Night Lights

by Melissa Glisan

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  Aspen Mountain Press

  www.aspenmountainpress.com

  Copyright ©2006 by Melissa Glisan

  First published in 2006, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  WARNING

  This e-Book contains sexually graphic scenes and adult language. Store your e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.

  Night

  Lights

  Melissa Glisan

  Aspen Mountain Press

  Night Lights

  Copyright © 2007 Melissa Glisan

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Aspen Mountain Press

  PO Box 473543

  Aurora CO 80047-3543

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  Originally published by Venus Press

  Reissued by Aspen Mountain Press, September 2007

  www.AspenMountainPress.com

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and / or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-60168-059-4

  Released in the United States of America

  Editor: Maura Anderson

  Cover artist: Jinger Heaston

  Dedication:

  With thanks to Joanne and Christy for their valued assistance with Malay life.

  Chapter One

  October 15, 1899, Malay

  "Well met fellow traveler,” Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker's greeting rang out on the early morning air. Stepping forward, his warm, dry hands gently wrapped around linen-clad feminine ones in greeting.

  "Well met indeed, sir,” Margaret Thawley dropped a short, informal curtsey, reminding herself again how lucky she was to have the opportunity to adventure and explore the world with such a renowned gentleman of the Royal Society of London. Fear of travel and its risks had plagued her mind, not reservations about the man before her. His stalwart reputation preceded him.

  From under the heavily-veiled brim of her straw and horsehair bonnet, Margaret studied the older gentleman. He was a lion of a man, with a thick mane of hair skirting his balding dome joining the beard fringing his austere face. Bushy salt-and-pepper brows perched like caterpillars over sparkling brown eyes. The eyes were young behind their glass windows, but the face was wrinkled and time-worn. Instinctively, Margaret liked his warmth—he projected an air of “favorite uncle.” A novel thought for a woman who had grown up never knowing the same.

  It was unusual for the Society to allow a woman on one of their fact-finding expeditions, even more rare to include one who had fallen to ruination. To her father's credit, he had shuffled his eldest, most troublesome daughter out of the country quickly, expressing hope that word of the scandal would travel slower. So far, Margaret noted, the ‘tawdry events’ had been left behind with nary a person the wiser.

  "I trust travel wasn't too hard on you?” he inquired politely, looking about for the servants and family expected of a middle-class woman of her station. Margaret flushed, her father, Reverend Alistair Thawley, hadn't wanted anyone aware of her ‘shame’ traveling on the same boat, so she was denied the services and company of even a maid. Instead, she spent the trip locked in her cabin, afraid to venture out except for meals with the captain and infrequent trips around the deck at dusk. It had given her plenty of time to think on what had led to her ‘shame.'

  "My maid was indisposed and unable to travel, Sir Joseph. In the spirit of Mrs. Isabella Bishop, I have come alone save for my bags, books, and recording tools.” She put on her best smile and hoped the false bravado was enough to keep him from probing too deeply. After a tense moment of consideration, he shook his head, relenting.

  "Impetuous youth,” he chastised gently. “However, the world is a very different place from when I was a lad, I'm afraid,” he chatted amiably, telling stories of his boyhood. Tucking her hand under his forearm, he led the way to their cabin on a neighboring, smallish-looking wooden craft.

  Viewing the tiny, unlit space, cordoned off with a hanging cloth made of coarsely woven fibers, Margaret nearly fainted as her mind conjured images of sharing sleeping accommodations for an extended period of time with a roomful of men. Obviously, the Reverend Thawley had sent her to the Malay Peninsula with more alacrity than consideration.

  But what had there been to consider, she asked herself bitterly. Her father needed her out of range of the gossip hounds so as not to fan the flames, and she did have a love of foreign travels. The only problem being that Margaret had never been out of Suffolk. Life, and her father, had thus far limited all of her travels to the pages of the books she loved so dearly. But Sir Joseph needed an assistant and Reverend Thawley required an isolated place to dispose of his ‘embarrassment,’ so here she was.

  Margaret was conscripted as the recorder for Sir Joseph's newest fact-finding expedition. He was set to comb the forests of Cagayan de Sulu in search of the mystery of the ghoulish, vampire-like creatures reported on by a fellow member of the “unseen university,” as the varied societies were now known. According to the reports she studied, no one had ever heard of these bizarre creatures called Berbalangs, until Mr. Ethelbert Forbes Skertchley. A member of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Skertchley had written a most fantastical recitation of events surrounding his trip. The Royal Society decided to further investigate the island and the indigenous peoples to see if the man reported true or if he had fallen victim to local folklore.

  "Not that I can complain,” Sir Joseph's rambling one-sided conversation returned to the subject of Margaret's presence with a chuckle. “I've got a lovely assistant on what will assuredly be a wild goose chase. But...” He turned and gestured to the slim dark haired men carrying her baggage from the hold of the English ship onto the clipper that would carry them on the final leg of their journey. “...it will give my regular men time to recuperate for our return trip to India. Fever you know,” he added conspiratorially.

  Margaret shivered at the news. The notion of contracting something deadly had fueled nightmares leading to many sleepless hours on the voyage from England. Having her worst fears confirmed as something plausible made her blood run cold.

  "Don't worry my dear,” Sir Joseph was quick to reassure his new assistant, “once we get some proper food in you and get you into the sun, you shouldn't have a worry. You look a bit pale from the confinement of traveling. I understand the trip was rough. You came at a bad time, as October marks the end of the monsoon season. But my need couldn't have waited another two months for an easier voyage, as I'm due in India."

  Margaret nearly choked, the trip had been abysmal, but the paleness of her skin was something to be prized, not expunged. She had always been incredibly pale, a shade that the society matrons strove to match with powders and tonics. The weather had tossed the ship terribly and she did mourn having lost too much weight, but the added pallor was something she considered a nice bonus for her suffering.

&nb
sp; Impervious to her cosmetic outrage, Sir Joseph grasped his lapels and orated, “I could never abide the fashion women indulge in, making themselves sickly and pale. For what?” he demanded, sweeping his arm dramatically indicating the vista of sandy banks where dark-skinned children frolicked naked in the surf. “This is how we were intended to be, freely enjoying nature as God intended.” He watched the children laughing, splashing one another for a moment. “We were banned already from one garden for putting on airs—it would be a shame to lose this one as well to vanity and arrogance. I urge you, my dear, to embrace this life and not hide from it."

  Stunned by his impassioned speech, Margaret drew to a halt. Sir Joseph sounded so much like her beloved Rupert that she had to fight down the insane urge to confess her sin of attempting to elope to Scotland with a Catholic. Barely, she managed to rein in the impulse. She could see the older man accepting a declaration of love as the reason for her intended flight, but not the truth—that her true passion had been a wholehearted desire to flee her father. It wasn't that she didn't care for Rupert; she just cared to be free of the Revered Thawley more. Six weeks aboard ship had given her time to see the truth and face it for what it was.

  And that made your ‘love’ a lie; she forced herself to face facts. Deep down she was grateful that her plan had been thwarted, Rupert deserved someone who would truly love him. She had abandoned hopes of finding love and was more than willing to settle for freedom. But it didn't matter—her letters to Rupert had been intercepted and, in an ironic twist of fate, she had been given her freedom. More freedom than marriage would have granted her.

  But, she wondered for the hundredth time, was it better to be free in a heathen world full of disease or bound a captive in the tyrannical safety of her father's house? Watching the children laugh and play in the surf just as any English child was wont to do along streams and riverbanks, Margaret discovered herself considering for the first time that perhaps the trip could be more than a punishment, let alone a death sentence. If the natives can survive here, so can I, she concluded, confidence flooding her system.

  Feeling emboldened, she swept the veiled hat off of her head and laughed. “It would appear you are right good Sir! God does see me, no matter the trappings, so it is for the best that I look upon His works unfettered.” For a moment, the light blinded her, making her deep blue eyes flutter before they adjusted on the beaming face of her employer. Under the brilliant light, there had been a fleeting moment where she could have sworn she spotted a distant pair of burning red eyes focused on them. Fanciful and fearful, she chided herself, smiling widely at the exuberant botanist.

  "Excellently done, Miss Thawley! Now,” he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “let us work on getting you out of those uncomfortable wool contraptions and into the sensible dresses the natives favor."

  The feeling of freedom swelled, making her feel giddy. “We must leave something new for tomorrow, Sir Joseph.” She smiled impishly. The sun, which had been sapping her strength through the oppressive apple green traveling suit, took on new meaning. Suddenly, she felt invigorated. Her eyes no longer saw the faded, peeling paint and crude cabin on an aged clipper, but a vessel expressly crafted to carry her off on new adventures.

  A small chair and makeshift desk had been placed on the deck of the boat, near the cabin. Sir Joseph bowed and indicated she should sit. Grinning happily, Margaret settled into the chair and dug in her valise for her quill and papers to begin recording everything she saw. Theirs was the first boat in the marina, the first set of bare wooden branches lancing into the vibrant blue sky after the bright sandy beach. Birds darted overhead, their cries almost drowning out the lyrical sounds of laughter from the deck hands as they readied the boat for departure.

  So many scents assaulted her nostrils that Margaret closed her eyes for a moment to focus on chasing each one as her fingers nimbly recorded her impressions on the page. There was the smell of the sea, salt-tang and fish blending with the pungent aroma of oils rubbed into the wood of the deck and bow. Pitch, she agreed, as her nose wrinkled in distaste at the identifiable sooty odor. The wind shifted direction and carried in its invisible arms a sweetness that made her mouth water. Unbidden, images of fruit sprang to mind and Margaret lost several minutes in wonderment as her mind conjured exotic images to go with the scent, conjured tastes exploding across her tongue.

  "Mangoes, young Miss, with pineapple and coconut,” the curiously accented male voice at her shoulder made her jump in her chair. Swiveling around, she peered up into the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. It was like staring into a pool of midnight water. Inky black, it was impossible to tell where iris ended and pupil began. They were almond-shaped and tilted cat-like in his warm caramel face. Smiling eyes, she fancied as her heart skipped a beat.

  Her mind, still locked in catalog-mode, noted that he was from Malay, but somehow different. His face wasn't as round as the men scurrying here and there in bare feet and scant trousers; it was longer, more angular with high, strong cheekbones above sensual, almost feminine lips. The wind shifted again, this time teasing the silky tips of long black hair from behind his ears. Through a fog of fascination, she nodded agreement that his hair looked so much better free to ride the wind than clubbed back as her countrymen were known to do.

  Blinking rapidly, Margaret floundered for words and composure. She had never been one for conversation. The few times she had been permitted to speak at her father's dinner parties, she had been viciously chided for her stilted, unoriginal dialogue. All of the beautiful conversations she enjoyed in books couldn't rescue her from the embarrassment of being ‘tedious.'

  "Thank you, Sir,” she felt her cheeks warm from more than the sunshine as he smiled at her words. “Are you making the trip to Cagayan de Sulu with us?” Sunlight kissed his skin a warm golden shade above his pristine white shirt. The crisp material set off his darker skin tone perfectly.

  "Cagay-an” he gently corrected, drawing the word into two syllables, softening the ‘g’ to an ‘h’ sound. His voice was husky, making her shiver despite the heat of the afternoon sun.

  "You are going?” he asked in his low-pitched voice. Embarrassed over the faux pas of mispronouncing the name of the island, she merely nodded. In reply, his soft lips lifted, revealing even white teeth as he flashed a quick smile. “Then yes, Miss. It would be my honor to escort you to my home. Cagayan is a wild beauty. I would not wish it to frighten you. So, at your side I will remain."

  Blood thundered in Margaret's ears, he spoke so boldly! Her father would have blistered the ears of any man who would have spoken thusly to her at home. Heat bloomed low in her stomach, sending a different kind of warmth through her veins. Nervously, she cast about. Sir Joseph wasn't far off, in fact he stood mere feet away speaking in an odd liquid language to the squat, swarthy captain. Perhaps she was being presumptive, maybe such talk wasn't considered scandalous in Malay?

  "I-I thank you for your offer, sir. But as I do not know who you are, I am afraid the offer is quite forward.” She stumbled over the words propriety necessitated while choking back the ones of acceptance her newly discovered freedom dared her to utter. Take a chance, be bold, a naughty imp tempted her.

  "Ah.” Understanding settled across his attractive features and he moved around to the front of her desk. “Allow me to make introductions? I am Rizal Malihim, my father is a tribal chief, one of the two leaders of the island you are traveling to. He sent me to be educated in Spain when the Spaniards ruled our islands. Then, when our country was sold to the Americans,” He shrugged and spread his arms in a graceful way that made Margaret's mind trip to ballads of swordfighters. “I journeyed there at his bidding to plead for our freedom.” Suddenly seeming aggravated, he clasped his hands behind his back. “But it would seem that the ‘Land of the Free’ does not wish to understand our desire to be free as well. However, that may change."

  Margaret made sympathetic sounds as she bit her tongue. She had always romanticized the Americans for their p
art in winning free of England, not because she thought they were right but because the tales sounded so dashing. If the Americans held such a double-standard, perhaps she had misplaced her compassion.

  "Rizal!” Sir Joseph hurried over and eagerly pumped the younger man's hand between his own. “I had worried that you would be unable to accompany us to the island's interior.” Margaret openly watched Rizal. He didn't seem as enthusiastic as Sir Joseph.

  "I had thought that you had given up on your quest to meet the Berbalangs tribe."

  Tribe? Eerily the word bounced and echoed in her brain. She was glad to be sitting her thoughts spun so crazily. The scant information the Society had provided her with to study on the arduous trip from England had said nothing of the fantastic creatures being a tribe of people. Instead, it had painted a rather lurid ghost story that, combined with her terror of disease, had made sure she laid awake at night staring timidly into the darkness.

  "Until I meet these good people of your land, I cannot write the papers that will lift the stain of cannibalism from their community."

  "Cannibalism?” Without thinking, the word simply popped out from between her lips. Horrified, Margaret's hands flew to her mouth as if trying to force the word back inside.

  Chapter Two

  Rizal wondered if the frightened young woman before him knew what a treat to the senses she presented. When he first saw her step foot on the British ship's rust-stained gangway, she had looked like an exotic bird preening under the morning sun in her shades of bright green. The tight corset transitioning into the rear bustle, coupled with the puffy mutton sleeves, only added to the illusion.

  Not for the first time, he marveled at the strange fashion conventions of the English nobility. Why bury a perfectly beautiful woman under layers of strategically formed frippery? Then again, he had discovered that many of the women from the ranks of the nobles had very little beauty, inside or out. On this new creature, the ugly clothing style took on an exotic, sensual air. It drew his eyes to the mystery of her hips and the lush fullness of her breasts.