When the Splendor Falls (73 page)

“Apache?” Leigh managed to find her voice and ask.

Gil was silent. Then he shook his head, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he thought of his rifle still in its halter on Jicama. “Comanche,” he said, cursing himself for his carelessness, and for his stupidity in ever bringing Leigh so far off the main trail without a proper escort of armed riders. His father would whip the skin from his hide for this.

He looked over at her standing there, her long chestnut hair woven with gold as the sunlight touched her, and for a moment he thought about pulling out his knife and stabbing her through the heart so she wouldn’t know the terror of being taken captive, the rape and torture she would have to endure, but then he realized that he’d dropped his knife by the brambles after freeing the lamb.

Gil felt like crying, and he deserved the death that would shortly follow, but he didn’t have the time for further self-flagellation, for the six or seven Comanche, who until now had been sitting patiently on their piebald and shaggy roan ponies while watching them so intently, suddenly surged forward with a bloodcurdling, wild howling that had his scalp tingling with more than fear as he felt the sweat trickling down his back in anticipation of feeling the coldness of a knife slicing along his scalp and lifting his rust-colored hair from his head.

“Come on, Leigh!” he cried, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her, and the lamb that was still locked in her arms, toward the trees, thinking they might be able to lose the Comanche just long enough to circle around to their horses—and his gun.

Gil even found himself laughing as he thought of the bastards’ surprise if Leigh had been on Capitaine—they would never have caught her then.

But their escape was cut off abruptly as one of the Comanche braves, apparently the leader of the little band of raiders, ran his horse in their path, his dark thigh bared naked, rippling with smooth muscle above the deerskin leggings with their tinkling brass cones.

Gil glared up at the Comanche and tried to grab hold of the leather strap looped over the Indian pony’s lower jaw, and serving as a bridle, but a feathered shield was shoved in his face, splitting his bottom lip and bloodying his nose. Gil staggered back, somehow losing hold of Leigh’s arm as he fell to his knees. But he hadn’t given up yet—he was a Braedon—and he yelled a foul-sounding word in the Comanche’s own tongue, which Neil had taught him, and which had them momentarily startled, at least long enough for him to grab hold of the surcingle beneath one of the Comanche’s saddle and give it a vicious tug, which caused the Comanche, feathers, saddle, and all, to slide to the ground, where he landed with a painful yelp, his friends laughing loudly at his misfortune.

Gil ducked, but not fast enough to completely avoid the butt end of the heavy wooden handle of one of the Comanche’s quirts as it struck him on the back of the head, leaving him stunned and vulnerable to the rawhide tails slapping stingingly against his face as he tried to cover his head from further abuse.

He was surrounded now by three of the Comanche ponies, penning him in and herding him like a cow toward slaughter, he thought in growing despair as he tried to catch a glimpse of Leigh, wondering what had happened to her, and then wishing he hadn’t found out when he heard her cry out in fear.

Leigh had almost reached the trees when she’d been caught. While Gil had kept the Comanche amused, she had tried to make it back to their horses, and the gun Gil had forgotten. Leigh felt a painful jerk to her head before she was spun around by her long braid of hair. The first Comanche, the one who seemed to be the leader, was holding onto it, winding it tighter around his fist.

Leigh glanced over at Gil, who was now being prodded by the Comanche with their feathered lances, the sharp saber points stabbing him whenever he stumbled. Leigh knew a fury growing inside as she thought of Gil’s pain, and she dropped the lamb and grabbed hold of her braid of hair, jerking back on it and nearly causing the Comanche to tumble from his mount.

But he wasn’t easily unbalanced, this young Comanche brave, and he quickly hopped to the ground, moving with a panther-like stride to stand in front of her, while his companions, still mounted, followed close behind.

Leigh stared up into his eyes bravely, her own widening in disbelief as she met and held the pale-eyed stare of her captor; for his eyes were a brilliant sky blue.

He was tall and slender, his body sinewy with corded muscle, and he couldn’t have been much older than she. His features startled almost as much as his eyes had, for they were delicate, his lips full and sensuous, his nose straight but slightly hawkish. His black hair hung in long braids wrapped in deerskin, and several hawk feathers fanned his forehead from his proud scalplock, while long earrings dangled from one of his ears. A bow was slung over his strong shoulder, and a number of eagle-feathered arrows stood up dangerously from a buckskin quiver strapped behind. From his lance several scalps dangled, the long hair of varying shades, the scalps still bloodied.

Slowly, the young Comanche moved closer, drawing a broad-bladed knife from his leggings. Leigh swallowed against the fear rising from her belly, her eyes moving almost hypnotically to the pale blue eyes again, which were intent upon her as he closed the distance between them.

Leigh raised her hand to shield herself from the blow as he raised his knife, but he grabbed her wrists, holding them bound with his hand as he raised the knife in an arc and sliced down through her scarf and blouse, the knife blade a hair’s breadth away from her flesh, but the cold steel never touched it, never drew one drop of blood from her bared breast.

Leigh closed her eyes as she felt the warrior’s eyes on her, then she sucked in her breath when she felt his hand touch the softness of her flesh, his thumb lightly stroking the hardened nipple, then cupping the firm, pale roundness.

She heard Gil’s scream and opened her eyes in time to see him struggle forward, briefly breaking free from the Comanche who’d had him surrounded while they tormented him. Gil had only managed to take a couple of steps before one of the Comanche knocked him a glancing blow with his horse’s shoulder, then another had thrown his lance, striking Gil in the shoulder and pinning him to the ground.

Leigh smelled the sweat and leather, and the odor of horse, and there was another odor that came from the grease smeared over the Comanche’s bare chest and arms. Leigh could bear it no more and lowered her head, trying to draw breath into her lungs. She jumped when she felt her chin lifted, her throat muscles taut as she stared into the pale blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes.

He grinned, his finger tracing along the soft contours of her cheek and jaw. He glanced back at his friends when one of them, sounding impatient, called something to him. Another had already dismounted and was fumbling with his breechcloth, his erected organ easily outlined beneath the light material that bared his tight buttocks.

Turning back to her, the Comanche warrior with the startling blue eyes, who seemed to have the right to claim her first, allowed his eyes to travel down over her full breasts. Leigh looked heavenward, but there was no comfort to be found, for the sky was a reflection of this savage’s eyes, and Leigh began to struggle frantically as she felt him press intimately against her.

Suddenly she felt his body become tense. She felt the knife against her throat, and waited for the warmth of her lifeblood flowing from her throat. She waited, but she felt no pain, except for a stinging at the back of her neck. She’d heard that sometimes, when a person was mortally wounded, they died so quickly that it was often painless. But she could still feel his warm breath against her, and hear his breathing so close to hers.

A voice spoke softly.

Leigh kept her eyes tightly shut. She felt a hand touch her shoulder, shaking her slightly.

Opening her eyes, she met the blue-eyed Comanche’s puzzled stare. He held the leather pouch in his palm. He was staring at the contents he’d emptied from it. Leigh suddenly felt more than just fear. She was furious. He had no right to open the pouch. It belonged to Neil. The Comanche just barely touched the single feather, the arrowhead, and the yellowed fang, and was very careful not to spill any of the red dirt. But his fingers seemed to hesitate before touching the small curl of black hair braided and woven with colorful beads, and that was when Leigh could have sworn she heard him sigh. But when he saw the tiny silver dagger, the sun crowning its hilt, he placed his palm over it for a long moment.

As if he sensed her anger, he looked up, meeting her gaze for only a second before he looked back down at the pouch. He said something angry over his shoulder, instantly halting the other Comanche’s tormenting of Gil. Without questioning his command, they pulled the lance from his jacket sleeve and quickly mounted their ponies, their expressions concerned.

The talismans that had belonged to a young Comanche brave known as Sun Dagger were returned to the pouch and were handed back to Leigh, her hand limply holding the soft leather as she watched the Comanche with the blue eyes vault onto his piebald pony and without a backward glance ride back into the cottonwoods, toward the west, the rest of the braves trying to catch him as he seemed to ride faster than a cold wind blowing through the mountain passes.

Somehow Leigh managed to reach Gil, who was still lying on the ground, his buckskin jacket stained with blood, his lip becoming puffy, his nose swelling from the blow he’d received.

“I don’t understand,” he said dazedly, his blue-gray eyes darkened with pain. “We should be dead. Or at least I should. And you…” He felt the hot tears scalding his bloodied cheeks, unable to finish the thought, but Leigh’s warm arms enfolding him in a fierce, comforting hug made him realize he was still very much alive, especially when she kissed his bloodied cheek.

“Why did they leave?” Leigh asked aloud, staring back at the cottonwoods, half expecting them to reappear, their attack in deadly earnest this time.

“What’s that?” Gil asked faintly.

“The lamb.”

“They didn’t take it?”

“No, nor Capitaine or Jicama,” Leigh said in disbelief as she heard Capitaine’s neigh.

Gil shook his head, then wished he hadn’t, because it made the world start spinning. “My God, Leigh. We’re alive,” he said, still unable to believe that he was feeling only the pain of an aching head and a slight wound to his arm, for the lance had just scratched him, he realized as he lifted his arm as he tried to rise.

Leigh grabbed hold of him and helped him to his feet, where he stood unsteadily, trying to keep his balance until her arm slid around his waist and he leaned against her.

“I still don’t understand,” Gil was mumbling as Leigh led him toward their horses, determined to waste no more time in this wretched place.

“What’s that?” Gil asked, becoming aware of the leather pouch clutched in Leigh’s hand. “It looks familiar.”

“It’s Neil’s. He left it in my possession,” Leigh said, grasping it tighter. “Jolie says it possesses powerful magic,” Leigh heard herself saying. “She told me to wear it this morning,” she remembered, thankful she’d heeded Jolie’s warnings for once.

“
Neil’s?
” Gil repeated curiously. “I wonder,” he said, still unable to believe that their horses were really here. He managed to climb on Jicama’s back, but nearly fainted while waiting for Leigh to find the lamb and climb on Capitaine.

“Leigh?” he said.

“What?”

“We mustn’t ever tell what happened. Promise me, Leigh?”

“Why?”

“I was forbidden to come here. I could have gotten you killed. Don’t tell my father, Leigh. Please? I just have a feeling, Leigh, that it would cause more harm than good to say anything. We’re alive. They didn’t really hurt us. Why cause trouble? It will just bring up old memories for my father. You see, I think those Comanche must have recognized that pouch of Neil’s. They knew it belonged to a Comanche brave. They honored it, maybe even honored Neil. He might be remembered in the tribe. We can’t say anything. If my father knew they were here, on his land, he’d go after them, maybe get killed. And what would that do to Neil? It’s best forgotten. I’ll say I took a tumble from Jicama. Leigh?” he questioned.

“All right, Gil. I’ll say nothing,” Leigh agreed, feeling a strange sense of foreboding, but then they were riding across the meadow, the sun shining down warmly on them.

Royal Rivers. Even in the darkness it was welcoming, she thought in growing excitement as they neared the opened gates. Then she realized why. It seemed as if the night were on fire, for countless torches were blazing across the grounds, the flames flickering eerily, with a smoky haze hanging low over the darker shapes of human and animal forms wandering about. Men and horses. They were grouping together near the corrals, ready to ride out in search of Gil and her.

Leigh caught Gil’s pleading gaze on her, and she nodded. She wouldn’t break her promise to him about what had happened. No one would ever know of their encounter with the Comanche braves.

She saw Nathaniel approaching out of one of the pools of darkness, his lean figure seeming taller than ever, the torchlight dancing around him as if he had stepped from the fires of hell, his long-legged, unhurried stride bringing him closer to where she still sat her horse. Even though she and Gil might have an uncomfortable few moments explaining themselves to him, she was glad she was home, she thought, closing her eyes tiredly.

Leigh never saw the arms that reached up and lifted the lamb from its snug perch across her lap, baaing loudly as it was taken from the warmth of its newly adopted mother. Leigh was about to dismount when the arms returned and easily lifted her from the saddle. She didn’t think her legs would hold her when her boots touched the ground, but they never did, and instead she was swung up into the strong arms and held against the warmth of a broad chest as she felt herself being carried away from the corrals.

Leigh opened her eyes then, ready to protest that she could walk and Gil needed more help than she did, and she had things to do before she—but she found herself gazing up into a pair of cold, pale gray-green eyes. It was Neil Braedon who held her, not his father.