The wind had picked up mightily while he’d been inside, and a gust buffeted him as he climbed to his feet. He could barely see Amelia. She was crawling on her hands and knees away from the tepee with blind determination, and her pitiful efforts at escape made Lance’s throat tighten.
You’ll get away, I promise you, he vowed silently.
She gave a cry of pain when he scooped her up in his arms, but he didn’t dare take the time to see to her wounds. Another gust of wind brought a burst of rain slashing at his face, at her naked body, but Lance blessed the onslaught and the protection it offered. He tightened his grip on Amelia and ran through the camp.
She lay pliant and unprotesting in his arms, and made no effort even to shield herself from the downpour. With a silent oath, Lance pressed her face against his chest. Her spirit had been broken by the weeks of abuse, he knew, and she no longer had the strength to care what happened to her.
His two horses stood where he’d left them, pawing nervously at the ground. Setting Amelia gently on her feet, he unwrapped a blanket from his bedroll and drew it around her naked body, to cover her shivering skin. The wool became soaked in seconds, but at least it would provide a measure of modesty and protect her from the stinging chill of the rain.
She swayed as Lance looked down at her. With her scraggling hair plastered to her face, her pale face streaming with rain, she bore no resemblance to the strong, haughty woman who had always looked down her elegant nose at him. He couldn’t afford the luxury of pity, though. Not yet at any rate.
A peal of thunder split the night as he tossed Amelia up on his horse and wrapped her fingers in the mane. She would have to ride with him, even if it proved a strain for the animal to carry them both, for she was too weak to sit a horse by herself.
Collecting his lance and buffalo hide shield, Lance gathered the reins of the other mount and vaulted up behind Amelia. Solicitously he tucked the slipping blanket more securely around her body and settled her back against his chest. Then with a nudge to his horse’s flanks, he set out with his prize through the storm.
The journey to his brother’s camp with Amelia was nothing like the one he’d made last week with her sister.
Amelia never said a single lucid word, not in protest or pain, and her eyes remained glassy and dazed, as if she were in a trance, beyond fear and exhaustion.
The storm broke by morning, and the sun came out to glisten on the pristine prairie hills. Lance stopped long enough to give Amelia his dry, fringed buckskin shirt to wear and some dried meat to eat. She stared at the buffalo jerky for a full minute before she tore into it ravenously with her teeth, wolfing it down as if she were starving—which no doubt she was.
She seemed to have no idea what to do with the herbal ointment his grandmother had made, so Lance smeared it on her cuts and burns for her, pretending not to notice her nakedness or the mewling sounds of pain she made when he touched the oozing wounds.
Her body resembled his wife’s, with firm, high breasts like Summer’s, the same slender limbs and curvaceous figure. But Amelia’s smooth magnolia skin had been ravaged by fire and sun, by fists and lash, and her ribs showed starkly beneath the bruised flesh.
Seeing her like that, Lance felt the deep resentment he’d cherished for a lifetime against Amelia and white women like her shatter. He could find nothing in his heart but pity for the shell of the woman she’d once been.
He tried to spare her as much exertion as possible during the exhausting ride, but he didn’t dare pause for long, even to rest the horses, for fear Tuhsinah was in pursuit. There was no time to sleep. Amelia dozed fitfully in his arms at times, but Lance recited ciphers learned at his mother’s side to keep from nodding off while mounted. After having remained awake and alert for much of the past four days, he was straining his own physical resources to the limit. His burning eyes felt as if they’d been scratched with sand, and his aching muscles felt heavy and useless. Yet his own exhaustion didn’t matter. There would be time enough to sleep once he had Amelia safe. It was possible, perhaps, that Tuhsinah would let her go without challenge, but far more likely that he was hot on their trail, seeking retribution.
It was the following afternoon when they neared his brother’s camp. Fights Bear apparently had scouts out looking for them, for the war chief himself rode out to receive them.
At the sight of the approaching horde of Comanches, Amelia showed the first sign of fear Lance had witnessed in her, and cringed in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly. “They mean you no harm.”
He didn’t know if his reassurance meant anything to her, but her tense body relaxed and her eyes glazed over again, as if she had retreated back into her trance.
Fights Bear drew his horse to a plunging halt and, with a glance at the white woman, nodded in satisfaction. “Welcome, brother,” he said, his tone carrying approval. “It makes my heart glad to see you know how to take care of your family.”
Lance grinned wearily. “No gladder than mine.”
As one, the warriors turned their horses back to the camp and provided an impressive escort for Lance and his burden. Word of their arrival had doubtless spread through the camp, for as they neared the sea of tepees, Lance saw Summer running across the grass toward him. His own heart skipped a beat and settled into an accelerated rhythm, until he remembered it was her sister she was so concerned about. With unwitting bitterness he wondered if Summer would ever come running so eagerly to greet him.
He drew his horse to a halt as she reached him. Summer stopped abruptly, her hands
clasped tightly before her. “Thank God, you’re back,” she breathed, before her gaze froze on her sister’s face. Tears streamed down her own face as she whispered uncertainly, “Amelia?”
Her sister made no response, merely stared unseeingly at the ground.
“She doesn’t know what’s happening to her right now,” Lance said quietly. “But she’ll be okay with proper rest and care.”
Summer made a choked sound of distress and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob, but she didn’t refute his judgment.
“I’d better keep her till we reach the lodge,” Lance added. “She’s too weak to walk.”
Unwillingly Summer nodded in agreement. Turning, she walked close beside Lance’s horse, her eyes never leaving her sister’s face.
When they reached the tepee that belonged to Short Dress, Lance slid off his horse and reached up for Amelia, lowering her carefully to the ground.