Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (34 page)

Maverick struggled to hold his temper, wanting to knock the brave from his paint horse for his suggestion. The thought of any man even caressing her arm, touching her face, almost drove him to a frenzy, but he must control his fury. “Maybe you are right,” he shrugged as if bored. “If the great Quanah doesn’t want her when I finally meet him out at the Staked Plains, I will try to get a high price for her from the
Comancheros.”

The only way into the canyon from where they looked over the rim was a narrow, twisting path wide enough for only one horse at a time. The war party took it single file.

Immediately, as the war party rode through the Comanche camp toward the big council fire, they collected a crowd of curious Indians who followed them to the big center council fire.

Maverick sat his big horse with the arrogant manner expected of a man of important family. “I am Pecos, brother to the great Quanah who leads this new uprising,” he said, only glad that he saw none of his own clan among the faces. If his clan were here, they were camped at the far end of the canyon.

Important men of the tribe came out of their tepees as the word spread through the camp. Dogs barked and children laughed and played as the men came out to greet the returning war party. They surrounded Maverick, nodding in welcome. “Come sit. Eat. We know you must be weary.”

Maverick dismounted. “I stay but a little while,” he announced grandly. “I became separated from my group on a raid. I must meet the
Quahadis
far to the west, give my brother this gift.” He went around, jerked Cayenne from her horse by her long hair, and threw her down in the dirt by the fire.

The women laughed in delight, crowding around to stare and point at the captive.

Cayenne stumbled to her feet, her eyes glaring with defiance.
They don’t call me
Cayenne for
nothing,
Maverick remembered, enjoying her show of fire and spirit. If he could have a woman of his own, there was none more suited to him than this one. The children she would produce would do any man proud. He thought suddenly of her sire, admiring Joe McBride a little in spite of himself.
Blood
will
tell,
Texans always said, and Cayenne had to get that brave pride from somewhere.

One fat old squaw pushed forward, looking Cayenne over critically. “Yes, this is a nice gift.” She nodded, turning toward the other Comanche women who crowded around curiously. “I like to see men use their passion on captives; certainly the white men have treated ours badly enough!”

The other women nodded soberly at the old squaw’s remarks. Many of them had lost loved ones to the white man’s bullets and the old Comanche was obviously an honored woman of some importance. “My own daughter has been raped and killed by the buffalo hunters.” Her sad expression changed to one of hatred as she glared at the helpless Cayenne who stood with her hands still tied behind her. “My son grieves much over his beloved sister’s death and hunts the white men now as relentlessly as we might kill the great panther.”

The old squaw reached out suddenly and caught the front of Cayenne’s shirt, ripping it to the waist so that her beautiful, rounded breasts were visible to everyone.

Maverick had to control himself to keep from striking the old woman for her insolence. But Cayenne shook her hair back, her chin high with defiance, ignoring the sudden hungry looks of the men in the crowd.

Maverick looked around at the men eyeing her fine, soft breasts, her pink nipples. He must not appear too possessive, too jealous of her. “Enough!” He made a signal of dismissal to the old woman. “You must not bruise or harm the girl in any way so that she is not a suitable gift to the great chief.”

The woman nodded grudgingly, admitting the truth of his statement. “Perhaps the great chief will not want her, will turn her over to the women to torture. I could take that defiance out of her.”

Maverick glanced at the angry Cayenne.
The only way anyone could break that feisty, proud little Texan would be to kill her
, he thought with great admiration,
and she’d
go down rebellious
and fighting. Rebel,
he thought.
Sweet little Rebel.

Wind Runner pressed forward. “Hush, old woman. Even your son, Little Fox, would see the waste in that! Ask him when he rides into our camp if it is not so. If Quanah doesn’t want her, his brother proposes to trade her to the
Comancheros
. With her beauty, we could get much gunpowder and weapons in exchange.”

There was a murmur of agreement through the crowd and one of the old chiefs came forward. “You must be tired, Pecos. We are honored to have the brother of Quanah in our camps. Later, we will have welcoming ceremonies and feasting.”

“I am very weary,” Maverick nodded. “Tomorrow, I would enjoy visiting, hearing how the uprising goes from this quarter, but tonight I need only food and a blanket.”

Wind Runner laughed. “We’ll see you are given a fine tepee, and of course, since your brother is not here, you can enjoy his woman as is the custom.”

His words made Maverick flinch, remembering . . .

The other peered at him anxiously. “Is Pecos ill?”

Maverick recovered himself from the agony of memories. “I am tired, as I said. Show me this tepee where I may rest.”

He grabbed Cayenne roughly by the shoulder, propelling the bound, half-naked girl ahead of him as the group followed curiously. When she stumbled and fell, he forced himself not to sweep her up in his arms. Instead, he put his moccasin on the back of her neck, pushing her face down into the dirt while the others laughed.

“Humiliation is a lesson captives are forced to learn,” he said, remembering his Annie. But he hid his bitter anger as he reached down and jerked Cayenne roughly to her feet.

She looked at him as if he had betrayed her, and she said, “Maverick, why—?”

He hit her then, clipping her across the face so as to stop her words. It broke his heart to do it, but if she gave his disguise away, they would both end up being roasted over a slow fire and all the men would rape her and use her cruelly before they tortured her to death.

Cayenne’s head snapped back and she stumbled from the force of his blow. When she looked at him again, blood ran from the corner of her soft, sweet mouth and a terrible fire of fury blazed in the bright green eyes.

Maverick yawned casually to the others. “I think I must break this captive as we do a wild mustang, so she’ll be a dutiful slave for my brother’s needs.”

The fat old squaw laughed with delight, smiling with admiration. “Even though you carry white blood, Pecos, you are a true Comanche at heart.”

That he
could
never be
, Maverick thought, remembering Annie. His mother had extracted her own vengeance on Blood Arrow’s people by talking to her son endlessly about the white civilization she hoped someday would reclaim him. In his heart, in his soul, he was as white as Annie’s Kentucky ancestors.

He grabbed Cayenne, roughly pushing her ahead of him as they walked to the fine tepee on the edge of the settlement. Wind Runner pulled back the flap, bowing Maverick inside. “This is my very own which I offer Pecos.”

Maverick thanked him in Comanche, pushed Cayenne inside, and followed her. But even as he started to breathe a sigh of relief, the warrior followed him in, pointing out the nice features of the tepee, the small fire of scented mesquite crackling in the center. Because the man watched him, he threw Cayenne down on the ground, tying her hands above her head to one of the tepee poles. She lay there on her back, her fine globular breasts visible in the torn shirt.

“Maverick, why—?”

He put his moccasin across her mouth. “Shut up, slave!” he ordered. “It will do you no good to call for some white man who is dead in our raid!”

Wind Runner grunted with satisfaction. “She needs to be humiliated, raped into submission if she is to bear many sons for the great Quanah.” He looked at Maverick quizzically.

This was a test,
Maverick thought,
wondering if the brave suspected he was white in his heart after all.

“You are right, Wind Runner. She needs to be humiliated, taught her place so she will be broken in spirit, serve a warrior’s needs without fighting, without struggling.”
As my poor mother did,
he thought.

He jerked off his loincloth and stood looking down at her. The first flicker of fear showed in her eyes, thinking she had been betrayed by a man she loved; a man she trusted with her life. Maverick fell on her, handling her fine breasts roughly. When she tried to protest, he hit her across the mouth, then kissed her to hush her, tasting her blood as he rammed his tongue between her lips.

While the other warrior watched, Maverick raped her brutally, bruising her soft white thighs as he took her, ramming into her velvet softness that any other time would have been wet with desire for him. But she was dry with fear and he forced himself inside her with difficulty, as a stallion takes an inexperienced filly.

I’m
sorry, baby
, he thought.
I
must do this to
you! I don’t
dare treat you well, rouse any suspicions.
Later he would beg her pardon, fall on his knees asking forgiveness for hurting her, humiliating her. But now it was only important that he save both their lives.

When he finished raping her, he wiped himself off on her torn shirt with a gesture of contempt, leaving her lying silent and frightened, staring up at him with her hands still tied above her head.

The other man stroked his own erection. “Would I had a brother with a woman like that to share!” He went to the tepee opening and turned. “You have food and a soft white woman to enjoy through this long night. Tomorrow, we will gather around the fires, discuss the war plans with the old chiefs. We are eager to hear of the great Quanah’s plans, what he intends to do next!”

Maverick nodded curtly. “Of course, tomorrow,” he said in Comanche. That gave him all night to think of some logical words the Comanche might believe. At that time, his and Cayenne’s lives would be on the line again. But he’d worry about that later.

Wind Runner left the tepee. Maverick waited, listening to the soft sound of the moccasins walking away before he moved swiftly to untie Cayenne and pull her into his embrace. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry! I had to do all that! I was afraid they might suspect us if I treated you gently!”

He kissed her bruised face and she hesitated only a moment before she threw her arms around his neck, weeping warm, salty tears against his naked chest. “I—I didn’t understand . . . thought you had decided to become a Comanche again!”

“Never!” he whispered. “I’d like to send every one of them into a wandering hell!” He took the rawhide and looped it over his gun belt. That was his own special vengeance against those who had hurt, humiliated, and tortured his mother.

He propped her up, gently washed her face, and fed her the roasted, crispy meat.

“Maverick,” she said with a sigh as she lay back, “what will happen tomorrow?”

He leaned on his elbow, looking down at her in the flickering light of the little fire. “Don’t you know tomorrow never comes?” He tried to sound light, bantering as he reached out and touched the tip of her freckled nose. “Let me do the worrying for both of us, okay? And trust me, baby, whatever happens, trust me. Whatever I do, go along with it without question.”

She snuggled into the safety of his embrace. “I will, Maverick, I will. I guess I know now that you must love me, too; that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.

Except
kill your father
, he thought, but he only kissed her closed eyes while she sighed with exhaustion. “Little Reb, it’s been a long day. Go to sleep now and I’ll keep watch. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You promise, cross your heart and hope to die?” Her eyes flickered open sleepily and she suddenly looked very young, very innocent. He felt old, discouraged. He didn’t have much faith in anything himself. His revenge was a flame that slowly consumed him, burning him out from the inside. But it didn’t matter; nothing mattered but that he fulfill the vow.

Cross your heart and hope to die
. How many, many times had Annie said that to her little boy as she taught him about the white civilization? She had promised Joe a son, she said, stroking Eagle’s Flight’s black hair. And she’d gotten him one. Joe wouldn’t mind that he’d not fathered the son she’d promised. No, Joe would take Eagle’s Flight as his very own and they’d all live happily ever after. Annie said that among the whites, the very best stories ended that way, just as they began, “Once upon a time . . .”

But Joe hadn’t come for either of them, although they waited and waited. The years passed. The little boy grew tall and strong while his mother grew thinner and more bowed with cruelty and hard work. Perhaps things might have been different if his father, Blood Arrow, had not been killed on a raid before the boy’s birth. As it was, he and his mother were mistreated and ridiculed by the aunts and jealous cousins, by his father’s brothers.

“Just a little while longer,” Annie would sigh as they crouched together, hiding when things got too bad. “Joe will come for both of us, you’ll see. We’ll go back to the white world and we’ll fit in there.”

“Tell me, Mother,” he would beg, “tell me how it will be. Tell me how it was.”

Annie smiled and patted the top of his head. “Once upon a time there was a big redheaded man and he loved me so very, very much!”

“Will he love me, Mother? Will he really love me?” It was important to the fatherless boy.

Annie smiled. Her smile lit up her plain little face and made her big gray eyes crinkle at the corners. “Of course he will love you as I do, dear, because you are the son I promised him! We’ll all sit down at a long dining table with lots of friends and relatives, and there’ll be plates and knives and forks.”

He considered a long moment. “What’s a fork?”