Country Of The Falcon

Declan O’Rourke introduced her to their host and his wife, who, although they could not speak her language, made her welcome by smiles and gestures. Their names Alexandra knew she would never remember, but their children, amazingly, had English names, and Declan explained in an undertone that a missionary in the area had converted them to Christianity. In consequence, all the younger children had names taken straight out of the Bible.

The clear spirit which Santos had offered her that first night at Los Hermanos was proffered and when she tried to refuse Declan put the mud-baked utensil into her hands.

‘Drink!’ he commanded harshly, and she stared at him mutinously.

‘I don’t like it,’ she protested, but his eyes were without sympathy.

‘Learn to do so,’ he said, swallowing the liquid he had been given with evident relish. ‘Or would you like me to force it down your throat?’

Alexandra’s lips parted. ‘Look, I realise this is an example of their hospitality——’

‘Just drink it,’ said Declan, with resignation, his eyes hard and unyielding, and with a helpless shrug of her shoulders she raised the cup to her lips.

In fact it wasn’t half as bad as she had anticipated. It burned her throat, but it did create a warm glow inside her which banished a little of her tension. Declan O’Rourke spoke to their host while they drank and then after the dishes were cleared away it seemed expected that they should now retire.

The Indian and his family had the usual kind of hammocks to sleep in, and already the children were curling up together with a complete disregard as to age and sex. Declan politely refused the use of the Indian’s hammock and spread a ground-sheet over the hard floor, covering it with a blanket. Then he indicated to Alexandra that she should sit down on it.

After a moment’s hesitation, Alexandra did as she was silently bidden, and watched in amazement when he came down beside her, spreading the other blankets over their legs.

‘Now wait a minute …’ she began, but he interrupted her impatiently.

‘This is no time for maidenly modesty, Miss Tempest. In the jungle one abides by the law of survival. What is it they say about Rome and the Romans? Right now, all I’m interested in is getting you safely to Paradiablo, for your father’s sake.’

It was the first time he had voluntarily made any mention of their eventual destination, and her spirits rose. But the lamp was extinguished at that moment and only total darkness remained, which disconcerted her again. She felt Declan stretch his length beside her and closed her eyes before moving as far away from him as possible on the rough blanket. She was loath to lie down, to place herself in such a vulnerable position, but she could hardly sit up all night, could she? And besides, what had she to be afraid of?

She lay down cautiously. She had never shared a bed with anyone before, and except at boarding school she had always had a room of her own. Of course, now she was growing older she had thought about sleeping with boys, and at school her girl friends found the topic infinitely interesting. But although she was aware that that sort of thing did go on, she had never allowed her relationships with the opposite sex to get that far. On the contrary, she avoided promiscuous situations, and it was a totally new experience to lie down beside a man.

Her nails curled into her palms. She could imagine the comments she would arouse if she went back to school and told her friends the details of this little expedition. And she would not be exaggerating if she told them that Declan O’Rourke was one of the most attractive men she had ever encountered. Attractive, physically, that is. She was not so sure about his personality. But then she had had little to do with mature men of … how many years? She frowned. Thirty? She supposed he might be younger. But no doubt the life he led here did not lend itself to lengthening the period of one’s existence. On the contrary. Anyone who lived here deserved a medal for endurance, she decided ironically.

She drew the blankets up to her chin. She was cold. In spite of the ground-sheet, the dampness of the earth seemed to strike up at her and she wished she had had the sense to bring a woollen sweater with her from the boat.

Declan O’Rourke stirred. ‘Relax,’ he mumbled sleepily, misinterpreting her movements. ‘I won’t touch you. I prefer to sleep alone, but as we have only one ground-sheet…’

Alexandra rolled on to her side away from him, resenting the fact that he had been the one to voice his dissatisfaction with the situation, and a few moments later she heard his steady breathing. She hunched her shoulders miserably, trying not to shiver. She was not used to the hardness of the floor, or the snuffling sounds coming from one of the smaller children. And there was a catarrhal snore issuing from someone’s throat. What an awful place this was, she thought, sniffing. She felt hot tears pressing at her eyelids. It was self-pity, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. At least at Los Hermanos she had had a hammock to sleep in, up and away from the possible intrusion of ants or spiders. Oh, God, she thought sickly, what if a tarantula entered the hut during the night as one had at Los Hermanos? What if it crawled across the blanket on to her face?

She caught her breath on a sob, shuddering uncontrollably, and almost jumped out of her skin when a warm arm curved over her waist, drawing her back against a hard muscular body. She struggled automatically until his mouth beside her ear said rather resignedly:

‘I’m not about to rape you, but you are cold—and terrified too, I guess. I’m not completely without sensitivities, you know.’

Alexandra stopped struggling, but she held herself stiffly. ‘You said you wouldn’t touch me!’ she accused him in a whisper.

‘You want I should let you go?’ His voice had hardened.

All of a sudden Alexandra gave in and relaxed against him. His warmth was enveloping her like a comforting shield, and she no longer wanted to resist him.

‘No,’ she admitted huskily, overwhelmingly aware of the masculine hardness of his thighs against hers. ‘I—I’m sorry. I was frozen!’

His hand on her stomach drew her closer into the curve of his body. ‘I can feel that,’ he observed quietly. ‘Now, I suggest you get some sleep. You’re perfectly safe.’

But it was easier said than done. Although she was now warm, she was also disturbed by his nearness. She had never been this close to any man before and she moved against him restlessly, feeling every movement he made.

At last he said: ‘For God’s sake, lie still, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences!’ in a curiously rough tone, and the harsh words caused her to remain motionless until sleep came to claim her.

The sounds of the children woke her. She blinked and opened her eyes warily, and then became conscious of the weight of Declan’s arm across her breasts. He was still asleep, she thought, but when she made a tentative move to escape from his hold, his eyes opened and looked into hers. She felt herself flushing. She couldn’t help it. But he merely gave her a half mocking smile before rolling on to his back and rubbing his hand over the darkening stubble of his chin.

Alexandra sat up, smoothing a hand over the heavy weight of her hair, feeling its tangled disorder. The hut door was open and the children were running in and out. The wife of their host was sitting in one corner of the hut suckling the youngest child at her drooping breasts, while from outside came the smell of food roasting over a fire. She looked down at Declan, as relaxed as if he had just spent the night in a comfortable bed, and her colour deepened again as his eyes moved to the rounded outline of her breasts beneath the thin material of her blouse.

‘You’d better button your shirt,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Women’s Lib may be all right for the natives, but I don’t somehow think you’re that emancipated.’

Alexandra’s lips parted and she looked down in embarrassment to find a couple of the buttons of her blouse had become unfastened during the night. Her fingers fumbled them into their holes and then she got to her feet, brushing down her denim jeans in an effort to assure herself that they at least were decent.

Declan sat up, running his fingers through the thickness of his straight hair. ‘There are no washing facilities here,’ he said, ‘but you can wash in the river if you wish. As to the other …’ he grinned, ‘there are plenty of trees for cover.’

Alexandra gave him an impatient look and then walked to the door of the hut. Outside their host was spit-roasting something over his fire. It looked like meat and it smelt like meat, but when Declan came to stand behind her he said it was fish. Alexandra ate some, sitting cross-legged like Declan, and found it amazingly good. Or maybe it was that she had had so little to eat the day before, anything would have tasted good.

After the meal, Declan collected the blankets and they bade their hosts goodbye. Then they walked back through the jungle to the river where the boat was rocking gently on its mooring. Declan slung the blankets into the boat and then began unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. Alexandra stared at him in alarm.

‘What are you doing?’ she exclaimed in horror.

Declan threw off his shirt and with a mild grimace examined a tick which had embedded itself on his chest during the night. Then he bent to take off his trousers, saying: ‘I’m going for a swim. Want to join me?’

‘In the river!’ Alexandra gasped. ‘But aren’t there piranhas in the water?’

‘Probably,’ he agreed, looking down at the purple trunks which were his only piece of underwear. Then he smiled. ‘I won’t horrify you by stripping to the raw. But I don’t mind if you do.’

Alexandra shook her head, turning away apprehensively as he dived cleanly into the water, and then glanced back over her shoulder, half expecting him to appear minus a limb. However, he came up, shaking his hair back out of his eyes, and swam across the current with powerful strokes.

Alexandra remained on the bank until he emerged unscathed, brushing the water from his body and drying himself with one of the blankets thrown to him by the Indians in the boat.

‘That’s better,’ he said, reaching for his pants and pulling them on over the wet trunks. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try it?’

‘No, thank you.’ Alexandra watched him covertly, noticing how broad his shoulders were and how the muscles of his chest rippled beneath the curls of black hair. There was hair on his stomach, too, but she found him watching her and quickly looked away. Even so, she was aware that she was trembling a little, and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. She had never felt this way before, and she told herself severely that it was the complete lack of inhibition around here that caused the moistening of her palms and the curious weakening sensation in the pit of her stomach. She was not used to seeing half-naked men, or women either if it came to that.

‘You’d better check that you don’t have any bugs making their home beneath your skin,’ he advised, leaving the top buttons of his shirt unfastened and tucking the bottom into his pants with no apparent sense of embarrassment at her scrutiny.

‘Bugs?’ Alexandra stared at him.

‘Bugs, ticks—what’s the difference? You don’t leave them alone. Want me to look?’

‘No!’ Alexandra was horrified. Shaking her head vigorously, she turned away, and unbuttoned her blouse, examining her breasts for any horrible little insects like the tick he had flicked off his own chest. But to her relief there was nothing to be seen and she was about to fasten her blouse again when her fingers brushed against something warm and bulging fastened to the skin that covered her diaphragm. With a little gasp she twisted herself to see what it was and almost fainted when she realised it was a leech.

‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, and at once he was beside her, jerking her round to face him, his eyes darkening when he saw what it was that had caused her despair.

‘Don’t panic,’ he muttered, going down on his haunches and taking out his knife. ‘Now—I’ll try not to hurt you, but keep still!’

Alexandra nodded, her fists clenched. She felt the stinging pain as the revolting creature dropped to the ground, and then Declan leant forward and put his mouth to the place where it had been, sucking hard. That hurt, more than the removal of the worm had done, but she stood motionless until he spat away the blood he had drawn and rose to his feet. Then, with trembling fingers, she gathered her blouse protectively about her and burst into tears.

Declan studied her woebegone face with wry compassion. Then he said: ‘It’s not as bad as all that, you know. But hang on. I’ve got some antiseptic in my kit. I think it needs something over it.’

He swung himself across and into the boat, and came back a few minutes later with a bottle and an elastic plaster. The antiseptic stung abominably, but Alexandra was too distraught to protest.

However, by the time he had secured the plaster and buttoned her blouse for her she was beginning to feel a little ashamed of her outburst. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, smearing dust across her cheeks.

‘I suppose you think I’m a fool,’ she said.

Declan shook his head. ‘Why should I think that? It was a normal reaction. Better to get it over with than bottling it up. I thought you behaved rather well in the circumstances. At least you didn’t scream when I used the knife.’

Alexandra bit hard on her lower lip. ‘Will it—I mean, it’s not poisonous or anything, is it?’

Declan pushed her gently but firmly towards the boat. ‘No. You’ll survive. But I’ll have another look at it tonight, if you’ve no objections?’

Alexandra hunched her shoulders. ‘There’s not much point in objecting now, is there?’

Declan helped her into the boat. ‘My dear child, the sight of the naked female form is no novelty around here, believe me!’ An amused quirk to his mouth made her feel rather silly and unsophisticated. ‘And besides, you’ve got a beautiful body. Why be ashamed of it? You’ll have to shed those stupid trivial inhibitions if you want to enjoy your time out here.’

Her terror was subsiding and Alexandra felt more annoyed than anything. Annoyed with herself for giving in to blind panic, and annoyed with him for assuming that because he lived here its ways necessarily had to be acceptable to all.

‘If you imagine you can persuade me to go native, Mr. O’Rourke, you’re mistaken,’ she declared shortly.

His expression was derisive. ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing, Miss Tempest.’ His lips twisted. ‘But don’t make the mistake of thinking that these people would be interested, either way. We may not be as—civilised—as you like to think you are, but at least we don’t have a percentage of the population getting their kicks from leering at lewd books, or getting hot under the collar watching some female take off her clothes! And if you stripped here and now, you’d arouse nothing more than a mild curiosity! Your white skin isn’t at all appealing to them.’

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that Vasco——’

Declan gave her an impatient look and then nodded to the pilot that they were ready to cast off. ‘Vasco is a mulatto, and as far as I know he has no Indian blood in his veins. Besides, I’ve no doubt he was only trying to frighten you. You’re a little young and inexperienced for his tastes!’

Alexandra clenched her lips tightly together and turned sideways on the plank seat away from him. It seemed that whatever she said he was always able to take control of the conversation. She stared impotently towards the mist rising from the trees on the opposite bank. The mornings could be quite beautiful, but she didn’t appreciate that now. All she could think was that the sooner they reached Paradiablo, and her father, the better she would like it.

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