent I could perfectly well understand how much fun it was to nettle somebody. And my approach seemed to be getting to Mr Ambrose a lot more than the pitiful attempts of the mosquitos.

  It was just after we had set out again after stopping for a short lunch that I decided to make my next move. The sun was shining through a small open patch in the roof of leaves above us, highlighting my figure, I was sure, to anyone who walked behind me. The perfect scene! Now all that was missing was action. Slowly, I raised my hands to the buttons of my vest.

  ‘Mr Linton!’

  Ignoring the call from behind me, I undid the first button.

  ‘Mr Linton, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m adjusting my attire. Don’t you remember?’ Slowing down, I half-turned to glance at him. ‘I said this morning that I thought it had gotten even warmer.’

  ‘It hasn’t!’

  ‘Really?’ I undid another button, revealing the wet, clinging linen of my shirt. ‘I feel positively hot.’

  ‘Mr Linton, cease that immediately!’

  ‘What?’ Reaching for another button, I teased it with my forefinger. ‘This?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why?’ The button popped open. Oh, how wonderful I had purchased a vest with this many sparkly little buttons…‘They’re just buttons.’

  ‘It’s not the buttons I’m concerned about,’ he bit out. ‘It’s-’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Oh, well, if that’s the case…’

  I let the last button pop open. This time, I didn’t slow down, let alone stop. Oh no, I took care to continue walking, accentuating the sway of my hips with every step in a way that back home in England, would have caused shocked gasps, even had I been fully dressed.

  But I wasn’t.

  Not at all.

  The vest dropped with a soft, silky noise. Catching it on one finger, I slung it over one shoulder, where it dangled like a hook, waiting for the big fish to bite. But what was much, much more important was behind the hook: the bait. Sweet little me.

  I had no illusions about my physical appearance. I was utter perfection, thank you very much. My figure was perfectly slender and elegant and not at all overly padded (despite solid chocolate being my favourite food), my cleavage was enough to rob any man of his senses (probably because he would faint in the senseless effort to find it), and my smile was the most brilliant smile in the city of London (that was reminiscent of a tiger waiting for dinner).

  All right, maybe I did have a few little illusions! But I was aware of them, so pretending I didn’t know that I was no great beauty was perfectly all right. I had always been content with being beautiful to myself, and never cared much for the opinions of society at large, let alone its male representatives. So it didn’t bother me at all if I heard a man murmur that I was fat, or sunburnt or a shrew that should be locked up for public safety. But Mr Rikkard Ambrose…

  He was different.

  He had never said anything about my looks. He never said anything about anything. But he had done things. Quite a few things, to be exact.

  Hard hands holding me captive, lips catching mine with demanding force…dark eyes flashing in the shadows, boring their way into my very soul…

  Even in the jungle heat, the memory from Egypt sent a shiver down my back. Oh yes, Rikkard Ambrose had done things to me, with me, and on top of me. Things th
at showed me exactly how he felt about my body. Even if it weren’t for the burning cold gaze I could feel drilling into me from behind at this very moment, I knew that to him, my behind wasn’t too generous, my smile not too feisty, and I suspected that with thorough research, he’d even be able to find my non-existent cleavage.

  Then why not give him the chance to look?

  The thought popped into my head unbidden, but not at all unwelcome. I waited for my inner feminist to screech in protest, to start waving her ‘No men allowed!’ sign - but nothing happened.

  Why protest? Why hesitate? You know he wants you. Besides, with the exception of a few exceptionally hairy specimens dangling from trees somewhere above us, you are the only female within a hundred miles. That’s bound to be a point in your favour.

  Good God! What was happening to me? Had my inner feminist gone nuts in the heat? Well, I certainly felt hot enough. Even the cold stare drilling into my back didn’t cool me down anymore. On the contrary - somehow, incredibly, it seemed to heat me up.

  I suddenly realised, with a clarity that had evaded me before, that all that was between me and Mr Rikkard Ambrose was a shirt, a corset and a very, very thin chemise. The hand that held my vest clenched involuntarily, and for a moment, just a moment, I was tempted to pull it back on. But then I remembered the noise Mr Ambrose had made when I had popped that one button, and the dark gaze he had swept over me earlier, and another, much stronger temptation swelled up inside me.

  Once again, I smiled.

  *~*~**~*~*

  When Mr Rikkard Ambrose awoke in his hammock the next morning and opened his eyes, he found a wet white linen shirt several sizes too small to be his dangling above his head, teasing the tip of his straight, sculpted nose. I watched from where I sat against a tree as he went stiff (well, stiffer than usual), staring up at the offending object above him.

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Remove this item at once!’

  ‘Item? What item, Sir?’

  ‘You know exactly what item I am referring to, Mr Linton. Remove it, and get dressed. We’re leaving.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir. There’s just one tiny little problem with that…’