Passion's Furies, page 8
Jacinta was quiet. More than likely the story was very true. After all, hadn’t she heard similar accounts from the slaves whose experiences she had recorded?
Solomon saw the emotions crossing her face and cleared his throat. “I apologize if I frightened you,” he said, his rough voice sounding much softer.
“It’s all right. I’m fine,” she assured him, even offering a small smile. “I understand why you felt the need to tell me that story. It might surprise you to know that I’ve heard similar.”
Solomon chuckled as he nodded. “Your writing.” He eased his tall frame down the length of the wall to take a seat on the hay-covered floor.
“Yes, my writing,” Jacinta confirmed, following suit. “When I first began to record, I’d run home every night and either cry myself to sleep or vomit. Sometimes, I did both,” she reminisced with a rueful smile.
Solomon sat with his arms draped across his knees. “Why’d you begin to do this?”
Jacinta inhaled deeply, removing her hat to lean her head back against the wall. “I had always been curious about the people in chains—what I called the slaves when I was younger. When I learned to read and write and…understand, I realized what their lives were and I wanted to know all that I could about them.”
“Why not just go and ask them? Why write about it?”
Jacinta’s smile, brought a deeper sparkle to her warm brown eyes. “Well, once I learned to read, I read everything. My favorites were the pieces by Briton Hammon, Phyllis Wheatley, Gustavus Vassa and Benjamin Banneker. Vassa, whose real name was Olaudan Equilano, wrote on his kidnapping and subsequent enslavement. He was sold countless times, endured and witnessed unspeakable horrors. I think the most horrible thing is being stripped of your very identity—your family.”
Solomon listened, his onyx stare focused on her hands as they gestured in accordance to her words. The wisdom and emotion clutched her voice like a silken tether.
“I thought surely if this man had such a tale to tell, the same had to be true for the people in chains who lived so close to my own home.”
“And you felt they should have the sort of life you were blessed with on McIver Estate?”
Jacinta nodded. “I did. I understand that people had to work, but why force them? My father had scores of people working his land and they weren’t forced…obviously I was ignorant to the ways of the real world.”
“No, your thinking was quite logical. Sadly, the world has and will continue to become an illogical place.”
Jacinta sighed and toyed with a loose tendril from her braid. “Whatever the case, it sickened me to know people were being treated so brutally while I was at home safe in my bed.”
“Now that I can certainly identify with.”
Jacinta turned to face him. “You?” she breathed.
Solomon grinned. “I was in a constant state of guilt over my upbringing—especially as I grew older.”
Debating, Jacinta chewed her bottom lip as she listened to his words. Finally, she decided to speak her question. “What is it like?” she asked, her gaze faltering when he stared at her. “Being…half white? Are you? Were you ever confused?”
“I was confused a lot. Sometimes I still am,” Solomon admitted, massaging his neck as he spoke.
For a time the only sounds between them were the songs of the crickets in the distance and the soft banter of the horses in the stable below.
“I suppose that would be the greatest disadvantage, then? Being confused?”
Solomon almost laughed out loud. If only that were true! “You could say that,” he told her, having no desire to speak of the circumstances he’d endured because of his heritage.
“And the advantages?” Jacinta’s face wrought with curiosity.
“As a child, I was never separated from my mother,” he shared, his voice carrying a refreshing air. “I can’t think how many grown men I know who can’t recall the woman who gave them life. What it must do to a man.”
Jacinta nodded, thinking she knew just as many who suffered from a similar circumstance. “It must have been very hard for her to raise you on her own.”
“It was no easy task, but she did have my grandparents.”
“Yes, but I’m sure they kept busy working. Trying to make a life. It’s wonderful that your mother wasn’t torn from her family.”
Solomon grimaced. “If only that were true.”
“But you just said she had your grandparents to help with you.”
“My grandparents. Not her parents. My mother was taken from them when she was a small child. The Hamptons, my grandparents, raised her.”
Jacinta’s eyes were wide. “I don’t understand, how—”
“The Hamptons had a son. He and my mother fell in love and had me. They were running off to marry when they lost a wheel from their carriage. My father was thrown. The fall killed him instantly.”
Now Jacinta was awestruck. “And his parents just accepted you? Raised you as their own?” she questioned, watching Solomon nod.
“They’re not all bad, Jacinta,” he spoke as though he were reading her thoughts.
“You think that because you came from a different place,” she decided, leaning back against the wall as a cold expression masked her lovely face. “Your grandparents were maybe a better breed. The whites here are animals. It seems some sort of cruel joke that we are the ones in chains.”
“And I suppose you feel this way about the McIvers, whose name you bear?” Solomon said, hiding his smile when Jacinta pinned him with a murderous look.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Jacinta sneered, her chocolate gaze studying his face with disapproval. “After all, you are mulatto. The mulattoes of Charleston think they are above everyone, even the free blacks, those who have never been enslaved. They are an untrustworthy lot, quick to jump to the white side of the fence to save their hides.”
Solomon slapped his palm with a tuft of hay. “I won’t believe they all think in such a manner.”
“Ahh…the charitable mulattoes,” Jacinta drawled with phony graciousness, “they’re even worse. They would just as soon keep a slave themselves. After all, slaves receive a roof over their heads and a meal—three a day!”
“Jacinta—”
“Who could ask for more?” she continued, without regard for the warning chord in Solomon’s voice.
“Jacinta,” he called again, losing the battle at keeping a cool temper. He could feel his anger returning with every word she uttered. “You cannot lump everyone together in the same foul pot based simply on the behaviors of a few.”
“It’s far more than a few, Mr. Dikembe. Far more!”
Suddenly Solomon turned, bringing his index finger within inches of her small nose. “You’re very intelligent, Jacinta, but very naïve. You speak when you should be listening and you are so determined to thrive off anger and distrust you won’t let yourself see anything that might exist beyond.”
Jacinta slapped his finger away. “I won’t stand for you speaking to me like a child, dammit! I have seen things as a child that would have sent you scurrying back to the safety of your momma’s embrace!” she seethed, her eyes narrowing as she glared directly into his. “Why don’t you go back to the frills and luxury of your white life, Dikembe?”
Solomon let go of his temper then. Jacinta shrieked when he caught the collar of her shirt in his fist and dragged her beneath him.
“When I leave,” his raspy voice grated close to her face, “Ms. McIver, you can damn sure rest comfortable that I will not be going alone.”
Jacinta gasped, reading the intention clear within his intense, obsidian stare. She retaliated with a fierce slap to his face. She immediately regretted the action when his magnificent features contorted with murderous intent. His dimpled smile held no trace of humor, only wickedness.
“Stop,” she whispered, her breath coming in panicked bursts when he ripped through the buttons of her top shirt. “Don’t,” she ordered, grimacing at her inability to force more strength into her voice.
Solomon barely heard her. He was intent on having what lay beneath the worn tattered clothing covering her nudity.
“I said stop!” Jacinta bellowed, finally regaining her voice. Regardless of the consequences she slapped him again, only to have Solomon take both her wrists in one hand and imprison them above her head. He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her face away. He took her chin with his free hand and held her still.
Jacinta moaned in protest, even as her lips parted to receive his kiss. His tongue probed long and deep, thrusting slowly until he felt her respond. Jacinta continued to moan against the kiss, though the protests had lost their power. Solomon resumed his task of unbuttoning the remaining shirts she wore. When, at last, she was bared to his gaze, he broke the kiss and caressed her with his eyes.
A voice screamed to Jacinta that she use all her power to resist him. When his thumb brushed the rigid peak of one nipple, the voice lost much of its volume. She whimpered from the sensation as Solomon added more pressure to the stroke. His head leaned close, his lips traveling the dark, flawless plane of her neck and collarbone. His massive hands rose to cup her full bosom, his thumbs caressing both nipples in unison.
“Please…” Jacinta urged, but didn’t know if she pleaded for him to stop or continue. Solomon had released her wrists, but she had no strength to pull her hands from above her head. Unconsciously, she arched into his touch.
Solomon dipped his head closer, his nose tracing the cleft between her breasts before it encircled one full mound. He smiled at the sight of her straining nearer to his touch. The tip of his nose outlined the nipple before his lips closed upon the stiff bud.
Jacinta cried out into the lofty barn, the breathless sound echoing all around. Shamelessly, she pushed the extra sensitive part of her body deeper into his mouth. Solomon voiced a satisfied grunt when the peak nudged his tongue. Slowly, he began to bathe the firm bud, alternating between suckling and grazing it with his perfect teeth.
Jacinta was lost on a bed of sensation. Tentatively, her hands moved from their place above her head. Her fingers ached to test the close-cut waves of his hair. She had to know if it was as luxurious as it appeared. She hadn’t long to wonder. She reached into a smattering of crisp silkiness and massaged her slender fingers all over his head.
Her soft gasps and strokes upon the nape of his neck forced tortured groans from Solomon’s chest. Jacinta’s lashes fluttered open when she felt him leave her. His lips burned a trail around the curve of her breasts to pleasure the satiny undersides with silken kisses. Then, he moved on-traveling lower. Jacinta chewed the nail of her index finger as the friction from his whiskers ignited a path of fire beneath her skin. Her body shook violently when he probed her naval with his tongue.
“Wait,” she insisted unconvincingly as he ventured lower. “Solomon wait-”
“Shh…” he urged, his hands insinuating themselves beneath her bottom, which was outlined within the snug fitting fabric of the trousers. “Shh…” he soothed again, this time as his nose was tracing the triangular impression of her womanhood.
“Don’t,” she insisted even as her eyes widened in wonder and curiosity.
Solomon was lost in his desire for this woman. Faintly, he heard her protests and told himself that he should take heed. His reaction to her was too dangerous. He was sure it wouldn’t take much more for him to cast all rational thought aside, remove his clothes and what remained of hers and take what he’d wanted from the first night he met her along that river. Just a bit more time with her, only a bit more, he reassured himself.
What in heaven’s name is he doing? Jacinta asked herself, feeling the already overwhelming sensations steadily mount. Solomon’s hands massaged her full buttocks in a scandalous fashion, his handsome face buried between her thighs. Of course, she was still secured beneath the material of her brown trousers. But that in no way lessened the stimulating caresses he applied at the junction of her thighs. She could feel his nose nudging her there and her legs began to tremble uncontrollably.
Then, Solomon pulled away suddenly as though he were snapping out of a daze. In one smooth motion, he rose to his feet and stepped away from her.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, keeping his back toward her.
Jacinta lay motionless for several seconds. Her heart still raced frantically as her thighs continued their trembling. At last, she closed her eyes and ordered herself to save at least a shred of her dignity. Moving to her knees, she fixed her shirts and smoothed back lengthy tendrils into her unraveling braid. When she was presentable, Solomon led the way out of the barn. He spoke not a word as he escorted her back to the house.
“Jacinta McIver!”
“Oh, no,” she muttered, hearing her father storming down the front stairway as he bellowed her name. She couldn’t deal with this after…
“I’ve reached my limit with you, miss!”
“Poppa, I can—”
“Quiet. I’ll entertain no more explanations,” Jason decided, his round face appearing hard as granite as he approached his daughter. “You have finally backed yourself into a corner, and I’m done issuing threats.”
“Jason, wait,” Solomon called, as the man prepared to drag Jacinta down the hall. “She doesn’t deserve your anger tonight. I was out for a walk and found her in the barn feeding the horses. I offered to escort her back here once she was done.”
Jacinta’s coffee stare widened in surprise, and her arms grew limp beneath her father’s hold. Solomon’s unexpected assistance was much needed and greatly appreciated.
Jason was obviously taken aback as well. But before he could speak a word, there was knocking at the front door.
“McIver, open up! It’s Chuck Wallens!”
Jacinta’s gasp echoed down the hall. She followed her father back to the front door.
“They didn’t waste much time,” Jason muttered, tightening the belt on his black, ankle-length house robe.
“Jore’s owner, I take it?” Solomon guessed, grimacing at the nod Jason sent his way. “What do you need me to do?”
Jason clapped Solomon’s shoulder. “Just stand there, son. This won’t take long,” he promised, then turned to Jacinta and jerked his head toward the hallway. “Out of sight, Jaci,” he said, patting her hand when she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and raced down the corridor.
Charles Wallens was a tall, lanky man in his early forties. He appeared far older. His face was usually beet red and slick with sweat. His brown hair was coily and thinning on the top and sides of his head. He wore a permanent scowl whether he was in the company of friends, family or enemies.
“Evenin’, Jason,” Wallens greeted as though he were doing the man some honor by appearing on his doorstep at such a late hour.
“Wallens,” Jason returned, maintaining his stance before the doorway.
Of course, neither Wallens nor the three men who accompanied him expected a welcome greeting. They treated Jason McIver and the McIver Estate with reluctant respect. They acknowledged the fact that Jason McIver could not be touched. He was legally Roland McIver’s sole heir, but also he had the protection of Roland’s eldest brother, who resided in New York.
“The hour is rather late. What can we do for you?” Jason stonily inquired, regarding his neighbor with a look that practically oozed dislike.
Wallen’s own gaze reflected his dislike as well. “Got a runaway on our hands,” he announced as though Jason already knew. “Jore Sula,” he added when Jason remained mute.
“And is there some reason you’re here on my doorstep instead of out looking for him?”
Chuck Wallens and his men bristled. Meanwhile, Solomon bowed his head to hide the smile threatening to break through on his face. Clearly, Jason McIver had not an ounce of fear toward the men with their rifles clutched in their hands as though they were ready to open fire.
“We’re here because we’re puttin’ out warnins.”
“Warnings?”
Wallens, looped his thumbs beneath the waistband of the dingy gray trousers he wore. “Anybody knowin’ where that boy is had better step for’d or suffer the consequences. And I mean anybody, Jason—powerful name and money won’t mean spit if’n it’s discovered they be hidin’ my property.”
“You threatening me, Wallens?” Jason’s question sounded closer to a statement.
Chuck Wallens glanced toward the tall, fierce-looking man at Jason’s side. “Just informin’,” he quickly explained, his blue-gray stare filled with curiosity as he watched the stranger. “Just informin’,” he repeated, as though he were trying to assure Solomon. “Evenin’ to ya,” he said, nodding towards the imposing man before looking back at Jason. “McIver,” he grunted, then stomped off the porch with his men close behind.
“I’m going to check on Jore!” Jacinta called, emerging from her place behind the shelter of a tall, potted tree in the far corner of the foyer. Her steps slowed when Solomon turned his penetrating gaze on her. Immediately, her skin burned as it did when they were in the barn loft. Quickly, she dismissed the erotic images from her mind and glanced at her father. “Goodnight, Poppa,” she whispered, nodding once before racing up the stairs.
