Page 7 of Loving Graystoke's Heir

Close enough that he could almost feel her touch on his skin.

And that had nothing to do with the animal inside of him, those dark eyes stared back at him with mischief in their depths.

Don’t start.

I don’t have to, the voice taunted him, you’re doing a fine job all on your own.

I said, don’t start.

Donal felt a hand touch his shoulder and he turned with a ready smile. Everyone at camp was a friend.

Zenzile gave him a bright smile. “Sawubona, Sifiso.”

He returned the greeting with true affection. “Sawubona, Zenzile. It’s good to see you again.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, studying his face.

Donal didn’t turn away, he kept his eyes focused at the main area of the camp. It took her less than a minute to step back laughing as she looked behind him before she returned her intent gaze to his face.

“What?” He tried to play off his frustration, but he didn’t fool himself or Zenzile. “What are you looking for?”

“The hyenas chasing you, old friend. You have the look of a man hunted.”

“Me?” He started toward the camp, leaving her to catch up with his longer strides. “There are no hyenas on my trail,” he scoffed at the idea.

“Ah,” she fell into step with him and turned her head to nail him with a look, “I see.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Donal’s steps stuttered a bit, allowing her to move ahead. He had to jog to catch up as they reached the edge of the main camp.

She raised a hand to wave at the others before she tilted her head in his direction. “We have an unexpected guest.”

Looking up from her clipboard, Nomusa spared him a glance. “You look-”

“Nothing,” Donal interrupted, “is chasing me.”

The women gathered around the table laughed amongst themselves. It was Zenzile who spoke first, turning back to him. “We’ll find out sooner or later, Sifiso. You might as well tell us and avoid the inquisition.”

Donal swallowed hard at the thought. He’d spent most of his life surrounded by men who were captains of industry. Millionaires and billionaires who were giants in so many ways, but he’d never been as shaken and as comfortable as he was with this group of women.

They laughed and they cajoled with gentle smiles, but they could also be incredibly fierce and loyal as well. Donal realized too late that camp was the last place he should have gone. Within a moment of seeing him, Zenzile had seen his discomfort and she hadn’t ignored it like his uncle or the board would have done. Emotions, unless they had to do with business, were ignored.

The women of this group used every opportunity to lighten their days and found him to be a ready source of amusement. He didn’t begrudge them the laughter, for what they saw on a daily basis, they deserved any laughter they could find, even at his expense.

Donal gestured at the clipboard. “Business first, we have time for you to laugh at me on patrol.”

The women shared a look around the table and then turned to look at Nomusa. For the smallest of the group, she could also command their attention in a moment. They all trusted each other, but Nomusa had been a fixture in the group because she had grown up along the perimeter of the park and been one of the earliest volunteers.

The Bandile were an Anti-Poaching Unit that guarded hundreds of acres within designated parkland and while the unit had begun with a handful of women, it had grown over the years into a well-respected team dedicated to protecting wildlife from those who would maim or kill for their own gain.

Donal met Nomusa and her family on one of his earliest visits to South Africa and Zulu land, and they had become fast friends. When he had returned to the continent, intent on making it his home, Donal had found ways to fund the group with his own money.

When the full cadre of Bandile guards were assembled to hear their assignments, there were a score of women sitting under the mess tent around him.

“Some of our women found evidence of a kill yesterday.” Nomusa’s announcement was met with disbelief and anger. “There were signs that animals had made a meal of some of the flesh,” she explained, “but the horn of the rhinoceros had been removed with tools. There was little evidence to tell us who had killed the animal, but litter was found in the area.”

Donal shook his head. The men who poached on parkland had no understanding of the waste they created when they killed. Conservation was the furthest thing from their minds when they were hunting.

“I’ll contact my friend Leeto before we leave. He’ll search social media sites for pictures of recent hunting. If we can present evidence to the Police Service, they can go after the hunters.”

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