The Bride Wore Feathers (11 page)

"Surely your locks are shiny enough for this night, my precious sunbeam," Custer murmured as he approached. Reaching the back of her chair, he stared into the mirror and fondled a lock of his wife's silky chestnut hair. "We need to talk."

Libbie glanced into the looking glass at her husband's reflection. Lines of dejection, of weariness, cat-tracked from the corners of his eyes, aging him beyond his thirty- six years. She dropped the brush and rose.

"What's wrong, Autie? Have there been some complaints about the ball?"

"No, sunbeam." He pulled her into his arms and stroked her shoulders through the soft flannel of her nightgown. "I received new orders this morning, but didn't want to trouble you with them until after the party."

"Orders? But your orders are to wage a summer campaign against the hostiles right here. You have your orders."

"Had," he corrected with a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I have to report to Washington at once."

Libbie pulled back and tried to push out of her husband's arms, but he held fast. "That can't be," she cried. "We've just returned from New York in the dead of winter. Don't they have any idea what they're asking of us?"

"They probably do, but it doesn't matter. The official dispatch says I'm urgently needed so that the building of new forts on the Yellowstone River can be discussed and implemented. It seems that President
Grant"—
he spit the name out as if it were sour milk—"has found one thing he likes about me—that I do seem to know my Indians and the particular problems they present."

"Oh, Autie, I can't believe he'd make you go all the way back to Washington so soon. Do you have to go?"

"Keep control of yourself, precious. This may work in my best interest. Grant's term is almost up. With a little luck and some intelligent voting, what he thinks or does may no longer be of any consequence to my career. Besides"—he smiled, winding the tail end of a pink satin ribbon at her throat around his finger—"if we can live through the next four years of a new administration, don't be surprised if you find
my
name on the ballot in 1880."

"Oh, Autie," she said. "Do you really think it's possible?"

"It's more than possible, my precious." Custer gave a tug on the ribbon, releasing the bow at her neckline. "It's almost a fact. Now, then, we have only tonight to last us for the next few weeks. How would you like to drop your drawers for the future President of the United States?"

Chapter 5

Jacob swung the shovel and took a swipe at the pile of manure. The movement startled the general's favorite horse, Dandy. The stallion reared, striking out with his hooves, and narrowly missed Jacob's temple.

"Waicpia,"
he murmured, reaching out to calm the horse. Then, realizing what he'd said, damning the lapse into the Lakota language, Jacob corrected himself. "Easy, brave one. No harm will come to you. It is your master who must have the eye of the eagle and vision of a shaman."

Grinning at the thought, Jacob continued his work. He'd accomplished much over his first three days as a soldier and had made several friends among the officers. These new friends, Barney in particular, would be of great service to him and ultimately to his people. It had taken him only one day to demonstrate to the Long Knives his prowess with the horses. In less than a week, he hoped also to show them how valuable he could be as a scout.

He'd done much toward fulfilling his mission in a very short time, he decided, congratulating himself. Jacob repeated that thought, hoping to convince himself that these accomplishments were all that mattered, that the recurring thoughts and dreams of his dead white family would eventually fade, and that his undeniable attraction to the crazy one would ease after his return to the Lakota camp—and to Spotted Feather's arms.

Footsteps, the rustling of petticoats, and low voices alerted him to the approach of visitors. He threaded his fingers through Dandy's mane and turned toward the barn door as three figures passed through the opening.

"Afternoon, Stoltz," Barney Woodhouse called. "I have a new assignment you might be interested in—one that's bound to be a heck of a lot more fun than stable call."

Jacob noticed the lieutenant squired Hazel Swenson on his arm, but his attention was riveted on the woman at her side—Dominique DuBois. His spirits lifting in spite of his doubts, Jacob nudged Dandy back into his stall and knotted the rope gate. Wiping his hands on his blue regulation trousers, he approached the trio.

"Afternoon, ladies," he said with a tight smile. "You have work for me, Lieutenant?"

"When we're not at assembly, I'm just plain Barney to the man who saved my life, Stoltz." He gestured toward Dominique, then turned back to his friend. "The general's niece has a hankering to learn how to ride a horse. Captain Ruffing says he's mighty impressed with your work, says he's never seen a man so smooth with the mounts. Says—and begging your pardon if I don't quite believe it—that you could give Iron Butt a run for his money any day of the week."

"Iron Butt?"

Barney choked, and his scant mustache puckered with his upper lip until it almost couldn't be seen. "Begging your pardon, Miss DuBois," he muttered, tugging at the bright yellow scarf knotted at his throat. "Iron Butt is an affectionate term some of the soldiers use for your uncle. It is an honorary title, to be sure, since the general's horsemanship is legendary, but, well ..."

"But Uncle Armstrong doesn't know about the nickname?" She laughed, struck by the ludicrous image of her uncle wearing trousers of lead.

"Ah, I don't know for sure, but just in case, it'd be best if you didn't mention it."

"Don't worry. He won't hear it from me, Lieutenant."

"Ah, thank you, Miss DuBois." Quickly turning his attention back to Jacob, he said, "Do you think you can teach the young lady how to ride? I might be able to wrangle a little more than your basic pay out of it for you."

Jacob's brow wrinkled as he considered the lieutenant's request. While the idea was as tempting as the beautiful woman herself, he hesitated. Was this honorable work for a soldier or better left to those too cowardly to confront the enemy? If he accepted, would helping the crazy one interfere with his mission or make it more bearable? His main objective was to get close to those included in the Long Hair's council. Barney Woodhouse was one of those soldiers. Could he chance the lieutenant's disapproval if he chose not to give the lessons? Perhaps this chore could actually work to his advantage, even gain him favor in the eyes of Custer, should he hear of Jacob's obedience upon his return to the fort.

Jacob shrugged. "I can try to help her."

If Barney missed the underlying tension, the hesitation in Jacob's words, Hazel didn't. She cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I can see you have work to do, Private Stoltz, and I'm sure Dominique doesn't want to interfere with the operations of the fort."

"I really don't see the problem, Hazel," Dominique cut in, worried all her planning would be for naught. Ever since Jacob had disappeared from the dance, she'd schemed to see him again, hoped that more time in his company would help her to separate the feelings she had for him from those she harbored for Redfoot. To that end, she laughed gaily and said, "Why, even Uncle Tom said the riding lessons would be a welcome break from the tedious busywork the soldiers must do. Why don't you and Barney go ahead and finish your walk? I'm sure Private Stoltz and I can manage my lessons without an audience."

Hazel trained a thoughtful amber eye on Jacob. "Well ..."

"Come on, Mrs. Swenson," Barney encouraged. "She's right, and Stoltz knows exactly what he's doing with the horses. This lovely spring day demands we take advantage of it and go for our walk before a surprise storm hits."

She shrugged. "Oh, all right, but do be careful," she admonished both her charge and the soldier. "Dominique has never been around horses, you know. She needs lessons from the ground up. Don't let her walk behind a horse lest it kick her, and be sure—"

Barney pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and marched toward the door, jerking the words from her mouth. "She'll be just fine, Hazel. You should worry more about where you walk than where your niece does."

Hazel squealed, sidestepping a fresh pile of droppings, and then the pair disappeared out into the sunshine.

Her dark eyes sparkling with laughter, Dominique spun around to face the Soldier. His gaze had never left her. Caught off guard by the calm intensity in his deep blue eyes, the sense of purpose in his expression, she found she had to look away to regain her composure.

Jacob sighed, again questioning his judgment, then stifled the urge to laugh when he noticed the rhythmic tapping of a small foot beneath her long navy-blue skirt. Impatience and a very strong will ruled this one, he decided, reinforcing his original opinion of her. Too bad they were not in the Lakota camp, he thought, swallowing the urge to laugh. A fast lesson astride his mount, the spirited Sampi, would teach this impetuous beauty a few things about the value of patience.

Dominique smiled up at him. "Well? Where do we start?"

Jacob furrowed his brow and stared down at the hem of her dress. "You must start by going to your quarters and changing your clothing."

"Changing?" She drew her fingertips down the sides of her navy wool serge riding suit. "But my Aunt Libbie brought this back from New York not two months ago. She had it altered to fit me only yesterday." She lifted her chin and draped one hand across the brown leather straps decorating the jacket. "This is the newest, most fashionable riding habit available anywhere."

Incredulous, he said, "You wish to ride a horse in this dress?"

"Of course." Dominique lifted her right arm, revealing the leather strap surrounding her wrist, which was connected by a thong to the hem of her skirt. The higher she raised her arm, the higher the skirt rose, until it rested above the toes of her boots. "Shall we?"

Uncertain, wondering if he should believe her, Jacob removed his trooper's hat and scratched his head. "I do not think you will fit on the back of a horse in this dress."

Dominique puckered up her mouth and frowned. "But Aunt Libbie rides in one just like it. This must be the correct attire." With her free hand, she reached up and adjusted her hat, a matching square fillet with a long ivory illusion veil that circled the crown and trailed down from a bow at the back. Then again she smiled and repeated her request. "Where do we begin?"

Jacob grinned. "With a horse."

"Of course." She laughed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Caught by the sparkle in her playful brown eyes, Jacob indulged himself with a long look into them before he gestured for her to follow him. "I have come to know all the animals in the barn. There is a mare who will be very gentle with you."

"Oh?" she sighed, disappointed. "I assumed I would be riding my aunt Libbie's horse. She talks about that animal as if it were human."

Jacob stopped in front of a stall and began to untie the rope. "I have heard that Mrs. Custer has ridden many times with the general. Her mount is spirited, meant only for a rider with much experience. This mare will serve you best."

Dominique opened her mouth to protest, but one quick look at the animal in the stall kept her reply in her throat. Good heavens. Did she actually have to climb up on that monster's back in order to keep up this charade? Could she really go through with the riding lessons, with this suddenly insane excuse she'd dreamed up in order to see Jacob again?

Unaware of Dominique's attack of nerves, Jacob attached a leather lead line to the mare's halter, and led the animal out of the stall. "This is Peaches. Come to her, Dominique. Let her get to know your voice, your scent. Talk to her in a gentle voice. Be kind to her and she will be your friend for life." He handed the lead to her and added, "I will get a saddle while you become friends."

Alarmed, Dominique stood there looking at the length of leather resting in the palm of her gloved hand as Jacob walked away. Then she glanced up at the horse. Peaches began nodding her head, and her lush black mane moved back and forth across her long neck like a pendulum. For the first time since Dominique had come up with the idea, the enormity of what she'd gotten herself into dawned on her. A horse was a very
big
animal—much bigger than she. Why, if the beast chose to it could simply walk right over her and crush her into the ground as if she were nothing more than a sapling.