Then Ladd, the sergeant, and the third soldier exchanged worried glances. “Where’s Savage?” the sergeant asked abruptly.
She made her decision. “He’s out scouting, miles from here. I’ve run away from him. I need your help—please. He abducted me against my will—kept me prisoner. I waited until the child was old enough to travel. Won’t you please help me?” Her tone was feminine and desperate, helpless and seductive.
The sergeant stared with doubtful and piercing eyes. “I heard all about you, Miss Carter. Or is it Mrs. Kincaid? I ain’t sure whether to believe a word you say, especially not as you got that little breed on your back.”
“Christina’s white,” Candice cried furiously.
“Let’s make her talk,” Ladd said eagerly, “A woman like that, hell, she’s already a whore. What’ll one or two more times matter?” He chuckled.
“If you touch me—a white woman, abducted by a man against her will, kept prisoner in an Apache rancheria—you’ll all be court-martialed,” Candice said as firmly as she could. She was frightened.
“She’s got the best tits I ever seen,” Ladd said huskily.
“She’s right,” the sergeant said. “We’ll take her back to the fort and let the major decide what to do with her.”
“Let’s have some of what she’s got first,” Ladd growled.
“No.”
The man hadn’t spoken before, but it was so vicious that everyone, including Candice, swung to look at him. He was very young, no older than Candice, badly sunburned, red-haired and blue-eyed. “She’s a white woman, you can see that,” he said, staring at her. “No white woman deserves to be raped.”
“You jerk, McDowell,” Ladd said. “She’s no different from any whore in any saloon. She’d like it, believe me!”
“Enough. We’re taking her back to the fort. Hand over that rifle, ma’am,” the sergeant ordered.
Candice gripped her rifle harder. She hesitated. There were three of them. What was she going to do? Kill one or two? Then she’d hang for murder, woman or not. And she had Christina to think about, to protect. Frowning, thinking, she lowered the rifle. The sergeant looked at Ladd, who rode over and took it away.
“Maybe she’s got a knife on her,” Ladd suggested, almost smiling.
“Search her,” the sergeant said.
Ladd jumped down, eager to comply. He stared at Candice’s clenched face, then eyed her bosom.
“I’m not carrying a knife,” Candice lied. She was, but it wasn’t on her person, it was in her saddlebags. “You can see,” she said, holding out her arms so he could see there was no weapon stuck in the waistband of her skirt.
He reached out and placed both hands on her waist, ostensibly feeling for a knife. Candice shrugged away angrily. He grinned. “Lift up your skirts,” he said.
She stared.
“Either you do it or I do it,” he said, grinning.
“You carrying a knife under there?” the sergeant asked.
“No,” Candice said firmly. Her heart was hammering too rapidly.
“Then lift ’em. You want Ladd to lift ’em?”
She didn’t. She lifted her skirts, to just above her knees.
“She’s not wearing pantalets,” Ladd breathed, staring at her bare calves and knees. The other men were staring too. Ladd bent and checked each boot, then stood. He eyed her calves again. “Higher,” he said.
“You bastard,” she hissed. “What do you think, it’s glued to my thigh?”
Maybe stuck in a piece of rawhide.” Ladd grinned. He reached up and grabbed her skirt and raised it. “Mother of God.” He gasped, staring at her shapely thighs and the patch of gold hair curling between them.
Candice spun away. “Satisfied?” She tried not to tremble. There was a large bulge in his trousers, one impossible to miss. She was afraid.
“Mount up,” the sergeant said grimly.
