Comanche Heart (39 page)

“Hello, Indigo,” Brandon said, stepping toward her. He had removed his tweed jacket and sported a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled back to the elbow. She had never seen him so casually attired. As his gaze swept the length of her, he ran a hand over his ribs, much like a man who had just finished a satisfying meal. “I’m glad you decided to come.” His mouth tipped in a grin. “So we can make up.”

She didn’t like the way he said “make up,” as if it were a big joke. Though she kept her gaze on Brandon, Indigo saw the others moving toward her. Their half smiles made her blood run cold. She had no idea what they had in mind, but whatever it was boded ill for her.

“Brandon?” she said softly. “Why have you brought your friends with you?”

His blue eyes filled with amusement. “They’re here to help me make up with you.”

She shifted her gaze to the other young men. Last night, Brandon had tried to put his hand under her blouse, and she had slapped him. They had parted in anger. Today, during noon break at school, he had come to the edge of the playground to ask her to meet him here this afternoon. To make up, he had claimed.

She licked her lips, her mouth dry and tacky. “You need help to apologize?”

“Honey, you’re the one who’s going to apologize,” he said softly. “And you’re going to do it on your knees. No Indian slut slaps me and gets away with it.”

Indigo finally pried her feet from the dirt. She retreated a step, shocked by the name he had called her. He made her sound like a dirty thing, something so beneath him she wasn’t even deserving of his contempt. Hurt cut through her. She had loved him so much. And she had believed all the pretty things he said. Now she realized all of it had been lies.

Falling back on the fierce pride her father had instilled in her, Indigo swallowed the urge to cry and lifted her chin. “I’ll go on my knees to no man.”

Brandon took another step closer. “Oh, you’ll get on your knees. When in the presence of your betters, that’s where you belong. You think too highly of yourself, Indigo. God created squaws for one thing, and you’re going to learn what it is. You didn’t really believe a white man would have any other interest in you, did you?”

One of the other young men laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. She whirled to run and cannoned into a sturdy chest. The impact dazed her. Before she fell, strong arms cinched around her. Dimly she realized there had been someone coming up behind her. There must be five of them. His arms clamped hers to her sides, bruising her, cutting off her breath.

“Who-ee! Isn’t she an armful of sweetness?” Lifting her feet off the ground, he swung her around, glancing toward Brandon. “No wonder you’ve been sniffing her trail. She doesn’t even look like a breed. And the way she’s put together, who’d guess she’s so young?”

“A drop of Indian blood is all it takes,” Brandon replied.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I’ve always had a secret hankering to have me a white gal with a little fight in her. This is probably as close as I’ll ever get.”

Blinking to see, Indigo focused on the face of the man who held her, a dark face, one she recognized. Heath Mallory from Jacksonville. She’d seen him attending mass there with his family, a nice, mannerly young man. Only now his face was harsh and menacing, his smile cruel. She tried to shove away from him, but he held her fast. To her horror, she felt him loosen one arm from around her to slide a hand under her leather blouse and chemise. Bile rose in her throat.

“Don’t,” she cried. “Take your hand off me!”

He groped for her breast. She worked one arm free and elbowed him in the mouth with all her strength. The sickening crunch made blood spurt. His blue eyes grew wild. With a curse he pushed her away, then backhanded her, his knuckles catching her along the cheek. Black spots bounced before her eyes.

Before Indigo could regain her balance, Brandon grabbed her from behind and threw her to the ground. In a flying leap he was upon her, his hands seizing her wrists. His weight crushed the breath from her. Even if she escaped him, there were five of them, and she knew she didn’t stand a chance against them.

Though she tried to fight it off, panic engulfed her. She writhed and screamed, praying someone might, by some miracle, hear her. She kicked and bucked. Despite her struggles, Brandon managed to get a hand under her blouse. She felt his fingers close on her breast. In that horrible, endless moment, she knew they were going to rape her, not because she had done anything to deserve it, but because Comanche blood flowed in her veins. She didn’t know exactly what rape entailed, but she had heard enough whispers to guess it would be horrible. The panic within her grew, blinding her, blocking out all rational thought.

Then, almost as if he were beside her, Indigo heard her father’s voice.
Never count on strength of arm in a fight, Indigo. Use the skills I’ve taught you. Stay calm. Take measure of your enemy. Then attack his weak points.
She closed her eyes and forced the panic back, making herself go limp.

Brandon laughed, his fingers pinching hard, punishing her. “Now here’s a smart squaw. She knows what she’s good for. Don’t you, Indigo?”

Slowly Indigo opened her eyes. She met Brandon’s gaze, blocking out the touch of his hand. Mistaking her limpness for surrender, he lowered his head and ground his mouth against hers. She suffered the kiss for a moment, waiting, and when he angled his head just right, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip, clenching her jaws together with all her strength.

Brandon snapped taut, unable to pull away without ripping his lip. A low whine erupted from him. She bit down harder. He roared, releasing her wrists to grab her head. The moment he did, Indigo parted her jaws so he could back off, then stiffened her thumbs and jabbed at his eyes. He yelped and reared back, clasping his palms over his face. She slithered out from under him, the taste of his blood in her mouth as she scrambled to her knees.

The other four formed a circle and converged on her. She whipped her knife from under her skirt, aware that Heath Mallory was behind her. “Come on, you
tosi
scum,” she hissed, brandishing the gleaming blade. “Which of you wants me first? Let me show you what a squaw is good for.”

“Oh, Jesus, my eyes! My eyes!” Brandon knelt nearby, holding his face, rocking wildly.

Indigo knew she hadn’t jabbed him hard enough to blind him. Not that her father hadn’t taught her how. She quickly took stock of her opponents, struggling against her fear. There had been one constant in all her father’s teachings: panic had no place in battle.

Take measure of your enemy.
All four of the remaining men outweighed her, and though none had the musculature of her father or Uncle Swift, her only hope of fighting them off was to use her head. She swayed lightly on her feet, side to side, keeping Heath in sight as best she could, the knife poised on her palm.

Heath lunged. Indigo whipped sideways and slashed. The tip of the knife caught his upper arm. He squeaked and leaped back, clasping the wound, blood oozing through his white shirt and between his fingers. “The little bitch cut me!”

“Come closer,
tosi tivo,
and I’ll slit your throat,” she warned.

One of the others, a lanky redhead, crouched and ran toward her. Indigo scooped dirt and threw it in his eyes, rolling out of his path and leaping to her feet as he dived and hit the ground, his target gone. She whirled, ready for the others. Pride rose in her throat, hot and scalding, making her nape prickle. As she leaned slightly forward at the waist, hands working the air, her feet in constant motion, she wished for a fleeting instant that her father could see her. From the time she was little, he had assured her that size gave a man no edge, and now she was proving it.

Renewed confidence filled her as the remaining three moved in on her, their eyes glittering, their faces shiny with sweat.
Let them come.
Though she was frightened, the knife rested in her hand, as familiar and as easy to wield as part of her body. Though she hated to take a life, she wouldn’t hesitate if they leaped on her. Not even her mother’s God would condemn her for defending herself.

“Come and get me,” she whispered, beckoning a black-haired youth forward. “Come on! Where has your courage gone? Step closer. . . .”

His face drew taut and drained of color. His gaze shifted to the knife. “You haven’t got the guts to kill me.”

Indigo swallowed. “We will see.”

Just as she spoke, something hit her from behind. She glimpsed a blue shirt and realized it was Brandon. She staggered and fell under his weight, nearly losing her grip on the knife. They rolled. He came out on top, pinning her beneath him. Not taking time to think it through, Indigo slashed with the blade, nicking his ear. He roared and jerked to one side. She made a fist in the front of his shirt and shoved the knife against his throat. The instant he felt the cold metal, he froze, his bloodshot eyes widening on hers.

“Don’t move,” she said. “Don’t even breathe, Brandon.” She saw the others circling. “Tell them to get back if you value your life.”

Brandon’s larynx bobbed against the sharp edge of the blade. Blood streamed from his torn bottom lip. “You heard her,” he whimpered. “Get back! She really means it!”

“Of course I mean it,” she whispered. “I’m a savage, remember? A squaw!”

His body began shaking, a horrible, uncontrollable shaking. Indigo knew the feeling. Only moments ago she had been as terrified. She felt no compassion for him. If he had succeeded in his plan, she would be spread-eagled by now and suffering their abuse.

“Go on!” she yelled at the others. “Get back!”

She didn’t want to take her eyes off Brandon, but to be certain his friends were retreating, she knew she must. Tensing, she darted her gaze left, then right. She could see no one, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone standing beyond her line of vision, ready to jump on her. Still, she had no choice but to take a gamble. Lying there, giving them time to think of some way to disarm her, would be a grave mistake.

“All right, Brandon, get up,” she instructed. “No sudden moves.”

He inched back. She kept the knife pressed to his throat.

“You’ll pay for this,” he whispered. “I swear to God you’ll pay. I’ll make you crawl. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll make you crawl.”

Indigo rose to her knees, then to her feet. “I’ll never crawl for you or any man, Brandon Marshall. Go back to Boston and your white world if that’s what you want from a woman.”

“Woman? You? You’re a squaw.” He touched his torn lip, then his ear, his hand quivering. “You’ve scarred me for life, you little bitch! You’ll pay for this. That’s a promise.”

Indigo threw a glance at the others, then broke into a run. She was a long way from town, and she knew they would pursue her. Her moccasined feet touched lightly on the ground, the toned muscle in her legs lending her speed as she darted between the trees. Behind her she heard boots pounding the earth. Tears filled her eyes, blinding her. She dashed them away with her leather sleeve.
Indian slut.
The words tore at her.

She had to get away before they caught up with her. She pictured her father’s face, her mother’s, Chase’s. All her life she had been surrounded by love. She had witnessed racial hatred, but only from a distance. Now she’d had a taste of it firsthand. She remembered Brandon’s touch. Shame rose in her throat. She was nothing to him! He had never loved her. He’d only wanted to use her.

Their footsteps came closer, closer. Indigo increased her speed, leaping over bushes, running against low-hanging limbs, her lungs whining for breath. Their legs were longer than hers. Her hair fell across her eyes, a blinding veil of brown and gold. Her foot caught on something, and she hurtled to the ground, the impact stunning her. Gasping, clawing her way to her feet, she searched wildly for her knife.

The crashing of their footsteps burst through the trees behind her. Abandoning her search for the weapon, she plunged ahead through the brush, panic making her forget everything her father had taught her. The thrumming of their footsteps came closer and closer, so close she could hear them breathing.

 

Amy went over the addition on Swift’s paper, acutely aware of his shoulder brushing her bodice as she leaned over him to see. Thus far she had managed to keep his mind on academics, but she sensed he had other pursuits planned for when they completed today’s lesson. The thought made her nervous, and she found it difficult to concentrate. When he looked at her, she felt shy and awkward. She guessed that he was recalling last night, her nakedness and the shameless way she had responded to him. The lambent gleam in his eyes made her pulse skitter. He wanted her that way again, and he wasn’t making any secret of it.

A hot flush crept up her neck. Last night it had taken all her courage to initiate their lovemaking. Now that the worst of her fears had been faced, Swift was playing by an entirely new set of rules. She no longer knew what to expect of him. He clearly didn’t feel it was necessary now to restrain himself. And he seemed to find her discomfiture amusing.

It wasn’t amusing to Amy. If they were going to make love later, she didn’t want to think about it until it happened. Swift’s little hints and knowing grins completely unraveled her.

As if he read her mind, he tipped his dark head back so it rested against her bosom. “I’m tired of adding,” he said huskily.

A quivery sensation attacked her belly. She avoided his heated gaze. “We haven’t much more to do.”

He turned his face toward her, grazing his teeth over the peak of one breast, setting her senses afire even through the layers of cloth. “I want you.”

Her legs went weak. He lifted a hand to the buttons of her dress. “Either go into the bedroom with me or find yourself being undressed out here.” A button flicked from its hole. “I’ve waited as long as I’m going to wait.” Another button came undone beneath his expert fingers. “I’ll make love to you on the table. I swear I will.”