Magnificent Passage by Kat Martin Page A

unwanted notion.
    â€œI’ll be back before dark,” he informed James, heading toward the big roan. “Maybe our little minx will be in better spirits by the time I return.” The knowing look on James’s face said the odds were against it. Hawk smiled to himself as he rode from the camp. The governor certainly had raised a little spitfire.
    James busied himself setting up the camp. Though the horses had been rubbed down and tethered by the stream, there was still the pack mule to tend and wood to gather for the fire—if Hawk felt it was safe. He’d give Julia a little time to herself; maybe it would put her in a better mood. Tomorrow they would slow the pace a bit. Maybe that would ease everyone’s nerves.

    While James was busy setting up camp, Mandy took a walk in the shade of the trees. No one had paid much attention to the cedar grove, except as a good location for an early camp. Now, as Mandy made her way through the cool mossy interior and out the opposite side, she spotted a small tributary stream babbling noisily over rounded rocks and swirling into a shallow pool beneath a hillside of yellow balsam. It was just too tempting to pass up a second time. She
glanced around quickly to make certain no one was near—she could be in and out before they even missed her.
    As fast as her nervous fingers would allow, she unfastened the dusty, restricting garments, stepped out of her slip, and stood in her chemise and pantalets. She meant to do no more than wade by the edge, but the cool stream rippling against her legs was irresistible. With only a moment’s hesitation, she threw off her remaining garments and eased out into the stream. The water barely covering the swell of her hips, she sank into the cooling depths. Her tired muscles relaxed as she allowed the invigorating water to wash over her, carrying away the dust and dirt and some of her woes.
    Feeling carefree for the first time in days, she ducked her head beneath the surface to wash as much of the grime from her hair as she could, then all too soon made her way resignedly to the edge of the stream.
    Out of nowhere, a hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream, but the sound came out as a muffled sob. Pinned against a man’s hard chest, she felt powerful arms beneath her knees lifting her from the stream. She made no move to fight, too terrified even to breathe.
    Willing herself to be calm, she focused her eyes on the leather fringe on the man’s shirt and the sandy hair on his chest. She glanced up, recognizing immediately the grimset features of the one who caused her such distress. He motioned her to be silent as he carried her, drenched and dripping, behind an overgrown fallen log.
    What could this madman be thinking? Had he been spying on her the entire time she was in the stream? Surely he only meant to punish her for not obeying his orders. She drew herself up, wanting to unleash a verbal tirade and
hoping she could force him to release her so she could dash for her clothes.
    He shook his head and silently pointed in the direction of the stream. Three Sioux braves, bare-chested, bare-legged, and scantily clad only in breechcloths, rode brazenly up to the opposite bank of the creek. Gleaming red, yellow, and black war paint in geometric designs was smeared across their glistening bodies. Intent upon watering their lathered ponies, they sat quietly talking only a few feet away from the log.
    Mandy’s senses reeled. She’d lived on the frontier most of her life. She’d seen firsthand the horrible torture Indians reserved for their captives. These three were part of a war party—out for scalps. The image of Davey Williams’s mutilated body blocked all other thoughts from her mind. She clung to Hawk in terror, too afraid to remember her nakedness, her breathing shallow and weak.
    Crouched behind the massive fallen log, Hawk held the trembling girl in his lap. Her eyes glittered with fear. Her