by Connie Mason
Dressed simply in breechclout and moccasins, Colt stepped outside Spirit Dancer’s lodge. The old man pointed him toward an open area in the center of the camp where the entire population of the village had gathered in avid anticipation of the fight. The sun was directly overhead, its white-hot glare heating the trodden earth beneath Colt’s feet. By the time he reached the designated area, beads of sweat dampened the ropy muscles of arms and torso, turning his bronzed skin slick and shiny. He might have been mistaken for Comanche were it not for his shock of wheat-colored hair and tawny eyes.
Brave Eagle awaited him in the center of a large circle formed by excited spectators acting like children about to be given their favorite treat. He was similarly clad in breechclout and moccasins. Impressive, powerful, lean, Brave Eagle’s impassive features wore an inscrutable mask. Both men resembled well-oiled fighting machines; both determined to win, neither willing to abandon Sam to the other.
Black Bear approached. From the corner of his eye Colt saw Sam standing with an Indian maiden at the edge of the crowd. Then the chief began to speak, and Colt had to satisfy himself with a brief glimpse of Sam’s worried face.
“The rules are simple,” Black Bear intoned. “You will each be armed with a knife. You may also use any part of the body to defend yourselves. If one is disarmed by the other, the weapon cannot be replaced by a spectator though it may be retrieved by a combatant. Upon the death of one, the other will be declared winner and claim the reward. Are you ready, my son?”
Colt did not miss the pride in the chief’s voice or the look of confidence bestowed upon the young warrior. When Brave Eagle nodded eagerly, Black Bear turned to Colt, his dark eyes hooded. “Are you prepared, Lion Heart?”
“Ready,” Colt said, his voice taut.
Each man was handed a Bowie knife, a weapon thoroughly familiar to Colt, who gripped it firmly with one hand and saluted cockily with the other, a mocking grin on his mouth. The circle around them widened, allowing ample space for the combatants though little leeway for intricate maneuvering. It took skill and concentration to fight in such a manner, and no one was more aware of it than Colt.
Colt circled Brave Eagle warily, feeling, testing, taking full measure of the Comanche’s strengths and weaknesses. Both men moved cautiously, each deliberately postponing the initial moment of contact yet knowing it was unavoidable. Brave Eagle looked awesome and dangerous stripped down to breechclout, his muscles rippling under a fine sheen of sweat. His stoic features revealed nothing of his thoughts or the turmoil churning his guts. Colt was equally imposing, his face harsh with the need to win.
Of the two, Colt was taller by an inch or two, but their bodies were similar in size and strength. When Brave Eagle launched the attack with a sudden slashing motion, Colt anticipated the move, easily deflecting the blow. Since the sun was directly overhead, neither had the advantage over the other when it came to avoiding the blinding glare, and Colt began to appreciate Black Bear’s sense of fairness by arranging the match at high noon. Then Brave Eagle crouched low, but once again Colt was ready, warding off the attack with a counterthrust of his own.
Deflecting Brave Eagle’s attempt to emasculate him, Colt danced around the brave, confusing him, then lashed out with a speed born of desperation. Colt drew first blood with the tip of his Bowie, a superficial cut that caused Brave Eagle little concern. The Comanche retaliated by viciously kicking out at Colt with a moccasined foot, catching him in the groin. Though Colt turned aside at the last minute, avoiding the brunt of the blow, it nevertheless brought a grunt of pain from his lips. He recovered before Brave Eagle could move in for the kill, but not fast enough to entirely avoid the flashing knife. A jagged line of red appeared across Colt’s chest—not deep but bleeding freely. From somewhere behind him Colt heard a stifled scream. Sam?
Eyeing Colt’s wound with a measure of satisfaction, Brave Eagle made the mistake of pressing closer, wielding his knife in a wide arc aimed directly at Colt’s heart. Naturally ambidextrous, Colt slapped his blade into his left hand and blocked with the right, at the same time nicking Brave Eagle’s right thigh. By now both men were covered in sweat mixed with blood, and Colt swiped at his eyes with a forearm in order to clear his vision.
Suddenly Colt found himself on the ground, pinioned by the Comanche’s considerable weight, a brawny arm pressing against his throat For long suspenseful minutes they grappled in the dirt as Colt grasped Brave Eagle’s wrist, suspending the knife just inches from his face. Exerting all the strength he could muster, Colt slowly turned the advantage in his favor as he reversed their position, straddling the Comanche’s hips while his legs thrashed wildly in an attempt to dislodge Colt’s bulk. Not really knowing how it all came about, both men were on their feet again, circling, feinting, retreating. Colt’s face wore a grim smile—more like a snarl with teeth bared and lips a taut slash across his face. Brave Eagle’s expression was equally intense, his features carved in stone, eyes cold as death.
Brave Eagle attempted another well-aimed kick, but this time failed to connect. Once again the knife slid into Colt’s left hand as he delivered a hook to the Comanche’s chin that left him shaken. Though he was trained in wrestling and adept at fighting with his feet, fisticuffs were relatively unknown to Brave Eagle. Sensing his confusion, Colt carried through with another righthanded blow, quickly followed by a third. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, which was clearly displeased by Colt’s unorthodox tactics.
Colt could feel the strain, his muscles screaming in protest at each violent jolt, each precise movement. His body was on fire, his heart pumping at a furious pace, every motion an agony of pain. Despite their herculean efforts, neither of them appeared to be gaining an advantage over the other. Suddenly it occurred to Colt that the only way to defeat this apparently indefatigable savage was by cunning and a whole lot of luck.
Though it tore Sam apart to watch the terrible punishment the men inflicted upon one another, she was unable to turn away. Each time Colt sustained an injury, no matter how minor, she flinched and clung tightly to Fawn’s hand. It seemed impossible that one man could win when they were obviously so evenly matched. She inhaled sharply when Colt and Brave Eagle grappled in the dirt, pummeling each other furiously, neither willing to give an inch. Brave Eagle used his feet to advantage, but Colt’s fists proved just as lethal.
Drained by the relentless sun and battered by Brave Eagle, Colt grew desperate, and out of that desperation an idea was born. If it worked, it could mean the difference between death and walking out alive with Sam. If it failed, in all likelihood he and Brave Eagle would kill each other, or else still be fighting when the moon came up.
Warily the men circled, Colt carefully observant as he maneuvered Brave Eagle into a position favorable for his purpose. A little good luck wouldn’t hurt either. Brave Eagle thought nothing of Colt flashing the blade over his head and from hand to hand. He assumed that the White Eyes was merely trying to impress him with his prowess—until he discovered that the blade was catching and reflecting the glare of the sun directly into his eyes. He cursed himself for failing to recognize the man’s cunning and fought to overcome the disadvantage. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t escape the debilitating blindness that stalked him at every turn.
When Brave Eagle ducked, the sun followed. His eyes burned, not only from sun blindness but from sweat and blood. Instinctively, he blinked, and in that brief instant Colt reacted. He leaped at Brave Eagle, sending the knife flying from the Indian’s hand. It lay at the fringe of the circle and according to rules must remain there until Brave Eagle retrieved it. The chief’s orders had been explicit. Before strength returned to the Comanche’s limbs and breath to his lungs, he was forced to the ground by the sheer weight of Colt’s surprise attack. So quickly that no one actually saw the movement, Colt’s knife pressed against Brave Eagle’s throat, only one swift stroke away from death.
There was no fear in Brave Eagle’s eyes, for fear was unknown to a Comanche w
arrior. He could laugh in the face of pain and scorn death, for it was but an adventure into another world. The pressure increased, and Brave Eagle sought his father’s eyes. He saw fierce pride in their black depths—a hint of regret and overwhelming sadness. Colt followed the direction of Brave Eagle’s gaze and realized that father and son were silently communicating their love and bidding one another good-bye.
“Colt, please, don’t kill him!” Over the stunned silence of the crowd, Sam’s voice soared out to stay Colt’s hand.
It was fully within Colt’s right to end Brave Eagle’s life—expected, actually. The warrior wouldn’t have hesitated to deliver the fatal blow were the circumstances reversed. Yet Sam’s plea stopped him, even though he hated the Comanches enough to kill each one single-handedly.
Why did Sam plead for Brave Eagle’s life? Colt wondered angrily. Did she harbor tender feelings for the savage? Jealousy jolted through him as the knife bit deeper into Brave Eagle’s throat. The Comanche’s black eyes did not waver from Colt’s face. But for some unexplained reason Colt postponed the fatal slash. Maybe it was Sam’s plea that stopped him, but he didn’t think so. Some sixth sense told him that one day Black Bear might prove useful to him, that sparing his son’s life would cost him little and gain him much.
Undaunted, Brave Eagle watched the play of emotion across Colt’s face. His lip curled derisively. “Kill me, Lion Heart. Were I in your place I would not hesitate. My intuition tells me you have killed many times in the past”
“Many times,” Colt concurred, his own breath harsh with fatigue. “And I’ll kill again, but not today.”
Suddenly the pressure on Brave Eagle eased as Colt leaped to his feet and faced the chief, who appeared stunned by the turn of events.
“Is the victory mine?” Colt asked loudly enough for all to hear.
Black Bear nodded, his face giving away nothing of his great sadness. “It is your right to take my son’s life.” “Am I free to leave with Samantha Howard?” “You are free to go where you please. Both of you,” Black Bear advised harshly.
“Then I choose to spare your son’s life.” Picking himself up off the ground, Brave Eagle scowled, certain he hadn’t mistaken the hatred for his people inherent in Colt’s attitude. Such a man would not balk at killing an enemy. In his own defense, Brave Eagle felt no loss of face for Colt’s strange behavior. He was prepared to die, would have done so bravely, and his people knew it. He had fought with courage, but the white man’s cunning had defeated him. It stung to think he would never taste the sweetness of Violet Eyes, for he loved her well and truly.
Black Bear didn’t trust himself to speak. Losing his only son would have been a terrible blow, but Lion Heart had won the right to take his son’s life, and should have. His refusal to do so bewildered Black Bear. Never would he understand the White Eyes. Lion Heart had fought as courageously as Brave Eagle and won Violet Eyes fairly. Lion Heart didn’t strike him as being particularly tenderhearted or squeamish, and Brave Eagle surely would have killed Lion Heart had he the opportunity. What was Lion Heart’s reason for sparing his son’s life? Was it because of Violet Eyes’ plea?
Spirit Dancer sensed his chief’s confusion. “The Great Spirit has seen fit to spare your son. Give thanks by offering Lion Heart something in return. Brave Eagle acquitted himself bravely. There is no shame in defeat at the hands of another of equal strength and courage.”
Black Bear considered Spirit Dancer’s words carefully, deciding to follow the astute shaman’s advice. Turning to Colt, he said, “I did not ask for my son’s life but I willingly accept your gift. But in return you must accept mine. It is the way of our people.”
Colt mulled over the chief’s words, his eyes searching out Sam, who appeared stunned and unbelieving. He wanted to grab her and run as far away from the Comanches as he could get. With that in mind it was not difficult to agree to whatever Black Bear suggested.
“I agree,” Colt replied warily. “I will accept your offerin’.” Christ! He hoped it wasn’t an Indian maiden to warm his bed because he’d sure as hell have to refuse.
“Come to me, Violet Eyes,” Black Bear motioned. Sam approached cautiously, her eyes shimmering with all the pent-up love and longing for Colt she had locked away in her heart.
Christ, she’s beautiful, Colt thought as he watched Sam approach. Her black hair glistened like polished ebony in the brilliant sun, and her skin appeared to be molten gold. But it was her violet eyes that drew his attention. He didn’t want to put a name to what he read in those dark, mysterious depths, but he hoped he hadn’t been mistaken. Once they left this savage environment, he meant to explore all that they promised.
Sam had no opportunity to unburden her heart to Colt, for Black Bear was speaking again. “The Great Spirit above has shown us your future is not with the People, Violet Eyes. But because of the love I bore your mother and the fact that you have no father to see to your welfare, I will assume his authority.”
Sam looked puzzled, while Colt could not think past Black Bear’s statement that he had loved Sam’s mother. His attention sharpened as Black Bear continued. “My gift to you, Lion Heart, is a joining ceremony. When you leave here, Violet Eyes will be your mate. At the feast tonight Spirit Dancer will join you to Violet Eyes.”
“What! A marriage ceremony?” exclaimed Colt, stunned. Though he might eventually come to offer Sam marriage, he didn’t want to be pushed into that decision before it was time.
“Did you think your bravery would go unrewarded? The outcome of the fight with my son made Violet Eyes yours. Are your intentions less honorable than Brave Eagle’s who wanted Violet Eyes for his mate?”
Colt flushed. He was almost certain he loved Sam, but marriage would take some getting used to. Still, an Indian marriage ceremony was hardly binding in the white man’s world. He looked to Sam for guidance and saw only her willingness to comply with the chief’s wishes. Had she planned it this way? Had she conspired with the chief to trap him into marriage? Ridiculous, he told himself—they had had no idea he would win.
Colt realized that the chief had asked him a question and was waiting for an answer.
“Like Brave Eagle I am an honorable man, but I came here to return Sam to her own people, not lookin’ for a mate.”
“Violet Eyes is with her mother’s people. We do not harm one of our own.”
“One of your own? Her mother’s people? I… I don’t understand.”
Suddenly Colt’s eyes widened as his gaze slid to Sam, seeing her in an entirely different light. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, skin golden bronze, eyes slightly aslant in a face that could very well belong to a half-breed—all combined to convince Colt that Black Bear spoke the truth. Why had Sam lied to him? She knew that he despised Indians. Had he known her secret, he probably would never have touched her. And if you believe that you’re a lying varmint, he told himself with a snort of disgust. Suddenly the look on his face changed from one of disbelief to one of utter contempt, causing Sam to catch her breath painfully.
“Colt, I didn’t know,” she attempted to explain. “Please believe me …”
Black Bear motioned her to silence, then turned to Colt, scowling darkly. “Violet Eyes is the daughter of Shy Deer, a Comanche maiden who fell in love with William Howard. She bore him a daughter, but they did not marry. I do not wish the same fate for Violet Eyes, who has become like a daughter to me. You risked your life for her, it is only right that you should take her as your mate. Giving Violet Eyes to you according to our custom is my gift to both of you. You cannot refuse, for you have given your word just as I gave mine. Unless,” the chief said shrewdly, “you are like most White Eyes who speak with two tongues. Should I find your words false I will give Violet Eyes to my son, who greatly desires her.”
Black Bear had spoken the right words. With brutal clarity Colt knew he was trapped. If Sam thought this sham wedding would be binding, she was dead wrong. In fact, everything had changed the moment he learned she was part sa
vage. He was seeing her as if for the first time. Christ! She was a damn redskin! He had made love to a woman with Indian blood flowing through her veins, something he’d sworn he’d never do. Her nasty temper and vile tongue should have given him a clue to her heritage. Colt fumed in impotent rage at the way he had been manipulated, yet he knew there was only one answer.
“Brave Eagle will have to look elsewhere for a mate, Black Bear,” Colt acquiesced none too gallantly. “I’ll join with … Violet eyes.” Now that he knew what she was, her Indian name came easily to his lips.
“No, that’s not necessary,” Sam protested. Colt’s reluctance hurt dreadfully, but she tried not to show it. “It is not our way, Black Bear.”
“Trust me to know what is best for you, Violet Eyes,” Black Bear said shortly. “Go with Fawn and prepare yourself for the ceremony.”
“But…” She got no further as Fawn approached and tugged gently on her hand. Fawn did not look at Colt but kept her eyes properly downcast.
Colt’s face settled into harsh lines as he watched Sam being led off. Had he known how this would end or the secrets that would be revealed, he might have left Sam to her own devices, he reflected, knowing in his heart he lied.
“Go with Spirit Dancer, Lion Heart,” Black Bear said, interrupting Colt’s dark thoughts. “He will tend your wounds and prepare you for the ceremony.”
Sam’s heart plummeted to her feet. Forcing Colt to participate in something he obviously found so distasteful was the last thing she’d intended. If only she could talk to Colt, tell him that this was none of her doing and remind him he need not honor Indian vows once they returned to civilization. The look he had given her when he learned she was part Comanche was so filled with loathing and contempt that it tore her apart. It hurt, hurt terribly, to think he would never again touch her with love and tenderness. Her entire world had turned upside down since learning the truth about herself. What would Will think? Would it change his brotherly feelings, or would she still be his beloved sister?