He closed the door, and the inside of the cabin was lit only by sunlight that came through a small front window, and by a lantern Brand had lit and set in the center of the crude table. Rachael noticed he had tidied up the cabin again, and bowls were set out on the table. The slate also lay on the table, with the entire alphabet written on it. A vase full of wildflowers sat at the center of the table. This seemed such a stark contrast to Jules Webber’s ugly words of only an hour or so ago. But seeing the young Comanche boy reminded her that Brand Selby was also called Running Wolf. He had been raised among them and had an Indian name.
Brand set aside his rifle and bolted the door, turning to face her. “We can eat now, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head. “No. I had a big breakfast.” She studied him, standing there so dark, so Indian, so powerful. She realized that in full Indian dress, with paint on his face, he would look like the rest of them, in spite of the green eyes and lighter-colored hair. “Brand…”
She hesitated, and he watched the agony in her eyes. “What is it?”
“When you…lived among the Comanche…did you ever…ever torture anyone?”
She saw the anger come into the green eyes. “Someone has been telling you things.”
Her eyes teared and she turned around. “Jules Webber—a friend of Jason’s. He didn’t ride out with Jason this time. He…stopped me yesterday when I emerged from an alley. I think he suspected something, but I don’t think he really knows. He warned me not to be walking alone. Then this morning he followed me when I was walking to the school. He began…telling me about some of the ways the Comanche have of torturing people…what they do to women.” She swallowed. “Did you ever witness such things?”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a quiet sigh from Brand. “When I was an Indian, Rachael, I lived as they did. It’s part of a way of life I told you would be hard for you to accept or understand. I don’t ask you to do either one. I can only tell you I never touched a white woman myself because of my mother; and that it was a long time ago. I have lived more like a white man for many years now. If I was still Comanche, you would have been taken away and sold off to Comancheros the day I saw you at the river. Even then I saw trust in your eyes when you looked at me. And yesterday I made love to you. Did you fear me then? I felt no doubt in your heart. This Jules Webber must have told you some terrible things.”
She turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “But they were true, Brand. I just…hadn’t given much thought to it, because of you. But also because of you I wish I could understand better. Why do they do those terrible things, Brand?”
He straightened more, the Indian pride in him showing. “To them it is not terrible. It is simply their way—warfare, taking captives and looting, getting strength from torturing the brave ones. Part of defeating the enemy is to humiliate them, to show superiority, to flaunt their conquests. The white man is their greatest enemy. When they make war against the white man, they humiliate him in the worst ways possible—and that’s by stealing his children and raping and humiliating his women. They did the same thing to enemy Indian tribes and to Mexicans for centuries. It’s a way of life, Rachael—as ingrained as breathing. If you were raised in that life you would think nothing of it. And many captured whites have chosen to stay with the Comanche after awhile, like my mother did.”
Rachael stepped closer. “I remember when I was only about ten years old, a girl just about my age was captured by Comanche—Cynthia Parker. Everybody talked about the Parker massacre, how horrible it would be for those taken captive, the awful things done to those at Parker’s Fort who were killed. I remember being scared for a while that something like that would happen to me. And now, here I am, in love with a man with Comanche blood. It’s all so strange.” She searched his eyes. “Have you ever seen Cynthia Parker?”
“Once—several years ago. Most of the surviving captives had been ransomed by then. But she had married a Comanche man and had no desire to go back to her own people. She was taken by the Quohadi Comanche, who ride far north and west from here. Her husband is Peta Nawkohnee, and she is now called Naduah, meaning Keeps Warm With Us. The Comanche are her people now, Rachael. I haven’t seen her for years. The Comanche live spread out over the whole western half of Texas territory. They don’t ride in huge single tribes, and for most it is every man for himself. Peta Nawkohnee claimed the white girl Cynthia Parker, and now she is happy and even has a child, maybe more than one, I don’t know.”
She frowned. “If rape and murder are a way of life for the Comanche, then why did you think it was so terrible of Jason Brown to do what he did to that little Indian girl? It sickens me to think that he did that; but the way you were raised, it doesn’t seem like it would seem so terrible to you.”
He grasped the back of a chair. “Think how you felt when I told you. That is why it was terrible—simply because such actions are not a way of life for the average white man. For the Indian to do such things is a way of life—almost a religion. But to the white man it is unforgivable. There is the difference, Rachael—custom, a way of life. That is what makes Jason Brown bad—because he goes against the ways of his own people. For the Indian it is not evil at all. It is his way, a necessary thing; it is all that he knows. But for the white man, such acts are evil. I have listened to some of your Christian priests and missionaries. And I believe that for people to stop dying, we must live a new way. I do not kill men, Rachael, unless they need killing, unless I must defend myself. Jason Brown kills for the thrill of it, rapes for the same reason. He is no more civilized than the Comanche, perhaps less, because for the Comanche it is the way. But it is no longer my way, Rachael. I can’t stand here and explain in five minutes or five years the spirit and reasoning of the Comanche because their way of life is so totally foreign to someone like you that there are some things you could probably never accept. All I can do is tell you how I feel, and that is that I love you, more than my own life, and I have more reason than ever now to settle and be a successful rancher.”
He stepped closer, reaching out and touching her face. He half expected her to jump back. But she stood still, watching him, looking as curious as a child. “I told you yesterday that if you wanted to stop seeing me, I would understand. Perhaps it is all more than you can understand after all. But you have seen how I am trying to change my life.” He swallowed, running a thumb over her cheek. “Rachael, what Jules Webber told you is probably true. But that’s just the way things are. It is a fact of life that cannot be changed. Don’t let it destroy your love for me.”
She reached up and grasped his wrist, turning her face to kiss his palm. “Nothing could make me stop loving you,” she said softly. “I guess I’m just trying to understand my own emotions, how I came to love a man with Comanche blood.” She met his eyes again. “It isn’t that I look down on that blood, Brand. You know better by now. It’s just that I know how others feel about the Comanche; how I’m supposed to feel. But now I can only look at you as a man, not an Indian or a white man, just a man. But Jules Webber awakened me to all the hatred that is out there, and the reasons for it, and it frightened me. I promised I wouldn’t be afraid, but it’s hard to keep a promise like that.”
He moved an arm around her, and his large, warm hand pressed into the small of her back. “Then let me make it easier.” He moved his other hand from her face and around her shoulders. “You can depend on me, Rachael. I will not desert you, and I will never hurt you. I know the Comanche side of me is hard for you to accept; but this is the side you know—the side called Brand Selby. And Brand Selby loves you more than any man will love you. I have already made you my woman the Indian way; and when the way is clear, we will be married the white man’s way. You make my heart sing like the wind across the Plains, and you make my dreams soar like the eagle. I want you and only you to be my companion for life.”
She rested her head against his chest, and her breath caught in her throat as he began pulling the hairpins from the bun a
t the base of her neck. Her hair spilled down over her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t let others spoil what we have found, Rachael,” he groaned. “All I do is think of you, every waking moment, every aching hour that it takes me to go to sleep at night.”
She tilted back her head and eagerly met his lips as they pressed against her mouth. She reached around his neck, her nails digging into the skin there as a light teasing of his tongue brought out all the wonderful warmth and excited pleasure she had felt the day before. He gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed of robes, carefully laying her down.
He moved on top of her, his red shirt and red headband becoming a blur against his utterly handsome face and gentle green eyes. She was quickly lost in him. She realized he was right. They must not let his past, or the words of someone like Jules Webber come between them. She realized she was much more afraid of men like Webber and Jason Brown than she had ever been afraid of Brand Selby. How ironic it all seemed.
Their kisses grew wild and hungry. She cried out as the bare, damp skin of his chest came in contact with her taut nipples.
It was all so right. She could come up with no more arguments against loving Brand Selby. She had no choice but to face the consequences, for it brought her pain to even think about being apart from this man. Anything that happened to her because of loving him was better than being away from him.
He left her mouth and she gasped for breath, her heart pounding wildly as he worked his lips down over her neck, her creamy shoulders, moving down to taste the delicious sweetness of her breasts, lingering there to tease her, to draw forth the almost agonizing desire from the depths of her belly.
Clothes lay strewn here and there as their naked bodies lay tangled together.
He moved on top of her, gently settling between her legs. “It will hurt again, but not as much as before,” he said softly. “I love you, Rachael. I would die for you.”
The words rang in her ears as he entered her. She could only pray that loving her would not bring his death after all. She gasped at the pain, at first wanting to cry at its stinging hurt. But moments later it diminished, and this time she began to experience the breathtaking pleasure of feeling him move inside of her with much less pain. There was a rhythm to his gentle thrusts, and she began to respond to it, arching up to him in sequence.
“Rachael, Rachael,” he whispered, grasping her under the hips and pushing hard, their bodies meeting in perfect timing. Everything in the room seemed dim and blurred. She arched her head back, wanting to give and give and give, realizing she was boldly flaunting her nakedness in sheer ecstasy now, in an intense desire to give him pleasure while she took her own.
Rachael felt an exquisite climax that made her cry out. There was no pain anymore.
Brand could see she was truly enjoying him and he moved in rhythmic thrusts. He drank in her naked beauty as he held out as long as possible before his own pleasure consumed him. He spilled his life into her. Afterward, he relaxed, settling beside her and holding her close.
“Rachael, my Rachael,” he whispered. “Just love me for who I am now.”
The morning and afternoon passed much too quickly, spent talking and making love. Their bodies ached, but it was a nice ache. Their passion remained intense, and they relished every movement, every touch, every kiss, every intimate moment, knowing they must soon part.
“Oh, Brand, I don’t want to go.”
He kissed her hair. “And I don’t want to let you go. Each time I let you out of my sight I fear I will never see you again.”
“I feel the same about you.”
He raised up on one elbow and looked down at her. “Maybe I should just ride back with you right now—today. I am not afraid, Rachael.”
She reached up and touched his face. “Josh is coming back to town any day now. Let me tell him first. And in only six days there is a dance in town I’m expected to attend. Emotions are running high right now in Austin, Brand, what with statehood coming and all. This is a bad time to get people stirred up if we can help it. Wait until I tell Josh, and until this stupid dance is over with. I don’t like the waiting any more than you do, but with this dance and all the talk about statehood—people are more against the Comanche than ever. And I have a feeling that Jules Webber is spying on me.”
She raised up and hugged him around the neck. “Oh, Brand, I don’t want to be away from you. But I think I should wait until after Saturday to come back. I’ll know a lot of things by then. I’ll talk to Josh, and I’ll go to church Sunday. Josh might come for the dance, so he’ll probably stay over Saturday night. To keep everything calm I’m going to have to wait until Monday, especially since I know that Jules Webber will tell Jason I’ve been seen out walking a lot. I’ve got to try to win over Joshua first. Maybe he and I can come out together. He can meet you and get to know you better.”
He got up, reaching for his loincloth. “I don’t like you going through all of that alone.” He tied on the loincloth. “We have nothing to be ashamed of, and I am not afraid.”
“Please, Brand, let me try it my way first. Just wait ’til after the dance. That’s all I ask.”
He sighed deeply. “I am going out to get some water so you can wash.”
Her heart ached at the look of defeat on his face. This was destroying his natural pride, and she despised the ugly prejudice that prevented them from being together with everyone’s blessing. They would get curses rather than blessings, she was sure. Brand was strangely quiet when he returned. He pulled on his soft, doeskin pants, then left to let Rachael wash. Her heart weighed heavy in her chest as she dressed, and she could not shake the black dread that plagued her.
Brand returned, bringing her some water. She drank deeply of its cool refreshment, while Brand leaned against a wall and watched her.
“Monday,” he said then. “I will wait no longer to come and claim you. If we have to leave Austin to find a preacher, then we will leave. Somehow I will find a way to start over someplace else. I came here to go after Jason Brown, Rachael, and to learn and to build a new life. But now this little ranch and Jason Brown don’t matter anymore. Nothing matters but being with you.” He sighed deeply. “Monday is eight more days. I don’t know if I can go that long without seeing you. And how will I know if you are all right?”
“I’ll be right in town with Lacy. I’ll be all right.”
“What about your brother? What if he is furious when you tell him? Would he hurt you?”
“Josh?” She smiled softly. “No. He might yell a lot, but Josh would never hurt me. I love my brothers very much, Brand. I hope somehow you can be friends. You would like Josh as a person. He’s a fine man—strong and courageous, a lot like our father.” Her eyes teared. “Oh, Brand, eight days sounds like so long to me, too. I could hardly stand one night without you. But if this is found out before I can tell Josh and before the dance, it will just be all the harder. Maybe after a few days we can just go away quietly and travel until we find a priest who will marry us. If we settle in some other town as husband and wife, it will be more easily accepted.”
A sneer passed over his lips. “Accepted? When I come into Austin people look at me as though I was a walking plague. And I know how they will label you—the dirty white squaw, that’s what they’ll call you. The bastards!” He hissed the words, opening the door.
“Brand, I don’t want to leave with you feeling like this.”
He walked closer, grasping her arms, his eyes growing softer. “I can’t help the anger, Rachael. I don’t want to be away from you for so long. Maybe you will change your mind and never come back.”
“Oh, Brand, you know I won’t.” She reached around his neck and he swept her into his arms. “I will come back. And we’ll be together from then on, Brand. When I come back next Monday I’ll bring a carpetbag of clothes, and I’ll come with Joshua’s blessing. We’ll find someone to marry us, and maybe we’ll go to the Double ‘R’ first. It would be safer for us if we were all
together. You could even herd your horses over there for the time being, until the town got used to our being together and things calmed down. Then we could come back here and have our own place.” She leaned back and kissed his cheek. “Or we could go someplace entirely new—if we had to.”
“What I think is best is that we stay together right now.” He kissed her passionately, his whole body trembling.
Tears filled Rachael’s eyes. “I know, Brand,” she whispered as he moved his lips over her cheek. “But that would only make people even more outraged. And I have an obligation to my brother to at least try to make him understand before we go off together. I can’t hurt him by just running off without an explanation, Brand.”
He kissed her hair. “You white people and your ‘obligations.’ You are always finding ways to keep from being free and happy.”
She met his eyes. “Don’t be upset with me, Brand.”
A tear slipped down her cheek and he kissed it. “I am not upset with you. I am upset with your people who impose such stupid rules on you that keep you from being happy. I will give you your time, Rachael, but every day I will wait around our usual meeting place at one o’clock, like always. If you are having bad troubles, you come there and you tell me. I should be with you. And remember what I told you about Jason Brown. Stay away from him.”
“I will.”
They hugged tightly, neither of them wanting to let go.
“Remember, every day I will be there waiting. Do not hesitate to come to me.”
Reluctantly he led her outside to where Standing Horse had brought back his horse saddled and ready to go. Rachael left the books behind. Brand lifted her into the saddle and eased up behind her. “Someday we will get back to the reading and writing,” he told her, taking the reins.
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