swiftly.

Tears burned behind her eyelids. She must know that everyone was dead.

She wasn't going to shed those tears. Not in front of him. "My uncle and

I. We were heading home to Wiltshire."

He eased himself up a little. He saw her swallow as his thighs tightened

against her hip, then she lifted her chin, determined to ignore him,

determined to be as cool as if they were discussing the matter over tea

in a handsome parlor.

She had inestimable courage. No matter how she was beaten, she would

never surrender but would fight it out until the very end. It was there

in her eyes. All the silver-blue fire a man could imagine. She was

either a complete fool or one of the most extraordinary women he had

ever met.

Despite her warm honey spill of hair, her large, luminous eyes and her

perfect fragile features, she had a spine of steel.

Courage could kill out here in the West. That, he told himself, was why

he held to her so tightly. She needed to learn that she could be beaten.

"You're lucky as hell that the Indians didn't see you, you know," he

told her hoarsely.

She lifted her chin.

"I told you--they weren't Indians."

"Who were they?"

"Von Heusen's men."

"And who the hell is yon Heusen?" He was startled when he heard a

curious rumble in someone's throat behind him.

Still holding her, he whirled around. He looked at the faces of the

young men in his company.

"Well? Does someone want to answer me?"

It was Jon Red Feather who drawled out a reply. "Richard von Heusen.

Calls himself a rancher sometimes, an entrepreneur at others. You never

heard of him, Lieutenant?"

"No, I never heard of him."

"You spend all your time on Indian affairs, Lieutenant," Jon said.

"You've been missing out on the shape of things down here."

It was true, Jamie thought. He hadn't wanted to know a lot about the

ranchers. He didn't want to se~ the carpetbaggers, or talk to them.

"You're telling me a guy named von Heusen did this?" he said to Jon.

Jon shrugged.

"I can't tell you that."

"I can tell you that he owns a hell of a lot of Texas," Monaban said

softly.

"It's a good thing it's a big state, else he might own a good half of

it."

Jamie looked curiously at the girl. Tess. Her eyes were upon him as she

watched him in silence, scathingly. Then she hissed with all the venom

of a snake.

"He's a carpet- bag get Yank. You ever heard tell about the

carpetbaggers down here? They're vultures. They came down upon a

defeated and struggling South, and they just kicked the hell out of us.

Bought up land the Southern boys couldn't pay their taxes on 'cause the

Union didn't want any Confederate currency. Well, Lieutenant, von Heusen

bought up Wiltshire."

"You're trying to tell me that a Yankee named von Heusen came out here

and shot your wagon train full of arrows?

In broad daylight, just like that?"

" No, not just like that," she retorted.

"And I doubt that he came out here himself. He had his men all greased

down and painted up like Comanche, just in case someone didn't die."

"So you did see Comanche attack the wagon."

"No. That's not what I'm telling you at all. I'm no fool, Lieutenant.

I was born and bred out here and I know a Comanche when I see one. And I

know a fraud when I see it, too."

"You're saying a group of white men came out here and did this to theft

own kind?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, how wonderfully perceptive of you. Why, you must have

studied at West Point! That's exactly what I'm telling you." Her lashes

flicked again.

"Von Heusen masterminded this whole thing. You need to arrest him,

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,