Just a Kiss Away (47 page)

“I haven’t been bored.” He smiled a little, looking at her bowed head.

“I wish . . .” She stopped and raised her head, her expression suddenly changed from defeat to something more . . . inspirational.

He could almost smell the smoke.

She scanned the village, then looked at the king’s throne. “Where’s the king?”

“Your new daddy?”

“Seriously, Sam, where is he?”

“In that big hut over there.” Sam nodded at it.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and started for the hut, but she stopped suddenly, then turned back and came close to him. She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him, an almost pained expression of pure determination on her small face. “You’re not gonna die.” Then she spun around, stuck her chin up high enough to drown if it rained, and marched toward the king’s hut like a conquering general.

Sam watched her head for the hut. She intended to save him by speaking her mind—no doubt a short talk. He struggled and pulled at his wrist bindings. They didn’t give. He looked at the catapult and came to one conclusion: he
was
going to die.

Lollie took one deep breath
and marched into the king’s hut. It was huge and long and filled with people. The king sat in a large woven chair decorated with red feathers and shells and the like. The moment they realized she was there the noise subsided, and the natives who stood between her and the king parted.

Trying to act as if she wasn’t the least bit intimidated, she walked toward him. He watched her every step, and when she stopped in front of him he sat there, waiting.

“Yo-yo,” she said, figuring she should at least greet him like before.

He looked at her, then reached over to the table next to him and grabbed that wooden disk. He held it in his open palm and nodded. “Yo-yo.”

There was a ruckus behind her, and she could feel someone else’s presence. Oku stood next to her.

“What in the bloody ‘ell do you think yer doing?”

“Saving Sam,” she whispered. “‘Ow?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but please tell the king that Sam’s not evil.”

Oku spoke, but before she finished, Mojala moved to the king and said something. Then he held out his hand and showed something to the king.

“Sam’s eye!” Lollie turned to Oku. “He’s got Sam’s eye.”

Oku gave her a look that said she thought Lollie was crazy.

“His glass eye,” she explained. “Get it back.”

Oku spoke, and Mojala argued. The king just sat there.

Lollie elbowed Oku in the ribs. “Forget about the eye for now. Tell them they can’t hurt Sam. He’s my friend.”

Oku spoke, and gasps filled the room. Then everyone began to whisper. Mojala looked mad enough to spit spears. The king raised his hand, and the room quieted.

Lollie had an uneasy feeling. “Do they always act so excited?”

“You want to save ‘im, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“I told ‘em ‘e was . . . uh . . . a little more than a friend.”

“That’s all right. Anything to save him.”

“Anything?”

She nodded again.

“I told ‘em you wanted to share a bloomin’ blanket.”

Lollie looked at her a moment. “That’s all right. I’d share a blanket with him, or anything else I had. I owe him my life.”

“Lord luv a duck! I told ‘em you wanted ‘im for a mate. You know, like a bloody ‘usband.”

“Oh, my Gawd . . .” Then Lollie thought about it, after a moment smiled a devious little smile of success. “That’s okay, Oku. You did what you had to.” She tried not to look too happy.

Oku shrugged, but before Lollie could say anything, the king’s daughters had knelt at their father’s knees and were all talking at once.

“What’s happening?” Lollie whispered to Oku. “Them’s what want ‘im, too.”

The king stood, and the room was again silent. He made some kind of announcement, touching each daughter’s head. Then he walked to Lollie and touched hers. The people cheered, and many of them left.

“Oku? What’s going on? Did I get him?”

“Not ‘xactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

“You ‘ave to win ‘im.”

“Win him? How?”

“Games.”

Games?

“Go thank ‘im.” Oku nodded toward the king, who looked at Lollie expectantly.

“How do I say thank you?”

“Salamat.”

Lollie walked up to the king and bowed her head. “Sallee-mot,” she said, then raised her head, only to be greeted by a red-toothed smile. She decided to ensure her thanks and whispered, “Yo-yo.” And then she backed away.

He frowned at her and raised the wooden disk, letting it slid down the string again. “Yo-yo,” he said with a nod.

Oku grabbed Lollie’s arm and pulled her out of the hut, telling her the games would start at noon, only an hour away.

For the past hour
Sam had been rubbing the ropes against a joint on the bamboo pole. It had taken him only a few minutes to decide that leaving his fate in the hands of Lollie LaRue was the equivalent of committing suicide. He knew the only way for him to get free was to do it himself. It was then that he’d discovered the rough spot on the joint of the pole. He’d pulled the hemp rope as taut as he could and slowly, with hard force, rubbed it over and over the spot. Slowly but surely the rough threads of hemp gave way.

He felt another thread give way and smiled. It wouldn’t take much longer.

The villagers milled around and soon began to form lines, leaving a wide open path in front of him. Some of the men who’d been with Mojala used bamboo poles to mark off sections in the dirt. He slowed his rubbing until he was sure what he was doing was undetectable, and he watched them, trying to determine what the circles and lines were for.

Five carabao were led to the far end of what Sam now realized was an arena. The king and his entourage walked through the crowd to the beat of the village gong. In the entourage were the king’s five daughters, and pulling up the rear was the sixth, the golden princess herself, Lollie LaRue.

Still dressed in the native wraps of brightly striped cloth, she spoke to that Oku woman as they walked along. As if beckoned, she looked at Sam, her face worried. She left the line and walked over to him.

“I only have a moment,” she whispered. “But don’t worry, Sam, I’m gonna save you.”

“What is going on?” He nodded at the dirt arena. “Some kind of tournament. I have to win each event and then you’ll be free, sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of?”

“I have to go; Oku’s waving me over.” She hurried away, but stopped and turned. “Don’t worry, Sam. I know I can do it. I’m not gonna fail.” Her chin went up, and her face was so serious, so determined, that he almost laughed, but another small part of him—a foolish part of him—believed her. It didn’t matter now, though, because at that moment he managed to break the ropes. All he needed was a distraction and a chance to grab Lollie.

Sam waited for the right moment.

Ten minutes later
Lollie’s bottom smacked down hard on the ridged back of her galloping carabao. She gripped the rope around the beast’s horns, locked her feet under its neck, and held on for dear life as she thundered past the others. She didn’t dare look at Sam or at Oku, who had been her prodder—the person who slapped the animal at the start of the race.

The animal’s hooves pounded, and her small body jolted up and down, but she held the rope so tightly that she didn’t think a crowbar could have pried it away. In the distance she could hear the cheers of the villagers, but her animal bounded by them so fast she couldn’t see anything but a blur of color. Lordy, but these beasts could run when they wanted to.

A roar echoed around her, and the animal suddenly skidded to a stop so fast she almost flew over the horns. When she could focus again, she shook her head to clear it. In a wink two natives pulled her off, and she was on solid ground before the other animals had lumbered over the line. The last daughter across the line, a young girl who looked to be only fifteen, was eliminated. According to Oku, the subsequent games would be the same—one contestant eliminated per event.

“Not bloody bad. You stayed on!” Oku said, running up to Lollie, who still swayed a little, and hugging her.

Lollie pushed her hair from her face. “I never knew they could lope like that.”

Oku mumbled something.

“What?” Lollie asked.

“Nothing.” Oku stuck her hand in her pocket and looked away.

“I won, didn’t I?” Lollie hugged Oku again.

The old woman grinned. “You bloody did.” Then she patted Lollie on the back.

“Ouch!” Lollie jumped back, then turned and grabbed Oku’s hand. She turned it over and there was a long, sharp needle poking out from the woman’s palm. The needle was attached to a string around her finger. Lollie frowned at her.

Oku closed her fist and hid it behind her back. “It got the bloody beast running, now, didn’t it?”

“Did you cheat?”

“No. I bloomin’ prodded, just like I was supposed to.” Oku’s face took on a stubborn look.

Lollie glanced over at Sam. He looked surprised. She smiled, tilted her head a notch higher, and gave him a wave that said “I did it!” He didn’t have to know about the needle, especially since this was a matter of life and death, his.

There were three more games. In the one called
pindutan,
or hand-squeezing, Lollie came in second but managed to stay in the running. The oldest daughter, Mari, squeezed so hard she almost broke Lollie’s fingers. Man was the prettiest of the king’s natural daughters, and she really wanted Sam. That awareness alone gave Lollie the stamina to hold out.

It also enabled her to win the next contest, something called San Juan, a game of mud-throwing. She wanted to hit the other woman with mud so badly that she kept her eyes open and, remembering Sam’s advice, she aimed three feet to the left. Lollie hit her every time.

After being allowed to clean up—Oku had been right there with water and cloths and encouragement for Lollie they were seated for
buwal pare,
the second to the last game. She’d been worried about this one, not having any idea what it was, and knowing that the two remaining daughters had experience on their side. She sat there and remembered all the times Sam had rescued her, telling herself that now it was her turn to help him and that she could do this, whatever it was, no matter how difficult.

The king strolled over and dropped a handful of sticks on the tabletop. Lollie smiled. Her chances of winning had just increased tenfold. The game was the native equivalent of pickup sticks, something she’d played for long, lonely hours in the Hickory House nursery. It was one of the few games a child could play alone.

She won that event, too.

Three down, one more to go.

Mari and Lollie stood waiting. This would be the last game. Oku came forward to explain to Lollie what she had to do. The old woman had a small box in her hand. She handed it to her with the explanation. Lollie opened the box. It was all she could do not to drop the box and scream. She slammed the lid shut. The box held a cockroach, which she had to race by making noises and tickling its underside to make it scuttle forward.