— I —
The Jungle of Madagascar
1890
Jane stood on a dais above the small crowd of gawking tribal villagers. Unlike her naked self, they were all dressed in native clothing. Some wore feathers in their hair or on their revealing clothing, others had beads, woven bits of string, and what appeared to be small bones as decorations. The women wore short, shift-like dresses that ended just above their knees, while the men had fastened cloth around their waists. Some of them sported open, sleeveless waistcoat-like coverings over their torsos, decorated with stitching and feathers.
The color of the villagers’ skin varied from ebony to light coffee with cream. But all of them had dark eyes and black hair that appeared springy and soft. And they were all looking at her with avid, hungry eyes.
Using the long, curling curtain of her fiery hair, Jane tried to cover her nudity as much as possible as she clung to Jonathan.
“They believe I am a fertility goddess?” Jane whispered to Jonathan, repeating his shocking explanation for their abduction of her and her fiancé.
She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he could speak and understand the native language, or if she’d have preferred to remain ignorant of what was to befall her. No, that was foolish. Of course she needed to know. How else was she going to figure out how to escape? “What are they going to do to us?”
Jonathan was still clothed, but appeared no less a captive than she, for a spear was pointed at his chest, and another at his belly. His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know, but I think we must do whatever they ask. I’ll try to find out more information, Jane, but you must understand…they see you as a goddess. You are so different from them, they believe you must be divine. You must—”
“I must act like a goddess,” Jane interrupted, suddenly seized with a rush of strength. Pulling out of his grip, she straightened her spine and stood erect, fully aware of the array of eyes on her. They were heavy and avid, the pairs upon pairs of them. More than a dozen, perhaps two dozen.
But if she were a goddess, she would stand proud and confident, for goddesses wielded power, did they not? Goddesses could bestow grace upon the people.
And above all, goddesses must not be angered.
Thus, she stood as tall and proud as she could force herself to be, completely naked and—for the moment—at the mercy of this tribe. Jane looked around with as much boldness as she could muster. She met the hot, needy eyes of the men and the curious, apprehensive gazes of the women as if she had the power they believed. The heavy heat of the jungle seemed to press against her bare, unprotected body, and the faintest skitter of a breeze brushed over her flesh. The ends of her hair rippled slightly and she could taste a hint of salt on her upper lip as she moistened it, aware of the sheen of perspiration on her skin.
Jane could only imagine how she must appear to the natives: tall and ivory-skinned with green eyes and high, generous, pink-tipped breasts. Her curls fell nearly to her waist, thick with soft waves, and fiery red-gold in color. It was no wonder they thought her a goddess, with hair such as hers. It was like a blaze. Like a fire.
Fahhr.
Fire.
Jane felt a sharp, unexpected stab of pain in her belly. Zaren. The wild and passionate jungle man had been gentle and reverent as he reached to touch one of her long curls. “Fahhr,” he’d said, his blue eyes wide and soft with awe. “Fire.”
Zaren. A little quiver caught her by surprise, and then was gone, replaced by despair. She would never see him again. She couldn’t, for even if—no, when ; if wasn’t even a possibility—she and Jonathan escaped from this situation, she would marry her fiancé and they would return to England.
Jane blinked hard and jolted back to the present when one of the presumed tribal leaders shoved Jonathan away and came to stand next to her. Her heart began to beat
The Jungle of Madagascar
1890
Jane stood on a dais above the small crowd of gawking tribal villagers. Unlike her naked self, they were all dressed in native clothing. Some wore feathers in their hair or on their revealing clothing, others had beads, woven bits of string, and what appeared to be small bones as decorations. The women wore short, shift-like dresses that ended just above their knees, while the men had fastened cloth around their waists. Some of them sported open, sleeveless waistcoat-like coverings over their torsos, decorated with stitching and feathers.
The color of the villagers’ skin varied from ebony to light coffee with cream. But all of them had dark eyes and black hair that appeared springy and soft. And they were all looking at her with avid, hungry eyes.
Using the long, curling curtain of her fiery hair, Jane tried to cover her nudity as much as possible as she clung to Jonathan.
“They believe I am a fertility goddess?” Jane whispered to Jonathan, repeating his shocking explanation for their abduction of her and her fiancé.
She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he could speak and understand the native language, or if she’d have preferred to remain ignorant of what was to befall her. No, that was foolish. Of course she needed to know. How else was she going to figure out how to escape? “What are they going to do to us?”
Jonathan was still clothed, but appeared no less a captive than she, for a spear was pointed at his chest, and another at his belly. His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know, but I think we must do whatever they ask. I’ll try to find out more information, Jane, but you must understand…they see you as a goddess. You are so different from them, they believe you must be divine. You must—”
“I must act like a goddess,” Jane interrupted, suddenly seized with a rush of strength. Pulling out of his grip, she straightened her spine and stood erect, fully aware of the array of eyes on her. They were heavy and avid, the pairs upon pairs of them. More than a dozen, perhaps two dozen.
But if she were a goddess, she would stand proud and confident, for goddesses wielded power, did they not? Goddesses could bestow grace upon the people.
And above all, goddesses must not be angered.
Thus, she stood as tall and proud as she could force herself to be, completely naked and—for the moment—at the mercy of this tribe. Jane looked around with as much boldness as she could muster. She met the hot, needy eyes of the men and the curious, apprehensive gazes of the women as if she had the power they believed. The heavy heat of the jungle seemed to press against her bare, unprotected body, and the faintest skitter of a breeze brushed over her flesh. The ends of her hair rippled slightly and she could taste a hint of salt on her upper lip as she moistened it, aware of the sheen of perspiration on her skin.
Jane could only imagine how she must appear to the natives: tall and ivory-skinned with green eyes and high, generous, pink-tipped breasts. Her curls fell nearly to her waist, thick with soft waves, and fiery red-gold in color. It was no wonder they thought her a goddess, with hair such as hers. It was like a blaze. Like a fire.
Fahhr.
Fire.
Jane felt a sharp, unexpected stab of pain in her belly. Zaren. The wild and passionate jungle man had been gentle and reverent as he reached to touch one of her long curls. “Fahhr,” he’d said, his blue eyes wide and soft with awe. “Fire.”
Zaren. A little quiver caught her by surprise, and then was gone, replaced by despair. She would never see him again. She couldn’t, for even if—no, when ; if wasn’t even a possibility—she and Jonathan escaped from this situation, she would marry her fiancé and they would return to England.
Jane blinked hard and jolted back to the present when one of the presumed tribal leaders shoved Jonathan away and came to stand next to her. Her heart began to beat
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