Comanche Woman (12 page)

The two men stared at one another for a moment, each one measuring the other. Many Horses rose and headed for the tipi opening. Before he could stoop to leave, He Decides It spoke once more, in a voice more commanding for its quietness. “The woman may be lost to you.”

Many Horses jerked upright as though he’d been stabbed in the back. He whirled to face the
puhakut
. “Seek your medicine with an open heart,
puhakut
. The woman means much to me. I will have her even at the cost of my life.”

He Decides It controlled the shudder that threatened to shake him. He hadn’t become as powerful as he was by showing fear when confronted with death. “I will do as you ask. But you must know,” he said with a cunning smile, “I can only speak as the spirits direct me.”

Many Horses snarled a “Pah!” before he made a quick escape from the tipi. He moved so fast he was almost running. He didn’t realize where he was headed until he came to the tipi that housed Long Quiet and Shadow. He realized he’d left the
puhakut
’s tipi without waiting for Long Quiet to join him. He stood helplessly staring at the flap entrance. It was silent inside, which made him wonder what they were doing with their mouths that didn’t leave them free to speak.

His unaccustomed jealousy ate at him like fire on dry moss. Unable to stop himself, he leaned over to lift up the flap. He peered inside, only to discover the dwelling was empty. His face burned with shame as he acknowledged the depths to which his possessiveness had sent him. He dropped the flap and looked around, gratefully finding the area deserted. He’d been spared the humiliation of making a fool of himself over a mere woman—a woman who wasn’t even his wife.

He’d always prided himself on his generosity, had always been more than willing to share what he’d stolen on raids or brought back from the hunt. It was well known among the villagers that one had only to ask for something belonging to Many Horses to receive what had been sought. Many Horses hadn’t realized how thoroughly
his
the woman had become in his mind. He turned on his heel and headed for his herd of horses. He would wait there for Long Quiet to join him. And seek within his heart a solution to the confusing feelings that assailed him.

Chapter 6

W
HEN
B
AY FINISHED PUTTING AWAY THE BREAKFAST THINGS,
she went searching for Little Deer to fulfill her promise to play with the child. That was one of the things she liked best about the Comanches—they enjoyed playing when the work was done. When she stepped inside the tipi, where Cries at Night was sewing a knee-high fur-lined winter moccasin, the child was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Little Deer?” Bay asked.

“She Touches First came to get her.”

“Where did they go?”

“She took her to the shady spot by the creek where the other children are playing. If you are going there, will you bring back some water for me?”

“Of course,
Pia
.” Bay picked up the water kettle and hurried off to find Little Deer, upset her place had been usurped, but knowing this was also the way of the Comanche. Children were to be enjoyed by everyone. It seemed to her, however, that She Touches First had taken an extraordinary interest in Little Deer from the first.
Not so odd
, Bay thought,
when you consider Little Deer is Many Horses’ child
.

Bay couldn’t have said why she was so upset to find Little Deer with She Touches First, except that it forced her to acknowledge that if she left the village with Long Quiet, Little Deer would scarcely want for love. She Touches First spent nearly as much time with Little Deer as Bay did. And of course Cries at Night and Many Horses loved the child. It was disconcerting to admit that she might need Little Deer more than Little Deer needed her.

Little Deer was laughing gaily, rolling a wooden ball to She Touches First.

Bay set down the kettle and called, “
Hu!
Little Deer.”

“
Pia!
” The little girl came running and launched herself into Bay’s open arms. Bay gave her a quick hug and set her down again. “Have you been a good girl this morning?”

“Yes,
Pia
.”

“Are you ready to play a game with me now?”

Little Deer turned and looked at She Touches First, who sat silently in the background. “I’m playing with She Touches First now.”

It hurt to know Little Deer was just as happy with the other woman. But Bay was not so narrow-hearted as to deny the child the love of another. “If you want to play later, come and find me,” she said, affectionately ruffling Little Deer’s hair.

As Little Deer ran back to She Touches First, Bay retrieved the kettle. She walked the rest of the way to the creek lost in thought. When she got there, Bay dipped the heavy black kettle into the creek, filling it to the brim with water for Cries at Night. As her arm muscles tensed to bear the immense weight, the kettle was taken effortlessly from her hands.

Bay turned to find Long Quiet standing beside her. “I could have done that by myself.”

“I never doubted it,” Long Quiet replied with a smile. “But I wished to help.”

It was the gesture of a white man. No Comanche male carried water for cooking. Bay searched Long Quiet’s face for some explanation for his action, but she didn’t find it.

“I thought you were to meet Many Horses in the
puhakut
’s tipi.”

“I went there, but he’d already left.” He avoided looking at her, gazing instead at their surroundings. The creek was at the bottom of a gully, so they were hidden from prying eyes. It would have been a good place to woo her, he thought. It was a vale for lovers, and she’d never looked lovelier, with the early-morning sun blushing her skin a rosy peach and turning her hair to molten fire.

“Did you want something?” she asked.

He wanted to know everything about her, to touch her, to make her his woman, to make her his wife. His heart ached with the futility of his wants. He said simply, “Will you walk with me?”

“I promised Cries at Night I’d fetch this water for her.”

He set the kettle down on a flat stone. “We won’t be long.” He started to walk along the creek, not waiting to see if she followed.

But she did.

They walked for what seemed a long time to Bay, but still Long Quiet didn’t speak. His brow had furrowed and his gaze was turned inward. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, she said, “Has your pony recovered from the journey here?”

At her question, Long Quiet stopped and turned around, seeming almost surprised to find her there. “He’s a fine animal. A little rest and some good grass, and he’ll be ready to go again.” He smiled before he added, “I didn’t wish to walk with you to talk about my horse. I wished to speak with you about . . . about your life here. That is, if it wouldn’t be too painful for you to speak of it.”

Bay had shut out the memories of her first days and weeks as a captive, but at last she admitted, “I was lonely.” When she felt Long Quiet’s callused thumb on her cheek, she looked up into his gray eyes. She found the sympathy there disquieting. She took a step back from him. Her chin jutted as she added, “But I survived.”

“You were beaten—”

“Why ask what you already know? You’ve felt the scars for yourself.”

“—and you were raped.”

It was then Bay realized she’d interrupted him before he’d finished speaking. How could she tell him of the fears she’d harbored when she was first captured? She’d been so certain rape would be her fate! How could she tell him that while she’d escaped that degradation herself, she’d witnessed the rape of other captives, that she’d seen them hurt and humiliated and been helpless to lift a hand to prevent it. Her heart had long borne the weight of guilt that she’d been spared what others had suffered.

Long Quiet watched Bay’s eyes fill with tears. Her next words confirmed his fear that she’d been misused.

“I . . . I was . . . I’ve seen . . . I was afraid . . .”

Long Quiet saw her pain and knew that whatever had happened to her, he didn’t want to hear it. “There’s no need to speak of it.” He reached out to touch her hair, but she flinched. He warned himself to be patient. He dropped his hand and continued to walk along the creek. “Tell me about your life before you came to live among The People. Were you happy?”

“Yes. At least as happy as I could be under the circumstances.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d have to know my father to understand. I could never seem to meet the expectations Rip had for me.”

“What expectations could a father have that wouldn’t be met by a daughter as beautiful as you?”

Bay’s lips curled wryly at the compliment and she slanted a chagrined glance at Long Quiet. “I could have been a son.” At Long Quiet’s quizzical stare, Bay explained with a snort of laughter, “My father wanted sons. My mother bore him daughters.”

“Ah.” That was something a Comanche could well understand. Daughters had their uses, but sons were much revered and desired.

“I don’t think you understand as much as you think you do,” Bay said, the smile never leaving her face. “You see, my father raised us—his three daughters—to take over the roles he’d planned for his sons. My sister Sloan, who’s a year older than I, is everything a man could wish for in a firstborn male—strong, brave, intelligent. My sister Cricket, who’s a year younger than I, is my father’s favorite—impetuous, headstrong, bold. And I . . .”

“And you?”

Bay shrugged. “I was my father’s greatest disappointment. I couldn’t ride well or shoot straight or stand the sight of blood. I’m afraid I had too weak a stomach for killing even to put food on the table. I couldn’t—”

“Enough.” Long Quiet hated the desolate look in Bay’s eyes as she berated herself. “He’s a foolish man if he expects such things of a woman. But didn’t you tell me you cured a buffalo hide yourself? How could you do that if you can’t bear the sight of blood?”

“I had no choice except to get over such delicate feelings,” she admitted.

“And could you kill now?”

Bay’s eyes clouded, becoming a deep dark purple. “I can do anything I have to do to survive.”

“So your father was hasty in his judgment of you.”

Bay raised her eyes to meet Long Quiet’s. He was right. Her father wouldn’t recognize her today as the same disappointing daughter he’d known.

This time, when Long Quiet’s hand came up to brush a wispy tendril from Bay’s temple, she didn’t flinch away.

“I would speak now about us,” he said.

“There is no
us
,” she replied hesitantly. “I belong—”

“—to me.”

Bay froze, bound by the touch of Long Quiet’s knuckles feathering across her cheek. Slowly, giving her time to object, he reached his arms around her and drew her close. She didn’t struggle. How could she struggle when he used no force? Nor did she defy him with her eyes or her voice. But she did nothing to encourage him, either. She simply submitted.

He was wary of her surrender, afraid to believe that she’d accepted him. “Are you willing? Is that why you do not fight me?”

“What purpose would fighting serve? You’re stronger. You would win.”

There was truth in her words, but Long Quiet felt compelled to chide, “There are ways a woman can make a man weak. Have you never learned to bow a man to your will?”

Confused, her eyes sought his. “What?”

“Like this.”

She was unprepared for his gentle assault on her mouth or for the hands that roamed her body in supplication. His tongue sought the taste of her, his hands lightly skimmed the peaks and valleys beneath her deerskin poncho and were gone before she could mouth the words to protest.