by Colette Gale
ENTICED © 2013 Colette Gale
All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright Page
Dear Reader
— I—
— II—
— III—
— IV—
— V—
— VI—
— VII—
— VIII—
Now available
Dear Reader:
Welcome to the fourth volume of Miss Jane Clemons’s adventures in the jungles of Africa.
If you have already read the first three volumes, you need not continue with this introductory epistle, and can move directly to the first chapter. For those who have not enjoyed Entwined, Entangled or Enthralled, please feel free to read on below.
During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.
Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her own thoughts and adventures—until now.
For, not long ago, I was fortunate enough to come upon an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’s journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Miss Jane Clemons’s personal (and highly intimate) journals. They detail her experiences in the jungle—being captured by natives, being abandoned by her fiancé Jonathan—as well as her passionate relationship with the wild man of the jungle known as Zaren.
Incidentally, after careful analysis and research, I have come to believe the jungle man Zaren—whom Jane eventually brought back to London for a time and who was quite well received by Society—was the inspiration for Edgar Rice Burroughs’s well-known Tarzan character (a thesis, unfortunately, that is sharply denied by descendants of Mr. Burroughs).
I leave the reader to his or her own conclusions regarding this theory.
Because there were so many volumes of Jane’s journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.
I do hope you’ll indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era and publish Jane’s journals as a serialized collection. Not only does this enable me to be more efficient in releasing sections of her work (for it is quite an arduous task to pore over the very intimate and detailed descriptions of her experiences), but it also allows you the reader to experience the story in segments rather than in one overwhelming gulp.
I must also warn you: I have kept with the tradition of the times, ending each serialized episode on a cliffhanger.
The previous volume ended with Zaren helping Jane to escape from a small village of natives who believed she was a Fertility and Sex Goddess. The man known only as Cold Eyes was the leader of the tribe, and he agreed to take Jane (for her so-called powers) in exchange for giving her worthless fiancé Jonathan the map to a diamond mine. We don’t expect to see or hear from Jonathan again, for the map led to a mad lioness’s den…and we heard the feline roar as she attacked the encroacher.
As Jane and Zaren swing from tree to tree in their escape from Cold Eyes and his companions, something happens to Zaren and they begin to tumble down through the trees…
I hope you find Jane’s adventures enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as a young woman in the Madagascar jungle.
Colette Gale
December 2013
~*~
— I—
Jane felt Zaren jolt with a low grunt. She looked down to see an arrow protruding from the side of his torso. Before she could react, he jerked again sharply and then they were falling through the air.
She stifled a scream, clinging to him while grasping wildly for a vine, a branch—anything that might slow their descent. Her fingers closed over one of the thick ropes, but she could not manage the weight of their fall. The vine slid through her grip, burning and rough, and then they were tumbling once more.
Zaren grunted and gasped, then moved suddenly as he snagged a vine at the last minute. Their descent slowed as his muscles bulged against her…then something gave away and they were in free-fall again. But the ground was closer now, and all at once they thudded into it in a tangle of limbs and loose leaves, his arms curled protectively around her. Jane landed on top of him, and felt him go still.
“Zaren,” she gasped. Though the breath was knocked out of her, Jane scrambled off him in a swirl of flower-bedecked hair. “Zaren,” she cried again when he didn’t move. The sound of voices and thrashing through the jungle was much too close.
The arrow had snapped in half during their fall—probably causing his second jolt as it tore up through his skin—and blood oozed from its jagged wound. He was panting, and she noticed a second arrow in his leg as he shifted and his eyes fluttered open. He’d protected her from the worst of the fall, twisting at the last minute to take the brunt of the impact after slowing their tumble as much as he could.
“Jane,” he said, reaching for her even as one hand went to touch the broken arrow still in his side. His blue eyes were fierce despite the tremor in his fingers. He pulled to his feet more slowly than she would have liked, and the crashing sounds and voices were too close. He tensed, like a cobra ready to strike. “You run. Go!”
“No,” she said, tugging at his solid arm, trying to pull him into the jungle with her. But even stunned and injured, he was as immovable as a boulder. “Not without you.”
“No. I will fight them.” His eyes blazed with the fury of a wild animal, and for a moment even Jane was afraid of him. “I will stop them.”
“You’re hurt. They’re coming! Zaren, please!” Why wouldn’t he listen? She saw his heaving breaths, the blood leaking stubbornly from the two injuries, the gingerly way he moved. He wouldn’t last two minutes if they attacked him.
“Not hurt!” As if to prove this, he yanked the arrow from his leg. Blood spurted from the wound, and before Jane could stop him, he pulled the other one from his side—this time with a roar of pain and outrage. “You go!”
But it was too late. Their pursuers burst into view, spears and arrows at the ready, and all at once they were surrounded.
Cold Eyes stumbled into the clearing behind them, brandishing the biggest spear of all. He was panting, and his eyes were bright with fury. He snapped something to his tribal companions, and two of them lunged forward with their sharp blades.
Jane dodged in front of Zaren, spreading her arms wide, knowing they wouldn’t dare hurt their “goddess.” Zaren growled in her ear and tried to yank her away, but she ducked out of reach and stomped on his foot as hard as she could.
“No,” she hissed back up at him. “No.” Perhaps there was something in her eyes, for he didn’t attempt to move her again—though he clamped a solid arm around her waist from behind as if to be prepared to do so if necessary.
“Let us go,” Jane said boldly to Cold Eyes. “You’ve had your pleasure, taken it all from me, and there is nothing left—”
“We aren’t finished with you, goddess. There is still much more to come.” His eyes glittered darkly and he stepped closer to her as his men eased back.
Zaren’s arm tightened around her waist. He growled, low and threatening, sounding so much like a feral cat that some of the villagers glanced uneasily up into the trees.
Cold Eyes looked at him closely for the first time, and his eyes flared in surprise. A little, ugly smile twitched his lips. �
��You. The wild man who was raised by wolves. I have heard of you.”
Zaren’s only reply was a sneer, with a different deep, guttural sound. The threat and his antipathy couldn’t be more evident.
“So he doesn’t speak? Nevertheless, I cannot let you go, goddess. You won’t make it far. This man is weak and bleeding. His injuries will attract the animals and you won’t last the night. He might not last at all.”
“He knows how to protect himself,” Jane replied. But she felt Zaren sway against her, and the blood that had been flowing from his side now seeped all over her torso, wet and warm. More blood had pooled on the ground, spattering her leg and foot. Was he even leaning on her now, ever so slightly?
Her heart thudded harder, and uncertainty weakened her resolve. He was badly injured. He needed treatment and care. And if his blood would attract predators…
Cold Eyes seemed to recognize her concern. “Your savior interrupted our ceremony. We must finish it, or they will be sorely disappointed.” He gestured to his spear-toting companions. “I do not wish to face their wrath should I allow their goddess to go free.”
At that moment, Jane realized Cold Eyes had only tentative control over his people. One false move and they would rebel—likely violently. No wonder he had grasped at the opportunity to present to them a fertility goddess. It was his only hope of retaining leadership over the unhappy, desperate villagers.
He and she both knew that her presence would make no difference in the procreation aspects of these people. But Cold Eyes didn’t care. He, like every other man, wanted power and control. He was greedy. Just like Jonathan had been.
Jane narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I will go willingly with you and will…submit…to whatever you require of me, short of bodily injury. If,” she added, holding up her hand to forestall his triumphant speech, “you allow me to administer to him, and to tend to his wounds. Provide me anything I require to make him well, and you may do what you will to me. If you do not—or if he dies,” she said, stepping closer to him while holding his gaze, goddesslike, with her own, “I will show your people that you have brought my wrath upon them…and an angered goddess must have a sacrifice in order to appease her fury. I shall make certain to make my choice of sacrifice known. If you agree to my terms, you must bow to me. Now.”
Cold Eyes recoiled as if he’d been struck, and black fury burned in his gaze. But he kept his lips in that flat, cool smile and bowed deeply to Jane.
All at once, there was a shift in the place, and bows and spears descended along with their owners as the rest of the men made their obeisance to Jane.
Yet Cold Eyes was on his feet almost instantly, giving sharp orders to his men.
Zaren started as they moved toward him, his arm tightening around Jane’s waist. He bared his teeth like a ferocious beast and she felt the unyielding shift of his muscles against her.
“We will go with them,” she said, turning to look up at him. “I will see to your injuries.”
“No.” The sound was little more than a growl.
She pulled away—that in itself was a testament to the disturbing fact that he was becoming weaker. “Zaren, we must go with them. You cannot bleed all over the jungle.” She smiled, forcing her expression into something light and unconcerned.
But he was very experienced with reading the slightest body language of the wildlife he’d faced, and it was clear from his expression he didn’t fully believe her. His mouth was taut with pain and she felt the renewed surge of blood from his side. His eyes had dulled, and that worried her the most. He could just as easily die from a fever as from his injuries.
“Please,” she said, aware that the villagers were watching with naked interest. She must remain goddesslike, and yet she must somehow convince Zaren this was the right thing to do. “Come with me. I will care for you. And then we will leave,” she added softly.
She pulled away, heart thudding as she waited to see if he would follow. He made another of those warning noises, scoring their captors with an equally feral gaze, and nodded once.
But behind the dullness, the darkness in his gaze told Jane he had little patience for her so-called bargain with Cold Eyes. Zaren would not be caged and protected for long.
She only hoped that would, indeed, be the case.
— II—
Flanked by three other men, Jane followed Cold Eyes toward a compact hut near the center of the village. It appeared to be new, and hastily erected.
She’d been bathed and massaged with oils as before, and then draped in ropes of flowering vines and feathers. None of which did anything to cover her nudity. Her hair had been braided and twisted into a pile on her head, with only a few tendrils curling over her neck and shoulders. The weight of her coiffure felt odd, especially since she no longer had her hair’s curtaining effect to help clothe her.
At the entrance to the hut, Cold Eyes turned to her. A small smile curved his thin lips. “Your ceremonial chamber awaits, goddess.” He spread his hand to encompass the space as he gestured her inside.
The small building had been constructed to resemble a primitive, albeit comfortable, boudoir. The floor was strewn with pallets, pillows, and furs, and a huge, altar-like bed sat in the center. The four posts at each corner were connected by bamboo rods that created a sort of canopy decorated with flowers, vines, and fabric. A fire crackled in one corner, safely confined by a large stone container, and the scent of wood smoke mingled with a sweet, cloying essence that had become very familiar to Jane. And, giving the chamber an even more exotic flavor, the walls were covered with more furs and thick tapestries woven of some unidentifiable material.
The space was hardly larger than a parlor would be back home, where one would receive and entertain guests and callers. But in this case, Jane had a suspicion she knew precisely what sort of “guests” would be entertained herein.
At one end of the chamber was a large pedestal or dais. Next to it burned two tall, slender pedestals that held shallow bowls with live coals that gave off a soft red-golden glow. A table near one side of the room boasted a variety of containers that appeared to offer food and drink.
There were no windows. There was one door.
And in the corner there were ropes, sticks, and something that appeared to be a crude whip.
Jane’s insides swirled nervously. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. They want only my pleasure and my blessing.
She would endure it.
She could endure anything, knowing that Zaren was safe…at least as safe as she could make him. A dart of fear shot through her. Not for her own fate was she terrified, but for him—the man she loved, who even now lay feverish and injured in the hut belonging to the village healer, who was a wizened old woman with sharp black eyes. He’d been so since they returned with Cold Eyes and the others late last night.
“Your subjects were disappointed by the interruption of last night’s ceremony,” Cold Eyes said, urging her into the chamber. “But I assured them you would bestow even more grace and favor upon them because of the delay. Still, their impatience grows.”
Jane refused to ask the obvious questions: what was she to do, and what was required of her to provide “grace and favor” to her “subjects”?
“Thus, there is no time to waste. Your throne, goddess.” He made a gesture to the massive bed, and before Jane could protest, two of the guards directed her onto the large platform. But instead of forcing her to recline, as she might have expected, they directed her to stand on the edge of the mattress at one end, facing the bed.
Then they lashed her wrists high onto the bedposts so she stood, spread-armed, looking down onto the large pallet strewn with furs, pillows, and flowers. One of the men stirred up the fire, and another sprinkled leaves into the shallow bowls on the two tall pedestals. Almost immediately, the sweet, exotic scent she’d come to associate with these ceremonies grew stronger.
“Behold,” said Cold Eyes as the door opened. “Your subjects, goddess.”
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A man and woman—Jane had a moment to spare for gratitude that there was only the two of them—entered as Cold Eyes and his men left the hut. She recognized the couple as one of the pairs who’d made an offering to her during the first part of the ceremony last night.
They came in, dressed in beautiful ceremonial clothing complete with feathers, flowers, and animal skins, moving immediately to the table of food and drink. Jane watched with some apprehension as the woman filled a crude bamboo goblet with a dark liquid and the man placed an unfamiliar red fruit on a small plate.
The couple approached the bed with their victuals and climbed onto it, settling upright on their knees in front of her. Apparently, the fact that their “goddess” was tied up and nearly hanging in front of them caused no consternation whatsoever.
With earnest faces, the man and woman looked up at Jane and spoke in a chant as they swayed gently, proffering her the food and drink—which, of course, she was physically unable to accept. Then both collapsed in obeisant bows, still holding the offerings, and remained prostrate for a long moment.
Jane was just about to speak when the man rose and brought his selection to her. She opened her mouth and he slipped the fleshy red fruit between her lips, then licked the juices off his fingers with an enthusiastic red tongue.
The fruit was sweet and had an effervescent, almost fermented element. But she hardly had time to taste it before the woman rose and tilted the cup to her mouth. Much of the pungent liquid spilled down the front of Jane, but she caught some of it in her mouth and drank. This too was unfamiliar, but not unpleasing. Slightly bitter, it warmed her from the very moment she swallowed, and she felt the flush roll from her belly throughout each of her limbs.
As soon as she’d finished her offering to Jane, the woman tossed away the empty goblet. This seemed to be a signal, for the man—presumably her husband—pulled her toward him. The two kissed passionately on the bed below Jane, tongues twining and delving, mouths devouring. As she looked down, the couple began to pull off each other’s clothing to reveal sleek, dark-skinned bodies.