Comanche Moon (43 page)

‘‘You’re not sleepy,’’ she accused.

‘‘
Ka,
no,’’ he admitted. ‘‘I make a lie, yes? To make you easy? My heart is laid upon the ground when you are afraid. Let us be glad, eh? Make me a story.’’

‘‘Hunter, I don’t have a stitch of clothes on,’’ she squeaked.

One of his dark eyebrows flicked upward. ‘‘You must have clothes to make stories?’’

‘‘No. I guess I . . . well, it might help me think.’’

He sighed and rolled onto his back, carrying her along with him in the curve of his arm. Pressing her head onto his shoulder, he made a valiant attempt to ignore the feeling of her silken flesh against his and said, ‘‘This Comanche wears breeches.
I
will make the story.’’

And with that, Hunter began talking, smiling to himself every once in a while because he quickly discovered that he had as much trouble concentrating as she did when she didn’t have clothes on. In a husky whisper he recited the prophecy to her. When he finished she stirred in the crook of his arm.

‘‘
That
is your song?’’

‘‘
Huh,
yes.’’

‘‘But, it’s beautiful!’’

With a start, Hunter realized he thought so, too. ‘‘Since my boyhood, I had much hate for the words.’’ He twined a length of her hair around his finger, smiling. ‘‘And great hate for the honey-haired woman who would one day steal my heart. I wished to kill you, yes?’’

‘‘But I’m not the woman in your song.’’

‘‘Ah, yes, you are the woman.’’

‘‘The song says the People will call me the Little Wise One. They don’t! And they never will. I’m far from wise.’’

‘‘It will come to pass,’’ he assured her. ‘‘It must. All of the words must.’’

She saw shadows creep into his eyes. ‘‘What is it? Why are you so sad?’’

The muscles along his throat knotted. ‘‘My song says I will one day leave my people. I am Comanche. Without them, I will be as nothing, Blue Eyes.’’

Loretta stared sightlessly into the shifting shadows, watching the play of firelight. ‘‘It’s only a legend, Hunter. A silly legend. Hatred going away on the wind? High places and great canyons of blood! New tomorrows and new nations?’’ She turned her face toward him. ‘‘Look into my eyes. Do you see a new morning with new beginnings?’’

He searched her gaze, and then, in a husky voice that reached way down inside her, he whispered, ‘‘Yes.’’ He drew out the word until it seemed to echo and reecho in her mind.

It was then that Loretta knew. He had fallen in love with her. She stared up at his dark face, so close to her own that they breathed the same air, and her heart broke a little, for him, and for herself. She would never love him in return. A canyon of hatred and bitterness separated them. In that, at least, the prophecy was correct.

‘‘Oh, Hunter, don’t look at me like that.’’

In one liquid movement he rose on an elbow above her, his broad chest a canopy of bronze, his shoulders eclipsing the light so only her face was illuminated. ‘‘You have stolen my heart.’’

‘‘No,’’ she whispered rawly. ‘‘Don’t say that, don’t even think it. Can’t you understand? I’ll never love you back, Hunter.’’ Her pulse started to slam. ‘‘I’m terrified of—’’

He crossed her lips with a gentle finger, his eyes clouding with warmth. ‘‘Of lying with me? I am not blind, Blue Eyes. Your heart is laid upon the ground with memories. That will pass. You will come to me. You will want my hand upon you. It will be so. The Great Ones have spoken it.’’

She wrenched her face aside. ‘‘I’ll lie with you because I promised and because I vowed to before God and a priest. But I’ll never
want
to, never.’’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘‘Oh, God, what am I doing here? I don’t want to hurt you, Hunter, truly I don’t.’’

He lay down beside her and pulled her back into the crook of his arm, pressing her fair head to his shoulder. ‘‘
Ka taikay.
Sh-hh, Blue Eyes. Do not weep. It will be well.’’

‘‘How can it be? I’m trapped here. I can never leave. I’ve made promises I’m not sure I can keep. I’m frightened, Hunter, of you and your people—even of myself. How can all be well?’’

‘‘It will be well. My people will accept. You are one with them now, the wife of a warrior. In time, you will want to be beside me. Your fear will leave. You will see. Until then, this Comanche will wait, eh?’’

‘‘Wait?’’ she whispered. ‘‘You mean you won’t—’’ She broke off and looked up at him. ‘‘You won’t— force me?’’

Hunter’s throat tightened. ‘‘I make no promise for you. I wait now, yes? We will see where our moccasins fall.’’

To soothe her, he began telling her stories about his childhood, about his first bow, leaving out the part about shooting his father, about his first fight, about his first hunting trip. He had come to the tale of his vision quest when he felt her slender body relax against him and heard her breathing change. His voice trailed off. He stared upward into the darkness, filled with a yearning that couldn’t be slaked. It would be a very long while before he followed his blue-eyes into the black depths of slumber. A very long while.

When Loretta awoke the next morning, Hunter and her discarded clothing were gone. Beside her on the fur lay a doeskin skirt and blouse and a beautiful pair of moccasins. With trembling hands Loretta unfolded the blouse, recognizing it as the one Maiden had been making.
‘‘Ein mah-heepicut,’’
Maiden had whispered. Now Loretta knew the words meant ‘‘it is yours.’’ Tears filled her eyes.

As she lifted the skirt to examine it, Hunter stepped into the lodge, sending her scurrying for cover under the buffalo robe. Flashing her a mischievous smile, he said, ‘‘Maiden sent the clothes. Next time, you will not be wrapped in so much
wannup,
yes? It will take us much less time to do nothing.’’

He turned and left the lodge before Loretta realized he had made a joke. It took even longer before she smiled. There was a promise behind the lightly spoken words.
Next time, it would take them much less time to do nothing.
With a new lightness in her heart, Loretta sprang from the bed and slipped into the beautiful outfit Maiden had made for her. It fit perfectly.

She ran her hand over the soft supple leather that skimmed her chest, her cheeks flaming. She might as well be naked. The tail of the blouse scarcely reached past her waist, falling in a straight sweep from her bustline, loose and airy. Knowing Hunter’s penchant for reaching under her clothes, she couldn’t imagine herself wearing this around him. And the skirt wasn’t much better, hitting her at the knees, with a tease of fringe around the bottom. No underwear, not a stitch! It was scandalous.

A tight little lump rose in Loretta’s throat as she gazed down at the graceful cut of the skirt, at the beautifully beaded moccasins. Maiden had worked so hard. Loretta knew her feelings would be terribly hurt if she refused to wear these things. And she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Loretta thought of her mother, how she would feel about her daughter being dressed like a Comanche squaw. The image brought home the fact that, like it or not, she didn’t just look the part, she
was
a Comanche squaw, married to the infamous Hunter, his to do with as he wished, whenever he wished, until she died and rotted.

Chapter 21

OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS, LIFE IN the village settled into a routine that Loretta found to be, if not pleasant, at least bearable. Thus far Hunter hadn’t exercised his conjugal rights. Red Buffalo, much to her relief, went on a hunting trip with a group of his friends, so she was spared his unsettling presence, and as Hunter had promised, Loretta found she could come and go in the village as she wished.

Since her marriage to Hunter at the central fire, the attitudes of the villagers had changed. Everyone she encountered went out of his or her way to help her adjust to her new surroundings. With help from Maiden of the Tall Grass and Hunter’s mother, Loretta was slowly learning to speak more Comanche, which opened a line of communication with the other women and allowed her to make friends. She Who Shakes, an elderly woman who lived several lodges down from Hunter, took Loretta aside one afternoon to show her how to make pemmican, a mainstay of the Comanche diet, a mixture of powdered meat, fat, and dried fruit. As unpleasant a chore as it had been, Loretta also assisted the women in scraping and curing hides after a large buffalo kill, and now she was making her first pair of moccasins from an old piece of leather Maiden had given her.

Being actively involved in the day-to-day routine of the village gave Loretta a much needed sense of belonging. She was included in the women’s nightly sojourns to the river for baths. It was reassuring to look across the way and see faces she recognized, to smile and receive a smile in return.

Another uplifting development was Amy’s recovery from her ordeal. Loretta could scarcely believe how quickly the child was regaining her former gaiety, and she soon realized Swift Antelope was the cause. The young warrior clearly adored Amy and spent hours roaming the river with her, forging a friendship that set Amy’s cheeks aglow.

Hunter, quite the opposite of Loretta, found this same period of time a trial. While Swift Antelope made steady progress with Amy, he couldn’t see himself making any headway with Loretta. She still went to great lengths to avoid sleeping beside him, choosing instead to share Amy’s far less comfortable pallet. To complicate matters further, there was Bright Star’s campaign to make Hunter take notice of her.

It seemed to Hunter that every time he turned around, Bright Star hovered nearby, fluttering her lashes and blushing, making such an obvious play for Hunter’s affections that he knew it couldn’t escape his wife’s notice for long. Hunter didn’t want to shame Bright Star by scorning her. At the same time, he didn’t want Loretta to believe he was encouraging the girl. He already had enough problems.

While he mulled the situation over, trying to think of a kind way to discourage Bright Star, the young maiden intensified her campaign, and, as Hunter had feared, Loretta at last realized what was going on. When she did, Hunter took the brunt.

‘‘Who is that girl?’’ Loretta demanded one evening.

‘‘What girl?’’ Hunter felt heat rising up his neck and avoided meeting his wife’s flashing blue gaze.

‘‘
That
girl, the one who seems to have something in her eye.’’

Hunter obliged Loretta by giving Bright Star a bored glance. ‘‘She is sister to my woman who is dead.’’ He bent back over the arrowhead he was sharpening. ‘‘She is called Bright Star.’’

‘‘She doesn’t
look
very bright. Is that a tic, or does she always blink that way?’’

Hunter smothered a snort of laughter. ‘‘She makes eyes, yes?’’

‘‘At you?’’

He straightened and lifted a dark brow. ‘‘You think she makes eyes for you?’’

Loretta’s spine stiffened. ‘‘You think this is funny? Doesn’t she realize that you’re a married—’’ The flash in her eyes grew more fiery. ‘‘Oh, yes, how remiss of me. I forgot that you can have an entire
herd
of wives.’’

Hunter sighed and set aside the arrowhead. ‘‘This Comanche has no wish for a
herd
of wives. One is sure enough plenty trouble.’’

‘‘Are you saying I make your life miserable? If that’s the case, why did you marry me? Why didn’t you marry
her
?’’

Hunter knew jealousy when he saw it. Everything else had failed. New tactics were called for. ‘‘I could have. Bright Star thinks I would be a fine husband, yes?’’

‘‘She can have you.’’

That wasn’t exactly the response Hunter had been hoping for. ‘‘
You
have me, one unto the other, forever until we die and rot. It was your wish.’’

She sputtered for a moment, trying to speak. ‘‘I was
forced
into this farce of a marriage!’’

He shrugged again. ‘‘And you do not want your man. It is sure enough a sad thing.’’ He thumbed his hand at Bright Star, who was still fluttering her lashes. ‘‘She wants what you do not. Yet you are angry? It is
boisa,
Blue Eyes.’’

Loretta flew to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. ‘‘It sounds as if you’ve been cheated all the way around, you
poor
man. Well, let me tell you something!’’

‘‘I am here.’’

She jutted her small chin at him. ‘‘As long as you have wandering eyes,
this
woman wouldn’t have you in her buffalo robes if you crawled on your knees and begged. Is that clear?’’ She swung her arm toward Bright Star. ‘‘You can have her! You can have every woman in the village! Be my guest. But you can’t have me as well, make no mistake in that!’’

With that, Loretta spun and ran into the lodge. Hunter sat there a moment, listening to the muffled sounds that drifted from the doorway.
Sobbing.
With a snarl, he picked up the nearly finished arrowhead he had been sharpening and threw it into some nearby brush.

Bright Star looked stricken when Hunter sprang to his feet and turned toward her. By her expression, he guessed she could hear Loretta crying. He walked toward her slowly. Whether it hurt her or not, he had to tell her he didn’t plan to marry her. Loretta’s feelings were his first concern.

‘‘Your Loh-rhett-ah does not like me?’’ Bright Star queried shakily.

Hunter grasped the girl’s shoulders. ‘‘It isn’t you, little sister. She is a White Eyes, yes? The thought of two wives in my lodge circle makes her heap big angry.’’ Hunter chucked Bright Star under the chin. ‘‘You are lovely, Bright Star, and you honor me, but now that I’m married to a yellow-hair, I must walk a new way, yes? My Loh-rhett-ah would never accept you. If her heart is sad, my heart is sad.’’

Bright Star stopped fluttering her lashes and looked more like her old self. ‘‘Do you truly think I’m lovely, Hunter?’’

Hunter pressed his forehead against hers and looped an arm around her. ‘‘You’re beautiful. Your face makes me think of my woman who is dead.’’

Bright Star blushed. ‘‘You say those words to make my heart glad. I could never be as lovely as my sister.’’