Lance’s gaze turned solemn. “I promise you, princess, I won’t return without her.”
Understanding his vow, Summer looked away. He would rescue Amelia or die trying. A hard knot of fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. Was she perhaps sending Lance to his death? Did she have a right to ask him to risk his life for her sister’s sake?
“It…could be dangerous for you.”
“Maybe. But I’m used to danger. For a half-breed, just being alive is dangerous. I quit worrying about it a long time ago. You’ll be all right while I’m gone?” he asked, changing the subject. “My grandmother will look after you.”
Summer tried to summon a smile at the thought of that witch-woman caring for her. “I’ll be fine. I…I just hope you come back safely.”
Lance grinned at her, making her realize he was relishing the challenge of the task ahead. “I intend to, princess. You’re not going to get rid of me that easy.”
The drums began shortly. A dance would be held that evening to send the warriors off on their mission, but they would leave in the dead of night, so as not to incur bad medicine.
Lance collected arms, lasso, food, clothing, and horses, then put on his paint and dressed for the occasion, wearing his finest trumpery in addition to his usual long breechclout and fringed leggings and moccasins. With the stripes of red paint streaking his cheekbones and forehead, and the necklace of bear claws adorning his bare chest, he looked so similar to the other Comanche warriors that Summer scarcely recognized him.
Just before sundown he went to join his brother. Fights Bear mounted his horse and paraded through the village to enlist volunteers to join his party. Lance rode double behind him—a distinction, Short Dress informed Summer, reserved for men who had performed the honorable act of carrying a wounded confederate out of battle danger, the Comanche way of giving public recognition for meritorious service.
The dance began after dark. The people of the village gathered around a fire to sing songs and make medicine. Only warriors leaving on the raid could dance, but they were aided by a woman partner. Wasp Lady bestowed the honor upon Lance since Summer knew nothing of the customs.
The spectators formed a circle outside the dancers and joined in the singing, some shaking gourd rattles, others shouting encouragement and chanting.
The primitive proceedings disquieted and fascinated Summer. The warriors performed when they wished to, unless they were ordered to dance by the whip wielder, who seemed to be in charge of the celebration. She watched with wide eyes as Lance joined the ritual, unable to take her eyes away from the lean, hard body leaping and gyrating to the pulsing beat of the drums. Once, after he had sat down, she caught him watching her in return, but his expression was totally unreadable.
Nearly an hour of the wild revelry had passed before one old warrior approached the drummer and announced that he wished to tell a story. When the crowd fell silent, he recited the details of a coup he had gained and took an oath that what he told was true. For Summer’s benefit, Short Dress translated in a low voice:
“Sun, Father, you saw me do it. Earth, Mother, you saw me do it. Do not permit me to live until another season if I speak falsely.”
At the conclusion, he received an enthusiastic ovation and the noise rose to a cacophony: barbarous whoops, beating drums, shaking rattles, stamping feet, and clapping hands.
Then the dancing resumed and the performance began all over again. Eventually, well into the evening, Fights Bear, who was to lead the party, rose and spoke to the crowd of the necessity of the mission and its aim, to ransom the sister of Sharp Lance’s wife. Solemnly he appealed to his followers to display their accustomed courage while on the mission, that their people might be proud of them and not consider them cowards. When the drums and singing resumed, Fights Bear silently and without ceremony left the dance.
Short Dress told Summer he would say farewell to his family and ride to an appointed meeting place outside the camp to await the warriors who would accompany him. Lance would do the same.
“Go now,” Short Dress said, giving Summer a push toward their lodge. “Return to your tepee and he will come to you. A warrior and a maiden must not be seen leaving together.”
She made her way through the darkness to the tepee she shared with Lance. His horses stood picketed outside, ready for the journey. Ducking inside the lodge, Summer stirred the coals to give herself something to do.
She had her back to Lance when he entered, but she turned slowly to face him, her hands clasped to keep them from trembling. Sometime during the long hours of celebration, she had realized that she might never see him again. The expression on his features was unfathomable in the golden light from the fire, but she could see he was searching hers intently, as if trying to divine her thoughts.
“Lance,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, then stopped in confusion, unsure how to say farewell.
He seemed to know. His eyes were hard and hungry as he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the hot, musky maleness of his skin as he lowered his head.
His kiss was deep and hard, branding her with his ownership. He tasted of longing, harshly denied, of need, unwillingly leashed. Yet she welcomed his hunger as it forced out the fear inside her.
When he hauled her closer, bending her back over his arm, she responded willingly, surrendering to his fierceness, her fingers digging into the firm, vibrant muscle of his shoulders, clinging tightly, as if they might join their bodies with sheer pressure. His crushing embrace took her breath away, and yet she wanted it, wanted him. She knew Lance felt the same way, for the physical evidence was irrefutable. He was hard against her, the ridge of his manhood pushing against her softness even through their layers of clothing. He wanted her, and the knowledge set her heart thundering.
Yet with an abrupt movement, he broke off the fierce kiss and held her away.
Breathing hard, she searched his dark, painted face. “Please, Lance…take care.”
Lance’s harsh expression softened. Even if her concern was mainly for her sister, he could pretend it was for him. “I will.”
And he would, Lance vowed silently. He would return. He wasn’t about to get himself killed. Not now, when fate had given him a chance to fulfill his dreams, to win everything he had ever wanted, to fill the empty place in his soul.
Regretfully he forced himself to release Summer, to step back. He felt the savage ache of longing as he gazed at her upturned face, beautiful in the firelight, and her wet, passion-bruised lips still trembling from his kiss.
Lance cursed under his breath. If he didn’t leave at once, he would never find the willpower. With one last look he gathered his shield and lance and left the tepee.