n horseback with the men of the band. The entire village turned out to watch, and Summer was given a reprieve from her duties to admire and cheer with the other women.
The feats the warriors performed were incredible. In addition to simple horse races, they galloped back and forth over obstacle courses, showed off their skill at archery, picked up objects from the ground as they dashed past, and speared targets with their long lances.
The maneuver that impressed Summer the most—and seemed the most dangerous—was when a rider slid halfway off his mount, clinging to the horse’s side with one heel across the back, his elbow braced in a rawhide loop plaited to the mane, and shot arrows from a bow beneath the straining animal’s neck.
Lance came close to winning one of the obstacle races, but lost to his brother, Fights Bear. Yet Summer could tell that her husband was pleased by his performance. As Lance rode past her, he sent her a rare smile that touched his eyes with a soft sparkle. A sparkle, Summer realized with dismay, that had the ability to make her heart beat faster. It was the closest she’d ever seen Lance come to showing true happiness, and she thought the sight incredibly appealing. His hard features lost their fierceness, their harsh arrogance, and relaxed into striking handsomeness.
For a moment Summer wondered what it would take to make that expression permanent. She knew so little about the man she had married that she could only guess what Lance wanted or needed out of life, or what had made him the complex, guarded man that he was.
The next afternoon, however, afforded her the opportunity to discover more. Summer was working over the deerskin before the tepee when Lance rode up on a pinto horse and offered to take her down to the creek to bathe.
Surprised, Summer wiped her sweating brow and looked at him with misgiving. “You want me to bathe with you?”
He gave her a wry smile that made her suddenly aware of herself as woman; the curve of his lips stole the harshness from his features, added the sting of sensuality. “No, princess, I’ll let you do it alone. I told you I’m not going to force myself on you. But I thought you could use the rest. And the chance to get clean.”
Summer flushed, knowing she must look a sight. She’d scarcely had a minute to expend on her own grooming, and her hair badly needed washing. Yet she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “Your grandmother might object if I stop work.”
“I’ll handle my grandmother. If you want to go, then climb on.”
Summer didn’t need to be asked twice. When Lance extended his hand to help her mount, she eagerly scrambled up behind him. It would be wonderful to escape, even temporarily, from Wasp Lady’s tyranny. And she craved the chance to rid herself of the dirt and sweat of the past week—even if it meant being alone with Lance.
This would be the first time since arriving at camp that she had enjoyed his sole company…unless she counted the hours of warm, naked darkness she endured in his bed each night. Her cheeks colored hotly when she recalled that first night and Lance’s shameful, infuriating, carnal taunting.
She supposed it was his way of punishing her…for all her earlier rejections of him, for all the times she had used her feminine wiles against him to gain her own ends. He had turned her own weapons against her, making her desire him—and it hadn’t felt at all nice.
What was worse was the knowledge that perhaps she had even deserved it.
Lance rode north about a mile, where the hills were more rugged and the timber thicker. Summer clung to his waist, her chest brushing his bare back. Lance had won that point, she had to admit. Because of their close proximity during the last few days, she’d become more familiar with his body. She hadn’t fully overcome her resentment at their unwanted marriage, or her natural reserve at the physical intimacy of their relationship, but she no longer went rigid every time he touched her or whenever she came in contact with his naked skin.
He found a protected area where cottonwoods and elms lined the creek, and a small pool between the rocks offered the perfect natural setting for a bathtub. Dropping the reins, Lance slid to the ground and helped Summer down, then hefted his rifle and the bundle he’d brought.
When he started down toward the creek, though, Summer glanced at the paint pony he had borrowed from his brother. “Shouldn’t you tie him up?”
“He doesn’t need to be tied. A Comanche horse is trained to stand with the reins down.”
Lance had brought blankets and a leather parfleche that contained, to Summer’s delight, soap, a cloth towel, and a porcupine-quill brush. He’d also supplied her with fresh clothing—a blue calico shirt and deerskin skirt that he said belonged to his sister. She’d seen some of the Comanche women wearing calico that they’d obtained from white traders, but that wasn’t what surprised her.
“Your sister doesn’t mind if I borrow her clothes?” she asked.
“She was the one who offered.”
Summer looked at him in amazement. “I didn’t think Dawn liked me very much.”
Lance’s smile held real amusement. “She didn’t at first. But she says for a white woman, you show courage.”
Summer smiled back at him, inordinately pleased at that dubious compliment. If his hostile sister had begun to soften toward her, then perhaps her exhausting labor and her genuine efforts to adapt to Comanche customs had been worth-while.
Lance turned his back like a gentleman, giving her the privacy to bathe, and settled on a blanket, his shoulders propped against the trunk of a tree. Summer unbraided her hair and shed her heavy deerskin dress and moccasins with only a momentary concern for modesty. She’d lost much of her self-consciousness during the past few nights of having to sleep naked with Lance, and it seemed foolish to be nervous now. Indeed, one of the things she liked about Indian society was the physical freedom. After all the years of enduring constricting whalebone and horsehair and layer upon layer of undergarments, she enjoyed the license permitted by the primitive Comanche culture. Picking up the soap, she stepped cautiously into the pool.
The cool water was heavenly. Raising her face to the sky, Summer gave a sigh of pure bliss. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy herself while Amelia’s fate was so uncertain, but she couldn’t help feeling pleasure at the simple chore of scrubbing herself clean.
She had washed her hair and was rinsing out the soap when she remembered Lance. He wasn’t watching her, she noticed with a glance over her shoulder. Certainly he wasn’t ogling her the way she had him when he’d bathed in front of her. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring her entirely.
His disinterest stung. For a brief moment Summer considered calling to him, just to gain his attention, to make him look at her—and yet she didn’t want to push him too far. Lance had set the rules of their relationship; he was keeping his distance with an iron will. If she broke them, if she tried to exercise her feminine powers on him gain, he might never bring her back here. Or worse, he might pay her back the way he had the other night.
It was a long while before she reluctantly ended her bath. After wringing out her wet hair and drying off with the cloth, she donned the shirt and skirt and her moccasins. Then she went to join Lance on the blanket, settling beside him in the dappled shade of the cottonwood tree.
His black gaze traveled over her coolly, and yet she thought she could see approval in his expression.