Silence is Golden

29. Exotic Exertions

There was silence from the bottom of the tree for a moment, while I tried to follow the progress of the Brazilian soldiers through the thick foliage. Then:

'What kind of problem, Mr Linton?'

But I didn't answer. That was because, in another direction, I had caught sight of a different group of coloured specks, moving in the same direction. Blast!

'Mr Linton! What kind of problem?'

'The double kind!'

'What are you talking about?'

'Out of the way down there! Secretary incoming!'

As fast as I could, I slid down the trunk of the tree, not caring if I tore my chemise or even my hands. We had more important things on our hands than a little blood!

Karim had stepped well back – probably to avoid glimpsing up my fluttering undergown as I raced towards the ground. Mr Ambrose, however, had no such compunctions. He stood right where I had left him, his face like an ancient Mayan statue, his eyes flashing like icicles.

'Step back!' I yelled, hurtling towards the muddy ground.

He just gave me a look. He didn't even need to open his mouth, and I still understood: Not a chance in hell!

Just at the right moment, he stepped forward. His arms came up and closed, tightly. The impact knocked the breath out of me. For a moment, I thought I would have been better off landing in the mud than on his stone-hard form. But then we toppled over, rolling through leaves and over roots, until we finally came to a rest and I ended up, panting heavily, on top of his perfectly sculpted chest, my eyes staring into his, my lips only inches away from his mouth.

Correction: this was a million times better than the ground.

Bad Lilly! Bad! No time for that now! Tell him!

'Soldiers,' I panted, only able to get out the one word right then and there.

'What?'

'Soldiers, Sir! The Brazilian Army. And I think the rebels, too! They're after us, heading our way.'

I had never seen any man get out from under a girl so fast. Well, to be honest, I had never seen any man get out from under a girl at all, but I imagined that most would be pretty reluctant. Not Mr Ambrose. He was out from under me and up on his feet in half a second, leaving me lying in the dirt.

'What are you waiting for, Mr Linton? Up on your feet! Karim, get the horses and take Mr Linton's knapsack for now! We have to move fast!'

'I can bloody well carry my own knap–' I began, but cut off with a yelp when Mr Ambrose grabbed my hand and jerked me to my feet.

'Not now, Mr Linton! Karim, get moving! We're going west!'

*~*~**~*~*

We marched all day long, and I suspected we would have marched into the night as well, if there hadn't been the danger of getting hopelessly lost in the dark. Mr Ambrose, marching at the back, was like a hellhound on our heels, dictating a pace so gruelling I could almost smell the gruel in the air.

With every step I thanked God that I had thought of removing my corset a few days ago. I should have thought of that days earlier. The freedom of movement without the horrid thing was a blessed relief – or at least to me it was. To Mr Ambrose, whose eyes almost never left me – not so much. Without the tight corset, certain parts of my anatomy that had been constrained before were now, um...how should I put it delicately...? Free to move. Yes. Free to move. A movement which Mr Ambrose seemed to find quite fascinating.