Wind Rider by Connie Mason

was explosive.
    “The slave is my property. I have said no one is to touch her,” Wind Rider challenged.
    “And I have offered to buy her from you,” Cut Nose returned. “I will give you three horses instead of the one I offered before. I am being most generous to my Cheyenne brother. Besides,” he added slyly, “the slave wanted me. She enticed me here and offered herself to me.”
    “You lie!” Wind Rider denied vehemently. “The blood on your face tells me she was not willing. For the last time, Cut Nose, Little Spar row is not for sale.”
    Cut Nose’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t about to give up so easily. “She must be very good between the blankets for you to turn down three horses. I will give you five horses, but no more.”
    “I don’t want your horses.”
    “And,” Cut Nose offered as an added induce ment, “you may have my sister. She will make you a good wife. She has already told me she favors you. Many good braves have offered for her.”
    “You are more than generous,” Wind Rider said with a hint of sarcasm, “but I do not want a wife.”
    By now Hannah had staggered to her feet, nursing her aching jaw. It was already turning black-and-blue from Cut Nose’s blow. Wind Rider saw it and sent Cut Nose a threatening glare. Then he reached out a protective arm and pulled Hannah beside him.
    Cut Nose sneered derisively. “You are a white eyes masquerading as a Cheyenne. How long will it be before you turn traitor to our people? I will ask the council to banish you from our tribe; then I will claim the slave as my own.”
    Wind Rider laughed harshly. “You may try, but they will not listen to you. I have fought bravely beside my Sioux brothers. I have raided army supply wagons and counted coup upon the enemy many times. I challenge any man to question my courage or loyalty.”
    Cut Nose sent a leering glance at Hannah, who was plastered against Wind Rider’s side. “Perhaps I will challenge you, my white Chey enne brother, if the council does not vote to banish you from the tribe. You have refused to join with my sister and shamed my family.” Whirling on his heel, he strode away.
    Hannah allowed herself to breathe again. “He wanted to rape me,” she said shakily.
    Wind Rider grasped her chin and turned her face toward him. The bruise on her cheek glowed an ugly purple against her white skin. “Did he hurt you?”
    The question angered Hannah. Why should Wind Rider care if Cut Nose hurt her when he hadn’t treated her with any degree of kindness since he’d captured her? “Do you care? I’m sur prised you stopped him from raping me. You Indians are all savages.”
    Wind Rider’s jaw stiffened. “You belong to me. No man has a right to touch you unless I allow it. Did you invite his attention? Did you entice him as he said?”
    Hannah paled. “I did no such thing! Cut Nose said you’d make me the village whore when you tired of me. He said it was the custom.”
    “Cut Nose is right, it is the custom, but it is my decision whether or not that happens. We will speak of this later. Gather the wood; I am hungry.”
    Her mind in a turmoil, Hannah did as she was told, aware that her future—or lack of one—depended on this fierce Indian, who did not look at all like an Indian.
    Wind Rider did not let Hannah out of his sight as he followed her back to camp. “I will build a fire this once, but in the future the chore will be yours. You must not forget that you are my slave.”
    Hannah already knew how to build a fire; she had done it when she traveled west with the Harleys. They had joined a wagon train at Independence, and all the difficult chores had fallen to her.
    Hannah was wondering what Wind Rider expected her to cook when an old woman hobbled over and placed a skillet on the fire to heat. Then she took some ground grain from a parfleche she had brought with her and mixed it with water, placing it in the sizzling skillet. The aroma was delicious, and Hannah’s mouth began to