to her head.

Her arms hurt, her back hurt, and her neck burned like blue blazes.

She was a great mass of pain, and at first that was all 'she could think

of.

After a while she remembered. She'd been kidnapped. The bronze paint

worn by the "warrior" behind her was coming off on her flesh and chemise

where the man's thighs and knees rubbed against her.

And Jamie Slater was by the river with his head bashed in. couldn't be

alive. He had fought for her, and he had b~n killed in the attempt.

Scalding tears stung her eyes. She fought back the urge to aloud.

Jamie could perhaps have survived. Maybe just been knocked unconscious.

They had left her for once, and she had survived. Jamie was tough. He

had the war, he had. She had seen the club come against his skull.

Still, she couldn't accept it. She had to believe that he was alive

because if she didn't she wouldn't care if she lived or died.

Maybe there wasn't much chance of her surviving, anyway. Von Heusen

didn't know yet that there was now no way he was going to get his hands

on the Stuart holdings. She wondered briefly about the other Slater

brothers and their wives. Would they come to Wiltshire to accept an

inheritance? When they saw what had been happening, would they pick up

her fight? Why should they? Because they were probably close. Because

Jamie wouldn't have taken the time and the care to see that things were

done the way they were if his brothers weren't willing to fight. To

fight for him. To avenge his death.

No, no, he couldn't be dead. Please! God in heaven! she prayed silently.

Don't let him be dead, don't let him be dead, don't let him' be. "Let's

hold up here!" someone called out.

The horse she was thrown over ceased plodding. A second animal trotted

up beside it. The man spoke again.

"We've come far enough. Even if someone manages to find Slater's body,

they won't be able to track us. Not across the river. And we left plenty

of Comanche arrows behind. She still out, David?"

"Seems to be, Jeremiah."

"Well, that's good. Still, let's stop here for the night. By tomorrow

afternoon we'll meet up with the Comancheros and turn the girl over to

them."

Comancheros? Despite herself Tess felt a sizzle of terror sweep through

her.

They weren't exactly Mexicans, and they weren't exactly Indians; they

were a wild grouping of both who savagely lived off the land. They

raided, pillaged, murdered and raped without thought, and they made much

of their income by selling arms illegally to the Apache.

Von Heusen meant to have his revenge this time. He hadn't planned a

quick, easy death for her. He had consigned her to a living hell.

She couldn't let them give her to the Comancheros. Somehow, she was

going to get the best of these men. And if they had killed Jamie, she

had to see that they were brought to justice.

"Come on, let's get started setting Up a camp for the night," the man

David said. He started to dismount.

"Boy, that did feel good, swinging that club against that bastard

Slater.

After everything he did to us out at the Stuart place the other night, I

just wish I'd had time to gouge out his eyes."

"Or take ' '~" a scajp. Jeremiah suggested with laughter.

"Yeah--or take a scalp."

"Do you think Hubert and Smitty have made it back with the good word for

yon Heusen yet?"

"Probably. I told them to head straight back. Someone will find Slater's

body soon enough. We want to make sure we can't be blamed for it. Come

on, now, let's get her down and tied up before she comes to."

Jeremiah hopped off the horse. The one named David reached for her.

The one whose hands would be forever stained with the blood of Jamie

Slater.

Tess let out a wild scream when those hands touched her. She was ready.

He wanted to gouge out eyes? Her fingers were flying madly for his. She

caught him completely by surprise. He howled like an infant when her

nails swiped his face, missing his eyes but digging deeply into the

flesh of his cheek.

He stumbled, and she tried to right herself upon the horse.

The animal, panicked by the screams, reared high, its forelegs kicking

and flailing. Desperate as she was, Tess couldn't quite gain her

balance. The horse came down on four legs, kicking up great clouds of

dust, then rose, pawing the sunset-hued air once again. Tess went flying

into the bushes.

She lost her breath and lay stunned for several seconds. David and

Jeremiah were shouting at one another, David giving the orders.

"Get the horse! Get the fool horse! I'm going for the girl."

Fear spurred her aching and bruised limbs into action. She managed to

rise to her bare feet and race down a narrow trail between rows of dry

bush. Her feet encountered rocks and stickers, and she gasped out and

tried to pray.

Despite the pain she kept running. She felt as if her lungs would burst,

as if her calves would buckle, but she kept going, desperate to be free.

But arms suddenly swept around her legs, and she plunged forward into

the dirt. Mouthfuls of it seemed to choke her and fill her nose. She

gasped and choked and wheezed and finally managed to open her eyes.

David sat atop her, straddling her. He was still wearing a breech clout

and streaked theatrical paint, but he had discarded his black braided

wig. His own reddish hair looked strange against the melted bronze

paint, but matched the blood-red welts she had drawn across his face. He

wasn't much past his early twenties, and might even have been halfway

attractive if his way of life had not done things to his face and his

eyes. Both were cold, and there was a permanent twist of dissatisfaction

about his jaw. He smiled as he looked at her, enjoying her situation,

reveling in his power and in her misery.

She swung out again and managed to connect her fist against his cheek.

He swore and secured her wrists, then started laughing as he stared at

her.

"My, my, Miss. Stuart, it is a pleasure to see you this way!"

She was barely clad, she realized. Her chemise was dusty and pulled

high, leaving her midriff bare. And her cotton petticoat was rucked up

against her knees; her legs were bare 183 beneath it. As he stared at

her she felt sick.

She could see his intentions in his eyes, and she wanted to die. Not

long ago Jamie had whispered on the breeze that he thought he was

falling in love with her. And not long ago, he had taught her what it

was to feel feminine beyond belief, to know the beauty of a mutual

yearning, a soaring passion, all the sweet and fascinating things that

should be shared between a man and a woman. Not long ago. And now this

horrible man with blood on his hands was looking at her and laughing.

"I always did want to get to know you better, Tess!" he assured her.

He lowered himself against her. She twisted wildly, hating the feel of

his greased flesh, despising him. He tried to find her lips. She twisted

and thrashed and screamed, and still she felt him touching her.

"That's all right!" he hissed against her cheek.

"It's all right.

You'll come to like it soon enough. I'm real good. I'm real, real good.

I'll have you screaming in a way you just ain't imagined yet, honey. And

later on, you'll be grateful.

"Cause you're going to Nalte, one of the chiefs of the Mescalero Apache.

He's wanted a blond woman like you for a long time. They say he tried a

few raids to acquire one, but he kept coming up with brunettes. Our

Comanchero friends promised him a beautiful young blond white woman.

Nalte is tough, Miss. Stuart. You'll be real glad that I initiated you

into this ..."

He tried to secure both her wrists with one hand while he spoke. Tess

fought him like a wildcat, delaying his purpose but losing her strength

quickly.

Nalte? An Apache? Then the Comancheros were the delivery men. Von Heusen

was dealing with the Comancheros, and the Comancheros were dealing with

the Apache. She would be safe from the Comancheros. Because she was

meant for the Apache!

But she wasn't safe from David. She sobbed as she fought to free her

wrists. She threw his weight from her hips, but he seemed to enjoy

feeling her move against him. She twisted and sank her teeth into his

fingers.

He shouted out in pain and sat hard on her, plunging his fingers into

his mouth and stating at her murderously. Then his palm connected

sharply with her cheek, and the world seemed to spin. His hands were

upon her, upon her breasts, tugging at her petticoats.

"No!" she screamed in desperation and horror. But there was no one to

help her out here. Jamie was by the river, dead. The vultures might well

find his body before anyone else could.

David's hands were upon her, and he was tugging on her clothes. He was

about to violate the only beauty she had ever really dared to reach out

and hold.

"Get off her!" someone suddenly roared. And David was plucked away from

her.

Tess crawled quickly backward on her elbows. Her heart soared as she saw