Comanche Moon (23 page)

‘‘Ai-ee!’’
Woman with Many Robes crossed the packed grass-and-dirt floor and leaned forward to peer at Loretta. After babbling shrilly for several seconds, all the while waving her spoon, she crooned,
‘‘Nei mipemah-tao-yo,’’
and placed a gentle hand on Loretta’s hair.

‘‘My mother says the poor little one must have no fear.’’

Woman with Many Robes cast her son a suspicious glance. When it became apparent that he planned to say no more, she brandished her spoon at him.

With great reluctance he cleared his throat, eyed the people crowding the doorway, and said, in a very low voice, ‘‘You will have no fear of me, eh? If I lift my hand against you, I will be a
caum-mom-se,
a bald head, and she will thump me with her spoon.’’ He hesitated and looked as if he found it difficult not to smile. ‘‘She will make the great
na-ba-dah-kah,
battle, with me. And in the end, she will win. She is one mean woman.’’

Woman with Many Robes stroked Loretta’s hair and nodded, saying something more. She no sooner finished than Blackbird burst into giggles and rolled away from Loretta, planting a hand on her tummy. Whatever it was the woman had said, the child thought it hilarious.

‘‘You must eat,’’ Hunter translated. ‘‘And drink. Soon you will feel better, eh? And she will trade with the Comanchero for you a big spoon. If I ever again strike fear into your heart, you can do your own thumping.’’

Loretta concurred with Blackbird. She’d need much more than a spoon to do battle with Hunter. She planted the heel of her hand on the bed to hold herself upright. Her spine felt as if it had turned to water.

As if he realized that Blackbird wasn’t aiding him in his cause, Hunter snatched the child off the bed and tucked her under one arm. He carried her to the door of the lodge and set her gently on her feet, shooing her outside and jerking down the lodge flap so the others couldn’t see inside. Blackbird poked her ebony head back in and cried, ‘‘
Kianceta,
weasel!’’

Hunter snarled and lunged at her. His unexpected ferocity startled Loretta, but Blackbird swung on the leather flap like a baby opossum, giggling and screeching, completely unintimidated. Her uncle pried her loose and, with a pat on her plump bottom, sent her away. Silence settled inside the lodge. An uncomfortable silence.

Loretta cast a dubious glance around the room, expecting . . . well, she wasn’t sure what, but heathenish things, surely, bloody scalps and war paraphernalia, not furs and stacks of parfleche, cooking pots and spoons, or a clothing rod. Beautifully crafted buckskin shirts hung on its pegs, along with breeches and breech-cloths. All male clothing. This must be Hunter’s lodge, she decided, not his mother’s.

‘‘Ein mah-suite mah-ri-ich-ket, Tohobt Nabituh?’’
Woman with Many Robes asked.

Hunter turned from the lodge entrance. ‘‘You will eat? My mother will bring you very good food, eh?’’

Loretta drew up her knees and hugged them. Beyond the leather walls voices rang out, the language foreign and frightening. Woman with Many Robes seemed kind, but Loretta couldn’t forget the women outside who had attacked her, nor the fact that Hunter considered her his chattel. She shook her head, so weary she wanted to sink into the furs and go to sleep.

Hunter’s expression clouded. His mother looked distressed. They conversed back and forth, then Woman with Many Robes exited the lodge. A decision had been reached, and Loretta had the feeling she wasn’t going to like it. Hunter secured the bearskin flap so no one would enter and then walked slowly toward the bed, his gaze leveled on hers, his arms folded loosely across his broad chest.

After studying her until she wanted to ooze under the furs and hide, he sat beside her. ‘‘I will force you to drink and eat, and you will not die. All this suffering. Only to surrender in the end? It is
boisa.
’’ He reached out and lightly rested his hand on her hair. ‘‘You will eat, eh, Blue Eyes? A little bit?’’

‘‘No.’’

A muscle along his jaw tightened. His eyes gave hers no quarter. ‘‘You cannot escape me. You are here. That is the way of it.’’

Glancing toward the door and the horrors she knew lay beyond, she whispered, ‘‘I have no choice.’’

‘‘You choose where you place your feet, Blue Eyes. This path you walk is bad—very bad. This Comanche will show you, eh?’’ He leaned closer. ‘‘You will learn that my hand upon you is not a terrible thing.’’

Loretta’s eyes widened. ‘‘N-not now?’’

His fingers curled in her hair, making a loose fist. ‘‘You will not eat. You fear my touch. You would die first. Your words, eh?’’

Loretta’s senses started to swim. She blinked to clear her vision. She tried to shrug his hand away. ‘‘Even if I ate and you let me be tonight, you wouldn’t the next, or the next.’’ Heat crept up her neck. ‘‘And—after you, all your friends. Do you think I’m so stupid?’’

He had abandoned his grip on her hair to trace the too generous neckline of his hunting shirt, his fingertip burning a trail along her collarbone, up the slope of her shoulder, along her throat. She closed her eyes, too weak to shove him away.

‘‘No friends, Blue Eyes. You belong to this Comanche.’’

‘‘I’ll fight you—until I draw my last breath.’’ She swayed and righted herself. ‘‘Why bother with me? Why not find yourself an Indian woman?’’

‘‘It is you I want.’’ He brushed his knuckles along the hollow of her cheek. ‘‘Your skin is moonlight. I am dark like night next to you.’’ He slid his hand behind her neck and drew her toward him. ‘‘Sunshine in your hair, moonlight on your skin, this Comanche’s bright one, no?’’

‘‘No,’’ she replied in a raw voice.

‘‘You will eat?’’

‘‘No.’’

He bent to taste the flesh at the hollow of her throat, his lips silken, his teeth nipping lightly, his warm, moist mouth sending jolts through her. ‘‘Like ermine,
mah-tao-yo.
So soft. And sweet like flowers.’’

She wedged her fists between them, her knuckles knotted against the warm, solid planes of his chest. As she opened her eyes, the room spun. ‘‘Please— please, don’t. I’m not even sure what your real name is. Please don’t.’’

‘‘Hunter,’’ he whispered next to her ear. ‘‘Hunter of the Wolf, Habbe Esa. Lie on your back, Blue Eyes. You are weak, eh? Lie on your back and close your eyes. Let me chase your fear away. With nothing to fear, there is no need to die, eh?’’

‘‘No.’’ She tried to push him away. ‘‘No.’’

He slipped an arm under her knees and drew her down the bed onto her back. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to evade his lips as they nibbled their way down her neck to her collarbone. And lower. Panic welled within her. She couldn’t fight him. Not when she trembled like this. Not when the world tipped sideways. He slid the tip of his tongue under the leather to trace wet circles on her chest—just above her breasts. Her nipples sprang taut, sensitized to the soft leather that grazed them when she moved.

Never before had Loretta actually felt the blood drain from her face; she did now. Sucking in a draft of air, she tried to twist sideways, but his arm, roped with muscle and tensed against her, blocked her escape. As she shifted position, his lips found her ear and, in unison with his teeth and tongue, learned its texture, its taste, its shape, discovering with unerring accuracy the sensitive places. His warm breath made chills run over her.

‘‘Habbe . . .’’ Her voice trailed off. She wanted desperately to distract him, but instead it was she who couldn’t seem to concentrate. ‘‘Your name, wha— what was it? Habbe what? What does it mean?’’

‘‘Habbe Esa, Road to the Wolf, Hunter of the Wolf. My brother the wolf showed his face in my name dream.’’

"Y-your name dream?" She wriggled away and shoved the heel of her hand against his chin so she could sit up. ‘‘Wh-what’s a name dream?’’

His eyes gleamed down at her as he drew back his head. ‘‘A dream a man seeks when he becomes a warrior. In the dream, he learns his name. A woman has no need. She is named by others.’’

He dipped his head and captured her thumb between his teeth. Mesmerized, Loretta felt his tongue flick across her knuckle. Dear God, she was going to faint. And while she was unconscious, he would—he would . . . She felt herself tip sideways. His arm caught her from falling.

He released her thumb. ‘‘Blue Eyes?’’

Loretta licked her bottom lip, trying desperately to right herself, to stay conscious. She couldn’t pass out— she just couldn’t. His face blurred. And his voice seemed distant.

‘‘
Hah-ich-ka ein,
where are you, Blue Eyes?’’

Loretta blinked, but it did no good. Was this how it felt to die? All floaty and distant from everything?
Hah-ich-ka ein,
where are you, Blue Eyes? She tried to answer. Couldn’t.

Meat broth?
In heaven there were supposed to be angel wings, glorious songs of praise, streets lined in gold, and fluffy pink clouds. Loretta swallowed and surfaced to consciousness, becoming aware by degrees. A large hand clamped her jaw. Something warm and thick trickled into her mouth. Voices rang in her ears. She strained to escape the hand that held her. She mustn’t eat. Bits of meat caught on the back of her tongue. Her throat convulsed. And then she strangled.

Someone held her head while her stomach purged itself. Hard hands. A damp cloth skimmed her face. A voice called to her. A very deep voice. Loretta spun away into darkness.

‘‘If I don’t take her back to her wooden walls, she will die.’’ Hunter met his father’s steady gaze across the leaping flames. ‘‘Then what will become of the prophecy? She emptied her belly of the meat broth and precious water as well. She will sure enough die if this continues.’’

Soat Tuh-huh-yet,
Many Horses, drew on his pipe and blew smoke toward the peak of the lodge, then toward the ground. After taking another drag, he exhaled east, west, north, and south. The pipe then passed from his right hand to Hunter, who inhaled slowly and returned the pipe to his father with his right hand to make a full circle, never to be broken.

‘‘My
tua,
you have only just arrived. Give her some time.’’

‘‘She’ll be dead in a day or two.’’ Hunter spat a fleck of tobacco. Though he would never admit it, he detested the taste of his father’s pipe. ‘‘I have tried everything, Father. I’ve been kind to her. I’ve promised my strong arm will be hers forever into the horizon, until I am dust in the wind. And I’ve tried bargaining with her.’’

‘‘What bargains?’’

Hunter shot a wary glance toward the shadows, where his mother sat listening. ‘‘After my mother left the lodge, I said that perhaps I would be a tired Comanche when the moon rose if she were to eat and drink.’’

‘‘And if she didn’t, and you were not tired?’’ Many Horses’ dark eyes filled with laughter. He too shot a glance into the shadows. ‘‘The bargain did not please her?’’

Hunter shook his head.

‘‘Perhaps she is not the right woman,’’ Many Horses said softly.

‘‘She is the woman. I am certain of that.’’

‘‘Has a spirit voice come to you during a dream?’’

‘‘No, my father.’’ Studying the flames, Hunter grew thoughtful. ‘‘No man has a more abiding hatred for the
tosi tivo
than I. You know this is so. My heart burned with anger when I went to collect the yellow-hair. I wanted to kill her.’’

Woman with Many Robes leaned forward, her features dancing in the firelight. Hunter met her gaze. She was a woman with much wisdom. She observed the customs and seldom interrupted when men were speaking, but on those occasions when she did, only a stupid man ignored what she had to say.

He waited to see if she meant to share her thoughts. When she remained silent, he cleared his throat, which was afire from the pipe, and continued. ‘‘Now, I would not kill her. She has touched me. My hatred for her has gone the way of the wind. She saved my life.’’ He quickly related the tale about the rattlesnake and how she had broken her silence to warn him.

‘‘You would prefer that she live for always away from you?’’

Hunter’s guts contracted. In that instant he realized how much he wanted the woman beside him. ‘‘I would prefer that my eyes never again fall upon her than to see her die.’’ His mouth twisted. ‘‘She has great heart for one so small. She makes war with nothing, and wins.’’

Many Horses nodded. ‘‘
Huh,
yes, Warrior and Swift Antelope have already told me.’’

‘‘I would take my woman back to her land,’’ Hunter said. ‘‘I know the words of the prophecy, eh? And I would not displease the Great Ones, but I see no other path I might walk.’’

Hunter’s mother rose to her knees. ‘‘My husband, I request permission to speak.’’

Many Horses squinted into the shadows. ‘‘Then do it, woman.’’

She moved forward into the light, her brown eyes fathomless in the flickering amber. ‘‘I would but sing part of the song, so we might hear the words and listen.’’ She tipped her head back and clasped her hands before her. In a singsong voice, she recited, ‘‘ ‘When his hatred for the White Eyes is hot like the summer sun and cold like the winter snow, there will come to him a gentle maiden from
tosi tivo
land.’ ’’

‘‘Yes, wife, I know the words,’’ Many Horses said impatiently.

‘‘But do you listen?’’ Woman with Many Robes fixed her all-seeing gaze on her eldest son. ‘‘Hunter, she did not come to you, as the prophecy foretold. You took her by force.’’

‘‘
Pia,
what is it you’re saying? That she would have come freely?’’ A breath of laughter escaped Hunter’s lips. ‘‘The little blue-eyes? Never.’’

His mother held up a hand. ‘‘I say she would have, and that she shall. You must take her to her wooden walls. The Great Ones will lead her in a circle back to you.’’

Hunter glanced at his father. Many Horses set his pipe aside and gazed for a long while into the flames. ‘‘Your mother may be right. Perhaps we have acted wrongly, sending you to fetch her. Perhaps it was meant for her to come of her own free will.’’