Sensing reprieve, grasping for it with eager disbelief, she lifted her lashes in confusion to see the same emotion reflected in his cobalt eyes.
He began to tremble, as if the lance weighed a thousand pounds. And suddenly she knew that as much as he longed to murder her, a part of him couldn't, wouldn't throw the lance. It made no sense. She could see nothing but hatred written on his chiseled face. He had surely killed hundreds of times and would kill again.
Slowly he lowered his arm and stared at her as if she had bested him in some way. Then, so quickly she couldn't be sure she saw it, pain flashed across his face. "So you're sweet?" His smile dripped ice. "We shall see, woman, we shall see."
He said "woman" as if he were spitting bile and slid his lance arrow to her chin. She had heard of women being disfigured by Indians and expected him to slash her as he outlined her mouth and the slope of her nose. Breathless fear brought moisture to her brow. Black spots danced, blurring her vision.
She blinked and forced herself to focus on him. Laughter twinkled in his eyes. She realized that since he had decided not to kill her, he was, for some reason she couldn't imagine, playing a hideous game, terrifying her to test her mettle. She caught hold of his lance and shoved it aside, lifting her head in defiance. Chuckling low in his chest, he leaned over his thigh, making a fist in her hair. His grip brought tears to her eyes.
As he turned her face to study her, he said, "You have more courage than you have strength, Yellow Hair. It is not wise to fight when you cannot win."
Looking up at his carved features and the arrogant set of his mouth, she longed for the strength to jerk him off his horse. He wasn't just taunting her, he was challenging her, mocking her.
"You will yield. Look at me and know the face of your master. Remember it well."
Riding high on humiliation, Loretta forgot Amy, Aunt Rachel, everything. An image of her mother's face flashed before her. Never, as long as she had life in her body, would she yield to him. She worked her parched mouth and spat. Nothing came out, but the message rang clear.
"
" Releasing her, he struck her lightly on the arm. Wheeling his horse, he glanced toward the windows of the house and thumped his chest with a broad fist. "I claim her!
He began to tremble, as if the lance weighed a thousand pounds. And suddenly she knew that as much as he longed to murder her, a part of him couldn't, wouldn't throw the lance. It made no sense. She could see nothing but hatred written on his chiseled face. He had surely killed hundreds of times and would kill again.
Slowly he lowered his arm and stared at her as if she had bested him in some way. Then, so quickly she couldn't be sure she saw it, pain flashed across his face. "So you're sweet?" His smile dripped ice. "We shall see, woman, we shall see."
He said "woman" as if he were spitting bile and slid his lance arrow to her chin. She had heard of women being disfigured by Indians and expected him to slash her as he outlined her mouth and the slope of her nose. Breathless fear brought moisture to her brow. Black spots danced, blurring her vision.
She blinked and forced herself to focus on him. Laughter twinkled in his eyes. She realized that since he had decided not to kill her, he was, for some reason she couldn't imagine, playing a hideous game, terrifying her to test her mettle. She caught hold of his lance and shoved it aside, lifting her head in defiance. Chuckling low in his chest, he leaned over his thigh, making a fist in her hair. His grip brought tears to her eyes.
As he turned her face to study her, he said, "You have more courage than you have strength, Yellow Hair. It is not wise to fight when you cannot win."
Looking up at his carved features and the arrogant set of his mouth, she longed for the strength to jerk him off his horse. He wasn't just taunting her, he was challenging her, mocking her.
"You will yield. Look at me and know the face of your master. Remember it well."
Riding high on humiliation, Loretta forgot Amy, Aunt Rachel, everything. An image of her mother's face flashed before her. Never, as long as she had life in her body, would she yield to him. She worked her parched mouth and spat. Nothing came out, but the message rang clear.
"
" Releasing her, he struck her lightly on the arm. Wheeling his horse, he glanced toward the windows of the house and thumped his chest with a broad fist. "I claim her!
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
www.QuoteSweet.com