Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

‘Shy?’ an arctic voice hissed at my ear. ‘How shy is this?’

His hands found their way into my chemise.

‘I…oh…I…’

‘Tell me,’ he rasped, his hands playing me like a fiery instrument, ‘what inadequacies of mine were you speaking of exactly?’

‘Um…well…I…’

I was sure there were at least three dozen, but right now I couldn’t seem to remember. The fireworks going off in my head were too distracting.

‘Am I too rich for you? Too powerful? Too strong?’

‘N-no…I…’

Underneath the chemise, his fingers found their way to my back, stroking down my spine from the top to the literal bottom. I almost bit my tongue off trying not to moan.

‘Am I too beautiful? Too hard? Too perfect?’

With all my might, I tried to gather my scattered wits.

‘You’re a ch-chauvi…’ I muttered, ‘chauvinist…’

He just laughed a deep, masculine arrogant laugh that only made me crave him more. Damn him!

‘True,’ his lips whispered against my skin. ‘I do believe that men are stronger than women.’ In a lightning-fast move, his hands shot out, capturing my arms at either side of me by the wrists. In just an instant he had them pinned to the ground so I was spread out underneath him, helpless and trembling with need. ‘Can you honestly disagree?’

Oh yes, I could! Of course I could! And I would, as soon as I could remember the appropriate arguments and convince my tongue to speak. At the moment, the stubborn thing seemed to be interested in doing one thing, and one thing only.

*~*~**~*~*

It took me till next morning to remember my feminist principles. But when I saw Mr Ambrose checking and cleaning his gun, a familiar spark of rebellion lit up inside me.

‘Why don’t I have one of those?’ I demanded.

He looked up, his hands freezing.

‘Because you are a girl, Mr Linton,’ he said and continued with his inspection.

‘You know, for saying a sentence like that you should really have your head examined!’

‘Indeed?’

‘Oh yes, indeed! And not just because you used the words “girl” and “mister” to refer to the same person. We are only three out here in the jungle, and the rebels and imperials might very well still be on our trail! Don’t you think it might be better if we had three people with guns instead of just two?’

This time he didn’t even bother to look up. ‘No. Not if the third doesn’t know how to shoot.’

‘Then teach me how to shoot!’

The sentence hung in the air, heavy with promise.

Teach me how to shoot.

Guns equalled power. A man’s power. Men could carry guns with them wherever they pleased, could demand satisfaction from anybody and shoot them down in a duel. A lady would fall into disgrace if she even so much as held a pistol. Images I had often dreamt of, but never really dared hope for, suddenly flared in front of my inner eye: me, riding on horseback in a hunting party, a rifle slung across my shoulder. Me, standing across from a man who had dared to threaten my family, raising my pistol. Me, in glorious triumph, standing over-

‘No.’

That one word cruelly shattered my nicely bloody dreams. I glared at the stone statue still checking his gun with precision.