Warrior snatched a handful of the child’s dripping hair and pulled her up for air. Giving his head a shake, he moved toward shore. ‘‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s too young. Maiden insists she isn’t, but I don’t recall the other two being this hard to teach.’’
‘‘I taught Turtle, and Maiden taught Blackbird,’’ Hunter reminded him.
Warrior squatted in front of the whining, coughing child, trying to comfort her with body-shaking pats on her lower back. Hunter thanked the Great Ones that Pony Girl’s burns had healed. ‘‘Maybe that’s what the problem is, eh?’’ Warrior mused. ‘‘I’m a lousy teacher. Hunter, why don’t you teach her?’’
‘‘I’m leaving on a journey.’’
‘‘Ah, yes, a journey. Where are you going?’’
Hunter ignored the question. It was one thing to surrender to his woman, but quite another to admit it to his brother. ‘‘Maybe I’ll teach her when I return. A swap, yes?’’
Warrior looked relieved. ‘‘That sounds like a fair trade. I’ll gladly watch your woman if I can get out of this swimming chore Maiden has pressed upon me. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have to change this one’s name to Pebble. She sure enough sinks like one.’’
Hunter swung Pony Girl into the air above his head and grinned up at her. ‘‘Pebble? No, I like Pony Girl. Let’s teach you to swim, eh, weasel?’’
At such a lofty height, Pony Girl forgot why she was crying and burst into giggles. Hunter tucked her wet little body under one arm and strolled along beside his brother toward home. ‘‘I’ll be gone for a few days. Do you think you can keep Red Buffalo away from my woman that long?’’
‘‘After the tales he told when you were gone last time, Maiden will keep him away. She has developed quite a fondness for your Loh-rhett-ah. She’s even making her a blouse and skirt and moccasins.’’
‘‘She is?’’ The thought of Loretta in leathers pleased Hunter. ‘‘Tell her thank you for me, will you?’’
‘‘Tell her yourself. I’m not too happy about it. That’s why I’m teaching Pony Girl to swim! Maiden’s busy sewing.’’
‘‘I can’t tell her. I’m leaving.’’
‘‘Right away?’’
As they drew to the outskirts of the village, Hunter set Pony Girl on her feet and gave her a farewell pat on the back. ‘‘Yes, right away. I have to find a few men to go with me. I’ll bring Loh-rhett-ah and Aye-mee to your lodge before I leave.’’
Hunter gave Loretta no explanation for his sudden departure. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. For the next several days, Loretta and Amy stayed with Maiden of the Tall Grass. Amy, taught by a patient Swift Antelope, was acquiring quite a vocabulary in Comanche, which proved helpful, and before Loretta knew it she was learning words herself. Maiden delighted in teaching Loretta, not just the language but customs as well: never to let her shadow fall across the cooking fire, never to speak the names of the dead, never to turn right when making a formal entrance into someone’s lodge. Loretta soaked up the knowledge, eager to learn all she could.
Late the fourth evening, Many Horses visited Maiden’s lodge. At first Loretta sensed that Hunter’s father was taking measure of her, and she was suspicious of his motives for coming, but soon Many Horses’ dry humor had her smiling and then laughing. To Amy’s delight, Many Horses regaled them with stories of Hunter’s boyhood. By the evening’s end Loretta had to admit she actually liked him. What was even more unsettling was that he seemed to like her, and she felt absurdly pleased that he approved.
When he departed he placed a gnarled hand on Loretta’s forehead, much like a holy man bestowing a blessing, and bade her good night, addressing her as ‘‘my daughter.’’ The title took Loretta completely by surprise. When she looked up, Many Horses gifted her with an understanding smile and left before she could gather her composure.
On the eighth day of Hunter’s absence, along toward dusk, Loretta heard a distant yodeling sound and glanced up from Maiden’s cooking fire to see men riding in. It wasn’t difficult to spot Hunter, several horse lengths ahead of the others, leading what looked like a mule carrying a priest. Loretta rose on her tiptoe, frowning. Surely she couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was seeing. What priest in his right mind would visit a Comanche village?
Glancing around at Maiden’s neighbors, Loretta saw her bewilderment mirrored on every face. Then she looked at Warrior, who had been reclining nearby, guarding her. He had leaped to his feet upon hearing the men ride in. He slid a wary glance toward her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘‘My brother brings a Black Robe?’’
It was a priest. Loretta craned her neck to see. Hunter rode directly to the central fire, which had already been lit in preparation for nightfall, and dragged the priest off the mule. After barking a command at the poor man, he spun on his heel and came directly toward Maiden’s lodge, his stride purposeful, his jaw clenched in determination. Loretta drew a deep breath. Suddenly, incredulously, she knew why Hunter had brought a priest into the village.
His footsteps slowed as he drew close, the muscles in his thighs bunching and drawing the leather of his pants taut. Loretta stiffened at the challenge his eyes issued. Lifting her chin, she waited for him to reach her, riveting her gaze on his broad shoulders, resisting the urge to run. Those long, powerful legs of his would easily outdistance her.
‘‘I have brought you a Black Robe,’’ he said tersely, and nodded toward the waiting priest. ‘‘He will pray your God words over us, yes?’’
With that, Hunter grasped her firmly by the arm and drew her toward the central fire, never breaking stride despite Loretta’s attempts to slow him down.
‘‘I won’t marry you!’’ she cried frantically.
He threw her a look charged with martial arrogance. ‘‘You will be my wife, little one. My way or yours, in the end, it will be so.’’
Hunter drew to a stop before the priest. Loretta focused on the poor man, who was trembling so badly that he was about to drop his Bible. At the moment she was too preoccupied with her own plight to concern herself with his.
‘‘Father,’’ she cried in the most reasonable, calm tone she could muster, ‘‘would you please explain to this heathen that a marriage cannot take place without a woman’s consent?’’
The priest’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He slid horrified eyes to Hunter, and his face blanched. ‘‘M-my good young woman, perhaps it would be best to proceed. This man seems uncommonly determined, and I, for one, do not relish the thought of angering him.’’
Hunter turned to regard her, one dark eyebrow tipped upward in a measuring look. Eyes narrowed in defiance, Loretta jutted her chin and leaned toward him. ‘‘What have you done to this poor man? He’s terrified! Have you no shame?’’
Hunter could have reminded her that there had been a time when she had been equally terrified, but he chose to stay on course. Marriage was his goal, not a contest of tongues. He cast a compelling glare at the Black Robe.
‘‘Pray your words, old man.’’
The priest licked his lips and glanced fearfully at the crowd of savages around them. Perhaps it was the stark contrast of black robes against pallid flesh, but Loretta thought he was losing color at an alarming rate. Indeed, he looked as if he might faint.
‘‘Say the God words, old man!’’ Hunter snarled again.
‘‘Don’t you dare bully him,’’ Loretta hissed. ‘‘He’s a man of God, Hunter! You don’t roar at a man of God.’’
‘‘It’s qu-quite all right, child, quite all right.’’ The priest, his face dripping sweat, made haste to open his Bible. ‘‘Merciful Father,’’ he muttered, clearly praying for deliverance. With a strangled cough, he began leafing through pages, turning slightly so the light from the fire was thrown across the small print. ‘‘I beg your forgiveness. I don’t usually need to use the book—’’ He coughed again and waved away smoke. ‘‘For some reason, the words have fled my mind. Ah, yes, here we are.’’
Infuriated
, Loretta jerked her arm from Hunter’s grasp. ‘‘Father, there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of, I assure you.’’
Hunter reclaimed her arm in a biting grip that made her swing around to face him. Bending his head, he whispered, ‘‘Blue Eyes, you test my temper. I will blow hard at you like the wind.’’
‘‘Blow, then!’’ She tried to twist her arm free. ‘‘You’re hurting me.’’
‘‘I will beat you. Then you will know a hurt. Now be silent!’’
Loretta’s eyes flared to a fiery blue. ‘‘I’m not going to marry you. Beat me senseless! Go ahead.’’
Hunter sent her a look that would have scared her to death a month ago. ‘‘Loh-rhett-ah, you will be silent and let him say the God words.’’
‘‘He can say the God words until snowballs melt in—’’ She broke off and blushed. ‘‘I’m the one who has to say the words, Hunter, and I won’t. Do you understand?’’
‘‘My dear child,’’ the priest inserted, ‘‘it’s not often one of these’’—he threw a meaningful glance at Hunter—‘‘gentlemen offers to make an honorable woman of a captive. Wouldn’t it be wise to accept?’’
‘‘I’m in no need of matrimony, Father. I still have my honor.’’
Hunter jerked her to his side and, in an ominously even voice, said, ‘‘Your honor will soon go the way of the wind, Blue Eyes. You made a God promise. You are my woman! Now I say you will be my wife!’’
Loretta wet her lips, trying to meet his gaze without wavering.
‘‘I brought you a Black Robe, yes? So this will be a marriage in your heart. If you do not say your God words to make it so, I will sure enough marry you my way.’’ He swept his hand in a wide arc. ‘‘Your honor will fly away on the wind. Suvate, it is finished. You choose.’’
Her voice hoarse with frustration, Loretta cried, ‘‘But I don’t want to marry you. If I do, it’s for forever! Don’t you understand?’’
‘‘For forever is very much good.’’
‘‘No, it’s very much bad. I’ll never be able to leave you!’’
Hunter threw up his hands. ‘‘No Black Robe, no marriage for your God. I am sure enough happy with a marriage my way.’’ With a determined glint in his eyes, he turned toward the crowd, raised his arms, and shouted something. Then he shrugged. ‘‘There. Suvate, it is finished. I have said my words. We are married.’’ Seizing her by the arm, he growled, ‘‘Keemah, come, wife.’’
Loretta dug in with her heels. ‘‘No! Wait!’’
He looked down at her, his vexation evident. ‘‘You will say the God words?’’
Loretta didn’t see as how she had any choice. At least this way her marriage would be blessed by a priest, and she wouldn’t be living with Hunter in sin. "Y-yes, I’ll say the words.’’ Casting him a sideways glance, she said, ‘‘Can I have just a moment with the priest?’’
‘‘For why?’’
‘‘Just to ask him something.’’
Hunter’s grip on her arm relaxed. ‘‘Namiso, hurry.’’
Loretta cupped a hand over the priest’s ear and quickly whispered her request, then stepped back to Hunter’s side. The priest considered what she had said, then nodded. A moment later he blessed the young couple before him, and the ceremony began. The words bounced off the walls of Loretta’s mind, making no sense. Numbly she made her responses when she was instructed to. Then it came Hunter’s turn. The priest asked the usual question, adding at the end, ‘‘Forsaking all others, taking one wife and only one wife, forever with no horizon?’’
Hunter, eyes narrowed suspiciously, shot Loretta a knowing look. For several long seconds he made no response, and she held her breath, her gaze locked with his. Then, with solemn sincerity, he inclined his head and replied, ‘‘I have spoken it.’’
The priest, momentarily confused by the unusual response when he had expected an ‘‘I do,’’ sputtered a moment, seemed to consider, then nodded his assent and finished the ceremony. Loretta and Hunter were married, according to his beliefs and hers. Hunter instructed his friends to return the priest to his mission, stressing that he would have their heads if the man didn’t arrive there unharmed. Then he sent Amy to his mother’s lodge. When everyone had been dispatched, he turned to Loretta, one dark eyebrow cocked, his indigo eyes twinkling with laughter.
‘‘One wife and only one wife, forever with no horizon?’’
Loretta’s gaze chased off, and her cheeks went scarlet. Clasping her hands behind her, she rocked back on her heels, then forward onto her toes, pursing her lips. ‘‘I told you, Hunter, I refuse to play second fiddle.’’
He smiled—a slow, dangerous smile that made her nerves leap. His heated gaze drifted slowly down the length of her. He grasped her arm and led her toward his lodge. ‘‘Now you will show this Comanche how good you play number one fiddle, yes?’’
‘‘I—’’ Loretta’s mouth went as dry as dust as she tripped along beside him, her arm vised in his grip. ‘‘Surely you don’t mean right now.’’ Her startled gaze focused on the lodge door. ‘‘It’s not even dark yet. People are still awake. You haven’t eaten. There’s no fire built. We can’t just—’’
He lifted the door flap and drew her into the dark lodge. ‘‘Blue Eyes, I have no hunger for food,’’ he said huskily. ‘‘But I will make a fire if you wish for one.’’
Any delay, no matter how short, appealed to Loretta. ‘‘Oh, yes, it’s sort of chilly, don’t you think?’’ It was a particularly muggy evening, the kind that made clothing stick to the skin, but that hardly seemed important. ‘‘Yes, a fire would be lovely.’’
He left her standing alone in the shadows to haul in some wood, which he quickly arranged in the firepit. Moments later golden flames lit the room, the light dancing and flickering on the tan walls. Remaining crouched by the flames, he tipped his head back and gave her a lazy perusal, his eyes touching on her dress, eyebrows lifting in a silent question.
‘‘Do you hunger for food?’’ he asked her softly.
Loretta clamped a hand to her waist. ‘‘You know, actually I am hungry. Famished! Aren’t you? What sounds good?’’ She threw a frantic look at the cooking pots behind him. ‘‘I’ll bet stew would strike your fancy, wouldn’t it? After traveling so far and eating nothing but jerked meat. Yes, stew would be just the thing.’’
Hunter’s mouth quirked. ‘‘Blue Eyes, a stew will take a very long time.’’
All night, if she was lucky. ‘‘Oh, not that long. It’s no trouble, really!’’ She made a wide circle around him toward the pots. ‘‘I make a wonderful stew, really I do. I’m sure Maiden has some roots and onions I can borrow. Just you—’’
Loretta leaped at the touch of his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, a large pot wedged between them, her hand white-knuckled on the handle.
‘‘Blue Eyes, I do not want stew,’’ Hunter whispered, his voice laced with tenderness. ‘‘If you hunger, we will have nuts and fruit, eh?’’
Loretta swallowed a lump of air. Fruit and nuts were better than the alternative. Maybe, if she ate one nut at a time . . . ‘‘All right, fruit and nuts.’’
He spread a buffalo robe beside the fire while she put the pot away and dug up a parfleche of fruit and nuts from his store of preserved edibles. Kneeling beside him, Loretta munched industriously, staring into the leaping flames, aware with every bite she took that Hunter watched her. When she reached for her fourth handful, he clamped his long fingers around her wrist.
‘‘Enough,’’ he said evenly. ‘‘You will sicken your gut if you eat more.’’
Loretta’s gut was already in sorry shape. She swallowed, trying to avoid his gaze and failing miserably. When their eyes met, she felt as if the ground fell away. There was no mistaking that look in his eye. The moment of reckoning had come.
She had known it would, of course, sooner or later. She had just hoped for later—much later. Clearly that was not to be. In return for Amy’s rescue, she had promised herself to hi
m. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had waited this long to claim his reward. It was even more incredible that he had brought a priest here to marry them. She should be relieved, even pleased to know their union was blessed, but she didn’t feel married. All she felt was fear, sheer, black, mindless fear.
Unfortunately for her, she didn’t come to the marriage bed ignorant, as a bride should. She knew what was in store for her and how horribly painful and degrading it would be. Even Aunt Rachel hated it. She had admitted as much, and even if she hadn’t, Loretta had heard her whimpering enough times through the cracks in the floor to know, beyond a doubt, that coupling hurt. It was bound to be a thousand times worse in the arms of a brutal savage who thought women could be bought and sold like so much baggage.
Brushing her hands clean on her skirt, Loretta stared dismally at the fire. Light. Merciful heaven, why had she asked for a fire? He’d be able to see her, which somehow made the thought of undressing in front of him all the more horrid.
Her skin prickled. He was staring at her, waiting, like a man expecting his supper to be served. And what was even more awful, she felt like his supper. A hundred thoughts raced through her mind, running away from him foremost, but her sense of honor forestalled her. She had promised him, and a promise was a promise. She wouldn’t break her word. She’d see this through, with her head held high. She would.
With trembling hands, Loretta tackled the long line of tiny buttons on her bodice. With each flick of her fingers, her cheeks grew hotter. The firelight cast too few shadows, making the interior of the lodge seem as bright as day. She tried to draw comfort from the fact that he had seen her nude the night of her fever, but that was a century ago and did little to ease her embarrassment as she slid the sleeves of her dress down her arms.
If only he were a white man. He would at least douse the fire. Or maybe have an attack of conscience and realize how barbaric it was to force a virtuous young woman into marriage. But he wasn’t a white man, and conscience wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. He owned her. Now they were married, even in the eyes of her people. For forever.
Comanche Moon Page 32
