Lioness

by Nell Brien

  The bull veered. Madness and noise surrounded her. She felt a blow from a heavy body. Consciousness slipped away as she fell.

  Twenty-Two

  Her eyes opened to a dome of canvas. No mosquito net. She was on the floor of her tent, lying on the thin foam pad from her bed. No bed. Under the sheet and blanket she was naked.

  Her body felt as if it had just been taken out of a cement mixer. Cat turned her head. The portfolio leaned against the wall, her bag next to it. Apart from that, the tent was empty. No sound came from outside. No rattle of cooking utensils, no voices. Just the hum of deep silence.

  A large tanned hand held open the canvas door. “I was waiting until I heard you stir,” Campbell said.

  “Hi.”

  She watched him walk toward her, allowing herself to see the natural grace of his movements. Very soon she would be gone, she thought. Raul Guitterrez would do John’s work here, and she would never see Campbell again.

  He sat on his heels by her side. “How do you feel?”

  “Terrific.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t realize you knew your way around firearms.” He picked up her hand. “If I’d known, I’d have been more concerned last time you turned a gun on me. Who taught you?”

  “My father. Years ago, when I was a child. I didn’t know I even remembered how. Did I kill that poor animal?”

  Campbell laughed. “Well, you scared it half to death, but you bloody near killed me.”

  Cat looked at him in horror. “I didn’t!”

  “I heard that bullet whistle past my ear and almost died of fright.”

  She curled her fingers around his and laughed.

  “I told you to stay in the Land Rover,” he said. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

  “Not if I can help it. What happened?”

  “A bloody great beast gave you a thump, tossed you like a sack of mealies into the mud. It was just luck you were thrown under the roots. Knocked you out cold.”

  “I see my portfolio arrived. Are Tom and the women okay?”

  “The main herd turned before it got to them. They’re all right.” He grinned. “Tom’s relieved that baby’s still where it was last time you saw it.”

  Cat laughed, glad to be with him, close to him, holding his hand. She pushed the thought of Joel into the back of her mind.

  “How did we get here? Where are we, anyway?”

  “Maasai Springs. The men got here as we did, and got a fire going. We’re a Land Rover short with Tom gone, so they had to go back for the rest of the gear.”

  “I remember some of it.” Campbell holding her against him while he drove. His voice speaking her name, talking to her, forcing her to answer him. She rolled her shoulders. The sheet slipped, leaving the pink edge of one areola bare. One small movement, and her nipple would be exposed. She left the sheet where it was. “I’m going to be very stiff, I think.” She didn’t look at him.

  Campbell rose to his feet, pulled her robe out of her bag, dropped it on the end of the bed. “You won’t even have a bruise if we move fast enough. A soak in the springs and you’ll be fighting fit. Your old self, in other words.” He dropped the canvas door in place behind him.

  Gingerly, Cat stood upright. She examined her body. No marks that she could see, but her head felt filled with cotton batting. Her hair was damp, curling in tendrils around her face as it did when allowed to dry naturally, and a strange, rather pleasant medicinal smell clung to it.

  More was coming back to her. Her protests when Campbell stripped her to examine her for broken bones. His gentleness when he sponged off the mud before tucking her under the blanket. She slipped on her robe and went outside.

  Turbulence was still apparent in clouds that frothed like meringue, but the storm had passed. The air was crisp and smelled green and washed, with the same dry undertone that clung to her hair. Around her was a scene that on a travel poster would be thought an exaggeration. From the palest jade to deepest emerald, tiny jewel-like pools shimmered under canopies of steam. Towering gray rocks etched by weather, washed to yellow and pink and copper by minerals. Weaverbird nests hung like basketware Christmas ornaments from the thorn trees. The vast drenched plain stretching to distant purple hills was filled with browsing animals. And elephants were close—the downed trees were evidence of that. About a mile away was a waterhole, so their continued presence was ensured. They’d always come to drink.

  The site was perfect. Raul Guitterrez would be stopped in his tracks.

  Campbell placed the rifle he was cleaning on the camp table in front of him. “Well, what do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “I thought you’d like it. It’s the place I wanted to bring you to begin with. The perfect spot for a hotel for the gouty rich.”

  “Did Joel see this place?”

  “Yes,” he said shortly.

  “Well, this is the most marvelous place I’ve seen.” Later, she would check Joel’s sketches. There was nothing even remotely like the wonderful pools among them, but something in the contour of the distant hills seemed familiar. “Can we get in touch with Los Angeles?” she asked. “I’d like to tell my client that we’ve got his site, then start the preliminary studies.”

  “It will have to wait until tomorrow. The radio’s waterlogged, so we’re out of touch until the men arrive. Let’s hope they managed to keep everything dry. Anyway, right now, you should soak in one of the pools before the stiffness sets.”

  “You can soak in them?”

  “Come on.”

  He led the way over a narrow game trail threading through the rocks and stopped beside a deep green pool. Its stone outline wavered through steam, bubbles rose from a rocky bottom, the surface fizzed with action.

  “How lovely. It looks pretty deep.”

  “No. When you sit, the water will come to your shoulders.” He stood behind her, slipped her robe from her shoulders.

  She was nude, shaking slightly—from the cool air, from waiting to feel his hands on her.

  “Just inch your way down.”

  He might have been talking to a child. He didn’t touch her.

  Cat sat on the edge of the pool, then lowered herself into its depths. The water was warm, nudging and bubbling against her skin like the butt of tiny noses. She sat on the bottom, stretched her legs. The water was buoyant.

  “Campbell?” The pool was large enough for two.

  “I’m here.”

  She turned to look for him. Only the back of his head was visible. He was immersed in a pool about ten feet away. She slid deeper.

  “It’s like bathing in hot champagne.”

  “The Maasai believe it cures everything from broken bones to broken spirits.”

  His voice held the strange sad note she’d heard before.

  “And does it?”

  “If you believe it will, I suppose it does.” He changed the subject. “It’s a favorite with baboons, too. I’ve even seen hyenas in these pools. Any number of animals use them.”

  “This one I’m in?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. These pools are also used by a U.N. agricultural outfit when they’re in the area and they run tests. They say the water’s quite safe.”

  Gently Cat pulsed her arms up and down, watching pale green bubbles rise through emerald water and break against her skin. She pillowed her head on the smooth rock edge and stared at the sky. Nairobi was far distant, Los Angeles no longer even existed. Languor spread through her, every limb felt heavy. Minerals always smelled terrible, but not here. The air was moist and green. The place was magic.

  A strange heat penetrated her bones. Her mind drifted. No minutes, no hours, no days. No past. No future. Only limitless time and space in which anything was possible.

  “That’s enough,” Campbell said. “By morning you won’t even have a bruise to show for your little misadventure.”

  Feeling insubstantial, she opened her eyes and had
to make an effort to focus. He was fully dressed and crouched beside her.

  “Mmm.”

  “Come on, time to get out. You can get too much of this.” He moved behind her, put his hands under her arms and hauled her out of the water.

  She let him drape the robe over her. He pushed first one arm then the other into the sleeves. Her heart beat in slow, heavy thuds. Blood moved thickly through her body. Nerves close to the surface of her skin made her aware of the roughness of the terry cloth on her nipples, the catch of it on her pubic hair, its movement against her thighs. She wanted to lean against him, but his touch was efficient and impersonal.

  She followed him along the game trail. It was almost dark. A great bite of time had been swallowed while they were soaking, and she hadn’t noticed. Tufts of grass quivered in a light breeze and the thorn trees were black silhouettes against a purple sky. The first bats of evening fluttered.

  “Put on something dry, Cat. Your things are there.”

  She nodded. Inside the tent, she stood for a moment in front of the portfolio of sketches, then turned away. Not tonight, she thought. Whatever she had to find out, it could wait. She opened her bag, dragged out a crumpled skirt and a loose white sweater. Every movement she made felt significant, complete in itself. She smoothed lotion onto her breasts and thighs, lingering over the softness of her skin, the feel of her hands on her body. She put on the sweater and skirt, ran a brush through her hair, glad, after all, she hadn’t had it cut off before leaving Los Angeles.

  “Drink, Cat?” Campbell called.

  “Great. Scotch?”

  “Water, no soda. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Cat stepped outside and took the drink he held out to her, then sat and watched him coax a fire into life. The deft movement of his hands, the muscles in his forearms moving as he tore apart fallen branches. She noticed the silver in his hair, and she studied his face, the level eyebrows and strong bones, the hard mouth. Desire for him was moist and heavy, but without urgency. She wanted to savor it all, every feeling in her body, the nearness of him.

  He broiled steaks from the cooler. They shared a Tusker, talked very little.

  The night rustled with small sounds: the metallic clink of guinea fowl as they moved toward the water, the breath of the wind through leaves, the creaking swing of the weaverbird nests. It was bittersweet, she thought, a lonely place on the verge of change.

  Cat slipped her feet out of her sandals, pressed them into damp grass. Darkness the color of blue-black velvet had fallen and clouds drifted across the face of the moon. Lightning still flickered in the south. She sat on a boulder close to the fire, staring into the flames. Her breath was shallow, and she wondered if he could hear the thud of her heart—he had the hearing of a wild animal.

  Campbell got up to replenish the fire. As he passed her, Cat caught at his hand. She looked up at him. He held her eyes for a heart-stopping minute. Slowly he drew her to her feet. A hand on each side of her head, he tipped her face to him and kissed her. She welcomed his tongue. Then she had a brief flash of sanity and turned her head.

  “Campbell, this is madness. I don’t have room in my life for a man like you.” And there was the woman in Nairobi. And Paul…

  “Too late,” he said. “I’m already in your life.” He put his lips to her neck, slipped his hands beneath her sweater, caressing her back.

  Cat shivered. He was right, it was too late. She didn’t resist when he drew her into the dim cocoon of the tent, lowered her onto the pad from the camp bed. He knelt beside her. Slowly, savoring each moment of discovery, he removed her sweater and skirt—she was naked beneath—then pressed his lips to her belly.

  From outside, the dim fire glow wavered against the canvas walls. She put her hands in his hair, pulled his head up. “What are you doing to me?” Her voice was shaky.

  He moved up to kiss her. “If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong.”

  “No. You’re not doing it wrong.” She put her arms around his neck. “You’re doing it exactly right.”

  “Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck then shifted his weight onto her, encircled her wrists, pinned her arms above her head. He looked into her eyes, murmured softly to her in Maa. “What?” she whispered.

  “What are you saying?”

  “You bewitch me, beloved. With the golden eyes of the lioness, you hold me in thrall.”

  Gradually the night sounds pressed in. The fire had burned down, the light inside the tent was low. Campbell had one arm around her, the other under his head. He looked down at her.

  “Welcome back,” he said.

  “Mmm.” She moved her body languorously against him. Directly below her ear was the strong, steady beat of his heart. She was replete, but knew it wouldn’t last. The hunger for him hovered still. Perhaps it would always be there. A frisson of fear touched her. He had led her into unfamiliar territory, opened her to a depth of passion that was new. There was no way back from what she felt for him. She didn’t want to love this man. Too much was between them. Too many questions.

  “Cat?”

  “Mmm.” She pushed her face deeper into his chest. “Thank you for this.”

  He grinned down at her. “Well, I aim to please, memsahib. Give me a few minutes, and I’m again at your disposal—”

  She poked him. “No, I meant Maasai Springs.”

  “Oh, I thought you were overwhelmed by my charms.”

  “Well, that, too. But, Campbell, I want you to know I’ll be careful with this place. Joel and I were looking into what can be done with rammed earth structures. No wood is used, so you save natural resources. It’s an ancient method of building, and I think it’s perfect for here. I’ll design something that will blend perfectly with the site. You won’t even know it’s here.”

  “Well, if it has to be developed, better you than the other chap. What’s his name? Guitterrez?”

  She looked up at him, surprised. “You know about him?”

  “I made it my business to find out a bit about the kind of work he did.”

  “You amaze me. I didn’t think you’d be interested in architecture.”

  “Well, I can’t say that I am, generally. But this place needs a delicate hand. I spoke to John Rifken when I was trying to head you off. He said it was you or the other feller. Even without this rammed earth business, you’re better.”

  “Thanks.” A great rent seemed to open in her chest. “We should have come here first. It would have avoided so much trouble.”

  Campbell tugged her arm to release her hold on his neck. “If I don’t feed that fire, I might lose you to a hungry lion.”

  She clung tighter. “Not to bloodthirsty poachers?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If someone’s out there who shouldn’t be, I’ll know it.”

  “How?”

  He hesitated. “There are men watching.”

  “You mean Moses and Sambeke and the others? Dear old Thomas?”

  “Dear old Thomas?” he repeated, laughing.

  Cat tucked her hand deeper behind his neck, took a breath.

  “Campbell, your father said the place Joel died was close to Tanzania. I looked at the map. Maasai Springs is very close to Tanzania.”

  “It’s a long border.”

  “Yes, but the map shows Maasai Springs to be close to the Mara River. That’s where he was killed, isn’t it?” She waited for him to say he would take her there. He didn’t. “I want to go there.” When he still didn’t reply, she said, “Will you take me?”

  “All right.”

  “When?” she pressed.

  “When the men get here. Tomorrow if you like.”

  “I don’t want a circus, the men watching.”

  He looked down at her, stroked the hair back from her face. “Yes, sweetheart, I promise. I know what you want. Now, let me up. I must get to that fire.”

  She released him and turned on her side to watch him cross the tent, tryin
g to imagine him in Beverly Hills. The whole thing was mad. She couldn’t enter his world and he was completely alien to hers. The tent brightened, then he was silhouetted in the doorway, the flames behind him, a bottle in one hand, plastic glasses in the other.

  “This should be champagne,” he said. “But it’s the last of the Tusker.”

  “Who needs champagne?” She plumped the pillow, bent it in half and leaned back.

  His eyes roamed over her. She lifted her hair off her neck with both hands, let it drift through her fingers. The years of sweaty early-morning workouts had not been wasted. Her muscles were firm and sleek, her breasts high. A woman’s body, and none the worse for that. She crossed one ankle over the other and grinned at him.

  “You’re a wanton,” he said softly.

  She raised her eyebrows. “And you’re priapic.”

  Laughing, she held him at arm’s length, reaching for the Tusker. “First some sustenance, then we’ll see.”

  He discarded the bottle, pulled her toward him. Cat put her hands on his shoulders, pushed him onto his back on the narrow bed, then knelt across him. She guided him into her, rocked her hips slowly. Then somehow she was beneath him and she heard his deep rumbling moans, his words in a language she did not understand.

  Twenty-Three

  Cat put out a hand, but he was gone. Drowsily, she burrowed into the pillow, reluctant to open her eyes and look at the time. They had made love all night, and talked. It had been after four when they finally slept. She had sunk into the deepest sleep she’d had since Joel’s death.

  Outside she could hear voices. The men must have arrived. There would be no more time alone, at least until they got back to Nairobi. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes—a dark dawn had broken. She got up and put on her robe, then knelt in front of her portfolio, quickly unzipping it and spreading it open on the floor. One by one she studied Joel’s sketches. She was right. The contour of the land was familiar, but the only thing she could be sure of was that they had not been done from the perspective of Maasai Springs. It was time to show them to Campbell. She had to trust him—she did trust him. She smiled to herself, thinking about the hours just past. Rain pattered lightly on the roof, thunder rumbled. She looked at her watch and strained to hear Campbell’s voice.