Blackwolf's Redemption. Sandra Marton

vow here as the sun rose. He would vow to rid the world of superstition. He would sell the canyon, sell his thousands of acres, and if some ambitious snake-oil salesman decided to charge admission to view the solstice or the equinox or the moon-rise, let him.

      He had already put a stop to the age-old tradition of permitting his people to ride here to view what they considered a sacred rite. Men—boys, especially—should not be taught to put their faith in things that could someday make a mockery of their beliefs.

      This was a place of lies and ignorance. It was time to put a stop to it.

      The sale papers were already on his desk. He would sign them, courier them to his attorney, and all this nonsense would be—

      Cloud whinnied. Jesse looked straight ahead at the beam of bright sunlight beginning to slip between the two slabs of stone.

      He drew an unsteady breath. His pulse was racing; he felt light-headed. Damn it, superstition could be a powerful—

       What in hell was that?

      He’d expected the shaft of light to fall on the so-called sacred stone. One thing about science: once you understood it, you could count on it to perform the necessary parlor tricks.

      But what was that other light? That sudden green zigzag overhead?

      There it was again. An electric bolt of color that shattered the sky.

      His horse danced backward, shying with fear. Jesse grasped the reins in his right hand more tightly, murmured words of assurance to the horse.

      To himself.

      Lightning, in a clear dawn sky? Lightning without thunder? Lightning the color of emeralds? The weather could be unpredictable here. This was northern Montana, after all, a place of mountains and valleys and…

      “Damn!”

      Another streak of lightning sizzled through the sky behind the jagged peak. The sun vanished; darkness covered the land. Cloud rose on his hind legs and pawed the air, crying out with fear. Jesse fought to calm the agitated animal.

      The sky lit again. Green lightning flashed between the stone slabs and pulsed at the heart of the sacred circle.

      The stallion went crazy, screaming, trying to throw Jesse to the ground.

      The breath caught in Jessie’s throat.

      The lightning had stopped.

      The darkness vanished.

      The sun appeared, a bright yellow ball against a clear blue sky.

      It lit the canyon, the peaks, the tenacious shrubs and lodgepole pines that clung to the inhospitable slope before him, but Jesse had eyes for only one thing.

      A figure. A human figure that lay, still as death, in the very center of the sacred stone.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE climb to the ledge was as tricky and dangerous as Jesse remembered, more like sixty feet instead of forty because of all the maneuvering necessary to find the right hand and footholds, and the rush of adrenaline pumping through him didn’t help. He could feel his muscles tensing.

      Jesse stopped, counted to ten, took half a dozen deep breaths as the sweat poured off his tanned skin. If he fell, then there’d be two of them for the vultures to pick over.

      Two of what? his brain said. Had he actually seen somebody up there?

      Hell. There was no time for that. He had to keep moving.

      The ledge was right above him now. This was the trickiest part; he’d have to lean back with nothing behind him but air to get a decent handhold. Wouldn’t it be a bitch if he’d gone through all this nonsense and the thing lying on the stone wasn’t human at all? There was lots of wildlife here. Elk, deer, but neither of those could have scrambled up this high. A wolf? No, again. A bear, maybe. Or a mountain lion.

      He might have made this climb just for a look at the carcass of a dead animal. Or an injured one. Hunters might have ignored his No Trespassing signs. Nobody from around here. They knew better. But an outsider…

       For God’s sake, you’ve seen what some of those idiots who call themselves hunters can do.

      Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

      A wounded grizzly would be a hell of a thing to find. Well, it was too late to worry about that now. Jesse took a deep breath. One last pull with the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders and he hoisted himself up on the narrowest part of the ledge.

      His heart caught in his throat.

      There was something here, all right. And it wasn’t an animal.

      It was a woman.

      She was unconscious but alive; her face was white as a fish’s belly but he could see the faint rise and fall of her breasts.

      A moan rose from her throat. She didn’t have any obvious wounds, but that didn’t mean anything. For all he knew, she might have been struck by that strange lightning. Lightning was dangerous. It might have damaged her heart. Or she might have hit her head and suffered a concussion.

      He had no way of knowing her condition.

      He told himself she deserved whatever had happened to her. Outsiders had no business here. Still, instinct took over. He had been trained to save lives, as well as take them. He knelt down beside her and took a closer look.

      She wasn’t shivering. That was good. He touched his hand to the side of her neck. Her skin was warm. That was good, too. He could see her pulse beating—hell, racing—in her throat.

      He put his hand over her heart.

      Its beat was strong and steady…and her breast filled his palm. He jerked his hand away and sat back on his heels.

      “Wake up,” he said sharply.

      She didn’t move.

      “Come on, open your eyes.”

      She moaned again. Her lashes lifted, revealing irises the color of spring violets.

      “Are you injured? Does anything hurt?”

      The tip of her tongue came out and swept lightly over her lips. She was looking at him, but he doubted if she could really see him; her eyes were blurry.

      “Concentrate,” he said coldly. “Listen to what I’m saying. Are you hurt?”

      Her gaze sharpened; her eyes seemed to darken. Her lips parted.

      “That’s it. Look at me and tell me if anything—”

      “Oh, my God,” she gasped.

      And then her mouth opened wide and her scream echoed and reechoed through the silence of the canyon.

      The scream that erupted from Sienna’s throat was high and thin and filled with terror, but sheer, unadulterated terror was precisely what she felt.

      A man was bending over her. He had the painted face of a savage, with black stripes delineating the sharpness of his high cheekbones. His hair was black, too, and long, held back with a strip of something, maybe deer hide. Her eyes dropped lower. An eagle’s talon was hung around his neck, dangling from a narrower length of leather.

      Dangling against his—oh, God—his naked, tautly muscled chest.

      Fear beat gauzy wings in her blood. There was only one explanation. A lunatic was wandering the Montana high country and she’d run straight into him.

      Don’t scream again, she told herself. Do not scream again. Be calm, be calm, be—

      “Get away from me!” she shrieked as he leaned toward her. She dug her elbows into the unyielding surface beneath her and tried desperately to scramble backward. No way. The man put his big, hard hands on her shoulders and shoved her down.

      “Don’t