The Bride Wore Feathers (31 page)

He put his arm around her shoulder, seeking the appropriate words of comfort. "I believe if the general could find a legal way, he would have had me shot. As it is, he seems to be hoping the Sioux will do it for him. He misses you very much, Dominique. He allows me to ride with him only because he believes I was attacked by the Indians who were chasing you. That is why I carry these wounds. My good friend did this to me to make certain the soldiers would believe my story."

Dominique's mouth was in the shape of a perfect circle. She whirled around, staring wide-eyed for a full minute before she finally said, "You did all that on
purpose
? How could you stand it?"

"The safety of my friends and family is worth a few moments of discomfort. I'm sure you could do the same if necessary."

"Oh, I don't think so, Jacob." Dominique examined the deep wound running the length of his arm and shuddered. "No, I don't think so at all."

She turned away from the sight and stared out at the river. She'd learned much in their talk, but instead of feeling enlightened, Dominique was more confused than ever. Why had he saved her when she'd cost him so much? He'd said when he first left her at the tipi that he loved her. Was it true? Could he possibly love her enough to risk his people's freedom? Or did he keep her for another, more sinister end? Was she to be an instrument of barter sometime in the future, or would she perhaps be saved for some larger, more ominous purpose on down the road? Dominique imagined her dead body tied to a pole—the ultimate Sioux warning—and shuddered.

She stole a glance at Jacob and found that he, too, stared out at the churning waters. But Jacob's expression and thoughts were as unreadable as the rapidly darkening skies. She turned her attention back to the Little Missouri and its ragged, twisting banks, and sighed. He hadn't saved her for love at all. If he truly loved her, she thought with a pout, he wouldn't have brought her here where she would surely die. And die she would if he left her in this place much longer.

The first drops of rain, huge and fat like drops of clear pancake batter, began to fall, soaking them in a matter of minutes. Without another word between them, Jacob took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Then they dashed back to the village beneath the shelter of the wedding blanket, trudging along the already muddy path leading to Jacob's tipi, and ducked inside.

Now Dominique's legal husband in the eyes of the Lakota, Jacob took the blanket from her shoulders and issued his first order. "Sit and warm yourself by the fire. I will return before dark." Then he stepped back into the coolness of the blinding rain and headed for the warriors' lodge where he would help preside over a council of war.

Dominique shook her hair, hoping to speed the drying time, but stopped abruptly as a bit of pink caught the corner of her eye. There, lying on the rug near the back wall, lay a crumpled piece of her stationery.

She stared at it for a long moment, trying to understand that message it seemed to be sending. She thought back to her conversations with Jacob, the feeling of closeness, the trauma he must have felt as a young lad torn from his family, and she finally understood.

Jacob hadn't ignored her or her invitation. The youth, Jacob Stoltz, had never learned how to read. Not only had his family, his childhood, been stolen from him, but he'd also been robbed of the precious gift of the English language. Why did he choose to remain part of this savage world?

Chapter 14

Full of anticipation, Dominique waited for Jacob's return over the next few hours. She carefully planned the words she would use to tell him she understood his deficiency and his reluctance to admit it. Her next move would be to temper the shock of that knowledge with what she hoped would be an offer he would gladly accept—to allow her to teach him to read the written word. Once they were back in civilization, of course.

He finally returned to the tipi at twilight. "I bring you food," he said as he passed by the fire and handed a small bowl to her. "Eat and then get your rest. The days to come will be difficult for us all."

When he turned as if to leave, Dominique set the bowl aside. "Jacob, wait. I want to talk to you."

But he kept his back to her, unable to look at his new bride without acknowledging her as such. "I must return to the warriors' lodge now. We still have much to discuss. Sleep well." Then he disappeared into the stormy night.

Dominique pushed out a heavy sigh. Jacob was gone, but he'd left a cloud of gloom in his wake, a feeling of despair she couldn't identity. With a disinterested palate, she ate her meal, then curled up on the rug to await his return.

* * *

A few feet away in the biggest lodge, Jacob spoke to the elders, his voice cracking with irritation. "The soldiers seek Sitting Bull and those who would follow him along the Little Missouri. Their intentions are to follow us all the way to the Rosebud Creek where Red Cloud's people wait. These are the weapons we have been issued for the fight." He held up his government-issue Springfield 1873 single-shot carbine and a Colt six-shot revolver. "I have yet to receive instruction on how to fire either of the guns."

The men laughed, slapping their knees. "Do they know of our great assortment of weapons?" asked Chatanna. "Do they guess we can kill them fifty ways before they can even reload?"

Jacob joined in the laughter, even though his heart was not entirely in it. Between the Lakota and the Cheyenne, they figured to have over forty different types of guns, ranging from sixteen-shot repeating Winchester and Henry rifles to pistols and other rifles. To a weapon, they were all obtained as a result of the United States government's generosity to the Indian traders. Now these guns would be turned on the men who had supplied them. Jacob thought of some of the friends he'd made in his short term in the cavalry—Barney in particular—and slowly shook his head. When the time came, would he be able to cut his friends down? Could he ever face Dominique again if he should be forced to bring down the general or one of his brothers?

"My son." Chief Gall's voice was warm with concern and understanding. "I can see your mind is elsewhere this night. Perhaps you think of your bride, alone and waiting in your wedding lodge? Go now. You have supplied us with much information."

And because there was no way he could tell his father why he was in no hurry to return to his tipi and the long lonely night ahead of him, Jacob gave him a counterfeit smile of thanks and rose. "Good night, my father. Tomorrow we march on toward the Rosebud. Maybe when the solders discover our numbers, they will use this wisdom to its fullest advantage and call for a retreat."

"The nincompups will never retreat." Chatanna exclaimed. "And neither shall the Lakota. We will fight until all the white eyes are nothing but pieces of flesh scattered across the plains."

This incited the other men to a rousing cheer. Jacob stepped from the lodge, his mind burdened by a glimpse of what the future might hold for them all. He entered his tipi quietly, relieved to see that Dominique had been lulled into a deep sleep by the steady rain tapping lightly against the buffalo-hide walls. He stood staring down at her for a long moment before joining her on the rug. She still wore the white buckskin dress, still possessed an almost ethereal radiance, even in slumber. Would they ever have an opportunity to know each other as husband and wife? he wondered. Would the differences between their people, the deep-seated hatred, tear them apart before they had a chance to explore the love he felt, the love he suspected she kept hidden inside for him? He lay down beside Dominique, keeping several inches between their bodies, and tried not to think of her warmth, her softness, and the fact that, as of tonight, she belonged to him.

When he finally fell asleep, Jacob had short vivid dreams of such intensity that they jackknifed him off his blanket with their violence. Each nightmare was equally vicious and bloody, each with its own theme of murder and mayhem. But most horrifying, the thing that brought sweat to his brow and tremors to his hands, was his body and the clothing he wore. In one dream, he would be streaked in war paint and covered with eagle feathers. In another, he was dressed in a full regulation cavalry uniform. In some of the nightmares, he would be a combination of both. Many of the images were obscure, muddied, but their impact on his mind was crystal clear: Jacob no longer knew who he was.

* * *

The following morning when Dominique awoke, Jacob was already gone. She spent the day helping the other women pack up camp in preparation for the march farther west. Not once during that entire period did she ever lay eyes on Jacob or his father, Chief Gall. That night after a meal of greasy, tasteless soup and buffalo jerky, Dominique sat in the tipi, wondering how long she would be alone this time, how long would she remain safe.

Then Jacob stepped through the flap. "I go now," he announced as he gathered his cavalry uniform.

"Go now?" Dominique jumped to her feet. "What do you mean, go now? You just got here, Jacob. Please don't leave me alone again. I'll go crazy if you do."

Jacob smiled as he stepped into his regulation trousers and buttoned them over his breechclout. "You mean you are not crazy already?" He tore off his breastplate and reached for his cavalry shirt, but Dominique stepped between him and the garment.

"I'm not laughing, Jacob. I don't see anything that's funny here. Take me with you. I simply cannot stay here without you another day."

He stared into her defiant brown eyes, careful not to become lost in them, and grinned as he slid his index finger under her chin. "Will you miss me so much,
wi witko?"

Dominique slapped his hand away and stomped her foot. "I'm serious. I'm not staying here."

"I'm afraid you have no choice." Jacob's expression sobered and he tugged her into his arms. "Neither do I. I must go now. I have to ride under cover of night and return to the army. You know that. I have explained the reasons to you. Why do you insist on making my life so difficult?"

"Your
life difficult? Mine hasn't exactly been a stroll through the park since I met you, you know." She lifted her chin and stuck out her bottom lip.

Her expression was the end of his control. Jacob's mouth closed over that bottom lip, parting it from its mate as he searched for the delights he knew lay beyond. He indulged his hands, allowing them to roam over her back and down to her firm round bottom where he clasped, then crushed her to his hips. There, in spite of the promises he'd made to himself, he lingered, even as his need grew huge and hot, even though he knew she would realize how much he wanted her.

Concern for her fears finally coaxed him into releasing her hips, but only long enough for his hands to slide up and cup her face. His mouth only inches from hers, he murmured between nibbling kisses along her cheeks, "My love, my little one, I shall miss you."

Directed by sheer instinct, Dominique's head arched back, exposing her throat and the pulse hammering there. Jacob took her cue, letting his mouth cruise to the spot, teasing the sensitive flesh along the route with his talented lips. She moaned, "
Mon Dieu,
Jacob,
mon amour, mon tresor."

His mouth still caressing her, he moved back up her throat, then nipped the tip of her ear. His breathing erratic, he whispered, "What names do you call me now,
wi witko?"

"You first," she said lazily, her eyes feeling sleepy, drugged somehow. "Who is
widko?"

"Wi witko. "
He laughed. "Crazy one. You." He kissed the tip of her nose, then sought her mouth again. Pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth, Jacob nibbled and teased, flicked the upper with the tip of his tongue before ending the agony and plunging deep inside her sweet mouth. He wanted to plunge inside every soft damp part of her, feel her respond to him, want him as much as he wanted her, and forget about white men, red men, and war. But some measure of reason returned.

Jacob released her and stepped back. "I must go now, but first tell me—what names did you call me?"

Dominique stood alone, dazed and off balance. She looked into Jacob's eyes, knew the spell was over and that he really did plan to leave her. Her kisses, as much as he seemed to enjoy them, weren't enough to persuade him to stay. If anything, she'd only managed to delay his departure. How could she tell him she'd called him her love, her treasure?
Why
had she even thought of him in those terms?

Angry, sad, and frightened all at once, Dominique puckered her mouth and began to cry. "I called you an idiot, a stupid, mean dolt, and," she added, "a dirty rotten bastard for bringing me here."