Lieutenant. Arrest him for murder." "You said yourself, yon Heusen

himself probably wasn't even here."

Her eyes widened, her fury seemed to deepen, but she kept her voice low

and controlled.

"You're not going to arrest him?"

"I'm not a sheriff to begin with, Miss. Stuart. And if I were, I'd have

to have some kind of proof."

"I'm your proof!"

"It would be your word against his!"

"He wanted our land!"

"Lots of men try to buy land. It doesn't make them murderers I ' She

looked as if she wanted to scream, or at least gouge out another pound

of his flesh.

"You're a fool!"

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he retorted.

She gritted her teeth. Tears stung her eyes again.

"Get the hell off me."

He realized he was still lying against her, still holding her down.

She wasn't trying to kill him anymore. She just looked as if she wanted

to escape him, the touch of him, the sight of him.

"I can't go bringing in a man for something without some kind of proof!"

he told her furiously.

"And not at the word of a half-crazed girl."

"Oh!" She raked out at him again. He caught her hand, then he rose to

his feet, dragging her up with him. His jaw twisted hard against the

loathing he saw in her eyes. "Lady" -- "Lieutenant!" Charlie called to

him, walking around from the field of corpses.

"Shall I start a burial detail?"

She was staring past Charlie, staring at the white-haired man who had

been hit by the arrow then shot through the heart.

"Oh, God!" she gasped. She stumbled forward, trying to reach the corpse.

The blood fled from her face, and her beautiful features became as ashen

as the smoke-charred sky. She paused suddenly, unable to go any farther.

"Oh, no, oh, God. Uncle Joe," she whispered, reaching out a hand.

She did not take another step. Even as she reached out, she was falling.

Her lashes fluttered over her beautiful eyes, and she began to sink

toward the ground. Instinctively, Jamie rushed forward. He caught her as

she fell, sweeping her into his arms. She was as cold as death itself,

and remained every bit as pale as he stared down at her.

There was silence all around him. His men looked on. "Charlie, yes!

For God's sake, yes! Get a damned burial detail going, and get it going

quickly!" The men turned around, hustling into action.

And Jamie stared at the girl, wondering just what in hell he was going

to do with her. He needed to set her down, to let her lie somewhere. She

was a slight burden, weighing practically nothing, or so it seemed.

Yet she was a burden. A definite burden.

He hurried toward her wagon, maneuvered up to the floor of it and laid

her on the bed. He meant to turn around and leave her and call for the

company surgeon, but for some reason he paused and found himself

smoothing out her sun and-honey hair and brushing her cheek with his

knuckles. He felt a sensation down his back and looked up quickly.

Jon Red Feather was just below him, looking into the wagon.

"She's still out cold."

I'll call Captain Peters. He doesn't have much hope, but he's still

checking to see if there is any breath remaining in any of the bodies."

"Maybe she's better off being out for a while anyway," Jamie said

softly.

"Yeah, maybe." Jon hesitated.

"What are we going to do with her?"

"Take her back to the fort. Then someone can escort her on home."

Jon nodded. He smiled suddenly.

"Someone, fight?"

"Yeah, that's fight. Someone."

"She's your responsibility," Jon said.

"Your burden-- she fell into your arms."

"What? She's a burden I've just set down, Jon." Jon shook his head.

"I don't think so. I don't think so at all. I think that you've taken

something upon yourself, Jamie, and I don't think that you can ever

really let it go."

Jamie arched a brow.

"Yeah? Well, I don't believe you, Jon, and I don't believe her. This yon

Heusen may be a carpetbagging monster, but I don't believe he can be

guilty of this."

"You're just going to have to find out, aren't you?"

"That's not my job, Jon."

"That's not going to matter, is it?

"Cause you see, if the girl is right, then she's in danger. You're going

to have out the truth--or you'll be signing her death warrant."

"That's ridiculous, Jon."

"No, it's not. You really can't let her go."

"The hell I can't."

"Oh?" Jon arched a raven-dark brow.

"Is that so?" He inclined his head toward Jamie.

"Your fingers are still all tied up in her hair, Lieutenant. All tied

up.

Silken webs maybe, but seems to me that you're all tied up."

Jamie gazed at his hand. His fingers were still hovering over her hair.

It was truly the color of honey just kissed by the sun. Much deeper than

blond.

Too touched by light to be brunette.

Golden red.

He pulled his hand away and turned toward Jori with a denial. But Jon,

smiling serenely, had already turned away.

"Doe Peters should be free by now," he said quietly, then he was gone.

Jamie stared at the girl. Silken webs. He clenched down hard on his jaw

because Jori was right about one thing. Someone would have to discover

the truth about her accusations. He didn't believe them. He couldn't

believe them.

And yet. If they were true, to leave her alone in the town of Wiltshire

might very well be to sign her death warrant.

He swore softly and leaped from the wagon. His leg still hurt from where

she had kicked him, and his chin still ached. He could feel it bleeding.

Damn her. She was as quick as a sidewinder, as ornery as a mean bear. He

could still remember her fury. He paused, for he could remember more.

The alluring fullness of her breast beneath his fingers, the softness of

her hair, the warmth of her legs entangled with his. He clenched his

fists at his sides and unclenched them, knowing Jon was right, that he

was going to have to somehow stick beside her until he could find the

truth. She was a hostile little witch. And he already wanted her. Craved

her. Ached to touch her, feel more of her.

He swore softly, determined to behave like an officer and a Southern

gentleman and solve this dilemma with no more thought for his unwilling

companion.

Then he heard her. weeping, crying very, very softly as if she were

muffling the sound in her pillow. She had come back to consciousness,

and it seemed to be a bitter awakening. She cried and cried. He felt her

agony, felt it rip and tear into him, and it was terrible. The horror

of, it reached inside him and touched his heart as it had not been

touched in years.

He had thought his emotions were stripped away by war.

The girl's wrenching sobs brought them back. He started to turn, to go

to her. He stopped himself.

No. She would not want him.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked on.

Chapter Two.

By dusk, all the graves had been dug. By the light of lanterns and camp

fires, Reverend Thorne Dryer of Company B read services over the graves.

Tess Stuart stood near the reverend'. Her eyes were dry now, and she was

silent. Something about her very quietness touched Jamie deeply; she was

small, but so very straight, her shoulders square, her lustrous hair

hidden beneath a black hat and sweeping V 'll, her fornl encompassed in

a handsome black dress with gray pearl buttons on the sleeves and at the

throat. Dust to dust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes. The reverend

called on God to claim His own, to show mercy upon their souls, to give

solace to those who remained behind.

Tess stepped forward to drop a single flower on her cle's grave. She was

still silent, and not a tear marred the perfect and tragic beauty of her

face.

Then she swung around and headed for her wagon. Jamie didn't mean to

follow her, he just discovered that he was doing so. She sensed him just

before she reached the wagon and swung around.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Lieutenant, miss. Lieutenant Slater." "Whatever," she said coolly.

"What do you want?"

Hostile! he thought. More hostile than any full tribe of Indians he had

come across. She made him itch to set a hard hand against her behind,

but she had experienced great pain today. He was a fool to have followed

her.

He should let her be. He didn't want her as a burden, and she didn't

want him as her protector. If she needed a protector. "Miss. Stuart, I

just came by to offer my condolences. To see if you were all right, if

you might need anything for the night."

"I'm just fine, Lieutenant." She hesitated.

"Thank you." She whirled around in her black skirt, then crawled into

the wagon. Jamie clenched his hands tight at his sides and returned to

the group. The funeral was just about over. Jon and Monahen and a few of

the others were stamping down the last of the dirt and erecting wooden

crosses over the graves.

The crosses wouldn't stay long. The wind would take them, the dust would

wear them away, and in time animals then men would tramp upon them. The

West was like that. A man lived and died, and little but bones could be