by Bobbi Smith
With only a few stops for rest, he made it back to the Comanche camp by late afternoon of the following day. He charged through the village at a gallop and vaulted from his pony just as he halted before Chief Lone Elk's tipi. Rushing toward it, he called out for admittance. "Lone Elk! I must speak to you at once!"
At the chief's bidding, he hurried to find Lone Elk with his nephew, Lance.
"What is it, Black Water?" Lone Elk remained seated in his place of honor directly opposite the door, with Lance sitting at his right side.
"There are whites in our territory . . . " he related quickly, his breathing labored from his exertion.
"Where?" he demanded stormily.
"There are four of them, and they're riding in from the south."
"How close are they?" The chief grew solemn at the news of their coming.
"Almost a day's ride. I watched them make camp last night and then came here to let you know. They are traveling light and are well armed."
Lone Elk cast a glance at Lance, who was sitting rigidly next to him. "Did you recognize any of them?"
"No. The distance was too great."
"You have done well, Black Water. Rest for now. We will talk again later," Lone Elk dismissed him.
When the other warrior had gone, Lance spoke for the first time. "I will ride with Black Water and see who trespasses on our land."
His uncle pinned him with a sharp, black-eyed glare. "It could be those who are trying to locate the white woman."
Lance nodded slowly as the tension began to build within him. The possibility that it might be his half brother and his father coming to claim Trista left his emotions in turmoil. "Since I am the one who brought Trista here, I'll take care of it."
"You will not go alone with just Black Water. . . ."
"No. I will take several of the other braves with me," he announced as he stood, suddenly needing to get away . . . to be alone for a time to deal with the violent emotions that were besieging him.
"Black Water is much in need of rest, so plan to leave at dawn."
"I'll be ready." Lance started from the lodge.
"Lance . . . " Lone Elk called him back. "If it is Barrett who crosses our land, remind him of the pledge we exchanged all those years ago."
"I will." Lance knew of the vow Lone Elk and his father had made at his mother's insistence. Lone Elk had sworn to Shining Star that he would not attack the Royal Diamond, and his father had promised, in turn, to stay away from the Comanche lands. Both men had held to that promise all this time . . . until now.
"Are you not concerned about this encounter? What if it is Barrett?" Lone Elk challenged, wanting to know more of his thoughts.
Lance's expression was hard and cold as he started again from his uncle's home. "Barrett will not know me." Yet even as he uttered the words, a part of him, long buried, carried the faint hope that maybe his father would recognize him.
"And what about you?"
"I know him, but to me George Barrett is just another white man." With that he was gone, leaving Lone Elk alone, staring after him.
Trista had not seen Lance since he had left her the morning before. She'd convinced herself that she was glad he'd stayed away from her, for whenever he was near, she found herself caught up in a complex twist of unfathomable emotions. Still, as much as she refused to admit that she longed to see him, she found herself watching for him and wondering where he was.
It was as she was working on one of the multitude of jobs Night Lark had given her that Trista spotted Lance for the first time. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, so tall and muscular and handsome. A rush of excitement swept through her as she noticed that he was heading her way. His blue eyes were focused solely on her, and her hands went cold in nervous reaction to the intensity of his gaze. Though he wore no paint, his chiseled features were inscrutable, and Trista was at a loss to judge his reason for coming to her.
Her heart was pounding as Lance came straight toward her. She told herself that she was only reacting this way because she hated him so and because she was upset at seeing him again. But another part of her, perhaps a more honest part of her, chided her mercilessly, bringing to mind the utter joy she had experienced during their lovemaking. If you hate him, the inner voice taunted knowingly, it is because of what he makes you feel.
Trista clasped her hands together to still the trembling that had beset her, for she refused to display even the slightest weakness before him. Lifting her chin in a small, but open, gesture of continued defiance, she met his clear, blue-eyed stare without fear.
After his conversation with Lone Elk, Lance had spent long hours alone trying to come to grips with the situation. If indeed this was his father and half brother who dared to trespass upon their lands, then Trista was at the very center of his dilemma.
Lance felt that he had already gained a great amount of vengeance just by having taken her, but now he was driven to do more. He didn't know what the outcome would be if a showdown ensued with his father and the men he'd brought with him, but Lance did know that he would not give Trista up.
Trista was his now. He had taken her. He had fought for her. He had possessed her as only a man can possess a woman. Now, he resolved, he would claim her for his own before his people. He would make her his wife.
Lance saw the rebelliousness in her expression, and he prepared himself mentally to do battle with her again. He knew she was not going to like what he planned to do, but he was not going to give her a choice in the matter. Tonight she would be his.
"Come, Trista," he ordered brusquely as he stopped before the place where she knelt doing her woman's work.
Her eyes flashed in resentment at being ordered around, and she glared up at him as she got to her feet. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded in return, determined not to go along submissively.
"We go first to my tipi."
"No . . . I—" Trista didn't want to be alone with him again. She didn't want to face all the memories of what had happened between them in the privacy of his lodge.
"Do not cross me, woman! We go to my lodge!" He did not raise his voice, but his tone said it all.
Trista knew she could not keep on defying him so openly and continue to come out of it unscathed. In silent protest, she followed his lead across the camp.
Night Lark saw them go and hurried to her mother. "Did you know that Trista has gone with Lance?" she asked. She wondered why he had come for the other woman and felt great pangs of jealousy over the thought of her being alone with him.
"Lance does not confide his every move to me, daughter," She Who Speaks the Truth replied, adding teasingly, "but you may rest assured that she will not escape him."
The thought of Trista escaping from Lance greatly appealed to Night Lark and gave her food for thought as she drifted away from her mother's side. Trista might not escape while she was with Lance, but perhaps there was a way for her to get away when she returned to their tipi that night. For the first time since Night Lark had seen them together, she felt a ray of hope.
Lance entered his tipi ahead of Trista, and when she followed him inside, he pointed to a leather-wrapped bundle lying on the bed. "You will wear those garments."
Trista stared down at the mysterious package. "What is it?"
"I will await you outside," he said, refusing to answer her question.
"But, Lance . . . " When she looked up again, he had disappeared. Puzzled, she knelt on the bed and untied the thong that bound the bundle. She opened it carefully.
Trista had not quite been sure what to expect, and she gasped in surprise at the dress within. White in color, the buckskin skirt and blouse were the most gorgeous Comanche garments she had ever seen. Decorated with beads and bits of silver, they had obviously been made with painstaking expert precision. Long fringe graced the sleeves and skirt, and there was a matching pair of moccasins with it. She held it almost reverently, stroking the soft material, as she wondered at the significance of Lance demand
ing that she put it on.
"Have you finished yet?" Lance asked from outside.
"No . . . I—"
"Would you rather I came in and helped you?" he threatened.
Trista, knowing full well that he would do it, hastily tore off the clothing she'd been wearing and slipped into the beautiful garb. The garment clung softly to her rounded curves, emphasizing the beauty of her femininity. It amazed her that it fit so perfectly. It was almost as if it had been made for her, and her alone.
Lance had had enough of waiting, and he impatiently stepped back inside the lodge. "If you are not dressed by now, I will—" He stopped speaking and went completely still. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, and he stared at her as if he was entranced. The dress that had been his mother's fit Trista faultlessly, and she looked like a goddess to him.
Trista glanced up as he entered and saw the blaze of emotion that reflected in his eyes. She shivered in instinctive recognition of his desire.
Lance turned away and opened a parfleche bag that hung on the wall to take out a comb. He handed it to her and then waited and watched as she struggled to work the tangles from her thick, golden mane. His offering her the comb puzzled her, but she did not argue as she drew it with some difficulty through the snarls.
"Come. It is time," he stated when she'd combed the silken tresses into order. He longed to drag his hands through the satiny length, but knew that that would have to wait until later.
"Time for what, Lance?" Trista asked, warily.
"Chief Lone Elk is waiting," he told her in way of explanation.
Trista wasn't satisfied with his oblique answer. "Waiting for what?"
"He is waiting in his lodge to marry us," Lance stated firmly.
Chapter Fourteen
For an instant, Trista stared at Lance as if he were crazy, then she exploded in an outrage fueled by fear. She didn't want to be bound to this man. His control over her senses was far too devastating, and she couldn't risk losing her very soul to him. "Marry you?! I'm not going to marry you! Haven't you heard anything I've said? I hate you!"
"You have an interesting way of showing your hate, Trista. I need only to touch you and . . . " Lance's eyes were dark upon her, reminding her of her response to him. With an idle hand he reached out to caress her arm, and she trembled at his touch.
Trista jerked away from him. "I told you! I don't feel anything when you touch me! I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth! Keep me as your captive. Use me as you will, but I will never want you, Lance! Never!"
"Don't say things you're going to regret, Trista."
"The only regret I have is that I was foolish enough to go out riding alone that morning! If I'd waited for Michael to ride with me, I would never have ended up here . . . with you . . . " Tears of angry frustration filled her eyes.
"Even if you had been with your Michael and I had decided that I wanted you, do you think you would still be free?"
His statement paralyzed her. She had always felt safe with Michael. He seemed so strong and solid and dependable. But Lance . . . Lance was a fierce warrior. . . . Would he have been able to take her from Michael? In her heart, she knew the answer, and her knees threatened to buckle.
"Yes!" she denied. "Michael would have saved me."
Lance gave a derisive laugh. "You are wrong, Trista, and you know it. I took you, and I made you mine. After we are married, I will have all of you."
"No!"
"I will touch more than just your body when we are one. I will make you come to me and—"
"NO! I'll never go to you willingly! Michael Barrett is the only man I love. He's the man I want to marry!"
"Lone Elk waits." His declaration was stony. Tired of her foolish fight against the inevitable, Lance grabbed for her arm.
Trista danced nervously away, eluding his grasp. "He can wait forever as far as I'm concerned! You can't force me to marry you!"
His eyes glittered dangerously. "You don't think so?"
His threat was obvious as he moved closer, and she went pale. Trista felt cornered, trapped. She shook her head in vehement denial. "I don't want to marry you! I hate you! Why would you want a wife who hates the very sight of you?"
"I have my reasons," he answered enigmatically. His hand closed over her forearm like a band of steel.
"You're a fool to want a woman who doesn't want you!"
Lance had had enough of her tirade. "Shall I show you how false your words are?" Boldly, he lifted his hand to cup her breast through the soft material of the dress. He rubbed his thumb across the peak and watched in satisfaction as it hardened. "Why do you continue to fight against that which your body accepts?" he taunted. "You will marry me now, Trista."
She stood rigidly before him, trying to fight down the humiliation of her body's betrayal and wondering why Lance of all men had this power over her. "I do not want to marry you."
"The choice is yours. Come with me now or else . . . "
"Or else?" Trista gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "There could be no greater punishment for me."
A muscle flexed in his jaw. "You do not think that belonging to Striking Snake would be a worse fate?"
Trista blanched.
"The choice is yours. Which will it be?"
She trembled violently. Was there no way out of this? Was there no escape? Frantically, her mind raced, but in the end she faced her fate. She would become the wife of this warrior . . . this savage.
"I haven't heard your answer," Lance pushed her.
Only the thought that it was a Comanche ceremony and not binding by her standards gave her the strength to agree.
"I'll marry you." Trista spoke so softly that Lance wasn't sure that he'd heard her.
"I didn't hear you, Trista."
"I said I would marry you."
The interior of the chief's lodge was quiet, save for the sound of Lone Elk solemnly chanting the ritual that would join Lance and Trista in marriage. A small fire blazed brightly in the fire pit, casting dancing shadows on the tipi's walls and a golden glow on those gathered there before him.
The mood of the joining was subdued as Lance stood before his uncle, looking much the part of the magnificent warrior. Tall, broad-shouldered, his skin sun-bronzed, only his blue eyes betrayed his white heritage. His expression was inscrutable as not a flicker of emotion reflected on his features.
Trista was standing rigidly at Lance's side. She was dressed in the white buckskin skirt and blouse that had been Shining Star's, and Lone Elk had been stunned to see the white woman wearing his sister's most cherished garb. It troubled him that Lance had so honored this woman, and he worried that his nephew might truly be coming to care for her. Earlier he had argued this point with his nephew, criticizing his wisdom in marrying Trista. But, in the manner of his mother, Lance had proven impossible to convince of the error of his ways. No amount of persuasion had swayed him from his purpose. He was determined to marry the white woman before he went off to meet with the white intruders.
In one way, Lone Elk thought he could understand Lance's reasoning. By taking Trista as his wife, he had completely claimed that which had belonged to his half brother. Yet still, the thought of his beloved nephew married to a white woman rankled, and he feared that Lance was making the same mistake his mother had. Perhaps in the future, Lone Elk prayed, he would marry a maiden, too, and then relegate Trista to the position of "chore wife."
Lone Elk sang the song of the ancient ones over them, seeking a blessing upon them. He took Trista's right hand in his to complete the joining, and he was surprised when she tried to pull away.
Trista had been holding herself aloof from the ceremony, and she was startled by Lone Elk's unexpected contact. She resisted his touch for an instant. Looking up at the chief, who seemed so forbidding in his full-feathered headdress, bone breastplate, and painted face, Trista's eyes were wide and questioning.
Without meeting her gaze, the chief tightened his grip upon her, allowing her no last-minu
te escape. He took up the decorated leather thong that was used in the ceremony, and he tied it firmly about her wrist. She knew a moment of panic as she saw the symbolism in the tying of the thong and realized that she would be bound to Lance forever according to his custom. Lance stood unmoving as his uncle grasped his wrist and tied the other end of the thong to him.
"As you are one now, so you shall remain," he chanted in the Comanche tongue. "When your bodies join, so shall your souls join. You will be one in all ways."
Though she had no understanding of what he was saying, an unexpected shiver ran down her spine. She glanced quickly up at Lance, but he seemed totally impassive, as if the ceremony meant little to him. Only when the chief became silent did Lance turn to her. Her gaze met his, and she saw mirrored there in the blue depths a flare of emotion that she could not put a name to, but that singed the very essence of her being.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at Lance, and she was helplessly entrapped by his piercing, heated regard. He seemed to move almost in slow motion as he bent to her, and she found herself wrapped in his arms and crushed to his chest as his lips sought hers. His mouth moved over hers with painful familiarity. His tongue delved into the dark sweetness of her mouth and evoked fires of excitement she was at a loss to deny. The rational part of her cried out NO, but deep within the heart of her, she melted before his scorching passion.
Lance felt her begin to respond and quickly released her, stepping back and away from her intoxicating nearness. He watched her for a moment in silence as she battled with the recognition, yet the denial, of her true response, and felt filled with satisfaction. Tonight he would teach Trista the complete truth of desire. Tonight he would have all of her.
Lance did not question why it was so important to him to conquer all of her resistance. He just knew that by dawn, he wanted her to be his in all ways.
Dawn Blossom was nearly dancing with delight as she made her way to the lodge of She Who Speaks the Truth. She was smiling widely as she approached. When she caught sight of Night Lark sitting outside by the cooking fire, she hurried forth to impart the news she had just learned.
