“Honey Eaters?” Summer asked blankly.
“Lord, don’t you even know that?” His scowl was for Lance, though. “You better let her know what she’s in for, ridin’ into a Comanche camp, or she’s gonna have one hell of a shock.”
Lance’s mouth hardened with the first defensiveness he’d shown Deek since arriving. “If she wants to know, all she has to do is ask.”
The uncomfortable subject was dropped then, while the trader questioned Lance about his search plans.
The two men discussed strategy over a meal of venison stew. Summer, surprised to find herself famished, ate every bite on her plate, and didn’t protest when Topusana piled on another helping. But she listened intently to everything Lance had to say—which was far more than he’d ever volunteered to her. She resented his forthrightness with his friend, especially when he’d been so surly and closemouthed with her, yet it was clear Lance valued the older man’s advice, while he probably thought explanations to her were only a nuisance and a waste of time.
Not wanting to be a burden, she offered to help wash the dishes after supper, but Deek wouldn’t hear of a guest being put out, and Lance wanted to turn in early, so they could get an early start.
First, though, he wanted Summer to try on one of Topusana’s dresses. From the conversation Summer gathered he meant to dress her as a Comanche woman and don his own Indian garments, so they would pass for natives. Hence, she wasn’t surprised when Deek’s wife approached her with a bundle of clothing. Carrying a lamp, Topusana led her into a small storage room that apparently doubled as a spare bedchamber for passing travelers.
Summer had left her crinoline petticoats behind at the Belknap station so she could ride without hindrance, but now she discarded her traveling suit and camisole and corset as well. When she would have kept on her chemise and drawers, though, Topusana shook her head vigorously, saying in broken English that so many clothes would make her too hot when the sun shone.
Reluctantly Summer jettisoned the last remnants of civilization and covered her nakedness with a long, shapeless deerskin dress that reached below her knees. The fringed bodice was a bit too small for her bosom, and pushed against her naked breasts in a way that made her feel indecently exposed. Like any lady, she was accustomed to wearing layers and layers of undergarments beneath her voluminous gowns, and a single layer of soft deerskin hardly felt like being dressed. The thigh-high leggings and moccasins Topusana gave her didn’t seem to help much, either.
When the Comanche woman suddenly left the room, Summer felt deserted. But then Lance appeared in the doorway. He stopped short when he saw her, his black eyes narrowing.
Nervously Summer smoothed the skirt of her new costume. She had no mirror, but she knew she must look a sight, if Lance’s odd expression was anything to judge by. “Do I look that bad?” she asked uncertainly.
He didn’t answer at once. He couldn’t, and keep his voice steady. She didn’t look like the spoiled, regal Miss Weston now. The plain, primitive garment stripped her of pride and pretense, making her seem as simple and innocent as any shy Comanche maiden. Except for the color of her complexion, that is. Her face was flushed with sun from the long hours of riding, since her bonnet hadn’t protected her fully, but it looked like the flush of passion. Lance wished like hell it were.
He swallowed hard, wishing also that he could quell the sudden swelling ache in his loins. Ever since Yarby’s assault, he’d managed to conquer his brutal lust for her, not wanting to add to Summer’s fear of him. But the temptation now to give in to it was riding him hard.
“Don’t I look all right?”
Lance gritted his teeth. He could tell Summer how beautiful he found her, how desirable, but she knew that damned well already. He hadn’t kowtowed to her vanity five years ago, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“You look okay,” he answered gruffly. “Except for your hair. Comanche women don’t pin it up like that. They wear it short and hanging free, or long in a braid.”
“Oh.”
“Take your hair down.”
His voice had softened perceptibly. Obediently she reached up and pulled out the pins. Shaking the chignon free, she let the long, dark mass fall down her back, feeling Lance’s hot eyes on her all the while. His command reminded her of their wedding night, when he’d made her undress and stand naked before him. Except that this was somehow more intimate, more powerful. Then, she hadn’t known what to expect. Her carnal knowledge then had been limited to stolen kisses. Now she knew how it felt to find pleasure in a man’s embrace, to experience passion at his hands.
Summer found herself quivering at the memory, at the sensations that memory aroused. Much of that night seemed like a dream, yet she could still vividly remember the feel of Lance’s fingers threading softly through her hair, stroking it, stroking her body.
She knew for a moment he must be sharing the same thought, for he took a step toward her, a harsh look of need on his face.
Afraid of what she saw there—the searing intensity, the naked glitter of want in his eyes—Summer took an involuntary step backward. Lance looked like he might assault her right there, like he might tear off her clothes and take her body as he’d almost done on their wedding night, regardless of the present circumstances. But they weren’t alone. There were other people—strangers in the next room.
“Lance…” She glanced nervously toward the open door.
He stopped abruptly and slanted a look over his shoulder. When he turned back, his eyes not only had lost their molten heat, they’d gone cold. For a moment, Lance stared at her, his gaze transmitting the silent message: You’re my wife. You should be sleeping with me.
Yet he made no move to enforce his rights.
His features hardening, he turned to go. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a hard ride tomorrow,” he growled before shutting the door forcefully behind him.
Alone, Summer stared in bewilderment and frustration and rising irritation, wishing she had handled the situation better, had handled Lance better. Wishing she didn’t feel such keen disappointment at her husband’s abrupt departure.
She took Lance’s advice, though. After making use of the wash water Topusana had provided her to take a quick sponge bath, Summer donned her nightgown for what she feared might be the last time and curled up on a mattress covered with buffalo robes. She fell asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.
It seemed like only a few moments later when she felt someone shaking her awake. Squinting in the dim light of a lantern, Summer saw a shadow looming over her, an ominous, violent figure that resembled the terrible specters in her nightmares.
She sat up abruptly, but her choked scream died to a breathless gasp as she recognized Lance. He stood over her, his legs spread slightly, his hard face a mask of defiance.