Country Of The Falcon. Anne Mather

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