Margaret rose to give chase, but something stopped her. Their guide, Kanani—if anyone should have gone to the horse or hurried after it, he would have. There was nothing but silence from the small canvas cave where he slept. He could not have missed the commotion. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and rocked soothingly on her feet.
A rustling in the grass had her whipping around. It was Sir Joseph. Something moving just beyond the tree line must have caught his eye. Starlight raised a gleam along the hammered edge of his short blade as he waded into the woods with a hefty crash. The sound of wings whirring and a low, pain-filled moan carried on the night air. She couldn't help but think of Skertchley's accounts of hiding in a ditch as the altered form of the Berbalangs coursed above his head in the dark, hunting for victims.
In her mind, a coolly rational voice soothed her fears. Why would eaters of the dead come to a place where no one had laid a body in years? If they need living food, the voice argued, there are animals in the jungle. They don't need to bother with you. Breathing hard, she nearly laughed in relief. It truly didn't make sense; the sounds were just night birds or perhaps bats mixed with an animal on the prowl.
"Here I am sitting in the dark like a sacrificial lamb and I never even thought to ask if there were predator animals to fear, I got so wrapped up in the folktales,” she poked fun at herself. The sound of her voice soothed her worn nerves as she sank back to her rug. But the pony had been genuinely frightened and ran away from something.
Looking at the spot where field and jungle met, she stared intently, looking for the signal she and Rizal had agreed on. The first time her eyes swept the clearing, she'd made a hash of it; she kept getting side tracked by the flashing fireflies. On the second, goose bumps wound around her arms as a low wailing sound issued from the wooded grove to the far side of the road. Sweat beaded on her skin and slid in cold rivulets down her spine as she held on to the ends of her wrap, desperately watching the woods a last time.
What was that? A flicker of orange-red caught the corner of her gaze and she turned back. There, between a banana tree and a young rubber tree were twin points of brilliant flame. Relief flooded her system as she lurched to her feet. She had crouched on the ground for so long that her lower legs had fallen asleep; pins and needles of pain mixed with her relief and made the short trip feel like an eternity. Never losing sight of the unblinking fiery gaze, she halted before the tree line. Taking a deep breath she stepped between the trees slowly, not watching or caring if her feet should trip, mind consumed with following the receding flames to Rizal.
Was it a trick of the moonlight or her fears playing on her mind that her eyes caught fleeting images of pale, striped forms clothed in loincloths moving past her? You expected to see ghosts and so you did, she told herself sternly, but the foggy, haunted feel of the dense jungle didn't subside. She wanted badly to call out to Rizal, to ask him to wait for her, but didn't dare speak for fear of Sir Joseph and his nervous blade running towards her voice. More than one danger lurked in the dark.
Tripping and stumbling on tree roots, she came to a small clearing. There, on a stump sat a small lantern with shielded sides. Rizal's eyes reflected the flames of the candle, showing her what she had chased. He looked primal, standing nearly naked in the moonlight clad in nothing more than dark stripes of camouflage and a sort of loincloth.
She wanted to run to him but there was something about his stance; a tense half-crouch as if he waited to move on an advancing enemy that made her stop and wait. He looked like the imagined apparitions flittering through the woods. Reacting to an unseen signal, he suddenly relaxed and opened his arms. “Babae, come, the old one has been led a merry chase by my men."
Sobbing, she fell into his arms, relishing the warmth of his skin and the strength of his embrace.
"The figures I saw were real?” She never thought that speaking would be such a hardship; she shook like a leaf in the wind.
"You saw them?” He seemed inordinately proud of her for having done so. “They are very good at moving through the night. My warriors and I have trained for many years to repel pirates and invading soldiers."
"The stripes?” She asked, her fingers sliding along his skin.
"Taken from our name, my mahalin, or have you not figured out my secret?” His face was beautiful in its male power, haloed by his silky mane of black hair. “It is very much like your own."
"I have a secret?” The discovery made her lean back to stare at him. Pulling back meant arching her lower body against his and he was more than happy to see her. His immediate male reaction made her blush and she was glad of the darkness covering it.
"You are a woman, of course you have secrets,” he teased. “But there is one I will reveal to you before the night is over. But first,” his firm hands gripped her buttocks grinding her stomach against his thrusting erection, “your name is too cold and proper, do you have another?"
Nonplussed, she felt arousal slam through her body at the point where they touched. Words couldn't form in her mind, let alone on her lips. Dipping his head, Rizal nuzzled her neck; teeth dragging against the soft skin making her shudder, needing more. Moving of their own volition, her hands kneaded the thick muscles of his shoulders like a cat. Laughing, he pulled back.
"You haven't answered, my sinta. What can I call you?"
"Maggie,” she croaked out. Her mother had been the only one to use that name in her dreamy singsong voice. “Maggie is what my mother called me."
"Then my Maggie you shall always be.” He cradled her face, pulling her mouth to his. She felt weightless in his arms, cherished and desired. With every stroke of his thumbs across her cheekbones, her body heated in answering waves. Dimly she registered the loss of her shawl as it slipped to the ground. A tug and the snood covering her hair was gone, flung sideways into the night letting her hair tumble free down her back.
"I wish to make love to you in the sunlight, to watch your hair turn to yellow fire as you ride me,” he whispered against her lips, capturing her mouth in another mind-drugging kiss. The image made her heart trip and slam against her ribs.
His hand wrapped in her hair, arching her backwards so his mouth could follow the line of her throat to the plane of her chest. The feeling of his lips, hot and wet, made her legs shake. Gently, he nudged her legs apart, widening her stance. The other hand cupped a breast, rolled and squeezed the aching globe before sliding across her belly to her cloth-covered mound. Cool night air rushed past her legs as the material of her skirt lifted, but she was lost to the feeling of his mouth sucking a spot on the side of her neck. Moisture gathered at the delta of her thighs and she moaned as painful lances of pleasure arced between her core and the spot where his mouth played her flesh.
He didn't allow her time to think, to be scared or nervous, one moment she was aching and wanting, the next his fingers found her slick opening and built the flames of need to a fever pitch.
"Please,” she begged, not even knowing what it was she wanted. “Rizal, please.” Fire wracked her body as his finger slid slowly inside her opening, stretching her in a way that made the ache almost cramp inside her stomach.
With a whispered curse, he stopped, lifted and settled her on her discarded shawl on the ground. “This is not what I wanted for us, for our first joining,” he made to apologize as his hands gently eased her chemise and shift over her head. “But I cannot wait, you are too hot, too tight, and my body...” his voice dwindled away as he lifted her hand to grip his cock through the strained material at his hip.
Groaning, he pulled the loincloth away and placed her other hand on his flesh, teaching her the feel of his thickness from the furred nest of curls to the soft, dewy head. He was on his hands and knees above her and she watched the different expressions that crossed his face as her fingers stroked the silky soft skin. There was no fear in her heart, only joy that she had the ability to bring him to this state, moaning and thrusting between her fingers. Her body wept for the feel of him insid
e and she wriggled beneath him.
Opening his eyes, he clasped her hands, halting their caress. Lifting one and then the other, he wrapped her fingers around a slim sapling that had grown out of the stump at one point. “Hold on to this and do not let go.” His smile was full of wickedness as he looked over her body, splayed beneath his, her skirt bunched around her hips. Without even being touched, her nipples hardened to painful nubs under his hungry gaze. Tauntingly he licked one, then the other, his warm tongue lapping at the turgid points like a cat with cream. Each wet caress made her writhe as liquid spilled from her lower lips to coat his fingers brushing across the hungry opening of her body.
When she closed her eyes to savor the feeling, he hissed and bade her to watch. His eyes held hers as he licked the skin of her breast, suckling the soft pink nub between his firm lips. Teeth grasped the nipple and milked it, each tug splashed through her stomach making her rub wantonly against his fingers still lightly brushing her sex.
Lifting her hips, he slid the skirt free and arranged her legs wide to see her virgin flesh. For a moment, she felt shy being on display like this, until he looked back to her face, shaking with his own need. “Beautiful,” was all he said, as he stroked the inside of each thigh, watching the flesh of her womanhood swell and blossom under his fingers. Whimpering, she clutched the wooden pole in her hands and remembered the feel of his hot slick flesh as it slid between her fingers.
"There will be pain, Maggie, for this I am sorry,” she heard the words but didn't care, her sisters had said the same but with this man it didn't matter. She welcomed the pain if it would quench the burning in her body. She felt her hips being lifted in his hands and watched as he knelt between her widespread legs, gently he guided his thick shaft to her opening and she felt her body stretch accepting him a little at a time. It burned and ached, but he pulled back and slid in a little more each time. The candlelight caught the glow of sweat on his shoulders as he held her body, teaching it how to accept and love him. Crying out, he thrust in hard and deep and Margaret bit her lip as pain ripped through her body. What had been pleasure turned to torture as he pushed in and pulled back, sliding into her abraded flesh again and again. Through the roaring of blood in her ears, she heard him cry out in release and nearly sobbed in gratitude that the pain was over. She made to let go of the branch but his hands were there.
"Hush,” he called over and over, kissing the trails of tears on her face until her ragged breathing calmed. But he didn't stop, his lips moved from her tearstained cheeks over her throat, making her body respond again. This time her body responded by clenching her center where it ached. The pain made her shudder, it hurt but still felt delicious as his mouth and hands found one breast then the other. When his head dipped across the soft expanse of her stomach, the muscles twitched sending spasms through her pelvis.
In the glow of the candle, he caught her chin and inserted a finger in her mouth; instinctively she suckled it as he again parted her legs and lifted her hips. Dipping a finger into her slit, he felt her try to pull back against the invasion. Margaret watched in trepidation as his dark fingers disappeared into her sore flesh. Then fear morphed into an ache as he lifted the fingers to his mouth and suckled the digits coated with her wetness.
Rizal removed his finger from her mouth and cupped her buttocks, lifting her hips. With his eyes, he bade her watch as his tongue slid between the folds of her labia, circling the pearl of her clit. His thumbs slid into her opening, holding her hips steady as his mouth covered her lower lips, kissing the hungry flesh with long strokes of his tongue. The sounds of her cries made his cock ache but he couldn't take her again this night. Instead, he thrust his tongue into her again and again, drinking her passion and sweet uninhibited response to his touch.
Margaret wanted and needed but she was lost to knowing what, so she begged and pleaded with soft moans and cries as his mouth and fingers drove her to the edge of sanity. Her hips tried to move, to find a rhythm, but his hands wouldn't allow it. When his tongue thrust into her body she cried out incoherently as wave after wave of hot, aching pleasure twisted through her veins. His mouth didn't stop; it worked her flesh through the tide and spiked a second wave that made spots dance behind her eyes as she begged for mercy.
"Let go now Maggie,” he laughed in a low voice, freeing her hands and pulling her onto her side, spooning around her nakedness. Gently he rubbed her tummy and she held her breath as aftershocks flooded her system making her moan and press back against him restlessly.
"We belong to each other, do you not agree?"
Margaret nodded and felt the brush of his lips against the crown of her head. Never had she felt anything to compare to what she experienced in his arms.
"I will tell you what secret we share, but you must promise to hear me out.” She had been on the edge of falling asleep in his arms when he uttered those words against her hair.
"I promise,” she whispered back. As the candle burned low and guttered out she listened as he told her of her mother's misadventure in the popular Gothic cemetery, Highgate. For the first time in her life, Margaret heard how Phoebe was found, broken-minded wandering among the graves, pregnant. Her heart felt like a stone settled in her chest as he recounted her father's fear of the rumored vampire that was supposed to prey on the people who stayed overlong.
"So,” she said, her voice full of suppressed tears, “the secret we share is that stupid Englishmen both believe that we are the get of vampires?"
He rocked her against his heart and wished to take her pain away. He had hoped to make her understand for her own safety, not to inflict pain. “My timawa, my warriors were trained by our fathers in secret. We became the Berbalangs. There was no such creature on these islands until the Arabs with their djinn came. Their stories and prowess in battle mixed with superstition, and we were born. In the light of day we are called timawa and respected, at night we are called Berblangs and feared."
"But ... but why?” She lifted her head and pillowed it on his upper arm.
"If you would ever see what is left of a man following a sword fight you would think that an animal had got at the body. The people had never seen such before and the tales spread. Not unlike the Celts believing that the Romans had horses’ manes,” he teased. “Those born of the timawa and trained to its ways know the truth. We have no need of the witch hunters coming to our shores looking for our secrets."
"But I don't have a secret,” she mumbled, tiredness pulling at her mind.
"Do you look like your father?"
Margaret thought for a moment to the rare photograph she had of her mother. It was one of the first done in Suffolk and she cherished the only memento she had of Phoebe.
"No, and I don't look like my mother either.” She felt Rizal go still behind her.
"But Hooker said—"
"I don't care what he said,” she felt strangely numb inside, “in my bags, at your father's home, is a small wooden box with a photograph of my mother. The only way we resemble one another is that we are female and have long hair. My mother was petite and dark haired. The Reverend Thawley is tall and also dark haired. I stand alone in the family."
"No,” Rizal urged, “you did once, but no longer. I stand with you. You were a gift they didn't want. I want you."
It seemed as if hours passed as they lay talking and touching, but Margaret knew that the morning wasn't far off when he pulled her to her feet and helped her dress. Willfully her fingers traced the pattern of dark and light stripes running over his face, chest and legs. Even his arms sported tiger stripes to help him blend in with the shadows of the jungle.
"I am taking you to the clearing.” He captured her face in his hands, forcing her tired mind to listen. “Sleep. If Hooker asks about you leaving, tell him you chased fireflies and got lost. Tomorrow he'll insist you go to the Berbalangs’ village. I will come for you again, okay?"
When she agreed, he silently led her through the trees back to where she entered the woods. Tired beyond
words, Margaret stumbled forward and collapsed onto her abandoned travel rug. Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she fell almost instantly into a deep well of darkness and sleep.
"Swim with me Maggie-Pie,” the softly spoken words roused her from her bed. “Sshh,” a gentle finger forestalled questions. “Come.” Wearing only her nightshift, she followed her mother out the rear servants’ quarters to the woods. There was someone waiting there with a light. She didn't hear what was said, but her mother grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, running into the dark woods.
"See ahead Maggie-Pie, see those lights? Run to the lights, you've got to get to the lights.” She reached down, grabbed the hem of her shift, and ran behind her mother, heading for the lights in the distance. When they reached the bank of the river she balked.
"Come with me sweet-pea, I've taught you how to swim well,” Margaret watched as her mother waded into the river and pushed off, swimming strongly. Floundering, her toes sinking into the squishy muck, she tried to catch up. Making more noise than she wanted, Margaret swam after her mother. Fighting to keep her nose above the inky waves, she paddled with all her might against the current, fighting to follow her mother's voice.
"Mama,” she sputtered as water surged into her mouth. Straining, she pulled through the choppy flow and called again, “Mama, wait for me. Not so fast.” Gritting her teeth against the brackish water, she swam harder. She was more than halfway across. The cold of the water made her tired arms and legs go numb, making it harder to keep them moving her forward. In the distance, she could see her mama's dark head as she walked out of the water and onto the bank.
There was no moon in the sky but she could see her mother as she walked towards the two torches placed on the banks. Margaret had to stop and tread water to catch her breath. Her nightclothes were water logged, heavy and cold, and pulled at her body. Mind now numb with exhaustion, she pushed on, swimming towards her mama and the bright lights.
Why did mama get her from bed to go swimming? Father would be so mad. Water plugged her nose and she floundered, as she struggled with the soft ground of the shore. Just thinking about how mad her father was going to be made her want to cry.
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