"I'm a terrible sinner," Sarah whispered. "I made a mockery of my marriage vows and-"

"Not alone you didn't." He slipped an arm around her. Sobbing, she leaned against him. He let the lines fall, and the horse stopped. "No more tears," he begged her. "Sam's dead. He's dead, and we're alive."

"I wanted you to take me away," she answered in anguish. "But now he'd dead and he'll always be between us."

"It won't be like that, I promise." His heart ached to see her like this, clad in black widow's weeds from head to toe. Sarah liked fine clothing, bright colors. He'd give them to her again.

"Never." She wept softly. "You don't understand. There's something I have to ask you…"

"Ask me? Ask me what?"

"Did it happen the way you said, Henry? Did that MacGreggor woman shoot Sam?"

He stiffened. "Why would you ask me that, Sarah? Haven't we been over this a dozen times?"

"It's just…" She pushed the veil away to look into his face. "He knew about us."

"Hell, yes, he knew. What's wrong with you, Sarah? What did you think that argument was about, the last time I saw him alive? When he threw me off the Lazy S." He lifted her chin and met her questioning gaze. "Do you think I killed him? My own brother?"

More tears spilled from her swollen eyes. "No… I don't… I wanted to hear you say it, say you had nothing to do with… with what happened."

"Don't even think such a thing. Sam caught Tamsin MacGreggor stealing his horses, and she shot him. I'm as innocent of his death as you are. And I'm as anxious to see justice done."

"I prayed to be rid of him… but not that way. Never that way," Sarah said.

"My brother's death won't go unpunished. I'll see the MacGreggor woman hang if it's the last thing I do. The Bible says, 'An eye for an eye.' I would have shot her that night if I could, but I'll settle to see her dangle from a rope in front of the courthouse."

"Her death won't change anything. It won't bring Sam back, and it won't change what we… what I did."

"I love you, Sarah. I've always loved you. We'll wait a decent time, and then we'll be married. Just as we should have been a long time ago."

"I was miserable with him, and now that he's dead, I'll always be unhappy."

"Don't say that. You're all upset, and rightly so. You were a good wife to him, Sarah."

"A good wife?" She made a small sound of despair. "When I slept with his brother like a common harlot?"

"Never say that again," he admonished. "What happened is in the past. The future belongs to us. We'll get through this, see justice done, and then we'll be wed."

"You don't understand."

"I do. And I have to live with the fact that I betrayed him with-"

"But I'm with child."

"What?" Stunned, he stiffened. "You're what?"

"I'm going to have a baby."

His chest felt as though it were squeezed in a vise. All these years he'd secretly envied his brother, and he'd been glad that his marriage was barren. But now that Sam was gone, was it possible that he'd have to live with Sam's son?

"Say something?" she begged. "Tell me you're glad."

"Sam's child? You're having-"

"No, you great ninny! Not Sam's. We haven't been together in years… not like that. It's yours, Henry, your child."

"But… but…" Dumbly, he began to grin. "Mine? Ours?" Joy bubbled up inside him. "My son?"

"Or daughter."

"You're not pleased?" She didn't sound pleased. Sarah had always said she wanted children, but…

"Of course I'm pleased, Henry. Why wouldn't I be? It's just that now… now, we can't marry. Not for months, maybe years. People will talk. They might guess that-"

"Hell with what people say," he said. "What difference does it make what gossips blab about? What could be more natural than I'd marry my brother's widow and care for-"

"His child, Henry. Unless we want our child branded a bastard, it must always be Sam's child."

Suddenly, a thought struck him and he sobered. "Did he know? Did my brother-"

"He knew," Sarah said brokenly.

"A son." Henry leaned close and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "Nothing could make me happier," he said. "And I'll make you happy. I swear it. I'll protect you and care for you, Sarah. And I'll make you forget all this unhappiness."

"Will you, Henry? Can you?" She touched his cheek with a gloved hand.

"I swear to you, we'll make a new life. Here or somewhere else, the three of us."

"Yes," she agreed. "I want to go away, back to St. Louis, back to civilization. I want to forget what happened here."

Around the bend, toward them, came the minister's chaise. Quickly, Henry released Sarah and picked up the reins. "We'd best take those flowers of yours to the grave."

"Yes," she answered. "We should show proper respect. Flowers make a grave less… less…"

"Good morning, Reverend," Henry called to the minister.

"A blessed day to you, Judge, and to you Mrs. Steele," the cleric replied.

"Reverend," Sarah said.

Smiling, Henry clicked to the mare and drove on through the pouring rain.

The first light of morning found Tamsin and the war party riding up mountainsides and plunging into ravines that she wouldn't have believed a goat could traverse. Low-hanging branches scraped at her skin and hair and tore her clothing. Thirst plagued her, and it was impossible to forget Buffalo Horn's threats of burning.

If she let her mind dwell on torture, she would lose all reason. She kept remembering the Indian she'd shot at the campfire and the stench of burning hair when he fell. Since she was a child, Tamsin had heard horror stories of Indian captives burned at the stake. She didn't want to die, but if there was no hope of survival, she would rather be shot in an escape attempt than to meet such a horrible fate.

Tamsin feared as much for her horses as she did for her own safety. Fancy and Dancer were thoroughbreds, unused to such rugged country. One misstep and either of them could snap a leg.

One of the Cheyenne braves rode Fancy, but none could stay on Dancer's back long enough to make it worth his while. They'd dropped rawhide ropes over his head and wrestled him to the ground, but the big bay had fought them hoof and tooth. And after an hour's struggle, the braves had given up and simply fastened a lead line to a loop around his neck.

As the hours passed and her thirst grew worse, she tried to fill her head with other thoughts. She tried to imagine what her new farm in California would look like. She built imaginary barns and paddocks and filled them with sleek mares and beautiful foals.

She could almost see Ash Morgan leaning on a split-rail fence and-Ash? How had he slipped into her innermost thoughts?

It was better not to remember how safe she'd felt with his arms around her… and better not to hope that he would come for her.

But he will, she thought. He'll follow me to where I stopped for the night, and then… Sweet God in heaven, why would Ash want to risk his life for her after what she'd done to him? Not once, but twice.

She glanced around cautiously. Last night she'd counted four uninjured Cheyenne. In daylight, she'd seen that she'd missed three more, making a total of seven. The wounded man was barely conscious, his shirt stained with blood. She supposed he was the one she'd wrestled with and shot, apparently in the side. But he was too weak to lift a weapon, so that made the odds against Ash seven to one. Not even Ash could fight off so many Indians. Could he?

When the sun was high overhead, the Cheyenne stopped to rest beside a cascade of tumbling water. Men slid down from their mounts to bury their faces in the foamy stream, and the horses eagerly drank deeply.

"Please, I'm thirsty," she called to Buffalo Horn. "Loose my hands for just a minute so that I-"

In the bright sunshine, the paint on his face had smeared and faded, but his eyes were just as hard. Ignoring her plea, he turned to a companion and said something in Cheyenne that made the other men laugh. He seized her by the shoulder and dragged her from the horse.