The Savage

After that, Amelia cried often. She wouldn’t speak of her ordeal yet, but frequently she would let loose a flood of what Summer hoped would be healing tears.

Short Dress was not as sympathetic to the white woman’s fear. Once she shook her head contemptuously and muttered, “She should show more courage.”

Her head snapping up, Summer almost retorted that Short Dress would not be so heartless if she’d endured what Amelia had—until she remembered that the Mexican woman had doubtless suffered such horrors when she was taken captive. She bit back the remark and settled for a milder defense, saying only that tears would help Amelia recover.

“You should take her home,” Short Dress observed pragmatically. “She should be among her own people. And for your husband’s sake as well, it is good if you leave this camp.”

Summer eyed her in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“The People understand why Sharp Lance killed Hanging from the Belt, but they do not like it. It is not good that he killed one of us over a white captive. It would be better if he left.”

Summer’s frown turned from one of puzzlement to dismay. She had thought the Comanches pleased when he won the fight, but she could see why she might have been mistaken. They were proud of Lance’s skills and courage, but resented his motivation for usin

g them, for siding with the whites against them. Had Lance burned his bridges with his own people to help her? If so, then she owed him an even greater debt of gratitude.

The Mexican woman started to leave, but Summer remembered a remark Lance had made the other day and stopped her for a moment. “Short Dress? Lance said something in Comanche to me recently. It sounded like…ka-ma-kune. Do you know what it means?”

The Mexican woman suddenly beamed. “Kamakuna. It means ‘beloved’ in our language. It is a term of honor and affection.”

She left Summer with a profusion of distressing thoughts to dwell over.

Beloved. Had Lance truly called her that? Did he really love her? More complex a question, what did she feel for him in return? Could she love a man she didn’t understand, a man she had once been half-afraid of?

She didn’t fear him anymore, that much was certain. And much of her anger toward him had softened. Her resentment at being forced into marriage had vanished the instant he had brought her dazed, pale sister into the camp. Her gratitude toward him was overwhelming, blocking out any of the more negative feelings she had once cherished toward him.

And she was attracted physically to him; that was also entirely too true. His touch made her tremble, his kisses made her burn. She went wild in his arms when he made love to her, acting like an unprincipled wanton, blazing with a passion she had never dreamed herself capable of.

But love? She didn’t think so. And it would take a good deal of objective private reflection to sort through the tangled bittersweet, complicated emotions she really felt for Lance.

One thing more was certain, however. She was ashamed of her sister’s reaction toward him.

The next morning when Lance entered the tepee, Amelia screamed and started crying. “Go away, get away from me! Leave me be! Summer, make him leave!”

Lance froze and, with a grim glance at Summer, backed abruptly out the entrance.

Mortified that he should be treated so badly after all that he had done for them, Summer jumped up and followed him outside. She caught up to him as he was preparing to mount his horse.

“Lance, I’m sorry! Amelia doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he stared into the distance. “I know. But I could take it better if she hadn’t always treated me like I’ve no right to come near her. I wasn’t going to attack her.”

“Of course not. But she’s terrified of men, Lance. Especially Comanche men. Please, don’t be angry at her. She was never like this before. You know what she’s been through. She doesn’t realize yet what you did for her. She’ll come around.” When he remained silent, Summer placed an imploring hand on his arm. “I don’t want your feelings to be hurt.”

“A half-breed isn’t supposed to have feelings,” he said harshly, the pent-up anger of years goading him.

“Lance, please…”

The pleading look in her emerald eyes whittled the edge off his anger, and his reply wasn’t as gruff as he’d intended. “I came to tell you I’m going hunting with Fights Bear, and I may be away all night. It may be the last time I have with him for a while.”

“Yes, well…” She smiled at him tentatively. “I hope you enjoy your time with your brother.”

His gaze arrested at her sweet expression, and for a minute Lance forgot what he’d intended to say. Her damned sister could scream at him all she liked as long as Summer looked at him that way, offering that soft, tender smile that made him feel as if he were the only man in the world. It was a female ploy she had developed with practice, of course, but still he couldn’t help falling for it.

“Will you be okay here?” he asked finally.

“Yes, certainly. Don’t worry about me.”

When Summer smiled again to reassure him, he felt his heart trip inside like a newborn, stumbling colt. Without volition, he reached up and stroked the pale curve of her cheekbone. The circles still remained beneath her eyes, dusky smudges of weariness and strain, but her beautiful face looked less haunted than it had anytime during the past month.