“I’m glad he wasn’t offended because I didn’t want to sleep with him,” Summer said in a small voice.
Lance’s mouth twisted wryly. “Far from it. He admired your bravery for daring to approach him with your suggestion. And he was pleased to gain the extra horses. You impressed him, even if you are white.”
She didn’t feel impressive. All she felt was trepidation about the upcoming mission.
“Hey,” Lance said softly, “why the long face?”
“Amelia…” Her voice broke on her sister’s name and she pressed a hand to her mouth.
“She’s alive, princess. Be grateful for that.”
Her green eyes swam with tears. “I know. It’s just that… I’m afraid…”
“Fights Bear’s negotiations should work. His name commands a lot of respect among the Comanches.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
Lance’s gaze turned solemn. “I promise you, princess, I won’t return without her.”
Understanding his vow, Summer looked away. He would rescue Amelia or die trying. A hard knot of fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. Was she perhaps sending Lance to his death? Did she have a right to ask him to risk his life for her sister’s sake?
“It…could be dangerous for you.”
“Maybe. But I’m used to danger. For a half-breed, just being alive is dangerous. I quit worrying about it a long time ago. You’ll be all right while I’m gone?” he asked, changing the subject. “My grandmother will look after you.”
Summer tried to summon a smile at the thought of that witch-woman caring for her. “I’ll be fine. I…I just hope you come back safely.”
Lance grinned at her, making her realize he was relishing the challenge of the task ahead. “I intend to, princess. You’re not going to get rid of me that easy.”
The drums began shortly. A dance would be held that evening to send the warriors off on their mission, but they would leave in the dead of night, so as not to incur bad medicine.
Lance collected arms, lasso, food, clothing, and horses, then put on his paint and dressed for the occasion, wearing his finest trumpery in addition to his usual long breechclout and fringed leggings and moccasins. With the stripes of red paint streaking his cheekbones and forehead, and the necklace of bear claws adorning his bare chest, he looked so similar to the other Comanche warriors that Summer scarcely recognized him.
Just before sundown he went to join his brother. Fights Bear mounted his horse and paraded through the village to enlist volunteers to join his party. Lance rode double behind him—a distinction, Short Dress informed Summer, reserved for men who had performed the honorable act of carrying a wounded confederate out of battle danger, the Comanche way of giving public recognition for meritorious service.
The dance began after dark. The people of the village gathered around a fire to sing songs and make medicine. Only warriors leaving on the raid could dance, but they were aided by a woman partner. Wasp Lady bestowed the honor upon Lance since Summer knew nothing of the customs.
The spectators formed a circle outside the dancers and joined in the singing, some shaking gourd rattles, others shouting encouragement and chanting.
The primitive proceedings disquieted and fascinated Summer. The warriors performed when they wished to, unless they were ordered to dance by the whip wielder, who seemed to be in charge of the celebration. She watched with wide eyes as Lance joined the ritual, unable to take her eyes away from the lean, hard body leaping and gyrating to the pulsing beat of the drums. Once, after he had sat down, she caught him watching her in return, but his expression was totally unreadable.
Nearly an hour of the wild revelry had passed before one old warrior approached the drummer and announced that he wished to tell a story. When the crowd fell silent, he recited the details of a coup he had gained and took an oath that what he told was true. For Summer’s benefit, Short Dress translated in a low voice:
“Sun, Father, you saw me do it. Earth, Mother, you saw me do it. Do not permit me to live until another season if I speak falsely.”
At the conclusion, he received an enthusiastic ovation and the noise rose to a cacophony: barbarous whoops, beating drums, shaking rattles, stamping feet, and clapping hands.
Then the dancing resumed and the performance began all over again. Eventually, well into the evening, Fights Bear, who was to lead the party, rose and spoke to the crowd of the necessity of the mission and its aim, to ransom the sister of Sharp Lance’s wife. Solemnly he appealed to his followers to display their accustomed courage while on the mission, that their people might be proud of them and not consider them cowards. When the drums and singing resumed, Fights Bear silently and without ceremony left the dance.
Short Dress told Summer he would say farewell to his family and ride to an appointed meeting place outside the camp to await the warriors who would accompany him. Lance would do the same.
“Go now,” Short Dress said, giving Summer a push toward their lodge. “Return to your tepee and he will come to you. A warrior and a maiden must not be seen leaving together.”
She made her way through the darkness to the tepee she shared with Lance. His horses stood picketed outside, ready for the journey. Ducking inside the lodge, Summer stirred the coals to give herself something to do.
She had her back to Lance when he entered, but she turned slowly to face him, her hands clasped to keep them from trembling. Sometime during the long hours of celebration, she had realized that she might never see him again. The expression on his features was unfathomable in the golden light from the fire, but she could see he was searching hers intently, as if trying to divine her thoughts.
“Lance,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, then stopped in confusion, unsure how to say farewell.
He seemed to know. His eyes were hard and hungry as he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the hot, musky maleness of his skin as he lowered his head.
His kiss was deep and hard, branding her with his ownership. He tasted of longing, harshly denied, of need, unwillingly leashed. Yet she welcomed his hunger as it forced out the fear inside her.
When he hauled her closer, bending her back over his arm, she responded willingly, surrendering to his fierceness, her fingers digging into the firm, vibrant muscle of his shoulders, clinging tightly, as if they might join their bodies with sheer pressure. His crushing embrace took her breath away, and yet she wanted it, wanted him. She knew Lance felt the same way, for the physical evidence was irrefutable. He was hard against her, the ridge of his manhood pushing against her softness even through their layers of clothing. He wanted her, and the knowledge set her heart thundering.
Yet with an abrupt movement, he broke off the fierce kiss and held her away.
Breathing hard, she searched his dark, painted face. “Please, Lance…take care.”
Lance’s harsh expression softened. Even if her concern was mainly for her sister, he could pretend it was for him. “I will.”
And he would, Lance vowed silently. He would return. He wasn’t about to get himself killed. Not now, when fate had given him a chance to fulfill his dreams, to win everything he had ever wanted, to fill the empty place in his soul.
Regretfully he forced himself to release Summer, to step back. He felt the savage ache of longing as he gazed at her upturned face, beautiful in the firelight, and her wet, passion-bruised lips still trembling from his kiss.
Lance cursed under his breath. If he didn’t leave at once, he would never find the willpower. With one last look he gathered his shield and lance and left the tepee.
Summer didn’t follow him outside. She couldn’t watch him ride away, not when she might be sending him to his death.
Her throat tight with unshed tears, she buried her face in her hands, her thoughts on the man whose hard mouth she still tasted, whose rough hands she still felt on her body.
They rode fast, dismissing the hazards of the mountain
ous terrain, changing horses frequently to keep them fresh, sleeping little. For a full night and day Fights Bear’s warriors traveled. The rugged mountains eventually eased into dry rolling hills interspersed with flat valleys, which allowed them to increase their speed. It was morning of the following day when they arrived at the camp of the Kwahadi—the Antelope Eaters.
Fights Bear was received by the band leaders with pleasure and respect, for he was well-known as a mighty warrior. The visitors feasted and shared a pipe and were honored at a council meeting afterward. Lance sat beside his brother and, when the time came, allowed Fights Bear to conduct the negotiations. Amelia’s owner was present. His name was Tuhsinah, which meant Hanging from the Belt. Although a fairly young man, he had cruel features, even for a Comanche.
Fights Bear began by offering Tuhsinah thirty horses for Amelia, and then increased the number to fifty—an unheard-of price for a white captive—yet he had no more success than his emissary had. Tuhsinah refused to sell. The white captive could not have meant a great deal to him, but apparently he was intent on being stubborn. Still, no one could force him to give up a captive who had been earned honorably in a raid.
Fights Bear finally abandoned the attempt. His face showed no emotion, but Lance knew his brother was furious at being turned down. Grimly Lance forced back his own anger and bided his time. It would require more than wealth and prestige to win Amelia’s freedom. What was needed was cunning and careful planning.
The Antelope Eaters gave the visitors lodging for the night and allowed their horses to graze with their own herds. Lance placed his gear and bedroll beneath a brush arbor built by the Comanches in summer to avoid the heat of the tepees, and had a brief word with his brother.
“I mean to walk through the village and have a look around,” he said in a low voice.
“You will not attempt anything foolish, brother?”
Lance smiled grimly. “Not without discussing it with you first.”
“It would not do to attract attention to yourself.”
“Haa, I know.”
Heeding Fights Bear’s warning, Lance strolled casually through the camp, unobtrusively searching for any sign of Summer’s sister.
He didn’t expect to find her in very good shape, not after three weeks as a Comanche captive, especially the Antelope Eaters, who were known as the fiercest and most unsociable of all the Comanche bands. He knew the suffering she would have endured; his mother had experienced it firsthand.
Shortly after the raid, Amelia would have been tied to a horse or a mule and subjected to a grueling ride with no food or water, or if speed wasn’t a necessity, bound and forced to run countless miles behind a rapidly moving horse or risk being dragged to her death.
Somewhere along the trail, if pursuit was not imminent, the spoils of the raid would have been divided by the party leader, depending on the coups each warrior had earned. Amelia would have been given to one warrior, most likely the one who had abducted her.
When they finally arrived at camp, however, her real horrors would begin. The first night she would have been raped repeatedly by the warriors of the band and beaten viciously by the women, who often were more cruel than the men. Comanche women took great pleasure in burning their white victims with sticks from the fire and lashing them till the skin bled, doling out the same treatment they themselves expected to receive at the hands of an enemy. If the captive quickly learned obedience, then the punishment would lessen—unless her new master and his wives were the vindictive sort who enjoyed torture for sport.
A half hour later he spotted Amelia lugging water from the stream. His heart clenched at the pitiful sight she made. She was half-clothed, her calico shirt so shredded that her breasts were partially visible, her bare legs and feet lacking the protection of either skirt or leggings or moccasins. It was a typical Comanche method, to humiliate their captives by keeping them nearly naked. Her body was filthy, her dark brown hair lank and greasy, as she struggled with the heavy buffalo paunch. She wasn’t bound in any fashion, though. There was no need. This far from civilization, any attempt at escape would mean certain death.
Without appearing to notice her plight, Lance strode past her toward the stream, as if to drink. He didn’t dare approach her or show undue concern, yet even from a distance he could see the vivid bruises on her face and fresh burns on her thighs. She paid him no heed as they passed. She looked neither right nor left, but stared out from eyes that were dull and lifeless.
He had witnessed worse, but even though he’d never liked Amelia, it hurt him to see her suffer like this. Hold on, he urged silently, clenching his fists in helpless rage. It will be over soon, I swear.
He paid close attention to which tepee she entered, then made friends with an old warrior who sat nearby and initiated a conversation about the band’s plans for the fall buffalo hunt. Finally Lance returned to his temporary lodging to discuss the situation with his brother.
He found Fights Bear lounging beneath the brush arbor, combing his long black locks. “I cannot leave her here,” Lance said in a low voice when he had settled himself beside the Comanche war chief.
For a long moment Fights Bear remained silent. “What are your plans, Kanap-Cheetu?”
“I intend to take her back from Tuhsinah.”
His brother frowned. “It is not done to steal a possession from a member of the People.”
“The circumstances in this case are not clear. The white captive is not only a Comanche possession, but a member of my family. It is my obligation to protect my family.”
“Are you losing your manhood, brother? You do this for the white woman you call Summer.”
“I do it for myself as well as my wife. I could not live with myself if I took the coward’s way out.”
“I do not like this decision you are making.”
Lance waited, not replying.
“I cannot help you,” said Fights Bear slowly. “I will not steal from a Comanche or take sides with the whites.”
“I know, brother. I would not ask you. You have done much already, for which I thank you. You will not be involved. I want you to leave tomorrow. Take your warriors and ride away. I will accompany you for a short distance for appearance sake. Then I will return and wait for the opportunity to seize the captive woman.”
“Do you know the risks you take with this course?”
Yes, he understood. If he was caught stealing a captive, he would likely be subjected to horrible torture before being allowed to die. But despite Fights Bear’s objections and the possible consequences of failure, he had made up his mind. In addition to his own feelings of horror and pity for Amelia, he knew he could never face Summer if he abandoned her sister to such a terrible fate. Even if it meant turning his back on his own people, even if it meant burning his bridges with his Comanche family, he had to act.
“Yes, I know the risks,” Lance answered solemnly. “Yet it is what I must do.”
Chapter 13
Lightning slashed the black horizon, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. His nerves sharpened by the approaching storm and the scent of rain, Lance stealthily made his way on foot through the sleeping Comanche camp. His plan was to seize Amelia from her captor’s tepee and be long gone by the time the village awoke in the morning.
The odds of success ran against him. It was the pride of a Comanche warrior to be able to slip into an enemy camp to steal horses and women without detection, but to be able to steal from the Comanches themselves would be a feat indeed.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance, but Lance kept moving. He felt his heartbeat accelerate to a heavy thudding as he neared the silhouette of Tuhsinah’s lodge. In the darkness he could barely make out the entrance flap, which was tied securely to protect against wind and rain. Amelia would be just inside, as far away as possible from the rear of the tepee, the place of honor where the owner slept.
Ignoring the entrance, Lance crouched down and drew his knife from its scabbard. He had waited two d
ays for this chance. His hope that Amelia’s captor would leave with a hunting party hadn’t materialized, and he had decided to act now. The brewing storm had seemed an omen, as well as a practical blessing. The gusting wind would hide the sound of his approach and, hopefully, his escape, while the drenching rain would cover his tracks within moments. The storm provided an added advantage as well. Comanches, who usually feared nothing and no one, were highly superstitious of lightning and thunder, and rarely rode out in such weather. Even if his nemesis was awakened by the storm, pursuit would likely be delayed.
If, that is, he managed to spirit Amelia away.
His senses alive as those of a hunting wolf, Lance ran his knife carefully beneath the rim of the tipi, slicing the strong buffalo sinews that pinned the hide covering to the ground. Carefully then, he began digging a stake from the earth to make room for him to slip beneath the edge.
A crescendo of thunder made him swear silently. He hoped the storm would hold off just long enough for him to free Amelia. He’d left his horses and his weapons a short distance from the camp, and if he could make it there with her, they might survive.
He unearthed a second stake and then eased himself down on his back. Slowly he raised the edge of the covering and peered beneath. A faint glow from the coal file in the center of the tepee lent enough light that he could make out the sleeping figures on the ground. Tuhsinah had only one wife, and he lay with her about twelve feet away on a bed of buffalo robes. A yard to Lance’s right, Tuhsinah’s captive slept naked, curled on her side.
Seeing her position, Lance swore again. Amelia’s back was toward him, her head the farthest point away. He would have to cover much more distance before he could try to awaken her.
Slowly, inch by inch, he squeezed under the hide covering between two lodgepoles and eased inside. For several long moments he lay still, waiting for his heartbeat to slow and his breathing to quiet, keeping one eye on the sleeping Comanches. Then, with painstaking restraint, he began the arduous task of shimmying along the ground toward Amelia.
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