Comanche Moon (48 page)

Tucking her skirt under her knees, she cried, ‘‘Have you no shame?’’

His answer was a slow grin. Seizing her wrist, he drew her toward him. ‘‘There is no shame. You are my woman.’’

Pulled off balance, she fell across his chest. Squirming, but halfheartedly, she said, ‘‘There’s a time and a place for everything, and this isn’t it.’’

‘‘No?’’ He ran a hand under her blouse. ‘‘I say it is a very good time.’’

She jerked when his fingers scaled her ribs. ‘‘That tickles.’’

Without warning he rolled with her, coming out on top. He kissed her lightly on the lips while he moved his hand from her ribs to her breast. The small mound of warm flesh fit perfectly in his hand, the crest springing taut against his palm. Scarlet flamed on her cheeks. Unable to resist, Hunter lifted her blouse and moved off her to look, one thigh slanted across both of hers to keep her still. He had guessed right; when she was shy, she grew pink all over.

‘‘Hunter!’’ She tried to shove the leather down. ‘‘Someone might come!’’

‘‘No one comes.’’

Fascinated, he touched the rosy tip of her nipple with his dark fingers, watching it harden and thrust upward, begging for attention—attention he was more than willing to give it. Dipping his head, he flicked the tip of his tongue across the peak, then seized it with his teeth.

She gasped and made fists in his hair. ‘‘Hunter?’’

‘‘Hm?’’ He moved to the unkissed breast. ‘‘What is it you want, little one?’’

Her breath caught as his teeth closed on her. ‘‘I want to go.’’

With skillful determination, Hunter continued the exquisite torment until the tips of her nipples throbbed, swollen and hot, against the end of his tongue.

‘‘Hunter, please . . .’’ She moaned and drew him toward her, arching her hips against him. ‘‘Hunter . . .’’

He obliged her and at last took her into his mouth. She cried out at the sharp pull, and he gloried in the sound, in the knowledge that he could make her surrender to him. After tending each breast, he started to kiss her lips, but she held tight to his hair, pulling him back to her nipple, arching up to meet his mouth. With a pleased chuckle, Hunter fulfilled the silent request, savoring the sweet taste of her. Then he kissed her parted lips.

Loretta opened her eyes and gazed up at her Comanche husband through a haze of longing. By degrees her pulse slowed, and her senses cleared. A tender smile curved his mouth.

‘‘My heart is heavy to say these words, Blue Eyes, but someone may come. My woman who is without shame must wait, eh?’’

She groped to jerk her blouse down. Hunter reared back to let her sit up, his eyes twinkling with mischief. She straightened her clothes, keeping her pink face averted. Taking her hand, he rose and led her up the bank, wishing they were a bit farther from home so he could finish what he had begun without running the risk of company.

‘‘We will go to my lodge, yes? I will make you happy there where no one can see.’’

She slugged his shoulder. ‘‘You did that on purpose!’’

He laughed and tucked her under one arm to hold her close to his side as they walked. When they came within sight of the village, she drew away. A guilty flush dotted her cheeks. Hunter threw back his head and laughed. She retaliated by grabbing up a handful of pebbles to throw at him. Her aim was terrible, but Hunter ran out of throw’s reach anyway—until her ammunition was exhausted. Then he doubled back, charging, so he could reach her before she gathered more rocks.

She shrieked and fled. His longer legs quickly closed the distance between them. He swept her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder, clamping one arm across the backs of her knees. Playfully she pummeled his back. Just as playfully he ran his free hand up her skirt and gave her bottom a light pinch.

All in all, Hunter decided, it had been a good day.

Red Buffalo was sitting outside Hunter’s lodge when they got home. Hunter set Loretta on her feet but kept a protective arm around her, slowing his footsteps, his gaze locked on his cousin’s. Red Buffalo glanced away.

‘‘Hunter, I need to talk to you,’’ he said in a low voice. ‘‘Would you come to my lodge?’’

In English Hunter told Loretta he would return shortly, then accompanied his cousin in tight-lipped silence. Red Buffalo had a fire burning inside his lodge. The two men entered to their left and made a complete circle before they sat cross-legged by the flames. Bracing his forearms on his bent knees, Hunter hunched his shoulders, watching his cousin and waiting. Red Buffalo didn’t offer Hunter his pipe so they could smoke together as brothers. As much as Hunter hated tobacco, he yearned for the gesture to be made.

Red Buffalo tossed another piece of wood on the fire, then stared at the licking flames. His bottom lip was slightly swollen where Hunter’s fist had struck him. It was a long while before he spoke. ‘‘My heart is laid upon the ground,’’ he said softly. ‘‘I want no bad feelings between us.’’

Hunter set his jaw and fixed his attention on a spiral of smoke. ‘‘I find that hard to believe. Last night wasn’t the first time you’ve made tricks. You put the snake in her bed, did you not?’’

Slowly Red Buffalo nodded. ‘‘I will never again try to harm her. You love her, yes? More than the People, more than anything.’’

Hunter closed his eyes for a moment. The same question seemed to circle back to him, over and over. ‘‘I love her, yes. But more than the People? I
am
the People. Must the love between a man and woman kill all other love?’’

‘‘If you had to choose, you would choose her. If she had to choose, what do you think her choice would be?’’

Hunter’s face drew taut. ‘‘Why is that important? I will never make her choose.’’

‘‘It may not be up to you. She is your enemy, Hunter! Her people slaughter us! Open your eyes and see the truth! In the end, she will destroy you! She will turn your face from all that you are, leave your heart a wasteland, and abandon you.’’

‘‘Is this why you asked me here?’’ Hunter hissed. ‘‘If so, I’m leaving.’’

‘‘No!’’ Red Buffalo reached across the fire to catch Hunter’s arm. ‘‘Don’t go, cousin. I’m sorry. Forget my words.’’

‘‘They cut too deep. I can never forget them.’’

Red Buffalo passed a hand over his brow and sighed. ‘‘I’m sorry. I’ll accept her as your wife, Hunter. I will.’’

‘‘Your words are shallow, like a stream during drought. Show me your sorrow. Then I may believe you.’’

Red Buffalo shot to his feet. ‘‘I
will
show you. Look what I have here. A gift, yes? For your woman. A gift like no other.’’

He pulled something sparkly from a parfleche and palmed it, extending his arm toward Hunter. ‘‘Moonlight on water, cousin. A comb for your
tosi
wife.’’

Drawn by the glisten of bright stones, Hunter lifted the comb and turned it to catch the firelight. For an instant he imagined the look on Loretta’s face if he were to give her something so fine. Then he discarded the thought. ‘‘You took it off a woman you killed. She would spit upon it.’’

‘‘No! I traded with the Comancheros for it.’’

Excitement coursed up Hunter’s spine. He wanted so badly to give Loretta pretty things, things a white woman would treasure. He knew his world was vastly different from hers. A comb like this might console her. ‘‘How much?’’

‘‘It’s a gift!’’

‘‘Ah, no. Only a woman’s husband should give her something so beautiful.’’

‘‘It will cost you a blanket,’’ Red Buffalo said with a shrug.

Hunter snorted. ‘‘Two horses, no less.’’

‘‘One. I will accept no more.’’ Red Buffalo laughed. ‘‘We do this backward, eh, cousin? Some fine traders we are.’’

Fascinated by the fiery stones, Hunter glanced up. ‘‘It’s worth far more.’’

‘‘My sorrow for the grief I’ve caused makes us even.’’

Hunter smiled and closed his fingers around the comb, so anxious to present it to his wife that he sprang to his feet. ‘‘I’ll bring you the horse right away.’’

‘‘Tomorrow is soon enough.’’

Hunter clamped a hand over his cousin’s shoulder. Locking gazes with him, he said, ‘‘My heart is glad, Red Buffalo. The sun does not shine as brightly when you are not by my side.’’

Red Buffalo’s smile faded. ‘‘I have never abandoned you, Hunter. We are brothers. If it seems I turn against you, it is out of love.’’

‘‘That is past.’’ Hunter’s voice rasped with emotion. ‘‘You walk a new way now, yes?’’

Red Buffalo smiled and gave him a friendly shove. ‘‘Go home to your yellow-hair.’’

Hunter hesitated in the doorway. ‘‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with you about. Bright Star wants you to notice her.’’

‘‘Bright Star?’’ An incredulous expression crossed Red Buffalo’s scarred face. ‘‘Wanting
me
? You are
boisa
, cousin.’’

‘‘It is so. If you’re interested in her, you’d better claim her before someone else does. She’s very lovely.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Red Buffalo said rather dazedly. ‘‘You
are
talking about your woman’s sister?’’

Hunter laughed. ‘‘She’s too shy to approach you, but her eyes follow you when you’re not looking.’’

Hunter found Loretta snuggled on her side in bed when he entered the lodge. His heart sank with disappointment. If she was asleep, he would have to wait to give her the gift. Impatience welled within him. He wanted to see her pleasure now.

‘‘Blue Eyes?’’

She pushed up on an elbow and fastened a sleepy gaze on him. ‘‘What are you grinning so big about?’’

Hunter held the comb behind his back. He sat on the edge of the bed, turned toward her so she couldn’t see. ‘‘I bring you a marriage gift.’’

Curiosity brought her wide awake. She sat up and tried to spy what he had hidden in his hand. ‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘Something fine. Something as bright as my golden one.’’

She leaned farther to one side. ‘‘Hunter-rrr! What
is
it?’’

Very slowly, Hunter brought his hand out from behind him. Loretta said nothing for several seconds. Then she lifted questioning eyes to his. ‘‘Is this a joke? What were you doing in my satchel?’’

His smile seemed to freeze in place, and his gaze shifted, settling on the black bag across the room. Loretta’s throat tightened. She, too, turned to look at the bag. Icy dread chilled her skin. Slipping from the bed, she walked across the lodge. As she grasped her satchel, her pulse accelerated. The clasp sprang open beneath her trembling fingers. She stared down at her mother’s diamond comb.

Time slid to a stop. Suspended there, Loretta slowly assimilated the fact that, seven years after Rebecca Simpson’s death, the missing mate to her comb had resurfaced in Hunter’s possession. For an instant the obvious conclusion slammed into her, that Hunter had been the man who took Rebecca Simpson’s scalp. Then sanity returned.
Not Hunter.
She had come to know him too well to believe that of him. Even so, pain sliced through her, a wounding pain. Her legs buckled, and she dropped to her knees, unable to speak, to lift her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hunter rise from the bed, the comb dropping to the dirt, forgotten.

Like a man approaching a guillotine, he moved toward her. She heard his intake of breath when he peered into the satchel.

‘‘It belonged to my mother,’’ she cried. ‘‘She was wearing both combs the day she died. I found this one near her body. The other was stolen by the Comanche who scalped her.’’

‘‘No.’’ The word came out in a tortured whisper.

Loretta clamped a hand over her mouth to throttle the scream that snaked up her throat. Hunter sank to his knees beside her.

‘‘No,’’ he said again, this time with more conviction. ‘‘I did not— The day she died, I was not—’’ His voice broke, and she saw his fingers knot into white-knuckled fists. ‘‘Blue Eyes, I made no lies.’’

Dropping her hand, she gulped for air, swallowing sobs, struggling to speak. She turned to look at him through a haze of tears. ‘‘Red Buffalo gave it to you, didn’t he?’’

Hunter stared at her, making no reply.

‘‘
Didn’t
he?’’

‘‘
Huh,
yes,’’ he admitted finally, reluctantly. ‘‘He traded for it with the Comanchero.’’

‘‘He’s a liar.’’ Loretta squeezed her eyes closed. Hunter, the man she loved, her husband, the cousin of her mother’s murderer. It all fell into place, Red Buffalo’s hatred of her, his continued efforts to be rid of her. Images spun through her mind, of her mother, of the lean, agile young Indian who had taken her scalp.
Red Buffalo.
Because of his disfigurement, Loretta hadn’t recognized him. ‘‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’’

In that instant Loretta’s marriage became a nightmare. At least thirty men had taken part in that raid. All of them were probably from this village. Old Man, Hog, Arrow Maker, Coyote Dung, Warrior, Hunter’s father, any or all of them could have been there. Possibly even her husband. Blurred faces swirled, out of the past, into the present. She didn’t want to believe Hunter had been there that day, but how could she be positive he wasn’t? How many attacks had he made on the
tosi tivo
? A hundred, perhaps as many as a thousand? Would he even remember one dusty little farmhouse and the woman who had died there?

Her gaze shifted to his scalp pole. None of the hair was long, testimony that he made war against only men. That didn’t mean he was never present when women were victimized, only that he didn’t take part. Did her father’s scalp hang in Hunter’s collection? Loretta fastened horrified eyes on one swatch of brown hair, then another.

‘‘Blue Eyes . . .’’ He reached to touch her shoulder.

Loretta shrugged from under his hand. ‘‘Don’t, Hunter, please don’t.’’ She gazed through tears at a tuft of stubborn grass shooting up from the packed dirt floor. The hatred between her and Hunter’s people was like that, surviving everything. Within her chest there was an awful emptiness.

‘‘Red Buffalo said he traded for the comb. This may be so, yes?’’