The Savage

Too much was at stake.

Summer took a deep breath as she stood submissively before Fights Bear. She would do whatever she had to in order to help her sister survive. Other women had managed in far more difficult situations. Lance’s mother, for one. Charlotte Calder had been given no choice in the men she was forced to accept in her bed. It comforted Summer to remember Charlotte’s bravery.

Deliberately she kept her head bowed, her eyes lowered. She spoke softly, infusing a deference into her voice that she didn’t feel. “Short Dress, please tell him that I have come to clear up a misunderstanding concerning his brother, Sharp Lance.”

Fights Bear’s answer in the Comanche language came abruptly and held a stinging rebuke.

“He does not recognize Sharp Lance as his brother,” Short Dress translated.

“I regret that is so,” Summer murmured, “and so does Sharp Lance. He does not wish there to be anger between brothers. That is why he sent me to you,” she lied. “If you wish to claim me as your sleeping partner, then that is your right.”

When silence met her announcement, she stole another glance at Fights Bear and could see the harsh set of his features had relaxed somewhat, although the arrogance still remained.

She let her voice turn pleading. “Please, Fights Bear, I ask you to forgive him. He only wished to allow me to follow the ways of my people, but he knows that white customs mean nothing to Comanches.”

The war chief said something and waved an arm imperiously at his third wife in a gesture that signaled dismissal, but Summer broke in quietly, hiding her alarm. “No, please, Short Dress! Ask him if you might stay for a moment. I won’t know how to speak to him, otherwise.”

The Mexican woman complied, and after a moment’s consideration, Fights Bear grunted.

When he indicated for Summer to sit beside him, she knelt obediently, still keeping her head bowed. “I am honored to have been chosen by so great a warrior. Since coming to this camp, I have heard countless stories of your courage and your feats in battle.”

The war chief nodded as if such flattery were only his due.

Summer ventured a tentative smile. “I would also like very much to thank you for helping to search for my sister. She means a great deal to me, and I can’t bear to lose her. Sharp Lance has already promised you horses, but I would like to show my gratitude as well.”

She held out her hand, palm up, offering him a small object. It was a lady’s watch whose gold case was ornamented with delicate filigree.

“This belonged to my mother. I would like you to have it in appreciation for helping to save my sister. Perhaps you would care to give it as a present to one of your wives.”

Accepting the watch, the Comanche chief studied it closely.

“If I may,” Summer offered. “The clasp opens like so…” Carefully she pried open the case to reveal the watch face inside.

Fights Bear grinned with genuine delight.

“The hands move with time,” Summer explained. “You wind it like this…” Demonstrating, she made the minute hand revolve, and then directed his rough fingers to do the same.

Suddenly, though, he frowned. Cautiously he held the watch to his ear, listening to the faint tick. His black eyes widening, Fights Bear dropped the watch as if it were a live coal. The shock and apprehension on his face were genuine.

When Summer picked it up and offered it to him again, he gave her a long stare before accepting it.

“It has a heart that beats!” Short Dress translated in awe.

“Well, yes,” Summer admitted, not knowing what else to say.

“It is good medicine?”

“Very good,” she prevaricated, praying he would believe her and that Comanche superstition would work to her advantage. “I have always worn it next to my own heart”—she indicated her breast where she usually kept it pinned—“and felt comforted by it.”

For a while longer Fights Bear inspected the watch without speaking. Finally, though, he nodded regally.

“It is a present worthy of a war chief,” Short Dress explained. “He will keep this for himself and use its medicine.” Fights Bear added something else gruffly. “He thanks you for your gift, Tahma.”

“I am honored that I, a mere woman, have pleased the mighty Fights Bear.” Summer gave him a brilliant smile, the kind she reserved for flirting with her beaux, and she wasn’t disappointed by the spark of interest in his dark eyes. The male ego, she suspected, was the same in any culture.

“I do not wish to be bold or impolite,” she added softly, “but if I might explain why Sharp Lance showed reluctance to give me to you, then perhaps you would lose your anger with him.”

The war chief’s pleased look faded, but he did not prevent her from continuing.