Lance grinned. “Something like that. I didn’t tell him he was in the presence of royalty. He wouldn’t understand that you consider yourself a princess, or why a warrior would allow himself to be commanded by a mere woman, especially his wife.”
Resenting his levity, Summer tossed her head proudly. “You have never in your life let anyone command you, Lance Calder, let alone me. And I am not a mere woman!”
“No, that you’re not.”
His rusty chuckle raised her hackles, but at least it served to stiffen her spine and make her momentarily forget her fear.
Which, Summer realized nearly an hour later as she silently seethed, was no doubt exactly what Lance had intended all along.
Her first sight of a Comanche village both impressed and intimidated her. Just as the scout had indicated, a few hour’s ride north through the hills brought them to the camp of Fights Bear.
When a group of young boys raced out on their ponies to meet them, shrieking and waving their bows and lances, Summer went stiff with dread, but Lance greeted several of them by name and made them laugh with something he said. Turning, the youths provided them an escort into the camp.
The village itself was nestled between two rugged hills and seemed to stretch forever. Scores of pale, conical tepees covered with sun-bleached buffalo hide stood laid out in a square, the curling smoke from the cooking fires rising to disappear into the blue skies overhead. An immense herd of horses grazed in the rich grass beyond the camp, tended by a few boys.
The noise and activity within the camp held Summer’s attention: naked children frolicking and playing games, scrawny dogs scavenging for bones, women clad in buckskin garments hard at work over the cooking pots, ancient men smoking their long pipes at the entrances to their lodges, fierce-looking warriors standing proudly at attention as the visitors passed. For all its activity, however, the camp didn’t have a look of prosperity about it. The racks that should have held strips of drying buffalo meat were mostly empty, while the dirty faces of the children had a lean look of hunger.
She and Lance were the subject of many curious eyes as they rode toward the center of the village. More than a few people offered greetings to Lance, Summer noted with relief. Perhaps he’d been mistaken when he’d said he might not be welcomed with open arms.
In the center of the camp was a clearing, ringed by the lodges of the most important leaders. Lance came to a halt before one of the tepees, where a Comanche warrior stood waiting, his arms crossed belligerently over his bare chest.
The defiant expression on his face, even more than his features, told Summer this was Lance’s half brother. It held the same damn-your-eyes arrogance she’d seen so often on her husband’s face. The physical resemblance was striking, as well. Lance’s coloring was lighter, his features leaner and younger and less weathered, but they had the same high forehead, prominent cheekbones, sharp nose, and strong chin. The same fascinating, forbidden appeal.
It startled her, how attractive she found his brother. Fights Bear was a brutal Comanche, someone she should by rights hate and fear. Was she suddenly developing a passion for savage-looking, dangerous men? Or only those who resembled her husband?
The grim look on Fights Bear’s face didn’t diminish when Lance raised his hand and said something in Comanche that Summer assumed was a greeting. When Lance said a few more words, this brother’s fierce black eyes turned on her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Lowering her own eyes politely, Summer tried to look appropriately meek and unassuming. Since Lance hadn’t introduced her, she assumed it would be beneath the dignity of a war chief to formally recognize a woman, especially a white one.
When Fights Bear finally nodded and made a gruff reply, Lance turned to Summer and murmured in an undertone, “We’re going to get down and eat. It’s a Comanche law to offer hospitality to anyone who seeks it, so he’s going to accept us as his guests tonight.”
“Will he help us find Amelia?” Summer asked anxiously.
“I haven’t asked him yet. It would be bad manners to talk before we’re fed.”
Lance swung down off his horse then, but left her to dismount on her own—perhaps, Summer suspected, because it would hurt his consequence as a warrior to be seen helping a mere woman. When he told her to bring the two pouches that contained presents, she didn’t protest, not wishing to give Fights Bear any reason to turn them away. His reception already worried her. If his fierce expression was anything to judge by, his attitude toward Lance held more than reserve—indeed, almost an edge of hostility.
At the moment the two brothers were eyeing each other in grim silence. With the two men on level ground, Summer could see Fights Bear was several inches shorter than Lance, yet he possessed a commanding air of authority that she wouldn’t want to cross.
It was only when Fights Bear barked something to the women standing behind him that Summer paid them any heed. Two of the women were obviously Comanche, but to her surprise, the third had features that appeared Mexican.
Fights Bear turned and disappeared into his tepee, and Lance followed. When Summer hesitated uncertainly, the woman who looked Mexican offered a shy smile and motioned for Summer to enter after the men.
The interior was dim, but when her eyes adjusted, she could see the dwelling was crowded with belongings. Hide bedding, willow-rod backrests, wooden and horn utensils, and parfleches made of buffalo hide nearly obscured the earthen
floor, while weapons and other various objects hung from the slanting walls. A ring of stone occupied the center as a fireplace, but the hearth was cold—Summer assumed because it was too hot to cook inside.
Fights Bear had seated himself at the rear facing the entrance, with Lance on his right. Summer sat where Lance indicated, beside and slightly behind him.
In only a few moments one of the Comanche women entered with food. She served the men first, then handed Summer a leaf that wrapped a half-raw, half-charred strip of buffalo meat so hot that it burned her fingers. When she eyed it uncertainly, she found Lance giving her a stern glance over his shoulder.
“Eat it,” he ordered harshly. “And look like you enjoy it.”
Obediently Summer smiled and took a bite, finding the meat tough, stringy, and unsalted. She forced it down, though, in silence.
When they were finished with the scant meal, Lance reached for the bags Summer had carried in and began to speak in Comanche.
“I have brought gifts for you and your wives, my brother.”
Fights Bear gave them a summary glance and nodded. “I accept. But you did not seek me out only to offer me presents, Kanap-Cheetu.”