Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(7)
Cheeks burning, she bent her head to her notebook and began to sketch the tooth-like ornament that hung around Chand-a-la's neck. He stopped beside her, his large, bare feet entering her field of vision. As she stared at them with a ridiculous amount of interest, a baritone voice crooned, "Wahine," into her ear.
"That is the Sandwich Island word for female," Sir George remarked. "It appears to mean the same thing to Chand-a-la."
Dark fingers reached out and stroked the back of Roxanne's hand. "Nani."
"That might mean pretty," Renfrew said thoughtfully. "Or perhaps soft."
The Wild Man must be warmer than an Englishman, for his fingers seemed to scorch Roxanne. She edged backward, unwilling to lift her head and look into his face.
One of the onlookers murmured, "He's not so different from one of us. If I’d spent two or three years in a canoe without a woman, I'd certainly want to further my acquaintance with the first female who crossed my path." Someone hushed the fellow before he could say more.
Curiously Chand-a-la reached out, touching the brim of her bonnet. As if wanting to see her face, he said, "Wahine?"
"Behave yourself, you brute," Sir William said sternly. He raised his cane and shoved the tip into Chand-a-la's chest with bruising force, driving the savage backward. "Haven't you trained him to stay away from decent Christian women?"
Amusement in his voice, Renfrew said, "He's not easy to train, Sir William. But I'm sure he means no harm."
The Wild Man batted the cane away, saying in a voice of obvious disgust, "Malahini okole."
"Interesting," Renfrew said innocently. "In the Sandwich Islands those are the words for stranger and, er…,"he glanced at Roxanne, "backside. I wonder what they mean to Chand-a-la."
"Obviously something different." Sir William frowned at the Wild Man. "Is the canoe here? I'd like to see it."
Before Renfrew could answer, Chand-a-la said, "Aole!"
Unfastening his feather cloak and tossing it aside, he went to the fireplace and pulled out two burning brands. He raised the torches above his head, then began swinging them in an intricate pattern that blazed through the dimness like wheels of fire. At the same time he started shouting, "Aie-yah! Okolemaluna-yah! Mahalo nui loa-yah!" and similar phrases.
Chand-a-la's chant might have been an ancient ritual, or it might have been nonsense syllables, but it filled the assembly room with a harsh, compelling rhythm unlike anything Roxanne had ever heard.
While the scholarly observers began scribbling madly, she simply stared, mesmerized by the sight and sound of the Wild Man. He was magnificent, surrounded by fire, a being of primitive, masculine power. To see him was to be carried away to a world far different from prosaic England.
Her reverie was interrupted when her father snapped, "For heaven's sake, don't gawk, Roxanne. Take notes. Try to catch the words accurately so they can be translated when we know more about his language. "
Reluctantly she bent her head, jotting a phrase, then taking a quick glance up before jotting another. Her cheeks colored again when she saw that Chand-a-la's loincloth was in danger of being dislodged by his energetic movements. Engrossed with his fire dance, he was splendidly unconcerned with propriety.
With a last booming "Aie-yah!," he hurled the burning torches into the fireplace, where they crashed in a shower of sparks. A collective sigh went through the watchers, as if acknowledging that they had been privileged to see a rare sight.
Even Sir William murmured, "Quite remarkable." His lips pursed as he noticed how bare the Wild Man was. "But the landlord was right. This isn't a fitting sight for a female." He took Roxanne's arm and started to usher her from the room.
"But, Papa," she protested, strangely unwilling to leave. "Surely you will need me for sketching and note taking."
"I shall manage," he said brusquely. "Tell the landlord to find a maid to walk down to Sutton Pool with you. I expect I shall that I shall be busy here for the rest of the day."
Chand-a-la was staring at her from the other side of the room. There was something about his posture that seemed familiar, but she could not place the memory.
With a sigh she turned to leave. Poor Wild Man, so far from home. She hoped the scholars treated him kindly.
Chapter 4
Dominick stared at Roxanne's retreating figure, unable to believe that she was leaving so soon, before he had a chance to speak with her and reveal his identity. Damnation, he had never even looked into her face!
She seemed so small, her movements and dress subdued, as if she were a docile wren. He needed to get her away from this place and these people so he could find the real Roxanne again.
He gave a wordless bellow and bounded across the room. Sweeping her up in his arms, he darted into the hall. A chorus of shouts rose behind them, but the longed-for feel of her slim body emboldened him. This time he would not let her get away!
Roxanne gave a strangled squeak as powerful arms swooped her into the air. Merciful heaven, the Wild Man was carrying her off! For an instant she was paralyzed with shock.
She began to struggle. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but she kicked out with her feet futilely, until she realized that she was exposing her limbs all the way to the knees. For decency's sake, she stopped thrashing. He couldn't possibly take her far, and she didn't sense that he intended to hurt her. He was simply curious.