A Thoroughly Compromised Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘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.

  Jack kept his gaze riveted on Dulci, willing her with the quiet message of his eyes to save herself, to leave him if the opportunity came. Ortiz made to pull her back into the crowd and she resisted for a moment, shouting loudly over the murmurs of villagers.

  ‘I am fine. Ortiz claims you’re stealing land!’ It was all she could manage before Ortiz clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the crowd, stoking Jack’s anger at Ortiz’s rough handling of her and his own impotence to stop it. The cacique gestured for Ortiz and the translator to come forwards. Somewhere to Jack’s left, he was aware of Dulci sitting on the ground with the rest of the tribe. Apparently the trial had begun. Jack fought the rising bout of nausea in his stomach and focused his attentions on what passed for Arawak justice. If they meant to portray him as an intruding Englishman, they might be surprised.

  The translator, one of Ortiz’s men, explained the charges to him in English. ‘You’ve been accused of violating the tribal boundaries of these lands with the intent of claiming them for your own tribe. This is theft, the greatest crime someone can commit against the tribe. If you are found guilty of these charges, you shall be impaled on a stick until death.’ A gruesome gesture followed.

  In the crowd, Dulci bit back a strangled gasp, but Jack stood stalwart, unfazed by this turn of events. He’d not expected Ortiz to waste his time on a misdemeanour. He’d also not risk a translator being too honest. Who was there to stop the man from saying whatever suited Ortiz’s cause? It was time for Jack to take matters into his own hands.

  ‘Does the cacique speak Spanish?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Why, yes, of course—’ the translator began.

  Jack interrupted, cutting the translator off entirely. He fixed his gaze on the cacique and stepped forwards, making it clear he’d deal with the cacique directly.

  ‘Who accuses me?’ Jack said, his Spanish confident and fluent; he did not grope for words.

  ‘Señor Ortiz,’ the cacique answered, eyeing Jack warily.

  Jack shook his head. ‘I am here only to make a map, a drawing, for my cacique who lives far across the waters.’

  The cacique looked puzzled. ‘Why would your chief want a map of a land that isn’t his?’

  ‘Because it is beautiful and my cacique values beautiful things,’ Jack replied with amazing calm. He could feel Dulci’s eyes on him, waiting, watching, counting on him, desperate to know what was being said in a language she didn’t under stand. Dulci hated being left out.

  The cacique waved his arm in an expansive gesture to en com pass all the land in sight. ‘I fear your chieftain may covet such a beautiful land and take it for his own.’

  Someone yelled something from the people gathered about the circle, breaking Jack’s rapport with the chieftain. Others picked up the cry. Noise broke out. The chief nodded and raised a hand to silence the disturbance. Jack hazarded a glance about the circle of on lookers, desperate for a sign. He needed to under stand what was happening. Surely his verdict had not been determined already?

  When the cacique turned his attention back to Jack, his voice was cold and sceptical. ‘My people say you are going to steal this land. They don’t trust your answers. There have been whites here before. They always bring change.’

  Jack tamped down a small surge of panic. The tribe could not go down this road. The cacique had to believe him! With an outward calm he did not feel, Jack nodded his head towards Ortiz. ‘Tell your people, the Spaniard among you sows dissent. If there’s anyone among us who means to steal this land, it is he.’ Jack made an awkward gesture with his bound hands towards Ortiz to be sure the chieftain might guess at his message.

  The chief’s eyes darted to Ortiz
. ‘What kind of mischief?’

  ‘He wishes to claim this land for his country. He believes there’s gold in the river basin further up. If he claims this land for his tribe, they will seek to enslave your people.’

  The chief rubbed thoughtfully at his chin and looked consideringly between Jack and a livid Ortiz. ‘What proof do you have?’ he asked and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He’d succeeded in sowing doubt, a good sign. But providing proof was another thing. He had none, not concrete proof anyway.

  Jack shook his head. ‘No more than he has against me. You are willing to accept his word. I ask you also consider mine.’

  Jack watched the cacique care fully. The chief did look un certain, split ting his gaze between Jack and Ortiz, who had moved to protest, but found himself re strained. ‘Wait, you must hear me out, it’s a lie!’ Ortiz struggled. But it was too late. Jack’s damage was done and just in time. His stomach wouldn’t last much longer. When it went, his legs would go as well.

  The chief gathered his nitayanos about him and rose, all in decision gone now, his decision made. ‘We will deliberate. Take them to the caneyes and keep them under guard. We will decide at sunrise.’

  There was utter confusion. Ortiz and his men decided to struggle, fighting broke out, but Ortiz’s group was un pre pared for sudden action. In the mêlée, Dulci slipped unnoticed to Jack’s side as his guards led him back to the hut. The guards looked un certain, but Dulci spoke force fully in broken Arawak as she gestured. ‘I stay with him. I am his woman.’

  They shrugged and said nothing. But their shrugs and easy capitulation were worrisome, Jack thought. Were they thinking what did it matter if the golden-hair had his woman with him for one last night? He would die in the morning and perhaps she too.

  Inside the dark hut, Jack fell on to one of the woven pallets, a groan escaping his lips. ‘Water, Dulci. I need water. There’s some in the gourd in the corner.’