Even at a distance he recognized the way she sat a horse, the tilt of her head. He couldn't believe she had come so far and so quickly. Fate had indeed led her in a circle back to him.
Ordering Blackbird back to his mother's lodge, Hunter increased his pace, the dread of leaving his people forgotten. Destiny. A month ago he had railed against it. Now he wasn't certain how he felt. Resentful, yet pleased. And relieved. Deep in the quiet places of his heart, he sensed the rightness.
Fate. Today it had brought him a woman, a woman like no other, with skin as white as a night moon, hair like honey, and eyes like the summer sky. woman, and this time she came freely.
From the hilltop Loretta watched the lone man walking toward her from the village. Relief flooded through her when she recognized Hunter's loose-hipped, graceful stride. She crossed herself quickly and murmured thanks to the Holy Mother for her intercession. A dozen emotions surging through her, she urged Friend down the embankment.
Hunter met her halfway across the flat. As Loretta rode toward him, she couldn't stop staring. Even though she had been away from him only a short while, she had forgotten how Indian he looked. How savage. He moved with the fluid strength of a well-muscled animal, his shoulders, arms, and chest in constant motion, a bronzed play of tendon and flesh. The wind whipped his hair about his face. He wasn't wearing any breeches, just a breechcloth and knee-high moccasins. She drew Friend to a halt and swallowed a rush of anxiety. Aunt Rachel was right. He was a Comanche, first, last, and always. Yet she had come to him.
"Blue Eyes?"
He slowed his pace as he got closer, his indigo eyes traveling the length of her, taking in every detail of her dress, from the high neckline down to the bit of petticoat and black high-topped shoes showing below the hem of her full skirts. His eyes warmed with the familiar gleam of laughter that had once irritated her so much.
She fastened her gaze on his face and, resisting the need to blurt out her troubles, searched her mind for the appropriate Comanche greeting, determined to begin this encounter on the right note. "
," she said, lifting her right hand.
He caught the stallion's bridle and stepped close. He was so tall that he didn't have to tip his head back to see her face. With a smile in his voice, he replied, "Hello."
Loretta caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stop its trembling. How like him to remember word of greeting. He her friend. She had been right to come here.
Ordering Blackbird back to his mother's lodge, Hunter increased his pace, the dread of leaving his people forgotten. Destiny. A month ago he had railed against it. Now he wasn't certain how he felt. Resentful, yet pleased. And relieved. Deep in the quiet places of his heart, he sensed the rightness.
Fate. Today it had brought him a woman, a woman like no other, with skin as white as a night moon, hair like honey, and eyes like the summer sky. woman, and this time she came freely.
From the hilltop Loretta watched the lone man walking toward her from the village. Relief flooded through her when she recognized Hunter's loose-hipped, graceful stride. She crossed herself quickly and murmured thanks to the Holy Mother for her intercession. A dozen emotions surging through her, she urged Friend down the embankment.
Hunter met her halfway across the flat. As Loretta rode toward him, she couldn't stop staring. Even though she had been away from him only a short while, she had forgotten how Indian he looked. How savage. He moved with the fluid strength of a well-muscled animal, his shoulders, arms, and chest in constant motion, a bronzed play of tendon and flesh. The wind whipped his hair about his face. He wasn't wearing any breeches, just a breechcloth and knee-high moccasins. She drew Friend to a halt and swallowed a rush of anxiety. Aunt Rachel was right. He was a Comanche, first, last, and always. Yet she had come to him.
"Blue Eyes?"
He slowed his pace as he got closer, his indigo eyes traveling the length of her, taking in every detail of her dress, from the high neckline down to the bit of petticoat and black high-topped shoes showing below the hem of her full skirts. His eyes warmed with the familiar gleam of laughter that had once irritated her so much.
She fastened her gaze on his face and, resisting the need to blurt out her troubles, searched her mind for the appropriate Comanche greeting, determined to begin this encounter on the right note. "
," she said, lifting her right hand.
He caught the stallion's bridle and stepped close. He was so tall that he didn't have to tip his head back to see her face. With a smile in his voice, he replied, "Hello."
Loretta caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stop its trembling. How like him to remember word of greeting. He her friend. She had been right to come here.
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
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