Lightning crackled above her, and the horses galloped behind her. She saw Enchanted Hill and stumbled toward the small knoll. There she fell facedown, and the horses stopped all around her. One pawed the earth near her feet.
“Get up, woman.”
Lightning continued to flash, followed by terrible thunder that shook the ground on which she lay. Her tears slipped into the sodden grass.
“I said get up!”
A moment later, she felt strong hands grab her by the waist and haul her to her feet. When the man spun her around, she saw a jagged scar on his forehead, as jagged as the lightning.
He pushed her against the hill. “Well now, look at these big brown eyes. Big tits, too. And hair the color of our gold. Purty, ain’t she?”
The other four men dismounted. Rain and tears impairing her vision, Theodosia could hardly see them. They were but black blurs coming toward her.
She dug her fingers into the side of Enchanted Hill, feeling dirt squeeze under her nails. A wish—the first she’d ever made—filled every corner of her heart.
The men gathered around her, touching her. She felt millions of hands on her, and twice that many groping fingers. Quaking with fear and the knowledge that she was going to die, she closed her eyes but could still see the glare of lightning.
She heard the ripping of fabric and more thunder.
Rain beat upon her bare breasts.
Gunfire rent the air, loud enough to overcome the thunder. Theodosia gasped, waiting to feel the burning pain of bullets smashing into her body. She felt nothing but the sting of the rain as it continued to batter her breasts.
The crack of more gunshots exploded in her ears. The men around her began to shout and move away from her.
She opened her eyes and watched two of the outlaws crash to the ground beside her. One had a moustache, and the other was the man with the jagged scar on his forehead. Blood splattered her hand and the side of her skirts.
She looked up. Into the meadow.
Through the silver drift of rain, a gray stallion charged toward the hill, his hooves ripping up the wet ground and leaving a spray of mud in his-wake.
And astride the extraordinary steed, both his guns drawn and his long ebony hair flowing like a black banner behind him, was her wish come true.
Roman Montana.
Chapter Sixteen
Aviolent madness had come overRoman as he watched the Blanco y Negro Gang pin Theodosia to the side of the hill. He swore that in only minutes, they would all be dead.
His vow burned into his heart as if branded there.
His powerful legs his only means of staying on Secret’s back, his potent rage unleashing every shred of skill he possessed, he let go of the reins, fitted his rifle to his shoulder, and took careful aim. He had no worry of hitting Theodosia; Secret’s smooth, steady gait enabled him to aim with deadly accuracy.
He shot twice. When he saw two men fall at Theodosia’s feet, he knew they were dead.
The other three outlaws returned fire, but Secret’s speed made Roman a target too fast to hit. In seconds the magnificent stallion reached the hill.
Roman quickly shot a third man, then threw himself off Secret’s back. While he was still in the air, he snatched his dagger from its sheath, and as he fell, he plunged the knife into the belly of the man directly before him.
The man staggered, but retained enough strength to kick the knife out of Roman’s hand. Roman saw him raise a revolver and rolled to the side in time to dodge the bullet.
He bolted to his feet and grabbed the outlaw. One arm around the man’s neck, his other curled around the top of the man’s head, he gave one strong heave.
The man fell, his neck broken.
Heaving with fury and exertion, Roman looked up and saw the fifth man riding into the meadow. The other four white horses followed.
Roman whipped out his Colts.
