by Carol Jones
‘You want me too.’ It was a statement, not a question, and needed no answer. All the same, she answered him by unbuckling his woven leather belt, lifting his shirt and running her hands over the warm smooth skin of his back.
‘Take off your corset.’
‘Can’t you feel? I’m not wearing one.’ After her swim, she had slipped her dress over her chemise, and donned a single petticoat, wanting to luxuriate a little longer in the feeling of freedom.
He groaned again, and began fumbling with the buttons at the front of her dress. She helped him, longing to feel those rough palms cupping her breasts, sliding down her torso, exploring her most sensitive places. Her entire being quivered with desire and hot tongues of flame licked through her body. He felt her desire, sliding the dress from her shoulders to slip his hands beneath the neckline of her chemise and mould his hands upon her breasts. She shrugged her arms from the sleeves, her breath coming in gasps.
‘Don’t make me wait,’ she whispered.
He released her breasts and she gasped again, missing his hands already. Then he hitched up her skirts, bunching them around her waist as his hands roved beneath, questing gently. Fingers trailed the length of her thigh then teased softly at her most intimate place. She tugged at his trousers to pull them down over the hard muscles of his buttocks and thighs. She wanted to brand his flesh with the imprints of her palms. To draw him even closer until they became one flesh. She pressed him to her so that there was no space left between them and she could feel him hot and hard against her.
‘Now,’ she said. The word was both command and supplication.
He lifted her from her feet, and imprisoned her against the massive tree, holding her there with his weight suspending her. She wrapped her legs around his body and rode him hard as he thrust inside her. Her hands clawed up his back as he thrust again, and again. She squeezed her thighs and pushed back against the tree, ignoring the rough bark as he drove into her. Faster now, every part of her body focused on the pleasure radiating from her centre. And then as she rode that wave of pleasure to its climax, she held him so tightly that he emitted a low animal sound from his throat as he convulsed in his own climax.
They remained where they were for a few moments, until their breathing slowed, before he released her. Then resting his forehead against her shoulder, his hands spread over the curve of her hips, he murmured, ‘What have you done to me? You’re a dangerous woman, Violet.’
To her surprise, she realised that she too was in danger, when she had set out to capture him. She sighed, letting her fingers rove his thick black hair. Even now that passion was spent, she longed to feel him inside her, something she had never experienced before. Usually she wanted to escape once the deed was done – she had never been one to bask in useless sentiment – and she wasn’t sure that she liked the sensation. If there was one thing that had saved her from despair in her worst moments, it was remaining in control of her emotions. She might not be able to control others but she had always been able to govern herself. Now she had ventured into treacherous waters where she could not see the bottom, nor fathom how to reach shore.
Lewis raised his head, leaning back so that he could stare into her eyes. A sliver of moon had risen above the trees now, casting a blue glow over the forest, and creating deep shadows upon his face. ‘Nothing I haven’t wanted to do from the moment I met you,’ he said.
‘You could have fooled me. You barely speak to me.’ For a time she had believed he was immune to her charms. Almost.
‘I find it difficult to imagine that anyone could fool you. And words are overrated.’
‘I like words,’ she whispered.
‘What would you have me say?’
‘That’s up to you, isn’t it?’
‘I…’ he faltered. He looked at her quizzically, as if about to say more, then apparently thinking better of it, he stroked her cheek gently.
She wondered what he had been about to say. A declaration of some kind, perhaps? If she had read him truly, a declaration from a man like Lewis would be tantamount to a promise. She wanted that promise. She needed that promise, for without it she still had nothing. With it, she could begin to rebuild. She smiled, silently inviting him to kiss her. He lowered his head to hers, but, just as their lips were about to meet a sharp cry ruptured the night.
‘That wasn’t another possum, was it?’ she asked.
‘No. That wasn’t a possum. That was a woman.’
34
Strong Arm waited until the sun had long disappeared behind the mighty trees before creeping from the camp. The ghost woman sat by the fire, making sweet couple talk with Thomas, the bullock man. Big Nose had fallen asleep in the tent they shared, and most of their fellow travellers were resting after another gruelling day of walking. She was still shaken by the events earlier that evening. From the moment the white-haired ghost woman had placed her hands upon her breasts, Strong Arm had been consumed by fear. It gnawed at her insides and churned her stomach so that she was sick with it. If the ghost woman exposed her, anything might happen. At the very least, news of a female impostor would travel far and wide, perhaps as far as the Middle Kingdom. As far as Kwangchow.
Perhaps even as far as Sandy Bottom Village.
The Wu lineage had a thousand arms. Arms that might reach all the way to New Gold Mountain. It would not take much for one of those arms to dispatch the vengeance that Big Wu’s death demanded. If Young Wu should hear rumour of a woman amongst the gold seekers from the Middle Kingdom, he would suspect that she had escaped to New Gold Mountain along with Second Brother. He would send word to capture her and bring her home. Or… he would hunt her down himself. Perhaps he had already set out.
The thought of Young Wu sent a fresh wave of shivers through her body. The more she thought about him, the more he haunted her, just like his father. Except it was in her sleep that she saw the bloody head of Big Wu floating before her, whereas his son had come to her haunt her daylight hours. She thought about him at odd times; hearing his laugh when Big Nose made a joke; seeing his swagger in Thomas’s long stride. Then there was that day when she had spotted his face amongst the crowd of men watching her fight. There had been no sign of him since. Was he a momentary vision, a symbol of her guilt, fear and… And how could he have known which ship she sailed upon, even if he had guessed where she was bound?
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
The moon was yet to rise but all she had to do was follow the river. She remembered the bend that cradled the pool, guarded by the great trees and the ring of boulders. She needed to escape the camp full of men, to find a place where she could be alone to think. To calm her trembling body and agitated thoughts before she did something foolish. She needed space to breathe, to cast off her fears and think rationally. And to be honest, seeing the other woman’s clean bare flesh had made her long to immerse herself in the cool waters of the river. She had been on the road for so long, first the salt road of the sea, then the parched dusty trek through this alien land in the heat of summer. Splashing her arms with salt water, or dipping her face in well water, only made her feel dirtier. She longed to be truly clean, especially on those days like today when her body chose to remind her that she was a woman. These were the times when keeping her secret was most difficult. She had become practised at sneaking away into the bush when no one was looking.
It did not take long to reach the pool. She clambered down the bank, careful not to trip over any exposed tree root or rock. The moon had risen above the trees now, a sliver of silver amongst a field of stars. Strange stars, that belonged to another world. Standing at the pool’s edge, she unbraided the long queue that hung down her back, freeing her dusty locks. One hand rested ruefully upon her bare scalp as she wondered if she would ever be able to regrow it. She scanned her surroundings to check that no one had followed then, hesitating for a solitary heartbeat, she cast off her smelly blue tunic and trousers. She set the soiled loincloth to soak in the shallows before
plunging naked into the tingling waters of the river.
She let her body sink so that only her face showed above the surface, legs scraping the squelching at the bottom of the pool, head bent back so that her hair floated around the pale shimmering outline of her body in a black cloud. She closed her eyes, shutting out all thoughts of the Wus, the ghost woman, the past and the future. Water enveloped her ears so that the world around her grew silent. There was only now. She relaxed her limbs, allowing her body to float freely, unencumbered by guilt or debts of money or loyalty. If only she could always feel this freedom.
Suddenly, hands grasped her shoulders in an iron grip, shattering her peace. She cried out instinctively as she felt them touch her, before the hands pressed down upon her shoulders, pushing her entire head beneath the surface of the pool. Taken by surprise, she hadn’t time to take a single breath before the water swallowed her. She dug in her heels, trying to find leverage, but they only sank deeper into the soft mud. Arms flailing, she fought to break her head above the surface, but her shoulders were held in a death grip. She twisted and jerked, trying to wrest her shoulders free, all the while fighting not to open her mouth and gasp for the air that her body craved. As her head grew dizzy with the effort and the lack of air, she fought like a wild thing, lashing out with her arms, trying to grab onto whoever was holding her down. She knew an overwhelming desperation to find air. Any way. Anywhere she could. Then, just as the urge to open her mouth became irresistible, the weight on her shoulders was released.
She surfaced gasping, air more imperative than flight or fight. Before she could recover her senses, she was grabbed from behind as strong arms wrapped around her, one at her waist, another collaring her neck and covering her mouth. Coarse fabric pressed against her back. Legs as inflexible as tree trunks restrained hers. A skull pressed hard against her cheekbone. She could not see her captor, but there was no doubt in her mind who held her.
‘You killed my father,’ he said.
She couldn’t answer. What answer did she have that a Wu would accept?
‘Slaughtered him like an animal in his own house.’
She tried to bite the hand, but he held her so close that she could only mouth at the palm with her lips.
‘Why would you do such a thing, Little Cat? When all my father wanted was to ask you a question?’
But a Wu did not ask. He took.
‘Now I have to kill you. My father’s po has demanded it of me. My family has demanded it of me.’
She felt the hand about her waist slide upwards, grazing one breast as it slid further around her side to hold her even tighter, if that were possible. She bucked and twisted, trying to kick free with every muscle in her body. Not again.
‘Before I kill you, I need you to tell me why. I only wanted to help you. Did you hate me so much? I thought you were coming to like me…’ He paused for a second before continuing, ‘I will let you speak, but the moment you cry out you are dead. Understand?’
She bobbed her head in assent with the fraction of movement his grip allowed. He relaxed the hand covering her mouth, letting it slide over her chin to her neck where it held her throat in a firm grip.
‘Now tell me why?’
Her voice, when she found it, was hoarse, constricted by the hand at her throat. ‘Your father tried to force me. He tried to rape me.’
‘You lie!’
‘I… I… couldn’t let him do that so I used what weapons I had.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
She was conscious of the knuckle of his thumb nudging the underside of her breast where the flesh was softest, as his fingers dug into her ribs. He held her so tight, her legs locked between his, his groin pressing against her hip, that there was no space between them. No room to manoeuvre or attack, and no way to disguise the fact that he wanted her. He wanted to kill her. But he wanted to fuck her too. She knew all about a man’s wants from the other girls. For an infinitesimal moment this idea captured her thoughts and she imagined his arms wrapped about her in love, rather than in death. She felt his strong legs entwined with hers and the thought did not repel her. What was she thinking?
Disgusted with herself, she thrust the idea from her mind. She didn’t want a man. Any man. She wanted to be a self-combed woman. And if she couldn’t, then she would rather live disguised as a man, free to make her own choices. She certainly didn’t want this man. He was a Wu, like his father. He thought he could take whatever he chose, from whomever he wanted. But he wouldn’t take her. She wouldn’t bow down to the desires of any man. She was her own woman and she would kill… or die first.
‘You think I would attack for no reason?’ she asked.
She felt him hesitate, his grip relaxed for a fraction of a second, and she squirmed in his arms. But it was no use. In a fair fight she might be able to best him, despite what Second Brother had declared that day by the well, but this was no fair fight. He had ambushed her when her defences were down and now his greater strength would be her doom.
‘If you’re going to kill me, make it quick.’
‘I have no choice,’ he murmured. ‘You gave me no choice.’
‘You think your father gave me a choice?’ She felt the pressure at her throat increase and she opened her eyes. She wouldn’t go blindly to her death. ‘Why don’t you look at me as you kill me?’ The hand at her throat muffled the words.
‘If I look at you I am undone,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t want to kill you, Little Cat, I—’
A shout from the riverbank cut off his words. ‘Who’s there!’
As swiftly as his hands had captured her, Young Wu relinquished his hold. ‘I’ll be back,’ he hissed in her ear. Then, like a fox surprised at its prey, he turned and trotted across the river, retreating into the darkness of the trees on the opposite bank. Little Cat could do nothing but hunch her shaking body, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. She didn’t have the presence of mind to snatch up her clothes. In any case, it was already too late, for the man was even now crashing down the bank and splashing through the shallows to her side.
‘What’s happened here? Who attacked you?’ asked the bullock man. He hadn’t recognised her. Perhaps, if she kept her back to him she could keep her secret yet. ‘Who are you?’
She could hear the confusion in his voice as he took in the long wet hair clinging to her naked back, the gentle curve of her waist, the suggestion of plumpness to her buttocks… then the shaved scalp of a man from the Middle Flowery Kingdom. She felt the water ripple as he waded around to her side so that he caught her profile in the light of the wan moon. She turned her head away, but not before a sharp intake of breath told her that he had recognised her.
‘Lewis!’ a female voice called from the riverbank. ‘Who is it?’ The white-haired woman approached too.
She heard the splash as he crossed the pool and back. He thrust a piece of clothing at her. It was her tunic. She took it gratefully, quickly pulling it over her head. Then he handed her the trousers, before wading back to the pool’s edge. Keeping her head bowed, she followed him, donning her trousers as soon as she reached dry ground.
The Hartley woman had reached them now, scanning the pair in the dim light. ‘It’s that boy, isn’t it? Or should I say… girl?’
‘So it seems.’
‘What happened to him… her?’
‘That I have yet to discover. But one thing is certain… I will.’
For the first time since Young Wu had pushed her beneath the cold waters of the river, Strong Arm looked up. The man gazed at her sternly but not unkindly, from familiar black eyes. But the woman’s pale eyes shone in the moonlight, like those of a demon escaped from the courts of Hell. She didn’t know why, but this woman was her enemy. Her lips professed friendship but her eyes said something completely different. This thought did not worry her unduly, for the Hartley woman, with her skinny arms and helpless manner, was too weak to do her much harm. Young Wu was another story. Somehow he had discovered her whereabouts
and followed her all the way from the Middle Kingdom. He had hunted her down like prey, and like prey he would pursue her to the death. She would never be free of him. No matter where she ran, no matter where she hid, she would always be looking over her shoulder. She would struggle to repay her debt to her family. The Wu family demanded vengeance and Young Wu would deliver it. Only death would end his quest.
But did his quest have to end with her death? If he were to die, perhaps his quest would die with him. Then she could disappear into this vast land, far from the other gold seekers, far from the eyes of the Wus, and find another way to help her family. This was an unpredictable land. There were countless dangers at every turn. Anything might happen to a man far from his home across the seas and no one would ever discover what, or who, had been the cause. Perhaps this story might have an alternative ending after all.
She remembered hands holding her beneath the river, grasping her throat, pinioning her body. Then she thought of other hands. Sharp-nailed and liver-spotted. Clawing at her most vulnerable places, and in her mind they became one. And if a tiny voice sounding a lot like Little Cat whispered in her head, ‘But he saved you when the river would have taken you,’ she refused to listen.
If she were to live, Young Wu must die.
35
The giant trees towered over him, silhouetted against the vast net of stars. As he fought his way along the riverbank they taunted him with his smallness. He was a Wu and yet he was nothing to these ancient trees. He was nothing to the yellow-eyed creatures watching him from their branches. The girl still lived and he had failed in his duty to his father and the Wu ancestors. Soon the bullock driver would return to camp and prise the story, or a version of it, from her lips and by the time that happened, he and the old man must be gone.