A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (21 page)

Out here, there were so many ways to die and no one would know the difference between murder or the dire consequences of travel ling in a difficult land. Likely, no one would even think of murder. The expedition would simply not come back. Whole expeditions had failed to come back before. The trick would be in ensuring there were no survivors. That's what he had the Arawak priest for.

Calisto Ortiz made his way down the hillside to the motley band he'd assembled for his work. There were his trusted Venezuelan henchmen, one of whom spoke the Arawak language and under stood many of their customs. There were the Arawak them selves, among them one of the tribal priests.

Ortiz called the translator and the priest to his side. ‘Tell him that we are only a day behind the land stealers.'

He waited for the translation. The Arawak priest made a long response. The translator nodded and turned to Ortiz.

‘He says that is good. We will catch the people who would steal the land and they will pay the penalty. All of them.'

Ortiz sup pressed a delighted shudder. Among the Arawak, the penalty for violating boundaries, for taking land, was far fiercer than even the penalty for murder. Wainsbridge and his party would suffer greatly
for crossing Calisto Ortiz. ‘But not the woman,' Ortiz replied. ‘Tell him the woman is mine, she is not to be punished. She is not there of her own volition. The land stealer, the blond-haired one, took her out of her own home, stole her away.' Dulcinea Wycroft would find ways to be very thankful he'd spared her. Very thankful indeed.

The priest scowled and the translator said, ‘He says of course the woman will be spared. These are issues between men, this is a man's punishment.'

Ortiz nodded. ‘Very good. We'll travel fast today, close in on them tomorrow and spring the trap the next day when they are only a day out from the main river.' Ortiz looked to the sky, what he could see of it through the thick forest canopy. Viscount Wainsbridge did not know it, but he had only two days left to live. His uncle would be pleased at last, perhaps pleased enough to allow him to marry an Englishwoman.

 

Dulci wiped the sweat from her brow, taking a rest from her labours through the forested bank of the shoreline. She was certain this was an entirely different sun than the one they had in England. This sun was hot and penetrating, not like the weak bit of light that made few appearances in her part of the world.

Jack called out yards ahead that he'd found a spot to put down his tripod. She smiled and waved, trudging forwards. Jack was indefatigable. She'd seen so many faces of Jack, but she'd not yet seen this side of him, the side that could tramp through the waist-high foliage of the river bank, study the contours of the land with such precision he could return to his camp table and turn his findings into maps of detailed precision.

Dulci watched the play of his shoulders beneath his shirt as he adjusted the tripod to a preferable height. It was just the two of them today. The boats were some way ahead, just specks on the water. Robert and the boats would wait for them up around the next bend in preparation for turning into the Essequibo tomorrow. Today was Jack's last day of surveying before they began the final leg of the journey, perhaps the most important part of the trip, the part where they'd establish the British border of Guiana.

Then they would head back to Georgetown, civilization and decisions. Adventuring was hard work. Jack had been right, it required a certain fortitude. The simplest of pleasures seemed like the most sinful of luxuries. She'd give a fortune for a hot bath and a clean cotton dress, for being able to slip on her shoes without worrying sudden death waited inside. All that aside, she wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Every fibre of her body sang with vitality the moment she awoke each day. There was no such thing here as boring. Every day was exciting and she saw it all with Jack beside her. She had not told Jack yet, but she was not convinced she wanted to go back to England. She wanted to stay in Georgetown. She'd prefer Jack to stay, too, but she could not dictate his future. She could only love him for what he was. Surely the king needed an emissary with Jack's skills here, someone who wasn't attached to the government already, but someone who could act in a respectable but unofficial capacity. Perhaps Jack could be convinced.

The prospect of such a future filled her with a sudden burst of hap pi ness that couldn't be contained. She flung her arms wide and turned her face to the sky to bask
in her joy. Life was so amazingly good, so much more extraordinary than she'd known. If she didn't do another thing, she could die happy.

Dulci blamed herself for what happened next. If she had been paying attention, not lost in thoughts of future plans, she might have called out a warning in time.

A whistle of wind shot past her, so close she felt the little puff on her cheek. Just feet in front of her, Jack crumpled without notice. ‘Jack!'

She fell to her knees beside him, horrified that one moment he'd been all flexing muscles as he worked with his equipment, all fluid motion, and now he lay in a boneless heap on the ground. She saw the cause immediately, high on his neck where there was brief bit of exposed skin between his hat and the collar of his white shirt—the tiny hunting dart of the Arawak. She recognised it right away from her own drawings and research.

That meant she wasn't alone. Adrenalin raced through Dulci. There was so much to do. She stood up, searching for signs of the hunter, looking for a stick she could make a flag with to signal Robert on the boats.

Jack needed help. She had no way of knowing if the dart was poisoned for instant death or if it was only dipped in the stunning potion hunters used to bring down small game. Jack still breathed. If he made it the next ten minutes, she would know.

Dulci reached for a long stick. A hand shot out of the brush, wrapping around her wrist. Dulci screamed, the forest devouring the sound. A stocky man of modest height and black bristly hair emerged from the brush, dragging her forwards, away from Jack. All around her
the forest came alive. The man was not alone. Men surrounded Jack, lifting his body.

‘No, leave him,' Dulci gabbled, trying to move towards him. ‘You've hit him by mistake. He's hurt.' Her captor would not release her and no one under stood the words she spoke. Panic threatened to swamp her. Jack was un conscious, Robert was far ahead, unaware. The Arawak would disappear with them into the forest and Robert would be hard pressed to track them. She was alone. There was only her. She forced herself to calm down, to remember the Arawak words, few as they were, that she had learned from the scholar in Georgetown.

‘I am peaceful,' she said in their words. The man holding her looked at her strangely, then jerked his head to indicate a spot behind him.

Dulci watched in fascinated terror as Calisto Ortiz stepped into view. ‘Please, you must help me.'

‘Of course,
mi querida
, I will help you.' He nodded to where the men had tied Jack's limp form to a long pole as if he were a wild boar. ‘It is him I cannot help. He is a land thief and shall be prosecuted accordingly.'

‘You cannot do this.' Dulci felt the panic rise again. She had her gun in the pocket of her trousers. It had always been a comfort to her, she'd always felt invincible when she carried it. But now she saw the impotent truth of it. Her little gun wouldn't save her now. But maybe her wits would.

D
ulci stumbled through the under growth of the forest beside Calisto Ortiz. The Arawak leader had wanted to bind her hands, but Ortiz had laughed off the need, saying she was already as good as bound as long as they held the land stealer. Then his mouth had curved into a wicked smile and he'd bent close to her ear. ‘Re member the little favours you owe me,
mi querida
. I am sure we can find a way for you to show your gratitude. Who knows what other degradations I can save you from with the proper motivation?'

Dulci struggled to curb her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to lash out with a cutting comment, but that would gain her nothing. Already, he suspected Jack's worth to her. He would not believe her if she suddenly played the jilt and ignored Jack. But she was a woman, and Ortiz thought very little of women beyond their physical allure. She could use that. Ortiz was the only choice for an ally at the moment. She had to use him until it was time not to.

‘How long have you been following us?' Dulci asked in a conversational tone. It would help to know how much he'd seen, how much he knew or how much he was merely guessing at.

‘A while.' He gave her a hot studied look. ‘Long enough to see what you and the good viscount get up to when you think no one is looking.'

So he did know the depth of her devotion to Jack. ‘Why did you wait until now to take him?'

‘I wanted to be well away from any sign of civilisation.' He shot a disgusted look at the Arawak. ‘I can't get much further than this. These people are barbarians, but they have their uses. You needn't worry. You shall not be one of their uses as long as you are under my protection.'

There was significant unrevealed information in that comment. He was acting alone, privately, without sponsorship from his government, but hoping for their protection in the after math. The Essequibo River marked the boundary between Guiana and Venezuela. The other reason Ortiz did not want to seize Jack too close to Georgetown was that it made his own escape more difficult. If there was trouble with the British, he could head over the river and be out of British jurisdiction. He would be Venezuela's responsibility and with his connections, no one would look too closely to a murky happening on another country's holdings. There would be no justice for Ortiz, Dulci mused, unless she managed to mete it out herself.

Likewise, she saw the danger for herself as well. She did not want to set a foot outside British territory for fear of losing what little protection she had. If she disappeared into Venezuela, it might prove difficult to
extract her. It would certainly take time. Letters would have to cross an ocean. Brandon would not hear of this until months after it had occurred. If, in that time, she became a wife to a Venezuelan national, her own citizen-ship might be in question. She would have no voice.

‘You cannot save him,' Ortiz said. ‘You can save yourself. I would look to my own hide if I were you and start thinking of all the ways you can aid your own survival.'

Dulci met his obsidian gaze evenly. ‘I am not you, thank goodness.'

‘Your repartee is charming,
mi querida
, although I think in the end, you will be quite glad to be me.' He spoke the last with arrogant confidence. ‘Ah, here we are.' They stepped into a large glade and Dulci was amazed to see the village appear so abruptly.

Caneye
, the sturdy Arawak dwellings of wood and woven cane, ringed the perimeter. People worked outside the dwellings. They stopped their tasks now and looked up at the party entering the clearing, the men with Jack strung up between them and sagging. He'd still not regained conscious ness, but perhaps that was for the better.

Ahead of them at the top of the circle stood the
bohio
, the chief's house. It was bigger than the other dwellings and the little band headed there with their prize. Instinctively, Dulci followed, wanting to keep Jack in sight. She didn't want him to wake without her being there. She could only imagine the confusion and fear that would follow his waking. Not even a man of Jack's fortitude and experience could wake calmly under these cir cum stances without some terror.

Ortiz's hand grabbed at her arm, his voice rough.
‘Stay with me if you value what freedom you have here. Women are less than nothing and you're a prisoner at best for the moment.' He dragged her with him to the chief's circle and pushed his way through the gathered throng, everyone eager to see the prisoner, everyone eager to see what excitement had arrived to break up the usual routine of the day.

Ortiz stood next to his translator. ‘We…' he gestured to include his band of Spaniards and the Arawak hunters who'd accompanied them ‘…have returned successful. We have caught the man who has stolen on to your land and who would claim it for his tribe even though it already belongs to you.'

Dulci waited impatiently for the message to be relayed to the chief and for the chief to respond. The chief was slow to answer. He walked around the men carrying Jack, studying Jack with intent.

‘He has hair of gold. Is this usual in his tribe?'

Ortiz looked disgusted. Dulci saw her own impatience mirrored in his hard look. He wanted to do business, not talk about hair colour.'

‘Many of his people have hair the colour of gold,' Ortiz replied.

The chief nodded at the response. Some of the women moved forwards, eager to touch Jack's hair when it seemed he wouldn't move and the chief had shown interest. ‘You say he is a land stealer. We will see what he says when he awakes. He must have a chance to vouch for himself.' The chief turned his attention to Dulci. She held still, trying not to squirm under the intense scrutiny.

‘She does not have the gold hair,' the chief said in tones that conveyed his disappointment clearly enough
to be under stood without a translator. He looked accusingly at Ortiz. ‘You said she was a rare beauty.'

Ortiz tightened the grip on her arm. ‘She is a rare beauty to my people.'

‘Then you may have her when we've disposed of the man she travels with,' came the reply. Ortiz's grip lessened on her arm and Dulci sensed some unknown test had been accomplished. It also became clear that the chief held all the power. He decided how goods and possessions were disbursed.

The chief was gesturing and talking again, giving instructions. The men with Jack moved away, taking him with them. Dulci sprang forwards, but Ortiz held her fast. ‘Do not go to him,' he whispered harshly. ‘Do not undo what has already been done. You were very lucky a few moments ago even though you don't realise it.'

‘Where are they taking him?' Dulci's gaze did not waver from the men hauling Jack off.

Ortiz shrugged. ‘I don't know. To one of the
caneye
, I suppose. Women will look after him. He will not be harmed until the chief has heard him speak. Imminent danger has passed for a short time. As for you, you will come with me. They have given me a
caneye
here, next to the chief's.'

‘He's called a
cacique
,' Dulci grumbled.

Ortiz looked at her with disdain. ‘I forgot you fancied yourself an anthropologist of sorts.' He shoved her inside the single opening of the round house.

It was dark inside. A pit for a cook fire was in the centre of the room, a hole for the smoke in the roof overhead. There were woven mats on the floor, but beyond that, the room was empty.

‘What do you suppose would have happened if the
cacique
—' he emphasised the last word with a condescending sneer ‘—had found you beautiful? You would have become another of his wives or his concubine. You might even have hastened the viscount's death.' Ortiz stood behind her, his breath on her neck as he undid the tight braid, combing it out with his fingers. Dulci struggled not to cringe at his intimate familiarity. ‘Your dark hair, which I find lovely beyond belief,
mi querida
, saved you and saved him. It is considered plain to the
cacique
, who is no friend of yours, I might add.' Ortiz lifted the heavy weight of her hair and sifted it through his hands.

‘I would not cringe,
mi querida
. You must understand I am a far preferable alternative than becoming the concubine of a pagan
cacique
. He did not want you. Perhaps he would have given you to one of his council, one of his
nitayanos
. But I spoke for you, and he has given you to me.'

A leer lit his dark eyes and Dulci wondered how she could have ever found him handsome. All the same features were still there in his face—the smooth olive skin, the exotic dark eyes, the full sensual lips—but these were unattractive features now, shaded as they were by this man's unlimited avarice and complete lack of ethics.

‘I could change his mind.' He whispered the threat, his arm imprisoning her against him, back to chest. She could feel the hard strength of his torso, feel his member rising with lust. His hand palmed her breast and Dulci shut her eyes. How far would he go just now? Should she fight? What would happen if she gained the opening and darted out into the village? Nothing. She could only
hope to run blindly into the forest with no direction, without Jack. Ortiz was right. As long as Jack was here, she was as good as bound to a stake in the ground. She could only endure.

‘I could change the
cacique
's mind, you know. I could remind him how your blue eyes are like sapphires; how your skin beneath the shirt is whiter than anything he's ever seen. Think of that the next time you choose not to rouse to me.'

He stepped away then and Dulci moved across the room, eager to put space between them. He smirked. ‘I will see about food. Later tonight, there will be hunting. The men will go out at dark for the
hutio
. There will be preparations for the viscount's trial. It will be a great celebration for them, all the excitement of a trial and subsequent punishment that will follow. The viscount will be quite the diversion.'

Dulci stayed in the
caneye
the rest of the day. Women brought her cassava cakes and fruits to eat. They were also left to guard the hut in case she tried to step outside. Whenever she peered out, women looked up from their work. Finally, one of them took pity on her and gestured for her to come and sit with them. They were weaving cotton fibres and Dulci joined them, trying to imitate their skill, trying to find the words to ask about Jack, but no one under stood. The women just smiled and patted her hands.

 

The shadows began to lengthen, dark began to fall. Women served the men their meals, waiting until the men finished before taking their own food. Ortiz had returned to the
caneye
to be fed, saying smugly to Dulci,
who'd been pressed into service to bring him food, ‘Quaint custom, don't you think?'

‘Take me to Jack,' Dulci demanded, serving him some of the special cassava cakes usually reserved for the
cacique
. ‘Has he woken? How is he?'

‘I don't think that will be necessary.' Ortiz nodded to the gathering of men and the stir of activity by the
cacique
's
bohio
. He stood up and dusted off his trousers. ‘Come with me and we will see what's to be done.'

 

Jack blinked in the light, trying hard not to stumble as they brought him out of the hut. His hands were still bound, making balance surprisingly difficult, but he was determined to show no outward signs of ill treatment or effects from the dart. He did not want to appear weak before the chief and he did not want Dulci worrying more than she already was. Despite his efforts, he stumbled once, the two men who flanked him jerking him back to his feet.

He hated his weakness. What he could hide from the eyes of the Arawak, he could not hide from himself. He'd taken poorly to the poison on the dart. Even now, nearly eight hours after he'd been taken, the potion left his throat dry and his stomach in un certain turmoil. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He didn't want to think, didn't want to strategise. But those were the things that demanded his priority. Dulci needed him and he needed a clear head if he was going to get her out of here.

She was here and it was his fault. Every fear he'd ever harboured in this regard had proved founded. Concern over Dulci's safety was no longer an academic exercise in argument.

He stood before the
cacique
and the council of elders, his eyes searching the ground around the chief. Where was she? Fear gripped his belly in a cold vise. Had she already been killed? Defiled and hidden away? Then, in answer to his desire, she was there, tripping into view. Jack fought the urge to call out, to expel a telling breath of relief. He didn't want the
cacique
to guess too much. He didn't want Dulci used as negotiating leverage for what ever was going on and yet the joy surging through him at the sight of her, whole and apparently unharmed, was almost impossible to hide.

Joy aside, he knew that wasn't the intention. Reassurance wasn't the reason he'd been shown Dulci. He was being reminded that she had not escaped and bringing any assistance. The sight of her was meant to remind him that they had no hope, they were utterly alone.

A man stepped forwards and seized Dulci roughly by the arm, drawing Jack's gaze.

Ortiz!

Jack's blood heated, the desire to pummel the man to an inch of his miserable existence nearly unbearable. But beneath Jack's rising fury was cold understanding. Ortiz's presence explained much of the unknown surrounding this abduction. The bastard had followed them into the jungle and aligned himself with the Arawak. Ortiz was at the heart of whatever plot was afoot. Jack briefly wondered what crime Ortiz had convinced the chieftain he'd committed. It hardly mattered. By his life or death, the only priority was seeing Dulci safely reunited with Robert and the expedition.