Comanche Moon

by Virginia Brown

  “Just so you aren’t tempted to slap me again,” he said softly.

  The tension of the past weeks erupted unexpectedly. All her silent admonitions to remain calm evaporated as if never existing. Deborah uttered a shrill scream of rage and launched herself at him, hitting his broad, impervious chest with a solitary fist, scratching him before he could capture her free hand. She kicked, and she bit, and she sobbed every vile name she could think of when he wrestled her to the ground and held her down until she was exhausted. Then he hauled her to her feet again, and Deborah saw that he wasn’t even slightly winded by her assault.

  “Damn you,” she breathed, and saw his brow lift.

  “Swearing, Deborah? A proper lady like yourself?”

  “I suppose it’s the company I’ve been forced to keep lately.”

  “So you’d like to think, I’m sure.” She stared at him, a hundred questions crowding her mind. The first one to erupt was, “Who are you?”

  “Tosa Nakaai. Hawk. A hunter. A Comanche.”

  “No, I mean really.” She shook her head. “You’re one of them, the Comanche, yet . . . yet you aren’t.”

  “You’re very observant.” He released her wrist with an abrupt motion, giving her a slight shove away from him. “No, I am not full-blooded Comanche, but I thought you’d have guessed that by my eyes. You remarked on it that first day, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. I just thought perhaps you were really one of them.”

  “No.” His voice was bitter, and he began to pace around the small space in quick, restless steps. “I’m not one of anybody. I’m not Comanche, and I’m not white. I’m what’s known as a half-breed, and to most people, that’s less than human.”

  Bewildered, both by his bitterness and her own churning emotions, Deborah rubbed idly at her wrist.

  “Then why are you here?” He turned, flashing her a grim smile. “Because it’s the closest thing to home I have. Or had.”

  “Had?”

  “Do you think those soldiers will forget about seeing you? No. And when they manage to follow, they won’t stop to ask questions. They’ve been known to kill anything that moves when they ride into an Indian camp.”

  “I don’t believe that. Not—” She stopped, flushing, and he gave her a sardonic look.

  “Not white men? Think again. Comanche aren’t the only ones who can be ruthless.”

  “It’s hard to convince me of that when I’ve been your slave for almost two months.”

  “Have you been mistreated? Beaten? Starved? Raped?” Deborah’s flush deepened, and her chin quivered slightly at his steady regard. “No. Terrorized, though. And no one has a right to enslave another.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, there was a recent war fought over that little fact, right?” Hawk mocked. “And it was between white men.” Her chin tilted higher. “Yes, that’s true, but—”

  “But you’re saying that’s different. Why? Because no Indians were involved? Or because you weren’t involved.”

  “I was involved. Indirectly, perhaps, but my family suffered during the war.” “Suffered? How badly? List your hurts for me, Deborah. I’m interested in hearing them.”

  Angry, she snapped, “None of this is the issue! You played a horrible trick on me. All this time, you could have spoken to me in a language I understand and made life easier. Yet you chose not to. And since you’re half-white, you could have taken me back, released me. If you’re part of this village, you could have explained it somehow. After all, you traded for me.

  You could have done anything you wanted with me.” He looked at her, and his eyes changed, a subtle shift of color and intensity that made her throat close and her pulses race with apprehension.

  “Yes,” he said softly, “I could have done anything I wanted with you.

  And almost did. But I still haven’t done what I want most. Until now.”

  “Un . . . until now?” Deborah hated the way her voice came out in a squeak, but there was something so suddenly intense about him, so threatening, that she could barely force the words out. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, reaching out with a leisurely hand to cup her chin,

  “that I’m going to finish what I started. What I should have done that first day. All this waiting has been for nothing, because I can’t risk everyone’s lives for my own hunger.” His hand fell away. “I’m not waiting any longer. I intend to make you mine.”

  “No,” she said in a choked whisper, “no.”

  “Yes.”

  Deborah couldn’t move. There was quiet determination that convinced her it would do no good to struggle. Her gaze moved briefly over his slick, naked torso, the smooth muscles and hard bands delineating his chest, rib cage, and belly. She stared, mesmerized, feeling a heated jolt spear through her, then lifted her gaze to his face.

  Paralyzed with fear and apprehension, Deborah saw no hint of compassion or mercy in that stark, emotionless visage that gazed back at her.

  Instead, she saw the end of his waiting in his eyes.

  Chapter 12

  “Kwabitu,” he said softly. “Lie down.” Her daze shattered. Shaking her head, russet strands whipping across her face, she backed away. “No. I won’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Hawk said coolly. “You can make this easy, or make it hard. That is your only option. I have said I will have you, and I will.” He reached out to lift a strand of her hair, threading it between his fingers. “I know you are a virgin. I will be gentle.”

  “Gentle!” Her eyes were huge and golden, catching the reflected gleam from the low fire in the center of the tipi. “I am supposed to believe that you won’t hurt me? You? A man who has treated me as a . . . a possession since I first saw you? This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?” His hand fell away. “Of course. Did you think differently? This wanting is what lures men to women, what makes them take risks to have them. I’ve made no secret of that fact.” His broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I thought once that you might come to me willingly. That is why I waited, why I was patient. Now, my patience and my time have run out.”

  “Patience! I’ve been your prisoner for less than two months, yet you expect me to . . . to just lie down with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Panic flickered in her eyes, and Hawk knew that he must act swiftly before she did something impulsive. Maybe he should just let her go without this, but he couldn’t. He’d waited too long, desired her for too long not to take her. She was a constant ache for him.

  His hands flashed out to grab her just as she turned, caught her toe in the rumpled buffalo robe at her feet and began to fall. He let his weight act as an ally, carrying her with him to fall full-length on the cushioning robe.

  Hawk half-turned, taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder and hip.

  Deborah began to struggle as soon as they hit the robes, her desperate battle making her arch and cry out.

  “Screaming won’t help you,” Hawk warned, “but it will upset my sister.

  And let everyone else in camp know what we are doing in here.” Deborah grew still, as he’d hoped she might. Her eyes flashed furiously up at him, and Hawk felt a surge of regret. She would hate him for this. Even though he’d seen the longing in her eyes, seen a baffled hunger that she would not admit, she would never forgive him if he took her unwillingly.

  “Hawk, please,” she said through stiff lips, and he saw what it cost her to plead with him. “Is there nothing I can say that will convince you not to do this?” “No, nu tue?tu.” The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. My little one. He hoped she didn’t understand it. Shifting position so that his weight didn’t hurt her, he brushed back a strand of her hair. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you standing there in the middle of camp as if you were a queen and we your subjects. You caught my eye with your dignity and courage.”

  She swallowed heavily. “And you set about to destroy me.”

  “Destroy you?” He
shook his head. “No. I admire your courage. Just as I admire your beauty.”

  “If you admire me, then why—?”

  “Deborah, a man can admire a woman and still want to make love to her.” “Love!” Her eyes flashed angrily, the silky, gold-tipped brush of her lashes shadowing hot, angry sparks. “You don’t know anything about love.

  All you have in mind is . . . is lust.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Hawk bent his head to brush her mouth with his lips, winding his fingers in her hair to hold her head still when she tried to avoid him. “Open for me,” he murmured huskily when she pressed her lips tightly together. “I want to taste you.”

  “Leave me alone.” She tried to twist away, but Hawk held her fast. He kissed her long and hard, until he could feel the slightest trace of a response.

  He lifted his head to gaze down at her flushed face and the hazy gleam of her eyes. Dust streaked her nose and cheeks, and coated the long sweep of her eyelashes. He felt the tremor of her muscles against him, and relented.

  There was a trace of surprise in her face when he rose to his feet, pulling her with him. “You look as if you’ve been caught in a dust devil,” he observed.

  “That’s hardly my fault!” His brow lifted. “No,” he agreed. “But it was your choice to leave our camp.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.” He solemnly regarded her dusty dignity, and nodded acceptance. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered, but she stood in mute, shocked defiance.

  A faint smile slanted his hard mouth. He hadn’t really expected her to comply. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” A flash of confusion shadowed her eyes, increasing when he untied the flap to the tipi and pulled her outside. It was apparent she thought he intended to publicly humiliate her. Dark had fallen, long shadows were being thrown by the campfires. Her face was half in shadow, half-illuminated, and he saw the agonized indecision in her eyes.

  Hawk pulled her with him toward the stream glittering in the light of a nearly full moon. His strides were long and determined, and he ignored her resistance. She hung back as they neared it, perhaps sensing what he intended.

  With a swift, merciless swing, Hawk scooped her into his arms and tossed her toward the water, all in the same, smooth motion. She let out a startled cry just before she hit the water. He felt the splash shower over him and moved forward.

  “You were in need of a bath,” he said, adding when she sputtered furiously, “I did give you a choice, remember.”

  “You never said it was for a bath.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  She clawed at wet ropes of hair in her eyes, still spitting our water as she glared at him. Hawk felt an odd wave of tenderness for her. It left him feeling strangely uneasy, and his voice grew sharp.

  “While you’re in the water, clean yourself.”

  “I suppose you think you smell like a rose?” she shot back. Water splashed loudly, and he knelt to one knee to watch her. Her retort almost made him smile. It did make him think.

  When he stood up and stripped out of his breechcloth and leggings, he heard Deborah’s soft scream and finally smiled.

  “This was your idea,” he said coolly when he reached her side and found her frantically trying to get away from him.

  “I never meant such a thing!”

  “We both need a bath.” He caught her arm, hauling her back to him when she waded toward shore. She fell, and he pulled her up out of the water and set her on her feet.

  “You’re not only cruel,” she managed to sputter, “but you’re crazy!” He was faintly relieved to find her more angry and outraged than afraid.

  It was an uncomfortable feeling to have her shudder with fear at the sight of him. Holding her firmly, he began to strip away her clothes, the ragged cotton blouse first, then the equally ragged skirt. He felt his way down her legs in spite of her frantic struggle, and found that only one moccasin still clung to her foot.

  Deborah’s fight had sparked an inevitable fire in him despite the cool water, and she must have felt it. She came to an abrupt halt when he pulled her close against him. His desire rode him hard, and the feel of her wet, slick skin beneath his palms only made it worse.

  “Be still, little dove,” he whispered huskily, and felt her shiver in his arms. Night sounds were familiar and soft around them, the shrill of insects, the murmur of birds, and the rush of the water. There was a bittersweet edge to the night as he held her, knowing that there would be only this one night.

  If he was to love her, he must love her well.

  Sliding his hands up the lush curve of her hip, he let his palm rest on the swell in a gentle caress. She was still trembling, her eyes in the dappled moonlight a huge, shining gleam fixed on his face. Hawk realized suddenly that she had surrendered to what he wanted, whether she had admitted it to herself or not. The surrender was there, in her eyes, in the way she let her small hands rest atop the curve of his shoulders in a trusting hold.

  Water lapped around her waist, and when he straightened to his full height, it tickled his upper thighs. Her skin glistened. Her hair looked almost black with the weight of the water and the shadows and framed the creamy porcelain of her face.

  “Hawk . . .”

  He shushed her with his mouth, kissing her, feeling her shivering body as light as a feather in his arms. He resisted the urge to crush her to him, to plunder her sweet mouth with his tongue. Instead, he went slowly, shifting to kiss the corners of her mouth, then her ear, and her throat.

  She was a contradiction of heat and chill, her warm skin and the cool water combined in an enticing package. He ran a hand down the gentle curve of her back, his fingers skimming over the bump of her spine, then spreading to cup her buttocks and lift her up and closer to him. She gave a small cry against his mouth, and he kissed her lips again, muffling her cries to moans.

  Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, the tight, pebbled surfaces of her nipples raking erotically and making his desire rise higher. Heat was rising in him, mounting so high and so hot he was shaking with the force of it. He was so close now, so close to making her yield, and he was amazed by the fierce need he felt for this one woman above all others. It was a driving ache that had brought him to this point, brought both of them to this trembling urgency.

  Deborah rested her forehead against his chest just beneath his throat, her wet hair tickling the underside of his jaw. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being raped.”

  “It won’t be rape,” Hawk rasped. “You’ll see. I can feel your need. We want each other, and it’s time we eased that ache.” Her head lifted, and he saw the startled look in her huge hazel eyes.

  “Ache? Yes. I do ache, but I don’t know why.” Her soft admission tore at him, and he had to wait a moment before he responded. “It’s natural, that feeling. It’s what a man and a woman are supposed to feel for one another.”

  “We’re not exactly your everyday couple.” Deborah said bitterly, and he felt her shiver.

  “No. I don’t know why I want you and no other, but I do.”

  “I seem to recall your being able to . . . function . . . with someone else.” Her stiff reminder made him smile against the top of her head. “1 found out that no one could replace you as I thought.”

  “It certainly didn’t seem that way.”

  “Deborah.”

  She looked up at him, still shivering. There was a soft pleading in her eyes that she didn’t voice, and he felt a faint sense of chagrin. Her body wanted him. He just had to drown out her instinctive objections.

  “Deborah, you’re going to realize how right it is for a man to be with a woman like this,” he murmured, caressing the smooth line of her cheek.

  “No. We’re not married. It isn’t right.”

  “A few words won’t make it right.” Hawk ignored the inner voice that echoed her words. His mother’s early training had left indelible marks, he supposed, but life had managed to blunt t
he edges. It wasn’t as if he was ruining her, not the way he saw it. She’d been married, however briefly, and he would be taking nothing away from her that her husband would not have done given a few more minutes in that arbor. And he would ease the burning fire in him that she’d ignited.

  “Deborah,” he said roughly when she buried her face against his chest,

  “You want to go back to your people. But I want this night.” There was a moment of silence, and he could feel her muscles tense.

  Then she looked up at him again, searching his face in the moonlight.

  “I see. What about Judith?” He hesitated. Judith wasn’t his to give, but he didn’t want to tell that to Deborah. There was too much hope in her eyes, though she could not know how much her cousin had been through. A rush of anger made him want to refuse, but he knew he could not. No matter what it cost him, he was too white to leave Judith to the fate she’d been suffering since her capture. His mouth thinned into a tight slash.

  “Give me this night, and I will help your cousin too.” Maybe it wasn’t fair. He had to take them both back whether she yielded willingly or not. But right now, fair didn’t matter.

  Inhaling deeply, Deborah said so softly the rush of water muffled her words, “All right. I’ll . . . lie with you.”

  She was shaking when Hawk smoothed out his buffalo robes and turned to look at her. Her hair was still wet, her clothes clinging damply to her skin.

  A fire burned in the ring of stones, but her shivering increased.

  Hawk reached out a hand and took her gently by the wrist. “Come lie down with me. I’ll warm you.” Moving as if in a dream, Deborah took the two steps to his bed of furs and blankets, saw the fire reflected in the deep blue of his eyes, and almost retreated. She couldn’t. But she had to. Her freedom and Judith’s depended upon it.

  And there was something, some nameless yearning inside her—the ache—that urged her forward.

  She sank to her knees, unable to stand, and her face was almost level with his. He smiled at her, a quick, almost uncertain smile, and Deborah’s tension eased slightly.