181
" Come out, White-Eyes,” the voice called. “I bring gifts, not bloodshed.”
Henry, wearing nothing but his pants and the bandages Aunt Rachel had wrapped around his chest the night before, hopped on one foot as he dragged on a boot. By the time he reached the window, he had both boots on, laces flapping. Rachel gave him a rifle. He threw open the shutter and jerked down the skin, shoving the barrel out the opening. “What brings you here?”
“The woman. I bring many horses in trade.”
Loretta ran to the left window, throwing back the shutters and unfastening the membrane to peek out. The Comanche turned to meet her gaze, his dark eyes expressionless, penetrating, all the more luminous from the black graphite that outlined them. Her hands tightened on the rough sill, nails digging the wood.
He looked magnificent. Even she had to admit that. Savage, frightening…but strangely beautiful. Eagle feathers waved from the crown of his head, the painted tips pointed downward, the quills fastened in the slender braid that hung in front of his left ear. His cream-colored hunting shirt enhanced the breadth of his shoulders, the chest decorated with intricate beadwork, painted animal claws, and white strips of fur. He wore two necklaces, one of bear claws, the other a flat stone medallion, both strung on strips of rawhide. His buckskin breeches were tucked into knee-high moccasins.
Her gaze shifted to the strings of riderless ponies behind him. She couldn’t believe their number. Thirty? Possibly forty? Beyond the animals were at least sixty half-naked warriors on horseback. Loretta wondered why Hunter had come fully clothed in all his finery with wolf rings painted around his eyes. The others wore no shirts or feathers, and their faces were bare.
“I come for the woman,” the Comanche repeated, never taking his gaze from her. “And I bring my finest horses to console her father for his loss. Fifty, all trained to ride.” His black sidestepped and whinnied. The Indian swayed easily with his mount. “Send me the woman, and have no fear. She will come to no harm walking in my footsteps, for I am strong and swift. She will never feel hunger, for I am a fine hunter. My lodge will shelter her from the winter rain, and my buffalo robes will shield her from the cold. I have spoken it. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
184
" Patience. Over the next five days, Hunter’s became as elusive as dandelion fuzz caught in a high wind. He was living with not one but two angry yellow-hairs, Loretta because he refused to take Amy home and had made mention of the possibility that he might marry more than one woman. Amy because he was forcing Swift Antelope’s company upon her. On all counts, Hunter felt justified and carried on with implacable determination, trying to ignore the glares to which he was treated every time he set foot inside his lodge.
By the fifth night his perseverance was rewarded with a smile from Amy after Swift Antelope escorted her home from their daily walk. With flushed cheeks, Amy regaled Loretta with the details of her time spent with Swift Antelope, about the doe and twin fawns they had spied upon, about the flowers Swift Antelope had picked for her, about the birdcalls and sign language he was teaching her, about the silly tricks he played on her. Clearly Swift Antelope was making headway with Amy; the girl was beginning to heal.
Hunter’s already low spirits plummeted. It was a sad state of affairs when an untried boy had more luck with women than a grown man. It was especially upsetting because Hunter knew he had paid dearly, not once but twice, for the right to possess Loretta, that he could exercise his rights at any time he chose, yet found himself hesitating because of the shadows in her eyes. Recalling his father’s advice, he could only scoff. The way things were going, if he was to become his woman’s friend before he became her lover, they might never move on to the second stage of their relationship. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
185
" He dipped his hand into the grease and leaned forward to smear it on the woman’s tortured skin. His hand hovered above her leg. He couldn’t help but remember how jealously she had guarded her ruffled breeches that first day or how painfully ashamed she had been this morning when the hem of her pitsikwina had ridden up on her thighs. If she had any idea that she was lying here naked, he felt sure her face would turn redder than the sunburn had already made it. And if she knew he was about to run his hands over her? He could only guess what her reaction might be. Terror, probably. Accompanied by a good deal of spitting if her past transgressions were an indication. Stupid girl. Grown men had dared less and died for their trouble. Perhaps his brother was right, and she didn’t know who he was. Hunter was well aware of the fear he inspired in the tosi tivo. Most whites recognized him the moment they saw the scar on his cheek and looked into his indigo eyes.
A suppressed smile made the corners of his mouth twitch. Perhaps he would be wise not to tell her who he was. As much as he disliked her spitting, the thought of her being obedient and too easily cowed appealed even less. Something about her--he had no idea what--evoked confusing emotions within him. Anger blanketed those emotions, prevented him from having to deal with them. Ah, yes, he liked her much better when she was spitting. Much better. Sick and helpless as she was now, he found himself feeling sorry for her. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
187
" 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, his 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. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
189
" We will go to my lodge, yes? I will make you happy there where no one can see.”
She slugged his shoulder. “You did that on purpose!”
He laughed and tucked her under one arm to hold her close to his side as they walked. When they came within sight of the village, she drew away. A guilty flush dotted her cheeks. Hunter threw back his head and laughed. She retaliated by grabbing up a handful of pebbles to throw at him. Her aim was terrible, but Hunter ran out of throw’s reach anyway--until her ammunition was exhausted. Then he doubled back, charging, so he could reach her before she gathered more rocks.
She shrieked and fled. His longer legs quickly closed the distance between them. He swept her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder, clamping one arm across the backs of her knees. Playfully she pummeled his back. Just as playfully he ran his free hand up her skirt and gave her bottom a light pinch.
All in all, Hunter decided, it had been a good day. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
190
" I would have you beside me,” he told her huskily.
“But you promised to take me home.”
The stallion nickered and sidestepped, pulling both of them off balance. Hunter released the horse to catch her, his arm encircling her waist. Loretta snapped taut when his hard thighs pressed intimately against hers.
He bent his head and nuzzled her hair, his breath sifting through the strands to her scalp. A shiver ran through her. For a moment she struggled against him, but then she felt as if an invisible web were entwining itself around her, the silken threads binding her so she couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
She closed her eyes, wildly afraid, of him and what he was making her feel. She tried desperately to conjure an image of her mother, anything to break the spell. Perhaps he knew how to be gently persuasive after all. She knew she should pull away, yet an unnameable something held her transfixed. His mouth trailed to the slope of her neck, sending tingles down her spine. A treacherous languor stole into her limbs. Heat spread through her belly. For an instant she wanted to lean against him, to let his wonderfully strong arms mold her to his length.
The shock of his hand on her bare back brought her to her senses. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. She tried to arch away from him and succeeded only in accommodating his mouth when her head fell back. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. His callused palm slid slowly but inexorably to her side, his thumb feathering against the underside of her breast. Horrified, she groped for his wrist, her fingers finding feeble purchase through the leather.
“Ah, nei mah-tao-yo,” he whispered. “You tremble. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
191
" I come for the woman,” the Comanche repeated, never taking his gaze from her. “And I bring my finest horses to console her father for his loss. Fifty, all trained to ride.” His black sidestepped and whinnied. The Indian swayed easily with his mount. “Send me the woman, and have no fear. She will come to no harm walking in my footsteps, for I am strong and swift. She will never feel hunger, for I am a fine hunter. My lodge will shelter her from the winter rain, and my buffalo robes will shield her from the cold. I have spoken it.”
Aunt Rachel crossed herself. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray--”
“We don’t sell our womenfolk,” Henry called back.
“You sicken my gut, tosi tivo. After you had bedded her, you would have sold her to that dirty old man.” With a sneer twisting his lips, he lifted Tom Weaver’s wool riding blanket from his horse’s withers and tossed it to the dirt. “Better you sell her to me. I am young. I will give her many fine sons. She will not wail over my death for many winters.”
“I’d rather shoot her, you murdering bastard,” Henry retorted.
“Then do it and make your death song.” The Comanche wheeled his horse, riding close to the window where Loretta stood. “Where is the herbi with such great courage who came out to face us once before? Does she still sleep? Will you hide behind your wooden walls and let your loved ones die? Come out, Yellow Hair, and meet your destiny. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
192
" Blue Eyes, you will be a fine wife in time,” he said gravely.
“No, I won’t.” Her gaze flew to his, brimming with misery and tears. “Oh, Hunter, what’s the matter with me?”
Studying her small face, Hunter realized two things: he didn’t want her to be like anyone else, and, right or wrong, he had to bring this torturous waiting to an end, for both their sakes. For once, his father had given poor advice. “Blue Eyes…” Hunter sighed and interlaced his fingers, bending his knuckles backward, stalling because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Can you say words so this Comanche can see into you?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Ah, yes, afraid.” He studied her beaded moccasins. “Because I am Comanche?”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “It isn’t that, not anymore. That’s just an excuse!”
Cautiously Hunter asked, “Then what makes your heart sad?”
She bit her bottom lip and tipped her head back to stare at the smoke hole. After several seconds she sniffed and said, “You’re a man.”
She looked so forlorn that Hunter had to bite back a smile. He started to speak, then thought better of it. Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention from her quivering mouth to her nervous hands, wishing he knew how to ease her fears. Being patient hadn’t worked.
She closed her eyes again and made a strangled sound, whirling away from him. “Marry Bright Star. It’s only fair. I can’t expect you to wait forever for me to--” She made another angry swipe at her cheeks and took a jagged breath. “She’s very lovely. You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t want her. And it’s clear she wants you. Why should you be tied to me?”
He pushed to his feet and slowly approached her from behind. She jerked when he grasped her shoulders. “I have no wish to marry Bright Star. You are the wife I want. One wife, for always. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
193
" Look what I have here. A gift, yes? For your woman. A gift like no other.”
He pulled something sparkly from a parfleche and palmed it, extending his arm toward Hunter. “Moonlight on water, cousin. A comb for your tosi wife.”
Drawn by the glisten of bright stones, Hunter lifted the comb and turned it to catch the firelight. For an instant he imagined the look on Loretta’s face if he were to give her something so fine. Then he discarded the thought. “You took it off a woman you killed. She would spit upon it.”
“No! I traded with the Comancheros for it.”
Excitement coursed up Hunter’s spine. He wanted so badly to give Loretta pretty things, things a white woman would treasure. He knew his world was vastly different from hers. A comb like this might console her. “How much?”
“It’s a gift!”
“Ah, no. Only a woman’s husband should give her something so beautiful.”
“It will cost you a blanket,” Red Buffalo said with a shrug.
Hunter snorted. “Two horses, no less.”
“One. I will accept no more.” Red Buffalo laughed. “We do this backward, eh, cousin? Some fine traders we are. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
194
" He glided his greased hand up her thigh to her hip, acutely aware of how hot her skin was and how fragile her jutting hipbone felt against the leathery surface of his palm. She tossed her head and moaned, her sooty lashes fluttering on her flushed cheeks. He studied her face for a moment, then lowered his gaze to her breasts. The tips were the delicate pink of cacti blossoms. In all his life, he had never seen such nipples. The anger in his gut tightened into a knot, fiery and churning. Skidding his hand along the ladder of her ribs, he cupped the underside of her breast, then feathered his fingertips over its crest and watched the pebbled surface go taut and eager, thrusting upward for more. She moaned again and tossed her head, her forehead wrinkling in a bewildered frown. Clearly he was the first ever to touch her there. His smile, no longer suppressed, lifted one side of his mouth into a mocking grin. She was not so haughty when asleep, he thought. Her body, the body he had paid so many horses for, betrayed her and responded to him. It gave him a perverse satisfaction.
His smile quickly disappeared when he realized with something of a shock that hers was not the only traitorous body. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
196
" My cousin, Red Buffalo, has said false words to you? If this is so, you will tell me.”
“As if you don’t know what he told me!”
“You made a lie of your promise and tried to flee, this is what I know! You came at me with a knife, this is what I know! You made me look the fool, this is what I know.”
“Oh, yes, you’re the man whose words are drifting on the wind, whispering to him always! The man who never lies! I saw you out there at the fire! How stupid do you think I am?”
Grinding out the words between clenched teeth, he said, “Why did you make a lie of your promise?”
“Why wouldn’t I? A little girl, Hunter? Animal! Aunt Rachel was right all along. I am the fool!”
He made a strangled sound in his throat and rolled off her, turning her loose to throw an arm across his eyes. Loretta tensed, casting a hopeless glance at the door. Even if she made it outside, her chances of saving Amy were slim.
In a taut, barely restrained growl he said, “Do not test me by trying to run, Blue Eyes. I will sure enough beat you.”
After a moment he let out an audible breath and eased onto his side, folding an arm beneath his head, his blue eyes so dark they looked black in the dusky light. “You will make an echo of Red Buffalo’s words. I cannot fight an enemy whose face is hidden.”
Hearing his voice, so silken and close, brought bittersweet memories rushing back to her, and she wanted to cry. “You let me think you were my friend.”
Hunter studied her delicate profile, his attention coming to rest on her tremulous lips. Her voice ached with the pain of betrayal, but he felt betrayed as well. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
198
" By the fifth night his perseverance was rewarded with a smile from Amy after Swift Antelope escorted her home from their daily walk. With flushed cheeks, Amy regaled Loretta with the details of her time spent with Swift Antelope, about the doe and twin fawns they had spied upon, about the flowers Swift Antelope had picked for her, about the birdcalls and sign language he was teaching her, about the silly tricks he played on her. Clearly Swift Antelope was making headway with Amy; the girl was beginning to heal.
Hunter’s already low spirits plummeted. It was a sad state of affairs when an untried boy had more luck with women than a grown man. It was especially upsetting because Hunter knew he had paid dearly, not once but twice, for the right to possess Loretta, that he could exercise his rights at any time he chose, yet found himself hesitating because of the shadows in her eyes. Recalling his father’s advice, he could only scoff. The way things were going, if he was to become his woman’s friend before he became her lover, they might never move on to the second stage of their relationship.
The more disgruntled Hunter became over the situation, the more he glowered, and the more he glowered, the more uneasy Loretta was in his presence. The worst part was, Hunter couldn’t blame her. Their bargain hung over them like a dark cloud, her promises binding her to him yet holding them apart. He knew she dreaded the moment when he would confront her, demanding that she lie with him. With each passing day, the prospect seemed to grow more frightening to her. Hunter was perceptive enough to realize that waiting patiently for her to come around wasn’t abetting him in his cause, yet he couldn’t bring himself to force her, either. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
199
" Ah, nei mah-tao-yo,” he whispered. “You tremble.”
His mouth continued its downward path, lips like silk nibbling her collarbone. Acutely aware that the generous neckline of her shirt provided little barrier against him, she abandoned her hold on his wrist and caught his face between her hands. Forcing his head up, she met his gaze, disconcerted even more by the longing she saw in his eyes. “You’re frightening me.”
“It is boisa, this fear.” Beneath her shirt, his warm hand stilled on her ribs. “You are my woman.”
“And that’s exactly why you frighten me. You can’t buy a woman.” She twisted to one side, wedging one arm against his larynx. She had no delusions. If he pressed the issue, her strength was no match. “Why can’t you understand that? A woman must come freely.”
Lowering his hand to her waist, he leaned away from her, his dark eyes searching, thoughtful. “And when you come freely, you will have no fear?”
“I--” She stared at him. “I suppose if I--not that I ever would, mind you--but if I came to you freely, then, no, I probably wouldn’t.” Loretta knew she was babbling. He looked confused, and she didn’t blame him. She broke off, and her gaze chased away from his. “It’s so completely unlikely that I--but if I did, I don’t suppose I would be afraid. I wouldn’t come if I were.”
His arm relaxed around her. After studying her for what seemed an eternity, he said, “Then this Comanche will wait. Until the Great Ones lead you in a great circle back to him. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
200
" Blue Eyes…” Hunter sighed and interlaced his fingers, bending his knuckles backward, stalling because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Can you say words so this Comanche can see into you?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Ah, yes, afraid.” He studied her beaded moccasins. “Because I am Comanche?”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “It isn’t that, not anymore. That’s just an excuse!”
Cautiously Hunter asked, “Then what makes your heart sad?”
She bit her bottom lip and tipped her head back to stare at the smoke hole. After several seconds she sniffed and said, “You’re a man.”
She looked so forlorn that Hunter had to bite back a smile. He started to speak, then thought better of it. Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention from her quivering mouth to her nervous hands, wishing he knew how to ease her fears. Being patient hadn’t worked. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
