by Robin Gideon
Constance inquired politely about Samantha's ordeal but was careful to not pry. Knowing she had to have an explanation for wearing Blade's buckskin shirt, and though the women gathered in Constance's tepee had not inquired, Samantha explained in matter-of-fact terms that Blue Elk had intended on raping her and would have done the deed had she not been rescued.
"Your son saved my life,” she said to Constance. “I'll never be able to repay him."
A mother's proud smile spread across Constance's face. “That's my son,” she said with a pronounced British accent. She then turned her attention to a very attractive young squaw still in her teens. “Moon Will Shine, please get some dresses for our guest to wear."
At hearing the request, Moon's gaze flashed over to Samantha. Behind the dark glance was anger, though Moon allowed it to show for only a moment. Still, Samantha had caught the resentment, and she suspected she had an enemy within the tribe that would not be easily placated. Moon left the tepee a moment later, without saying a word.
That left Samantha with Constance and three elderly women. “I don't think she likes me very much."
"Moon is the widow of Blade's brother,” Constance explained. For a moment, grief was etched in her countenance.
"Widow? She seems so young."
"She's just nineteen winters,” Constance said. “For a woman of the Northern Comanche, sixteen winters is when she takes a husband."
"What is it for men?"
"Twenty-five winters.” Constance smiled. “A man must be a complete man before he can take on the responsibility of caring for wives and children. Besides, girls mature more quickly than boys."
"How did Blade's brother die?” Samantha asked and immediately regretted the question when sadness teared up in Constance's eyes. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's just that I'm so curious about Blade—well, about all of you, I guess."
Constance shook her head and made a motion with her hand as though to dismiss Samantha's concern. “Blade's brother, Kills With Knives, was attacked by a Kiowa war party late last winter. The Kiowa and the Northern Comanche have been at war with each other for generations. Sometimes there's an effort at a truce, but it never lasts long. There's too much bad blood, too much animosity between us for a truce to last."
She spoke with a weariness that startled Samantha. She suddenly had the appearance of an attractive, middle-aged woman who had personally been at war for a hundred years, and the change was a shockingly abrupt departure from the bright-eyed woman who had taken such pleasure in discussing her son's adventures.
"I'm sorry,” Samantha said.
She was about to say more, but Moon stepped in through the tepee entrance with an armful of dresses and moccasins. Her dark eyes were chilly as she placed the garments on the buffalo mat beside Samantha.
"Now, take off my son's shirt, and let's find a dress that's presentable,” Constance said, moving closer to inspect the clothing that had been brought.
Samantha pulled the buckskin shirt over her head. Moon made a derisive, snorting sound, her mouth twisting unpleasantly. The elderly women, who didn't speak a word of English, exchanged glances. All Samantha was certain of was that she had done something wrong, something she should probably be embarrassed about.
"What is it? What have I done?” Samantha resisted the urge to hide her body with her hands.
Constance again made a dismissive, waving motion with her hands. “I'll explain that later. For now, try on this."
She handed over a doeskin dress of the softest leather Samantha had ever felt. The sleeveless dress was essentially two pieces of leather sewn together, with beadwork depicting a buffalo hunt on the front. She pulled the dress over her head and stood so that it hung on her body properly.
"It's too tight across the bosom,” Constance noted. “But the rest seems fine."
"I should lose weight."
"Nonsense. Our braves like their squaws to look like women.” Constance inspected the stitching on the dress's shoulder and beneath the arm. “Among the men here, a skinny wife or child is considered a sign that the husband cannot provide sufficiently for his family."
I'm not Blade's wife.
Samantha soon realized it was much easier having thoughts of Blade being a husband than it was in banishing such romantic thoughts. Once Constance had broached the subject, whenever there was the slightest lull in the conversation, Samantha's thoughts drifted to idyllic, highly romanticized notions of sharing her life with the tall, gorgeous warrior who had recently taught her what pleasures were possible when in the arms of a man.
Constance turned to the elderly women and spoke in a language Samantha didn't understand. She was then told to remove the dress, and moments after that, the women and Moon left the tepee. Samantha was given a buffalo robe to cover her nudity.
"We're alone now,” Samantha said. “Why did Moon snicker so condescendingly at me?"
"You have body hair.” Constance smiled and blushed a little. “I remember when I fell in love with Parker and came here to live with his people. I thought it was strange, too. The customs of the Northern Comanche are not just rooted in mysticism and religion. Some customs are absolute necessities if the tribe is to flourish. Other customs, I suppose, are followed simply because they've always been followed, and nobody questions their meaning or origin."
"Why would they get rid of their body hair?” Samantha recalled being surprised when she saw that Blade didn't have a single strand of pubic hair. And when she had been captive, Blue Elk had tugged hard enough on her pubic hair to remove several strands.
"Like most of the tribes of the Plains, the Northern Comanche believe that the hair on their head is intractably connected to their soul. From the moment they begin growing body hair, they remove it so that the only hair their soul will be connected to is the hair on their head.” She shrugged. “If you keep plucking the hairs, it doesn't take long for the hair to stop growing altogether."
Samantha had never before heard such a thing, and the surprise showed in her expression.
"We used to use clamshells and pinched them together to remove the hairs, but we do a great deal of trading with the settlers, so now we use tweezers.” She picked up a gourd and took a sip of the liquid inside, then handed over the gourd to Samantha. “Having body hair is considered unhygienic to the Northern Comanche. That's why Moon looked so disgusted.” Her gaze met Samantha's, and the wife of the tribe's chief asked, “How long would you like to stay with us?"
The frankness and unexpectedness of the question caught Samantha completely off guard. After several seconds of silence, she finally replied, “I ... I'm not sure, really. Is it a bother to have me here?"
Constance's smile was enigmatic. “By the way, since Blade is your protector, you'll be staying in his teepee."
* * * *
There were nearly one thousand men, women, and children of the Northern Comanche tribe headed by Parker Two Shoes, and nearly all of them were involved in the raucous celebration thrown to honor the safe return of Broken Blake after his mission of vengeance upon Blue Elk.
"The woman—she's important to you?"
Blade turned and looked down at his father. Blade towered over Parker, thanks to the genes passed down from his maternal grandfather, who was well over six feet tall.
"Yes,” he said after giving the question some consideration. “I didn't really expect it to happen."
Parker chuckled softly. “I didn't expect to fall in love with a white woman, either. But then I looked into your mother's green eyes and all those great convictions I had about marrying within the tribe disappeared like smoke.” He smiled at the memory. “I've never regretted my decision. Not for an hour, a minute, or even a second."
Moon Will Shine stepped closer, holding a pottery bowl in both hands. Inside the bowl was a man-sized portion of stew. The stew—a concoction of water, buffalo meat, potatoes, and any greens or vegetables that could be found—was the staple diet of the Northern Comanche.
Bl
ade smiled at his older brother's widow. In the language of the Comanche, a dialect of the Shoshonean family, he thanked the young widow. As he took the bowl from her, Moon's fingers drifted along the backs of his hands considerably longer than necessary. He took the spoon from her, nodded his approval of her gift of food, then turned back to his father. Moon, understanding and accepting the protocol of the tribe that put warriors on a different level from squaws, walked away ... but not before she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes glittering like jewels with open coquetry.
"I'll never be able to finish all of this,” Blade said as he put a spoon into the bowl. “Mom's been feeding me constantly since I got back."
Parker was the highest ranking political leader of the Northern Comanche, and he had never been a man given to small-talk, so Blade wasn't particularly taken aback when his father asked bluntly, “Are you going to take Moon Will Shine as a wife?"
Blade looked at his father for a moment before replying. “I thought she was in mourning."
"Her period of mourning ended with the full moon. As your brother's eldest male sibling, you are responsible for her."
Blade hadn't known Moon's period of honoring her husband's life and mourning his death had passed. It hadn't seemed like that much time had passed since the murder. Almost on a daily basis, Blade thought about his beloved older brother, remembering all the magnificent times they'd had together, all the shared memories. He didn't have to be told that custom dictated Moon was his responsibility, and it irked him that his father had put his duties to the tribe into words.
"What about the white squaw?” Parker asked.
Blade smiled. “She's not a squaw, and you know that."
"If you take her as your wife, she'll be considered a squaw.” Parker shrugged his shoulders. “I took a yellow eyes for a wife, and it was the smartest decision I've ever made. But that was long ago, and I didn't have a brother's widow to think about.” He smiled and placed a hand on Blade's shoulder. “Moon's awfully easy on the eyes, she's a wonderful cook, an excellent seamstress, and she adores the ground you walk on. You could do a lot worse than have Moon as one of your wives."
"I know that.” Blade wished his father would drop the subject of his bachelorhood. “She stays in my tepee. I'll see she has plenty to eat, that she'll want for nothing."
"Look into her eyes sometime,” Parker said, giving his son's shoulder a squeeze. “She wants more from you than to see that she's got food to eat, hides to make warm clothes with for the winter, and security. She wants a husband ... in her bed."
* * * *
Samantha told herself she wasn't going to get jealous. She told herself that her time with Blade was limited and that he had made it quite clear he would make sure she made it to Colorado City quickly, so she obviously had no claim on him—at least none that he might recognize. So it was all really quite simple. She just wouldn't get jealous.
It didn't work, though not for lack of trying.
There were no less than a dozen young, pretty women flittering around Blade at all times during the celebration. The women—girls, really—were, without variation, slender and attired in buckskin dresses elaborately adorned with quillwork and beads. It was impossible to not notice all the ladies were wearing their finest dresses. Without exception, the women had long hair, some all the way to their waist, parted down the middle and festooned with owl, eagle, and hawk feathers and ribbons of various colors.
Constance approached Samantha and touched her forearm before speaking. “Have you had enough to eat?"
"More than enough. Thank you.” She gave Constance a smile but couldn't resist glancing quickly back at Blade. There seemed to be fewer coquettish ladies vying for his attention now; there couldn't be more than eight or nine stunning young women smiling flirtatiously at him. “Blade seems to be quite the hero."
Constance looked at her son. “The tribal elders are unhappy that he hasn't taken a wife yet. The young women—they all know his time is running out. His days as a bachelor are numbered."
The words cut into Samantha's heart. Memories as precise as reality flooded her senses. She remembered the weight and feel of Blade's powerful body above her, crushing her to the grass as his beautiful cock pumped deep and hard into her receptive body. It was as though she could once again feel his long-fingered hands caressing her, stroking her flesh to ignite fires of lust that swept away her inhibitions. It all came back to her like a tidal wave, and for a moment, green-eyed jealousy flashed in her eyes.
"Well, it's obvious that he'll have quite a number of women to choose from.” The words came out clipped and bitter.
Constance smiled and touched Samantha's forearm. “Why don't you go over there and talk to him? He's quite an accomplished conversationalist."
Oh, Constance, your son is accomplished at much more than just conversation.
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Chapter Five
Blade found Samantha at the very outskirts of the camp, standing by herself in the moonlight, looking up at the stars. For a moment, he just looked at her from a distance. The beauty of her curvaceous body and the delicacy of her facial features insinuated itself into his masculine appreciation. A smile touched his lips. Most Northern Comanche squaws weren't as voluptuous as Samantha, and he suddenly found himself favoring her more dramatic form of feminine allure.
As though sensing his presence, she suddenly looked at him. She did not smile. That, he knew, wasn't a good sign.
"Not enjoying the celebration?” he asked, stepping closer.
"It's not that I'm not enjoying myself,” she said with little inflection in her voice. “I just got tired of watching all those beautiful women touching you constantly."
A smile tugged at Blade's mouth. He was accustomed to being touched by women, just as he was familiar with jealous flare ups between his lovers. What he wasn't accustomed to was seeing Samantha, in all her blonde Nordic glory, wearing a lavishly ornamented Northern Comanche ceremonial dress. He liked her appearance in the traditional clothing of his tribe. He also liked the fact that she was both jealous and possessive of him, and this was monumentally surprising. Never before in his life had he tolerated a lover to openly display either of those traits, and he wondered now, why they were acceptable from Samantha.
As he stepped up to touch her arm. “They meant no harm."
She flinched and took a step away. “Your mother is quite a woman."
Even in the dim moonlight, he saw the anger flash in Samantha's green eyes. “Yes, she is."
"She told me that you're supposed to be picking a bride soon.” Her mouth twisted. “Just one bride, or were you planning on having a harem?"
Blade understood Samantha's anger, but his own anger piqued at hearing the condescension in her tone. He had lived his life without answering to any woman, and he wasn't inclined to start now. “There are certain advantages all around for a warrior to have more than one wife.” It was an honest, if incomplete, answer.
Samantha snorted derisively. “I can imagine what the advantages are."
"If a warrior has two wives, it cuts the work they must do in half. If he has three wives, then the work is divided even further.” He again stepped closer, and though Samantha flinched when he put his hand on her shoulder, she didn't step away this time. “But for what it's worth, I can't really see any man wanting more than you.” He smiled boyishly, but his tone was low and husky when he added, “You're more than a handful as it is."
Not in the least bit mollified, Samantha asked, “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Or maybe you're saying something about my figure?"
She turned away, folding her arms beneath her breasts. The move had not been intended to be erotic, but with her arms folded together, they pushed her breasts upward, displaying more of their creamy bounty above the U-shaped neckline of her doeskin dress.
And since all Northern Comanche women are expected to be able to ride, the two halves of women's dresses were not stitched below the h
ip to allow straddling a pony. It had not been Samantha's intention to give him a view of her thigh almost to the curve of her buttocks, but that's what she did. And as the tall war chief of the Northern Comanche looked at her, his cock—always alert to feminine charms—awoke from its light slumber and began to respond.
"You're beautiful.” Blade took Samantha by the shoulder and turned her so that she faced him.
He had turned her so he couldn't see her thigh and wouldn't think about how carnally exquisite it was to have her legs surrounding his lean hips as he thrust into her. But by turning Samantha around, he was now given a view of her upturned breasts. Her cleavage drew his eyes magnetically, and vague but scintillating questions tickled his curiosity as he considered what pleasures he would experience when sliding his erection between her breasts.
Blade's cock, now fully awake, was very quickly outgrowing the confines of the elaborately beaded and fringed ceremonial breechclout that hung to his knees. It seemed whenever Samantha was within touching distance, his libido was always aroused, his body needing only the slightest hint of appreciation to respond approvingly.
"Let's not argue,” he said, gently massaging her upper arms.
When she tilted her face up to his, the breath caught in his throat. Her face, shining in the moonlight, was a vision of such ethereal splendor that for a moment, he wondered if he was really looking at the woman he had rescued from Blue Elk's tepee or if she wasn't a vision conjured up by the spirits to haunt his peace of mind.
The spirits were usually kind to Blade—they had been kind all his life—having blessed him with looks, charm, stature, strength, and an indefatigability that was legendary. Still, it wasn't good to question the benevolence of the spirits.
He touched her cheek lightly with his fingertips to make sure she wasn't just a spirit's specter.