The Savage

Somewhat mollified, the old woman grunted. “Your wounds should be tended.”

Lance glanced at Summer, his face shuttered. “I thank you, Grandmother, but my wife will see to me.”

&nb

sp; Wasp Lady scowled, but nodded slowly and handed a small pouch to Summer. “It is good.”

“What did she say?” Summer asked as soon as they were alone.

“She agreed that you should be the one to tend my wounds.”

Summer looked at him blankly. “Yes…of course.” His grandmother no doubt would be more skilled at caring for injuries, but she wanted to be the one to help him. She owed Lance that much. He had fought and won a terrible battle for her, risked death for her—more than once.

They turned together, heading back toward the tepee belonging to Fights Bear. Summer found herself gazing in the direction the Antelope warriors had disappeared with Tuhsinah’s body. “Is it over finally? Have they gone for good?”

“Yes, it’s over. They won’t be back. The Comanches don’t have extended blood feuds.”

Relief shuddering through her, Summer let out her breath slowly, knowing the ending could have been very different.

They went to Fights Bear’s tepee, since Amelia was sleeping in the one they normally used. Lance sat on a buffalo hide while Summer gathered the things he told her she would need.

She knelt before him to examine his injuries. The cut on his abdomen was not too deep, but a stream of blood still ran from the wound in his side, where his rib had deflected Tuhsinah’s knife.

Summer winced and made a soft exclamation of sympathy. “It must pain you terribly.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s only a scratch. I’ve suffered far worse, believe me.”

She did believe him, to her sorrow. Lance’s life had been more difficult than anything she wanted to imagine.

She cleaned the cut on his abdomen and applied the salve his grandmother had given her. His stomach muscles contracted at her gentle touch, but Lance didn’t make a sound. Instead, he watched Summer as she concentrated on her task. She had caught her lower lip between her teeth, clenching the pink flesh so hard, he knew it had to sting. He had the sudden powerful urge to replace her teeth with his own, to nip that soft lower lip till she opened eagerly for him. He wanted to cover her body with his own, wanted her kiss, wanted her… Yet Summer didn’t even seem aware of what she was doing to him.

When she had finished with the minor cut, she looked up and smiled faintly. “That wasn’t so bad. But I’m afraid the next one is much worse…”

He had to smile back. His beautiful wife was brave enough to risk death to rescue her sister, but she couldn’t bear to see someone else in pain. “Go ahead.”

She dribbled cool water over his side, washing the ugly wound carefully and then applying the ointment. “Lance, this really should be stitched.”

“Just bandage it. It’ll be okay.”

Obediently she tore away the hem of her shirt and made a bandage to cover the wound. Then she wrapped a length of buffalo sinew around his rib cage to hold the pad in place.

When she leaned close, surrounding him with her soft scent, Lance closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“Am I hurting you?” Summer asked in concern.

Yes, she was hurting him. Her tender care was torture. The swelling in his groin had become a brutal ache. His racing blood felt hot and savage, his body throbbing with the heated lust warriors often experienced after battle.

Gently he grasped her hand and drew it down to his loincloth, letting her feel the thrusting ridge of his manhood. He heard the sharp breath she drew, saw her lips part in surprise, and his body tightened. He wanted to hear that same feminine gasp, see that same sensual reaction, when he entered her, when he filled her.

“Yes, you’re hurting me,” he said softly, hoarsely. “Ease my hurt, Summer.”

She stared at him. Was he demanding payment for what he had done for her? This was hardly the place or time to be making love. This was Fights Bear’s tepee. There were dozens of people close by, and any one of them could enter at any moment.

And yet, if Lance wanted her, she had no right to deny him. He was her husband. He had upheld his end of their bargain. He had saved her sister, at the risk of his own life; he had fought for her and won. The use of her body was a small price to pay in return. She owed him her submission, owed him whatever he wanted of her.

But truthfully, obedience wouldn’t be her foremost reason for surrendering. She wanted to make love to this hard, courageous man. Her questioning gaze slid slowly downward. She could remember vividly their violent coupling, the play of those beautiful, sculpted muscles beneath her fingers, the feel of that strong, sinewy body thrusting against hers.

A sudden flush of heat burgeoned in the lower regions of her stomach and spread throughout her body, upward to her breasts, downward to pool between her thighs. Her fingers clenched reflexively, pressing against his erection, and she saw the smoldering leap of flame in his ebony eyes. His grasp on her hand was not tight; he would have allowed her to pull away. But she didn’t. She would willingly accept Lance’s lovemaking, out of gratitude, if nothing else, but also because she wanted it.