She was as ready as he could get her. If he didn’t take her now, he never would. Setting his jaw, Hunter eased farther into her, filled with self-loathing because, even now, though he knew how much he was about to hurt her, fire flared in his belly and his body ached for release. Her eyes widened at the pain, and the color washed from her lips. When he met with the resistance of her maidenhead, he hesitated, then drove forward in one smooth thrust, sheathing himself in liquid heat.
She screamed—a shrill, broken cry that cut through him. The next instant she scrambled to escape. Hunter quickly blanketed her body with his and captured her flailing arms.
‘‘Toquet, it is well, little one. It is finished, eh?’’
She panted, tossing her head. ‘‘It h-hurts!’’
‘‘It will pass,’’ he assured her huskily. ‘‘It will pass. It is a promise I make for you.’’
She went rigid when he began to move within her, her small face drawing tight. Tears sprang to Hunter’s eyes when she reached up to hug his neck, clinging to him even though he was the one hurting her. He had asked her to trust him this one last time. And she had. What if the discomfort didn’t lessen, as he had promised her? She would never let him near her again.
Relief flooded through him when at last he felt her relax. Carefully he picked up momentum, nudging deeper and deeper. Only when Hunter heard her cry out in pleasure did he allow himself to seek pleasure as well.
They drifted back to reality slowly, limbs entwined, heartbeats erratic, bodies shimmering with sweat. Hunter drew her head onto his shoulder, unwilling to let her go. A half smile settled on his mouth. He knew this first coupling had fallen far short of what it could have been, what it would be the second time. He had been tense, and so had she, not to mention the pain he had inflicted. His smile broadened. This small woman filled the empty places inside him, made him feel whole again.
Gazing sightlessly across the lodge at the evening shadows, Loretta listened to the rapid tattoo of Hunter’s pulse. She felt boneless and completely exhausted. Her cheeks flamed when she thought of the things he had done to her and the shameless way she had responded. A wave of embarrassment washed over her.
As if he sensed her anguish, he slid his hand over her hip and upward to her ribs. ‘‘My heart is filled with great love for you,’’ he whispered.
Tears sprang to Loretta’s eyes. She couldn’t name the emotion that caused them, didn’t want to. Then, like projectiles from a cannon, the words shot from her mouth. ‘‘Oh, Hunter, I love you, too.’’
The moment she said it, she knew it was true. She loved him as she had never loved anyone, with an intensity that made her ache. Hunter, the fierce warrior, the culmination of all her nightmares, had become the most important person in her world.
Chapter 22
LORETTA DIDN’T REALIZE SHE HAD DRIFTED off to sleep until she awoke to the delicious warmth of Hunter’s lips on her throat. She opened her eyes slowly, registering his presence beside her. A shaft of moonlight coming through the smoke hole gilded the broad shoulders that canopied hers. His solid chest, warm and silken, pinned her against soft fur. A wonderfully hard arm encircled her, his broad wrist pressed against her spine, his long fingers fanning between her shoulder blades. She let her head fall back to accommodate his caressing mouth.
‘‘Hi, hites,’’ she whispered.
‘‘Hello,’’ he murmured against her ear, sending spirals of longing down her spine.
Coming aware by degrees, Loretta tucked in her chin to glance down, shocked to see her white skin glowing in the moonlight. It was shameless to be lying next to him like this. She tensed, but the brush of his lips along her throat robbed her of the will to move. Not that she could have if she tried. There was an urgency in the way he held her, a tautness in his body. His hips moved forward against hers, leaving her in no doubt that he wanted her, again.
‘‘Hunter . . . what about Amy? It’s dark outside.’’
‘‘I tied the flap closed. She will go to my mother.’’ His voice was husky, throbbing. He slid his hand down her back to her bottom and drew her firmly against him. His hardness jabbed her abdomen, and she flinched. He drew back and looked down at her, his eyes shot with silver in the moonlight. ‘‘You hurt?’’
Loretta knew he had gone to great lengths to be gentle with her earlier, but she was sore nonetheless. The ache was to be expected, she felt sure, and probably would disappear in a day or two. ‘‘I’m fine.’’
He slid his hand to her belly, his strong fingers probing carefully, his gaze alert on her face for telltale signs of pain. ‘‘Ah, Blue Eyes, I think you lie.’’
His gentleness and concern touched her. ‘‘It isn’t that bad, truly. If you want to—’’ Heat flooded her cheeks as the impropriety of what she had nearly said struck her.
His mouth quirked in a knowing grin. ‘‘This Comanche has much want, but I will wait.’’
That pronouncement was punctuated by a flurry of horses’ hooves outside. Hunter rose on an elbow and cocked his dark head to listen. The next instant, Red Buffalo’s voice rang out.
‘‘My cousin! I bring your yellow-hair a marriage gift.’’
An incredulous smile slanted across Hunter’s mouth, and upon seeing it, Loretta realized just how much it would mean to him if she and Red Buffalo could become friends.
Hunter slipped from the bed and grabbed his breeches to pull them on. Bathed in moonlight, the planes of his body were gilded with silver, its contours cast into delineative shadow. Clutching a fur to her chest, Loretta sat up, pretending not to notice. She did, though, and what she saw set her pulse to skittering. Perhaps beautiful wasn’t an appropriate adjective for a man, but it was the only word that came to her.
Watching him, she was, for the first time in her life, appreciative of the male form, the smooth play of muscle in motion, the subtle grace in strength. Lean tendons roped his buttocks and thighs. When he turned slightly she glimpsed his manhood, jutting forth, hard and proud, from a mahogany nest of short curly hair. Her throat tightened, and deep within her there welled feelings she could scarcely credit, longing, tenderness, delicious excitement—and fierce pride. That such a man loved her and wanted her was nothing short of incredible. He could have had any girl in the village, someone supple and dark with liquid brown eyes, a dozen such someones if he chose, but instead he had picked her, a skinny, pallid farm girl.
Cinching the drawstring of his pants, he tied a quick bowknot and extended a hand to her. For an instant Loretta was swept back in time to that first afternoon, when he had commanded she place her palm across his. She had been so terrified then, but no longer. His arm was her shield, just as he had promised.
‘‘Come, wife. My cousin brings a gift, eh?’’
‘‘Hunter, I’m not dressed!’’
Chuckling, he grabbed a buffalo robe and draped it around her shoulders. After enveloping her in the fur, he drew her from the bed and to the door, untying the flap to sweep it aside.
Next to Hunter’s tripod, Red Buffalo sat astride his horse. He leaned forward along his stallion’s neck, his teeth gleaming blue white against his dark skin, his ebony hair drifting in the night wind. ‘‘A gift for you, Yellow Hair. To sing the song in my heart of your marriage to my cousin.’’
Loretta’s gaze dropped to the leather-wrapped gift he held out to her. Clutching the buffalo robe together at her throat, she stepped forward. ‘‘Thank you, Red Buffalo.’’
As Loretta reached up to take the gift, she noted a glitter in Red Buffalo’s eyes. Though she assured herself it was only a reflection of the moonlight, she felt uneasy. Clasping the packet, she turned back toward the lodge and rejoined her husband in the doorway. Hunter said something to Red Buffalo in Comanche and then drew Loretta inside, reclosing the flap.
‘‘You will look, yes?’’
Loretta force a smile and stepped across the room to stand in the moonlight. She doubted Red Buffalo had brought her anything much, but she pretended to be exci
ted for Hunter’s sake. Through the leather, the contents of the package felt soft. Cloth of some kind? It was too small to be an article of clothing. Ribbons for her hair, perhaps? After untying the rawhide strings, Loretta unfolded the leather wrapping and lifted the contents between thumb and forefinger. She felt a damp, tacky surface on the thumb side, thick softness on the other. Silken strands slid across the backs of her fingers. In the shadows, it took her a moment to identify what she held. A scalp.
Loretta stared down, her pulse resounding inside her head, the world tipping crazily around her. The unfolding hair was long, the color very like her own. She swayed, horror washing over her. The tacky moistness was blood, fresh blood. The scalp slid from her paralyzed fingers and plopped on the floor.
‘‘What is it?’’ Hunter asked.
He stepped closer, peering down at the indefinable shape at her feet. Loretta felt as if she might faint. She tried to speak and couldn’t. Hunter crouched and picked up the scalp, a low growl of rage rumbling from his chest. Before she could stop him, he shot to his feet and left the lodge, yelling Red Buffalo’s name.
Loretta stood there, her stomach heaving, sweat trickling down the sides of her breasts. She heard Hunter yell again, the sound more distant this time. Red Buffalo was crazy, crazy with hatred. If Hunter confronted him, there was no telling what might happen.
Red Buffalo and his friends were gathered around the central fire. In the glow of firelight, Hunter could see scalps hanging from their horses’ bridles. He heard Coyote Dung bragging about the coups he had counted during the raids. Rage filmed his vision. Throwing the scalp he held into the flames, he walked up behind Red Buffalo, seized his shoulder, and spun him around.
Red Buffalo flashed a smug smile. ‘‘Your woman didn’t like the gift? I bestowed a great honor upon her, yes?’’
A dozen words bottlenecked in Hunter’s throat. They both knew the scalp hadn’t been meant to honor Loretta, but to terrify and repulse her. That Red Buffalo dared to disguise his maliciousness by pretending he had given the gift with good intentions was an affront to Hunter’s intelligence and their friendship.
Hunter slammed his fist into his cousin’s mouth. Red Buffalo reeled, staggering backward toward the fire. Hunter caught his arm, stepped to one side, and hit him again. Red Buffalo fell on his back, shaking his head and blinking.
Legs spread, fists clenched, Hunter stood over him. ‘‘Never again make grief for my woman, Red Buffalo. If you do, I will sure enough kill you.’’
Red Buffalo swiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes glittering with rage. ‘‘I am already dead to you. Since you found that yellow-hair, we are all dead to you. You chose her over me!’’
‘‘And you choose your bitterness over me!’’
Arrow Maker stepped around the fire and touched Hunter’s shoulder. ‘‘Red Buffalo meant no harm. She is your wife, yes? One with the People! She should be honored that Red Buffalo presented her with a scalp. A Comanche woman would be.’’
Hunter shook off Arrow Maker’s hand. ‘‘My woman is not Comanche. To present her with a yellow-hair’s scalp was cruel, and both of you know it.’’
Red Buffalo sat up. ‘‘Did I hear you right? Your woman is not Comanche? But, cousin, how can that be? She is your wife, accepted now as one of the People. Do you say that her loyalty is still in tosi tivo land? That your people are not hers?’’
Hunter clenched his teeth, struggling to keep control. After a moment he replied, ‘‘I didn’t come out here to play with words, Red Buffalo.’’
‘‘Because you have no words to defend her!’’
‘‘I must defend my woman to you? My cousin, a man who was once like a brother to me? When I look upon you, I see a stranger.’’ Hunter swung his arm toward the horses. ‘‘How many tosi tivo have you killed? Did you discuss making war in council? No! You cannot see beyond your hate! What will happen to our people when the tosi tivo retaliate? They will die! Hundreds of them! The rest of us have a right to choose! To decide if we want to make war or seek peace. Men like you are taking that choice away from us. You don’t fight the great fight for the good of our people, you fight for Red Buffalo!’’
Red Buffalo lurched to his feet. ‘‘The tosi tivo attacked us! We had no choice but to defend ourselves. Ask Arrow Maker and Coyote Dung, they will tell you.’’
Hunter curled his lip. ‘‘The tosi tivo had women with them! They wouldn’t have attacked twenty warriors!’’
Red Buffalo narrowed his eyes. ‘‘I am no White Eyes lover, like some I can name. Look at you! Angry because a warrior presented your woman with a scalp! Using your fists like an unblooded boy. Already she makes you soft. If you were a man, you would fight me like a man—to the death.’’
Tamping down the urge to smash Red Buffalo’s face again, Hunter unclenched his fists. ‘‘You are my cousin. My heart holds great love for you. But not so much I will let you make my woman weep. Stay away from her! If you do not, I will call a death match.’’
‘‘You forsake all that you are!’’ Red Buffalo cried. ‘‘And for what? A white woman who will turn her back on you? You call me blind? Hate me if you will, cousin. Kill me if you like! I would rather die than stand aside and watch you destroy yourself.’’
Hunter turned his back on Red Buffalo’s impassioned cries and walked away into the darkness.
An hour later he lay awake beside Loretta, staring at the firelight that played upon the walls of his lodge. Red Buffalo’s words haunted him. If Loretta had to choose, would she forsake him for her people? He knew she was awake by the sound of her breathing, but her voice still startled him when she spoke.
‘‘Hunter, what’s wrong? Surely you’re not still stewing over the scalp. It upset me, but I’m over it now.’’
He turned to regard her. There were shadows in her eyes, and she was as pale as bleached bones. ‘‘You lie, Blue Eyes. Many of your people are dead, by my cousin’s hand, and their spirits wail and call out to you.’’
‘‘It wasn’t you who killed them. That’s all that counts.’’
Hunter’s chest tightened. One day he would ride into battle again—to slay White Eyes. It was inevitable. How would she feel about that? ‘‘You are Comanche now, yes?’’ he said hopefully. ‘‘One with us.’’
Indefinable emotions played across her face. ‘‘I’m married to a Comanche. I love him. But I’ll never be a Comanche.’’
Hunter studied her features, once so repulsive to him, now so cherished. He ran a finger up the fragile bridge of her nose, then traced the line of her brow, acutely conscious of the small bones that shaped her face. Protectiveness welled within him.
‘‘You are one with me, one with my people. You cannot stand with one foot on Comanche land and the other on tosi tivo land.’’
‘‘Both my feet are here, Hunter, but part of my heart is at my wooden walls. No matter how much I love you, that will never change. You are one with me, too. Does that make you one with the tosi tivo?’’
An unnameable fear grew within him. He felt very much as he had several summers ago when he had been caught in a flash flood, swept along by the raging water. The Comanche struggle for survival was like that, surging forward, catching up everyone in its path. Men like Red Buffalo fed its fury.
‘‘I am filled with fear,’’ Hunter whispered. ‘‘For my people and for you. Red Buffalo did not go on a hunt. He went raiding. He called no council. Many of the People feel that keeping peace with the tosi tivo is the only way to survive. Men like Red Buffalo take the chance of peace and throw it away in the wind. The tosi tivo will strike back, yes? And many of my people will die. In this village, in another.’’ He placed a hand on her tousled hair, brushing his thumb through the soft strands. ‘‘If they attack, I must ride with the others to avenge our dead.’’
Loretta swallowed. ‘‘And kill my people, you mean?’’
‘‘This will make you look upon me with hate?’’
Emotions tangled into a knot i
nside Loretta. Red Buffalo had committed a great wrong. If white men retaliated, she wouldn’t blame them. So how could she blame Hunter if he did likewise? Suddenly she found herself in the unenviable position of seeing and understanding both sides. Harder still, she sympathized with both. Would it be any less horrible if white men harmed Blackbird than if Comanches harmed Amy?
‘‘Oh, Hunter, if I rode into this village with the tosi tivo and killed your people, how would you feel?’’
His face tightened. ‘‘You would kill my mother? Warrior and Maiden? The little ones?’’
‘‘No. And you wouldn’t Aunt Rachel or Amy or Uncle Henry. That isn’t the question, is it?’’
‘‘This Comanche cannot change his face.’’
‘‘And I can’t change mine.’’
He traced the hollow of her cheek, his mouth tipping into a sad smile. ‘‘I like your face, Blue Eyes. It is carved upon my heart.’’
‘‘We’re caught in the middle, aren’t we, Hunter? From the first, we knew it would come to this.’’
‘‘I will make no war on the helpless,’’ he whispered raggedly. ‘‘No women, no children. That will be good?’’
Still shy with him, she touched a finger to his bottom lip. ‘‘Could you lift your blade against a man with blue eyes and not think of me, Hunter?’’
He made a strangled sound and pulled her roughly into his arms, pressing his mouth against her hair. Neither of them spoke. There were no words. They drew comfort from the only thing they could, the warmth of each other’s arms.
The next day Hunter and Loretta escaped the tension Red Buffalo had brought with him to the village by taking off with Swift Antelope and Amy to play along the river. Swift Antelope broached the subject of the raid only once. Hunter informed him there was enough talk back in the village, that no one could know for sure if Red Buffalo had instigated the attack, and there was no point in ruining the day by worrying about it.
Comanche Moon Page 36
