Comanche Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

however. They’d been left in the center of the camp to dread their futures.
    When the camp began to stir, she could hear faint voices, murmured laughter, the sounds of human beings rising to face the new day. Realization knifed through her that to the Comanche, she and the others were unimportant matters to be disposed of at leisure. It was as if they were no more important than the cattle they’d brought back, or the horses. And to the Comanche, she supposed, they weren’t. Women were dispensable, especially captive women.
    With her head tilted back and the sun behind her, Deborah saw the man who’d spoken to her the night before leave a cone-shaped tent decorated with strange drawings on the exterior. He ducked out the lowered flap and tied it back, then turned and stretched lazily. Her breath caught.
    He was a magnificent animal, she had to admit that, radiating power and confidence and muscled fitness. There was a strange beauty about him that made her feel queer inside, a warm sort of breathlessness that she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but neither was it welcome. It was too disturbing.
    She’d stared at him too long, because he looked up and saw her. A faint smile slanted his harsh mouth into a replica of humor, but Deborah thought that this man must rarely laugh. He looked every inch the brutal, savage warrior she’d heard roamed the western plains. Even the name Comanche struck fear into the hearts of those who heard it. LuEmma had been right.
    She should have listened to her.
    Deborah turned her head away, her chin still held high. The rough wooden post behind her dug painfully against her spine, and she shifted to a more comfortable position. The other captive women began to stir, waking slowly, some sobbing as they realized it had not been a horrible nightmare after all.

    Hawk saw her turn her head in a disdainful, haughty gesture. A faint smile tucked the corners of his eyes for a moment, but his lips quickly settled into a straight line. He pivoted on his heel and strode toward the ribbon of water that lay just to the east of the camp.
    He stripped and plunged into the icy stream, then rubbed vigorously at his body with a handful of grass to scrub his skin. When he left, dripping on the grassy banks, he shook his head as a dog would do, flinging water in all directions. His long hair lay wet and cool on his shoulders. It was invigorating. Cooking smells wafted on the breeze from the village, and he tied his breechcloth on again, tucking his longknife into the sheath at his lean waist. When he walked back into the village, Hawk saw that the girl was gone.
    With an unhurried stride, he switched his direction toward Spotted Pony’s tipi. The girl was there, her body rigid with revulsion, her eyes wide with numb fear, and her face as pale as mountain snow. She was quiet; no sound passed her lips, but Hawk could see her mouth ever so slightly quivering with a suppressed scream.
    Spotted Pony turned from his scrutiny of the girl as Hawk approached, and the glitter in his black eyes indicated he knew why he’d come. Slightly shorter than Hawk, the warrior was well muscled, with long legs and arms, his torso powerful. He had many battle scars flecking his dark skin. Spotted Pony was a powerful adversary, but so was Hawk. He nodded.
    “Ahó. I am honored that you visit me,” Spotted Pony said in greeting, and Hawk nodded back.
    He could see the slight greed gathering in Spotted Pony’s eyes, and knew immediately that he understood the reason for his visit. Hawk came straight to the point.
    “How many horses for the white woman?” Spotted Pony pretended surprise. “You want her?” he asked with a wide-eyed expression of amazement. “But I stole her, and planned to keep her. In spite of such skinny arms, she might be useful. At least she does not chatter like a crow.”
    “Horses are more useful.” Hawk did not look at the white woman. He kept his gaze on Spotted Pony, his tone flat