Warrior Moon Read online

  She shook out a deerskin dress, and the two women helped her change. Siiko braided her hair. “Tso yaa,” she said, holding up locks of hair.

  “Tso yaa,” Vanessa repeated, causing Siiko to smile.

  “Tainguato,” Muaahap said, and White Bird smiled at her.

  Vanessa hoped they understood her pleasure when they presented her with a pair of moccasins. Different from Lone Wolf’s plainer ones, these moccasins were heavily fringed and comfortable to Vanessa’s feet.

  That night after eating a thick stew with chunks of deer meat, Muaahap caught Vanessa’s wrist and motioned her and White Bird to follow. As she crossed the camp area, Vanessa looked for Lone Wolf, but saw no sign of him.

  Muaahap turned to face Vanessa, her wrinkled hands moving quickly, making the sign for sleep by holding both palms up, fingertips pointed to the right, fingertips of the left hand almost touching her right wrist, and tilting her head as if to cradle it.

  “Sleep. Sleep,” Vanessa said, repeating the sign, saying what she thought it was in English.

  “Sleep,” Muaahap repeated and changed the sign, closing her fists except for the two index fingers she pointed together to form a tent shape. She pointed toward a tipi and made the sign again.

  “Tipi,” Vanessa guessed, pointing toward the tipi and making the same sign back to Muaahap who grinned and nodded.

  “Kahni,” Muaahap said. “Tipi.”

  “Kahni,” Vanessa repeated, pleased that she was beginning to learn a few words.

  While Muaahap held White Bird’s hand, they went back to the tipi where Muaahap sat on one of the hides and pulled White Bird down onto her lap to croon to her and rock her.

  Vanessa realized they had settled for the night, wondering if others would join them in the tent. She stretched on a hide and pulled another soft buffalo robe over her. In the chill of the night, the robe and the smoldering fire soon brought warmth and she closed her eyes, listening to the raspy voice of Muaahap as she sang to White Bird.

  “He’e’yo! He’e’yo!” Muaahap sang, and the words echoed in Vanessa’s mind. Where was Lone Wolf? Was he all right?

  As she watched Muaahap sing, Vanessa wondered how safe she would be if something happened to Lone Wolf. She suspected she would be kept captive by the tribe. She thought about the last two nights in Martin Gulch, the intimate moments during the night with Lone Wolf, and she missed his presence now.

  In early morning she stirred and woke to see Siiko and Muaahap combing White Bird’s hair. Vanessa rose, and Siiko moved to her side to hand her a brush for her hair.

  After dressing and eating, Siiko led Vanessa to a gathering of women who worked on deerskin, shaping and cutting and sewing the hide into dresses.

  Given thread made from sinew and a needle sharpened from bone, she watched as Siiko showed her how to lay out the pale-brown, pliable deerskin. The skirt was made in two pieces sewed together with buckskin thongs. The hem was heavily fringed with shorter fringe up the sides to the waist.

  Vanessa learned to bead, sewing the geometric designs that would decorate the top of the dress and the moccasins.

  White Bird watched for a time and then returned to Muaahap’s side while Muaahap made a tiny buckskin dress for the child’s rag doll.

  During the day, when they stopped to eat or to sit and chat or to wash, Vanessa watched for a sign of Lone Wolf, but she didn’t see him and she was helpless to ask about him.

  By the third day in the camp, she had begun to keep track of the days, placing a small red bead beside her portmanteau in the tipi.

  Two afternoons later, she paused as she placed the fifth red bead on the ground. She glanced at Muaahap, who was combing White Bird’s hair and braiding it, winding a bright red ribbon through the braid. Vanessa picked up the silver-and-sapphire earbobs her father had given her on her seventeenth birthday. She also had a delicate silver bracelet with tiny dark sapphires that matched the earbobs. She carried them to Muaahap and took Muaahap’s hand to place them in her hand.

  “These are for you. To you from me,” she said, motioning from herself to Muaahap.

  Muaahap looked down at them and then at Vanessa and a wide grin covered Muaahap’s face. “Ahh,” she let out a long sigh of pleasure and put on the jewelry. She looked at Vanessa and smiled again, nodding.

  “They are pretty on you,” Vanessa said, and Muaahap bobbed her head and patted Vanessa’s hand.

  Muaahap moved behind Vanessa, beginning to comb her hair. Vanessa sat still while Muaahap parted it in the center and braided it, binding the braid and starting on the other half of her hair. When she finished, she painted yellow down the part and then moved in front of Vanessa. Rubbing a thin coating of grease over Vanessa’s cheeks, Muaahap placed stripes of yellow paint across Vanessa’s cheeks.

  She sat back and smiled, pleased with her handiwork, and Vanessa smiled in return. She rummaged in the portmanteau for a mirror and when she looked at herself felt a mild shock. The days in the winter sun had bleached her hair, and her skin had darkened, making her eyes look greener than ever. Now with paint on her face and her hair in braids, she was shocked at the transformation; she looked more like the women in the tribe, her red hair and green eyes were a startling difference. She was comfortable in the soft buckskin, although she was unable to part with the cotton underdrawers that Muaahap found amusing.

  When they began their work, she saw they were going to paint a robe and realized this was a special garment. The women took the gelatinous scrapings from the underside of a hide and boiled them in water. This was spread over the surface that was to be painted. She sat back to watch the painting as Siiko and three other women bent over the hide to draw designs. After an hour, Vanessa joined them in the work, deciding it was a robe for a victorious warrior or a chief.

  Three days later, a north wind sprang up and Muaahap gave her a blanket that provided warmth from the cold. During the afternoon the work stopped as men paraded through the village driving a string of horses ahead of them.

  They stirred up dust, shouting and singing. Vanessa stood beside Muaahap, who was dancing and laughing, and through a series of signs, Vanessa learned that a victorious war party had returned from a raid, bringing back horses.

  That night, the drums began to beat and Muaahap combed Vanessa’s hair, chattering to her. Siiko and the members of her family had painted themselves; Siiko’s younger sisters and her small daughter were all dressed in beaded dresses and wore black paint. Siiko’s husband, Puhihwi Wehki, left the tipi early in the evening; and Vanessa saw him crossing the camp, eagle feathers in his hair, a painted robe thrown around his shoulders, red streaking his face.

  Uncertain as to what was happening, yet feeling the current of excitement running through the village, she sat still as Muaahap parted her hair. Soon she had two long braids with black paint down the part and black paint streaked on her face. Her braids were fastened with bits of copper wire, and she wore gold earrings that she had brought from home. Muaahap brought her a beaded deerskin dress, and Vanessa gasped with pleasure as she took it and ran her hands over the geometric patterns of brilliant beads.

  She dressed and pulled on her fringed moccasins, finally letting Muaahap take her hand along with White Bird and lead them outside. The drums beat loudly, a steady rhythm that vibrated in the air while men’s voices raised in a chant.

  Poles had been erected at the midpoint of the dance circle. Beneath the poles a fire roared in the center of camp and caldrons of stew bubbled and gave off tempting smells.

  As Vanessa approached the fire, she saw men sitting in a ring around the blaze. She looked across the dancing flames and her breath caught as she gazed into Lone Wolf’s dark eyes.

  Startled, her heart seeming to miss a beat, she stared at him, for an instant forgetting the raging fire and the people. As drums thumped, she felt as if her heartbeat matched the throbbing sounds. The world narrowed to Lone Wolf, who looked fit and strong, and so handsome! He wore red streaks of paint across his ch
eeks and along the center part in his hair.

  His chest was bare, the bandages on his shoulder were gone. He was painted with stripes across his chest, and he had eagle feathers in his dark hair. A buffalo robe was tossed casually around his waist, and he sat cross-legged near the fire, the flickering orange flames casting light across his striking features.

  He gazed back impassively, yet his steady look held her and she could not turn away as she felt a bond burn fiercely between them. She wanted to run across the campsite to him. Instead she waited because she knew she had to follow the rituals but she was uncertain of the proper etiquette. And while she wondered, she continued to meet Lone Wolf’s smoldering stare.

  Breaking Lone Wolf’s spell, Muaahap took her hand, and Vanessa turned to go with her to sit in an area with the women as the men stood up to dance. Lone Wolf rose, too, chanting with the other men as they shuffled around the fire.

  He had shed the buffalo robe, and she could see the scar on his shoulder. His side was still wrapped with a cloth secured by a narrow strip of leather. He wore only a breechcloth and moccasins; his body was streaked with paint. Her gaze ran the length of his body, as she noticed that the breechcloth covered so little and his muscles rippled as he moved. She looked up to meet his mocking gaze, a hungry expression in his dark eyes that caressed her raw nerves.

  When the women formed a second group, Muaahap took her hand, pulling her into the dancers. She tried to follow the shuffling steps and listened to the chanting as they stomped in a circle around the fire, going in the opposite direction of the men. The drums thumped steadily; the chanting was a deep, mesmerizing sound.

  Bathing her in its warmth, the fire burned brightly, orange sparks spinning upward into the night sky, filling the air with the smell of woodsmoke. Her awareness centered on Lone Wolf as he approached her on the inner circle. His dark gaze met hers as he danced toward her and she moved toward him, aching to touch him. And then he danced past and they parted, shuffling around the circle to meet again.

  Lone Wolf stared at Vanessa, watching her dance. Her slender body moved gracefully in the circle of dancers. She looked like the other women with her braids and painted face and deerskin dress. And yet she was different. Her hair was the color of the fire and her eyes were a vibrant green, a look of passion in their depths that heated him more than the camp flames.

  As they danced, he motioned to her to leave. She frowned as if she were uncertain, but then she stepped out of the circle of dancers and turned toward the tipis.

  He waited a moment and then drifted out of the dance, moving away from the fire and light and crowd into the quiet night. He saw her waiting, and he lengthened his stride.

  Vanessa watched him glide toward her, and her heart thudded violently. With the feathers in his hair and paint on his face and chest, he looked like a fierce warrior. When he walked up to her, her pulse jumped wildly. He reached out to slide his arm around her waist and draw her to him, bending down to kiss her.

  Trembling with eagerness, she wound her arms around his neck and strained against him, wanting him, kissing him back fully. Her tongue entered his mouth as she kissed him, her hands running over his smooth back, and then she recalled how little he wore. Always before he had worn the heavy buckskin pants, but the breechcloth was almost nothing. She touched his thigh lightly with her fingertips and heard a groan that was muffled by their kisses.

  Finally, he raised his head to look at her, framing her face with his hands. “You belong here, Vanessa. And you look beautiful.”

  Warmth flooded her, and she touched his jaw. “They’ve been good to me. And to you. You look well.”

  “I feel well. My side still heals, but the other injuries have mended and I have my strength again.”

  And now we will part. She gazed up at him, knowing that everything between them would change when he was no longer dependent on her. How long before they would leave the Comanche camp and part ways? At the thought, she drew a deep breath, her fingers trailing along his jaw.

  “White Bird is coddled every minute that she’s awake,” Vanessa said, not even certain what she was saying to him, wanting his kisses again. “There is a small, older woman, Muaahap, who adores the child, and White Bird loves her in return. They’re together constantly.”

  “That’s good. And this is good,” he said, his fingers trailing down over the soft deerskin, his fingertips drawing slowly down over her shoulder, sliding to her breast. Vanessa gasped, closing her eyes, her arms sliding around him again as he pulled her to him to kiss her.

  He leaned over her and she clung to him. Lone Wolf wanted to carry her to a tipi and possess her, but he knew he held an innocent virgin. He would not take Vanessa’s virginity when his heart was still with Eyes That Smile.

  Vanessa could feel his thick, erect manhood pressing against her. She had an aching need for him that made her hips thrust against him while she stroked his back, her hand sliding over his firm buttocks. He groaned again, the sound muffled by their kisses as his arms tightened around her.

  He released her reluctantly, gazing down at her. He had never known a woman like her and he had spent the last few idle days of his recovery speculating and thinking about Vanessa.

  “I must go back and join the others,” he said in a husky voice. “I’ll come to you later because the medicine man said I may rejoin my family. They think White Bird is our child,” he said, his voice deep. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles, the slight touch enough to make her want to step back into his arms.

  Instead, Vanessa nodded and watched him stride away. His long legs were powerful, well-shaped. She turned to go to the tipi, knowing that Muaahap would care for White Bird.

  Vanessa’s body ached for Lone Wolf’s loving. He was awakening her to new feelings, a sweet torment that needed assuaging. Restless, wanting him to join her, she moved around the empty tipi and finally stretched out on the hides to sleep. Muaahap and White Bird eventually returned, and Vanessa listened to the drums and chanting that continued while the others went to sleep.

  Then Siiko and her family came back as well. Vanessa could hear the quiet whisperings of Siiko and Puhihwi Wehki, and they made her long for Lone Wolf and the moments they had spent quietly talking in the night. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Vanessa pulled a robe high over her shoulders.

  She could not sleep, but kept thinking about Lone Wolf and his handsome face as firelight played over it. Lightning flashed, giving an instant’s illumination, and she saw the translucent beauty of the hides. The soft drum of rain beat against the hides.

  As lightning flashed again, she glanced at the opening flap. It lifted, and Lone Wolf entered.

  Nine

  She sat up, her pulse jumping while he moved noiselessly across the tipi to kneel beside her. Without thinking, she placed her palm against his cheek. With the next flash of lightning, for an instant she saw his dark eyes and there was no mistaking the look of desire in them.

  His arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her up hard against him. His mouth covered hers, his tongue and insistent raider as he kissed her. With pounding heart, Vanessa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him in return, relishing his hard body against her, his strong arms holding her.

  Finally, he released her and gazed down at her. His jaw was set, and in the lightning’s flash she saw the stormy look in his eyes and wondered what was in his thoughts.

  “I’m glad you’re well,” she whispered.

  “Your hands are cold,” he said, taking her hand in his large warm palms.

  “They’re warming,” she said, aware her other hand was tangled in his long hair.

  “The medicine man has done his work. Now I sleep in here.” With a lithe movement, he slid beneath the robe.

  “You can’t sleep here!” she whispered fervently, shocked as his long body settled against hers and he pulled her beside him. His body was hot, almost naked. Their legs touched, his manhood hard, pressed against her, her breasts against his chest.
She felt on fire, unable to breathe, her nerves raw pinpricks of awareness.

  “Shh, Vanessa. They think you’re my wife. If I don’t sleep here, this family will know; and then by tomorrow, the entire camp will know that we are not married. I’ll only hold you.”

  She started to protest while her heart thudded. His fingertips pressed lightly against her lips, and even that casual touch made her tremble with a longing she didn’t wish to feel.

  Wanting her beside him, Lone Wolf held her close. He could sleep on his own hides away from her, and Muaahap and the others would think it was because of his wounds that he didn’t sleep with his wife. But he was getting his strength back and along with it was coming a compelling urge to possess Vanessa. Added to his desire was the knowledge that very soon he would take White Bird and return to his people. If he took Vanessa captive, he would possess her. If he parted with her, she would never get to Fort McKavett on her own, for she would either fall prey to men like those in Martin Gulch or she would become a captive of the Comanche.

  He would not marry a white woman because his hatred ran too deep and too strong, yet he wanted this one. He wanted her soft body beneath his. He had been too long without a woman, and this one would not fight him. Or the fight would be only seconds, a struggle he could kiss away easily.

  He was still surprised how much she had adapted to the Indian way. He had seen captives fight for months before they accepted their new lives. Maybe, he mused, she didn’t have as much to go back to. From what she had told him, there was little affection in her household between parent and daughters, although the sisters seemed to love each other.

  He stroked her hair and tried to curb the impulse to kiss her and take her now. His body responded to her softness against him, his erection throbbing as he fought to control his needs. She was soft and warm and he had been too long without a woman.