Comanche Moon (52 page)

‘‘I will be cruel, yes? And make you weep rivers of tears while I play my games. It will be good, very good.’’

His mouth touched hers, teasingly light. His hand cupped her breast. Silhouetted against the moon-silvered sky, he was a black outline, his broad shoulders a threatening wall, his long hair drifting in a silken curtain around her.

Nightmare or dream?

He continued to whisper—saying terrible things, cruel things, taunting her with what was yet to come, living up to all her worst expectations. But his touch was that of a lover, as sweet and magical, as patient and gentle, as the last time they had been together. She knew he had tied her only to prove a point, that no matter what the circumstances, no matter how angry he might become, he would never harm her.

‘‘Oh, Hunter, I’m sorry,’’ she said on the crest of a sob. ‘‘I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’’

‘‘You rip my heart out and it should not hurt?’’ His teeth closed on her earlobe, nipping lightly, sending shivers over her skin. ‘‘You spit upon all that I am, and it should not hurt? You abandon me, you dishonor me, and it should not hurt?’’

The raw emotion in his voice brought tears to her eyes. ‘‘I never intended to dishonor you. . . .’’

Loretta longed to put her arms around him but was quickly reminded of her bonds when she tried. His mouth claimed hers, hot and demanding, yet strangely gentle.

What followed was beautiful. Unable to remain passive, Loretta responded to him with a spiraling passion that both shocked and disoriented her. At some point Hunter cut the leather on her wrists and ankles, but she was too mindless to realize. He was like a fire inside her, embers licked to low flames, building quickly to an inferno. There was no fear. And no pain. Just a bittersweet joining, becoming one in a way she had never dreamed possible.

Afterward Hunter drew her gently into his arms and reminded her of the promises he had made her, that she would never experience brutality or shame in his arms, only love. ‘‘How can you not hear the song my heart sings, Blue Eyes?’’

Loretta knew he was referring to far more than his lovemaking. Sobs built pressure in her chest, then crawled up her throat, gaining force until they tore from her, dry and ragged. ‘‘Oh, Hunter, you have to understand. You think only of yourself and your rights. What of mine?’’

Hunter drew her head back down to his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. Her warm tears fell on his skin and trickled, cold and wet, under his arm. He closed his eyes, his mind replaying her words, the whispers a torment, the questions unanswerable. Did he think only of himself?
Yes.
To do otherwise meant losing her. Long after his wife fell into an exhausted sleep, he lay awake, staring into the darkness, searching within himself for a solution.

There was none....

Chapter 24

THE FOLLOWING DAY’S RIDE PASSED IN UNEASY silence. Only Amy and Swift Antelope seemed comfortable with the situation. That night Hunter once again camped some distance from the others. This time, when he began driving stakes, Loretta felt no fear, only an eager anticipation of his lovemaking. She hated herself for that—until Hunter began his assault on her senses. Then she forgot everything except being in his arms.

When their passions had cooled, Loretta felt nothing but hollow resignation. It was inconceivable that she could respond so mindlessly to Hunter’s touch. He loved her, but she saw it as a shallow, self-centered love. He tried to make her happy, but only when her wishes didn’t conflict with his. If she ran from him again, he would come after her.

Turning her head, she studied his profile, remembering the night he had given her the comb, how pleased he had been to present her with something so beautiful. A gift of love? Every time she thought of it, she became nauseated. There was no future for them together. Not in his village, and he would never leave the People, never.

Hunter turned toward her and looped an arm around her waist. His eyes were dark splashes in the moonlight. ‘‘Blue Eyes, it will be good. Trust this Comanche.’’

‘‘How can it be, Hunter?’’

‘‘I will make it so.’’ He feathered a finger across her bottom lip.

Trust.
His voice, his gentle touch, delved deep, turning her warm and liquid, melting her resistance. She closed her eyes. In four more days, maybe less, she would be back in Hunter’s village.

‘‘Hunter, why did you tie me to stakes again tonight? How long do you plan to do that?’’

‘‘Until my touch is carved in your heart.’’

‘‘Oh, Hunter, it’s already carved in my heart. When I ran from you, it wasn’t out of fear.’’

‘‘You said
hi, hites
with a rifle. You will have no fear again. Anger, maybe much hatred, but no fear.’’ He trailed a knuckle along her cheek. ‘‘You made pictures of your remembering. Now I make new rememberings, so they are very much good.’’

Puzzled, Loretta studied his dark face. Then she realized he was referring to her memories of her mother’s death—the Comanches, the stakes, her torturous last minutes. He was deliberately evoking those memories, only to expunge them by gently loving her. When she thought of his stakes now, she thought of shivers running down her spine, of sweet kisses in moonlight, of wonderfully strong arms enfolding her with warmth.

Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘‘Thank you for the new memories, Hunter. They
are
very much good.’’

His face drew close. ‘‘This Comanche wants to make more new remembering.’’

She took a ragged breath. ‘‘I can’t. Don’t you see? To say yes is surrendering all that I am.’’

He manacled her wrists with his iron grip. ‘‘That too is why I tie you.’’ His lips brushed hers, setting her senses afire. ‘‘You will make war tomorrow?’’

He whispered the question into her mouth, his breath warm and sweet. His tongue touched hers. Loretta’s heart caught at the careful way he drew her against him.
Tomorrow.
It seemed soon enough for fighting him. For tonight, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him—one last time.

New rememberings that were very much good.
Hunter brought dozens of new memories to Loretta over the next few days. By the time they reached his village, she had accepted a great deal. She couldn’t be happy about the prospect of living there, and she refused to pretend she was, but she knew she couldn’t change Hunter’s mind. He would keep her with him, waging war on her senses and her memories, until her past became a blur with sharp edges that pricked her only on occasion.

One such occasion occurred a few days after they returned. That evening Red Buffalo and his friends came back to the camp with a group of warriors from another band. Hunter, sensing trouble, strode to the central fire.

Red Buffalo’s disfigured face tightened when he spied Hunter. In a clipped tone he said, ‘‘We come to warn of trouble. A group of
tosi tivo
have gathered forces and demand the return of some captives taken in recent raids.’’

The ground under Hunter’s feet seemed to disappear. ‘‘Then return the captives.’’

Red Buffalo dropped his gaze. ‘‘We cannot.’’

‘‘They’re dead?’’ Hunter took a step closer. ‘‘Red Buffalo, tell me you had nothing to do with this.’’

Red Buffalo grasped Hunter’s arm. When Hunter stared at him, the guilt etched on his cousin’s face condemned him. Red Buffalo tried to speak, failed, and dropped his hand. Hunter knew then that he had finally begun to realize how dire the consequences of his actions might prove to be.

Although Red Buffalo said nothing more to him, Hunter stayed by the fire, hoping to glean information. All he heard was fear talking. If matters were as bad as the newly arrived men seemed to believe, the People were in serious trouble. The
tosi tivo
farmers had hired marauders from the east, from a place called Arkansas, to make war until the white captives were returned to their families.

When the visiting warriors left, Red Buffalo and his friends stayed behind in the village.

‘‘Hunter?’’ Red Buffalo called.

Hunter turned and waited for his cousin to reach him. ‘‘What is it this time? Do you have her mother’s scalp? That would be a fine gift.’’

Red Buffalo blanched and studied the trees. ‘‘I have done a great wrong. Spill my blood if you must, but don’t cut me out of your heart, cousin.’’

A lump rose in Hunter’s throat. When he looked at Red Buffalo he saw not a killer, but a man who had risked his life for him so many times that both of them had lost count. ‘‘I cut you from my heart the night my woman wept over the marriage gift I gave her.’’

Tears glistened in Red Buffalo’s eyes. ‘‘I will make peace with her, if only you will tell me how.’’

Though Hunter dreaded the answer, he had to ask. ‘‘You killed her mother and father, yes? No more lies, Red Buffalo, only truth.’’

The scarred flesh drew taut over Red Buffalo’s high cheekbones. ‘‘Yes. They were as nothing, Hunter! A
tosi tivo
and his yellow-hair. I could not see into tomorrow! How was I to know!’’

Hunter clenched his hands into fists, remembering Rebecca Simpson’s portrait, her face so like Loretta’s. ‘‘You did those things to her mother? You? It is not the way our fathers walked.’’

‘‘It is the way many of the men walk. You’ve never turned your face from them, Hunter. Why must you turn from me?’’

‘‘You tortured my woman’s mother. They didn’t.’’

‘‘You think I rode alone?’’

Hunter braced himself. ‘‘Who else was there?’’

‘‘That is my secret. I have wronged you enough. I won’t steal your friends from you as well. Does it matter? If we could walk backward in our footsteps, do you think we would make that raid again? You know we wouldn’t.’’

‘‘That may be so, but it changes nothing. You killed my wife’s mother.’’

‘‘I killed a honey-haired white woman! She was as nothing to me. Have I touched the one called Aye-mee? I could have. There have been many times when I could have.’’

‘‘You poisoned my woman’s heart against me! Even now she yearns to leave. Why did you give me that comb?’’

Red Buffalo began to shake. ‘‘I meant to accept her. It was clear you had great love for her. I knew you would turn from me if I kept making trouble. When you left to find the child for her, I meant to treat her with only kindness, to become her friend and hope she never recognized me.’’

‘‘And then you walked backward in your footsteps? Why?’’

‘‘The comb!’’ Red Buffalo lifted his hands in supplication. ‘‘I was at Warrior’s fire, playing a game. I looked over and smiled my kindest smile. And then I saw it! Lying there in her black bag, moonlight on water, just like the comb I had taken. I knew that one day she would wear hers or show it to someone. And when she did, someone would remember the comb I had taken on that raid. You would have learned the truth.’’

‘‘That you had killed her mother?’’

‘‘Yes! I knew if that happened, she would turn your face from me. That I would lose you. It was wrong, making lies to you, but I knew she would leave if she found out it was men from this village who killed her parents.’’ Red Buffalo grasped Hunter’s arm again. ‘‘I gave you the comb so she would go before it was too late, before you got her with child. You would have forgotten her in time and forgiven me. Hunter, I have no brothers.
You
are my brother. My wife is dead. My child is dead. My parents are dead. Must I lose another to the
tosi tivo
?’’

Hunter took a deep, jagged breath and slowly exhaled. ‘‘Red Buffalo, when my woman takes your hand in friendship, you are welcome in my lodge. Until then, walk a road of sorrow. It is the path you chose.’’

‘‘I never chose to walk apart from you, never.’’

Though it took all his strength of will to do it, Hunter brushed Red Buffalo’s hand from his arm. ‘‘Walk a new way. Take a wife. You don’t have to be alone unless you wish to be.’’ With a slight motion of his head, Hunter directed Red Buffalo’s gaze toward the maiden who lingered on the far side of the fire, adding wood to the flames. When she glanced up and saw Red Buffalo staring at her, she blushed and grew so flustered that she dropped the logs she held in her arms.

‘‘Bright Star?’’ Red Buffalo whispered.

Hunter walked away, leaving Red Buffalo to take it from there.

When Hunter returned to his lodge, he sent Amy to find Swift Antelope and set Loretta down by the fire to talk with her. First he told her the grim news Red Buffalo and the other warriors had brought. Then, very cautiously, he broached the subject of Red Buffalo’s request for peace. Loretta turned her face from him.

‘‘How dare you even ask? How dare you?’’

Hunter grasped her chin and made her look at him. ‘‘Red Buffalo has had much grief, little one. He is twisted, like a tree in the wind. His woman, his son, his parents, all killed by the
tosi tivo.
You have wept, he has wept. The tears must stop. Is there no forgiveness in your heart?’’

‘‘You ask the impossible.’’ She shoved his hand away. ‘‘I am here because you force me to be. I am civil to your people because you force me to be. Red Buffalo is another matter. If he comes near this lodge, I will kill him.’’

Hunter met her gaze, saying nothing.

The ache in his eyes told Loretta how deeply she was hurting him, that he loved Red Buffalo and would always love him, no matter what he had done. But forgiveness? The thought was incomprehensible to her.

Clasping her trembling hands, Loretta pressed them to her waist. ‘‘Do you love me, Hunter? Truly love me?’’

‘‘I have great love for you.’’

‘‘Then take me away from here,’’ she whispered raggedly. ‘‘It’s the only way for us to have a future together. The only way. Please think about it? If you love me,
truly
love me, you won’t torture me like this.’’

The words of the prophecy returned to haunt Hunter. Lifting his hand, he touched Loretta’s braid and lost himself in the fascinating azure depths of her gaze. As the song predicted, she had divided his Comanche heart. Only moments ago he had turned his back on a lifelong friend. Now she asked him to turn his back on his people. ‘‘Blue Eyes, I cannot leave.’’