explained that yon Heusen had made war on Tess and had tried to make the

people around him believe it was the Comanche or the Apache who had car-

tied out the raids.

That had infuriated Nalte, and it had almost given him Tess.

Almost. Nalte wasn't quite ready to let go.

Jamie clenched his teeth and his fists as he hurried past the circle of

tepees and into the night. He wanted to reach the stream, to bathe his

face in its coldness.

Yet even when he reached the stream, the water could do nothing to

soothe him. He could not forget Tess's eyes-huge, violet and luminous

upon his.

She had been so straight and rigid, and yet she had seemed so very small

and vulnerable when she had talked to him in the tent. She had explained

the past few days with a simple dignity, and he had been so relieved to

discover that she had received a minimum of abuse that his knees had

gone weak. He had wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her

everything would be all right, that no one would ever hurt her again.

But he hadn't been able to do that. He couldn't make any promises. He

didn't even dare touch her lest the emotion or the passion tear him

apart and lead to Nalte's fury. But he had never hungered more deeply

inside for her.

She was always fighting; she was always strong. She had endured so much

that she could be no less than strong. And yet now she had that air of

vulnerability about her. She did need him. And he wanted to be all

things to her.

He splashed more water on his face, and his temper cooled. He owed Jon

so much--and not his anger. Yet he had been angry, seeing her trustingly

in his friend's arms, seeing the tears in her eyes, the emotion within

them. He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms.

He closed his eyes, and saw again the picture of the young woman with

the luminous violet eyes and the soft storm of golden-red hair falling

over her shoulders and down her back. So quiet and still, and somehow

achingly soft in the bleached white buckskins. There'd been a strange

serenity about her, a serenity she could not possibly be feeling. He'd

felt impotent to be just standing there talking to her. He was her gun,

her hired gun. He'd said that he'd protect her, but he hadn't been able

to. Others had descended upon her, and she had endured fear and

suffering at their hands. He'd been praying for a miracle. Praying that

she hadn't been so abused that he'd never manage to live with himself

again.

He'd never felt good about killing a man. Never. Not during the war, not

after. But he'd wanted to kill yon Heusen's men when they had taken her.

He'd wanted to do more than kill them--he'd wanted to tear them limb

from limb and watch them die in horrible agony. Chavez had taken that

away from him. For the good of his soul, maybe it was just as well. It

was hard for a man to live with that kind of hate. He knew. He'd watched

it fester in his brother Cole, and it had nearly cost him his wife,

Kristin. Then there had been Chavez.

He'd never seen Chavez, except from the mountaintop. And watching the

Comanchere shoot the men in cold blood had kept him from feeling the

least remorse when Chavez had fallen beneath his blade. The fight

between them had been cold, both men knowing that it was life or death.

Jamie had been a little quicker, and Jon had managed to come around with

the horses before the Comancheros knew that their leader had been

visited, much less killed. The bound woman on the bed had never moved,

and she hadn't seen anything. They were done with the Comancheros--for

good, he hoped.

He smiled suddenly. He would have to ask Tess how the woman had come to

be bound and tied on that bed. It would surely be an interesting story.

But when they had fled the Comancheros camp, Tess had been nowhere to be

seen. They had tracked the trails up and down all night, calling softly

to her. He hadn't been willing to admit that they had helped her elude

the Comancheros only to send her into the arms of the Apache. But Jon

knew the territory, and he knew something of Nalte. And in the end they

had decided that the only way they could deal with the chief was to lay

their cards on the table. Jamie was going to have to count on his

reputation with the Indians. Jori would change into his buckskin attire

to approach Nalte first, then Jamie would ride in. It had been risky for

them both. The Apache were a warlike people, and Nalte was known to hate

the white man. But he had a reputation, too--one for upholding his own

sense of honor and hospitality.

Besides, it was obvious from the out skim of the village that some big

ceremony was going on, and a chief like Nalte didn't usually like blood

on his hands during such an occasion.

And so they were here, and still waiting. Darkness was falling upon the

water. The moon glittered gently upon it, and the easy melody of the

running water was gentle.

It was a beautiful sight, this valley within the beginning of the fierce

mountain ranges.

A beautiful place to die, Jamie thought.

Nalte had promised his decision about Tess as soon as the festivities

for his sister had ended. Jon seemed to believe that the Apache chief

had already determined he would return Tess, at some cost, of course,

but he would return her.

But what if he did not?

Jamie knew he would never leave without her.

If Nalte decided against him, he would have to fight the chief. And if

he won, the Apache would probably slay him in vengeance anyway. He might

well die in this beautiful place, then there would be nothing more that

he could do for Tess.

I'm sorry! he thought. i never should have become so involved. Falling

in love with a beautiful angel has surely been the downfall of many a

man. I couldn't let you go that morning. I had to make you see that the

thing between us was right and that you couldn't turn away from it by

the morning's light.

He hadn't had the edge he had needed, the edge that had kept him alive

through so much.

So now they were here, and their fate rested on the decision of an

Apache chief.

He liked Nalte. He had a keen intelligence, was well- versed in his own

language and in English, well-aware of the world around him. And

fighting to maintain the inheritance of a people despite an encroaching

world. He was not so bad a man, Jamie thought. Rather he die and leave

Tess to Nalte, than leave her to trash like David or Chavez. Nalte would

never hurt her.

He clenched his fists and swore to the night sky. Then his thoughts

raced as he sank on h~s haunches to stare at the rippling, moon-kissed

water once again. I will not die here! Come heaven or hell, I will

fight, and with every edge, and I will bring her home with me!

"Jamie!"

He thought he imagined the voice.

But then, as he stared into the water, her reflection was caught by the

glow of the moon almost magically on the surface before him.

"Jamie ..."

She was there. She was wearing the white buckskin dress he had seen

before.

Her hair was flowing, rich and waving, paler than usual in the water's

reflection. Nor could the water catch the color of her eyes, that violet

that was so extraordinary and so compelling, so quick to flash with

anger, so deep when touched by her emotions. Nothing could catch that.

No words, no mirrored image.

But the water did catch the softness he had glimpsed before, and he knew

then why he had been falling in love with her so swiftly and so

completely. She had great strength, she would never tire, and she would

never cease to fight, for herself, for others, for the glory of all the

great muses that caught her heart. She could not bear injustice, and she

would never falter to overcome it.

But never could she be less than a woman, beautiful, giving, enwrap ping

all with the passion of her soul, and of her life. Once he had wanted

only her smile to touch him. Once he had been enamored of the silk of

her flesh, and the sweeping curves and slim angles of her form. Once.

But now he knew what it meant to love. It was desire, but more than

desire. It was needing the smile as much as the passion. It was wanting

to lie down by the still waters as much as to weather the tempestuous

storm. It was wanting to share a lifetime together.

"Jamie ..."

Once again, she whispered his name. He turned slowly, and saw that she

did stand just behind him--no image, no dream, so much more than a

reflection.

In her bare feet with her bare calves, her dress falling just above her

knees, she seemed exceptionally innocent.

The color of her eyes was true, deep as the night, dark as the desire

that suddenly swept over him. He wanted her in his arms--but he dared

not touch her. Not until Nalte made his decision.

He swallowed hard and came to his feet. He stared at her and hoped that

his scowl was menacing. Yet he didn't even know if it remained upon his

face, for he couldn't deny the moonlight or the strange, mystical

sensation that seemed to touch her. She seemed to be of the