He could hear the wind pick up outside, and knew he didn’t have much time before the storm hit. Finally, though, he reached her. Raising himself up on one elbow, Lance carefully reached a hand up to clamp it over her mouth. The danger was that Amelia might cry out when he roused her and awaken her captor at the same time.
Her body jumped reflexively when he touched her, but otherwise she showed no reaction.
“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed in her ear. “I’m here to help you.”
He waited to make sure she understood his warning. Then slowly, with his hand still covering her mouth, he rolled Amelia over on her back. She didn’t even look at him. He could see her eyes in the dim light. They held the lifeless expression of a woman beyond fear, beyond hope. He suspected she had been abused and violated enough that the threat of more no longer touched her.
“Don’t make a sound, do you understand?” he barely whispered, trying to keep the pity and anger from his voice. “I’m going to take you away from here.”
She simply stared at him.
Slowly Lance loosened his grip on her mouth and gestured with his head toward the opening he had made beneath the edge of the tepee. He bent to whisper again. “Summer sent me to rescue you.”
A light of confusion flickered in her eyes, the first response he had seen from her. Grimly Lance took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He was more determined than ever to set her free of this vile captivity. It would likely cost Amelia her life if they were caught, but he wasn’t going to give her the choice of remaining. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave her like this.
Pressing his mouth against her ear, he whispered instructions to her, wondering if she even understood one word in three. Then casting a glance at the sleeping Tuhsinah, Lance began the long retreat toward the opening.
At first he had to tug on Amelia’s hand to keep her beside him, but she finally seemed to catch on to his intent, and he had to slow her down to prevent her from rushing ahead.
It seemed like an eternity before they reached their goal. The Comanches still hadn’t awakened when Lance raised the flap for Amelia to slip through.
“Take it slow,” he warned, his voice a breath of sound in her ear. When her head had vanished, he gave a push to her shoulder to aid her, then her bare hip, her knee, her ankle. Finally she disappeared altogether. With a last glance at the sleeping Comanches, Lance followed, easing himself beneath the slit.
The wind had picked up mightily while he’d been inside, and a gust buffeted him as he climbed to his feet. He could barely see Amelia. She was crawling on her hands and knees away from the tepee with blind determination, and her pitiful efforts at escape made Lance’s throat tighten.
You’ll get away, I promise you, he vowed silently.
She gave a cry of pain when he scooped her up in his arms, but he didn’t dare take the time to see to her wounds. Another gust of wind brought a burst of rain slashing at his face, at her naked body, but Lance blessed the onslaught and the protection it offered. He tightened his grip on Amelia and ran through the camp.
She lay pliant and unprotesting in his arms, and made no effort even to shield herself from the downpour. With a silent oath, Lance pressed her face against his chest. Her spirit had been broken by the weeks of abuse, he knew, and she no longer had the strength to care what happened to her.
His two horses stood where he’d left them, pawing nervously at the ground. Setting Amelia gently on her feet, he unwrapped a blanket from his bedroll and drew it around her naked body, to cover her shivering skin. The wool became soaked in seconds, but at least it would provide a measure of modesty and protect her from the stinging chill of the rain.
She swayed as Lance looked down at her. With her scraggling hair plastered to her face, her pale face streaming with rain, she bore no resemblance to the strong, haughty woman who had always looked down her elegant nose at him. He couldn’t afford the luxury of pity, though. Not yet at any rate.
A peal of thunder split the night as he tossed Amelia up on his horse and wrapped her fingers in the mane. She would have to ride with him, even if it proved a strain for the animal to carry them both, for she was too weak to sit a horse by herself.
Collecting his lance and buffalo hide shield, Lance gathered the reins of the other mount and vaulted up behind Amelia. Solicitously he tucked the slipping blanket more securely around her body and settled her back against his chest. Then with a nudge to his horse’s flanks, he set out with his prize through the storm.
The journey to his brother’s camp with Amelia was nothing like the one he’d made last week with her sister.
Amelia never said a single lucid word, not in protest or pain, and her eyes remained glassy and dazed, as if she were in a trance, beyond fear and exhaustion.
The storm broke by morning, and the sun came out to glisten on the pristine prairie hills. Lance stopped long enough to give Amelia his dry, fringed buckskin shirt to wear and some dried meat to eat. She stared at the buffalo jerky for a full minute before she tore into it ravenously with her teeth, wolfing it down as if she were starving—which no doubt she was.
She seemed to have no idea what to do with the herbal ointment his grandmother had made, so Lance smeared it on her cuts and burns for her, pretending not to notice her nakedness or the mewling sounds of pain she made when he touched the oozing wounds.
Her body resembled his wife’s, with firm, high breasts like Summer’s, the same slender limbs and curvaceous figure. But Amelia’s smooth magnolia skin had been ravaged by fire and sun, by fists and lash, and her ribs showed starkly beneath the bruised flesh.
Seeing her like that, Lance felt the deep resentment he’d cherished for a lifetime against Amelia and white women like her shatter. He could find nothing in his heart but pity for the shell of the woman she’d once been.
He tried to spare her as much exertion as possible during the exhausting ride, but he didn’t dare pause for long, even to rest the horses, for fear Tuhsinah was in pursuit. There was no time to sleep. Amelia dozed fitfully in his arms at times, but Lance recited ciphers learned at his mother’s side to keep from nodding off while mounted. After having remained awake and alert for much of the past four days, he was straining his own physical resources to the limit. His burning eyes felt as if they’d been scratched with sand, and his aching muscles felt heavy and useless. Yet his own exhaustion didn’t matter. There would be time enough to sleep once he had Amelia safe. It was possible, perhaps, that Tuhsinah would let her go without challenge, but far more likely that he was hot on their trail, seeking retribution.
It was the following afternoon when they neared his brother’s camp. Fights Bear apparently had scouts out looking for them, for the war chief himself rode out to receive them.
At the sight of the approaching horde of Comanches, Amelia showed the first sign of fear Lance had witnessed in her, and cringed in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly. “They mean you no harm.”
He didn’t know if his reassurance meant anything to her, but her tense body relaxed and her eyes glazed over again, as if she had retreated back into her trance.
Fights Bear drew his horse to a plunging halt and, with a glance at the white woman, nodded in satisfaction. “Welcome, brother,” he said, his tone carrying approval. “It makes my heart glad to see you know how to take care of your family.”
Lance grinned wearily. “No gladder than mine.”
As one, the warriors turned their horses back to the camp and provided an impressive escort for Lance and his burden. Word of their arrival had doubtless spread through the camp, for as they neared the sea of tepees, Lance saw Summer running across the grass toward him. His own heart skipped a beat and settled into an accelerated rhythm, until he remembered it was her sister she was so concerned about. With unwitting bitterness he wondered if Summer would ever come running so eagerly to greet him.
He drew his horse to a halt as she reached him. Summer stopped abruptly, her hands
clasped tightly before her. “Thank God, you’re back,” she breathed, before her gaze froze on her sister’s face. Tears streamed down her own face as she whispered uncertainly, “Amelia?”
Her sister made no response, merely stared unseeingly at the ground.
“She doesn’t know what’s happening to her right now,” Lance said quietly. “But she’ll be okay with proper rest and care.”
Summer made a choked sound of distress and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob, but she didn’t refute his judgment.
“I’d better keep her till we reach the lodge,” Lance added. “She’s too weak to walk.”
Unwillingly Summer nodded in agreement. Turning, she walked close beside Lance’s horse, her eyes never leaving her sister’s face.
When they reached the tepee that belonged to Short Dress, Lance slid off his horse and reached up for Amelia, lowering her carefully to the ground.
“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “Your sister’s here to take care of you.”
When still she made no response, Lance picked Amelia up in his arms and carried her into the tepee, where he laid her gently on the pile of buffalo hides Short Dress had prepared for the white invalid and covered her with a blanket. When he stepped back, Amelia closed her eyes in exhaustion.
Summer took Lance’s place, kneeling beside her sister, wanting to touch her, to help her, but not knowing quite how. This limp, broken rag doll bore no resemblance to the strong, loving woman Amelia had once been.
Summer’s throat ached with tears as she took Amelia’s hand in hers. “You’re safe now, Melly,” she murmured, repeating Lance’s words. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything.” Helplessly she smoothed back a lank lock of hair from Amelia’s forehead, the same task her sister had performed for her countless times during her girlhood.
Amelia’s eyelids fluttered opened. “Summer…?” She said the name awkwardly, like a confused child.
“Yes, I’m here, Melly. I’m here.”
Amelia blinked and stared. Then suddenly she shuddered, and her body started shaking uncontrollably.
“They hurt me,” she complained in a bewildered, trembling voice.
Forcibly Summer bit back a sob and gathered her sister carefully in her arms. “I know, dearest. But it’s over. No one will hurt you again. Now, go to sleep. You need to rest.”
Obediently Amelia shut her eyes. “Don’t leave me. Please…don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, I promise. I’ll be right here.” You don’t have to be afraid, love. I’ll protect you. I’ll always be here for you. How many countless times had she heard those poignant words from Amelia?
She rocked her sister slowly, while tears slipped heedlessly down her cheeks. Eventually, though, Amelia’s trembling lessened and her quiet breathing told Summer that she had fallen asleep. Gently, with infinite care, she laid her precious burden down and tucked the blanket around Amelia’s shoulders.
Lance, who had been watching quietly, felt the heavy burden of responsibility lift from his own shoulders. “I’ll find another place to sleep for a while,” he murmured. “And I’ll take my nephews as well. She needs peace and quiet.”
Summer raised eyes glistening with gratitude to him. “Lance…thank you for saving her. I know I can never repay you.”
He tried to smile reassuringly, but managed only a faint twist of his mouth. It wasn’t repayment he wanted from Summer. Nor indebtedness, either. What he wanted from her was far more profound, far more unattainable. What he wanted from her was love.
But he guessed he would have to make do with gratitude. That at least was more than he’d ever had from her before.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied more gruffly than he intended. “I may have managed only a brief reprieve. Her captor is no doubt riding after her right now—with the intention of reclaiming his property.”
The sudden alarm that shadowed Summer’s green eyes gave Lance a tiny measure of satisfaction. He ought to feel ashamed, finding hope in her fear. But the plain truth was, he couldn’t regret having her dependent on him. As long as Summer needed him at least a little, there was still a change he might earn something more from her than gratitude.
Chapter 14
The danger indeed was not over, Summer learned a scant hour later. Her sister might have been rescued, but the issue of Amelia’s ownership was by no means resolved.
As she sat beside Amelia’s sleeping form, praying for her swift recovery, Summer heard a commotion outside the tepee—men’s voices raised in anger. Only when she recognized Lance’s deep tones, though, did she reluctantly leave her sister’s side to investigate.
The sight that greeted her made her stomach clench with dread. A war party of perhaps two dozen Comanches sat astride their sweating ponies, the glistening blades of their lances blazing as they caught the sun. The men looked barbaric and altogether frightening, with streaks of black paint adorning their cheekbones and broad foreheads.
Their leader seemed the most angry. He was arguing fiercely with Lance, who stood in front of Fights Bear’s lodge. The conversation ended suddenly. Just as abruptly the warriors swung their horses around and rode away.
Summer glanced around her with growing fear, certain the altercation hadn’t concluded so easily. A small crowd of Comanches had gathered to observe, but Short Dress was nowhere in sight, and Summer had no one to translate for her. When Lance turned on his heel to enter Fights Bear’s tepee, she followed him inside.
She found him stripping off his leggings. “What is it, Lance? Who were those men?”
He barely gave her a glance. “Amelia’s captor and friends. Tuhsinah wants to avenge his honor.”
Summer stared. Lance had warned her what to expect, but she hadn’t wanted to believe the nightmare still wasn’t ended. “What…do you mean, avenge his honor?”
“It isn’t over yet. I stole Amelia from him, and he’s come to claim her.”
Panic seized her at the thought of turning Amelia back over to that vicious brute. “You won’t let him take her?”
Lance shook his head grimly. “He’ll have to fight me first.”
“Fight you?” Summer echoed, her wits suddenly sluggish as molasses.
“Yeah, with knives. Hand-to-hand combat. Normally we would use lances on horseback, but that would give me too great an edge. The lance is my namesake, and powerful medicine for me.”
She heard him calmly explaining the rationale behind the choice of weapons and wanted to scream. What difference did it make when either could kill him?
She watched with growing alarm as Lance prepared to do battle, removing all adornment and excess clothing, till he stood before her clad only in his long breechclout and moccasins, armed with his knife.
“Lance, no!” Summer exclaimed, suddenly terrified. “You can’t fight him. You could be hurt.”
His black eyes sought hers. “Would you care?”
“Of course I would care! How can you say such a thing?”
He smiled faintly at her adamance. “You got a better plan, princess?”
“We could leave…Right now, this minute. We could take Amelia with us—”
“And get how far? Tuhsinah would be after us in a heartbeat, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill us when he found us.”
“But we might be able to elude him.”
Lance shook his head. “Summer, luck was on my side when I rescued Amelia from him. I counted on the superstitious fear Comanches have of thunder and lighting to postpone pursuit, and it worked, but now I have to make a stand. I’d be branded as a coward if I ran. And to a Comanche, that’s far worse than death.”
“What…happens if you lose?”
He was silent for a long moment. “You have to decide whether Amelia would be better off dead than living as Tuhsinah’s captive.”
Summer pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, to keep from shrieking out her horror.
“If I lose,” Lance continued, his tone soft but relentless, “she’l
l belong to Tuhsinah again. I know what my decision would be, but it’s not my choice to make.”
He bent to rummage in a parfleche, then crossed to Summer and handed her another knife, smaller but just as razor-sharp.
“You’ll have to be strong enough to use this if you must.” Solemnly, holding her tear-filled gaze, he raised a hand to touch the side of Summer’s throat. “Draw the blade across the vein here…swift and hard. It’ll be over in a minute.”
The tears spilled over, flooding her pale cheeks and stabbing at Lance’s heart. “There are things worse than death. Summer,” he said softly. “I don’t think you want Amelia to suffer like she has the last three weeks. Either way, you’ll be safe. If I die, you’ll be under Fights Bear’s protection—”
“I don’t care about being safe!” she cried in a broken voice.
“I care. I didn’t go to all this trouble just to get you killed.”
When she would have protested, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the entrance. “Summer, I have to go. I’ll be back if I can.”
He bent to kiss her lips gently, the caress bittersweet and poignant. In response, Summer raised her hands desperately to twine her fingers in Lance’s black hair, drawing his mouth closer, pressing harder, this leave-taking even more urgent than the last because of the imminent danger he faced.
Finally, though, he pried her fingers loose and lifted his head. He stood looking at her for one long, final moment before he turned away.
Summer followed him to the entrance and watched as Lance strode swiftly toward the village arena. She cast an anguished glance at the tepee where Amelia slept. She didn’t want to abandon her sister, and yet Lance had greater need of her. She had to be present at the battle, to give Lance moral support if nothing else. And to discover the outcome, whether he won or lost. No, she wouldn’t think of that. He had to win. She wouldn’t lose her sister again. She wouldn’t let Lance die.
His enemy was already waiting for him when he stepped into the clearing, along with a crowd of observers from both bands. An air of tension flowed from the women and children, but the warriors were gesturing and arguing, much the way Summer’s brothers often had before a horse race when they’d wagered a sizable sum. Dear God, were the Comanches actually betting on the outcome of the fight? When men’s lives were at stake?
The Savage Page 24