She swore softly.
He laughed.
"Go ahead! Laugh!" she said angrily.
"And just run like a cur with its tail between its legs-when we get to
Wiltshire."
"A cur? I thought I was a rodent."
"I can't find words for what you are, Lieutenant."
"Pity," he drawled. His eyes were on her, smoke and fire.
His arm was warm and strong around her. The heat of the sun bore down on
them, and she felt as if it touched her and brought a liquid rush
throughout her. She could not draw her eyes from his, nor could she
dispel the sudden, brilliant memory of his lips upon hers.
"We could bargain, Miss. Stuart."
"Bargain?"
"Yes. If I'm going to die, I'd like it to be for a little more than a
smile."
She stared at him. She felt a heat like that of the sun suffuse
throughout her body, bringing a rampant beat to her heart, a flood of
burning red to her cheeks and a tremor deep inside her. He could only
mean one thing, she was certain. If he was going to stay, he wanted her.
She should have been outraged. She should have been able to say that he
could be damned, that her honor was worth far more than her life.
Except that. There was something that washed over the outrage 'like the
deep, rich waves of the ocean. It was the same thing that caused the
pulse to beat ever more fervently in the column of her throat, the thing
that held her speechless. He watched her, that wry smile twisted so
tauntingly into his features. He was horrid. He was awful.
He was exciting, sensual, masculine. The scent of him beguiled her, just
as his arms beckoned and just as his kiss evoked feelings inside that
she would never be able to forget.
She couldn't just stare at him. She moistened her lips and swallowed
quickly, vowing that she would never let him know just how deeply he did
affect her. "Did you bargain with Miss. Eliza, Lieutenant?"
"Is she still on your mind?"
"Is she on yours?"
He cast back his head and laughed.
"The situation is not at all amusing, Lieutenant."
"Oh, but it is, Miss. Stuart, it's very rich. As you might have noticed,
I didn't really need to bargain with Miss. Worthingham.
If that's what you were inferring. And yet, I didn't happen to mention
yet what our bargain should be. Alas, I could see it in those huge,
innocent, violet eyes! He wants to sully my honor, this cavalry man. For
the price of a pair of spitting Colts! Her heart beats, and she
wonders-my cause! This is my cause! Shouldn't I lay down my honor and my
pride, and give all to this wretched rodent-all for my cause?"
"Someone should shoot you," Tess warned him. "Well, you're trying to
make me into a target, aren't you?
Ah, but then maybe, just maybe, I could die with the exquisite Miss.
Stuart's kiss still damp upon my lips."
She squirmed. She did intend to slap him. "Whoa, Miss. Stuart!" He
laughed, and his arm wound even tighter against her. They were sitting
like newlyweds, she thought disgustedly. She was halfway atop his lap
and she could barely move.
"Lieutenant, you're squashing me!"
"I'm trying to save my jaw, Miss. Stuart! Now calm down. You are
desperate, aren't you?" His eyes looked into hers, and a hard note crept
into his voice.
"You would do anything--anything at all that I asked. How very
intriguing."
"Jamie Slater" -- "Jamie!"
A sharp call from Jon caught their attention. Jamie's arm fell from
around her shoulder, and he leaned forward, reining in. Jon was riding
hard toward them. "What is it?" "Company," Jon said.
"Comanche?"
"Yep."
"How many?"
"Fifty at least. They're covering the hill over the next dune."
"Is it a war party?"
"They're out in feathers and paint, but I think it's a show. I'm pretty
sure it's Running River."
Tess watched as Jamie climbed from the wagon. She wondered if she should
be frightened, and she wondered with greater exasperation if he should
be walking away from her without a thought. He disappeared behind the
wagon, then reappeared on his roan.
"Let's go see Running River," he told Jon. "Wait a minute" -- Tess
began.
"You wanted to drive the wagon," Jamie called.
"Pick up the reins.
Drive."
Then he turned, and he and Jon raced forward. Swearing beneath her
breath, Tess picked up the reins and called to the mules. They started
plodding along.
Dolly crawled into the seat, puffing.
"Comanche! Never did trust 'em."
The mules pulled the wagon over the dune. Tess felt as if her heart
stopped, as if it caught in her throat.
The Comanche seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.
Bare-chested, in buckskin pants, with various types of feathers banded
around their heads, they sat as still as ghosts. Many carried spears and
shields, others wore quivers at their backs and held their bows proudly.
Not one moved.
They just sat on their horses, looking down at the small party that
approached.
Tess wondered dismally if she was about to become the victim of a real
Indian. Her heart thundered, and she dropped the reins. Jon and Jamie
had pulled in before them, and they sat on their horses on the dune,
watching the Comanche.
The sky seemed afire with the morning light. Earth and horizon seemed to
stretch together in shades of dusty coral and crimson and gold. The
quiet was eerie; not even the wind whispered in the sagebrush.
Then Jamie lifted his hand in some kind of greeting. A loud, shrieking
cry sounded from atop the hill.
And then the Comanche were coming.
Tess screamed as the Indians started toward them in a blazing cloud of
dust, their whoops and cries loud. No one could ride like a Comanche.
The men lay braced against their ponies' necks, they swung beneath them,
they righted themselves again. They came closer and closer. Their cries
sounded ever louder.
Ever more deadly.
"My God, we're going to be butchered!" Tess breathed. "No, no, I don't
think so," Dolly told her calmly.
Astonished, Tess stared at the woman.
"Well, it's Running River. He and Jamie are blood brothers."
"Blood brothers," Tess repeated.
"Yes. The Comanche are warlike, of course. But not this tribe.
Running River has been peaceful since Jamie came out here. He always
deals with the lieutenant, and though there have been Comanche attacks,
they've never been perpetrated by Gray Lake Comanche."
Tess was still unconvinced. There had never been a Comanche attack on
Wiltshire--in fact some Comanche even came to town for work now and
then--but she had heard about the things that could happen, and watching
the extraordinary horsemen bear down upon them did nothing to ease her
spirit.
"My God ..." she breathed, sitting very still. The riders were circling
the wagon, shaking their spears and bows in the air. Now that they were
closer, she could see that their faces and chests were painted in
brilliant colors.
She didn't move, although she didn't know if it was courage or pure
terror that kept her still. She e0uld see Jon and Jamie, still mounted,
as they watched the thundering horses and their riders. Neither reached
for a weapon.
It would be suicide, she thought. They were drastically outnumbered.
The Indians raced by them. The whoops and the cries were suddenly
stilled, and there was silence. Only the dust remained to settle.
The Comanche were motionless again, surrounding the wagon and Jamie and
Jon.
As Tess watched, Jamie lifted his hand again. One of the Indians, his
ink-black hair falling down the length of his naked back, wearing a band