Hunter’s expression clouded. His mother looked distressed. They conversed back and forth, then Woman with Many Robes exited the lodge. A decision had been reached, and Loretta had the feeling she wasn’t going to like it. Hunter secured the bearskin flap so no one would enter and then walked slowly toward the bed, his gaze leveled on hers, his arms folded loosely across his broad chest.
After studying her until she wanted to ooze under the furs and hide, he sat beside her. ‘‘I will force you to drink and eat, and you will not die. All this suffering. Only to surrender in the end? It is boisa.’’ He reached out and lightly rested his hand on her hair. ‘‘You will eat, eh, Blue Eyes? A little bit?’’
‘‘No.’’
A muscle along his jaw tightened. His eyes gave hers no quarter. ‘‘You cannot escape me. You are here. That is the way of it.’’
Glancing toward the door and the horrors she knew lay beyond, she whispered, ‘‘I have no choice.’’
‘‘You choose where you place your feet, Blue Eyes. This path you walk is bad—very bad. This Comanche will show you, eh?’’ He leaned closer. ‘‘You will learn that my hand upon you is not a terrible thing.’’
Loretta’s eyes widened. ‘‘N-not now?’’
His fingers curled in her hair, making a loose fist. ‘‘You will not eat. You fear my touch. You would die first. Your words, eh?’’
Loretta’s senses started to swim. She blinked to clear her vision. She tried to shrug his hand away. ‘‘Even if I ate and you let me be tonight, you wouldn’t the next, or the next.’’ Heat crept up her neck. ‘‘And—after you, all your friends. Do you think I’m so stupid?’’
He had abandoned his grip on her hair to trace the too generous neckline of his hunting shirt, his fingertip burning a trail along her collarbone, up the slope of her shoulder, along her throat. She closed her eyes, too weak to shove him away.
‘‘No friends, Blue Eyes. You belong to this Comanche.’’
‘‘I’ll fight you—until I draw my last breath.’’ She swayed and righted herself. ‘‘Why bother with me? Why not find yourself an Indian woman?’’
‘‘It is you I want.’’ He brushed his knuckles along the hollow of her cheek. ‘‘Your skin is moonlight. I am dark like night next to you.’’ He slid his hand behind her neck and drew her toward him. ‘‘Sunshine in your hair, moonlight on your skin, this Comanche’s bright one, no?’’
‘‘No,’’ she replied in a raw voice.
‘‘You will eat?’’
‘‘No.’’
He bent to taste the flesh at the hollow of her throat, his lips silken, his teeth nipping lightly, his warm, moist mouth sending jolts through her. ‘‘Like ermine, mah-tao-yo. So soft. And sweet like flowers.’’
She wedged her fists between them, her knuckles knotted against the warm, solid planes of his chest. As she opened her eyes, the room spun. ‘‘Please— please, don’t. I’m not even sure what your real name is. Please don’t.’’
‘‘Hunter,’’ he whispered next to her ear. ‘‘Hunter of the Wolf, Habbe Esa. Lie on your back, Blue Eyes. You are weak, eh? Lie on your back and close your eyes. Let me chase your fear away. With nothing to fear, there is no need to die, eh?’’
‘‘No.’’ She tried to push him away. ‘‘No.’’
He slipped an arm under her knees and drew her down the bed onto her back. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to evade his lips as they nibbled their way down her neck to her collarbone. And lower. Panic welled within her. She couldn’t fight him. Not when she trembled like this. Not when the world tipped sideways. He slid the tip of his tongue under the leather to trace wet circles on her chest—just above her breasts. Her nipples sprang taut, sensitized to the soft leather that grazed them when she moved.
Never before had Loretta actually felt the blood drain from her face; she did now. Sucking in a draft of air, she tried to twist sideways, but his arm, roped with muscle and tensed against her, blocked her escape. As she shifted position, his lips found her ear and, in unison with his teeth and tongue, learned its texture, its taste, its shape, discovering with unerring accuracy the sensitive places. His warm breath made chills run over her.
‘‘Habbe . . .’’ Her voice trailed off. She wanted desperately to distract him, but instead it was she who couldn’t seem to concentrate. ‘‘Your name, wha— what was it? Habbe what? What does it mean?’’
‘‘Habbe Esa, Road to the Wolf, Hunter of the Wolf. My brother the wolf showed his face in my name dream.’’
"Y-your name dream?" She wriggled away and shoved the heel of her hand against his chin so she could sit up. ‘‘Wh-what’s a name dream?’’
His eyes gleamed down at her as he drew back his head. ‘‘A dream a man seeks when he becomes a warrior. In the dream, he learns his name. A woman has no need. She is named by others.’’
He dipped his head and captured her thumb between his teeth. Mesmerized, Loretta felt his tongue flick across her knuckle. Dear God, she was going to faint. And while she was unconscious, he would—he would . . . She felt herself tip sideways. His arm caught her from falling.
He released her thumb. ‘‘Blue Eyes?’’
Loretta licked her bottom lip, trying desperately to right herself, to stay conscious. She couldn’t pass out— she just couldn’t. His face blurred. And his voice seemed distant.
‘‘Hah-ich-ka ein, where are you, Blue Eyes?’’
Loretta blinked, but it did no good. Was this how it felt to die? All floaty and distant from everything? Hah-ich-ka ein, where are you, Blue Eyes? She tried to answer. Couldn’t.
Meat broth? In heaven there were supposed to be angel wings, glorious songs of praise, streets lined in gold, and fluffy pink clouds. Loretta swallowed and surfaced to consciousness, becoming aware by degrees. A large hand clamped her jaw. Something warm and thick trickled into her mouth. Voices rang in her ears. She strained to escape the hand that held her. She mustn’t eat. Bits of meat caught on the back of her tongue. Her throat convulsed. And then she strangled.
Someone held her head while her stomach purged itself. Hard hands. A damp cloth skimmed her face. A voice called to her. A very deep voice. Loretta spun away into darkness.
‘‘If I don’t take her back to her wooden walls, she will die.’’ Hunter met his father’s steady gaze across the leaping flames. ‘‘Then what will become of the prophecy? She emptied her belly of the meat broth and precious water as well. She will sure enough die if this continues.’’
Soat Tuh-huh-yet, Many Horses, drew on his pipe and blew smoke toward the peak of the lodge, then toward the ground. After taking another drag, he exhaled east, west, north, and south. The pipe then passed from his right hand to Hunter, who inhaled slowly and returned the pipe to his father with his right hand to make a full circle, never to be broken.
‘‘My tua, you have only just arrived. Give her some time.’’
‘‘She’ll be dead in a day or two.’’ Hunter spat a fleck of tobacco. Though he would never admit it, he detested the taste of his father’s pipe. ‘‘I have tried everything, Father. I’ve been kind to her. I’ve promised my strong arm will be hers forever into the horizon, until I am dust in the wind. And I’ve tried bargaining with her.’’
‘‘What bargains?’’
Hunter shot a wary glance toward the shadows, where his mother sat listening. ‘‘After my mother left the lodge, I said that perhaps I would be a tired Comanche when the moon rose if she were to eat and drink.’’
‘‘And if she didn’t, and you were not tired?’’ Many Horses’ dark eyes filled with laughter. He too shot a glance into the shadows. ‘‘The bargain did not please her?’’
Hunter shook his head.
‘‘Perhaps she is not the right woman,’’ Many Horses said softly.
‘‘She is the woman. I am certain of that.’’
‘‘Has a spirit voice come to you during a dream?’’
‘‘No, my father.’’ Studying the flames, Hunte
r grew thoughtful. ‘‘No man has a more abiding hatred for the tosi tivo than I. You know this is so. My heart burned with anger when I went to collect the yellow-hair. I wanted to kill her.’’
Woman with Many Robes leaned forward, her features dancing in the firelight. Hunter met her gaze. She was a woman with much wisdom. She observed the customs and seldom interrupted when men were speaking, but on those occasions when she did, only a stupid man ignored what she had to say.
He waited to see if she meant to share her thoughts. When she remained silent, he cleared his throat, which was afire from the pipe, and continued. ‘‘Now, I would not kill her. She has touched me. My hatred for her has gone the way of the wind. She saved my life.’’ He quickly related the tale about the rattlesnake and how she had broken her silence to warn him.
‘‘You would prefer that she live for always away from you?’’
Hunter’s guts contracted. In that instant he realized how much he wanted the woman beside him. ‘‘I would prefer that my eyes never again fall upon her than to see her die.’’ His mouth twisted. ‘‘She has great heart for one so small. She makes war with nothing, and wins.’’
Many Horses nodded. ‘‘Huh, yes, Warrior and Swift Antelope have already told me.’’
‘‘I would take my woman back to her land,’’ Hunter said. ‘‘I know the words of the prophecy, eh? And I would not displease the Great Ones, but I see no other path I might walk.’’
Hunter’s mother rose to her knees. ‘‘My husband, I request permission to speak.’’
Many Horses squinted into the shadows. ‘‘Then do it, woman.’’
She moved forward into the light, her brown eyes fathomless in the flickering amber. ‘‘I would but sing part of the song, so we might hear the words and listen.’’ She tipped her head back and clasped her hands before her. In a singsong voice, she recited, ‘‘ ‘When his hatred for the White Eyes is hot like the summer sun and cold like the winter snow, there will come to him a gentle maiden from tosi tivo land.’ ’’
‘‘Yes, wife, I know the words,’’ Many Horses said impatiently.
‘‘But do you listen?’’ Woman with Many Robes fixed her all-seeing gaze on her eldest son. ‘‘Hunter, she did not come to you, as the prophecy foretold. You took her by force.’’
‘‘Pia, what is it you’re saying? That she would have come freely?’’ A breath of laughter escaped Hunter’s lips. ‘‘The little blue-eyes? Never.’’
His mother held up a hand. ‘‘I say she would have, and that she shall. You must take her to her wooden walls. The Great Ones will lead her in a circle back to you.’’
Hunter glanced at his father. Many Horses set his pipe aside and gazed for a long while into the flames. ‘‘Your mother may be right. Perhaps we have acted wrongly, sending you to fetch her. Perhaps it was meant for her to come of her own free will.’’
Hunter swallowed back an argument. Though he didn’t believe his little blue-eyes would ever return to Comancheria freely, his parents had agreed that he should take her home, and that was enough. ‘‘What will lead her back to me, pia?’’
Woman with Many Robes smiled. ‘‘Fate, Hunter. It guides our footsteps. It will guide hers.’’
Loretta snuggled deeply into silken furs, trying to escape the persistent hand that shook her shoulder and the voice that called to her. Not her name, anyway. Blue Eyes. What kind of name was that?
‘‘Blue Eyes, you will be awake now. Home . . . you wish for home?’’
Home. Amy and Aunt Rachel. The gray down quilt. Pork slab and eggs for breakfast. Coffee on the porch when the sun peeked over the horizon and streaked the sky with crimson. Home. To laughter and love and safety. Oh, yes, she wished for home.
‘‘Be awake, little one. This Comanche will take you back. Loh-rhett-ah? Wake up, Hoos-cho Soh-nips, Bird Bones, you must eat and grow strong so you can go home. To your people and your wooden walls.’’
Loretta opened her eyes. She rolled onto her back and blinked. A dark face swam above her. Funny, but blinking didn’t bring him into focus. She reached out, curious, then thought better of it.
‘‘You will make the honey talk with me? We will make a treaty between us, one with no tiv-ope, writing. You will eat and grow strong, and I will take you to your people.’’
Honey talk. All lies, according to Hunter. Loretta peered up. She ran her tongue across her lips and tried to swallow. ‘‘H-home?’’ she croaked.
‘‘Huh, yes, Blue Eyes. Home. But you must eat so you can live to go back. And drink. For three days. Until you are strong again.’’ His fingertips grazed her cheek and trailed lightly into her hair. ‘‘Then this Comanche will take you.’’
‘‘You will?’’ she rasped.
‘‘It is a promise I make. You will eat and drink?’’
Loretta closed her eyes. She had to be dreaming. But oh, what a lovely dream it was. To go home. To have Hunter volunteer to take her there. No need to worry that his wrath would rain upon her family. ‘‘No tricks. You swear it?’’
‘‘No tricks.’’
His voice echoed and reechoed inside her head, loud, then like a whisper. She fought to open her eyes. The darkness was surrounding her again. ‘‘Then I will eat.’’
Meat broth. Hunter cradled her in one arm and held a steaming cup to her lips. Loretta filled her mouth. Her throat refused to work. She rested her head against her captor’s shoulder, then with great concentration managed to swallow. The broth hit her belly, resting there like a lead ball.
‘‘No more. Sick, I’m going to be sick.’’
‘‘One more,’’ he urged. ‘‘Then you will sleep.’’
Loretta tried to focus. The rim of the cup pressed against her lips. She took another mouthful of broth and forced herself to swallow it. Then she felt herself floating down onto the furs. Sleep. Strong hands moved her about and covered her with a heavy robe. Strong hands, gentle hands.
‘‘Home . . . you will take me?’’
‘‘Huh, yes, bright one. I will take you.’’
Loretta drifted. He would take her. It was only a dream, after all. She could trust his promises in dreams.
Chapter 13
LORETTA WOKE SLOWLY, DISTURBED BY A sound that reminded her of hens clucking. The chicken coop? When she rolled onto her side and struggled to open her eyes, she felt fur against her cheek. Memory came spinning back, a confusing blur of images. The village, Woman with Many Robes thumping heads with a spoon, Hunter nibbling her neck. And then blackness. In the far reaches of her mind, she recalled someone waking her several times to pour broth and water down her.
The clucking sound seemed closer now and slowly became recognizable as husky giggles. With a jolt, Loretta came fully awake. She opened her eyes to find Blackbird’s impish face hovering inches above her own. The next instant she realized the little girl was not alone. Two other children, a boy of about five and a girl of perhaps two, were on the bed as well, their button eyes wide with curiosity.
Loretta raised up on an elbow. She no longer felt woozy, just horribly weak. Wary of the shadows, she shot a quick glance around the lodge but saw no adults. Children, no matter what their race, weren’t particularly intimidating.
The little boy touched his dust-streaked hand to Loretta’s hair and made a breathless ‘‘ooh’’ sound. He smelled like any little boy who had been hard at play, a bit sweaty yet somehow sweet, with the definite odor of dog and horse clinging to him. Blackbird concentrated on Loretta’s blue eyes, staring into them with unflinching intensity. The younger girl ran reverent fingertips over the flounces on Loretta’s bloomers, saying, ‘‘Tosi wannup,’’ over and over again.
Loretta couldn’t help but smile. She was as strange to them as they were to her. She longed to gather them close and never let go. Friendly faces and human warmth. Their giggles made her long for home.
With a throat that responded none too well to the messages from her brain, Loretta murmured, ‘‘Hello.’’ The sound of her own v
oice seemed unreal—an echo from the past.
‘‘Hi, hites.’’ Blackbird linked her chubby forefingers in an unmistakable sign of friendship. ‘‘Hah-ich-ka sooe ein conic?’’
Loretta had no idea what the child had asked until Blackbird steepled her fingers.
‘‘Oh—my house?’’ Loretta cupped a hand over her brow as if she were squinting into the distance. ‘‘Very far away.’’
Blackbird’s eyes sparkled with delight, and she burst into a long chain of gibberish, chortling and waving her hands. Loretta watched her, fascinated by the glow of happiness in her eyes, the innocence in her small face. She had always imagined Comanches, young and old, with blood dripping from their fingers.
A deep voice came from behind her. ‘‘She asks how long you will eat and keep warm with us.’’
Startled, Loretta glanced over her shoulder to find Hunter reclining on a pallet of furs. Because he lay so low to the floor, she hadn’t seen him the first time she’d looked. Propping himself up on one elbow, he listened to his niece chatter for a moment. His eyes caught the light coming through the lodge door, glistening, fathomless.
‘‘You will tell her, ‘Pihet tabbe.’ ’’
Trust didn’t come easily to Loretta. ‘‘What does that mean?’’
A smile teased the corners of his mouth. ‘‘Pihet, three. Tabbe, the sun. Three suns. It was our bargain.’’
Relieved that she hadn’t dreamed his promise to take her home, Loretta repeated ‘‘pihet tabbe’’ to Blackbird. The little girl looked crestfallen and took Loretta’s hand. ‘‘Ka,’’ she cried. ‘‘Ein mea mon-ach.’’
‘‘Ka, no. You are going a long way,’’ Hunter translated, pushing to his feet as he spoke. ‘‘I think she likes you.’’ He came to the bed and, with an indulgent smile, shooed the children away as Aunt Rachel shooed chickens. ‘‘Poke Wy-ar-pee-cha, Pony Girl,’’ he said as he scooped the unintimidated toddler off the furs and set her on the floor. His hand lingered a moment on her hair, a loving gesture that struck Loretta as totally out of character for a Comanche warrior. The fragile child, his rugged strength. The two formed a fascinating contrast. ‘‘She is from my sister who is dead.’’ Nodding toward the boy, he added, ‘‘Wakare-ee, Turtle, from Warrior.’’