102
" The spittin’ image of--What was your dead friend’s name?”
“It is not to be spoken. He is dead, no? To say his name would not show respect. What is this to do with spit?”
“It’s just a saying. When someone or something looks just like something else, it’s called a spittin’ image. I don’t know why.”
“You do not know, but you say the words? The words from your mouth say who you are, Blue Eyes. I make a lie; I am an easop, storyteller. I speak hate; my heart burns with hate. The People do not make talk if they do not know the words. If it is spoken, it must be. A man is what he speaks. This is not so with the tosi tivo?”
Loretta shrugged and bit back a smile. “I seriously doubt I’ll become spit. It’s just something everyone says.”
“You will learn the meaning of this spit image, no? And say it to me. When we meet again?”
Loretta tightened her hand on the reins. “Yes, if we meet again.”
He glanced over at her, his expression suddenly solemn. “We walk backward in our footsteps, eh? Maybe you will walk forward a new way when we reach your wooden walls. You could be a little bit happy as my woman, no?”
Loretta fixed her eyes on the horizon ahead of them. They were only a day and a half’s ride from her home. A day and a half from real clothes, a chance to wash her hair, to eat her own kind of food. Yes, he had been kind to her. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she’d even come to like him a little. But not enough to belong to him. Never that.
“To be happy, I must be at my wooden walls,” she said shakily. “That’s my home and where my people are.”
There was only tonight and tomorrow night to get through, and then she’d be home. Suvate. It was almost finished. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
103
" My heart is on the ground, Hunter. My uncle can’t find Santos. He says no one but a Comanche would know how to find him. That’s why I came here--to you.”
“It is good you come. It is in the song, eh?”
“No--no, you don’t understand. I came to ask a favor.” She grasped his hand in both of hers, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, will you find Santos and bring Amy home to me?”
His facial muscles drew taut. “To your wooden walls?”
“Yes, home to me. Please.”
His smile died. “This is why you come? To ask this favor?”
“Please, Hunter, don’t say no. I’ll do anything, anything you ask.”
All trace of warmth left his eyes.
Loretta stared up at him. She had come so far. She couldn’t bear it if he said no. Amy was out there. “Please, Hunter, I’ll do anything.”
He said nothing, just studied her, his expression stony.
Exhaustion and defeat sent Loretta to her knees. Still clinging to his hand, she bowed her head. “Please, Hunter, please, I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to. I thought you were my friend.”
Hunter studied her blond hair, braided and coiled like a snake around her crown, long curls escaping the combs to trail halfway down her back. He had walked to meet her believing she had returned to him. Now he realized she had come only to ask his aid, that she had no intention of remaining beside him. He felt like a foolish young boy, humiliated and angry. But not so angry that he wanted her on her knees. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
105
" Blue Eyes, I do not want stew,” Hunter whispered, his voice laced with tenderness. “If you hunger, we will have nuts and fruit, eh?”
Loretta swallowed a lump of air. Fruit and nuts were better than the alternative. Maybe, if she ate one nut at a time…“All right, fruit and nuts.”
He spread a buffalo robe beside the fire while she put the pot away and dug up a parfleche of fruit and nuts from his store of preserved edibles. Kneeling beside him, Loretta munched industriously, staring into the leaping flames, aware with every bite she took that Hunter watched her. When she reached for her fourth handful, he clamped his long fingers around her wrist.
“Enough,” he said evenly. “You will sicken your gut if you eat more.”
Loretta’s gut was already in sorry shape. She swallowed, trying to avoid his gaze and failing miserably. When their eyes met, she felt as if the ground fell away. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
107
" Hunter tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, sending up a spray of live coals, a few of which fell in Tom’s lap. Tom scrambled backward and tried to shake them off, no easy feat with his hands tied behind him. In the process he lost his balance and toppled sideways.
Hunter squatted by the fire and draped his arms over his knees, his gaze fixed on the feeble flames while Tom struggled to sit back up. The Comanche’s eyes shone with that peculiar light Loretta was coming to recognize as laughter. After a long while he said, “When the sun rises, we will leave. You will be set free, old man.”
Tom didn’t look as if he believed that.
His eyes still glowing with that somber amusement she hated so much, Hunter glanced at her. “I make no grief behind me.”
The muscles along Tom’s throat stood out as he struggled to speak. When he finally did, the words came out in a squeak. “And what about her?”
“She goes with me.”
“I’ll b-buy her from ya. R-rifles, I can get rifles. And cartridges.”
There was no mistaking the interest that bit of information sparked in the Comanche. Loretta’s heart soared with sudden hope. “You have rifles?”
“I--um, no. B-but I can git ’em.”
Hunter studied Tom at length, then slid his gaze to Loretta.
“Please,” Tom whispered. “There’s other gals you can steal. Don’t take this one. Let her go home to her family.” Breaking off, he licked his lips. “She ain’t done you no harm.”
After a long while, Hunter returned his attention to the fire. “This Comanche does not sell his women. Not even for rifles. She goes with me.”
“Why this girl?”
Hunter tossed a sliver of wood onto the flames. “Another will not do. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
108
" Hunter slipped from the bed and grabbed his breeches to pull them on. Bathed in moonlight, the planes of his body were gilded with silver, its contours cast into delineative shadow. Clutching a fur to her chest, Loretta sat up, pretending not to notice. She did, though, and what she saw set her pulse to skittering. Perhaps beautiful wasn’t an appropriate adjective for a man, but it was the only word that came to her.
Watching him, she was, for the first time in her life, appreciative of the male form, the smooth play of muscle in motion, the subtle grace in strength. Lean tendons roped his buttocks and thighs. When he turned slightly she glimpsed his manhood, jutting forth, hard and proud from a mahogany nest of short curly hair. Her throat tightened, and deep within her there welled feelings she could scarcely credit, longing, tenderness, delicious excitement--and fierce pride. That such a man loved her and wanted her was nothing short of incredible. He could have had any girl in the village, someone supple and dark with liquid brown eyes, a dozen such someones if he chose, but instead he had picked her, a skinny, pallid farm girl.
Cinching the drawstring of his pants, he tied a quick bowknot and extended a hand to her. For an instant Loretta was swept back in time to that first afternoon, when he had commanded she place her palm across his. She had been so terrified then, but no longer. His arm was her shield, just as he had promised.
“Come, wife. My cousin brings a gift, eh?”
“Hunter, I’m not dressed!”
Chuckling, he grabbed a buffalo robe and draped it around her shoulders. After enveloping her in the fur, he drew her from the bed and to the door, untying the flap to sweep it aside. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
109
" 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.
“I will be cruel, yes? And make you weep rivers of tears while I play my games. It will be good, very good.”
His mouth touched hers, teasingly light. His hand cupped her breast. Silhouetted against the moon-silvered sky, he was a black outline, his broad shoulders a threatening wall, his long hair drifting in a silken curtain around her.
Nightmare or dream?
He continued to whisper--saying terrible things, cruel things, taunting her with what was yet to come, living up to all her worst expectations. But his touch was that of a lover, as sweet and magical, as patient and gentle, as the last time they had been together. She knew he had tied her only to prove a point, that no matter what the circumstances, no matter how angry he might become, he would never harm her.
“Oh, Hunter, I’m sorry,” she said on the crest of a sob. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You rip my heart out and it should not hurt?” His teeth closed on her earlobe, nipping lightly, sending shivers over her skin. “You spit upon all that I am, and it should not hurt? You abandon me, you dishonor me, and it should not hurt? "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
110
" The hate has gone from you to a faraway place you cannot find, as it was spoken in the prophecy. That’s why it is time for you to walk your own way. You must fight the last great fight for the People, yes? And you must fight it alone. I have to stay here. For our mother, my children. You’re our hope, our only hope.”
“You call it hope? I call it running away.”
“No! When we run, we find someplace familiar and safe. Winter will be upon us soon. You will face uncertainty and great danger when you go west.” Giving Hunter a small shake, Warrior cried, “You are our hope, Hunter! Why can’t you see that? When the last Comanche puts down his weapon, when the last chief says it is finished, we will know it is not finished. We will know that the People live on--far away from this place--that our songs are being sung, that our ways are being honored. I know you feel great fear, but fear has never stopped you. You mustn’t let it stop you now. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
113
" If you hunger, we will have nuts and fruit, eh?”
Loretta swallowed a lump of air. Fruit and nuts were better than the alternative. Maybe, if she ate one nut at a time…“All right, fruit and nuts.”
He spread a buffalo robe beside the fire while she put the pot away and dug up a parfleche of fruit and nuts from his store of preserved edibles. Kneeling beside him, Loretta munched industriously, staring into the leaping flames, aware with every bite she took that Hunter watched her. When she reached for her fourth handful, he clamped his long fingers around her wrist.
“Enough,” he said evenly. “You will sicken your gut if you eat more.”
Loretta’s gut was already in sorry shape. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
114
" Watching him, she was, for the first time in her life, appreciative of the male form, the smooth play of muscle in motion, the subtle grace in strength. Lean tendons roped his buttocks and thighs. When he turned slightly she glimpsed his manhood, jutting forth, hard and proud from a mahogany nest of short curly hair. Her throat tightened, and deep within her there welled feelings she could scarcely credit, longing, tenderness, delicious excitement--and fierce pride. That such a man loved her and wanted her was nothing short of incredible. He could have had any girl in the village, someone supple and dark with liquid brown eyes, a dozen such someones if he chose, but instead he had picked her, a skinny, pallid farm girl.
Cinching the drawstring of his pants, he tied a quick bowknot and extended a hand to her. For an instant Loretta was swept back in time to that first afternoon, when he had commanded she place her palm across his. She had been so terrified then, but no longer. His arm was her shield, just as he had promised. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
115
" What’sa matter? You afraid I’ll get too friendly if I find out you’ve been pleasurin’ Comanches?”
Struggling to stay calm, she said, “You’re a smart man. I heard you and your men talking. You were hired to rescue captives, not abuse them. Touch one of us, and it’ll be the mistake of your life. We haven’t been pleasuring anyone. And if we end up pleasuring you, I guarantee you’ll hang for it.”
He didn’t bluff easily. Running his fingers under the string of rawhide that encircled her neck, he lifted Hunter’s medallion from under her blouse and studied the carved stone. “Appears to me like you hooked up with a chief, honey.” He smiled and returned the medallion to its former resting place, trailing his fingers under her blouse, his eyes holding hers. Her skin crawled where his grimy knuckles touched. “A Comanche don’t wear a wolf sign unless he’s somebody important. The wolf is sacred to ’em, their brother. No woman would have a medallion like that unless her man marked her with it.”
“No filthy Injun has put his hands on me,” Loretta retorted. The words ached in her throat, making her feel disloyal to Hunter. What if he was out there, hiding, listening? “One of the warriors put the medallion on me before he left on a hunting trip. Since it seemed to prevent the others from touching me or my little cousin, I continued to wear it.”
He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “Where you from?”
“A farm along the Brazos.”
“Fort Belknap anyplace close?”
“Within a few hours’ ride.” Loretta sat up and glanced over her shoulder, praying Amy was all right. “Is that where you’ll take us?”
“I reckon so. Unless somethin’ happens to you along the trail. That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it? But then, dead women, they don’t tell stories.”
“Neither do they bring reward money. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
117
" This is why you come? To ask this favor?”
“Please, Hunter, don’t say no. I’ll do anything, anything you ask.”
All trace of warmth left his eyes.
Loretta stared up at him. She had come so far. She couldn’t bear it if he said no. Amy was out there. “Please, Hunter, I’ll do anything.”
He said nothing, just studied her, his expression stony.
Exhaustion and defeat sent Loretta to her knees. Still clinging to his hand, she bowed her head. “Please, Hunter, please, I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to. I thought you were my friend.”
Hunter studied her blond hair, braided and coiled like a snake around her crown, long curls escaping the combs to trail halfway down her back. He had walked to meet her believing she had returned to him. Now he realized she had come only to ask his aid, that she had no intention of remaining beside him. He felt like a foolish young boy, humiliated and angry. But not so angry that he wanted her on her knees.
It was the first time he had seen her surrender her pride. By that alone he knew how deeply she loved the child that had been lost to her. I thought you were my friend. The words cut deep. Perhaps he should feel honored. She had traveled a great distance into his land, trusting him with her life and with the life of the child she loved.
“Stand, Blue Eyes,” he told her gently.
She tipped her head back. Tears shimmered on her cheeks. “I’ll do anything, Hunter. I’ll serve you on my knees. I’ll be your loyal slave forever. I’ll kiss the ground you walk on, anything.”
He disengaged his hand from hers and grasped her shoulders, hauling her to her feet. “I want you in my buffalo robes, not making kisses in the dirt. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
120
" Oh, Hunter, I’m sorry,” she said on the crest of a sob. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You rip my heart out and it should not hurt?” His teeth closed on her earlobe, nipping lightly, sending shivers over her skin. “You spit upon all that I am, and it should not hurt? You abandon me, you dishonor me, and it should not hurt?”
The raw emotion in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “I never intended to dishonor you…”
Loretta longed to put her arms around him but was quickly reminded of her bonds when she tried. His mouth claimed hers, hot and demanding, yet strangely gentle.
What followed was beautiful. Unable to remain passive, Loretta responded to him with a spiraling passion that both shocked and disoriented her. At some point Hunter cut the leather on her wrists and ankles, but she was too mindless to realize. He was like a fire inside her, embers licked to low flames, building quickly to an inferno. There was no fear. And no pain. Just a bittersweet joining, becoming one in a way she had never dreamed possible.
Afterward Hunter drew her gently into his arms and reminded her of the promises he had made her, that she would never experience brutality or shame in his arms, only love. “How can you not hear the song my heart sings, Blue Eyes?”
Loretta knew he was referring to far more than his lovemaking. Sobs built pressure in her chest, then crawled up her throat, gaining force until they tore from her, dry and ragged. “Oh, Hunter, you have to understand. You think only of yourself and your rights. What of mine?”
Hunter drew her head back down to his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. Her warm tears fell on his skin and trickled, cold and wet, under his arm. He closed his eyes, his mind replaying her words, the whispers a torment, the questions unanswerable. Did he think only of himself? Yes. To do otherwise meant losing her. Long after his wife fell into an exhausted sleep, he lay awake, staring into the darkness, searching within himself for a solution.
There was none… "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
