Comanche Woman (22 page)

He would never give her back to Jonas Harper.

Chapter 11

B
AY HAD AWAKENED NOT LONG AFTER
L
ONG
Q
UIET HAD
fallen asleep, then shifted restlessly, unable to shut out the wolf’s mournful howl, equally unable to ignore the warmth of her new husband’s body beside her. She wasn’t sure which of the two had kept her wider awake, but her red-rimmed eyes burned from peering into the darkness all night. She’d tried once to leave Long Quiet’s side, but even in his sleep he’d clung to her, his arm draped heavily across her waist and his legs, ticklish with curly black hair, intertwined with hers.

Bay had tried to focus on the wolf’s plight because she thought that when dawn came she might be able to do something to ease it. She was less optimistic about escape from the trap in which she found herself. She should have told Long Quiet sooner that she hadn’t borne Little Deer. Well, she hadn’t actually lied to him, had she?
But you didn’t tell him the truth, either
. In light of his response of outraged betrayal, Bay was sorry for that. And worried.

Her heart ached at the thought of leaving the child she’d grown to love in order to follow her husband wherever he chose to take her. And where would that be? She had no idea where he made his home. She tried to imagine a log cabin somewhere in Texas, but couldn’t picture it as well as a buffalo-hide tipi somewhere in
Comanchería
. Not that living in either place with Long Quiet would be such a horrible fate.

Last night had been a revelation. She hadn’t expected the unbelievable ecstasy. Or the renewed craving for Long Quiet’s touch that had surfaced during the night.

Bay groaned softly. What was wrong with her? How could she be thinking of the physical pleasure to be found with Long Quiet when this marriage meant she would lose her child? It was just that she’d pictured many times what it would be like to lie with Jonas Harper on her wedding night, and never had she even come close to describing the past night with Long Quiet. Nor had she known how seductive she would find the idea of making a child with Long Quiet—a child with his curly black hair and her violet eyes.

But as pleasant as she found the thought of Long Quiet’s child growing in her belly, it did not allay the fear of losing the beautiful little girl she’d already held in her arms. No matter how far away Long Quiet took her, Bay would always wonder whether Little Deer was safe and happy.

When she remembered what Long Quiet had told her about his plans, it occurred to her that perhaps she could convince him to leave her here until he’d completed his trip into Mexico. She could spend that time giving Little Deer enough love to last her a lifetime.

Bay sighed when she realized there was finally enough light to make out shapes. Soon, dawn would arrive in all its splendor. She had little time left if she hoped to search out the wolf and free it before the rest of the camp awoke, so she tried once more to free herself from her lover’s gentle bondage. She rolled a little sideways and his arm slipped away. She tugged her leg and his slid off. Amazingly, astoundingly, he turned over, and she was free.

Bay lay still for a moment, waiting to see if the change in position would wake him, but when his breathing remained steady, she slipped on her buckskin poncho and skirt and edged toward the tipi opening. It seemed to take forever, but at last she was outside.

In a few steps Bay found herself at the entrance to Many Horses’ tipi, and for a moment she was tempted to step inside and see how he’d fared through the night. But even that short delay might mean that the hunters would reach the trapped wolf before she did. There was no logical reason for what she was doing, but Bay couldn’t shake the feeling that she
must
free the wolf. She felt a kindred spirit with the animal whose mournful cry seemed so nearly to express her own pain at being trapped in a world of loneliness for the past three years.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, the wolf’s howls had ceased. Bay had only her recollection of the general direction of the sound to guide her. However, she also knew where the traps had most likely been set, and that was where she headed. She hurried anxiously through the gray predawn light, unable to escape the feeling of being followed. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing.

The stream she followed gurgled a bit, but otherwise, all about her the Earth Mother was silent. She soon found the first of the traps she sought. The metal jaws had clamped the life out of a large jackrabbit. She shuddered at the cruelty of such a death. The metal traps were evidence of how some Comanches had begun to adapt the white man’s inventions to their benefit. One of the younger braves, Comes Running, had traded a number of good buffalo robes for three metal traps. He’d been laughed at by his friends for his foolishness, but their laughter had stopped when they’d seen how effectively the
tabeboh
traps worked.

Bay passed the rabbit by with no more than a glance, her walk almost a jog as the sun began to peer over the flat horizon like a lazy eyeball opening on a new day. She was moving so fast she almost stepped into the second trap, which hadn’t yet been sprung. She gasped, then gulped back the bile in her throat. Her breath came harder with the pace she’d set for herself.

The feeling of being followed was even stronger now, and she stopped long enough to turn in a full circle. Nothing moved, but the birds had begun to chirp in the low bushes along the stream and a few bees had already begun their day’s labors in the ironwood and blue sage blossoms coaxed open by the early morning light.

Knowing there were only three metal traps and that a willow snare wouldn’t have held the wolf captive for long, Bay felt certain that if she could only find the third trap, she’d find the wolf.

She almost stepped on the gray mound before she realized what it was. Bay had come from downwind, giving the wolf no warning. The animal lay on its stomach, one bleeding paw caught in the trap’s cruel metal jaws. She knew the instant its golden eyes caught sight of her, for the wolf rose up on three legs in a menacing crouch, ears flattened and vicious fangs bared. Its hackles, which stood in silver spikes, increased the already huge appearance of the animal. A low, pulsing rumble began in the wolf’s chest.

“Easy there,” Bay soothed as she moved closer. “Easy.” She hadn’t thought how she was going to free the animal, and she realized now there was little chance the wolf was going to allow her close enough to help it. As she closed in, the animal began to back away until it had reached the length of its clanking metal tether. She watched as the wolf jerked on the limb caught in the trap, further tearing the lacerated skin. Bay stopped, sure the wolf would yank its paw off before it let her get any closer. She stepped back a pace or two to give the wolf the distance it needed to be able to release the awful tension on the paw held by the trap.

With her attention focused on the wolf, Bay had forgotten the feeling that she was being watched. It returned now so strongly that she whirled, crouching, and brought up an arm to protect her head from whatever threatened. She huffed out the breath of air she’d been holding when she discerned it was only Comes Running, who owned the traps, and his two best friends.

Bay realized she could hardly confess she’d planned to release the prey from Comes Running’s trap. She dropped her chin to her chest to think, but was drawn from her reverie when she heard the three braves arguing among themselves. Unfortunately, they were huddled together and speaking in whispers, so she could only make out snatches of their conversation.

“If it is true . . . let the wolf . . .”

“. . . that would prove . . .”

“. . . the
puhakut
. . . no time.”

“. . . let us do it now.”

Bay wasn’t sure exactly when it occurred to her the three men meant to harm her. They weren’t even armed, except for a skinning knife Comes Running carried. But when they lined up three abreast and began to walk toward her, she backed away from the menace in their copper-hued, hawk-like faces.

Behind her the crouching wolf growled again, a rumbling deep in its chest.

Bay stopped in her tracks.

The Comanches kept coming.

Bay glanced over her shoulder at the wolf and saw that the margin of safety between her and its sharp fangs was slight. She tried stepping to the side to escape the wolf’s path, but the Comanches spread the distance between them, cutting off her escape. She opened her mouth to warn that Many Horses would take them to task if they dared to harm a hair on her head, only to realize that he no longer stood between her and the superstitious villagers. Yet she still had a protector. Perhaps . . .

“My husband, Long Quiet, will be looking for me soon.”

The three young men looked from one to another in some confusion. They whispered among themselves again, and this time, because they were closer, she could hear their conversation.

“Do you think Long Quiet will seek us out to answer for this?”

“How will he know whom to seek? We will act as surprised as the rest of the village when Shadow’s fate is known. Besides,
we
will not do anything. The wolf will make an end to her.”

“He will never think to look for us.”

Bay realized they’d salved whatever fears they had of retribution from Long Quiet. She thought of screaming for help, but realized that even if she did, no one could come in time.

Comes Running stooped and picked up a fair-sized rock. The others followed suit.

“This is crazy,” Bay muttered.

Comes Running threw his rock at Bay’s foot, and she leaped backward to avoid it. Another rock came from the other direction and hit her on the ankle. When she jerked back from the pain, she was another step closer to the wolf.

Bay let a few of the stones hit her, but they were gradually being thrown harder and higher. It was only a matter of time before one was bound to hit her on the head and knock her unconscious. Inexorably, the pelting forced her backward. Bay’s mind raced for a way to escape. The Comanches blocked her route in one direction, and the wolf in the other. Bay cried out as a particularly large stone hit her on the shoulder. Her body wrenched backward, and she turned sideways to provide less of a target.

“Have you forgotten the
puhakut
’s warning?” she demanded. “Have you forgotten Many Horses’ curse? I am as I was, though Long Quiet’s wife now. He will surely add his revenge to that of Many Horses and you will be doubly cursed for what you do here.”

The thought that perhaps Many Horses’ curse might yet have some significance held the three men momentarily motionless.

Bay gave a sigh of relief. As she stepped forward, she slipped on one of the stones that had been thrown at her. Bay waved her arms frantically, trying to catch her balance, trying to change the direction of her fall. She toppled like a wounded doe, her head landing inches from the wolf’s snarling fangs.

Long Quiet had allowed Bay to escape his embrace because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her. After all his careful plans, after all his good intentions, he’d taken her in anger and by force. But she should have told him the truth about the child.

He felt the beginning of a smile. He knew it was absurd, but as shocked as he’d been to find her untouched, it had also pleased him to know no other man had possessed her, not even her beloved Jonas. And now that she was his, love would come. He was willing to be patient. As his grandfather had taught him, a bee that waits for the blossom to open can then sip its nectar.

The sun had fully risen by the time he’d dressed. He set out for Many Horses’ tipi, expecting to find Shadow there. As he stepped inside, his nostrils caught the acrid smell of a burning feather. His eyes scanned the occupants of the tipi as he looked for his wife. Cries at Night sat next to the tipi entrance, needlework in hand, her arthritic fingers slowly setting beads on a buckskin shirt. Little Deer slept on a nearby pallet. She Touches First knelt beside an unconscious Many Horses, her hands clenched helplessly in her lap. The
puhakut
sat cross-legged beside the fire, where a kettle had been filled with water and was near to boiling. The
puhakut
threw a handful of herbs into the pot while he chanted a guttural incantation.