The right time…
What would that be? she asked herself hysterically.
When they rode through a wooded area. When she could run into brush. When she could escape…
She couldn’t escape.
The Indians had split their party. Two of them had gone down one trail, while three remained with her and the man who held her now. Still, four altogether against her. If she leaped down, they’d come after her. They were far from the Sioux camp now…
One of the other Indians rode up close to the man riding with her. He indicated the path behind him. He spoke in his own language.
Skylar realized that someone was following them. “Help! Help me!” she shrieked.
A dirty hand fell upon her mouth. “Damn it, I’d just as well kill you sooner than later, bitch!” he hissed to her.
His vise upon her mouth was so tight that she had to lean back against him to keep her neck from breaking. The pain was unbearable. She grasped his leg to steady herself and felt the sheath at his calf.
Then the steel within it.
She drew the knife from the sheath and slammed it into his leg with all her strength.
He let out a bone-chilling scream, cursing her. Promising her a slow, agonizing death.
But he instinctively let go of her to grasp his thigh.
And she was free.
She leaped down from the horse, shrieking again as her ankle twisted. She didn’t care, couldn’t care. The others in the war party were staring at her with murderous fury.
Shouting to one another.
Racing toward her.
She turned and ran into the brush, hobbling with amazing speed, the bloody knife still clutched desperately in her hand.
They heard a cry for help,then a shriek from a very feminine, well-recognized voice.
Then a masculine voice crying out in pain, cursing.
“Come!” Hawk shouted, kneeing Tor so that he and his horse leaped forward as one. He burst onto the narrow trail through the trees to discover Skylar racing down a path that ran parallel with his own. Three warriors on horseback were trying to corner her and trap her.
One of the nearly naked Crow, still cursing, was bearing down on her quickly. Hawk didn’t think. He drew his knife from the sheath at his calf and hurled it swiftly through the air. He must have hit the Crow’s heart dead on, for the man fell from his horse without a whimper.
He thundered through the trees, weaving perfectly on Tor. He didn’t fear his other enemies. His own people would be protecting his back as he retrieved his wife. He rode up behind Skylar, who still ran. She heard Tor and turned back, her golden hair flying in the night, her flawless features wild as she looked up at him, silver eyes still defiant, nonetheless.
She gasped his name, her hand flying to her throat as she ceased running, stumbled, stood still. He swept her up, cradlingher against his body, running his hands over and over her, touching her face, her lips, trembling as he did so.
“Oh, God, oh, God, you came, I was so afraid you were dead, I was so afraid—” she sobbed.
“Shhh…shhh…”
He held her more tightly against him. A knife was clasped tightly in her fingers. He had to pry her fingers free from it.
She surely felt the terrible thunder of his heart, the rampant shaking within him. He gave a slight twist to the reins, urging Tor to take them back to the trail, assuring Skylar softly all the while that she was all right.
Their Crow enemies lay dead on the ground, stretched out next to one another. The man Hawk had killed with the knife to the heart also sported a bloody leg—Skylar’s attack, Hawk was certain.
Sloan and Willow stood by the bodies, shaking their heads and speaking softly to one another.
