Comanche Moon Page 15

  “Hawk, yes, please yes . . .” He gave a low growl of pleasure, and moved between her thighs with a swift motion. Then he was inside her, his body filling her, rocking against her.

  Deborah cried out at the scrape of him against still-sensitive flesh, and he went still.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, unable to speak for the breathtaking mix of pain and pleasure. She ached for him, but the tight friction of his body inside her made her shudder.

  He remained still, holding back until she moved in a restless twist of her hips. His gaze was hot and dark with desire as he rasped, “You’re sure?” Deborah lifted up slightly to kiss him, her arms around the strong column of his neck. Her mouth grazed his throat, his jawline, then his lips.

  “I’m sure.”

  Then her head arched back, soft cries of ecstasy fluttering through the long wings of his hair as he surged forward in a smooth, delicious slide. This was so far outside the realm of anything she’d ever imagined, that she couldn’t find the words to explain her reactions to him. Nothing would explain it, she supposed, not this wild, abandoned response he had provoked with his mouth, hands, and body.

  It startled them both.

  Hawk saw the sensual glaze in her eyes, the parted lips and female awareness denoting the passion that he’d sensed existed in her. Her cool, ladylike exterior had only hidden it. It remained there, deep and quick, like an underground river.

  He wanted to take his time, but Deborah’s writhing response, her quickened breathing, and the soft cries she gave made him crazy. Her hips undulated beneath him, soft invitations, sending jolts of exquisite sensation all the way to his toes. Their coupling was going too fast—much faster than he’d wanted—but he couldn’t slow it down. He hammered into her, her hips rising to meet him, his body answering the urgency that drove them both. He could feel the rising sweep of release, felt her velvet contractions around him and her cries in his ear, and he was lost.

  With a low, hoarse groan, he emptied his body into her with explosive force. Her arms clasped convulsively around his neck and held him, and he rested his forehead against hers, too drained to move.

  He didn’t know how long he lay there, moving only to shift his weight to one side so as not to hurt her. It hit him then, that the one night he’d wanted, would not be enough to satisfy him. He wanted to savor her, to turn over at night and find her in his blankets, her soft body warm and willing, her fiery hair draped over his arm.

  But he couldn’t.

  He had to return Deborah and Judith before the army came for them, came with horses and guns and death riding behind them, came to kill the innocent and the not so innocent. He may not have been responsible for bringing the woman to camp, but he was responsible for keeping her there.

  He could have, as she’d said, returned her. But he hadn’t. He’d wanted her, so he’d kept her. And now he would lose her for good.

  For the first time, Hawk wondered what his father had felt when he’d had to return his mother to her people. If it had pained White Eagle half as badly as the pain he felt now, he felt a new understanding and compassion.

  Some of the resentment at being the product of their union faded, and he knew how easy it was to lose his detachment.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Deborah asked softly, startling him. He didn’t answer for a moment. The light grew brighter, splintering through the seams of buffalo hide and pouring through the smoke hole at the top. He blinked against it, then shrugged.

  “Take you back, I guess.”

  “Take me back?”

  “Isn’t that what you want? The promises we traded?” he asked sharply.

  She made a quick movement that he stilled with his hands, lifting his head to stare at her with narrowed, watchful eyes. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She swallowed. “You’re hurting me.” He released his grip on her arms and lay back. Staring up at the funneled shape of the tipi, Hawk had the bitter thought that he’d outsmarted himself.

  If he hadn’t taken her, all he’d feel was regret. Not this sharp sense of loss, as if he’d lost something precious. She wasn’t precious. He didn’t love her. He admired her, savored her beauty, and wanted her, but he didn’t love her. He knew better than to love anything or anyone. And she obviously didn’t love him. So why was he in such a bad mood?

  It was midday before Hawk came for her again. Deborah sat quietly in the tipi, enduring Sunflower’s wet glances with wearing fortitude. Finally, the girl said in soft, thick English, “I am sorry that you must go.” Deborah glared at her. “Does everyone in the camp speak English?”

  “No.” Shaking her head, Sunflower’s long hair swished back and forth over her shoulder. “Some speak little. Some none. This one speaks well only because my brother taught me your tongue when I was small.”

  “Well, I certainly appreciate being tormented these past weeks. It would have helped considerably if someone had been kind enough to speak to me in my own language and explain things.” Deborah’s tart tone brought tears to Sunflower’s eyes. “I wanted to. My brother would not allow it. This one tried to help you.” Sighing, Deborah said, “I know you did. I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.” She glanced at the flap of the tipi, expecting to see Hawk return. “It’s just that I’m so confused.” The last was said almost inaudibly, a murmured comment, but Sunflower heard it.

  “Unu ohko kamakunu? Do you love him?” Deborah stared at her. “Do I love him? Your brother? I cannot answer that.” “Why?”

  “Because . . . well, because I don’t know. He has promised to take me back to my people. It doesn’t matter whether I love him or not.”

  “Haa— yes , it does. If you tell him you love him, he will not take you back. You can stay with us, be his—be his paraiboo?” Deborah’s brow furrowed. “Paraiboo?”

  “Haa. Chief wife.”

  “Chief wife.”

  Nodding, Sunflower said brightly, “Be his chief woman, the first. His other wives would do what you made them.”

  “Other wives?” Deborah’s tone was dangerously mild. Her eyes flashed.

  She pushed at a strand of hair, then folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze shifted from Sunflower’s growing distress to the opened flap. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Sunflower was obviously puzzled. “You would not like to be his chief wife?”

  “No, I would not.” Deborah stared down at her hands, and unclenched them before she ruined the dress Sunflower had given her. It was soft doeskin, with pretty patterns of beads carefully sewn into the material. She smoothed it back out and glanced up at the quiet girl.

  “You do not want to stay in our camp,” Sunflower said softly, and Deborah hesitated. How did she hurt this gentle girl by telling the truth?

  Even if she knew what it was. Which, right now, she didn’t. She was confused, so confused, wanting Hawk, facing the realization that she loved him at the same time as she recognized the futility in it. He lived with the Comanche as one of them. She could not.

  Finally she said, “No. I miss my own people. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I would miss my father and brother.” Sunflower’s brow creased in another frown. “But my brother does not stay long when he comes. This is the longest he has stayed in our village since I was a ohna?a?.”

  “Baby?” Deborah guessed, and Sunflower nodded. “I thought he always stayed here.”

  “Kee. He never stays long. He leaves again, goes back to the white man’s world.” Sunflower toyed with a length of her black hair. “I do not know why he goes where he is not wanted.” Her eyes were troubled when she looked up at Deborah with a faint frown. “I do not understand most white men. His father—the man who is married to his mother—sent him away. He still bears the marks of the whip on his back, though they are faint.” Deborah stared at her. “He was whipped?”

  “Haa. The white husband of his mother was angry because Hawk’s father was one of the People. He threw him a
way, as if he was nothing. He will not talk of it, but I know he thinks of his mother.” Sunflower shook her head. “My brother is a good man. He is brave and generous, and in spite of what some of the warriors say, he fears nothing. But he must walk in two worlds, and it leaves him torn.” Deborah closed her eyes at the image of Hawk being driven from his home by hatred. It explained a lot. But it did not excuse his treatment of her.

  “He brings me hard candy when he comes back,” Sunflower was saying,

  “but I always miss him. This time, he said he would not leave the People again, but my father said he is torn between two worlds.” Her voice dropped.

  “If you stay, he will not leave us.”

  “I can’t stay for that reason. My cousin and I must go back.”

  “Can she not go without you?”

  “No.” Deborah looked away from her sad face, and saw that Hawk had returned. He ducked into the tipi, his hard face remote and unreadable. Her heart lurched. Was this the same man who had held her in his arms, whispered soft words to her, touched her as no one had touched her before?

  He looked grim and unapproachable.

  She bent her head and began folding a blanket, suddenly shy. Intimate memories would be there between them, and she wasn’t certain how to act around him now.

  So she avoided his eyes. She heard him speak to Sunflower in a soft, patient tone. His husky voice vibrated all the way to her toes. She felt it more than heard it, was acutely aware of his proximity.

  Sunflower left, and they were alone. Deborah still did not look up at him. He hunkered down on his heels beside her. “Deborah. Are you trying to avoid me?”

  “Yes.”

  He made a faint, disgruntled sound. “Well, stop it. There is too little time and too much to do to play the grand lady now.” Her head snapped up at that, eyes flashing angrily. “I am not playing a grand lady!”

  He met her gaze calmly, dark blue eyes cool and remote. “Aren’t you?” She looked away from that penetrating gaze, and her answer was brutally honest. “I don’t know how you want me to act, or how I’m supposed to act after—”

  “After what?”

  Her voice was faint. “After last night.”

  “Only last night? Why not this morning, too?” Hawk’s fingers were warm when he gripped her chin and turned her to face him. “There is no shame in what we did.”

  “There never is for a man.”

  “Deborah.” His grip tightened when she tried to turn away. “I know how white women think. It’s not that way here. You’re not responsible for what happened, if that’s what you want to hear.”

  “Oh yes, well, that changes everything.” Her bitter tone made his brow lift. “I can go back and pretend that my life is just as it was before, right? Well, I can’t. You know I can’t. But you were right about one thing—I’m not responsible. You are.”

  His mouth tightened, and there was a brief flare in his eyes that made her shiver. He looked furious. Well, she was right, and there was nothing he could do to change that. For an instant Deborah wondered why she felt this compulsion to enrage him. She would never see him again. Soon, he would leave her, and it would all be behind her.

  And maybe that, after all, was the reason.

  Hawk shot to his feet, towering over her. His big hands were curled into fists at his sides, and she could see his struggle for control. She had obviously touched a nerve.

  When he reached down to lift her, she trembled but did not back away.

  What else could he do to her?

  “Don’t say any more,” he rasped. “I’ll keep my promise to you. You and your cousin will be returned. But I won’t accept the blame on the other. I’ll share it, but you cannot deny what you felt.” Her cheeks flamed. She eased her arm from his grasp and managed to pull the shreds of her dignity around her. “I do not deny that . . . that I felt something. But a man as skilled at seduction as you seem to be, should find it easy to manage that.”

  A muscle leaped in his jaw, and she waited for him to deny it. What would he say? Would he say she had been different for him, that he really cared about her?

  And what, she wondered, would she do if he did?

  But she didn’t have to worry about that. Hawk said none of those things.

  “Subetu,” he growled, formal and stiff again, the faint traces of a white man vanished. “It is finished. You will go back to your people.”

  “And you?”

  She saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes for a moment before he hid it with a swift lowering of his lashes. He gave a careless shrug.

  “I will do what I must do.”

  “I see.” Pain thickened her throat for a moment, and she had to swallow it before she could say calmly, “When do we leave?”

  “Mííhtsi. Soon. Be ready.” Deborah stared after him, and the pain seemed almost overwhelming.

  It was late the following evening when they reached the outskirts of a fort.

  Deborah had no idea which one it was, but could plainly see the familiar structure of wooden buildings scattered over a flat expanse. A high, full moon hung in the sky, shedding bright light over the quiet scene.

  “Where are we?” she murmured, acutely aware of the tension in the warriors with them. Hawk sat his stallion with an easy grace that belied his brooding expression, and the look he gave her now seethed with intensity.

  “Taibo ekusahpana.”

  “White soldiers. Are we near where I was taken?”

  “Kee.” His stallion moved restlessly beneath him, and the full moon silvered the jet swing of his hair. In the chalky light, his naked chest gleamed a dull bronze, and there was the quick flash of reflected light from an amulet around his neck.

  One of the horses stamped its hoof against the ground and snorted, and was quickly hushed by its rider. There were twenty other men with them, all painted and decked out as if for war. Rifles were loaded and ready, and lances balanced in brown fists.

  Deborah realized she was clutching the reins to her horse so tightly her fingers ached from the strain. Nothing seemed to move below in the bright prick of moonlight, no indication that anyone was awake. Yet the Comanche were taking no chances and remained well out of firing range.

  To her left, beyond Hawk, she glimpsed her cousin’s blond head. Judith had said hardly a single word the entire time, and the night before when they had camped, she’d remained huddled in a tight ball near one of the men, a young warrior. Deborah had heard Hawk call him cousin, and had thought it fitting that two cousins would return them.

  Now that the moment had come for her freedom, she was sad, and amazed by it. In less than two months, she’d come to care about Hawk and care about his sister.

  Sunflower had wept when she’d left, and Deborah had barely been able to hold back her own tears. The girl was heartbroken and murmured that her heart was laid upon the ground by Deborah’s departure.

  She thought the description quite apt. That was how she felt at this moment, as if her heart lay exposed for anyone to tread on it. She felt bruised, her chest a tight ball of pain and suppressed emotion. And she wondered if Hawk felt any of what she felt, even the slightest bit. He certainly didn’t look as if he did. His face was impassive, his chiseled features as expressionless as carved stone.

  Deborah blinked back the sudden sting of tears. Dear God, this was so insane, so beyond anything she should feel at all. He was a savage, a ruthless savage despite the fact that he’d been born into another world. He had frightened her and intimidated her, and if she had not been a virgin, he would have raped her that first night.

  Yet, she’d fallen in love with him. It was beyond the realm of her imagination to understand why. Maybe the few, hidden kindnesses he’d offered had only made him seem less brutal to her. Maybe once he was behind her, she would realize how foolish she’d been, that she’d only adapted to her situation to save herself. She hoped so. Because if she hurt later as badly as she hurt now at leaving him, she would not be able to stand it.

&n
bsp; Hawk shifted, and she saw him slide from his horse in a smooth, effortless motion. He approached her with that lazy, graceful glide that characterized all his movements, and reached up to lift her from her horse.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t offer a comment as he slid her down the length of his body to stand her on her feet.

  “Kima,” he growled. He refused to speak English to her in front of his companions, as if it would make him disloyal. She nodded, and followed as he turned and walked several yards away.

  Her heart was beating rapidly, and a thousand thoughts chased aimlessly through her head. Was he changing his mind? Did he want to go with her?

  The question circled repeatedly, even though she knew better.

  When he reached the edge of a high ridge overlooking the fort below, Hawk turned. His face was half in shadow, but she could see the wariness in his eyes, those dark blue eyes that could lighten with laughter or turn to a smoldering intensity that made her pulses race and her heart lurch. A light breeze lifted his long hair away from his face. A feather hung from the wide leather band holding his hair out of his eyes, spinning gently against his cheek. A hawk’s feather.

  On impulse, she reached up to touch it, her fingers grazing lightly against his cheekbone. He caught her hand in a swift grip, stilling her caress.

  She saw the flex of a muscle in his jaw as he stared down at her.

  “Keta.”

  “You can speak English now. They can’t hear.” Hawk’s gaze remained riveted on her face. His arms were corded with strain, and he took a deep breath before he released her hand.

  “I want to give you something.” Deborah waited, feeling the wind in her hair and cold desolation in her soul. The fringe of her doeskin dress tickled the backs of her bare calves, and the beadwork on the soft moccasins she wore clacked slightly when she shifted position. A coyote howled in the distance, and she could hear the restive shuffle of the horses behind her.

  When Hawk moved closer, she caught the scent of tobacco and rawhide, familiar and comforting now instead of frightening as it had once been. Her throat constricted when his hand lifted to touch her face lightly.