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the time he regained his breath, Innes and several of the warriors were involved in a heated argument. As near as Carson could figure, Innes was free, not a captive, which meant he had to be known by these people. Were these the people he’d once lived with? Did he have enough sway with them to get them free?
    One warrior, a different one from the one who had kicked him, grabbed Carson by his bound hands and jerked him to his feet. His bound feet. He toppled and fell.
    More laughter again.
    So, he was to be their entertainment.
    Carson had heard stories—who back East hadn’t?—of the torture Indians practiced on whites. He had the sinking sensation that he was about to learn about it first hand.
    They got him to his feet again, only this time, instead of letting him fall so they could laugh, they dragged him a dozen yards to a tree, where they tied his hands to a branch almost out of his reach overhead.
    “Daddy!” Megan burst from the angel’s hold and ran toward him. The woman, with Bess in tow, chased after her. He wouldn’t think of her as an angel. He wasn’t dead. Yet.
    He would have crumpled to the ground in relief at seeing both girls alive and relatively unharmed—if he didn’t count the bruise darkening Bess’s temple and cheek—but being tied to an overhead branch did not permit him to crumple to the ground. And realizing that they’d been brought among the people who were undoubtedly going to kill him stripped him of his relief.
    Megan flung herself at his legs and sobbed. “I’m scared, Daddy.”
    “I know, baby. I’m sorry. MacDougall!” he bellowed. “I thought you said they were safe, damn you!”
    Innes and the gray-eyed woman with Bess reached Megan at the same time.
    “Get them out of here,” Carson managed through clenched teeth. “Goddammit, man, get them out of here. Don’t let them see whatever’s about to happen. Promise me. On my father’s soul, promise me!”
    “Aye, lad, I promise. They’ll be safe.” To the young Indian woman he said, “Get them away from here. I’ll find ye when I can.”
    “Aye, Da. I’ll take them to Grandmother’s lodge, then. ‘Tis where you’ll be findin’ us when you’ve a mind.”
    When you’ve a mind? Carson blinked. An Indian who spoke English—sort of—with a Scottish burr?
    It dawned on him then that this must be the daughter Innes had spoken of. It fit. Skin lighter than the others, clear gray eyes, and a Scottish burr. As he stood there with the rawhide bindings cutting into his wrists, he thought it was a hell of a time to notice the dignified, confident way she moved, the concern in her eyes, her gentle yet firm touch with Bess and Megan as she led them away.
    Bess turned back toward him. “Carson!”
    Carson closed his eyes against the plea on his sister’s face, the terror in her eyes, her voice. He had to trust Innes in this, because he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Bess or Megan. Nor could he bear the thought of them witnessing whatever might happen to him. “Do what Innes says, Bess. Go with her. Take care of Megan.”
    Bess stared at him a moment, then turned, reluctantly, and let Innes’s daughter lead her and Megan away.
    As soon as they were out of earshot, Carson glared at Innes. “What the hell happened? Aren’t these the same people you said I’d have no trouble with?”
    Innes MacDougall ground his teeth. “Aye, that they are.” He couldn’t believe what had happened. Couldn’t believe that Two Feathers, Crooked Oak, and the others had not released Carson the instant they recognized Innes. How dare the bloody bastards attack a friend of his! How dare they not release him and back off at Innes’s demand.
    Was he not one of them? Had he not lived with them, hunted with them, had he not married Two Feather’s sister, with Two Feather’s blessing ?
    It was that damn hothead, Crooked Oak. Always wanting to go to war, he was. A dog soldier, and a fierce one. He would use the recent