They were going to kill her, she thought, and Jamie would never have
time to reach the surface. And it would be her fault, because if she had
talked to him this morning, he would never have brought her here, and he
would never have become so involved with her that he forgot danger.
"Jamie!" she screamed as one of the men lunged toward her. She fought.
She kicked, she scratched, she screamed and struggled, but a second man
came up, grasping her legs, and between them, she was tossed over a
shoulder. She still fought, clawing, screaming, pounding.
Bronze coloring came off in her hands. "Tess!" Jamie was charging, naked
and unarmed, out of the water. She saw his eyes. They met across the
distance and locked with hers; the pain and the horror of the moment was
mirrored between them.
"Tess!" He screamed her name again in a loud, long cry and he was
speeding furiously toward the emthe man carrying Tess began to run with
her. She craned neck, straining to see Jamie. She saw him reaching the
shallows, and she saw him running, running to the shore. He rammed one
of the armed attackers with such violence and force that the man fell.
He spun and kicked his next opponent, then thrust his fists against him
in a fury.
But then Tess saw that another man was behind Jamie as he fought. She
saw the second man raise a battle club and bring it down upon Jamie's
head with all his strength. She heard the cracking sound. And she
screamed as she saw Jamie crumple to the ground, and then she saw no
more, for blackness descended over the sun.
Chapter Nine.
Tess didn't know how much time passed before she regained consciousness.
When she did, she was hanging facedown over the flanks of a sweating
horse in front of the pseudo-Indian who had grabbed her. She was acutely
uncomfortable.
Although the sun was setting, it was still ferociously hot. The sticky,
wet hair of the horse irritated her flesh, and the continual and
monotonous thump-thump- thump of its gait was bringing a ferocious pain
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