Comanche Moon

by Catherine Anderson

  Hog rode up, reining in his pinto so sharply that the horse pranced in a half-circle. ‘‘So we go to fight, do we?’’

  ‘‘I go.’’

  ‘‘Then we go with you.’’ Hog fastened his gaze on the huddled shape under the mesquite bush for a moment. ‘‘You’d do the same.’’

  Hunter mounted up. ‘‘You’re certain you want to go? I’ll understand if you stay.’’

  ‘‘I am with you. Do you plan to leave any of them alive?’’

  ‘‘This Comanche will show them the same mercy they showed her.’’ Hunter’s lips thinned. ‘‘None at all.’’

  Amy was still sleeping when Hunter returned three hours later with Santos’s bloody scalp dangling from his stallion’s bridle. Her honor had been reclaimed . . . with a vengeance.

  Chapter 17

  FIRELIGHT DANCED INSIDE THE TEPEE, casting golden swaths across the room. Loretta sat in the shadows, quietly plaiting her hair, the satchel open beside her. When she finished her hair, she pressed her back against the leather wall, her gaze fixed on the group of Indians who sat cross-legged near the fire, engaged in some sort of dice game. Their playing board was a piece of soft hide with squares painted on it. Each person had a pebble assigned to him, its surface painted a different color from those of the other players.

  Loretta couldn’t concentrate on the game long enough to figure out its rules. She had eyes only for Red Buffalo. He had joined Warrior’s family for the evening and was displaying a jovial, gentle side that Loretta could not believe. Pony Girl, Warrior’s two-year-old orphaned niece, climbed all over Red Buffalo, using his braids for handholds, squeezing his neck from behind until his face turned red, tickling him when he ignored her to concentrate on the game. The warrior put up with her antics, his hands always gentle when he disengaged his hair from her clutches. Loretta could scarcely believe her eyes.

  When Maiden of the Tall Grass picked up the dice, Red Buffalo said something to her, and she gave an outraged squeal, elbowing him in the ribs. Red Buffalo laughed and grabbed her braids, looping them into a knot beneath her chin. She rolled her beautiful eyes and shook the dice, tossing them with a flourish. Red Buffalo leaned forward to see what she had thrown, then groaned and thumped his brow with the heel of his hand. Warrior threw back his head and roared with laughter. Turtle, who at the advanced age of five had been allowed to play, began to pout.

  The game was over, and Maiden of the Tall Grass had clearly trounced the men. She unlooped her braids and swept them over her shoulders, a smug expression on her face. The gesture reminded Loretta of Amy, but then, these days, everything did. As she watched this family interact, the only differences she could detect between them and white people were their dress and language. Indeed, they seemed happier and more content.

  Red Buffalo glanced up. When his gaze collided with Loretta’s, his smile died. He looked down at her satchel, his attention caught by the diamond comb twinkling in the firelight. He stared a moment, then averted his face, but not before she saw the hatred he harbored for her. Loretta closed the satchel, determined to ignore him. Hunter would be back with Amy soon.

  Maiden’s distorted shadow danced upon the walls as she rose from the circle and rummaged in her cooking utensils. Returning to the fire, she suspended a large kettle on the spit over the low flames. Turtle followed on her heels, his face alight with anticipation. After tossing in a dollop of grease, the Indian woman poured something from a parfleche into the kettle and clamped on the lid. Within minutes Loretta heard a peculiar popping noise.

  Popcorn. Amy’s favorite. The memories hurt— sitting at the table, lips smeared with melted butter, the sound of laughter like music in the air. Loretta averted her face and blinked away a rush of tears. No wonder Turtle was excited. Didn’t all children love popcorn? Soon, the smell drifted to her. If only Amy were here with them.

  Warrior beckoned to her. ‘‘Loh-rhett-ah, you come, eh?’’

  Loretta glanced uneasily at Red Buffalo. To her surprise, he moved closer to Maiden of the Tall Grass to make room for her. Blackbird dashed across the room and seized Loretta’s hand.

  ‘‘Keemah!’’ she cried.

  Loretta rose and let the child lead her to the circle. She shot a glance at Red Buffalo. He caught the look and smiled. She had the uneasy feeling he did so only for the benefit of Warrior and Maiden of the Tall Grass, and that he had a motive for this sudden turnabout. Oh, God. Did he hope that Warrior might leave him alone with her?

  ‘‘This Comanche will not eat you,’’ he said. ‘‘Be easy.’’

  Not sure what to make of his mood, Loretta arranged her skirt around her and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. With Warrior sitting so close, she felt fairly safe. These last five days he had proven himself to be an even-tempered and kind man. Maiden of the Tall Grass, in her sweet, quiet way, ruled the roost. Loretta felt confident no one would harm her with Warrior close at hand.

  After the corn finished popping, Maiden removed the kettle from over the flames and set it in the center of their circle. When she whisked away the lid, the smell itself was almost good enough to eat. Once everyone else had helped themselves, Loretta shyly scooped a small handful, trying not to think about Amy and failing miserably. Red Buffalo snorted and dipped his hands into the fluffed kernels, his palms forming a sizable bowl. The next instant he dumped the mountain of corn onto Loretta’s skirt where it stretched across her lap.

  ‘‘Oh, my! I—’’ Loretta was about to say she couldn’t possibly eat so much. She swallowed the words and forced a smile. These people didn’t know Amy. She couldn’t expect them to understand her somber mood—or even to care. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  Blackbird snitched a piece of popcorn from Loretta’s mound, and everyone laughed. Not to be outdone, Pony Girl, always on the move, toddled over and helped herself as well.

  ‘‘You see? It is good you have so much,’’ Red Buffalo said.

  His voice sounded so kind that Loretta looked up. With his face so horribly scarred, it was difficult to read his expressions. Was the glint in his eyes simply a reflection of the firelight? A tingle of unease ran up her spine. She glanced away. No matter how nicely he behaved toward her, she would never trust him.

  Swift Antelope poked his head around the door flap and called Turtle’s name. When he smelled the popcorn he came toward them, his handsome face wreathed in a grin. Loretta leaned sideways when he reached for a handful of the rare treat. Though Hunter had assured her that Swift Antelope’s strong arm was hers, Loretta hadn’t seen enough of the youth during her stay with Maiden of the Tall Grass to feel at ease around him.

  Swift Antelope looked more Mexican than Comanche, and Loretta wondered if perhaps he wasn’t of mixed blood, like Hunter. His features were almost too perfect for a man, a straight, regal nose, large liquid brown eyes, and finely drawn lips that formed a perfect bow. Not that his bloodlines mattered. Whatever his origins, he was an accepted and well-liked member of the village. She guessed him to be fifteen, maybe sixteen, but he carried himself like a man, his musculature well defined, his stance prideful. She suspected he could be as brutal as any in battle.

  Stealing another helping of popcorn, Swift Antelope said something to Turtle and winked. Without asking permission from his parents, Warrior’s small son leaped up and followed the older boy from the lodge. Loretta gazed after them, wondering where they were going so late in the evening. Warrior and Maiden of the Tall Grass seemed unconcerned. Loretta was learning that Comanche children were given a far freer rein than white, coming and going at will. She had yet to see one of them punished or even so much as scolded.

  Blackbird stole Turtle’s place beside her father, cuddling up to his side and cooing. Warrior grinned and shoved some popcorn in her mouth. She gobbled at him like a turkey, nibbling at his fingers. Pony Girl, always in competition with the older girl for attention, squealed and dashed in their direction. As she scurried around behind Loretta, she tripped.

  Red Buffalo lunged t
o catch the child, but not in time. She toppled and landed on her back in the fire. Her screams pierced the air.

  ‘‘Oh, my God!’’ Legs tangled in her skirts, Loretta couldn’t move quickly enough.

  Warrior fought to disengage himself from his daughter. Maiden, scrambling to her feet, was on the far side of the circle. Red Buffalo was closest and swiftest. He snatched the little girl from the flames, took one look at her burns, and whirled toward the lodge door, holding her up before him as he ran. Loretta, unable to understand what he shouted, could only wonder where he was taking her.

  Warrior and Maiden of the Tall Grass ran after Red Buffalo, Blackbird a streak of motion behind them. By the time Loretta got her skirts jerked free and could rise, she was alone inside the lodge, the sounds of Pony Girl’s screams drifting back to her, growing fainter. She couldn’t follow them. She was an outsider. Trembling, she gazed at the fire. Poor Pony Girl. Guilt washed over Loretta and she gave her cumbersome skirts a disgusted swat, remembering how gently Hunter had touched the child, how his eyes had warmed when he looked at her.

  Popcorn littered the ground at Loretta’s feet. Still shaking from fear and concern, she crouched to pick up the mess and tossed it onto the fire. By the time she finished, several minutes had passed.

  This was the first time she had been left alone in the village. Those first three days, Hunter had hovered over her, and these last five, Maiden of the Tall Grass had been with her. Loretta sank to her knees, staring into the flames, senses tuned to the noise outside. Other villagers who had heard Pony Girl’s screams were talking back and forth, their voices sharp with concern.

  Loretta closed her eyes. She prayed the child was all right.

  The door flap rustled as someone came inside. Loretta couldn’t bring herself to look up. Had someone realized she was alone? Were they coming to torment her? To kill her?

  ‘‘Warrior and Maiden will return soon. They must cool the fire from Pony Girl’s burn—in the river. When it is finished, they will take her to Herb Woman for healing salve. Warrior sent me back to guard you. Swift Antelope is off in the night with Turtle.’’

  Loretta threw up her head to find Red Buffalo striding toward her, his leggings and moccasins dripping wet. She could picture him dashing into the river with Pony Girl, his hands gentle, his voice soothing. Her throat tightened. It unnerved her that she was seeing him, not as a one-dimensional villain, but as a man who loved and was loved in return. A man with two faces, one human, one monstrous.

  He squatted on the other side of the fire, his gaze trailing slowly over her. A mocking smile tugged at his mouth. ‘‘Have no fear. No need, eh?’’

  Loretta bunched her skirt in her fist. ‘‘I thought you hated me. Why this sudden change?’’

  His smile widened. ‘‘No change. My hate burns’’— he nodded toward the firepit—‘‘like the flames. My heart is glad, yes? You are my cousin’s woman. It was your bargain with him. In trade for your sister?’’ He lifted an eyebrow, watching her like a cruel little boy who had tossed a bug into a hot skillet. She had the uneasy feeling that he was glad of this moment alone with her, that he had been waiting, like a cat watching a mouse, to pounce. ‘‘The song will soon be finished.’’

  A kernel of the corn that Loretta had tossed onto the fire chose that moment to pop. The sudden noise made her start. Red Buffalo’s disfigured mouth twisted.

  Dread mounted within Loretta. She knew that was his intent, to unnerve her. Why allow him to bait her? ‘‘You’re referring to Hunter’s song, I take it?’’

  Red Buffalo looked surprised. ‘‘He has said the words to you?’’

  ‘‘No. What are the words?’’

  His eyes gleamed, and this time she knew it had nothing to do with the firelight but was evil shining out of him. ‘‘You will learn the words—very soon.’’ His expression turned smug. ‘‘When my cousin returns. You are sure enough not smart, Yellow Hair. But that is good, the song must come to pass.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  He shrugged off her question.

  ‘‘Tell me,’’ she insisted.

  ‘‘You will see.’’ He smiled, as if amused by a private joke. He gazed into the fire for several seconds. ‘‘Did he not show you how to walk back to him in his footsteps when he took you home to your wooden walls? Did he not mark your ground, so all who passed would know his woman lived there?’’

  ‘‘Yes, what of it?’’

  He watched her, as if waiting for the implication of that to hit her. When she simply stared at him, he chuckled aloud. ‘‘Did he not leave you one of his finest horses? Did he not leave his medallion with you to mark you as his woman?’’

  A chill slithered up Loretta’s spine. ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘And soon after he left, the Comancheros came, eh?’’

  ‘‘Yes. What are you saying?’’

  Red Buffalo smiled. ‘‘That you are sure enough not smart. He sent Santos to find you. The words of the song say you must ‘come’ to him. Hunter made the path back to him an easy one to walk. And now, stupid woman, you have traded yourself to him. You are his. When he returns, the song will be finished.’’

  The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity. Loretta stared at him, her pulse quickening. ‘‘No . . . you’re lying.’’

  Another kernel of popcorn snapped. Red Buffalo tossed the charred remains back into the flames. ‘‘It had to be. The beloved child stolen to bring you to him, eh? His medallion marked you, so his friend, Santos, would not steal the wrong woman. Three golden ones. Santos knew you by the stone my cousin gave you.’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Despite her denial, he was making a twisted sort of sense. ‘‘He wouldn’t do something so despicable. Not to a child!’’

  ‘‘The Comancheros visit your wooden walls often?’’

  ‘‘No, never.’’ Loretta licked her lips, her tongue dry and sticky. ‘‘But it’s not unheard of for them to be in that area.’’

  His eyes pierced hers. ‘‘Hunter leaves you, and, for the first time, they come? They take the child. And his yellow-hair returns to him, sure enough quick.’’

  ‘‘You’re lying!’’

  ‘‘The song must come to pass. When he returns with the child, he will hold you to your bargain. You came to him, as it was spoken in his song so long ago. You bargained with him, giving yourself in trade, to get the child back. When he returns, he will go to the central fire and announce his marriage to you. Then . . .’’ Red Buffalo grinned and made a slashing motion across his larynx. ‘‘Suvate, it is finished.’’

  Loretta’s stomach dropped. ‘‘No.’’

  He shrugged again, as if in agreement. ‘‘Ah, yes, he will play with you a little first.’’ Leaning toward her, so the light from the fire played upon his scarred face, he leered and said, ‘‘As will I. Many of us, eh? It will be heap big fun, Yellow Hair. You think he would be so kind to another white woman?’’ He gave a snort and rose to his feet. ‘‘You are a fool. A White Eyes? We spit upon you. You sicken his gut. Your people killed his wife, his unborn child. He has taken you into his buffalo robes? No, Yellow Hair. To find pleasure with one such as you, he must wait and have you his way.’’

  As if her close proximity contaminated the air he breathed, Red Buffalo left the fire to sit upon a pallet. Pulling his knife, he tested the blade with his thumb. Then, leveling his gaze on her breasts, he traced a path with the tip of the knife across his chest. ‘‘Soon, eh? Very soon.’’

  Nausea welled in Loretta’s throat. She couldn’t stop watching the path of his knife, imagining it on her body.

  ‘‘Say my words to Warrior. He will tell you I speak the truth. Watch my cousin when he returns. He will go to the central fire and speak the words to make you his wife. You watch. You will see. Red Buffalo does not make a lie.’’

  A sudden and chilling fear gripped Loretta. Hunter did believe his song must come to pass, and that she was an integral part of it. Had he manipulated her like a marione
tte, making her dance to the words so his prophecy would come to pass? His wife had been killed by white people? Perhaps he was as consumed with hatred as she, detesting all people with white skin, just as she did Comanches.

  Sweat beaded on Loretta’s forehead. I will know the song your heart sings. She had believed Hunter. She cared for him a little, and thought of him as her friend. Her friend. He had understood that, nurtured it. There will be no war between us. I would salute you and ride away. Could he be so deceitful? So totally merciless?

  She remembered his scalp pole—how his mother had tried to remove it from his lodge, along with the other evidence of his treachery. Dear God, they were all a part of it, all of them, even Maiden of the Tall Grass.

  Loretta clenched her teeth, meeting Red Buffalo’s evil gaze. Memories of Hunter flowed through her mind. The husky whisper of his voice, the gentle touch of his hands, his indulgent smile. Could a man put on that convincing an act? No, she wouldn’t believe Red Buffalo, she couldn’t. She owed Hunter that much.

  She would wait and pray. If Red Buffalo wasn’t lying, if Hunter had indeed manipulated events to make her return to him, then she and Amy were as good as dead.

  At daybreak, terror hit Amy the moment she opened her eyes. They were all around her. Mornings and evenings, when it was cool, were always the worst. They would come soon, one man, perhaps two, followed by a steady flow until the sun rose high overhead.

  She prayed for death to take her before it began again.

  As she did every morning when she first awoke, Amy strained against the ropes that bound her. When she realized there were no ropes, bewilderment welled within her. She wasn’t tied to the wagon wheel? She was lying on soft fur, covered with a buffalo robe? Her fingers tightened reflexively on the handle of the knife, and the previous day came rushing back to her.

  Hunter, the Comanche.