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 h.e.l.l 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, G.o.d!" 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, G.o.d. 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 G.o.d's sake, yes! Get a d.a.m.ned 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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.

d.a.m.n 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 m.u.f.fling 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 l.u.s.trous hair hidden beneath a black hat and sweeping V 'll, her fornl encompa.s.sed in a handsome black dress with gray pearl b.u.t.tons on the sleeves and at the throat. Dust to dust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes. The reverend called on G.o.d 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, but she had experienced great pain today. He was a fool to have followed her.

He should let her be. He didn't want her as a burden, and she didn't want him as her protector. If she needed a protector. "Miss. Stuart, I just came by to offer my condolences. To see if you were all right, if you might need anything for the night."

"I'm just fine, Lieutenant." She hesitated.

"Thank you." She whirled around in her black skirt, then crawled into the wagon. Jamie clenched his hands tight at his sides and returned to the group. The funeral was just about over. Jon and Monahen and a few of the others were stamping down the last of the dirt and erecting wooden crosses over the graves.

The crosses wouldn't stay long. The wind would take them, the dust would wear them away, and in time animals then men would tramp upon them. The West was like that. A man lived and died, and little but bones could be left behind.

Bones and dreams.

"I ordered the men to set up camp, Lieutenant, just like you said,"

Monahan told him.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"Is that all, Lieutenant?"

"No. Split them even, Monahan. Half can sleep while the second half stay on guard. Just in cas~."

"In case the Injuns come back," Monahah said. "In case of anything.