Dakota Dream (14 page)

"No." Jacob shook his head, curiously uninterested in that which he thought might cool his desire for the crazy one. "I have no time for such things." Then he pulled himself onto the
stallion's
back and stated his candid opinion of the soldiers: "You should be happy to know that the Long Knives I have met, officers and common warriors alike, do not seem to be burdened with a great many brains."

With a nod of approval, Gall said, "Let us hope they all prove to be so simpleminded."

Jacob's thoughts immediately went to the Long Hair. Custer was anything but simpleminded. He possessed an intelligence and drive even Chief Gall would admire. But that information did not require discussion, at least not on this night. The Lakota had faced Custer and his men before. His cunning and abilities were well known to them. Also known and understood was the fact that one man, no matter how clever, could not bring down an entire nation determined to survive.

Jacob glanced at his father and waved.
"Until the new moon."

"May the spirits guide and protect you." Gall pressed his palm against Jacob's thigh and squeezed. "Soon I am sure a rider will bring news of Crazy Horse and where he has fled. When you seek us next, we will both have much information. Ride to the tree-that-lives-in-death. Call the signal there and you will be directed to our camp." Then he backed away, adding an unnecessary warning to the son he'd trained himself. "Take care that none of the soldiers follow you."

"Hah." Laughing at the improbability of that happening, Jacob felt confident and at peace for the first time since he'd left the fort.

"Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, Father." He wheeled Sampi toward the southeast, assuring the chief as he rode off, "When nature's call must be answered, those nincompups are lucky if they can find their own man parts."

 
Chapter Six

“I want the answer to question seventy-one. O
ught
I
oppose the projects of my husband?" Libbie Custer squeezed her eyes shut and twirled her index finger before pushing it forward and spearing a spot on the page. "What have I chosen?"

"A single black triangle."
Dominique snatched her book,
The Ladies' Oracle,
off the coverlet and furiously flipped through the pages. When she found the corresponding answer to her aunt's question, she howled with laughter and fell over on the bed.

"Nikki, stop it. What does it say? I have to know." Libbie reached for the book, but Dominique clutched it to her bosom. Libbie sat back on her heels and waited for the hysterics to subside.

"Oh," Dominique said, her eyes filling with tears. "It says, yes, you may oppose your husband's projects— if you wish to ruin him, that is."

"Oh, pooh."
Libbie stuck out her tongue. "That book is filled with nothing but nonsense. I can't believe you were issued such a thing in a proper girls' school."

Dominique's expression sobered and she sat up. "I never said it was school
issue
.
I merely mentioned that I got it at Miss Annie Porter's School for Girls."

"Nikki." Scandalized but nonetheless intrigued, Libbie scooted closer. Whispering, even though she and her niece were alone in her bedroom, she asked, "Who gave it to you?"

"I bought it from one of the other inmates in boarding school. Her mother felt her education wasn't complete without this book and a couple of others whose titles I can't mention."

"Oh,
Nikki.
What would your father say if he knew we were having this conversation?"

"Mon
Dieu
!
J'ai
eleve
une
trainee!"

Libbie's brows collided. "What did you say? I can't speak French."

"I know." She laughed, but at the older woman's stern expression, she made the translation. "All right, he'd probably say, my God, I've raised a harlot."

"Oh, my Lord."
Libbie fell back on her pillow and fanned her brow with her hand. "No wonder your father sent you out west to finish you." She took a deep breath and went on, "I've spent the last ten of my twelve years of marriage lamenting the fact that the good Lord has denied Autie and me the joy of parenthood. Now and not for the first time, I feel I can see the wisdom in his judgment."

Dominique rolled over on her tummy and propped herself up with her elbows. "Aunt Libbie," she
began,
her tone serious. "Please don't think me rude or indelicate, but I have no mother to teach me these things, and asking father is simply out of the question."

Libbie turned her head and looked into Dominique's wide sable eyes. "I know, dear, and I've a confession to make. I'm not quite the laced-up old
biddie
you might think I am. But I'm also not given to talking about my personal life. These things are deeply private matters as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh," Dominique said in a tiny disappointed whisper.

Feeling empathy for her niece, remembering how bereft she felt when her own mother was snatched away while she was but a young girl, Libbie sighed.
"All right.
I will
answer any questions I can, dear, but do not press me if I feel they are too personal."

"Oh, thank you, Aunt Libbie." Dominique's mind raced, but it was suddenly a blank. The best she could do was "Why can't you and Uncle Armstrong have children?"

"That's easy enough. I have no idea. It just never happened. Not, of course, that we haven't"—Libbie softened her voice and lowered her lashes before she said the final word—"tried."

"Tell me about that," Dominique
said,
her mind suddenly full of questions. "Tell me all about it."

"Not for all the silk in Paris. That subject is definitely too personal. In fact, I am growing weary of this entire conversation. Where's that cute book of yours? This time you ask it a question."

Dominique collapsed her arms and allowed her head to drop to the pillow. It was no use pressing her aunt any further. The subject had been closed just when her heart was beginning to open. She wanted so to ask Libbie about the incident in the stable with Jacob, tell her how close she'd come to kissing him right out there in the open with no thought to her morals. What did it mean?
Was
she a harlot?
Or worse?

Dominique pressed her lips together. She didn't even know if there was anything worse than a harlot—and if there
was,
what shameful name a woman like that might be called. How would a sporting woman have reacted to the near kiss with Jacob? Would it have affected a more experienced woman as strongly as it had affected her? She remembered her very first open-mouthed kiss—with the gardener's son—as if it were yesterday, even though it had happened several months ago. He had kissed her, all right, and quite thoroughly as far as she could tell. Why did merely the
thought
of kissing Jacob excite her ten times more than the experience back home? And
why
,
she wondered, frustrated, wouldn't Libbie talk to her about these things?

"Nikki? Have you fallen asleep?"

Lifting her head from the pillow, she propped it up with her hand. "No, I'm sorry. I was daydreaming."

"Get your little book," Libbie urged, sensing that Dominique was upset about something. "I'm dying to hear what it has to say about your future love life."

With less enthusiasm than she usually had for the oracle, Dominique lifted it off the coverlet and studied the list of one hundred questions. When she got to number thirty-three, her spirits lifted considerably. "Here's the one I want an answer to. Shall I cease to be a virgin before I marry?"

"Dominique Custer DuBois."

"But, Aunt Libbie, it
is
a question—
see
?"

Libbie looked at the page. "So it is, but it is not a proper question."

"Oh, please? What harm can there be? Just let me choose my sign from the table and you read the answer. If you think it is much too vulgar for my delicate ears, simply keep it to yourself.''

"Oh, all right." Libbie spread the book open to the sign table and waited for Dominique to close her eyes and make her selection. When her finger finally landed on three black circles, Libbie quickly consulted the numbers chart to find the answer. She read it once, screwed up her features,
then
read it again.

"Well?" Dominique demanded, her good friend, impatience, ruling her tongue.

"Hold your horses, miss." Libbie narrowed her eyes and read the small print. "It seems innocent enough. It says, 'No, as you will be married sooner than you expect.' Is there someone you haven't told your uncle and me about?"

Perplexed by the answer, Dominique ignored Libbie's question and reached for the book. "Are you sure you have the right page? Did you look under three black circles or two?''

Backtracking over the instructions and her choice of sign didn't change a thing. The answer remained the same.

Dominique would retain her virginity until her wedding day. "I'm doomed," she groaned, "destined to live a life of boredom."

"Oh, Nikki," Libbie encouraged. "It's not that bad. It only says you'll be getting married, as any young lady should. You will be chaste and pure on that special day. What's so terrible about that?"

Dominique shrugged. "It doesn't sound very exciting, especially when you consider I don't even have a beau." She immediately thought of Jacob, of his smoldering gaze. Here, she supposed, was a man who could burn the innocence from her body with only a dark, roguish glance, answer all of her questions with his fiery touch. Here was the kind of man who could teach her to be a woman. Dominique shivered at the thought.

Unmindful of her niece's indecent musings, Libbie offered a suggestion. "Now, don't think I'm rushing you into anything—marriage or any kind of courtship—but you must be blind. Haven't you noticed the streams of husband material lining up for a chance to court you?"

"Husband material?"
Dominique wrinkled her nose. Is that what she really wanted—a husband? She glanced at Libbie and sighed. Her aunt was a woman who'd groomed herself to be the perfect complement to her man. What skills did she, Dominique, have to offer a man—an artistic flare, the ability to turn a blank canvas into a thing of beauty? Of what possible use could that feeble talent be? Again she sighed. "I'm not interested in finding a husband, Aunt Libbie. I don't think I'll ever get married."

"Why that's ridiculous. Of course you'll get married. And soon, I'll bet. Just last night in the parlor I noticed Captain Ruffing swooning, even if you didn't. The man is positively smitten, Nikki. Why don't you give him a chance?"