Authors: Connie Mason
His hat pulled low over his eyes, shoulders set at a determined angle, Colt rode Thunder boldly into the Indian village. Barking dogs announced his arrival and all activity ceased as countless pairs of black eyes followed his slow progress through the camp. Appearing relaxed though actually alert and watchful, Colt rested his right hand on his thigh mere inches from the butt of his six-shooter; his left hand held the reins in a loose grip, belying the tension that sent adrenaline pumping at a furious pace through his veins. It was late afternoon and the women were preparing food over open fires before their tipis.
Colt’s tawny gaze searched for the face he knew as well as his own, but Sam was nowhere in sight. Nor was the maiden who had been with her earlier. Christ, how he hated these stinking savages! No matter how lovely some of their women appeared, never could he bring himself to feel desire for one of them. His hatred for Indians, Comanches in particular, went deep, leaving him with a profound aversion for anything having to do with heathenish savages. Colt could barely stand the stench of the village. Poor Sam, he commiserated, thinking of her terrible ordeal as a captive of the Comanches. As long as a breath remained in his body, Colt vowed, he would not abandon her as Vera Logan had done.
A shiver danced along Colt’s spine. The dark eyes that bore into his back were like hundreds of tiny pinpricks, yet no one challenged him. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn there was a hint of expectancy in the air, as if his coming were the climax of some long-heralded event. Whatever it was, Colt didn’t like it—not one damn bit. From the corner of his eye he saw a figure dressed in chief’s regalia step from a tipi brightly painted with signs and symbols. Assuming the man to be the leader of the tribe, Colt directed Thunder toward the imposing figure. From another tipi nearby an old man emerged, joining the chief as Colt reined in several feet short of the two. With easy grace he slid from the saddle.
Colt aimed his tawny gaze at Black Bear, then slid an equally probing look toward Spirit Dancer.
“Behold the lion,” Spirit Dancer said quietly, unaware that Colt understood his every word.
Black Bear merely nodded, and once again Colt was stunned with the knowledge that his appearance was no surprise. He didn’t hold much with heathenish superstitions practiced by Indians, but he had the eerie feeling these red devils knew who he was and why he was here. If it would help his cause any, Colt reckoned he could play along with them by answering to any name they chose for him.
Biding his time, Colt held his tongue, aware from previous experience that Indians employed strict protocol when dealing with their chief. He chafed restlessly while waiting for Black Bear to speak, knowing the chief was deliberately baiting him. It wasn’t until a younger man appeared to stand beside the chief that Black Bear spoke. Colt easily identified him as the same young brave he had seen earlier embracing Sam so intimately. Apparently this proud Comanche was the chief’s son.
“I am Chief Black Bear. Why do you come to our village, Lion Heart?” He surprised Colt by speaking in halting English.
Lion Heart! Why had they given him a name, when he’d never encountered this particular tribe before? Colt puzzled. Truth to tell, the name did not displease him.
“If you know my name then you also know why I’m here,” Colt proclaimed arrogantly. He’d be danged if he’d show fear to his lifelong enemy.
Black Bear nodded, his face a mask carved in rock. “Spirit Dancer’s vision spoke of you.”
Colt frowned, assuming Spirit Dancer to be the old man at the chief’s side and the shaman of the tribe. “What did Spirit Dancer’s vision tell him?” Colt probed.
“That Lion Heart wants Violet Eyes.” Colt’s wits sharpened.
“Violet Eyes? If you mean Samantha Howard, then your shaman speaks the truth. I have come to take her back to her people.”
Bristling, Black Bear refuted, “Violet Eyes
is
among her people. In three suns she will join with my son, Brave Eagle.”
“The woman you call Violet Eyes has a brother who needs her and people who love her,” Colt revealed, thinking of his newly discovered feelings for Sam. “When I leave here she goes with me.”
“The lion roars, but can he fight?” sneered Brave Eagle. “Does he have the courage to challenge Brave Eagle for the right to possess Violet Eyes?” He spoke in Comanche, then waited for his father to translate. But Colt answered in fluent Comanche before Black Bear could form the words.
“You wish to fight me for the woman, Brave Eagle?”
Stunned by Colt’s command of his language, Brave Eagle eyed Colt sourly. “You might speak our language, White Eyes, but you know nothing of our customs. If you want Violet Eyes you must fight me, for I have already claimed her.”
Colt wanted to fling himself at Brave Eagle’s throat when he heard the Comanche lay claim to Sam, but wisely held himself under tight control. “Sam doesn’t belong to you and never will.”
“She belongs to the Comanches.” Colt did not take Brave Eagle’s words literally when he referred to Sam as belonging to the Comanches, thinking he meant she was their prisoner.
“Then we fight,” Colt asserted boldly, taking careful measure of the warrior’s superb physique. Colt thought them evenly matched and reckoned it would be a fierce battle.
At this point Black Bear stepped forward. “Heed my words, Lion Heart. According to our customs the fight will be to the death. You will be armed only with knives.” He waited for this information to sink in, then advised, “There is still time to withdraw with no shame to you. If you do so now you will be allowed to leave in peace, a concession rarely granted. But you leave alone.”
“Then I must refuse, Black Bear,” Colt drawled. “When I leave—if I leave—the woman goes with me.
“You are named well, Lion Heart,” Black Bear allowed, a spark of admiration lighting his eyes. He hated to see so brave a man die an ignominious death.
“If I win, will I be allowed to leave with Samantha Howard?” Colt persisted.
A tense silence ensued. A nudge from Spirit Dancer brought Black Bear’s reluctant answer. “I have said so. A Comanche is as good as his word.”
“You will not win, lion Heart,” offered Brave Eagle. “Violet Eyes is mine. She is Comanche, and one day our son will be chief. Prepare yourself to meet your white God.”
Brave Eagle’s taunts pierced Colt sharply. Was he implying that Sam was already carrying his child?
“You will rest and prepare yourselves tonight,” Black Bear decreed with an air of finality. “The fight will take place when the sun is at its peak tomorrow.”
“No!”
Ignoring Black Bear’s stern warning to remain inside the lodge, Sam charged from the tipi, protesting wildly. She loved Colt too much to permit that supreme sacrifice of him. If she could persuade Colt to leave, she would somehow survive, even if it meant marrying Brave Eagle. Since Spirit Dancer had established that she was half Comanche, Sam knew she wouldn’t be harmed. Indeed, she was treated like any other Indian maiden belonging to the People.
The first that Sam knew anything unusual was taking place had been when Black Bear told her and Fawn to remain inside the lodge. She had made nothing of it until she recognized a voice she thought she’d never hear again. Motioning to Fawn, they had peeked through the tent flap, listening, until Sam heard Colt agree to a fight that could result in his death. And if Colt won, Brave Eagle would die. Chief Black Bear would be devastated by the loss of his only son, and Sam had grown fond of the aging warrior and his shy wife. Even Brave Eagle had many good qualities to commend him. She just didn’t want to marry him. Colt’s words brought her leaping from the tipi with Fawn close on her heels. Colt’s face lit up the moment he saw her.
“Sam! Are you all right? They haven’t harmed you, have they?”
A ferocious scowl darkened Black Bear’s features, and Brave Eagle stepped forward to prevent Sam from rushing into Colt’s arms. He managed to snare her around the waist and hold her in place beside him while Colt looked on helplessly.
“I’m fine, Colt,” Sam said. “But you must leave here. If you go now Chief Black Bear will keep his word. No harm will come to you.”
Colt looked perplexed. “I don’t understand. Do you want to marry that… that savage?” he supplied for lack of a better word.
“No, of course not,” Sam refuted, “but there’s nothing either of us can do.”
“I can fight Brave Eagle.”
“I don’t want you dead, Colt,” Sam said softly.
His tawny eyes drank in the sight of her. She was so damn beautiful it hurt to look at her. The doeskin dress she wore was soft and supple, molding her lush curves perfectly. Intricate beading interspersed with fringe decorated the neck, sleeves, and hem. A beaded band sporting an eagle’s feather held back her jet black braids. The golden skin of her arms and face had turned a deep tan beneath the relentless Texas sun, and Colt thought she looked as much an Indian as those surrounding her.
“The choice has already been made, darlin’,” Colt said softly, tenderly. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know—”
“Enough!” Brave Eagle grunted, jealous of the display of warmth between Violet Eyes and lion Heart. “Save your words for your God when you meet him tomorrow.” Then he shoved Sam back inside the tipi while Spirit Dancer led Colt off to prepare for the morrow’s confrontation between him and Brave Eagle.
Inside Black Bear’s lodge Sam fretted and fumed, cursing the fates that had brought this mess. Learning that she was part Comanche had nearly devastated her, but knowing that Colt might die in her defense was an even greater blow. She was so consumed with her own misery that she failed to notice Fawn’s strange preoccupation.
From the first moment Fawn laid eyes on Colt she had been struck speechless, her tawny eyes wide with shock. Long-forgotten memories, painful recollections, and shadowy figures from her past played cruel games with her mind. It was some time before Sam noted Fawn’s quiet introspection and pale features. When she did, she searched her brain for a hint of what could have upset the girl.
“Fawn, what is it? Are you ill?”
Fawn raised stricken eyes to Sam; her narrow shoulders trembled and her hands clenched into tight fists. “It…it is nothing, Violet Eyes,” she disclaimed, her voice quavering.
“You’re upset. Something happened. Something to do with Colt.”
“C … Colt?”
“His real name is Steven Colter but he was given the name ‘Colt’ during the Mexican War.”
“What is this man to you, Violet Eyes?”
A becoming flush crept up Sam’s neck. “He … I … love him,” she admitted shyly. “He’s a man like no other I’ve ever known.”
“He must love you very much to be willing to fight Brave Eagle.”
Sam shook her head sadly. “I wish it were so. Colt loves his freedom. He wants no wife or romantic attachments to complicate his life.”
Fawn looked so troubled that Sam would not let the subject drop. “Does something about Colt upset you?”
Fawn’s eyes swept downward, her lashes like golden butterfly wings against the paleness of her cheeks.
“I’m your friend, Fawn. Please tell me what’s troubling you.”
Up came the fringe of gold, Fawn’s tawny eyes so hauntingly familiar the breath caught painfully in Sam’s chest. She had noticed the similarity before but had been too consumed with her own problems to recognize the truth when it stared her in the face. “I know you’re no Indian, Fawn, you’re white. You’re no half-breed like I am, either. Do you want to tell me about it? Does it have something to do with Colt?”
A frown worried Fawn’s smooth brow, fearful of digging up painful memories of a past she had tried to forget. Remembering brought heartache and sorrow. Why dredge up things better left buried or dwell on mental images that produced only tears? Yet the urge within her to speak of things she had held within herself for years was strong.
Fawn trembled so badly that Sam silently berated herself for badgering the girl. If Fawn wished to confide in her she would do so of her own accord. Yet Sam couldn’t help her curiosity—there were too many unanswered questions and intriguing possibilities.
Suddenly Fawn seemed to come to a decision and the words tumbled from her lips in a long-suppressed torrent. “Steve is my brother. I haven’t seen him for years, not since I was ten. I idolized him. Besides my parents he was all I had in the world until that terrible day when life dealt me a bitter blow.”
She paused to lick dry lips, and Sam jumped into the void to ask, “What happened?”
“Steve was very young when he went off to fight in the Mexican War. He hadn’t been gone a month when Indians raided our ranch south of San Antonio and made off with the livestock and killed both my parents.”
“Dear God!” Sam gasped. “Your parents were killed by Black Bear and his people?”
“No, it was another tribe of Comanches. They burned the house and took me with them. It… it was terrible.” A haunted look turned her eyes bleak. “I was beaten every day, starved, shackled at night, and made to work until I dropped from exhaustion.”
“But now you are daughter to a chief,” Sam said, amazed. “What happened?” She had known that Colt’s parents had been killed by Comanches, but this was the first she heard about a sister. No wonder Colt hated Indians so much.
“Somehow I survived six months of unspeakable brutality before I was bartered to Black Bear for six ponies. Singing Wind had just lost a daughter to illness, and Black Bear hoped to assuage her grief by giving her another. From that time on I never knew another unkind word or suffered abuse. I was adopted into the tribe, and consider myself as much Comanche as my brother. Brave Eagle.”