The Guardian by Elizabeth Lane Page A

young Blackfoot picked up their trail, even Black Sun would be no match for a dozen reckless braves. They would fall on him like a pack of dogs, and once he was overpowered or killed, she and Annie would have no chance at all.
    As if sensing her fear, Annie began to whimper. Black Sun shot Charity an alarmed glance. “Keep her quiet!” he whispered. But in spite of Charity’s efforts to nurse her, the baby continued to fuss. For the moment, the voices of the arguing braves kept them from hearing her. But that, Charity knew, could swiftly change. And if the Blackfoot discovered their presence… Her blood ran cold at the thought of what they might do.
    Gulping back her terror, she raised the cradleboard to her shoulder and began to hum softly in Annie’s ear, much as Black Sun had done. But the tension had clearly affected the baby. Her whimpers grew more agitated, threatening to erupt into all-out howls.
    â€œCan’t you keep her still?” Black Sun’s eyes glittered with desperation.
    â€œI’m trying!” Charity muttered, struggling to maneuver the cradleboard so that Annie could nurse. She managed to work the front of the buckskin shirt open to offer her breast, but Annie would have none of it. Her head rolled back and forth in agitation. The color deepened in her puckered face. Her chest jerked in a rising crescendo of sobs.
    Black Sun turned away with a sharp exhalation. Moving cautiously, he withdrew his bow and his quiver of arrows from the pack and slipped them over his shoulder. “Stay here and keep quiet,” he hissed. “If they come for us, I’ll try to draw them away. While they’re busy with me, you run. Get as far away as you can, and don’t look back!”
    Charity’s gaze followed him as he darted off through the trees, moving like a shadow across the rocky slope. He was risking his life for her and Annie, she knew. If the young braves heard the baby, or decided to venture into the canyon in search of more horses, he would stand against them alone with his arrows and his knife—all to buy time for her and her baby to escape.
    How could she not trust such a man?
    Annie was still fussing and refusing to nurse. Charity stroked her face, tickling and coaxing, but to no avail. She tried covering her lightly with the buffalo robe to muffle the sound, but the stuffy darkness over her face only frightened Annie and made her cry harder.
    Black Sun had reached an outcrop of rocks. He crouched behind a boulder gripping his bow, one flint-tipped arrow nocked and ready to fly. He might kill one or two of the braves, but in the end there would be too many for him. Charity could only pray that, if they attacked, he might be lucky enough to die fighting.
    If they survived this day, Charity vowed, she would make certain that Annie never forgot the man who had saved them.
    Shadows deepened in the canyon as the clouds boiled above the ledges. The gloom only heightened the feeling of danger. In the hollow below, the young Blackfoot were still arguing. The braves had arrived only moments ago, but time had crawled at such an agonizing pace that, to Charity, it could have been hours.
    She rocked Annie against her pounding heart. “Hush…” she whispered, sick with fear. “It’s all right, Little One. Don’t—”
    Annie’s howl split the leaden air, startling a dove from its perch above them. The bird shot upward in an explosion of fluttering wings.
    In the hollow, the young braves had fallen silent. As Charity clutched the baby frantically to her breast, one of them pointed to the spot from which the bird had flown. With their bows, they moved up the hillside. Only the tall one who had argued for leaving the canyon hung back.
    Hunkering close to the ground, Charity crawled beneath a chokecherry thicket. Branches scratched her face and arms as she moved deeper, one hand shielding Annie from harm. Her daughter had stopped crying,