Lance waited, not replying.
“I cannot help you,” said Fights Bear slowly. “I will not steal from a Comanche or take sides with the whites.”
“I know, brother. I would not ask you. You have done much already, for which I thank you. You will not be involved. I want you to leave tomorrow. Take your warriors and ride away. I will accompany you for a short distance for appearance sake. Then I will return and wait for the opportunity to seize the captive woman.”
“Do you know the risks you take with this course?”
Yes, he understood. If he was caught stealing a captive, he would likely be subjected to horrible torture before being allowed to die. But despite Fights Bear’s objections and the possible consequences of failure, he had made up his mind. In addition to his own feelings of horror and pity for Amelia, he knew he could never face Summer if he abandoned her sister to such a terrible fate. Even if it meant turning his back on his own people, even if it meant burning his bridges with his Comanche family, he had to act.
“Yes, I know the risks,” Lance answered solemnly. “Yet it is what I must do.”
Chapter 13
Lightning slashed the black horizon, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. His nerves sharpened by the approaching storm and the scent of rain, Lance stealthily made his way on foot through the sleeping Comanche camp. His plan was to seize Amelia from her captor’s tepee and be long gone by the time the village awoke in the morning.
The odds of success ran against him. It was the pride of a Comanche warrior to be able to slip into an enemy camp to steal horses and women without detection, but to be able to steal from the Comanches themselves would be a feat indeed.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance, but Lance kept moving. He felt his heartbeat accelerate to a heavy thudding as he neared the silhouette of Tuhsinah’s lodge. In the darkness he could barely make out the entrance flap, which was tied securely to protect against wind and rain. Amelia would be just inside, as far away as possible from the rear of the tepee, the place of honor where the owner slept.
Ignoring the entrance, Lance crouched down and drew his knife from its scabbard. He had waited two d
ays for this chance. His hope that Amelia’s captor would leave with a hunting party hadn’t materialized, and he had decided to act now. The brewing storm had seemed an omen, as well as a practical blessing. The gusting wind would hide the sound of his approach and, hopefully, his escape, while the drenching rain would cover his tracks within moments. The storm provided an added advantage as well. Comanches, who usually feared nothing and no one, were highly superstitious of lightning and thunder, and rarely rode out in such weather. Even if his nemesis was awakened by the storm, pursuit would likely be delayed.
If, that is, he managed to spirit Amelia away.
His senses alive as those of a hunting wolf, Lance ran his knife carefully beneath the rim of the tipi, slicing the strong buffalo sinews that pinned the hide covering to the ground. Carefully then, he began digging a stake from the earth to make room for him to slip beneath the edge.
A crescendo of thunder made him swear silently. He hoped the storm would hold off just long enough for him to free Amelia. He’d left his horses and his weapons a short distance from the camp, and if he could make it there with her, they might survive.
He unearthed a second stake and then eased himself down on his back. Slowly he raised the edge of the covering and peered beneath. A faint glow from the coal file in the center of the tepee lent enough light that he could make out the sleeping figures on the ground. Tuhsinah had only one wife, and he lay with her about twelve feet away on a bed of buffalo robes. A yard to Lance’s right, Tuhsinah’s captive slept naked, curled on her side.
Seeing her position, Lance swore again. Amelia’s back was toward him, her head the farthest point away. He would have to cover much more distance before he could try to awaken her.
Slowly, inch by inch, he squeezed under the hide covering between two lodgepoles and eased inside. For several long moments he lay still, waiting for his heartbeat to slow and his breathing to quiet, keeping one eye on the sleeping Comanches. Then, with painstaking restraint, he began the arduous task of shimmying along the ground toward Amelia.
He could hear the wind pick up outside, and knew he didn’t have much time before the storm hit. Finally, though, he reached her. Raising himself up on one elbow, Lance carefully reached a hand up to clamp it over her mouth. The danger was that Amelia might cry out when he roused her and awaken her captor at the same time.
Her body jumped reflexively when he touched her, but otherwise she showed no reaction.
“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed in her ear. “I’m here to help you.”
He waited to make sure she understood his warning. Then slowly, with his hand still covering her mouth, he rolled Amelia over on her back. She didn’t even look at him. He could see her eyes in the dim light. They held the lifeless expression of a woman beyond fear, beyond hope. He suspected she had been abused and violated enough that the threat of more no longer touched her.
“Don’t make a sound, do you understand?” he barely whispered, trying to keep the pity and anger from his voice. “I’m going to take you away from here.”
She simply stared at him.
Slowly Lance loosened his grip on her mouth and gestured with his head toward the opening he had made beneath the edge of the tepee. He bent to whisper again. “Summer sent me to rescue you.”
A light of confusion flickered in her eyes, the first response he had seen from her. Grimly Lance took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He was more determined than ever to set her free of this vile captivity. It would likely cost Amelia her life if they were caught, but he wasn’t going to give her the choice of remaining. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave her like this.
Pressing his mouth against her ear, he whispered instructions to her, wondering if she even understood one word in three. Then casting a glance at the sleeping Tuhsinah, Lance began the long retreat toward the opening.
At first he had to tug on Amelia’s hand to keep her beside him, but she finally seemed to catch on to his intent, and he had to slow her down to prevent her from rushing ahead.
It seemed like an eternity before they reached their goal. The Comanches still hadn’t awakened when Lance raised the flap for Amelia to slip through.
“Take it slow,” he warned, his voice a breath of sound in her ear. When her head had vanished, he gave a push to her shoulder to aid her, then her bare hip, her knee, her ankle. Finally she disappeared altogether. With a last glance at the sleeping Comanches, Lance followed, easing himself beneath the slit.