Comanche Passion Read online

  Comanche Passion

  The Comanche Series: Book Three

  Sara Orwig

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1999 by Sara Orwig

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition April 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-772-2

  Also by Sara Orwig

  The Civil War Saga

  Atlanta

  Memphis

  New Orleans

  The Southwestern Saga

  Albuquerque

  Denver

  San Antonio

  The Comanche Series

  Comanche Temptation

  Comanche Eagle

  Comanche Passion

  Oregon Brown

  Heat Wave

  The Goodies Case

  Sweet Desire

  Texas Passion

  Tides of Passion

  Warrior Moon

  To Dr. Clifton L. Warren:

  What a propitious moment when Gracie said, “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Thanks for it all, from that first surprise party to this year…

  Chapter One

  Steal the medicine and get back here. We’re desperate!

  Remembering those words on the battlefield at Mansfield, remembering his brother’s pale face, Captain Quentin Red Hawk stood on the Vicksburg dock and watched steamboats arrive and depart. The hot June sun sparkled on the surface of the muddy Mississippi and drenched him in sweat. When he had reached the Union-occupied town yesterday, it had taken only a few minutes to get hired by one of the stevedore crews and fall into place unloading a ship. As an escaped prisoner, he wanted to blend into his surroundings and avoid catching notice of any of the Federals.

  A steamboat coming down from a northern city should be well-supplied with morphine and laudanum, but by midafternoon, he was worried. There hadn’t been any opportunity to get on board a likely ship. If he didn’t find a chance by nightfall, he would go to the hospital and try to steal medications there. Wounded men, his own brother, were counting on him and waiting.

  With sweat pouring off his body and his frayed chambray shirt clinging to him, Red Hawk hoisted a crate and strode along the dock.

  Churning up to the dock was the General Thibodeaux, a sternwheeler turned into a gunboat, flying the Stars and Stripes. The anchor dropped and the plank went down. As Red Hawk leaned back against the crates to watch the ship unload, a woman emerged on deck.

  Feeling the breath rush from his lungs, Red Hawk forgot his surroundings. How long had it been since he had seen a beautiful woman in a dress that wasn’t threadbare? He forgot his surroundings as he stared, looking at her fair skin and rosy cheeks. A green silk bonnet hid her face and the green silk dress clung to her tiny waist. Her voluminous skirts stood out, the hoops swaying gently with her steps. She turned her head, and he looked into her eyes. They were as green as her dress.

  Her gaze locked with his, and he found it difficult to breathe. She looked delicate, lovely, a fantasy from another time and world, so far removed from guns and war and dying he felt as if he were seeing a mirage. Longing engulfed him, a yearning need that made his knees weak and caused him to shake. How long had it been since he had held a woman in his arms?

  Standing near the rail, feeling only the slightest rocking of the ship beneath her feet, Savannah Ravenwood stared at the man who was studying her boldly. A hot flush swept up her cheeks, yet she could not tear her gaze away from his dark eyes. Despite the distance between them, she was caught in his direct stare and stood transfixed by the sheer audacity of his gaze.

  She couldn’t recall ever being looked at so openly, and her heart thudded. With an effort, she jerked her head, lifted her chin, and turned, bumping into the captain. His hands steadied her and then released her quickly as he swept his hat off his head and bowed.

  “Good day, Miss Ravenwood. We’ll miss you on the rest of our journey.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Savannah replied, smiling at the Union officer. “It has indeed been a pleasant trip, thanks to you.”

  “I hope you travel with us again.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She turned to head for the gangplank and her heartbeat quickened again, but this time the swift beat was filled with trepidation. She walked along the polished deck, her parasol and reticule in hand. Muddy water lapped at the dock and the hull of the ship. Gulls circled noisily overhead, their shrill cries mixing with the sharp banging of crates being set down, sounds that she heard as much as she heard her drumming heart.

  Lieutenant Goldsby stood beside the rail. As she passed him, his blue eyes were alert, yet his manner was relaxed and respectful.

  “Good-bye, Miss Ravenwood.”

  “Good-bye, Lieutenant.” She flashed him a smile, hoping she looked calm and cheerful.

  At the top of the plank, she glanced over the busy dock and the buildings beyond the levee. Feeling compelled to turn, she looked over her left shoulder. The broad-shouldered man still stood beside the stack of crates. His shaggy black hair was tied behind his head, yet strands had come loose and hung on both sides of his face, giving him an air of wildness. His brown-eyed gaze swept boldly over her again, raising to look into her eyes. She lifted her chin, feeling hot from the arrogant, indecent look he had given her.

  Only a few feet more down the plank to the dock and away toward town and she would be safe. She could leave the bottles of medicine with her friends and be on her way home to Mason, Texas. As she walked, she could feel the weight of the bottles and vials tucked into the pockets underneath her hoop skirt. They were carefully sewn into her crinoline and petticoats so they would not clink, yet she was aware of them with every step she took.

  Her back prickled as she took the first step down the plank. She held her skirt, stepping carefully, wanting to run, but knowing she had to stay at ease.

  Sunshine sparkled on the water that sloshed steadily against the dock. When she descended the plank, she felt eyes on her again and, without thinking, glanced around to see the same dark-eyed man looking at her. He was in a nondescript blue cotton shirt and black pants, but there was nothing nondescript about him. He stood out among the dock workers, looking out of place—too powerful, too commanding for the menial task he performed.

  How had he escaped soldiering? His brazen glance embarrassed her. She drew her breath and looked away. Only a few yards more, and she would be off the dock.

  “Stop her!” The yell came from the boat, and her heart lurched. “My morphine is gone!” Waving his arms, Dr. Well-borne ran across the deck. Lieutenant Goldsby turned toward him.

  Yielding to her first impulse, Savannah picked up her skirts and dashed across the dock, racing through the crowd.

  “Get her!”

  “Miss Ravenwood! Wait!”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Lieutenant Goldsby and three other men charged after her, one going to the right up the next street, the other two following her.

  Cold with fear, she turned a corner and ran into the nearest street, praying she would not lose her footing on the rough, uneven stones. At the dark mouth of a narrow alley, a strong arm reached out, wrapping around her waist.

  “Let me go!”
she cried, struggling uselessly in a grip like iron shackles.

  “This way!” snapped the man, drawing her into the shadowed alleyway. It was the black-haired man from the dock. “They’re right behind you.”

  Without stopping to reason what to do, she ran along the alley with him. He climbed on a barrel, his strong hands closing on her waist.

  “Sir!”

  “Quick!” he ordered, lifting her over a fence. He lowered her to the ground. Swinging his long legs and booted feet over the fence, he dropped down beside her. They were in an enclosed courtyard surrounded by ironwork and pots of blooming plants. He took her hand and ran across the courtyard, stepping through a gate. He held her wrist as they hurried along a narrow street lined with shops.

  She could hear shouts in the distance behind them and she ran faster. When they turned a corner, he flagged an approaching carriage.

  Swiftly she climbed inside, her heart pounding. She peeped out the back window.

  As they began to move, the stranger clung to the side, talking to the driver before he swung down, lowering himself into the carriage. He slammed the door and sat facing her. His broad-shouldered presence seemed to fill the carriage and overwhelm her. As she fell back against the seat, he lowered the leather flaps.

  “My gracious!” She fanned herself with her handkerchief. “That was exciting. I don’t know what made me lose my reason and run. They were mistaken in yelling at me, but it startled me so, I just didn’t stop to think.” She knew she was prattling on and on, but she was nervous, and the tall, quiet man looking at her with midnight eyes that seemed to draw her soul to him made her even more nervous.

  “They may stop the carriage,” she said, trying to catch her breath. It was hot, closed in, and his steady gaze was disturbing. She was shaken; the discovery of the theft and the chase had happened so fast.

  Her gaze returned to the silent stranger and a current of heat flashed in her. There was an air of power, of masculinity about him that made her pulse race. His dark eyes were intense. She met his stare and it was like looking into a raging fire. Mesmerized, she was unable to tear her gaze away and the moment drew out until she was certain he could hear her heart beating.

  “I don’t think anyone will stop us. We’ll be out of here in minutes.” His voice was deep, husky, and filled with self-assurance.

  She tore her glance from his. His sleeves were turned back, revealing smooth, dark skin on forearms that bulged with muscle. She wondered if she had left one danger for another. She wanted to escape from him, yet when his dark eyes met hers, she was caught, excitement stirring in her that she couldn’t explain.

  “Ekahuutsu.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s my native language for redbird,” he said, touching a braid of hair that was looped around her head.

  He was Indian. Hatred, loathing, and fear coiled inside her, and she reminded herself she was in town with people all around her.

  Her thoughts jumped to the letter she had received from President Lincoln that offered sympathy on the violent death of her father. Prescot Ravenwood had been a major in the U.S. Cavalry, on assignment from Fort Mason on the Texas frontier. One of the men who had been on the mission told Thomas the details of how her father had been murdered and scalped by savages.

  Even though she knew it was unreasonable to despise the man seated facing her, she couldn’t keep from feeling a rush of anger and resentment. His people had mercilessly killed her father.

  She turned her head to stare straight ahead, yet she was too aware of the stranger beside her. She could feel the heat from his body, smell the odor of sweat and tobacco on him. He shifted his hand and she glanced down at strong brown fingers splayed over a muscled thigh, the worn denim pants pulling tautly across his leg. An old scar ran across the back of his right hand, reminding her that he was a warrior. No doubt this was the kind of man who had slain her father.

  Anger burned like a low flame as she raised her gaze to stare ahead again.

  Who was he? Why was he in Vicksburg? He belonged with his people on the frontier beyond the States. Why had he helped her? It didn’t matter. In minutes she would be away from him and would never see him again in her life. She wondered how soon she could safely exit the carriage.

  “Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it,” she said stiffly, without looking at him, fearful if she glanced around, she would be ensnared by his gaze again.

  “It seems they think you have their morphine,” he said, and she wondered again why he had helped her. Chivalry? He didn’t look the sort to know about chivalry.

  “Mercy! I don’t have their medications, but I didn’t want to be detained.” She glanced at him. His gaze was unwavering and she grew nervous, deciding she needed some explanation for her flight. “I must get to my poor father, who was wounded in the war. He’s bedfast and expects me home today. I didn’t think. I just ran.” She couldn’t tell whether the stranger believed the lie or not as she looked into his impassive black eyes.

  “You’re Miss Ravenwood?” he asked in his deep voice.

  “Yes,” she said, regretting he knew her name, although there wasn’t any basis for her feelings.

  “Where is your father?”

  “He lives on First East Street,” she lied, thinking she would get away from the stranger before she went to her friend’s house. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll stop the carriage now, I’ll walk from here.”

  “Just a minute and I’ll give the driver instructions. We can ride a little while longer. Won’t they know where to find you if you go home?”

  “I think Dr. Wellborne will find his morphine and forget about me,” she answered readily, hoping that answer satisfied the stranger’s curiosity. Though his long legs were turned away from her, her silk skirt half covered them.

  “You’ve been up north?” he asked.

  “Yes. We have relatives in Cairo, Illinois,” she answered. “My family is divided by the war.” That bit of the truth couldn’t hurt.

  Her thoughts shifted. Cynthia Jane would be waiting for her, and soon she would start to worry. If Cynthia Jane had come to meet her at the wharf, Savannah had missed her. All she had to do was leave the medications with her friends Cynthia Jane and Melvin Brandlett, part of the Confederate network of spies and smugglers that were moving goods to the soldiers. As soon as she deposited the medications with the Brandletts, she could be on her way west by stage to her sister in Nacogdoches, Texas. Melvin would take the medicine to Thomas in Tennessee. Confederate smuggling through Vicksburg was widespread, and Savannah was happy to think she could help her fiancé, Lieutenant Thomas Sievert, get the medicines he so desperately needed.

  The stranger gave orders to stop the carriage, and he swung open the door, dropping easily to the ground. Momentarily, she had an urge to yank the door closed and yell to the driver to go, but she dismissed the notion as ridiculous. She was merely on the outskirts of town, and she would tell the stranger goodbye and never see him again. She moved to the door.

  He reached up, his big hands closing on her waist as he lifted her out. Her heart missed a beat. She could feel the heat of his hands through her dress and underclothing. Her pulse raced and she placed her hands on his arms as he lifted her out of the carriage. Beneath her fingers was the hard flex of his powerful muscles. Brazenly watching her, he held her only inches from him. When his gaze lowered to her mouth, heat flared inside her and she was aware of a ridiculous fluttering in her stomach.

  “I do thank you for coming to my aid. It was foolish of me to run like that.”

  Without answering, he set her on her feet and moved to the front of the carriage, where the two men talked a few moments before the stranger paid the driver. Then the carriage turned north on another dusty lane and disappeared. She looked around, startled to see they were beyond the edge of Vicksburg. No houses were in sight along the wide empty road. Tall oaks surrounded the crossroads, casting cool shadows, but her isolation and distance from town
were frightening.

  “We’re out of town now,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the silence. The stranger loomed tall, and in the solitary woods on the edge of town, he was menacing. His long silences added to her nervousness.

  “It’ll be safer to circle around this way and avoid the soldiers. With your color hair and your green dress, it’ll be easy to recognize you. I’ll see you home.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, anxious to be free of him. “My family will be waiting.”

  “I insist, Miss Ravenwood,” he interrupted, and she was aware of a tug of wills between them. He held her arm lightly. “Where exactly is your house on First East?” he asked, falling into step beside her, and she realized that even though she was tall for a woman, she came only to his shoulder. With his height and strength, he made her feel smaller and more vulnerable.

  “In the one hundred block.”

  She would get rid of him before she reached the home of her Confederate friends. Then she would be safe, because no one from the ship knew her connection with Cynthia Jane. In a sudden motion as Savannah stretched out her legs, a bottle clinked. Had he heard it?

  As long as he didn’t question her, she was scared to glance up. Twelve vials of morphine, four bottles of quinine, ten little bottles of laudanum, and a small jug of brandy were beneath her skirts. A treasure for the Confederacy, and all of it so badly needed now. She knew that Thomas was desperate for the medicine.

  She refused to let this war destroy her. It had taken a large enough toll on her friends and on their way of life. By smuggling the medicine, she was doing what she could to help Thomas. As soon as this errand was complete, she had another equally urgent task to help her sister in Nacogdoches escape a loveless marriage.

  While her skirts rustled with each step, their footfalls made a soft padding sound on the dusty road. Afraid the bottles might clink as she walked, she chattered steadily about the travel by boat to Vicksburg.