Comanche Woman (8 page)

“Wait. I . . . I can’t leave this place. It’s too late. You’re too late,” Bay cried, struggling to be free of Long Quiet’s grasp. “Let me go!”

Long Quiet had expected Bay to have second thoughts. He just hadn’t expected them to come quite so soon, before the first blush of pleasure had even left her face. He held her tenderly in his arms. “Shhh. Don’t cry,” he soothed. “It is never too late. If you want to leave, you can. But have you perhaps found this life better than the one you left behind?”

“No, it’s not that . . . not exactly,” she amended. As awful as she’d first found life among the Comanches, at least they hadn’t asked more from her than she’d been able to give. Rip Stewart had expected his daughters to be equal to the tasks a son might be asked to perform. While Sloan and Cricket had found such accomplishments easy, Bay had found herself inept and inadequate at many of them. She felt certain that was why she was the least and the last among his daughters in Rip’s eyes.

Here, at least, she felt needed. She would be missed more by the child she left now than by the sisters and father she’d left behind three years ago.

Bay had no idea how long she’d been silent, but when she looked up at Long Quiet, she said, “I can’t leave this place.”

“Because you love Many Horses?”

Bay was taken aback by the question. She didn’t love Many Horses, but she did care for him, and there was the matter of the supposed powers she wielded on his behalf. While she didn’t believe anything she did protected Many Horses from evil spirits in battle, he did. “I won’t leave him.”

“If it were not for Many Horses, would you stay and live among the Comanches?”

Bay didn’t like the tone of Long Quiet’s voice or the frown on his face. Both seemed to threaten. Surely he’d never consider harming Many Horses. After all, they were brothers. It was best he understood the reason why she wouldn’t leave this village before he let his thoughts take the dangerous turn that appeared to be coming.

“I have a daughter, Little Deer,” she said. “I could never leave her.”

Bay thought she’d misunderstood the look in Long Quiet’s eyes because for a moment he appeared bitterly disappointed. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard and flat as he confirmed, “You have a child.”

“Yes. A beautiful daughter whom I love more than I thought it possible to love anyone.”

“Many Horses’ child?”

“Yes.”

Bay knew he thought she’d borne the child, and it was on the tip of her tongue to correct him. But she thought he might be less willing to let her stay if she spoke the truth. So she kept silent.

Long Quiet hadn’t thought it would hurt to discover that Bay had in fact met the fate he’d suspected at the hands of the Comanches. It was just that for a little while he’d allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have this woman for his wife, to imagine children that blended her features and his, and to imagine growing old together. He’d wondered for the better part of three years whether he could take her from her child, to have her for himself. Now he had his answer. He could not do it. And he found that knowledge as bitter as winter wind on his flesh, and equally chilling to his soul.

“Of course you would not wish to leave your child,” he said. “I promised your sister I would abide by your wishes. I will leave here tomorrow alone.”

“No!”

Long Quiet’s brow furrowed at her outburst.

“I mean . . . do you have to leave so soon?” Bay hadn’t had nearly enough opportunity to speak with this stranger, and if he left tomorrow it could be months, years perhaps, before she was given another chance like this.

If Long Quiet hadn’t been so frustrated at the turn of events, perhaps he wouldn’t have spoken quiet so frankly. But he was frustrated, and thus brutally frank. “It would not please me to stay here and know I cannot touch you.”

“But Many Horses said you could—”

“I have never taken an unwilling woman to my pallet.”

What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t guarantee she’d be a willing partner. She wasn’t sure she could find pleasure lying with any man. She’d once hoped to save herself for Jonas Harper, but those dreams had been dashed when she’d been taken captive by the Comanches. But was what he asked so much to give if it would keep him here a little longer? Besides, the thought of being with him in the way of husbands and wives left her oddly breathless.

“And if it pleased me to have you stay . . . and touch me?” she asked at last.

His smile flashed quickly, white against his deeply tanned face. “Then of course I would be willing to do whatever pleased you.”

Bay returned his smile with one equally brilliant. “Then stay. Talk to me for a little while.”

“It shall be as you ask. What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything—as long as we can speak in English.”

“Agreed,” Long Quiet said.

Bay laughed, almost drunk on contemplation of the pleasure of an entire conversation in English. “When did you last see Cricket and Creed? How are they? And the rest of my family? Is everyone all right?”

Long Quiet smiled indulgently. “Which question shall I answer first?”

“Please don’t tease me.” Bay placed her hand on his arm, and felt the muscles bunch beneath her fingertips. “Sloan was expecting a child when I last saw her. Did she have a boy or a girl?”

Long Quiet covered her hand with his as he replied, “I wish I could tell you something, but I haven’t heard anything about Sloan’s baby.”

“What about Cricket and Creed?”

“The last time I saw them, they both looked very happy. Cricket’s belly is swollen with Creed’s child.”

“Cricket? A mother?” Bay laughed aloud at the thought of her hell-raising sister chasing after a rambunctious son or daughter. “When will the baby be born?”

“In the new moon.”

“I hope she finds as much happiness in having a child to love as I have.”

Long Quiet’s hand tightened painfully on Bay’s until she said, “You’re hurting me.”

He immediately released her.

Bay had grown up with a father whose terrible rages, though mostly bluff and bluster, had frightened her. Over the past few years, she’d learned to give the appearance of courage even when she was quaking inside. But she found the sight of this angry man, who had her life completely in his control, terrifying. She grabbed at the only excuse she could think of to leave him.

“I’ll get you some food.”

“I’m not hungry. Stay.” His voice was sharp, commanding.

“Surely you must—”

“Stay. Right now I need sleep. Can you prepare a bed for us?”

Bay was shocked at his request. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to take advantage of her offer so quickly. It was one thing to make the promise she’d made. It was an entirely different matter to keep it.

“I can’t.”

The words came out in a whisper, and she put her fingertips to her lips after she’d spoken, her eyes rounding as she admitted to herself the utter futility of her resistance. There was no way she could physically resist the strength of this tall, broad-shouldered man if he chose to take her as Many Horses had given him permission to do—as she herself had given him permission to do.

“You can’t make us a bed?”

She saw him look around the tipi, finding the buffalo robes rolled and stacked to one side and the nearby moss-stuffed rabbit fur pillows.

“No. Yes. I meant I can’t . . .”

“Can’t what?”

His voice seemed cold, unyielding, or maybe that was her imagination at work. Bay swallowed, but her throat was so tight it hurt. She looked at Long Quiet, her heart pounding in her chest. He was a white man. Surely he understood her position, why she’d made her offer, what she was feeling now. She decided to take the chance of speaking as frankly with him as he’d spoken to her.

“I understand the Comanche custom that allows Many Horses to offer . . . to share me with you, and I know what I promised. But I . . . I really don’t wish to . . . You must understand how unnatural, how wrong such an act would seem to a white woman . . . such as myself. After all, you’re a white man, you—”

“I am Comanche, a True Human Being. Do not dare to call me White!”

Bay’s face blanched at the sharpness of his reply. Whatever thought she’d had of appealing to his understanding died a swift death. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for his wrath to descend upon her.

“I only wish to sleep now,” he said, his voice less harsh. “Make a bed for us.”

Bay sighed silently. He’d given her a brief reprieve. She didn’t want to guess why. It was the
now
at the end of his expressed desire for sleep that curled her toes. Perhaps once they lay down together, he’d change his mind and reach for her. His tone, however, had brooked no refusal. She had no recourse except to make a bed for them.

Her nervousness increased as Long Quiet watched her spread the buffalo robe on the hard-packed ground and settle the pillows at one end. It was an imperfectly cured robe, one of the first she’d prepared by herself, but her fingers found comfort in its flaws. She rubbed a spot that was still stiff, where she’d missed softening the hide with a mixture of basswood bark, buffalo brains, and grease. She had learned to do better. She had learned to survive.

“The bed is ready,” she said at last.

Long Quiet rose and crossed to where she stood, reaching for the string that released his breechclout. She clenched her teeth to keep from asking him not to bare himself. She carefully kept her eyes on his face, not daring to look down. Completely comfortable with his nakedness, he lay down on his back with his hands cradling his head.

“Come, join me,” he said.

When she started to lie down fully dressed, he stopped her. “You’ll be too warm in that deerskin. Take it off.”

Bay felt a spark of anger at his demand. “I don’t want—”

“That we should be together now is by your choice. I merely wish to see you. That is less than you’ve agreed we should have between us. Do you deny me even this?”

Bay bit her lip until it bled, but she said nothing.

Long Quiet shrugged. He was relieved that she’d failed this first test. Now he wouldn’t have the torture of remembering her body when he’d gone away. “I will leave with the rising of the sun.”

“No. Wait.” The words were torn from Bay. For a while she’d been able to forget that this gray-eyed, English-speaking man was Comanche, but it was becoming clear there was nothing remotely civilized about him. A combination of anger and desperation gave her the courage to do what she knew must be done. Bay had never wished so fervently for a petticoat. She was naked beneath the deerskin.

With her eyes on her feet, Bay untied the thong at her waist and let the skirt drop to her feet. As the fringes of her poncho undulated against her naked thighs, she heard Long Quiet’s sharp intake of breath. Her face flushed scarlet as she realized she’d unwittingly provided more temptation to him than she’d intended. She stood with her head bowed, her hands at her sides, unwilling to completely bare herself to his gaze.

He rose with sure, catlike grace to stand before her. His hands grasped the poncho and pulled it gently up from the waist, bringing her arms above her head as he released her from the garment. Her hands automatically crossed over her breasts.

“I want to see you.”

He’d said it so softly, so gently, that she looked up to see if his gaze matched his voice. It did. There was no frightening, fiery desire, no uncontrolled hunger. Neither did she find anger or any intent to inflict hurt or humiliation. She let her hands drop slowly to her sides.

She could see him try, and fail, to control another sharp intake of air. His eyes flashed briefly with raw need, then his gaze once again became remote. She flinched when he reached out to touch the long, jagged scar on her ribs, but stood still as his fingers traced the scar to its end. She knew when he realized there were more scars on her back. His jaw muscles tightened and his eyes narrowed as his arms reached around her, his fingertips tracing the myriad trails of pain.

“Did he do this to you?”

The rage in his voice kept her silent for so long that Long Quiet drew his own conclusions.

“I won’t leave you here with Many Horses. When I go, you’ll come with me.”

“No.”

“You would stay with one who—”

“He didn’t do it.”