Again Rachael made her way through the thick stand of trees made up of mostly elm and pine that hid her until most of Austin was out of sight. She moved quickly over the hard ground to just past the one point where someone might see her. Soon the high hill covered with buffalo grass that separated her from town was high enough so that the town was out of sight.
She slowed her walk, not wanting to get hot and sweaty again. It was almost an effort not to hurry, for deep inside she was actually anxious to see Brand Selby again.
She had had a lot of time to sit and think over the past three days. Lacy had been kind enough not to preach at her the whole time. Rachael had felt better ever since telling her what she was doing. At least she had that much off her conscience. But there was still Joshua to think about. She told herself there was really not much to tell him. She had decided any feelings that went beyond her teaching relationship with Mr. Brand Selby were ridiculous and she would get over them. The best way to get over them was to face the man again. No matter how she felt, she could not bring herself to refuse teaching him.
She followed the same path as before, this time feeling no fear. She wore a checked dress of light and dark blue, with a slightly scooped neckline trimmed with lace. This time she carried a parasol, which she opened now against the sun. She looked all around but saw nothing. As she walked to the rock where she had waited before, the thought passed her mind that maybe it would be Brand Selby who would change his mind. But surely if he did he would come this time and watch over her. He would never let her come out here alone. She dispelled the thought, several minutes later reaching the rock and sitting down to wait.
She told herself this time it would be easier. Now she knew Brand, trusted him. She wasn’t afraid of her surroundings anymore, and she had told Lacy about what she was doing. That made it all easier; and it seemed since telling Lacy that it was easier to deal with the feelings Brand had stirred in her. She was more sure than ever that those feelings were out of silly curiosity and the fact that she had never known anyone like him before. He was a figure of mystery and she had allowed that mystery to overwhelm her better sense. Three days away from the man had helped her see things more clearly. This time it would be easier to look at him as a student and perhaps a friend, but nothing more.
Again there came the silence. There was not a sound, not a bird, not even a breeze. It was easy to see why people from the East thought this land desolate. In the midst of the trees she had heard a wind gently humming through the pine, as well as the calls of a few birds. But here, only several hundred feet from the small cluster of trees, it seemed to Rachael that the wind had stopped, and all life had stopped, too. In this land life seemed clustered in bunches, a little town here and there, where people moved and talked and there was some form of civilization; and surrounding those spots of life was nothingness.
She hoped Joshua and Luke and Matthew were all right. She was getting worried since she had not heard from them, and now Jason was gone and unable to check on them. She owed the man a thank you for that much at least, but she almost wished that she didn’t. She didn’t want to owe him anything. And she decided that this time she was going to ask Brand what he knew about Jason Brown.
It was then she heard the call that sounded like some kind of bird or wild animal. It came from a gully to her right. She looked in that direction and saw nothing. Her heart quickened. Was it Comanche? She heard what sounded like a reply signal to her left, where another hill rose, dotted with huge boulders. Intuition told her it was not animals. It had been too silent. And animals were not very active in these parts in the middle of the day. Was she being watched?
She told herself to remain calm. Brand had promised he would be here, promised she would be in no danger. Was she a fool after all to trust him? In the next moment her pounding heart eased when she heard a horse coming. She stood up, watching the distant horizon, where the ground rose and fell to such depths that a man could not be seen when at a low point. He appeared then, coming closer, a big man on a big horse. He wore buckskins, and the horse was the same one as before. It was Brand.
Chapter Eight
The moment she set eyes on Brand, Rachael realized with an almost sinking heart that this surely must be the special feeling her mother had always told her about; that excited, wonderful but almost frightening feeling, as though fate were in total control of her life. She felt as though she was in the Garden of Eden, and Brand Selby was the forbidden fruit. Were these feelings sinful? Or was it something beautiful and right? Either way, she had no right experiencing them, for they could lead nowhere. She didn’t even know if Brand shared them. But then there was something in those soft green eyes as they moved over her.
“Would you be offended if I told you you look especially beautiful today?” he asked.
She felt a warmth in her cheeks. “No. No woman minds hearing that.” She wondered where she had found her voice, for she was all but stunned by the way he looked. His dark brown hair hung in one braid, beautiful beads wound into it and a beaded leather hair ornament tied at its base close to his head. He wore only a vest today, rather than the long-sleeved buckskin shirt. The vest was beaded with incredible intricacy, in beautiful colors, and its sleeveless design gave full view to his arms—hard, powerful, dark. He wore a bone and shell necklace around his throat, and a longer necklace of turquoise and silver hung over his chest, part of which was exposed where his vest hung open. His buckskin pants were beaded in a stripe down each side of the legs, and his moccasins were also beaded. Copper arm bands decorated his powerful biceps, and when his horse shifted nervously, little bells tied into the fringes of his buckskin pants tinkled. Rachael wondered if a more perfect specimen of man existed.
He was dismounting. “I am glad you came again,” he was saying. “I was afraid you would change your mind.”
She hugged her books close. “I was afraid of the same thing.”
He smiled softly. “If I had, I would not have let you come out here alone. I would have come to tell you. But as it is, I have come to take you back to the cabin again, if you are still willing.”
“Yes. You see I have my books.”
He nodded. Their eyes held for a moment. He reached out to take the parasol from her hand, his fingers lightly touching her own. As the wonderful warmth ripped through her insides again, she tore her eyes from his and turned to pet his horse’s neck.
“I heard sounds,” she told him, “like animals calling. But I don’t think it was animals. Was it Comanche?”
“It was,” he answered matter-of-factly, closing her parasol and sticking it into a parfleche that hung on his gear. “This umbrella thing—it was a good idea. One with such fair skin should not get too much of this Texas sun.”
She looked at the contrast of their skin. His was dark, with a shining look to it. “I don’t suppose the Texas sun does you much harm.”
He laughed lightly then. “Not much.” He turned to see her gazing around in different directions. “You are worried about the Comanche?”
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “A little.”
“I told you not to be. I thought you trusted me.”
She turned and looked at him again. “I do. It’s just…I mean, what if there were perhaps twenty of them? You could never fight them all off.”
He grinned broadly then, a handsome, provocative smile that made her legs feel weak. “You might be surprised,” he told her. He grabbed her about the waist and lifted her easily. “I am a great warrior,” he told her, deliberately making his voice more gruff. He laughed again. “But you are right. That might be a few too many. Still, it is as I told you the first time. They think you are my woman.”
He eased up behind her, feeling his own near painful desires as he settled in against her.
I wouldn’t mind being your woman, she felt like saying as a strong arm came around her again.
I would love for you to be my woman, he was thinking. I want to smell your hair, taste your lips,
feel your naked breasts against my skin, move inside your body and be one with you. But one so beautiful and so fair is forbidden to one such as I.
“You will be proud of me,” he said aloud. “I know all my letters in longhand.”
“Already? I can see this is going to be an easy task for me.”
He turned his horse, and Rachael gasped as four Comanche men suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. She cringed back against Brand’s chest. His arm tightened reassuringly around her and he rode slowly forward to meet them.
Rachael felt as though the blood were suddenly drained from her body. She wondered if any animal could look wilder than the men who watched her this moment. Their faces were painted, their bodies naked except for loincloths. Their torsos were also painted and bedecked with necklaces. Their hair was jet black, blowing free in the wind and decorated with feathers and beads. One of them wore bells tied into the tops of his moccasins that were bigger and tinkled louder than Brand’s. Their eyes were dark and menacing, and their skin even darker than Brand’s. Three of them were young, and quite handsome. The fourth was much older and carried a fierce, threatening look about him.
It was the older one who rode close, his eyes boring into Rachael’s, then moving slowly to meet Brand’s eyes. He spat something out in the Comanche tongue, apparently referring to Rachael. Brand answered the man with equal authority. The Comanche man sniffed, looking her over again. Then a slow grin moved across his oiled lips, and his smile revealed bad teeth. He said something more in the Comanche tongue, then reached out to touch Rachael’s golden hair.
A quick, powerful hand grabbed the older man’s wrist. Brand squeezed, saying something more in a growling voice. He squeezed until the old man’s hand started to shake violently, then he shoved hard, nearly knocking the Comanche man from his horse. The Comanche man took a moment to reposition himself on the back of his horse, while the three younger men snickered. The older man glared at Brand a moment longer, then tossed his head, and turned his horse to ride off. The other three Comanche said something to Brand in a friendlier fashion. Brand replied, and they rode off with the older man.
Rachael closed her eyes, hugging her books tighter and still cringing against Brand. “What was that all about?”
Brand sighed, watching them ride off. “The old man was Rotten Mouth. He is one of the stubborn ones. He thought he could convince me of your value to the Comancheros, rather than keeping you for myself.”
“Comancheros! Surely you don’t deal with them, Brand!”
“No. And I have advised Rotten Mouth and others who do that it’s a bad thing for them. Dealing with outlaws won’t help their cause. It will only make things harder for them once they are all on reservations, and force them to be starving fugitives when not on the reservation. At any rate, you don’t have to be afraid of them. It is as I told you. They think you belong to me. Rotten Mouth just thought he could convince me to do other things with you—let them trade you for guns and food.”
Rachael shivered at the thought of being at the hands of someone like Rotten Mouth. She felt Brand’s arm tighten again, as though he read her thoughts. “You’re safe as long as they think you belong to me,” he told her, his voice gentle now. He rode at a gentle lope toward his ranch.
“I’ve heard about Comancheros—the horrible things they do.”
“Some of them are worse than the worst renegade Comanche,” Brand answered. “They keep the Comanche at war and hurt all efforts at any kind of peace. They convince them to raid settlements, steal everything in sight, including women. Then the Comancheros trade guns and ammunition to the Comanche in return for the stolen goods, then sell everything down in Mexico, including the women, for pure gold. They get rich, and all the Comanche get is deeper in trouble, making themselves more and more hated. I have tried to make them understand that, but to those who are determined to continue the fight to keep their land, new rifles and the ammunition to use them are a treasure. But I know where it will end eventually. That is why I do what I am doing. If I can get established, learn to do business and communicate the white man’s way, there might be something I can do to help the Comanche. What the outlaws do only hurts them, but I can’t make some of them see that.”
“Jason Brown says the outlaws out here are as much a problem as the Indians.” She felt his mood change at the words.
“Jason Brown,” he muttered. “He is no better than the outlaws he chases after. You should not be friends with Jason Brown. He has a bad heart.”
Rachael frowned. She had not even meant to bring up Jason. “A bad heart?” she asked curiously.
“Bad. Evil, you know? We call it a bad heart. You should not be around him at all.”
She felt her curiosity growing. Now that she had brought it up, she might as well find out what this man knew about Jason. “Why don’t you like him, Brand? What do you know about him?”
“It is not my place to say. Let’s just say he’s no good.”
They rode on silently for a few minutes. Finally the little ranch house came into view.
“I wish you would tell me, Brand,” she pressed. “The man thinks he’s in love with me. He wants to marry me. I’m supposed to be considering his offer while he’s gone and give him an answer when he returns.”
He slowed his horse, then stopped the animal completely. “Don’t marry him,” he said then, surprising her by the urgency in his voice. “I know it is not my place to tell you such things. I have no business telling you what to do with your life. But in this case I cannot help saying it. Don’t marry Jason Brown, Rachael. You are too good-hearted for him. He would not appreciate a good woman. He would be cruel to you.”
He got his horse into motion again. Rachael said nothing until they reached the cabin and Brand dismounted, tying the horse. He reached up for her and she held his eyes.
“You can’t leave it like that, Brand. You have to tell me what you know about Jason. Then I can decide for myself.”
His big hands closed around her waist and he lifted her down, slowly, holding her eyes as he put her on her feet, wanting to grab her close, tell her it was Brand Selby to whom she should belong. He would be kind to her, gentle with her; he would appreciate all the beautiful things about her. He would all but worship her golden beauty, her sky blue eyes.
“There are certain things I am pledged not to tell.”
“Is that why Jason is afraid of you? Are there things you know about him he knows could ruin him?”
He took his hands from her waist. “You are a very wise woman.” He took her arm and led her through the door of the cabin. “What you say is partly true. Jason also knows he could never take me, in a fight or with a gun. He would like to, but he knows better than to try.”
Rachael could feel the hatred in the air and almost wished she had never brought up the subject at all. Brand pulled out a chair for her. “Are you thirsty?”
“A little.”
He went and got the ladle and a tin cup again, going outside to the well. Rachael noticed a beautiful carving sitting on the table. It was a wolf. She picked it up and carefully studied it. The carving was amazingly intricate, with tiny lines dug in to create the look of fur. The face was true, the lines of the body near perfect. When Brand came back inside he hesitated at the doorway.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful. Surely you didn’t make this yourself.”
He smiled almost shyly. “I did. I like to make things from wood. But I don’t have much time for it.” He came closer and set the water in front of her. “I sat up late at night carving that one special—for you. I’m glad you like it. I will do a horse for you next.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she continued to finger and study the carving. “Oh, Brand, you didn’t need to do that. But I truly appreciate it. It’s absolutely beautiful!”
He sat down in a chair just around the corner of the table from her. “I carved a wolf first because the wolf spirit is a part of me.
The wolf spirit gives me power, makes me wise and quick.”
She carefully set down the carving. “You told me last time I was here that you carry the wolf’s paws in your medicine bag. What is a medicine bag? Is it something religious?”
He studied her inquisitive blue eyes. “A medicine bag is something all Indian men carry close, filled with things that bring them luck, or give them power.” He was sober now, his green eyes holding her blue ones. He felt a need to try to make her understand the side of him that was so different from her world. “It is the way. To be one with the animal spirits, the land, is to be wise and powerful. Every man must find his spirit within himself, and find the animal spirit that will guide him through life. Mine is the wolf.”
She saw the sincerity in his eyes, wondering at the power the spirit world played in an Indian’s life. Her own father had tried to teach her some of that same spirit, had taught her about the Cherokee. But she had never really lived among them, and she had been brought up a Christian. Her parents had both taught her that there was really very little difference between Christianity and the way Indians worshiped, but it had always seemed the Comanche were different.
“Is anyone else allowed to see your medicine bag?” she asked Brand.
Their eyes continued to hold. “No. It is sacred.”
She looked around the room. “Where is it? Where do you keep it?”
The faint smile began to move over his lips. “It is small. A man wears it on his person, at the place most sacred to him, the place that makes him a man.”
She frowned for a moment, then began to redden deeply. “Oh!” She looked away, picking up the tin cup of water and eagerly drinking, hoping the swallows would help dispel her total embarrassment.
“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” he told her. Her innocence brought even more painful desires to his being. “You asked me. You are teaching me white man’s ways. So I teach you Indian ways. There are some beautiful things about Indian life, Rachael. The Indian is not inhibited by all the rules and stiff clothing and social niceties of the whites. You people strangle your spirit, keep it locked away. You do not know your inner power. You only know the power of weapons, numbers, money, rules, but not the power within yourselves. I think you must have a very beautiful spirit. I would think your kindred animal would be a bluebird—light, beautiful, happy, free…”
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 49
