Devi's Paradise (23 page)

It was now high noon and they were grateful for the shade that formed a cool haven as they sat on a fallen log and ate the food that Jessica had packed. The cook had been dozing in his rocking chair and the kitchen minions were still abed when she crept down and grabbed a supply of bread, cheese and fruit.

‘Can we go back now, my lady?’ she asked, worried in case there was news of Peter and she wasn’t there to hear it.

‘No, I haven’t found a pool yet.’ Romilly lay back on the short grass and stared up at the trees. The sun formed a golden nimbus among the leaves.

‘But we must return before nightfall. It’s too dangerous.’ Most times Jessica acted as if she was still Romilly’s chaperone. In a way this was true, as she had never been dismissed from her post.

‘I don’t want to.’ Romilly’s lower lip rolled out in a way that Jessica dreaded. She was as stubborn as her father. She jumped up and brushed twigs from her skirt. ‘Let’s go just a bit further. It’s so lovely here.’

Jessica was forced to concede to her wishes. She couldn’t stay there on her own, so she trudged along behind her mistress. The way became rougher. They scrambled over large boulders and pushed cautiously through thickets, always on the alert for snakes or spiders or other poisonous creatures.

The afternoon was drawing to a close. ‘We should really be retracing our steps,’ Jessica said, then she jumped. ‘What was that?’

‘A stick snapping somewhere over there,’ Romilly answered, on the alert.

It was too late, the shrubs became men and the men proved to be warriors, like the ones who had taken Romilly to Awan weeks ago. And there he was, that great, ugly man with his flat nose and slanting eyes, grinning all over his face at the sight of her.

‘Lady… lady…’ he managed to get out, and his warriors surrounded her and Jessica, and Awan picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

His feathered cloak tickled her nose. He smelt of sweat and animal fur, and he was like some jolly giant, joking with his stalwarts as they jogged along, heading for their camp. She could hear Jessica protesting loudly as she was similarly treated.

Oh, sweet Jesus, I’ve been a fool, she thought. I’d forgotten all about Awan. Isn’t he afraid of incurring Armand’s wrath? Apparently not, if his ebullience is anything to go by. Has he a short memory or is he totally stupid? Will he expect to consummate our interrupted marriage?

Yet, secretly, her wilful little demon was clapping its hands with glee. That would pay Armand back for neglecting her for Cat and his piratical exploits, and his refusal to take her seriously. She wanted to hug the native chief for giving her this opportunity to take her revenge and show that she could be as cold and calculating as Armand.

The village was much as she remembered it, and the same crowd of women and old people streamed out to welcome the warriors home, exclaiming in wonderment when they saw captives. Romilly was put down and instantly recognised by Riku and Mahil.

‘I knew you would return,’ said the shaman. ‘The gods told me so.’

‘And what of the wrath of Captain Tertius?’ she asked, standing in the grasp of Awan. Now she understood how the elders could speak the English tongue. It was through their association with the pirates and other settlers before them.

‘Are you his wife?’ Riku made his way round her in rhythmical movements, shaking the gourd and muttering incantations.

‘No.’

‘But he has taken your virginity?’

‘Yes. I’m his prisoner.’

‘Why are you wandering here, so close to danger?’

‘He thinks he owns me, but I’m no man’s slave.’

‘We dare not help you. We can shelter you and take you to fortress in the morning.’

‘Thank you.’

Awan spat out a torrent of words in their own language, his gestures indicating that he was not amused. The shaman and wise-woman went into a huddle, and Romilly held Jessica’s hand and waited, admired on all sides by the tribe. Eventually Riku returned to them and said, ‘Awan wants you to share his hut, feast with him and give yourself to him in return.’

‘Well, that’s not very gentlemanly,’ Jessica piped indignantly.

‘It’s all right, leave it to me,’ Romilly soothed. She was curious about the chief, her sex tingling as she imagined him taking her. She recalled his huge erection when she lay bound to the altar. At that time she was still a virgin with no idea of what it meant to be possessed by a man. Now she knew and anticipated the night she would spend with Awan, a little fearful of what to expect, but this added to the excitement.

Jacy ran up to her, a happy smile on her face. ‘So glad, lady,’ she said. ‘Me wash you? Dress you?’

Romilly blushed as she recalled vividly the heated moments she had spent with the lovely native girl. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and entered the chief’s hut to be prepared for him, accompanied by a reluctant Jessica to whom this was all very strange. ‘They won’t hurt us,’ Romilly assured her. ‘I’ve told you how they found us when we were cast ashore, but the chief and I have some unfinished business.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Jessica, totally bewildered.

‘He wanted to make me his wife, or rather one of his wives for he has several, but Armand broke into the camp and took me away. He intrigues me, and I’d like to know what it is like to be made love to by a native.’

‘Lady Romilly! For heaven’s sake! Goodness knows what the Earl would make of all this.’

‘He’d disinherit me, I expect,’ and, so saying, she gave herself up to being washed, pampered and generally prepared for the belated nuptials of herself and Awan.

The hut was large and divided into a main room and the one she now occupied at the back. The walls were hung with woven blankets and animal skins, the floors bare wood, swept clean and very tidy. There was a mirror resting on a cupboard, and she wondered how these articles had been acquired, maybe through trading or perhaps washed up on the shore after a vessel had been shipwrecked. Maybe they even came from the
May Belle
. The thought of Joshua arrested her and she wished he was there, almost wanted to cry off from her forthcoming encounter with Awan.

Jacy had a bowl of warm water brought in, offering palm-oil soap so that Romilly might clean away the sweat of the day. She kept her distance for Jessica was there, insisting on helping her mistress, looking down on the native girl. Romilly’s clothing was simple, consisting of a calf-length, loose cotton shift and thonged sandals. Gone were stays and lacy petticoats and fine dresses. Unadorned garments were so much more practical on the island. The French tailor had made her gowns in his atelier, and she had worn them in Cayona, but since Armand was no longer there she pleased herself, attired like a naiad and enjoying the freedom.

‘Don’t wash my hair,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t need it and I still intend to swim either in the sea or a pool before I leave here.’

Jessica used a comb and Romilly’s locks fell about her shoulders in a curling mass. She stared in the mirror and was satisfied. Jacy brought across bead necklaces and a wreath of flowers, and Romilly tried them, liking the effect and keeping them on. She could hear sounds from the larger room, her nose responding to the delicious smells as the meal was brought in. Riku appeared in the doorway, wearing a horned headdress and an animal-teeth necklace. He was holding a calabash, nodding to indicate that she should drink its contents.

It tasted sweet, but was decidedly alcoholic, made of fermented fruit juice. It went to her head and distanced her from what was really happening. Drums throbbed, flutes wailed and Romilly stepped across the threshold to meet her bridegroom.

‘No,’ said Riku, when Jessica went to follow her. ‘Come to other hut. Never fear, we care for you.’

Romilly was alone, apart from Awan who reclined on a heap of skins by an upended log that served as a table. A smoky flare was attached to a beam and the light softened his harsh features. His smile, too, made her warm to him. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her. He patted the space next to him and she sank down, tucking her legs under her. He offered her food that consisted of cooked grain covered in a mixture of meat and vegetables. She realised that she was hungry and ate it with her fingers, as he did, sucking them clean. He was eager to please her, peeling fruit and putting it to her lips, nodding and making remarks that she couldn’t understand. Soon he stopped talking or feeding her, reaching out and touching her breasts.

He stood up and removed the leather thong that was all he wore. Romilly, still seated, looked at the huge phallus that reared above her. It was fully erect, a being in its own right, rising to his navel and beyond. It twitched, the shaft knotted with veins, the helm twin-lobed and shining with juice. He stroked it, made it even larger, and then fondled the weighty balls that hung below it. He stepped close, a colossus of a man, and pushed his cock into her face.

She breathed in his odour, that sour-sweet smell of male virility, and opened her mouth, taking the bulging glans inside. He was huge, moving slowly, going deeper into her throat, making her gag. She pulled away, shaking her head and saying, ‘No, it’s too much.’

He frowned, his dark eyes flashing, then turned her away from him, pushed her into a bending position and introduced that mighty weapon to her anus. She struggled but he held her still and poked into her orifice with a stubby finger. It was dry and she yelped. He pulled back and swung her round, looking into her face in a disconcerted way with his brows drawn into a frown. She wished she could tell him to go slowly and insure that she was wet, the language barrier spoiling her enjoyment. He seemed angry and puzzled and took up a switch that lay beside the makeshift couch.

‘Oh, no,’ she said, realising what was coming.

He sat on the log and pulled her, facedown, across his mighty thighs, her clothing flung over her shoulders. His cock pierced her side, an upright spear that dribbled wetness over her. When he had her settled he examined her crack, running a finger up it, and penetrating both orifices, withdrawing his finger and lifting it to his nostrils, then nodding, satisfied. His prick jerked but retained its tribute.

The switch landed with a rush and Romilly shrieked. This fired Awan and he repeated his blows, getting more and more excited. At last, unable to wait, he raised her, spread her buttocks and thrust his rampant beast within her vagina. At first she felt nothing but pain, the switch turning her hinds to fire, the largeness of his weapon seeming to penetrate her to the heart. She was soaked with dew, the beating rousing her to a frenzy, and Awan was intent only on his own pleasure. She reached down and stimulated her clitoris in time to his thrusts.

Pain was now lost in pleasure. His was the largest prick she had encountered, almost too big for comfort, but the stretching and plunging now added to her enjoyment. She circled her bud, rubbed it, spread her juices over it from where he was entering her, and was beginning to climb the mountain towards that sunlit peak of orgasm.

Awan grunted and she responded to his savage jolts. She was close to her apogee, brought about by her own fingers and that monstrosity inside her. His excitement intensified. He neighed like a stallion, driving into her with all his strength, skewering her on his phallus. It was as if he was riding her, then the role reversed and she was riding
him
, taking her joy of his prick, whipping him into a fever, working up their spiralling passion until her climax galloped through her.

He bellowed as his cock spewed, flooding her with his tribute. At that moment of release he sank his teeth into her neck, and she knew the satisfaction of bringing this mighty man to his knees, putty in her hands. Like all the rest of them his cock ruled him, and she fell with him onto the ground, his phallus still a prisoner within her.

Where am I? was Romilly’s first thought on waking. Then memory returned and with it shame and regret. She lay on the primitive couch with Awan, his feather cloak spread over them. The lamp had gone out and daylight crept through the curtain-less windows. A rooster crowed somewhere and a dog barked irritatingly. Awan was curled up at her back. She could feel his semi-hard tool pressing into her bottom crease, seemingly untiring. Now that she had tried him and found that he wasn’t what she was looking for, she wanted to leave the village as soon as possible but doubted he would let her go. Once again her impetuosity had led her into trouble.

She sat up, doing her best not to disturb him, but at once he was alert, big brown arms dragging her back into the sweaty heat of his body. The smell of him made her feel sick. She pummelled him. ‘Get off me, you great lump! I need to pass water.’

He couldn’t understand, but gave an amiable, sleepy grin and released her. She dragged her dress over her head and pushed aside the woven grass matting that hung at the door. Riku was squatting outside. It looked as if he had been there all night. A circle had been drawn in the dust in front of him and small bones were scattered within it.

He looked up at her and shook his head mournfully. ‘You will be leaving. Not Awan’s wife.’

‘No,’ she said, stepping past him. ‘Where is my maid, Jessica?’

‘I’m here, my lady.’ The duenna appeared from a nearby hut, yawning and stretching. ‘What a night! I didn’t sleep a wink. Are we going? I can’t get away from these savages quickly enough.’

‘We’ll go, just as soon as I’ve answered the call of nature.’ Romilly ran behind some bushes, then squatted, sighing with relief.