Comanche Moon (51 page)

Hunter shouldered his way into the lodge, making no reply.

‘‘Look into me, Hunter. I demand an answer! For love of Loh-rhett-ah, could you live with your dead wife’s killers?’’

‘‘Enough!’’ Hunter swept his mother out of his way, too confused by his own emotions to notice that she stumbled. ‘‘Go to your husband, old woman. Nettle him with your tongue!’’

Three days later Amy’s worst fears were realized: there were no troops at Fort Belknap. Loretta knew that the families there would be put in jeopardy if she and Amy sought shelter with them. Her conscience wouldn’t let her stay. She and Amy had no choice but to go home.

The Steinbachs, a couple who lived within the stockade, invited the two girls to share in a big Sunday lunch before they left. Despite ravenous hunger, Loretta declined. ‘‘We’d best move on. Just in case they’re coming up behind us. Please don’t worry. We’ll be all right,’’ she assured them as she and Amy mounted up. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. Mr. Steinbach struck her as the heroic type. There were a good six hours of hard riding ahead of them, and Loretta was anxious to get started. She sensed Hunter was drawing closer, and the feeling panicked her. ‘‘Good-bye, Mr. Steinbach.’’

Loretta glanced toward the dusty yard, where the little Steinbach boys played kerchief tag. She couldn’t put their lives at risk.

The farm looked strangely deserted when Loretta and Amy crested the rise. The girls reined in their horses and stared at the house. Despite the dry spell, the corn field thrived. Loretta could see one of the pigs rutting in the pen. Things appeared normal, except that it was nigh onto dusk and cooking smoke should have been trailing from the catted chimney.

‘‘That’s right, it’s Sunday. Mrs. Steinbach said,’’ Amy cried. ‘‘Maybe Ma and Pa went over to the Bartletts’ for prayer service. I don’t see the buckboard.’’

Loretta nodded.
Sunday.
The word hung in the air, foreign after so long a stay in Comancheria. Saturday night baths. Wearing her Sunday best. Spending the afternoon reading from the Bible. All that seemed like a century ago. She straightened her shoulders, so weary she wanted to drop. She knew Amy was every bit as tired. ‘‘Maybe it’s just as well they’re gone.’’ She cast a derisive glance at Amy’s Indian garb. ‘‘If Aunt Rachel sees you dressed like that, she’s going to have fits.’’

Amy looked down at her moccasins, still wet from fording the river. ‘‘I
like
dressin’ like this. It’s a sight better than bein’ trussed up and stiflin’ in the heat.’’

Loretta kicked Friend forward, leaning back to equalize her weight as he went down the slight slope. It felt odd riding through the gate dressed like a Comanche. After rein-tying Friend to the porch post, Loretta climbed the sagging steps and crossed the porch to the door. Lifting the outer latch, she pushed inside. The smell of freshly baked cornbread wafted to her, further proof that today had been prayer meeting. Aunt Rachel didn’t bake on the Sabbath otherwise. Amy shouldered her way past Loretta and made a beeline for the pan on the hearth.

Scooping out a chunk of bread with her fingers, she took an unladylike bite and turned, grinning around the bulge in her cheek. ‘‘Lands, this tastes good! I’m so tired of jerked meat and nuts, I could urp. Want some?’’

‘‘Later. We can’t tarry. Let’s gather food and light out.’’

‘‘Without seein’ Ma?’’

‘‘There isn’t time.’’

‘‘I’m not leavin’ until I see my ma. It’s not me Hunter’s after!’’

‘‘He’ll snatch you back all the same! He has crazy ideas about family when he marries up with a body. The way he figures, you belong to him now. He doesn’t think Uncle Henry watches after you proper.’’

‘‘He reckons right. Pa don’t watch after nobody but Pa.’’

Loretta took a rifle down from the rack and fished in the nearby cupboard for cartridges. ‘‘Pack that bread to take along, Amy. Then go out to the cool-room and grab anything you see—jerked meat, corn meal, dried fruit. Hurry now! If we drag our heels, Hunter could show up.’’

Less than an hour later the girls were nearly ready to leave. Amy had just gone out to saddle her horse, and Loretta was about to join her, when Amy burst back inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

‘‘Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, Hunter’s here!’’

Loretta’s heart leaped. ‘‘Oh, God, drop the bar, Amy!’’

Loretta grabbed the bed and slid it away from the trap. Amy came running to help, her small face pinched with terror.

‘‘Did they see you?’’ Loretta cried.

‘‘I don’t think so. But our horses are out front! They’ll know, Loretta Jane! What in blazes are we gonna do?’’

‘‘Hide!’’ Loretta threw the trap wide and shoved Amy down the steps. Grabbing the rifle, she cast a worried glance at the bed to be sure it was sitting straight and the covers weren’t mussed. If the least little thing looked odd, Hunter would notice and know the bed had been moved. Once he made that deduction, it wouldn’t take him long to think of a floor trap. She no longer believed Comanches were stupid, Hunter least of all.

Hurrying after Amy, Loretta reached back to draw the door closed behind her. A damp, musty darkness enveloped her. She groped her way down the remaining steps. Anemic stripes of light coming through the floor cracks fell across Amy’s pale face. The hiding space was tiny, a dugout four feet square, just deep enough for them to stand up. Loretta shoved Amy into one corner and stood in front of her, rifle ready.

The thundering approach of horses filled Loretta’s mind. She felt Amy trembling behind her. Hunter’s voice rang out, barking something in Comanche. The next instant he yelled, ‘‘White Eyes, send me my woman!’’

Loretta jumped. The fury in his voice strung her nerves taut. Silence fell—a long, deafening silence. She imagined Hunter staring at the doeskin coverings on the front windows, the expression on his face as he began to realize no one was there.

Wood creaked. Loretta snapped her head around. Someone had stepped onto the porch. Another board moaned, then another. Her eyeballs burned. Stiff with dread, she waited. A heartbeat later the door crashed open and moccasined feet touched softly on the cabin floor. She could feel Hunter’s nearness in every pore of her skin. Pressing against Amy, she stared at the trap.
Please, God, don’t let him see the irregular planks.

An airless silence buzzed in Loretta’s ears. She held her breath and knew Amy did as well. Then Amy sobbed. She made only a whisper of sound, but it seemed as loud as a cannon boom. Electrical awareness crackled. A board creaked. A shadow fell across the stripes of light coming down through the floor cracks. Loretta snugged her finger on the trigger, shaking, her skin clammy with sweat. The trap lifted an inch. . . .

Amy jerked and gasped. Not certain from which side Hunter would open the door, Loretta waited until she saw the toe of his moccasin, then swung the barrel of the gun toward him. The door whined, yawning wider. The light blinded her for an instant. Hunter loomed in the opening, his features taut with rage.

‘‘Out!’’ He snapped his fingers and jabbed a thumb over his muscular shoulder, stepping back so they could come up the steps. ‘‘
Namiso,
now!’’

Amy leaped to obey. Loretta threw her weight back to hold her in the corner. ‘‘Get out of here, Hunter. I’m not going with you.’’

He placed a foot on the top step. Wondering if it was really her doing this, she waved the barrel of the gun at him. ‘‘Don’t try it! Just leave. Please? I don’t want to hurt you!’’

He took another step, his expression thunderous, his eyes sparking anger.

‘‘This is loaded! Don’t test me, Hunter! I’m not going back!’’

To Loretta’s horror, he dared to take another step. She braced herself and tried to tighten her quivering finger on the trigger. The imagined blast of the gun filled her ears. She pictured him crumpling and falling down the steps, his broad chest torn open and bleeding. Blazing indigo eyes locked on hers, held her pinioned. Memories of her parents slid through her mind, but other memories did as well—memories of Hunter, in a hundred different scenes, as her friend, her lover, her protector. She hated what he was, the things he was capable of doing. But she loved him, too. And God help her, she couldn’t kill him. He knew that. She read it in his eyes. He came down the remaining steps and hauled Amy out from behind her.

‘‘Go to Swift Antelope,’’ he ordered.

‘‘Hunter . . .’’ Amy clutched his arm. ‘‘You gotta understand. It was her ma! Her ma and pa! How would you feel?’’

‘‘Go to Swift Antelope!’’ he snarled.

With a sob, Amy ran up the steps and out of the house, calling Swift Antelope’s name. With slow, deliberate anger, Hunter wrested the weapon from Loretta’s hands and tossed it onto the dirt. Then, without a word, he slung her over his shoulder and headed up the steps.

‘‘Hunter, for the love of God, don’t do this!’’ She grabbed hold of his belt, remembering the other times he had carried her this way. ‘‘Damn you! I won’t go back there. I
won’t
!’’

He strode across the room to the door, acting for all the world as if he didn’t hear her. Furious, Loretta pummeled the backs of his thighs. He kept going. The ground swept under her in a dizzying blur. The next thing she knew, he was tossing her on his horse and mounting behind her. Two other Indians collected the stallions on which Loretta and Amy had made their escape. Friend reared at having his line touched by a stranger, but a softly spoken word from Hunter calmed him.

As Hunter wheeled his horse, Loretta realized he truly meant to drag her back to his village. Her wishes counted for nothing. He would force her to live among her parents’ murderers, to look into their faces every day for the remainder of her life, to break bread with them, be polite to them, accept them. The thought spurred her into action.

‘‘No!’’ she cried, turning on him to press an attack. ‘‘I won’t go back with you, I won’t.’’

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he gave her a vicious shake. Pain exploded across her scalp. The very brutality of the act made Loretta freeze and stare at him in shocked disbelief. His eyes glittered down at her.

In a voice that dripped venom, he said, ‘‘This Comanche will stop and beat you if you make trouble. You understand?’’

‘‘You wouldn’t.’’

‘‘I am Comanche, yes? A
mo-cho-rook,
cruel one. This is what you run from? A heathen. A man who will beat you? Or maybe throw you to his friends? That would be good, eh?
If
I could find a man so stupid he would take you!’’

Releasing her hair to cinch a bruising arm around her waist, Hunter fell silent, nudging his horse forward into a jarring trot. His hand on her hip was heavy, the bite of his fingers uncomfortable but not cruel. Loretta leaned against him and closed her eyes.

‘‘Why can’t you understand that it’s over between us—that I can’t stay in that village with you?’’ she said. ‘‘Even if you had nothing to do with my parents’ deaths, people in your village did! I can’t forget that! And I can’t forgive it!’’

‘‘This Comanche cares nothing for the song in your heart,’’ he retorted, his voice still venomous. ‘‘You belong to me. Forever, for always! Within you is my seed. A Comanche man does not give up his woman.’’

Those were the last words to pass between them. The miles sped by, long into the night, until Loretta slumped with exhaustion and drifted into a fitful sleep, her head lolling against her husband’s shoulder.

Hours later she awoke with a start to the biting grip of Hunter’s hand on her arm, jerking her off the horse. Stunned and disoriented, she fell in an ungraceful heap at his feet, then crab-walked to keep from being dragged as he pulled her along behind him, a buffalo robe and stakes tucked under his other arm.

Shoving her to the ground, he spread the robe, then picked up a rock. Loretta peered through the moonlit gloom in stunned silence as he began driving the stakes. She knew he intended to spread-eagle her, but a part of her refused to believe he would do it. He was only trying to scare her, to bully her into submission.

‘‘Why are we camped so far from the others?’’ she asked, striving to keep her voice calm. A fire had leapt to life some distance away, and she could hear the faint sound of the others talking.

‘‘Your Aye-mee must not see,’’ he replied in a clipped monotone.

‘‘See what?’’ she asked shakily.

‘‘The games we will play,’’ he said softly.

He glanced up from the stake he was pounding. Loretta took one look at the murderous gleam in his eye and bolted. Before she had taken more than a few steps, he was upon her. Seizing her wrist, he dragged her to the fur. Then, so quickly she wasn’t sure how, he flipped her onto her back and followed her down, anchoring her flailing limbs with his weight while he secured her arms. Just as quickly, he bound her feet.

Loretta stared up at him, trying to assure herself that he was only bluffing. She had run away; now he meant to teach her a lesson. Once he felt vindicated, he would be the same sweet, gentle Hunter he had always been.

She kept right on telling herself that until he crouched beside her and jerked up her overblouse to rudely expose her breasts. Her breath snagged as his fingers plucked the tip of one nipple into throbbing hardness. The moonlight played upon his face, revealing the taut anger in his expression.

‘‘Ah, yes, this is the way of it, eh? A heathen and his woman?’’ His face twisted in a sneer as he rolled her sensitive flesh between his finger and thumb, sending shocks of sensation shooting into her belly. ‘‘Hunter, the one who rapes and tortures? That is me.’’ Abandoning her breast, he rocked back on his heels and jerked up her skirt. ‘‘This is very good, Blue Eyes. The animal in me likes having you tied.’’

With that, he stretched out beside her. Even in her turmoil, Loretta heard an echo in every word he spoke. Looking into his eyes, she knew how deeply her leaving had hurt him.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he planted a hand on her abdomen and lowered his head to brush his lips across her temple. Her belly convulsed as his fingers began a subtle manipulation, charging her senses, making her skin tingle, in a relentless path toward her breasts.