Comanche Moon (39 page)

‘‘It is finished,’’ he murmured. ‘‘No sorrow, eh? Only gladness. Your Aye-mee is yours, so she is mine. It is a very simple thing, yes?’’

Through the gloaming, he could see her features softening, her quivery lips tipping up at the corners in a smile. She was not easy with him yet. A sudden move from him would set her heart to pounding again. Her smile encouraged him, though.

He ran his palm up the curve of her back and then removed his arm from around her, amused at how swiftly she rolled off him, fussing with her many skirts to be sure her ruffled breeches weren’t exposed. Her shyness baffled him. He could remember how her body looked in firelight, her skin as pale as moonbeams, the tips of her breasts the delicate pink of cacti blossoms. How could such loveliness bring shame?

When she finally grew still, a taut silence settled over them. From the corner of his eye he could see her worrying her lip, her small white teeth sinking into the soft pink flesh. Remembering how those lips felt beneath his, another surge of longing knotted his guts, making him recall the plans he had made for the evening—plans that were now drifting away on the wind. He wanted her, yes, but not if it meant forcing her.

‘‘I suppose that . . .’’ Her voice trailed off. She plucked nervously at her skirt, then ran her fingertips up the line of buttons on her bodice. She glanced around nervously, still nibbling her lip. ‘‘I, um, haven’t forgotten my promises to you.’’

‘‘This is good.’’ Hunter watched her with gentle amusement.

‘‘A promise is a promise, even when given under unusual circumstances. You kept up your part, and—’’ She seemed unable to meet his gaze. ‘‘I’m sure you expect me to keep up mine.’’ A dark flush crept up her neck. ‘‘I, um, guess you had Amy taken to your mother’s so we could—so we could . . .’’

She looked so distressed that Hunter took pity on her. ‘‘Ah, yes, we have a bargain, do we not?’’ He forced a long and very loud yawn. ‘‘My heart is heavy to say these words, Blue Eyes, but I am sure enough weary after traveling so far, eh?’’

Her expression brightened so visibly that he nearly chuckled. ‘‘Oh, but of course!’’ she exclaimed in a shaky little voice. ‘‘You’ve ridden a very long way. You must be exhausted.’’

He yawned again and patted the fur beside him. ‘‘You will lie beside me.’’

‘‘But what about Amy?’’

‘‘Your Aye-mee is with my mother, yes? The woman who is mean like a buffalo. She is safe. You will be easy about her until the sun shows its face.’’ His voice turned husky. ‘‘
Keemah,
come.’’

‘‘I—I’d really like to check on her. She fainted, Hunter. I want to know she’s okay. I won’t rest until I know that.’’

‘‘If she were not, my mother would come. My mother has good medicine, yes? And she is very kind. You will trust.’’ He stretched out an arm and watched the myriad emotions that crossed her face as she contemplated the spot beside him. She had slept beside him before, many times, but tonight was different. There was nothing to stop him from taking what he wanted. She had even bargained away her right to fight him. What she didn’t seem to realize was that there had never been anything to stop him.
‘‘Keemah.’’

When at last she scooted over to him, Hunter experienced a feeling like none he had ever felt. It went beyond satisfaction, beyond contentment. Having her fair head on his shoulder felt perfectly right, as if the Great Ones had hollowed the spot for her long ago, and he had been waiting all his life for her to fill it. He curled his arm around her, his hand on her back.

‘‘It is good, eh?’’

She placed a palm lightly on his chest. In a dubious tone she replied, ‘‘Yes, it is good.’’

Another silence settled over them. He measured the thrums of her heart beneath his hand, pleased that the rhythm no longer reminded him of the frantic wing beats of a trapped bird. Staring at the conical roof, he longed for the weariness he had pretended. It didn’t come. He was relieved when she broke the silence.

‘‘Hunter, what did you mean when you said you had made no talk of marriage because I’m a White Eyes?’’

He brushed his lips across the top of her head, loving the flower smell that still clung to her hair. He would never again smell springtime and not think of her. ‘‘My chief wife will be a woman of my own blood.’’ He felt her stiffen and, seeking to mollify her, added, ‘‘You can be second wife, eh? Or third?’’

To his surprise she bolted upright, shaking again, this time in anger. With an indignant lift of her small chin, she flung herself away from him.

‘‘You are angry?’’

Her reply was frigid silence.

‘‘Blue Eyes, what wrong words have I said?’’

‘‘What have you said?’’

Hunter frowned. ‘‘It would not please you to marry with me? Better a wife than a slave, yes?’’

‘‘I will
never
play second fiddle,
never
!’’

Hunter studied her, trying to figure out why she had switched the topic of conversation from marriage to making music.

‘‘How
dare
you!’’ she cried. ‘‘Of all the— You arrogant, simple— Oh, never mind! Just you understand
this
! Amongst
my
people, a man has
one
wife,
only
one, and he looks at no other, thinks of no other,
touches
no other, until death do they part. I wouldn’t marry you if you got on your knees and
begged
me!’’

Hunter sat up slowly, feeling a little dazed by her fury and wondering what had sparked it. Would he never understand her?

She leaned toward him, her blue eyes flashing. ‘‘Even if I
would
marry you, an announcement by a central fire would not constitute a marriage in my books.’’ She thumped her chest. ‘‘I must make my vows before a priest! And furthermore, when I take a husband, he won’t be a Comanche. You couldn’t be chief husband, second husband,
any
husband, to me. You’re a barbarian who treats women like chattel!’’

Very calmly Hunter inserted, ‘‘You are my woman. You will sure enough marry no other.’’

‘‘Well, if you think I’m going to marry
you,
you have another think coming! Never, do you hear me?’’

With that, she wrapped her arms around herself and glared at him. Hunter sighed and flopped onto his back, staring upward sightlessly. Minutes passed. When at last he felt her curl up at the foot of the bed, as far away from him as possible, a knowing smile touched his lips. No woman could possibly get that angry over another woman unless she was jealous. And a woman didn’t get jealous unless she was in love. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one with another think coming.

In the morning Hunter awoke to find his blue-eyes curled up against his side, only the tip of her nose and a tangle of gold hair showing above the edge of the buffalo robe. She had one hand wedged under his backside, the other insinuated between his thighs. He was tempted to wake her, just to see the look on her face when she realized how intimately she was touching him.

He slipped from the bed, finger-combing his hair as he left the lodge. His mother would be awake by now, and he was anxious to check on Amy. As he crossed the clearing between his lodge and his mother’s, he spied Swift Antelope and Bright Star, his dead wife’s sister, visiting outside his mother’s doorway. Bright Star cradled a bark dish in her cupped palms, a gift for his mother, he guessed. Swift Antelope’s reason for being there was harder to define.

As Hunter approached, Bright Star lowered her long lashes and blushed. ‘‘Good morning, Hunter. I missed you while you were away.’’

Resting a hand on her hair, Hunter forced a smile. These last few months, being around Bright Star had become a strain. Comanche men usually married sisters, and because of her relationship to Willow by the Stream, Bright Star clearly expected Hunter to follow custom. She was a lovely girl and sweet-tempered. Any man would find her acceptable as a wife. But, for reasons beyond him, Hunter had been evasive, uncertain about his feelings. Did he want Bright Star as his first wife?

Tension balled behind Hunter’s eyes. Gazing down at Bright Star’s perfect face, he tried to imagine taking her into his buffalo robes, touching her as a man did a woman. The picture eluded him. Then another image sprang to mind, of a woman with golden hair, blue eyes, and skin as pale as moonbeams.

He blinked and replied absentmindedly, ‘‘And I missed you, Bright Star.’’

Swift Antelope caught Hunter’s arm before he could go inside his mother’s lodge. ‘‘Hunter, about the little yellow-hair.’’

‘‘Yes, what about her?’’

Swift Antelope glanced uneasily at Bright Star, then plunged ahead. ‘‘I would like to make arrangements with you—to take her as my wife. Not right away, of course. When she grows old enough.’’ The young warrior straightened his shoulders. ‘‘I will pay a fine bride price, fifty horses and ten blankets.’’

Hunter smothered a grin. After a year of raiding, Swift Antelope had only ten horses. How much horse stealing did he plan to do? ‘‘Swift Antelope, I don’t think she even likes you.’’

‘‘Your yellow-hair doesn’t like you too well, either.’’

He had a point. Hunter stroked his chin, acutely aware of a sparrow singing nearby, of cottonwood leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Such a peaceful sound. He had enough problems without Swift Antelope adding to them. ‘‘Can we discuss this another time?’’

‘‘No! I mean . . . well, I’ve heard some other warriors talking. I’m not the only one who wants her. If I wait, you may accept the suit of another. She is very fine, is she not?’’

Hunter wondered if they were talking about the same skinny girl. Then he focused on Swift Antelope, who was only a few years Amy’s senior. He supposed a younger man might find Amy’s coltish prettiness appealing. ‘‘I can see your concern. But you forget one thing, Swift Antelope. You have proven yourself my loyal friend. I will not accept the suit of another. Does that ease your mind?’’

Swift Antelope still gripped Hunter’s arm. ‘‘May I visit with her?’’

‘‘I don’t know about that. She’s been through a terrible time. Having a young man around might upset her.’’

‘‘Old Man told me what happened to her. But someone must help her walk back to the sunshine, eh?’’

Again, Hunter had to concede the point. A difficult path lay ahead of Amy, and her way would be made easier if she had a good friend, a young man who could teach her to trust again. ‘‘You will take great care with her?’’

Swift Antelope grinned. ‘‘I will protect her with my life. Your mother says she will be strong enough to go on a walk tomorrow. May I take her?’’

Hunter placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘‘She won’t want to go. You do realize that?’’

Swift Antelope nodded. ‘‘I can handle her until she gets used to me.’’

‘‘She’s a fighter.’’

‘‘And I am twice her size.’’

Hunter almost wished he could go on this walk. It might prove interesting. Little did Swift Antelope know how useless strength could be when tussling with a frightened female. ‘‘Come to my lodge late tomorrow afternoon.’’

Swift Antelope beamed. ‘‘I think we should change her name. Aye-mee? It sounds like a sheep baaing. Golden One. That is a good name for her.’’

Without replying, Hunter swept the door flap aside and stepped into his mother’s lodge. Woman with Many Robes knelt by the fire, stirring a pot of porridge. She glanced up and smiled. Amy huddled on the bed, her blue eyes huge with fear. Hunter noted that his mother had found the child a buckskin shift and moccasins, which pleased him. When Amy saw Hunter, she rose to her knees.

He crossed the room and hunkered down beside her. She still looked pale, and he wondered if his mother wasn’t hurrying things by telling Swift Antelope a walk would be in order for tomorrow. His mother had brushed Amy’s hair into a cloud of gold that rippled around her shoulders. No wonder Swift Antelope wanted to call her Golden One.

‘‘You are well?’’ Hunter asked in English.

‘‘I’m better.’’ She threw a worried glance at the doorway. ‘‘Is that awful boy still out there?’’

He had expected questions about Loretta. ‘‘Swift Antelope?’’

‘‘Is that his name? I don’t like him.’’

‘‘Ah, I see.’’ Hunter pursed his lips. ‘‘You have reason?’’

‘‘I just don’t like him.’’ She gave a delicate shudder and wrinkled her nose. ‘‘He stares at me funny.’’

Hunter guessed that Swift Antelope had been mooning, not staring, but he thought it unwise to tell Amy that. ‘‘My mother has treated you well?’’

‘‘She’s your mother?’’ Amy glanced toward Woman with Many Robes. ‘‘She’s very nice. Can’t understand a thing I say, though. You talk English so good. Why can’t she?’’

‘‘She has no need.’’

Amy pondered that a moment, then asked, ‘‘Where’s Loretta?’’

It was becoming more apparent to Hunter by the moment that Amy didn’t recall her wild flight with Loretta last night. ‘‘She sleeps in my lodge.’’

‘‘Why am I here? I want to be with you, Hunter. And with Loretta. Please?’’

‘‘You may come to my lodge tomorrow.’’ Hunter glanced at the pot of porridge. ‘‘My mother prepares food for you to eat. And medicine. She will make you strong again. I will bring Loh-rhett-ah to see you. It is a promise I make.’’

Amy caught his arm. ‘‘Will you make that boy go away?’’

Hunter pried her fingers loose and rose. ‘‘Swift Antelope is my loyal friend. It is good that he stands outside. No harm.’’

Turning to his mother, Hunter slipped easily into his own language, plying her with questions. His mother informed him that although Amy was weak, with proper nourishment and plenty of rest, she would soon recover. The internal bleeding had completely stopped. The cut on her leg was healing nicely.

Hunter explained that he would return with Loretta shortly, then left the lodge, holding the flap aside for Bright Star, who had respectfully waited for him to finish his business before she tried to enter. Swift Antelope inched toward the doorway, stretching his neck to see past Hunter’s arm. Hunter tugged the flap closed.