Comanche Moon (15 page)

There was hope, if they’d managed to leave the men behind this quickly, Deborah thought frantically. She turned to glance at Judith, and saw her cousin’s frightened face.

“We can make it!” she shouted. “Don’t stop!” For Deborah, the world had narrowed to frantic flight and the thunder of hooves. Wind snagged her clothes, and she could feel the damp heat of the horse between her thighs. A distant sound, like a waterfall, penetrated her terror, and she realized it was the thunder of pursuit. Hawk would have no intention of giving up now, not when he had them in his sight.

The knowledge spurred her to greater effort, and praying she would stay on, she tangled her fingers in the horse’s mane and bent low over its neck, as she had seen men do in a race. It seemed to work. The animal’s long legs stretched out even farther, and she fairly flew over the uneven ground as if on wings.

As they topped a rise and started down the other side, Deborah glanced at Judith again. She was gamely trying to stay astride her laboring mount. The horse was as lathered as her own, winded and blowing.

Just ahead, the ground dipped to a shallow hollow, then rose again, steeply this time, the ridge high over their heads. Deborah doubted whether they could stay on their horses without saddles, not at that steep angle, but there was no other choice.

“Try it,” she urged her cousin over her shoulder, and pressed her mount up the slope. The mare stumbled, regained its balance before Deborah pitched from its back, and managed to gain the top of the ridge. She allowed it to pause a moment, trembling and snorting, and glanced back at Judith.

Her blood froze. Incredibly, the Comanche had gained enough distance so that they were almost upon them. It would be only a matter of moments.

Wild whoops and yells rode the air, and Judith’s mount struggled up the slope at a slow pace. Deborah’s brief glance of their pursuers was imprinted on her mind as she wavered indecisively.

Hawk, his broad muscular frame that seemed a part of the animal he rode, was at the front. She shivered in spite of the hot sun beating down.

Wheeling her horse around in panic, Deborah fought it for a moment before it began the descent. Rocks skittered from beneath the hooves, bouncing. Judith was not far behind her now, and as she forced her horse forward, Deborah caught a glimpse of movement at the bottom of the hill.

There was a flash of blue and yellow, a runnel of sunlight reflected from a rifle barrel. Her heart skipped a beat, then accelerated rapidly as the flash of blue reappeared from behind a stunted grove of mesquite. Cavalry.

“Judith, hurry!” she screamed, pushing at the hair in her eyes and urging her mount to greater speed. “Hallooo!” she called out desperately when it seemed as if the soldiers did not see her. Oh, why couldn’t they see or hear her? She shouted again, and this time the soldiers looked up and saw her.

They seemed startled, then switched direction and started up the steep slope.

Deborah’s heart lurched. There were only three or four of them, not enough to fight the Comanche riding hard in their direction. Neither group of men had seen the other yet, and the two women were caught in between.

Judith’s mount struggled down the slope, and Deborah saw that it was almost completely blown. She exchanged a quick, agonized glance with her cousin.

“Go on,” Judith urged. “You can make it.”

“Not without you.” Deborah knew that two women on one horse would be as slow as pushing a winded mount. “Here. Take my horse.” She threw a leg over to dismount, but Judith shook her head.

“No, let’s try. There’s no time.” She was right. The Comanche crested the hill and saw the soldiers at the same time as the cavalrymen saw them. The charge immediately changed direction, with the Indians now interested in the armed soldiers. The cavalrymen swore loudly; their oaths were accompanied by the clang of sabers and sounds of pistols being drawn.

“Run for it!” one of the soldiers called to Deborah and Judith. “We’ll try to cover you!”

Shots rang out, and Deborah squeezed her eyes shut in panic at the same time as she made a decision. Leaning over, she slapped her cousin’s horse on the rear, sending it in a leap forward.

“Ride!” she screamed at Judith. “I’ll try to divert Hawk . . .”

“Don’t be foolish,” Judith began, but her words were lost as her horse, panicked, bolted down the slope with the last of its strength.

Deborah swerved her mount to one side, hoping to distract Hawk from her cousin. One saved would be better than neither of them.

She rode at an angle away from her cousin and the soldiers, riding as fast as she could, not daring to look back over her shoulder. The thunder of pursuing hooves drew closer and closer, and a dry sob tore from her throat.

Her fingers tangled in the whipping mane of her horse, and her legs slid on the sweaty back of the chestnut as she tried to grip more tightly. Fear was an almost tangible rider, choking her. For some reason, her senses were sharpened to her surroundings; she could hear the rasping efforts of her mare, smelled the sharp scent of horse and sage and heat, felt the slap of tall grasses on her bare legs with almost separate distinction. They all blended, yet remained as sharply distinct as if she was experiencing them separately.

Then she heard the slap of leather against horse and knew that her pursuer had caught up to her. She glanced back briefly and saw Hawk.

Astride his huge gray stallion, he looked as fierce and brutal as anything she could have envisioned in her worst nightmares. His long dark hair was caught back with a leather strap around his forehead, whipping in the wind. A hawk feather fluttered over one ear. Paint streaked his bronzed face in jagged smears that lent him an air of savagery, and she had the fleeting thought that he’d hardly needed it to seal that impression.

Hawk leaned from his horse, reaching out for her reins.

One last desperate effort to escape him spurred her to rein her mount in a circle, but she was easily overtaken. Hawk’s muscular arm shot out and coiled around her waist to drag her from the horse in an effortless motion.

There was the brief sensation of falling before he caught her to him, and though she struggled, he managed to drag her face-down across his thighs and hold her.

Her legs dangled on one side, her head and arms the other, and she tried to breathe. It was difficult, since her stomach was pressed against his iron-hard legs and the croup of the horse. His firm hand in the middle of her back held her still, and he growled something at her that she was glad she didn’t understand. His voice was harsh, angry, rough.

Grass swirled just below her face; she could see the thrust of the horse’s hooves, smell the rich scent of sage and animal and man all mingled together.

Shouts filled the air, and loud
pop-pop-pops
exploded. Deborah tried to lift her head, but Hawk slammed it back down again.

“Puaru,”
he snarled, and she recognized the order to stop. Her struggles ceased. It would be dangerous to keep resisting when so much else was going on.

In the chaos, she heard Judith scream, heard a man break into familiar curses. Everything was a blur of time and motion as Hawk kneed his stallion through the tall grass, and she bounced head-down. The shooting grew louder, and she felt Hawk shift, saw the brief flash of gunmetal pass her eyes as he brought up his rifle, heard a loud explosion.

“No!” she screamed, trying to lever her body up. “You might hit Judith!”

Uttering a rough comment, Hawk held her down with one hand. She heard him shout something at the others, heard the gunfire slow, then stop.

Another scream split the air. A last shot was fired, the whine echoing through her head.

Hawk was wheeling his mount and riding back down the slope at a fast pace. Deborah was afraid to move, afraid she would slide from the horse and be trampled. She curled her hands into the edge of the grass-stuffed pad that was used as a saddle, and clung tightly. The jolting rhythm of the horse settled into a smoother pace, muscles bunching and stretching out, legs moving up and down. Finally, when she thought her ribs must be broken or cracked, Hawk reined his mount to a halt.

She caught glimpses of other horses bunching around them, saw fringed leggings and moccasins, heard the harsh, guttural sounds of the Comanche.

Her spirits drooped badly. She fought to breathe, and heard Hawk give a command to the men with him.

“Pitsa mia?ru. Notsa?kaaru.”
Her eyes closed briefly. She understood
go
and
take.
She shuddered. Not that she’d hoped they would release her. It was just that they’d been so close, so very close. They’d failed. And now they had their angry captors to deal with. What had seemed to last forever, had taken only a few minutes. Hawk bunched a fistful of her blouse in one hand and hauled her backward off his lap. He released her, and Deborah plummeted to the ground with a soft cry of alarm.

She sprawled on her hands and knees, but struggled to her feet as quickly as possible. She pushed at the hair in her eyes and tilted back her head to look at Hawk. He was a dark silhouette against the bright, burning sky, and she flinched.

Deborah’s heart constricted. Even with his features in shadow and the sun in her eyes, she could see the fury in his face. His eyes were so cold they were almost black, and his mouth was a straight, savage slash across his face that made her shiver with apprehension.

A glance beyond Hawk showed her the other Comanche and her cousin.

Judith struggled and sobbed in front of a lean young brave who held her firmly. He grinned as he ran his hands familiarly over Judith’s body, ignoring her frantic efforts to avoid him. One of the men watching said something, and they all laughed. It was ugly laughter, filled with tones that made Deborah shudder.

Judith glanced up, saw Deborah’s gaze on her, and bent her head again, drooping in her captor’s grasp. There was an air of defeat about her, of hopeless resignation and shame. Deborah felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

All was lost. Lost, lost, lost, and her fate was now in the hands of a cold-eyed man with murder in his stare.

Chin lifting, Deborah waited silently.

Chapter 11

“Miaru!”

Deborah stared up at Hawk silently, afraid to move. When he lifted his rifle and pointed it ahead of them, repeating,
“Miaru!”
she reluctantly turned and began to walk. She straightened her spine, refusing to allow him to see how frightened she was as she moved through the tall grass.

The rough edges of the grasses sawed at her hands. and arms mercilessly. It even grazed her chin a time or two, but she did not pause. She could hear their horses following, the soft
shunk
of hooves cutting into the soft ground, and a low murmur of voices muffling Judith’s faint sobs.

Her throat tightened. The sky was still a bright, hot blue, and the wind bent the grass in places. Perspiration began to trickle down her face and wet her blouse so that it stuck to her in damply uncomfortable patches. Deborah tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the line of Comanche ranging behind her.

Ruts cut through the slope at an angle, and stones caught at her feet as she trudged through the grass. The soles of her feet in the soft moccasins scraped against sharp edges of the rocks, scrunched dried grass and shifted in the soft earth. She stumbled several times, but managed to keep going.

When she finally began to slow, Hawk rode up close behind her and nudged her with the muzzle of his rifle. By that time, fear and anger were an even mix. Blood pounded in her ears so hot and loud that she could barely hear his growled commands for her to go, hurry.

How
dare
he do this! To pretend to kindness as he had done in the past, then switch so abruptly and confusingly to a man without mercy, was more than she could endure. Not after all the terror and trials she’d been through.

Only a finely developed sense of survival kept her from wheeling on him and shouting the few Comanche words she knew.

That sense of survival abruptly deserted her when she stumbled over a dry rut and sprawled headlong in the grass. Hawk merely leaned over and hauled her carelessly to her feet by the back of her blouse and a long strand of hair. The unexpected pain made her gasp, and catapulted her into rage.

As he set her on her feet she whirled, lashing out with one arm and spooking his horse. It reared, squealing, and she had to step back out of the way of the lethal hooves as Hawk reined it back down. His movements were so swift and harsh that the animal almost sat back on its haunches, sleek muscles quivering.

A long, lean leg arched over the horse’s back, and Hawk slid to the ground, holding the stallion with one hand and reaching for Deborah with the other. She dodged his grasp and turned to run, but a Comanche warrior cut her off. When she turned another way, she was cut off again by a skilled rider, and jerked to a halt. She would not provide them with sport.

Deborah folded her arms over her chest and waited. She didn’t wait long. Hawk gave another terse command, and the men with him nudged their horses into a brisk walk, then to a canter. She saw Judith still struggling against her captor, her golden head bright and tangled, her cries muffled. A feeling of helpless misery welled in her, and Deborah could not answer when her cousin called out to her.

“Deborah!”

That one word held a wealth of emotion.

Hawk seemed not to notice. His eyes had darkened to a blue so deep as to be indigo, and were fastened on her face with such an icy glare that Deborah shivered despite the searing heat of the sun. He must have noticed.

A faint smile curled one corner of his mouth into a hateful smirk.

She wanted to hit him then, rage at him and provoke him into getting it over with. Her fate would not be changed by anything she did. It was obvious he’d already decided upon it.

Fear, anger, and despair had wrought havoc with her nerves. They were raw, lacerated with constant strain. Her mood could only be a little less dangerous than his.

“You are nothing more than a savage,” she said coldly, injecting as much scorn in her voice as possible. She wanted him to understand the meaning if not her words. “You are beneath contempt.
Aitu!
Evil, mean, cruel—a heathen. Nothing you do to me will make a difference. You can hurt my body, but you cannot touch my soul—not without my permission, and I will never give that.” Her chin lifted so that she met his eyes, saw the flicker in them that told her he recognized her contempt. A mocking smile curled her mouth. “Ah, I see that you can at least understand that. I don’t wonder. A man who has no scruples should be accustomed to contempt.” For a long moment he didn’t move. The wind lifted his hair in a slight shifting motion, and the hawk feather spun against the harsh angle of his cheekbone. His gaze stabbed at her with a ferocity that made her wish suddenly she’d not spoken out, and Deborah tried not to tremble.