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  "Of course, Lance. Your uncle has missed you greatly," the other warrior sneered.

  Wind Rider was excited over Lance's obvious success and wanted to know more, but he was in no mood to listen to the terse verbal exchanges these two usually shared. "Everyone has been waiting to hear of your success, Lance," he assured him. "It looks like you have snared more than just a good piece of horseflesh. Surely your tale must be an interesting one, my friend."

  "Indeed," Striking Snake agreed, maneuvering his horse in closer. He was fascinated by the pale color of Trista's hair, and he reached out to caress the curling lock that rested on her breast.

  Trista thought the end had come. She could not understand what they were saying, but she could understand the glint of lust in the ugly Comanche's eyes. She thought he was going to fondle her intimately right there, and she panicked at the prospect. Was this to be her fate? Was she to be shared with these other men? Her heart was in her throat, and as Striking Snake's big hand came nearer to her, she slapped at him as hard as she could.

  Striking Snake was surprised by her attack, but found it more amusing than annoying. Leering at her hungrily, he brushed her hands aside as if she were no more than an insect. Undeterred, he reached out and touched the pale, lustrous curl, letting his knuckles rest against the swell of her bosom. Looking up at Lance, whose expression was carefully blank, he said, "She is a wild one. Perhaps I will help you train her."

  Using his knees, Lance urged the pinto to take a step backward, freeing Trista from the lecherous Striking Snake's touch. His tone was carefully controlled as his frigid blue eyes met and challenged the other warrior's black ones. "I have no need of your help. Can you not see that I have already trained her? She is mine, Striking Snake, as is the golden stallion."

  Striking Snake was infuriated by his insult, but Wind Rider quickly interrupted them to stave off possible trouble. "We must hurry if we are to make the village before sundown, Lance. You can tell us of the stallion's capture as we ride."

  Trista was unaware of anything except the one savage's eyes upon her. She had never thought she would turn to Lance for anything, but the terror the other barbarous-looking warrior aroused in her left her feeling helpless and afraid for her very life.

  Relief flooded through her as the big, brutish warrior wheeled his horse about and charged off. As they began to follow in his direction at a slower pace, she sagged weakly back against Lance, almost savoring the warm protection of his arm about her waist. She was unmindful of the continuing conversation between Lance and the other warrior, for all she could think of was the fear that someday she might have to face that other Comanche alone.

  Chapter Nine

  "Lone Elk will be surprised," Wind Rider remarked in the Comanche tongue as he rode alongside Lance on their way to the village.

  "Why? Did my uncle not have faith that I could capture the golden one?" Lance frowned at the thought.

  "Few doubted your ability to trap the rogue," he explained as his gaze dropped to Trista, who was riding so quietly before Lance on the pinto's back.

  "Then why do you think he will be surprised?"

  "You have ridden with raiding parties many times, but never before have you taken a captive." Wind Rider lifted his dark gaze to Lance's.

  Lance gave his longtime friend a knowing smile as he bantered, "Could you have left this one behind?"

  Wind Rider chuckled. "She is a prize of great worth. What do you call her?"

  "Her name is Trista," he answered.

  Trista had been trying to hold herself aloof from all that was happening. At the sound of her name being mentioned, though, she stiffened against Lance. She longed to be able to interpret their conversation so she could have a clue to her fate, but the words they uttered were totally foreign to her ears.

  Although she could not understand what they were saying, Trista somehow sensed a kinship between these two men. Their manner together now was a far cry from the tension that had possessed them earlier when the other warrior had been present. These two were at ease with each other, and she knew that they must be friends.

  Trista cast a sidelong glance at the warrior who was riding with them. Though this Comanche was not as fearsome-looking as the one who had ridden off ahead of them, he was still a frightening sight. She had no idea what he really looked like, for his face was disguised with the ugly red and black paint in the same manner Lance's had been. His hair, however, was worn differently from Lance's. It was much longer and was plaited into two long braids that hung down far past his shoulders. Both braids were adorned with feathers and fur. He was dressed as Lance was in just a breechclout and moccasins, and she could see that he was strongly built. He rode his horse with the same easy control, almost as if he were one with the animal.

  "Striking Snake would pay you handsomely for her. What do you plan to do with her?" Wind Rider was saying, unaware of Trista's silent appraisal.

  "I have not decided yet," Lance replied evasively.

  "Well, should you decide to sell her, I will take her off your hands," he offered graciously, his eyes twinkling with good humor.

  For some reason, Wind Rider's joking words irritated Lance. Though he laughed with his friend, it was forced merriment. "If I sell her, she will be yours."

  "What of the stallion? Tell me of the capture."

  Lance told him of the endless days of chase, carefully avoiding any reference to the Royal Diamond, for his friend knew all about his early childhood. "Trista appeared just as I was about to run him down."

  Wind Rider was amazed, for he thought white women were the most cosseted of creatures. "She was riding on the range alone?"

  Lance smiled in remembrance as he nodded. "She was chasing the golden one just as I was."

  Wind Rider looked at Trista with a new respect. "She is a special woman."

  "Yes."

  "How did you manage to catch them both at the same time?"

  "I took the stallion first."

  "I had thought you would." His friend grinned, knowing how obsessed Lance had been with the golden one.

  "Trista's horse had fallen. I found her later."

  "She seems a calm one, easily tamed. She will serve you well until you tire of her."

  At Wind Rider's remark, Lance laughed deeply. "All is not as it seems. Trista appears subdued, but she is as wild as the rogue."

  At his laughing reference to her, Trista grew angry. It was bad enough that they were speaking in the Indian language, but to make her the butt of what she was sure were jokes was just too humiliating. She wished for some way to prick his overblown warrior's confidence.

  "It will be entertaining to watch the taming of both, then."

  "It will be entertaining to tame them both," Lance countered, his eyes alight at the challenge. "I will begin breaking the golden one for riding in the morning."

  "And your woman?"

  "Her taming has already begun."

  Night Lark was helping her mother prepare the evening meal when she saw Striking Snake ride back into the village alone. She knew that he had ridden out with her cousin, Wind Rider, and she thought it most unusual that they had not returned at the same time. Leaving her mother to the cooking, she hurried off to try to find out what had happened. She saw him stop to speak with Chief Lone Elk and maneuvered herself just close enough to overhear their conversation.

  "Where is Wind Rider? Has there been trouble?" Lone Elk was asking Striking Snake as the bull-like warrior dismounted from his pony.

  Striking Snake knew he could not refuse to answer the chief, but it irked him to be the bearer of such news. "There has been no trouble, Chief Lone Elk. Wind Rider is following behind with Lance."

  "Lance is returning?" Lone Elk's lined, weathered face lit up in delight at the news.

  Night Lark heard his pronouncement, and her heart began to beat excitedly in her breast. Lance was returning! He would be there soon! Thrilled, she raced back to tell her mother and to make herself more attractive for him. />
  The two Comanche paid no attention to Night Lark as she hurried away.

  Chief Lone Elk glanced out in the direction from which Striking Snake had just come. "Why did you not ride in together?"

  "He was traveling slower than I wished to travel."

  "Has he been injured in some way?" He knew his nephew well and found it unusual that Lance would not be riding into camp at top speed.

  "No," Striking Snake replied, sorry that that wasn't the case. "He is leading the stallion and is also riding double."

  Chief Lone Elk pierced him with an impatient glare. "Do not tease me. Who rides with my nephew?"

  Insulted by the chief's sharp words, the warrior stiffened as he answered, "Lance has taken a captive."

  This truly surprised Lone Elk. He and Lance had ridden on raids together many times, but whereas the other warriors had often taken captives as booty, Lance had not. Lone Elk thought it most unusual that his nephew was returning with one now, especially since he had ridden out alone with no intention of raiding.

  "Tell the women to prepare a feast for tonight. I will be in my tipi. Send Lance to me when he arrives. I would hear of this captive." Intrigued, the chief returned to his lodge to await his long-absent nephew's return.

  Wind Rider smiled as the village came into view. "I know of one who will be particularly glad to see you, my friend."

  "Oh?" Lance glanced at him questioningly.

  "Night Lark has made no secret of her yearning for you while you were gone. Many dusks she waited and watched for you until the darkness claimed the land."

  The news surprised Lance. Though he had shared a few passionate embraces with the lovely young woman, he was not in love with her and had never given her any hope that he would make her his wife. "It will be good to see her again."

  "She wants to do more than see you, I'll wager," Wind Rider remarked knowingly.

  "What Night Lark wants does not concern me," Lance answered arrogantly.

  "She has turned away many suitors in hopes of capturing your heart."

  "No woman will ever capture my heart." Lance was firm in his declaration. "When I marry, it will be because it is time to father children. Nothing more."

  They fell silent then as they entered the village. The sight of Lance returning with the elusive stallion and a white woman brought most of the villagers rushing out to greet him. As he rode slowly through their midst, they called out praises of his prowess in capturing them both and questioned him boldly about where he'd found the golden woman to match the stallion. Lance easily avoided answering their questions as he made his way toward his lodge. Only when Striking Snake blocked his path did he stop.

  "Chief Lone Elk would see you," the warrior told him as his black eyes settled hungrily on Trista. "He waits in his tipi for you now."

  "Thank you, Striking Snake," Lance answered. He started to turn to Wind Rider to ask him to take Trista and the stallion on to his own lodge when the other warrior offered first.

  "I will take care of your horses and your captive while you see to your uncle."

  There was no way Lance could refuse his offer before all of the tribe without insulting him gravely. He slid slowly out of the saddle.

  "I will go along to help, too." Wind Rider spoke up quickly, for he knew how little Lance trusted Striking Snake.

  Lance nodded and smiled quixotically. "Perhaps he will need your help. Both are still quite wild." With calm determination, he handed the reins over to Striking Snake.

  Trista had no idea what was being said, and she was growing more frightened with each passing moment. She had kept her fears under tight control as they'd entered the village, enduring the open, leering stares of the Comanche men and women as they'd swarmed around her, but now her icy calm was threatening to shatter. The protective circle of Lance's arm about her had kept her feeling almost safe, or at least it had until she'd come face-to-face with the other big, ugly brute of an Indian once again. Trista hadn't meant to show her fear, but when Lance dismounted and handed the reins over to the other warrior, she'd grown distraught.

  "Lance . . .?" Her voice was a frightened squeak, and she started to slip from the horse's back to follow him.

  "Trista. Stay where you are," he commanded in English. His tone blazed with an authority she'd never heard before, and she froze.

  "Don't give me to him . . . " she whispered hoarsely, terrified of what the big Comanche would do to her once they were alone. "Please Lance, don't do this."

  Lance's expression didn't change as he regarded her dispassionately. "Striking Snake will see to you for now."

  Trista wanted to cry out and beg him to take her with him, but a quick glance at the sneering faces of the villagers stiffened her. She knew she could show no weakness to them. Sitting more proudly in the saddle, she said nothing further as Lance turned his back on her. Trista watched as he strode purposefully to a brightly painted tipi, called out a greeting of some kind, and then disappeared inside.

  Striking Snake did not take his eyes off of Trista as he said something to the crowd gathered around them. His comment drew a murmur of approval from all the men who stood nearby watching. Keeping a firm hand on the reins, he started off in a different direction, leading the horses behind him. Trista could only keep her seat and stare straight ahead as she was led away.

  Night Lark heard the sounds of Lance's return and dashed forth from her tipi ready to seek him out.

  "Dawn Blossom!" she called out to one of the other young maidens she saw standing at the fringes of the crowd. "Is it true? Has Lance returned at last?"

  The plump, normally cheerful Dawn Blossom groaned inwardly as she saw her coming her way. Of all the other single young women in the village, only Night Lark stirred this dislike within her. Dawn Blossom wasn't sure exactly why she didn't like the slender doe-eyed Night Lark. It was just an instinctive thing. She sensed a certain female ruthlessness within her that was sometimes almost frightening in its intensity. When Night Lark wanted something, she got it. Right now, Dawn Blossom knew that Night Lark wanted to marry Lance.

  "Yes," she answered, "Lance has just ridden in and is with Lone Elk now."

  "Oh." Night Lark's disappointment at having missed him was obvious.

  "He did not return alone," Dawn Blossom offered, eager to impart the news of his captive.

  "Yes, I know," came the other woman's dismissing reply. "He rode in with Wind Rider."

  "Wind Rider is not the only one who accompanied him," she taunted.

  At this, Night Lark looked up questioningly. "There was someone else riding with him?"

  "Evidently Lance did some raiding while he was gone. Not only did he capture the golden stallion, but he has brought a white woman back with him She is most beautiful."

  "Lance has taken a captive?" She was stunned, for never before had he ever shown any interest in such things.

  "Yes," Dawn Blossom confirmed, "and judging from the way the men looked at her, I think Lance will be able to get many horses in trade for this one."

  "Yes . . . of course," Night Lark replied distractedly. The news had disturbed her greatly, for she did not like the thought of sharing Lance's attentions with anyone, much less a lowly white woman. "Where is this captive now?"

  "Striking Snake and Wind Rider took her and the stallion to Lance's lodge."

  Before Dawn Blossom could say another word, Night Lark was gone.

  Striking Snake halted the horses before Lance's tipi and then handed Wind Rider the reins to the stallion. "Take care of the horse while I see to the woman."

  Wind Rider nodded and led the golden one away to the place where Lance kept his own herd of horses penned, leaving Trista behind.

  Alone with the savage who struck terror within her heart, Trista kept her seat on the pinto's back and concentrated on staring straight ahead. Not quite sure what to expect, she was prepared for the worst. She longed desperately for a weapon of some kind to protect herself from this beast of a man.

  Seein
g that Wind Rider had disappeared from sight, Striking Snake dropped the pinto's reins and walked around to the side of the horse to stare salaciously up at Trista. Casually, he rested a hamlike hand on her thigh and squeezed.

  "You are a delicious one, white woman, and one day very soon you will be mine," he told her confidently.

  Though Trista couldn't decipher his words, she could plainly read the lust in his expression. As forcefully as she could, she kicked out at him. She managed to land one blow to his chest.

  Without Lance's presence Striking Snake felt no compulsion to tolerate her defiance. His grip on her leg tightened to bruising proportions, and he forcefully jerked her from the horse's back and dumped her heavily on the ground.

  Trista lay sprawled at his feet, tears of pain and indignity stinging her eyes. She glanced quickly around, hoping to see Lance or even the other, less savage warrior coming for her, but they were nowhere in sight. It was then that she noticed the small cooking fire a short distance away, and a plan began to form in her mind. If this animal tried to lay another hand on her, she knew what she would do.

  "Get up, woman," Striking Snake ordered in English as he stood over her with his brawny arms folded across his massive chest.

  Knowing that there was no alternative, Trista struggled to her feet and stood before him.

  "Perhaps you are not as wild as Lance would have me believe. . . ." He smiled lasciviously as he reached out to touch the swell of her breast exposed by the tear in her blouse. "Perhaps I will taste of you before I buy you, white woman. . . ."

  Striking Snake made the mistake of speaking in English, and his words pushed Trista to the limit. It had been difficult enough for her to suffer Lance's sensual torment, but she knew she could not survive this man's possession. He was an animal. He would take his own pleasure from her body and care nothing for the destruction he wrought while doing so. She bolted, preferring death to his touch.

  The warrior's confident laughter followed her panicked flight. With the pace of a man accustomed to dominating, he followed after her. Only when Trista grabbed a burning stick from the fire and turned to confront him did his expression turn deadly.