"Let the find the lots of land, plenty for all, and plant dead trees there. This is Comanche land, and it cannot be given or bought." "And we say it can. As you're so fond of saying, it is not wise to fight when you cannot win. We are the stronger. We have better weaponry. When you're outnumbered and outflanked, you must surrender your ways and accept the new." He looked over at her. "Strong is right?" "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that." "You say a woman cannot be bought. I say she can. I am strong. I am right." Just when she started to relax around him, he jerked the rug from under her. "That's different." "I say it is not." Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he slowly ran his gaze from her ankle to her waist. The way his attention lingered on her hips brought a flush to her cheeks. "You believe a different way. But I am strong; you are not. I shall take what I have paid for. You will surrender, no? To my ways?" "Never." She tugged down the hem of her shirt, once again painfully aware that her lower extremities were covered only with drawers. "It isn't the same thing at all." "Ah, but it is. Your heart cries no. Our hearts cry no. Strong is not always good, Blue Eyes. To surrender and die inside, that is not good. Do not ask this Comanche to do what you cannot. It is wisdom."