Comanche Moon (49 page)

‘‘As huge as Texas is, that would be quite a coincidence, don’t you think?’’

Hunter wasn’t sure what coincidence meant, but he got the point. For the first time in his life he was tempted to lie, to say anything that might convince her she was wrong. The training of a lifetime forestalled him. Without his honor he was as nothing.

‘‘Red Buffalo was in that war party, Hunter. You know it, I know it, he knows it. That’s why he hates me so.’’

To prove her point, she dug in the satchel and withdrew her mother’s portrait. She handed it to Hunter, watching his expression. ‘‘That’s my mother.’’

‘‘Your face upon the water,’’ he whispered.

Hunter stared down at the likeness, remembering that first day when Loretta stepped out from her wooden walls into the yard, her golden hair shimmering, her eyes a blaze of blue in her small face. Almost immediately Red Buffalo had begun urging Hunter to kill her, to put her out of his life. Sweat filmed Hunter’s face. During Loretta’s delirium her first night of captivity, her screams had revealed that she witnessed her mother’s death. Ever since, Red Buffalo’s hatred for her had intensified. He must have feared that something would trigger her memory—the way he walked, the sound of his voice—and that sooner or later she would recognize him as her mother’s murderer and expose him.

In a hollow voice Loretta said, ‘‘Red Buffalo had to have known I was related to her the moment he saw me. I’m not beautiful like she was, but the resemblance is unmistakable.’’

Hunter lifted his head. Not beautiful? He ached to trail his fingertips over the planes of her features, to draw her into his arms and hold on, never to let go. She was slipping away from him; he could see it in her eyes. He gripped the scrolled frame of the portrait, assailed by a fear more terrible than any he had ever felt.
Red Buffalo, men from this village?
If such a thing was true, and Hunter knew it was, he would once again lose the woman he loved, just as surely as he had lost Willow by the Stream, just as irrevocably. A woman could overlook many things when she loved a man, but never this. The thought panicked him.

Loretta took a jagged breath and let it out slowly. Passing a hand over her brow, she said, ‘‘This is Red Buffalo’s way of getting even with you for hitting him last night. After everything he’s done to prevent it, you’ve turned against him anyway. He has nothing more to lose.’’ She gave a shrill, hysterical laugh. ‘‘From the first, he’s been trying to keep us apart.’’ Her body sagged. ‘‘He’s finally succeeded.’’

‘‘No.’’ He clasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘‘You are my woman, for always. We said the God words, Blue Eyes.
Suvate,
it is finished. You cannot walk backward.’’

Releasing her, he returned the portrait to the satchel, laying it on the fold of linen with exaggerated care, as if his gentleness might somehow undo the great wrongs that had been committed.

‘‘Men from this village killed my parents, Hunter! Don’t you understand what that means?’’ The words tore at Loretta, every syllable driving the wedge deeper between them. ‘‘I can’t stay here knowing that. I can’t! And if you love me, you won’t ask me to.’’

‘‘You are my woman!’’ He swept his hand toward the door. ‘‘I have spoken it before my people. You must walk always in my footsteps. That is the way of it. A woman does not leave her husband. It is forbidden.’’

Loretta lifted her chin. ‘‘According to your ways!’’

‘‘My ways are your ways. My people are your people. I am your husband!’’

Echoes of her mother’s screams bounced off the walls of her mind. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget. ‘‘Does that mean my ways are yours as well? That my people are yours?’’ She met his gaze with unflinching intensity. ‘‘Will you avenge my parents?’’

His face turned ashen. ‘‘And kill my cousin?’’

‘‘And all the others who were there! That
is
your way, isn’t it? To avenge your people? Just last night, you said so. If your people are my people, then my people are yours.’’

The look on Hunter’s face frightened her. Loretta stared at him, scarcely able to comprehend what she had just said.

‘‘Hunter . . .’’ She reached for his arm. ‘‘I didn’t mean it.’’

He jerked from her grasp and rose.

‘‘I didn’t mean it,’’ she cried again. ‘‘It would tear the heart out of you. Do you think I want that? There’s been enough killing.’’

Alarmed by Loretta’s cries, Amy and Swift Antelope burst inside the lodge. Amy’s blue eyes, wide with concern, darted from Loretta to Hunter. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’

Trembling violently, Loretta flung a hand toward the bed. ‘‘Ma’s lost comb.’’

Amy stepped across the room. After staring at the glistening diamonds for a long moment, she turned a puzzled frown on Hunter. ‘‘You?’’ she whispered. Then, like a wild thing, she gave a hoarse cry and launched herself at him, kicking and scratching. ‘‘You butcher! You murderin’ butcher!’’

Hunter seized Amy’s wrists and quickly looped an arm around her, pulling her against him. Swift Antelope stepped closer, torn between protectiveness of Amy and loyalty to Hunter.

‘‘You killed her ma! You killed her ma! She was wearin’ that comb the day she died!’’ Amy thrashed about, fighting frantically to get free. ‘‘You scalped my aunt Rebecca! That’s the only way you could have gotten her comb! The
only
way! Let me go! Take your slimy hands off me!’’

Amy’s accusations hit Hunter like a boulder in the chest. It was small consolation that Loretta hadn’t reacted this way. Shoving her toward Swift Antelope, he barked, ‘‘Take her to my mother!’’

Swift Antelope caught Amy’s arm and dragged her out the lodge door. Her screams slowly diminished. Hunter turned back to gaze at his wife. She hugged her waist, her eyes dark with misery.

With a snarl of rage, Hunter spun and ducked out the door, his long legs eating up the distance to Red Buffalo’s lodge. Warrior came running to fall in beside him. ‘‘Hunter, what’s happening? What is it your Aye-mee is screaming about?’’

Never breaking stride, Hunter explained. ‘‘I will kill him for this. Cousin or not, I will kill him.’’

Warrior grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him to a stop. ‘‘He left, Hunter! Just a few minutes ago— with all his friends.’’

‘‘He left? Why didn’t you come tell me?’’

‘‘I didn’t know!’’ Warrior threw up his hands. ‘‘How was I to know, Hunter? He comes and goes all the time.’’

For an instant Hunter considered following Red Buffalo, but then an image of Loretta’s white face flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave her while she was this upset. Taking a bracing breath, he turned back toward home.

‘‘How is your woman taking this?’’ Warrior asked.

‘‘Her heart is on the ground.’’

Warrior sighed. ‘‘This is bad, Hunter, very bad. Her mother? Her father? She will never forgive this.’’

Hunter increased his pace, growing more concerned by the second that he had left Loretta alone. ‘‘She has no choice. We have said words, yes? She is my woman.’’

‘‘But Red Buffalo killed her parents!’’

‘‘She is still my woman.’’

Chapter 23

LORETTA WAS STUFFING HER BELONGINGS into her satchel when Hunter stepped into the lodge. He stood in the shadows a moment, watching her. The firelight fell across her, shimmering in her golden hair, flickering across the leather that skimmed her bent shoulders. She was sobbing. The sounds cut through him.

‘‘Blue Eyes?’’

His whisper snapped her head around. She sprang to her feet, her eyes huge with shock, her lips pale. ‘‘I’m leaving, Hunter.’’

Hunter stepped from the shadows, his heart catching at the way she retreated. ‘‘I was not at your wooden walls that day, Blue Eyes. I have spoken it.’’ He paused by the fire, not wanting to crowd her. ‘‘It is a God promise I make for you.’’

Sparkling with tears, her eyes met his. Her throat worked, and her mouth twisted. ‘‘Oh, Hunter, don’t you see it doesn’t make a difference?’’ She made a gesture toward his scalp pole. ‘‘From the first we knew it could never work between us. Somehow, for a few wonderful days, we lost sight of that. You’re a Comanche. I’m a
tosi
woman. We’re worlds apart.’’

‘‘Look into me and say you have no love for me,’’ he commanded hoarsely.

‘‘All the love in the world can never change this.’’

‘‘Say the words to me!’’

‘‘I can’t. I
do
love you, don’t you see? What I must do has nothing to do with what’s between us.’’

‘‘My heart sang only good things—’’ His voice caught, and he swallowed. ‘‘I thought the comb would bring you great gladness.’’

‘‘I know that.’’ Loretta swiped at her cheeks and sniffed. ‘‘I’m not blaming you. It’s not your fault, Hunter, or mine, not even Red Buffalo’s. Don’t you see? This madness began long before we were born, and it’ll go on long after we’re all dead. Some things, no matter how sweet, how wonderful, just aren’t meant to be.’’

He took a hesitant step toward her. ‘‘Your eyes say you blame me. Your heart whispers that I was there that day.’’

She stared at him a moment, then inclined her head in a reluctant nod. ‘‘All right, you want the truth? I think you may have been. How can you know for sure? Red Buffalo is your cousin. How many raids have you made with him? Dozens?’’

‘‘We have ridden together many times.’’

‘‘And has he killed women on those raids?’’

‘‘Many
taum
ago. I am a man now and go the way my father went before me. I make no war on the helpless. The men who ride with me fight the fight my way.’’

‘‘Many
taum
ago. How many
taum,
Hunter? Seven? Would one dusty farm stand out in your mind?’’

‘‘This Comanche was not there!’’ he ground out.

‘‘Would you say if you were?’’

‘‘I make no lies!’’

‘‘All right, you weren’t there. But we’re not talking about you! We’re talking about Red Buffalo!’’ Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. ‘‘And the fact that you live and ride with my mother’s murderers. Whether you were there or not changes nothing. Men in this village killed my parents, and I can’t bear to remain here. Imagine how I would feel. Getting up in the morning and calling hello to one of the men who tortured her to death! I can’t do it, not even for you.’’

Raking a hand through his hair, Hunter shifted his weight onto one foot, a lean hip slung outward, one knee bent. ‘‘My heart is laid upon the ground because of your tears, yes? But I cannot walk backward and undo the many wrongs. Your mother and father are dead.
Suvate,
it is finished.’’

Loretta hugged her waist, staring at him. ‘‘
Suvate?
My father’s death was one thing. It was quick, at least. But my mother . . .’’ She bent her head, falling silent. When she looked up at last, tears shimmered on her cheeks. ‘‘You’re right. It
is
finished. Everything. Unless, of course, you want to leave with me. We could go away. Just you and I, Hunter. Would you do that? For me? We could be together. We could forget, if we tried.’’

‘‘I am Comanche. Without my people, I am as nothing.’’

‘‘And I’m
tosi tivo.
If I stay here with my parents’ killers,
I
will be as nothing.’’

‘‘You are my woman. We are one, forever with no horizon.’’

‘‘Oh, Hunter, it isn’t that easy. I’m leaving,’’ she whispered in a quavery voice. ‘‘You can’t watch me every second.’’

‘‘It is forbidden for a woman to leave her husband.’’

‘‘So is our love.’’

Hunter’s guts knotted. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave. Oh, yes, he understood. He even sympathized, but not so much that he was willing to let her go. She was reeling with shock right now. Later, when she calmed down, perhaps she would see things differently. Regardless, he needed time to think, to decide what to do, to somehow make things right between them. He loved her too much to lose her. Far too much. Hoping to discourage her, he growled, ‘‘If you flee, this Comanche will follow you. Anyone who tries to keep you from me will die. Think long and hard on this. I paid a fine bride price. You are my woman. What is mine, I keep.’’

‘‘You wouldn’t!’’ She said with a gasp. ‘‘My family, Hunter?’’

The stunned disbelief that crossed her face nearly made Hunter retract the threat, but he knew if he did, she would run at the first opportunity. If she feared for her loved ones, she would be less likely to do something rash.

Her eyes turned hard and glassy. Raising her chin, she met his gaze with contemptuous disdain. ‘‘But of course you would, wouldn’t you? All you care about is keeping what belongs to you. In this case, me. Bought and paid for, your
tosi
woman! No better than a horse.’’

‘‘You are mine. I have spilled my seed within you. Run from me, and I will beat you until you wail and weep. It is a promise I make for you.’’

‘‘You know what my problem has been, Hunter? I have seen only what I wanted to see.’’ She flung her arm toward his scalp pole again. ‘‘The evidence has always been here, but I made excuses for you and saw you the way I wanted you to be. Somehow, I told myself you cared about me, not as a possession, but as a person! And in doing so I forgot one major fact. You’re a Comanche, first, last, and always. A murdering heathen! Aunt Rachel was right.’’

He stepped across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her.

‘‘If you think I’m going to lie there beside you now, you’re crazy,’’ she informed him in a tremulous voice.

‘‘I am sure enough one crazy Comanche,’’ he replied. ‘‘You will lie beside me. This night and for always. You cannot run. If you do, death will ride beside you, wherever you go.’’

Moonlight bathed the interior of the lodge. Loretta wasn’t certain if Hunter was asleep. She had been lying beside him for an eternity—waiting. Amy’s breathing had become shallow and even. If Loretta didn’t make a move soon, it would be too late.

Turning her head, she studied Hunter’s dark profile, acutely conscious of the length of his warm body next to hers. For a moment an almost paralyzing tenderness invaded her. She squelched the emotion almost as quickly as it came. Love was indeed blind, just as Aunt Rachel was fond of saying. And Loretta had been blinder than most.