She realized suddenly that someone was near her. She went dead still, slowly looking up.
He had come over by her, the one who seemed to be the leader of the war party. He hunkered down in front of her, a piece of the rabbit in his hand. He brought it near to her lips. Skylar stared at him and at the meat and shook her head. She thought that he might insist on her eating, but he did not. He smiled and shrugged, standing. He watched her curiously, then looked to the others, shook his head, and started to laugh again. When he walked away, she had the uneasy feeling that he would be back.
Hours crept by. The warriors continued to talk and laugh.
And wait.
Skylar kept working away at the rawhide bonds that held her.
She was very thirsty, but no one offered her water. Her shoulders and arms cramped painfully. She glanced toward the warriors, who were illuminated by the firelight, and saw that they all seemed very involved in their conversation. She inched forward, getting into position, rising on her bare feet. The earth was studded with pebbles, gravel, and stone. She wished she’dnever shed her shoes to go after the stupid mule. Then she felt hysterical laughter bubbling inside her once again. She wished Hawk had never seen fit to leave her with the damned mule. She wished she’d never been so determined to be away from him. She wished that he was alive. Oh, God, she wished so badly that he was alive.
She wished that she would live as well…
The Crows still talked, bragging, she thought, of their own exploits, laughing at the expense of the man she had struck, then mourning his loss as well.
She started to tiptoe away, heading for another rise of rocks back toward an easterly trail, praying that there might be somewhere in the formation of the rock and hill where she could hide. She had barely gone five feet when she became aware of movement.
The Crows.
The man with the black-painted face leaped before her, laughing still. He didn’t seem to want to hurt her, though. He seemed far too amused by her.
When she looked over her shoulder, she could make out two of the other braves behind her.
She didn’t want them to touch her.
She turned around and went back to the rock. One of the Braves stopped on his way back to the fire, crouching over her, touching her cheek. The man with the black-painted face spoke to him. He shook his head in disgust but left Skylar alone.
She leaned back against the rock in misery. The warrior with the black-painted face stood before her, holding what looked like a drinking gourd. Keeping her eyes on his, she accepted the water. So far, they had not harmed her. Hawk had not come riding over hill and plain to save her, but neither had the man he fought reappeared to join his war party. She couldn’t fall prey todespair. She had to have hope. She had to live and escape these warriors. She needed water to live, and that was that.
The brave pulled the water gourd from her lips, tossing it aside. For another few minutes, he studied her. Then, to her horror and amazement, he suddenly grabbed her bare ankles, jerking her so that she was drawn down to lie flat on her back in the dirt.
She started to shriek. He clamped a suffocating hand hard over her mouth. With her hands still caught in the rawhide bands behind her back, she was almost powerless to struggle. His weight and form were between her legs, his hands were upon her, ripping her pantalettes. She tried desperately to twist and squirm, since there was no denying the man’s intentions at this point. She could barely breathe. The pressure he put against her mouth was great. When she tried to rise, his weight merely pushed her back down. She could barely even kick or thrash, he had pushed her thighs so far apart.
His hand slipped. She bit into his fingers with a fury that drew blood and a curse. She saw his face lowering furiously before hers. He raged at her in his own tongue, still keeping his voice low. She inhaled to scream again, hoping that she might create trouble among the men, cause them to fight each other and forget her. She never managed to scream. The side of his hand clouted her head. She fell back, dazed, only very dimly aware that she was nearly stripped of her pantalettes.
Then quite suddenly, she saw a flash of silver. She stared at a knife. And that knife was set at the throat of the Crow on top of her. She looked up at a hard, bronzed, merciless face.
“Hawk…” She could barely form his name. No matter. Something inside of her gave rise to a staggering happiness. He lived.
And even as the simple joy of that thought filled her, her attacker was wrenched from atop her. The Crow faced Hawk,whipping out a knife of his own from a sheath at his hip. For a moment the knives glittered in the glow of the moonlight. Then there was no contest. Hawk moved like lightning. Again, his knife flashed. The Crow still held his high. The knife remained high in the air. The Crow fell forward, onto Hawk.
Hawk had given his combatant a chance. His ancient and traditional enemy slipped down the length of his body and fell dead at Skylar’s feet.
It all happened so quickly. So quietly.
Hawk reached out for her, aware that her hands were bound behind her back. He plucked her up by both shoulders, spinning her around so he could cut the rawhide bonds with his knife. He paused for a just a split second.
“You’d nearly worked through them,” he said, surprised.
Her knees were wobbly. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand, afraid that tears of relief would suddenly spill from her eyes. But he spun her back around again, staring at her, assessing her quickly and gravely.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded. “You came just in time.”
“I’ve been here.”
“What?” She almost shrieked the word before his hand clamped down over her mouth.
