Love's Fiery Jewel (54 page)

Leaning forward, Damien realized that Amethyst had
passed into a peaceful sleep. Slipping noiselessly from the
bed, Damien knelt beside her so he might look directly into her sleeping countenance. Moved to tenderness, he
whispered softly against her lips, "I love you, Amethyst.
I love you and I won't let you go. You are part of me,
darling. There is a raging need inside me that only you
can satisfy. It is past my powers of comprehension how I
existed before I met you when you are as indispensable to
me now as the very air I breathe." Touching the curling
tendrils at her hairline, Damien felt the heat of tears
beneath his own lids as he continued in a hoarse,
breaking voice, "I just want you to love me, darling...
please love me..."

Walking slowly along the dusty path, Raymond
allowed his glance to move measuringly from side to side.
Rough, one-room wooden structures with straw roofs
stood one after the other in the clearing, a respectable
distance from the great house of Conway Plantation, but
even the fading light of dusk could not mask the
ramshackle appearance of the slaves' quarters which had
been his home for the last fifteen years of his life. A
peculiar sense of defeat he had not known in many years
permeated his senses. Tillie alone had spared him the
complete futility that now filled his being, her spirit,
beauty, and warmth, the promise of her presence
carrying him through endless days filled with despair.
But he could no longer see Tillie.

The choking smoke from the cooking fires in front of
the dwellings smarted his eyes, causing him to blink
rapidly against the burning sensation as he continued
wearily along the path. He was a true slave now, no longer
holding even the small prerogative of loving the only
woman he had ever wanted. His stride slowing, he raised
a broad hand to his neck and shook his head hopelessly,
recognizing a familiar musky scent the second before a
soft hand touched his arm possessively. Frowning, Raymond turned to Quasheba's sultry smile. Her firm
young body brushing sensuously against his, she said
softly, "Raymond be back frem de fields fe hour `n him
not come t' Quasheba's hut fe him supper."

His face still unsmiling, Raymond responded tightly,
"Raymond be in de stream, washing de dirt frem him
body."

Her slender hand moving smoothly along the bulging
sinews of his broad back, Quasheba murmured softly,
"Dat be what Quasheba like `bout Raymond. Raymond
be slave, but Raymond be clean man. Proud, not like de
other raw-chaw boogooyaggas on Massa's plantation."

Carefully biting back his response, Raymond eyed the
wily Negress warily. She was young and pleasing to the
eye, but he knew he must be cautious. Close to being sold
for his disobedience to Massa's wishes, he had outwardly
acceded to the command that he take Quasheba for his
woman. He was a slave... his body belonged to his
massa and his massa had given him to Quasheba for her
man. Barely able to hide his contempt, Raymond sneered
inwardly. Quasheba had given the massa a man child and
held a place of power on the plantation even though the
massa had taken another woman. Quasheba used her
power well. Helpless against her, Raymond had formed a
plan in his own mind. Outwardly submitting to her
wishes, he slept with Quasheba and used the body that
belonged to his massa to satisfy her appetites. But he did
not perform well, withdrawing from her eager body every
time to spill his seed. She would soon tire of him and
name another to take his place. Then he would get word
to Tillie and Tillie would return to him. He must be
patient. Quasheba would not put up with him much
longer.

"Come, Raymond." Crooking her long finger in his
direction, Quasheba shot him an undereyed look. "Quasheba ben waitin' fe Raymond."

Taking the wide, unwilling hand, Quasheba pulled
Raymond behind her, drawing him further down the path
until they reached the small hut they had shared for
almost two months. Her dark eyes looking directly into
his, she pulled him inside. Turning, she slowly removed
her blouse, exposing the full dark breasts that lay
provocatively against her narrow rib cage. Gradually
slipping off her skirt, she ran her hands in a slow,
tantalizing movement over her naked body, cupping the
rounded breasts as she held his glance, moving slowly,
hypnotically, to the narrow waist, along the smooth
curve of her hips, descending to flutter lightly along the
black triangle between her strong thighs. Stepping closer,
she reached out to smooth her well tutored hands over
the rippling muscles of Raymond's chest, sliding them
down in a light teasing path to the closure on his britches.
With a low, throaty laugh, she freed them to fall to the
ground, moving down to close on his lagging member
with a smooth, well practiced hand.

"Quasheba gowan mek dis man stand up `n ask fe
Quasheba, `n when him ready, Quasheba gowan mek dis
man happy."

His eyes flicking closed for a brief second, Raymond
despaired at the answering swell of his body as Quasheba
continued her efficient administrations, cursing inwardly as she faultlessly raised the level of his physical
discomfort. Her smile knowing and satisfied, Quasheba
finally withdrew her hand, urging him down beside her
on the pallet, spreading ner legs wide as his great body
closed atop hers. Grunting as she felt him enter,
Quasheba bit his neck viciously, the stinging pain
causing him to pump heavily inside her, his impetus
increasing savagely as her teeth dug deeply into the soft
flesh of his neck. Groaning wildly as his body drove deeper and deeper into hers, Quasheba revelled in the
power of his attack, moaning as he slammed heavily into
her again and again. The savage violence of their joining
continued as Quasheba welcomed the thrusts that
assailed her eager body. Suddenly sensing the moment of
climax, Quasheba wound her legs tightly around
Raymond's waist, meeting and joining the pumping
rhythm with the wild strength of passion raging within
her, moaning in unrestrained sexual frenzy, "Gowan,
Raymond, give Quasheba what him wants... Quasheba
want it now... now... NOW!"

Feeling his powerful body quaking atop her, Quasheba
smiled a wide, victorious smile, her legs locking tighter to
hold him captive inside her. The swell of his throbbing
manhood sending a wild jolt of exaltation through her
veins, she gave a small cry of triumph the second before
Raymond tore himself free of her body to bring himself to
complete shuddering release. Watching mesmerized as
his heaving spasms came to a complete halt, Quasheba
released a cry of rage, raising her fists to beat mercilessly
at the black handsome head turned from her, the fury of
her blows ringing loudly within the silence of the hut as
her clenched fists pounded viciously. Opening her
hands, she clawed at his broad, muscular neck and heavy
chest until she drew blood, hissing over and over under
her breath as she did, "Quasheba gowan have Raymond
.. .Quasheba gowan have him `n have him seed!"

Her frenzy finally abating, Quasheba lay back against
the pallet, her body wet with perspiration, her chest
heaving with the fury of her attack. Still kneeling atop
her, Raymond gradually turned his stony expression in
her direction. His deep voice soft, he said slowly,
"Raymond's body belong t' Massa, but Raymond's seed
belong t' Raymond."

Her ebony eyes widening with heated wrath, Quasheba whispered insidiously, "Quasheba go wan tell Massa, `n
Massa gowan sell Raymond far 'way frem here where him
nevah see dat Tillie Swann again!"

The abrupt hardening of Raymond's features and the
fury exposed on his face suddenly stealing her breath,
Quasheba gasped in fear, reaching up to grasp his arm as
Raymond made an abrupt movement as if to rise.

"No! No, Raymond! Quasheba not gowan tell Massa!"
Raising herself up, Quasheba wrapped her arms around
Raymond's neck, pressing her full breasts against his
chest as she said softly into his ear, "No, Raymond.
Quasheba not gowan tell Massa `cause Quasheba gowan
keep Raymond wid him. Quasheba gowan mek Raymond
want Quasheba.. .want only Quasheba..."

Pulling him close against her, Quasheba finished
silently, her hidden expression revealing the jealousy
that twisted her face into a mask of hatred, "...'n den
Quasheba gowan mek Raymond feel de pain... gowan
mek Raymond suffer... gowan get himself even...'n
den Quasheba gowan tek another man..."

Violet eyes alight with love, Amethyst looked down at
the child suckling at her breast, her throat tight with the
strength of the brilliant emotion.

"Marian Greer," she mused softly in the quiet of the
room, "you bear no resemblance to your namesake, but
you are a beautiful little girl, my darling baby, and
nothing will ever separate us."

A small frown moving over her smooth features,
Amethyst felt a nervous tingle along her spine. When
Damien came home the same argument would begin
again, only this time it would be stronger, more bitter
than before. The bitterness had been increasing almost
from the day of Marian's birth over a month before. It
would soon be safe to sail for America, and Damien was determined to return to Philadelphia with Amethyst as
his wife. So obsessed had he become with the thought
that the tender lover had begun to slip into rage, her
unrelenting refusal driving him again and again to the
brink of violence, when he would storm from the small
house on John's Lane to disappear for long days at a time.
Returning each time without an explanation as to his
absence, he would assume his loving facade until the
issue of their marriage was again raised. Weary of the
battle, Amethyst closed her eyes in momentary despair.
What possible reason could Damien have for his demand
that they marry? Surely he enjoyed all the comforts of
the married state. It was not possible that he loved her.
Love was unselfish... giving... generous of spirit.
Damien's feelings for her were possessive, grasping,
demanding, stifling and repressive. Violent feelings such
as Damien felt for her were doomed to fade. But she
feared more and more for the attachment forming
between Damien and his child. There was no doubting
the tenderness with which the tall, threatening figure
reached down to take the small infant from the cradle,
nor the look on his face as he whispered softly against the
tiny ear, his eyes bright with an emotion she had not
believed him capable of feeling. He had spoken the truth
when he had said it mattered little to him that the child
was a girl... she still was his child.

But Marian was her child, too, and she would not allow
her child to grow up under the influence of a man who
practiced obeah against those who opposed him, holding
his evil powers as a threat over the heads of those closest
to him; a man who was so insensible to human life that he
would have allowed William to die had she not given
herself to him. Even should his claims be sincere that he
wished to keep her with him for the rest of his life, she
could not fathom a future where stringent opposition to his wishes could result in disaster as a result of his powers
of black magic. No...no...no matter the physical
power he exerted over her, her desire to feel his touch
against her body, she would not submit to the ultimate
subjugation. She would not marry him.

Damien's stride was steady and sure as he walked with
determination along Port Royal Street. The Sally would
be sailing for America within a week and he had waited
long enough for Amethyst to consent to marry him. He
would not return to Philadelphia with a mistress and an
illegitimate child. Above all things he wanted to return
with Amethyst his wife and the beautiful child that had
secured such a firm hold on his heart bearing his name.
Torturing him even as he turned resolutely off Port
Royal Street onto John's Lane were the suspicions that
had begun to grow insidiously in the back of his mind
since the birth of his daughter. Why was Amethyst so
adamant about refusing to marry him? Did she still hope
to leave him and go to William Sheridan? Or was Armand
Beauchamps the man she secretly desired? Whatever the
case, Damien thought heatedly, jealousy twisting his
stomach into tight knots as he ascended the steps with a
measured tread, her plans would be in vain. He had
hesitated to use the ultimate pressure to gain her consent
to their marriage, but time was growing short and he had
no other choice. Since their return to Kingston Tillie's
influence had only served to impress further into
Amethyst's mind her belief in his powers of obeah, and
once again the ridiculous conviction would serve his
purpose. He would not succumb to his distaste for this
method of forcing Amethyst to marry him and vowed
silently that he would finally convince Amethyst of his
love for her if it took the rest of his life.

Quietly opening the front door of the house, Damien stepped into the small living room. Her expression
impassive, Tillie answered his unspoken question.

"Amethyst be in the bedroom with the child."

Not bothering to acknowledge her curt statement,
Damien walked silently to the bedroom door, pushing it
open with quiet authority. Clad only in her chemise,
Amethyst stood before the washstand, the flimsy
garment lowered to her waist as she cleansed her full
breasts with a cloth. Her head snapping up at the sound of
his entrance, she stood framed in the light from the
window behind her, the outline of her graceful shoulders
and arms, delicate and fragile, her breasts full and
pointed lying against the narrow ribcage, her waist
narrow, gently rounded hips and long slender legs
completing a picture of womanly perfection that set his
heart to racing.

"Damien!" Taking a dry cloth from the stand,
Amethyst attempted to cover her breasts. "What are you
doing home this time of day? Marian is sleeping. I've
just fed her and was cleansing..."