Comanche Woman (5 page)

She Touches First looked from Red Wing to Singing Woman. “Perhaps Shadow has decided to take away her medicine and leave Many Horses without his
puha
. If some ill has befallen them, then surely she is to blame.”

Red Wing and Singing Woman shifted their glances toward the woman who sat a short distance away, but they did not look fully upon her. Such a thing was tabu. Had not the medicine man, He Decides It, told of the danger to anyone beyond Many Horses’ family who dared to speak to her or cross her path? If they were also careful not to look upon her, was that not a way to be certain her medicine could not touch them?

“Why would Shadow deny her medicine to Many Horses?” Singing Woman asked. “He provides her shelter and food and keeps her safe from those who would take her away from her home here.”

“Perhaps she does not wish to stay here,” She Touches First suggested. “Perhaps she does not care who is harmed, so long as she is free to leave.”

“I do not wish harm to anyone.”

The sound of Shadow’s voice brought a sly smile to the face of She Touches First and gaping horror to the faces of the two older women.

“It is tabu!” Red Wing gasped.

“Go! Go! Let us leave this place!” Singing Woman cried.

Red Wing and Singing Woman were gone in an instant, leaving the two younger women alone.

“It is you who should leave this place,” She Touches First said, keeping her eyes carefully averted from Shadow. “Many Horses does not need your medicine. He was a great warrior before he ever brought you here and he will be a great warrior when you are gone.”

“Why did you frighten them? Why do you call me a threat to anyone here? Why do you say I will take Many Horses’
puha
from him? It was your own brother, the
puhakut
, who said I had powerful medicine. I tell you, I possess no special powers. How could I harm anyone?”

“I did not say you could,” She Touches First snapped. “But so long as you are in this village, Many Horses remains bound to you by the strong medicine he believes you possess. I want you gone!”

“So Many Horses will turn his eyes and his heart toward you?”

The woman called Shadow had often seen She Touches First watching Many Horses, and she had seen Many Horses watching the beautiful young sister of the
puhakut
. Yet they never acknowledged their interest in one another and rarely spoke unless necessary. The only explanation Shadow could find for the other woman’s antagonism was jealousy. This was the first time she’d voiced that suspicion aloud. Before she could say anything more, She Touches First rose, and after casting a backward glance full of disdain, left Shadow alone.

The woman called Shadow drew her knees up to her chest and circled them with her arms. She closed her eyes and laid her cheek upon the soft buckskin skirt that draped her knees.

When she’d first been captured by the Comanches, Bayleigh Falkirk Stewart had prepared herself to face the horrors of rape and torture and slavery and endure whatever was necessary to survive. She was, after all, her father’s daughter. Having been taught by her father how to make difficult decisions, she’d conceded, after considerable thought, that it would be better to live, even though battered and scarred, than to die.

The awful days after her capture when she’d been forced to flee with Tall Bear, and later when she’d ridden with Many Horses through the night, had been an agony of suffering. Thirst, hunger, humiliation, pain from an occasional blow; she’d suffered them all. But worst of all had been the overwhelming fear of what was to come. She tried not to think about it.

Rape.

She knew she was safe so long as the Comanches kept moving to escape anyone following them. It was when they finally stopped, when they made a campfire and settled down to relax, that she knew the time had come when she must endure or die. There would be no rescue.

Rape.

They’d untied her cramped legs from beneath her horse’s belly but left the too-tight bindings on her wrists. They’d dragged her over to a cypress tree near a river and dumped her on the grass. She’d been too weak to stand, too weak even to moan, and had lain there in the evening dampness willing it all to be over. They’d left her there while they ate. She could remember their laughter, and remembered wondering what could possibly be so funny.

Rape.

It was dark, so dark, and she was cold. But how could that be? It was warm. July. She shivered. She reached out for something warm. She found it, something soft and warm, and curled her body around it. Then something equally warm curved around her arched back. She was safe. Warm and safe. She would never allow herself to be violated. She would die first. She could hear the excitement in their guttural voices.

Rape!

Oh no! Please God, no! She couldn’t bear the shame, the horror of it all. Their voices were closer now, angry. And frightened? Of what? She forced herself upright, forced herself to open her eyes and confront her fears. The Comanches were pointing at her. She followed an accusing finger and stared with amazement at the wolf lying beside her. She turned and found another wolf stretched out on the other side and smiled at the sight of Ruffian and Rascal, two of Cricket’s pet wolves. They’d been with her when she’d been captured by Tall Bear and must have followed her. She gave each wolf a hug of welcome.

When the Comanches tried to come near her, the wolves bared their fangs and lunged, backing up to stand beside her again as soon as it was clear the Comanches would keep their distance. She saw a Comanche raise his bow and arrow to kill the beasts, but he was stopped by the war chief, Many Horses. They argued among themselves, but Many Horses would not let them harm her or the wolves. At last Ruffian and Rascal, hungry for food, left her side.

She’d been approached warily by the Comanches, but when they’d found they weren’t harmed by her touch, she’d been bound again and set on a pony. They hadn’t stopped again until they’d reached their village. What had happened when she reached the village . . . she couldn’t remember it without trembling. It had been awful.

But afterward she’d been left alone. All alone.

At first, being left alone had been a blessing. She’d feared the strange faces and strange customs, the strange foods and strange language. It had amazed her how quickly she’d adapted to all that strangeness. In fact, in a matter of weeks Bay was ready to make an overture of friendship to the Comanches who’d taken her from her home.

But no one would speak to her. No one would cross her path. And none of her efforts to change that situation made any difference. Many Horses’ mother-in-law, Cries at Night, had spoken to her, but only in Comanche, and only to teach her the tasks a Comanche woman must know to do her share of the work.

In the beginning, she’d thought it was the language that created the huge barrier between her and the people around her. But after she’d learned a little Comanche, it became apparent something else kept the villagers away from her.

That was when she’d learned of the tabu.

Quite simply, because of the incident with the wolves on the trail and what had happened when she’d first been brought to the village, the
puhakut
, the village medicine man, had attributed some mystical power to her. He’d told the villagers she possessed medicine that could give strength to Many Horses—or cause him catastrophic harm. No one must interfere with her medicine, lest Many Horses be vulnerable in battle. The
puhakut
had declared it tabu for anyone in the village except Many Horses and his family to speak to her or even cross her path.

As if that hadn’t been enough, Many Horses had added his fearsome curse, the
tabebekut
, as the penalty for anyone who brought the threat of harm to her, and that included speaking of her existence to those outside the village.

Bay’s protestations, when she could finally speak the Comanche tongue, that the
puhakut
must be mistaken, had fallen on deaf ears. Her mystical power had remained unquestioned, and she’d remained alone. Many Horses obviously held her in some special esteem, but that role rarely included conversation that was more than one-sided. He would speak to her, but he didn’t expect, or necessarily desire, a response. There had been no one to talk to, no one with whom to share the ache she felt at being so isolated in the midst of so many.

So Bay had begun to listen. She didn’t eavesdrop by choice, nor had she ever gotten over the feeling it was wrong. And sometimes, like now, when she was faced with jealousy and resentment and fear, she wished she hadn’t listened.

“Are you asleep,
Pia
, Mother?”

Bay opened her eyes to a pixielike face, with large black eyes, a button nose, and a sweetly curving mouth. A tiny palm cupped her cheek, and the small face angled so the two of them could easily see into one another’s eyes.

“No. I was only resting.” Bay sat up and made a lap for the little girl to crawl into.

Bay held the three-year-old child snugly to her. How she loved this child! Many Horses’ wife, Buffalo Woman, had died in childbirth and Cries at Night had literally given the squalling infant, her grandchild, to Bay. From that moment on, in Bay’s mind and heart the child had been hers. It was caring for Little Deer that had given Bay a reason for living during the lonely days when she’d begun to doubt the importance of simply surviving.

Little Deer took one of Bay’s braids and held it up to the sunlight to see the red highlights sparkle in the sun. “Why is your hair not the color of the raven’s wing?”

“The Great Spirit created each of us to be as we are. So my hair is . . .” Bay examined the braid that shone gold and red and tried to think what color she should use to describe it.

“Like the sunrise,” Little Deer offered.

“Yes,” Bay agreed, tapping Little Deer on the nose. “Perhaps you are right.”

“Will my
ap’
be coming home soon?”

“Your father will be home when he has done what he went to do. I hope it will be soon.”

“I miss him.”

“I miss him, too.”

Recently, Bay had begun to count the days, certain it couldn’t be long before Many Horses returned from his raid in the south. “The day is nearly gone, Little Deer. Help me to put away this pemmican, and we will go and have our meal. Maybe if your
ap’
smells our good cooking he will find his way home to us.”

But Many Horses did not come home, and as Bay drifted off to sleep, she wondered for the thousandth time if she was fated to spend the rest of her life among the Comanches. She knew her family must have searched for her, but she was hidden every time a stranger came to the village.

After three years of captivity, she harbored very little hope that anyone would ever find her. And she feared that the one person she wanted most to find her, Jonas Harper, wouldn’t want her back if he could see her now. Because the woman she’d become was nothing like the woman who’d exchanged vows of love with Jonas in Boston so many years ago.

It wasn’t just that her skin had tanned and freckled from exposure to the sun or that her fingers were callused from hard work or that her feet had lost their delicate arch from running barefoot so much of the time. There had been fundamental changes inside Bay that she wasn’t sure Jonas would like. Rip had taught her to rely on herself, but in comparison to her sisters, Sloan and Cricket, she’d been a sparrow among hawks.

In those long-ago days, Jonas had bolstered her meager self-confidence, had protected her from the fears of inadequacy she’d acquired growing up in a home with two outspoken sisters and an overpowering father. Jonas had been happy to find a woman who needed him, someone who depended upon him to sustain her sense of who and what she was. She’d clung to him as to a rooftop in a raging spring flood.

But she’d changed. Surviving, and then having responsibility for another human life, had given her a confidence in herself that hadn’t been there before. She wondered if Jonas would like the more self-assured Bay she’d become. She wondered if he could love such a woman enough to make her his wife.

Of course, it was silly to worry about what Jonas wanted in a wife, Bay thought, yawning hugely. She was never going to see him again. She turned over and closed her eyes and sought out Jonas in a world of dreams, where he would want her even changed as she was.

What seemed like moments later, a strong tug on the rawhide string attached to her pallet startled Bay awake. Her dream of dancing in Jonas Harper’s arms rapidly faded, leaving her disoriented. As her fingertips grazed the woolly buffalo robe beneath her, she realized she wasn’t in her soft featherbed at Three Oaks. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The walls of the tipi slanted in on her. Her nose burned with the smell of rancid meat and woodsmoke.