repeated, stunned. “Mad Wolf told us he stole Little Firebird from a wagon train.”
“He did,” Blade said tightly. “Like a coward, he stole Shannon Branigan after I told him he couldn’t buy her. Like thieves in the night they came and took what was mine.” He turned and looked pointedly at Jumping Buffalo, his eyes accusing.
Jumping Buffalo stepped forward, his expression indignant, his head held high. “I do not ride with those hot-bloods. I follow the rules set forth by Yellow Dog and the council.”
“I am happy to hear it.” Then he turned to Yellow Dog. “Where has Mad Wolf taken my woman?” His eyes were hard, his tone implacable.
He hoped Shannon would play along with him on this. The only hope he had of wresting her from Mad Wolf’s grasp was by claiming her himself. He prayed Mad Wolf hadn’t already taken Shannon by force. Not only would it make his job more difficult, but he worried about what it might do to Shannon’s spirit. It was one of the traits he admired so much in her.
Yellow Dog pointed to Mad Wolf’s tipi just as Crow Woman stomped out of it in angry defiance. Blade looked to Yellow Dog for confirmation. The old chief nodded and Blade set his long legs in motion. He had taken but a few steps when Shannon burst from the tipi, her eyes wild, her face masked in terror. Mad Wolf followed in hot pursuit. A ragged scream ripped from Shannon’s throat when Blade snatched her up in his arms, pulling her against his bare chest. His arms enclosed her like bands of tempered steel as he held her soft body, a pang of something deep and profoundly moving jolting through him.
“Shannon,” he said. “Little Firebird,” he repeated, attempting to calm her without adding to her fright. Mad Wolf had already done an admirable job of that. “Stop fighting me.”
The voice hardly registered as Shannon struggled against the restraining arms holding her prisoner. His strength was awesome, his powerful, bulging muscles effectively quelling Shannon’s struggles.
“Shannon,” Blade repeated once more.
Shannon froze. Blade! Blade had come to help her. She went limp, profound relief turning her muscles to jelly. Then she realized that nothing had changed when Mad Wolf, following close behind, pulled her rudely from Blade’s arms. He was determined to have Shannon at any cost.
Blade knew the moment Shannon recognized him, for she went limp in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right, longed to ask her if Mad Wolf had hurt her—but there wasn’t time. Hard on Shannon’s heels, Mad Wolf yanked her from Blade’s arms, his mouth curved in a snarl.
“Little Firebird is mine,” Mad Wolf rasped menacingly.
“You have no right,” Blade challenged. “Little Firebird is my woman.” Addressing Shannon, he asked, “Has Mad Wolf hurt you, Shannon?”
“N-no,” Shannon stammered. Try as she might, she found it difficult to believe that Blade had arrived so quickly.
Blade drew in a ragged breath. “Thank God.”
“Blade, don’t let him take me,” Shannon implored, aware that Blade and Mad Wolf were arguing over her. “Tell me what is going on?” Not knowing what was happening made the situation seem even more desperate.
“It’s all right, Shannon,” Blade explained, slipping easily into English. “I told them you belonged to me, that Mad Wolf couldn’t have you.”
Shannon mulled over Blade’s words; the intensity of his gaze begged—nay, demanded—her compliance. In her mind she knew he was trying to convey something—something vital to her survival. If she expected to walk away from this intolerable situation she had to place her trust in Blade. For some unexplained reason, it seemed imperative that she proclaim herself Blade’s woman.
Wise from the weight of many years, Yellow Dog intuitively sensed Shannon’s confusion. In halting English, he asked, “Does my grandson speak the truth? Are you his woman?”
“Grandson! Is Blade your
“He did,” Blade said tightly. “Like a coward, he stole Shannon Branigan after I told him he couldn’t buy her. Like thieves in the night they came and took what was mine.” He turned and looked pointedly at Jumping Buffalo, his eyes accusing.
Jumping Buffalo stepped forward, his expression indignant, his head held high. “I do not ride with those hot-bloods. I follow the rules set forth by Yellow Dog and the council.”
“I am happy to hear it.” Then he turned to Yellow Dog. “Where has Mad Wolf taken my woman?” His eyes were hard, his tone implacable.
He hoped Shannon would play along with him on this. The only hope he had of wresting her from Mad Wolf’s grasp was by claiming her himself. He prayed Mad Wolf hadn’t already taken Shannon by force. Not only would it make his job more difficult, but he worried about what it might do to Shannon’s spirit. It was one of the traits he admired so much in her.
Yellow Dog pointed to Mad Wolf’s tipi just as Crow Woman stomped out of it in angry defiance. Blade looked to Yellow Dog for confirmation. The old chief nodded and Blade set his long legs in motion. He had taken but a few steps when Shannon burst from the tipi, her eyes wild, her face masked in terror. Mad Wolf followed in hot pursuit. A ragged scream ripped from Shannon’s throat when Blade snatched her up in his arms, pulling her against his bare chest. His arms enclosed her like bands of tempered steel as he held her soft body, a pang of something deep and profoundly moving jolting through him.
“Shannon,” he said. “Little Firebird,” he repeated, attempting to calm her without adding to her fright. Mad Wolf had already done an admirable job of that. “Stop fighting me.”
The voice hardly registered as Shannon struggled against the restraining arms holding her prisoner. His strength was awesome, his powerful, bulging muscles effectively quelling Shannon’s struggles.
“Shannon,” Blade repeated once more.
Shannon froze. Blade! Blade had come to help her. She went limp, profound relief turning her muscles to jelly. Then she realized that nothing had changed when Mad Wolf, following close behind, pulled her rudely from Blade’s arms. He was determined to have Shannon at any cost.
Blade knew the moment Shannon recognized him, for she went limp in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right, longed to ask her if Mad Wolf had hurt her—but there wasn’t time. Hard on Shannon’s heels, Mad Wolf yanked her from Blade’s arms, his mouth curved in a snarl.
“Little Firebird is mine,” Mad Wolf rasped menacingly.
“You have no right,” Blade challenged. “Little Firebird is my woman.” Addressing Shannon, he asked, “Has Mad Wolf hurt you, Shannon?”
“N-no,” Shannon stammered. Try as she might, she found it difficult to believe that Blade had arrived so quickly.
Blade drew in a ragged breath. “Thank God.”
“Blade, don’t let him take me,” Shannon implored, aware that Blade and Mad Wolf were arguing over her. “Tell me what is going on?” Not knowing what was happening made the situation seem even more desperate.
“It’s all right, Shannon,” Blade explained, slipping easily into English. “I told them you belonged to me, that Mad Wolf couldn’t have you.”
Shannon mulled over Blade’s words; the intensity of his gaze begged—nay, demanded—her compliance. In her mind she knew he was trying to convey something—something vital to her survival. If she expected to walk away from this intolerable situation she had to place her trust in Blade. For some unexplained reason, it seemed imperative that she proclaim herself Blade’s woman.
Wise from the weight of many years, Yellow Dog intuitively sensed Shannon’s confusion. In halting English, he asked, “Does my grandson speak the truth? Are you his woman?”
“Grandson! Is Blade your
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