Frontier Woman (40 page)

Dear Reader,

I hope that for a few hours you’ve enjoyed sharing with me the thrilling adventures of frontier life. Bay and Long Quiet’s story,
Comanche Woman
, which follows Bay into captivity by the Comanches, will be available in bookstores soon.

You can read about the modern-day descendants of the Creeds in my Bitter Creek series, The Cowboy, The Texan, and coming soon, The Loner. If you like contemporaries in a western setting, you might also enjoy my Hawk’s Way series, which features another modern-day ranching family, the Whitelaws. Watch for
Hawk’s Way Rogues
and
Hawk’s Way Brides
in bookstores.

I love hearing your comments and suggestions. You can e-mail me through my website at
www.joanjohnston.com
. If you’re using snail mail, a reply might take a bit longer—and I appreciate your patience. Enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope with your letter to P.O. Box 8531, Pembroke Pines, FL 33084.

I look forward to hearing from you!

Happy trails,
Joan JohnSton
August 2001

If you’re wondering what happened to Bay after she was stolen by the Comanches . . .

Here’s a preview of Bay’s story, which is told in the second book of the Sisters of the Lone Star series.

Comanche Woman

Chapter 1

“Welcome home, Many Horses. I thank
Our Sure Enough
Father
for bringing you safely back to me.”

“It is good to be home, Shadow.” Many Horses’ gaze warmed with appreciation as he said, “I thought often of you while I was away. I had only to close my eyes to see your face. I remembered your eyes, the deep violet of a stormy night; your hair, the red of a young fox’s fur; your cheeks, pink as primroses blanketing the earth; your face—”

“—shining like the moon in the sky,” Bay finished with a smile. His words, the tender poem of a lover, were beautiful in the Comanche tongue, and the first time she’d actually understood what he was saying to her, she’d been embarrassed by his effusive praise—until she’d heard him using words equally poetic and beautiful to describe his favorite war pony. It had been a shock to realize she was but a possession—one he considered exquisite and unusual, but a possession nonetheless. Bay didn’t even believe the compliments, because she thought the features he honored were not nearly so beautiful as they were simply an oddity among the Comanches, who were uniformly black-eyed and raven-haired.

“I am glad you find me pleasing. It is sad to know my beauty must share your thoughts with burning homes and bloodied bodies,” she replied.

Bay knew the frown was coming even before Many Horses pursed his lips. This was a constant battle between them. She knew he lived by raiding, plundering, and killing, and he knew she hated it. Many Horses was a Comanche warrior. His valorous actions proved his courage and gave him his pride. Over the three years she’d been his captive, she’d come to understand why he did what he did, but she’d never learned to accept it. At least he was back alive and—was he well? Why had he not waited with the two young men until morning and made a triumphal entry into camp? “Where are Eagle Feather and He Follows the Trail?”

“They did not return. They both died bravely fighting our enemies, the Tonkawas.”

What does it matter whether they died bravely? They’re
still dead, aren’t they?
Bay bit her tongue against the words she longed to hurl, knowing they wouldn’t be welcome. She knew the honored manner of their sons’ deaths would be of utmost importance to Red Wing and Singing Woman. She fought against feeling so much hurt for the loss of the two young men she’d known only through the overhead conversations of their mothers. She swallowed her grief, asking instead, “And you, Many Horses? Are you well?”

“Of course, except for . . . I am well.”

Bay tried to keep her anxiety from her face, but she felt certain Many Horses was hiding something from her.

Apparently, she hadn’t hidden her concern as well as she’d thought, because he held out his arms to her and said, “I have more to speak of and I can see you will not rest until your hands have confirmed what I have told you. Come. Look for yourself.”

Bat knelt on the edge of the huge buffalo robe that covered nearly the entire floor of the tipi. Many Horses was naked except for a breechclout.

“What is this?”

He grunted as she touched the cloth bandage at his hip. “Only a small wound from a Tonkawa lance,” he soothed. “Nothing to be troubled about. It has already begun to heal.”

“Let me see.”

Bay had already started unwrapping the covering when Many Horses caught both her hands firmly in his and said, “First you must greet our guest.”

“What?”

“I have brought someone home with me who wishes to see you.”

Bay couldn’t have been more surprised if Many Horses had announced he’d brought his war pony into the tipi to spend the night. She whirled on her knees to seek out the dark figure near the entry flap of the tipi.

“Haints,
this woman is Shadow. Shadow, this man is my friend and brother Long Quiet, to whom I owe my life. I was surrounded by my enemies when he came charging amongst them and rescued me. Then he saved my throat from the slashing knife of a Tonkawa dog before we finally escaped from our enemies in the darkness of the night.”

The man in the shadows rose and resettled himself cross-legged in front of Bay.

Long Quiet fought to keep his features impassive as he felt a flood of desire for the lovely woman who sat before him. His quest was over. At long last he found Bayleigh Falkirk Stewart—Shadow, the mystical white woman the young Comanche buck had spoken of, with eyes the dark purple of a stormy night and hair the color of fire. He no longer had to rely on his imagination to remember her. Before him sat a flesh-and-blood woman who set his pulse to pounding and his loins ablaze.

She belongs to another man,
he reminded himself.

Yet he couldn’t keep from eating the sight of her with his eyes. She’d matured since he’d seen her so many years ago. Her body, once gangly with youth, was lush, her breasts a bounteous promise beneath the deerskin she wore, her hips slim. Her lustrous auburn hair hung in braids, but the bound curls escaped in tendrils at her temples, enticing his fingers to entwine with them. He understood Many Horses’ need to honor her beauty with his poetry. He felt the need to do the same himself, and regretted he didn’t have the other man’s ease with words.

“You did not tell a tale. She is very beautiful,” he said softly. “A man would do well to possess such a woman.”

Bay felt her skin flush at the Comanche’s compliment. It had been all she could do to sit still for his frank, thorough examination of her face and form. She waited impatiently for permission to speak and despaired when it did not come.

“I have been trying to convince Long Quiet he should accept some of the ponies in my herd. I would not have returned at all without his help, and I wish to thank him,” Many Horses explained to Bay. “But he will take nothing.”

“I also add my thanks to that of Many Horses. I will be always in your debt for having helped him come safely home,” Bay said.

Many Horses watched with a queer mixture of pride and jealousy the look of admiration for Shadow that he found on his blood brother’s face. He pressed the wound at his waist with his elbow and flinched when his elbow grazed the place where his flesh had been flayed away by the Tonkawas. He did not like owing Long Quiet, but nothing he had said had convinced the other man to accept a suitable reward that would free him of his obligation.

However, Long Quiet had unwittingly revealed there was something Many Horses possessed that he desired very much: Shadow. Of course the flicker of desire for Shadow in Long Quiet’s eyes had been inappropriate and, therefore, quickly hidden. Nonetheless, Many Horses had seen it. He had never shared Shadow with another man and was not quite sure how the idea had come into his head now. Yet there it was. He turned the thought in his mind as he would have turned a new arrow in his hands, smoothing the shaft, looking for flaws. It galled his pride to be in the debt of the other man. And Shadow was the only thing he possessed in which Long Quiet had expressed an interest. No man could turn down such a prize.

Yet could he share her? He considered the danger the
puhakut
had warned him of when he’d first brought Shadow to the village. Surely this man could mean him no harm. Long Quiet had already saved his life twice. Still, Many Horses felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He was about to share a highly treasured possession, one he’d come to recognize as solely his own, and could not shake the feeling of foreboding that descended upon him. He felt his jaw tighten in determination, aware his pride was forcing him to do a thing his warrior’s instincts told him could have terrible consequences.

He spoke before he could change his mind. “I am glad you approve of Shadow. She shall be yours to serve you in whatever manner you wish, for so long as you are among us.”

Bay’s head snapped up, and she looked at Many Horses with horror. “You cannot give me—”

Many Horses cut her off with a wave of his hand. If he could have done so without looking foolish, he would have withdrawn his offer in that instant. He briefly considered playing the fool, but his pride rescued him from that fate. What was done was done. There was no turning back. When he spoke, his eyes were focused on Long Quiet and his voice was brusque.

“You would not take a single pony from me,
haints
, nor any other gift I offered, even though you saved my life more than once. You were right to refuse such tokens. For only a gift as priceless as the one I offer now could repay the debt I owe you. I wish to share with my brother everything that is mine. Surely you will not refuse my offer and leave me without honor in this manner.”

Long Quiet was stunned. He opened his mouth to agree, then snapped it shut. He’d only planned to be in the village long enough to find out if Shadow was indeed Bayleigh Stewart and, if so, to ask her whether she wished to return home to Three Oaks. Now he’d been given a gift he’d only imagined. He had to remind himself that this was a white woman—his friend Creed’s sister-in-law. He felt the swell of desire within him and knew it would be better if he did not accept Many Horses’ gift. Long Quiet held his tongue.

Bay was in shock. She turned her head slowly around to confront the man to whom she’d been temporarily given. His lips were pressed in a tight line, and he looked uncomfortable, and perhaps even a little angry. If she’d learned nothing else among the Comanches, she’d learned a man’s honor was everything. It was clear Long Quiet recognized his dilemma: He could not refuse Many Horses’ gift without causing the warrior to lose face. Bay’s stomach knotted in agitation. Many Horses could not intend that she be used for
any
purpose. Yet she feared he did.

Bay allowed herself to examine more closely the stranger who’d saved Many Horses’ life. Where Many Horses had the high, wide cheekbones and straight, prominent nose of a Comanche, this man’s angled cheekbones and aquiline nose were more refined. His skin was more bronze than copper, his muscular chest slick and smooth, with only a provocative line of dark hair arrowing from his naval downward. Instead of being barrel-chested like Many Horses, his broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and hips.

She looked closer and realized his sin-black hair escaped from his braids in tiny curls at his templates and at his nape, much as her own did. She almost jumped when their eyes met. Intense gray eyes stared back at her. No Comanche warrior she’d ever seen had curly black hair and slate-gray eyes. It dawned on her suddenly that this was no Indian, constrained to obey Indian customs.

“This man is white!”

Long Quiet’s face became forbidding. He stared straight ahead but said nothing.

“Truly, some white blood runs in his veins. But he is of The People,” Many Horses replied firmly.

Bay watched surprise flicker in the stranger’s gray eyes, which immediately became blank again. “I do not wish to belong to this man.”

“It is done.”

Bay didn’t mistake either the finality of Many Horses’ words or the tone in which they were delivered. She’d faced few calamities worse than this during her time among the Comanches, but from those experiences she’d learned not to give up. In order to survive, it was necessary to keep fighting, even when all hope seemed lost.

“May we speak of this alone?” she asked.

“There is nothing to discuss.”

The spark of anger in Many Horses’ eyes warned Bay that to question his will was to shame him before his friend. A lump rose in her throat. She belonged to Many Horses as surely as the Negro slaves who worked on her father’s cotton plantation belonged to him. It was clear Many Horses had made up his mind, and there wasn’t another person in the village who would dare to contradict any command he gave her. But she wasn’t done fighting yet.

“Have you told Long Quiet that for the past three years you have allowed no other man to touch me? Have you explained that I am the source of your strong medicine in battle? Does he know the
puhakut
warned you to guard my person against the day when one would come to take me away and thus destroy you?”

Bay could tell her words had shocked Long Quiet, but before the stranger could speak, Many Horses repeated more forcefully, “There is nothing to discuss.”

Many Horses was clearly enraged by her defiance. She folded her arms about her to try to still her trembling. There was no one who could save her now—unless the stranger . . .

She turned to survey Long Quiet’s features and found nothing to tell her what he thought of what she’d said, nothing to give her any encouragement that her words had made a difference. She’d learned that even among the Comanches there were kind men and cruel men, and she prayed he wasn’t one who believed in hurting women. Her eyes beseeched the silent man for some solution to her dilemma.

Bay might have been bound by Many Horses’ desires, but it was clear Long Quiet had a will of his own. “If you give me this gift, it is I who shall be in your debt,” he said. “Can a brother not save a brother’s life without the need for such a prize?”

“You speak from your heart,
haints
, which is generous,” Many Horses replied. “Let me be generous as well.”

Bay shifted uncomfortably as Long Quiet searched her face for her thoughts. He seemed dissatisfied with what he found, and she let herself hope again he would refuse Many Horses’ offer.