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"Where are you taking me?" She finally asked.
"Nowhere right now."
"I don't understand?" she tried to turn around only to find his face very close to her own. He had no hair on his face, and in the moonlight, he was terribly handsome. It shocked her to acknowledge it. He was an Indian, she shouldn't be thinking like that. After all, he was kidnapping her, wasn't he?
"We must—get used to each other first." He told her.
"Used to each other?" She repeated.
He stopped and got down, helping her down, and he stared into her topaz eyes once more, mesmerized. The way he looked at her, no man had looked upon her that way.
"Why are you not afraid of me?" He asked, his expression questioning as he loosened the saddle and put it on the ground and took the blankets off the horse.
She raised a contemplating brow. "I recognize you from the store. You've come there many times, buying supplies. You were never hostile or unruly. You were quiet and unassuming. Why should I be afraid of that?"
"But I just kidnapped you, where is your fear?"
"Kidnapped me. Is that what you are doing. If so, why did you give me a choice? You had no gun, you didn't threaten me with a knife, nor a whip.""
"I do not understand. You fear your husband. I suspected you might fear all men. I did take you, did I not?" He sounded almost angry and yet she felt no fear of him.
"I'm not used to having a choice in any matter. Besides, he slapped me down and you helped me up… "
"So, I did." His lips curled into a slight smile. He tied the reins to a nearby tree branch. "I have not decided whether to just let you go or take you with me." He told her. "Do you have some place to go?"
His English was nearly perfect.
She bowed her head, "No…"
"Do you want to go back?"
"No!" she said empathically looking up
at him with pleading eyes.
A slight smile flittered over his features. "My name is Lone Wolf, what's yours?"
"Hannah… " she told him shyly.
"Hannah, it is a good name."
"Why did you take me away?" she asked.
"I did not think you wanted to stay."
"You are right, but I don't know you. How would you know such a thing about me?"
"I do not know of a woman who likes to be mistreated."
"It is true, but I never meant to bring my grief upon anyone else."
"I know that too."
"How could you know that?" She looked at him perplexed by his knowledge of things.
"You are a kind person. I have seen that kindness at the store, many times."
She followed his every step. He puzzled her. He was Indian, and yet he talked with her like a white man. He knew things about her and she wondered why he bothered to watch her at all. A million questions crowded her mind. What did he want of her? Why had he taken her? How much did he know of her?
