Survival. That’s all there is.
She hadn’t understood what Jake had meant when he’d said that to her. Now she did. There were times when there was nothing but life or death. If she could escape, and had to kill to do so, then she would kill. If she could not escape, and they were planning what she feared they were, she would find a way to kill herself.
They climbed. Endlessly, it seemed to Sarah, they rode up a winding trail and into the twilight. Around her she could hear the call of night birds, high and musical, accented by the hollow hooting of an owl. The trees glowed gold and red, and as the wind rose it sounded through them. The air chilled, working through the torn shirtwaist. Only her pride remained as she shivered in silence.
Exhaustion had her dreaming. She was riding through the forest with Lucilla, chatting about the new bonnet they had seen that morning. They were laughing and talking about the men they would fall in love with and marry. They would be tall and strong and devastatingly handsome.
She dreamed of Jake-of a dream kiss, and a real one. She dreamed of him riding to her, sweeping her up on his big gray mount and taking her away. Holding her, warming her, keeping her safe.
Then the horses stopped.
Her heart was too weary even for prayer as her ankle bonds were cut. She was pulled unresisting from the horse, then sprawled on the ground when her legs buckled under her. There was no energy left in her for weeping, so she lay still, counting each breath. She must have slept, because when she came to again she heard the crackling of a fire and the quiet murmuring of men at a meal.
Biting back a moan, she tried to push herself up. Before she could, a hand was on her shoulder, rolling her onto her back.
Her captor leaned over her, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. He spoke, but the words meant nothing to her. She would fight him, she promised herself. Even knowing she would lose, she would fight. He touched her hair, running his fingers through it, lifting it and letting it fall. It must have pleased him, for he grinned at her before he took out his knife.
She thought, almost hoped, that he would slit her throat and be done with it. Instead, he began to cut her skirt away. She kicked, as viciously as she could, but he only parried the blows, then locked her legs with his own. Hearing her skirt rip, she struck out blindly with her bound hands. As he raised his own to strike her, there was a call from the campfire. Her kidnappers rose, bows and rifles at the ready.
She saw the rider come out of the gloom and into the flickering light. Another dream, she thought with a little sob. Then he looked at her. Strength poured back into her body, and she scrambled to her feet “Jake!”
She would have run to him, but she was yanked ruthlessly back. He gave no sign, barely glanced her way as he walked his horse toward the group of Apaches. He spoke, but the words were strange, incomprehensible to her.
“Much time has passed, Little Bear.”
“I felt breath on my back today.” Little Bear lowered his rifle and waited. “I thought never to see you again, Gray Eyes.”
Slowly, ignoring the rage bubbling inside him, Jake dismounted. “Our paths have run apart. Now they come together again.” He looked steadily into eyes he knew as well as he knew his own. There was between them a love few men would have understood. “I remember a promise made between boys. We swore in blood that one would never lift a hand against the other.”
“The promise sworn in blood has not been forgotten.” Little Bear held out his hand. They gripped firm, hand to elbow. “Will you eat?”
With a nod, Jake sat by the fire to share the venison. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah huddled on the ground, watching. Her face was pale with fear and exhaustion. He could see bruises of fatigue under eyes that were glazed with it. Her clothes were torn, and he knew, as he ate and drank, that she must be cold. But if he wanted her alive, there were traditions to be observed.
“Where is the rest of our tribe?”
“Dead. Lost. Running.” Little Bear stared broodingly into the fire. “The long swords have cut us down like deer. Those who are left are few and hide in the mountains. Still they come.”
“Crooked Arm? Straw Basket?”
“They live. North, where the winters are long and the game is scarce.” He turned his head again, and Jake saw a cold, depthless anger-one he understood. “The children do not laugh, Gray Eyes, nor do the women sing.”
They talked, as the fire blazed, of shared memories, of people both had loved. Their bond was as strong as it had been when Jake had lived and learned and felt like an Apache. But they both knew that time had passed.
When the meal was over, Jake rose from the fire. “You have taken my woman, Little Bear. I have come to take her back.”
Little Bear held up a hand before the scarred man beside him could speak. “She is not my prisoner, but Black Hawk’s. It is not for me to return her to you.” “Then the promise can be kept between us.” He turned to Black Hawk. “You have taken my woman.” “I have not finished with her.” He put a hand on the hilt of his knife. “I will keep her.”
He could have bargained with him. A rifle was worth more than a woman. But bargaining would have cost him face. He had claimed Sarah as his, and there was only one way to take her back.
“The one who lives will keep her.” He unstrapped his guns, handing them to Little Bear. There were few men he would have trusted with his weapons. “I will speak with her.” He moved to Sarah as Black Hawk began to chant in preparation for the fight.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” she said, sniffing. “I actually thought you might have come to rescue me.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Yes, I could see that. Sitting by the fire, eating, telling stories. My hero.”
His grin flashed as he hauled her against him for a long, hard kiss. “You’re a hell of a woman, Sarah. Just sit tight and let me see what I can do.”
“Take me home.” Pride abandoned, she gripped the front of his shirt. “Please, just take me home.” “I will.” He squeezed her hands as he removed them from his shirt. Then he rose, and he, too, began to chant. If there was magic, he wanted his share. They stood side by side in the glow of the fire as the youngest warrior bound their left wrists together. The glitter of knives had Sarah pushing herself to her feet. Little Bear closed a hand over her arm.
“You cannot stop it,” he said in calm, precise English.
“No!” She struggled as she watched the blades rise.
“Oh, God, no!” They came down, whistling.
“I will spill your white blood, Gray Eyes,” Black Hawk murmured as their blades scraped, edge to edge. Locked wrist to wrist, they hacked, dodged, advanced. Jake fought in grim silence. If he lost, even as his blood poured out, Black Hawk would celebrate his victory by raping Sarah. The thought of it, the fury of it, broke his concentration, and Black Hawk pushed past his guard and sliced down his shoulder. Blood ran warm down his arm. Concentrating on the scent of it, he blocked Sarah from his mind and fought to survive.
In the frigid night air, their faces gleamed with sweat. The birds had flown away at the sound of blades and the smell of blood. The only sound now was the harsh breathing of the two men locked in combat, intent on the kill. The other men formed a loose circle around them, watching, the inevitability of death accepted.
Sarah stood with her bound hands at her mouth, holding back the need to scream and scream until she had no air left. At the first sight of Jake’s blood she had closed her eyes tight. But fear had had them wide again in an instant.
Little Bear still held her arm, his grip light but inescapable. She already understood that she was to be a kind of prize for the survivor. As Jake narrowly deflected Black Hawk’s blade, she turned to the man beside her.
“Please, if you stop it, let him live, I’ll go with you willingly. I won’t fight or try to escape.”
For a moment, Little Bear took his eyes away from the combat. Gray Eyes had chosen his woman well. “Only death stops it now.”
As she watched, both men tumbled to the ground. She saw Black Hawk’s knife plunge into the dirt an inch from Jake’s face. Even as he drew it out, Jake’s knife was ripping into his flesh. They rolled toward the fire.
