161
" You will drink more?”
“No, thank you.”
She felt suddenly tired and wished he would leave so she could sleep. Instead he stoppered the canteen and sat back down on the bed. She drew up her knees and stared at him. He stared back. The silence grew heavy, and so did her eyelids.
“You grow weary,” he said softly, bending forward to drop the canteen and cup onto the dirt floor. “You will lie on your back, eh?”
The thought struck her that he might lie down beside her, as he had during their journey. “No, no, I’m fine--really.”
He clasped her ankle. The heat of his grip shot up her leg. Her breath caught at the familiarity. As accustomed to his touch as she had become, she didn’t like it or easily accept it. At home a woman didn’t even show her ankles, let alone allow a man to touch them. And this man touched her anywhere he chose, with no hesitation. He tugged lightly.
“You will lie on your back? No harm, eh? I will watch.”
“Must you?”
“Hein?”
Hein? Loretta had no inkling what that meant. “Must you watch? It makes me nervous. I can’t run away.”
“Nuhr-vus?”
“Nervous.” She shrugged one shoulder and then tried to pry his leathery fingers from around her ankle. “Nervous…uneasy.” She gave her leg a shake. His hand moved with her foot, his grip unbreakable. “Would you let go? It’s indecent, you touching me like this.”
“In-dee-sent?”
“Indecent. Shameful. Would you please let go? It is my foot, you know.”
“And you are my woman. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
162
" You like?”
“I--um, yes, he’s wonderful. His left ear isn’t notched like so many of the others. Why is that?”
“The notched ear says a horse is gentled. He is not. If another puts hands upon him, he fights the big fight.”
“Then how can I ride him?”
“You will be his good friend. Come close.”
Loretta stepped back instead. “But he’s wild.”
Tightening his hold on her hand, Hunter tugged her forward. “He is friend to me and no other, eh? He carries me because he wishes it. Now, he will carry you.”
With that explanation, which fell far short of reassuring her, he reclaimed the line and lifted her onto the stallion’s back.
Loretta looked down. “I-I’m not too sure this is a good idea.”
“It is good. You will trust, eh? I have said words to him. He accepts. Lie forward along his neck and whisper your heart into his ear. Run your hands over him. Tighten your legs around him.”
Heart in her throat, Loretta did as he told her. She whispered, “Please, horse, don’t get mad and kill me.” The stallion nickered and sniffed her bare foot, the whites of his eyes rolling. Hunter chuckled. “He smells your fear and asks if there is danger, eh? He should run like the wind? He should stand? He is sure enough nuhr-vus, like the little blue-eyes is nuhr-vus when she thinks I will eat her and pick my teeth with her bones. You will say to him as I say to you--it is well.”
Loretta jerked her foot back, afraid the horse might bite. “He m-may not understand. He’s a Comanche horse, isn’t he?”
“Toquet, it is well. Whisper your heart. The words are in your touch. Be easy and make him easy.”
She ran her hands over the stallion’s sleek coat, her fingers splaying on the powerful muscles in his neck and shoulders. When she began to believe the horse wouldn’t rear, she relaxed. The stallion lowered his head and began to graze. Hunter handed Loretta his line.
“Let him carry you, eh? Whisper to him. Teach him your hands bring no pain--only good things. He will find sweet grass and listen.”
“He’s so beautiful, Hunter.”
“Say this to him.”
Loretta did. The stallion flickered his ears and nickered. While he grazed, she petted him. Just when she began to feel confident, Hunter lifted her off his back. When he took the stallion’s line from her, he captured her hand as well, his long fingers curling warmly around hers.
“He is now your good friend.” He looped his free arm over the stallion’s shoulders. “If you share breath with him often, you can paint yourself and wear leaves on your head, and he will still know you. For always. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
163
" Hunter spread his hand under the cloth of the woman’s gown and stared at the clear outline of his fingers. As incredible as it seemed, the sun had gone right through the thin material and cooked her fair skin. Comanches sometimes got sunburned, but never like this. With a snort of disgust, he wadded the gown into a ball and tossed the useless thing on the fire. From now on he would dress the girl in leathers.
The material ignited explosively, and the light from the heightened flames played upon her body, flickering on her small breasts, shadowing her curves. He stared down at her, more angry than he had ever been, with himself. No matter how he tried not to think of it, his mind circled back to his behavior tonight, immediately after stopping to make camp, then later down at the river. How could he have treated a White-Eyes so kindly? "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
165
" You make a God promise? You will lie with me in my buffalo robes?”
Loretta closed her eyes. The words stuck in her throat. She was sacrificing her self-respect. Her own people would forever scorn her if they knew. But what choice did she have?
“Yes, I’ll lie with you.”
“You will see into me when you speak.”
She lifted her lashes. His eyes burned with an intensity she’d never seen before. “I’ll lie with you, I swear to God.”
“You will not fight the big fight when I put my hands upon you?”
“No.”
“And you will eat? You will stay beside me? Forever into the horizon?”
“Yes.”
He brushed his thumb across her mouth, remembering how sweet her lips had tasted. A slow smile creased his dark face. “You will say it before your God.”
Loretta blinked and met his gaze. “I swear it before God--I’ll eat and I’ll stay beside you, forever into the horizon.”
“You will not fight the great fight?”
“No, I won’t fight.”
He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Ah, Blue Eyes, it is a good bargain this Comanche has made.”
“You’ll go find her?”
“I will find her, and I will bring her to you, eh?”
Loretta hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled in a rush, so relieved that she felt weak. Hunter bent his head and pressed his face against her hair. The next instant she felt his lips on her neck. She also felt his hand on her posterior. Frustrated by her high neckline and her full skirts, he made a fist in the calico.
“So much wannup. Where are you, Blue Eyes? "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
166
" Bear fat for the burn. You will lie on your face.”
Their gazes locked, laughter still shimmering in his. Seconds dragged by, measured by the wild thumping of her heart. He wanted to rub her down? Oh, God, what was she going to do? She clutched the fur more tightly.
Hunter shrugged as if her defiance bothered him not at all and tossed down the pouch. “You are sure enough not smart, Blue Eyes. You will lie on your face,” he said softly. “Don’t fight the big fight. If my strong arm fails me, I will call my friends. And in the end, you will lie on your face.”
Loretta imagined sixty warriors swooping down on her. As if he needed more of an advantage. Hatred and helpless rage made her tremble. Hunter watched her, his expression unreadable as he waited. She wanted to fly at him, scratching and biting. Instead she loosened her hold on the buffalo robe and rolled onto her stomach.
As she pressed her face into the stench-ridden buffalo fur, tears streamed down her cheeks, pooling and tickling in the crevices at each side of her nose. She clamped her arms to her sides and lay rigid, expecting him to jerk back the robe. Shame swept over her in hot, rolling waves as she imagined all those horrible men looking at her.
She felt the fur shift and braced herself. His greased palm touched her back and slid downward with such agonizing slowness that her skin shriveled and her buttocks quivered. So focused was she on his touch, on the shame of it, that several seconds passed before she realized he had slipped his arm beneath the fur, that no one, not even he, could see her.
Relief, if she felt any at all, was short-lived, for he laved every inch of her back with grease and then tried to nudge her arms aside to get at the burned skin along her ribs. She resisted him, but in the end his strength won out. When his fingertips grazed the swell of her left breast, her lungs ceased working and her body snapped taut.
He hesitated, then resumed the rubbing, diving his fingertips between her and the fur to graze her nipple. She wasn’t burned there, and she knew he pressed the issue only to drive home his point. She belonged to him, and he would touch her whenever and wherever he pleased. A sob caught in her throat. Once again she felt his hand pause. His gaze burned into the back of her head, tangible in its intensity.
At last he withdrew his arm from under the fur and sat back. Loretta twisted her neck to look up at his dark face, not bothering to wipe away her tears, too defeated to care if he saw them. He set the leather pouch on the pallet beside her. For an instant she thought she glimpsed pity in his eyes.
“You rub the rest, eh? And put yourself into the clothes.”
With that, he rose, presented his broad back to her, and walked away to crouch by the only remaining fire. Loretta clutched the fur to her breasts and sat up, not quite able to believe he had left her alone to dress. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
167
" You will trust, eh? I have said words to him. He accepts. Lie forward along his neck and whisper your heart into his ear. Run your hands over him. Tighten your legs around him.”
Heart in her throat, Loretta did as he told her. She whispered, “Please, horse, don’t get mad and kill me.” The stallion nickered and sniffed her bare foot, the whites of his eyes rolling. Hunter chuckled. “He smells your fear and asks if there is danger, eh? He should run like the wind? He should stand? He is sure enough nuhr-vus, like the little blue-eyes is nuhr-vus when she thinks I will eat her and pick my teeth with her bones. You will say to him as I say to you--it is well.”
Loretta jerked her foot back, afraid the horse might bite. “He m-may not understand. He’s a Comanche horse, isn’t he?”
“Toquet, it is well. Whisper your heart. The words are in your touch. Be easy and make him easy. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
169
" You will lie on your back? No harm, eh? I will watch.”
“Must you?”
“Hein?”
Hein? Loretta had no inkling what that meant. “Must you watch? It makes me nervous. I can’t run away.”
“Nuhr-vus?”
“Nervous.” She shrugged one shoulder and then tried to pry his leathery fingers from around her ankle. “Nervous…uneasy.” She gave her leg a shake. His hand moved with her foot, his grip unbreakable. “Would you let go? It’s indecent, you touching me like this.”
“In-dee-sent?”
“Indecent. Shameful. Would you please let go? It is my foot, you know.”
“And you are my woman.”
She threw her head back and sighed. He had a grip like an iron vise and outweighed her by a good ninety pounds, every ounce muscle. His woman. For a moment she had lost sight of that and let him lull her into a false sense of security.
He pulled on her leg and slid her toward him until she lay on her back. Then he released her ankle to loom over her, planting a hand on each side of her. Loretta stared up at his dark face, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.
After struggling with him so many times, she knew how easily he could pin her beneath his weight, how quickly he could capture her hands and render her helpless. The gleam of lust in his eyes terrified her. What was to stop him from taking her? If she screamed, no one would intervene.
Where were his mother and her spoon when she needed them?
“You will sleep.” The low timbre of his voice vibrated through her. “I will watch.”
With that, he left her and sat on his pallet. She heard a rapping sound and glanced over to find that he was chipping flint with a bone punch. On closer inspection she saw two flint arrowheads lying next to him--arrowheads that he would one day use to kill white people, no doubt. She huddled on her side and stared at him. Even from across the lodge he intimidated her. Yet she was completely dependent upon him. She would never relax enough to sleep with him sitting there. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
170
" You make a smile inside me, that is why I want you. The way a man wants his wife.” He ran a hand up her back, kneading her tense muscles. “You will trust this Comanche? As you did when you rode in a great circle back to me? This one last time, you will trust? No hurting after the virgin pain--and no shame. It is a promise I make for you, for always.”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Hunter, I’m afraid.”
“There is nothing to fear. You will trust, and I will chase your fear away, yes?”
A tremor shook her.
“I have made lies to you?”
“No, never.”
“Then you will trust--one last time?”
“What will you do if I say no?”
Hunter prayed she didn’t. “I will eat you and pick my teeth with your bones.”
She laughed, the sound shrill, nervous, and wet with tears. “Or sure enough beat me?”
“Ah, yes, I will beat you, sure enough.” He pressed his lips to the wild pulse in her temple, taking measure of her fear. His body tensed as he waited for her answer. “Blue Eyes, you will say yes to me?”
“Tonight? Now?”
“Yes, tonight. Before this time between us passes. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
171
" While she prayed, she listened--for Hunter, for some telltale sound that he was indeed out there, as she sensed he was. She knew, as surely as if Hunter had told her, that he was watching over her. She knew as long as the white men did her and Amy no harm, he was content to ride shotgun, watching over them from a distance.
On the last night out, Loretta’s faith in Hunter was rewarded. As everyone settled down to sleep, a coyote yipped nearby, his voice lifting in a mournful call that shivered along her spine and made the hair on her nape prickle. She rolled onto her side, back to the fire so she could scan the darkness. A shadow moved beyond the firelight. The coyote yipped again.
Warmth spread through her. As unobtrusively as she could, she linked her forefingers in the sign of friendship. If Hunter was out there, he would see and know the song her heart sang. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
172
" Let him carry you, eh? Whisper to him. Teach him your hands bring no pain--only good things. He will find sweet grass and listen.”
“He’s so beautiful, Hunter.”
“Say this to him.”
Loretta did. The stallion flickered his ears and nickered. While he grazed, she petted him. Just when she began to feel confident, Hunter lifted her off his back. When he took the stallion’s line from her, he captured her hand as well, his long fingers curling warmly around hers.
“He is now your good friend.” He looped his free arm over the stallion’s shoulders. “If you share breath with him often, you can paint yourself and wear leaves on your head, and he will still know you. For always.”
“Well, until I get home, at least.” She swallowed. “I am still going home, aren’t I?”
Something flickered in his eyes--a dangerous something. Loretta’s legs felt as heavy as wet clay, and she watched helplessly while he pressed her palm to his cheek. “You wish to go?”
His jaw felt hard and warm. “I--yes, I wish to go.”
He moved her hand from his cheek to his chest, forcing her palm flat against the vibrant muscle of one breast. His eyes held hers, relentless and piercing. Loretta yearned to move away but knew she had little hope of breaking his hold. She could feel his heart thumping, a steady, sturdy beat in contrast with the uneven flutter of hers.
“You will walk backward in your footsteps and go forward a new way? "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
173
" You wish to go?”
His jaw felt hard and warm. “I--yes, I wish to go.”
He moved her hand from his cheek to his chest, forcing her palm flat against the vibrant muscle of one breast. His eyes held hers, relentless and piercing. Loretta yearned to move away but knew she had little hope of breaking his hold. She could feel his heart thumping, a steady, sturdy beat in contrast with the uneven flutter of hers.
“You will walk backward in your footsteps and go forward a new way?”
“I--”
He slid her hand upward so it rested on his shoulder, forcing her closer. His height was such that she had to tip her head back to see his face. If he had been a white man, she would have been worrying that he planned to kiss her. But he wasn’t a white man. And she doubted gentle persuasion was what he had in mind. He seemed a yard wide at the shoulders, a looming wall of muscle. There was heat in the depths of his eyes as he studied her, a heat that had never been there before.
“I would have you beside me,” he told her huskily. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
174
" Hunter bent his head and pressed his face against her hair. The next instant she felt his lips on her neck. She also felt his hand on her posterior. Frustrated by her high neckline and her full skirts, he made a fist in the calico.
“So much wannup. Where are you, Blue Eyes?”
He started to lift her dress. Loretta reached behind her and caught his hand. “Wha--what’re you doin’?”
He lifted his head, eyes alight with teasing mischief. “I search for my woman. You are in there.”
“I’m not your woman yet. Have you no shame? It’s broad daylight. People might see.”
“They will see you are my woman.”
“They’ll see my drawers, that’s what they’ll see!”
He abandoned his hold on her skirt to run his palm up her back. “No bones. That is good.”
Loretta’s face flamed when she realized he was referring to the whale bones of a corset. A decent man didn’t mention such things. “You haven’t brought me Amy,” she reminded him. “Our bargain doesn’t start until you do.”
“I have spoken it. It is done.”
“Amy first.”
Before she realized what he was about to do, he swept her off her feet and put her on the horse, then leaped up behind her. Cinching an arm around her waist, he bent his head and said, “This Comanche will sure enough find her quick. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
177
" Angry wasn’t the word to describe Loretta’s frame of mind. She wasn’t just furious, but horribly hurt as well. That terrified her. She wasn’t falling in love. She wasn’t. So what if Hunter wanted a dozen wives? What different did it make to her? She didn’t care a whit. She didn’t! It wasn’t as if she wanted him. So why was she crying?
Pain welled in her throat. She picked up a pan, trying to force her thoughts onto dinner and what she should fix, but visions of Hunter filled her head. She imagined his dark eyes warming with laughter, his mouth tipping into that lopsided grin that made her heart catch, his warm hand holding hers. It would kill her to watch him doing those things with someone else. What was happening to her? When had he become so important to her?
It wasn’t fair! He had wormed his way into her affections, made her care about him. And now he was out there making over that silly twit of a girl! Fresh tears strung Loretta’s eyes. If this was how it felt to be in love, she didn’t want any part of it. Her insides felt like a wet rag someone was wringing out. And the worst part was, she was afraid to go out there and do anything about it. If she did, it would be an admission that she cared for him. Once he realized that, he’d expect her to prove it. She glanced at the bed, and her stomach knotted, images from the past tormenting her. She slammed down the pot. She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t… "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
178
" You will walk backward in your footsteps and go forward a new way?”
“I--”
He slid her hand upward so it rested on his shoulder, forcing her closer. His height was such that she had to tip her head back to see his face. If he had been a white man, she would have been worrying that he planned to kiss her. But he wasn’t a white man. And she doubted gentle persuasion was what he had in mind. He seemed a yard wide at the shoulders, a looming wall of muscle. There was heat in the depths of his eyes as he studied her, a heat that had never been there before.
“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. "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
179
" The moment Hunter stepped into the lodge, Loretta swiped the tears from her cheeks and began clanging pots so loudly that her ears rang. Perverse though it was, she fell back on her anger to hide her hurt. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to let him know how she really felt.
“Blue Eyes, we must make talk,” he said softly, pausing to tie the lodge flap firmly closed.
“Go make talk with Bright Star,” she sniped, even though that was the last thing she wanted him to do.
“I would make talk with you.” He moved slowly toward her. “I told Bright Star I would marry no other, yes?”
Loretta yearned to throw herself in his arms and weep, to hear him whisper, “It is well,” as he always did when things went wrong. Instead she rounded on him. “And I suppose you made her feel sorry for you in the bargain? Poor, poor Hunter, stuck with one woman!” She tried to glare at him but couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “I’ve been thinking while you were out there mooning over her. And I’ve decided a dozen other wives around here would suit me just fine. You’re right! It’s boisa for me to feel--” She broke off and swallowed, keeping her face averted. “I’m not being a wife to you…” Her voice trailed off into a squeak. “And I’m afraid I never can be.”
Hunter’s guts clenched at the pain he read in her expression. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, only to make her face her feelings. Why was it that no matter what he did, it was always wrong? Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward and braced his arms on his knees. “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? "
― Catherine Anderson , Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1)
