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.
