The Bride Wore Feathers (38 page)

Through the thick sensual fog his mind had become, Jacob recognized his own release was imminent, knew what he must do to protect her, but her spasms were the only source of control now. Dominique's body owned him, milked him of life's precious fluid, then left him lying on top of her, dazed and incoherent.

Dominique struggled for breath as Jacob lay sprawled across her breast. Squirming, she wriggled her torso free and gulped the cool night air. When her pulse finally slowed and some measure of reason returned, she inclined her head and gazed lovingly at her husband. His eyes were closed and his breathing was still erratic, the shallow breaths taken in short choppy gasps. Dominique smiled and ran her hand across his shoulders. His skin, slick with perspiration, felt hot to the touch, feverish. If she were at home, she thought with a delicious giggle, heat like that would signal a dire sickness, bring a visit from the doctor at the very least.

Thoughts of home, of her previously comfortable life, gave Dominique pause. Would this union, the consummation of her marriage, her love for Jacob, have been the same if they had been tucked away in her cozy bed back in Michigan? Or even at Fort Lincoln?

She pictured her frilly, feminine room at the Custer house and remembered another day, herself as another woman. Dominique began to laugh.

Jacob's voice, groggy and cracking with emotion, cut into her musings. "I thought I had pleased you well. What is so funny, my crazy wife?"

"Oh, Jacob," she moaned, still stroking his slick back. "You must know how well you pleased me. I'm not laughing about you. It's
The Ladies' Oracle
that makes me laugh."

"The what?" Concern for her well-being eclipsed the urge to remain buried deep inside her. Jacob rolled over to his side and cradled her in his arms. "Have I injured you in some way?" Again she laughed, her sweet voice sprinkling the air like a thousand chirping robins. Jacob shook his head, soothed by the sound, and said, "Forgive me, then. Your husband must be a very stupid man. I still don't see what is so funny."

"You couldn't possibly know," she managed, controlling her chuckles. "The
Oracle
is a book, a fortune-telling book. It predicted this would happen, but I didn't believe it at the time."

She remembered back to the day spent in her room with Libbie, thinking how terribly long ago it all seemed, and recalled some of the questions she had asked of her aunt. Dominique glanced up at Jacob, giving him a shy smile, then nestled her head in the crook of his arm. No wonder Libbie wouldn't tell her about the intimate matters between herself and the general, she thought, this time stifling the urge to laugh out loud. How could any woman explain what had happened to her here? She would never be able to put into words the way she had felt as Jacob made her his, couldn't even bring herself to discuss the myriad emotions tingling throughout every pore in her body, with the very man who'd made her feel that way. She only knew she'd never been more contented or more satisfied with herself as a woman.

With a sigh of pure pleasure, Dominique kissed her husband's damp breast and said, "You're anything but stupid, Jacob. I think you're absolutely wonderful, and I love you so much right now, my insides hurt."

"Then I have injured you?" He started to rise, but Dominique pressed her hand to his chest and coaxed him back down.

Her words swimming through another bout of laughter, she said, "You've got to stop taking everything I say so literally. I mean that I hurt here." She laid her fingertips against her left breast. "And I hurt because I'm so very happy. Do you understand?"

A wave of raw emotion washed over him, welling up past his throat, threatening to spill out from his eyes. Jacob crushed her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. What was happening to him, to his careful reserve? He'd never been moved to such depths, not even when he said his final good-bye to Lame Fawn. Would loving the crazy one mean the end of his sanity, his brave facade? Jacob took several deep breaths, searching for a way, any way at all, to regain some measure of control over himself.

But he had no more control now than he'd had as he made her his own, he thought, furious with himself. Now, because of his inability to harness his passion, his seed swamped her system, searching through her secret folds for its mate, frantic to fulfill the creation of life. His anger damning the flood of earlier emotions, Jacob lay back against the buffalo rug and cleared his throat.

"You must talk to one of the other women in camp," he said briskly. "Someone who will teach you about the powders and herbs necessary to prevent the creation of a child. Have you made such a friend here yet?"

Blushing at the thought of discussing such an intimate matter with others, or even with Jacob, Dominique shrugged and looked away. Her voice unnaturally low and shy, she said, "No one around here seems interested in being my friend. The closest, I suppose, would be Spotted Feather."
And she
tried to kill
me
. "She doesn't like me very much."

Jacob rested his weight on one elbow. Staring down at her, he examined her wounds. "You and Spotted Feather have had some trouble. This much I know. Tell me what's happened, explain your many injuries."

"Look, if you don't mind, I'd rather not. Besides, none of them are too bad."

"Tell me now, Dominique. Too much has passed between us for secrets. What happened to you? What has Spotted Feather done to cause these wounds?"

The luster in her dark eyes dulled as she tried to think of a way out of the conversation. She gave him a quick glance, then averted her gaze. "It wasn't her fault. I was getting water down by the river, and I fell in. My legs were injured when I tumbled downstream and then again as I climbed out of the water."

"So you fell into the river again?" he said, amused.

Dominique frowned. Why was she protecting that nasty squaw? Then she thought of Gall's idea of punishment, assumed Jacob's sense of justice would impose an even worse penalty, and said, "Yes, that's pretty much the way it happened."

"And this?" he asked, his tone suspicious as he pointed to the turquoise and yellow rectangle above her knee.

"This," she laughed, "happened the night you left me crying in your tipi. I, ah, dropped your lance."

Puzzled, he glanced from her leg to the far wall. The weapon no longer hung from its rawhide thong. Looking back at Dominique, he turned his palms upward, but before he could speak, she explained. "When I dropped it sort of landed pretty hard across my knee, Jacob. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it broke in half."

A slow grin lit his features as he began to understand. "You dropped it, crazy one? Perhaps this was no accident?"

"That's my story, Mr. Redfoot. Take it or leave it."

Jacob pulled her into his arms, laughing and kissing her all at once. Then he sobered and ran his fingers along her arm. "This was no accident,
wi witko.
Did someone—Spotted Feather, perhaps—attack you with the claw of a grizzly?"

"No." She laughed again, relieved she could still tell him the truth. "I'm afraid those claws were still attached to the bear when that happened."

"Dominique," he warned. "I mean it. No more lies will pass between us. How was your arm injured?"

"But I'm not lying, Jacob. I swear it." She related the story, down to her burial and the terror she had felt. When she finished, her eyes were moist. Jacob pulled her back in his powerful arms and began rocking her.

"You were very fortunate," he said, his voice splintered and ragged. "Not many live to tell of such an encounter. "

Dominique pushed back, dotting wet kisses along his cheek as she moved. "But it's all true, Jacob. That's all there is to my wounds. No secrets, no problems."

"And Spotted Feather?" he said suspiciously.

"She doesn't like me," Dominique hedged. "But I know why, and I even understand a little. She told me she hoped to be your wife one day. In fact, she actually thought you should marry her, too, so you could have two wives, one red and one white."

"And you?" he asked. "What do you think of this idea?"

"I think it stinks," she pouted. "Even if I'm not woman enough for you, if you think for one minute I'd allow another woman, Indian or white, in your bed now, you've got another think coming, you thick-headed nincompup."

"Poop," he choked out through his laughter. "The word is nincompoop."

"Not around here it isn't," she said, working to keep her indignant expression. "And don't try to change the subject. I've seen the way your people live. Do you think I haven't noticed your greedy chief and all his wives? Maybe one woman isn't enough for him, but I know I can learn to please you, Jacob. If you give me a chance, I'm sure I'll be enough for you."

His love growing deeper by the minute, filling parts of him he hadn't been aware of till this night, Jacob slowly shook his head and whispered, "What makes you think I'll ever want anyone but you, crazy one?"

"That's easy enough. Spotted Feather. She says you are Lakota and you need a Lakota woman to make you truly happy."

"I need only you," he said softly, following the outline of her ear with his fingertips. "I worry only that I will not have the strength to handle you."

Dominique blinked back a sudden rush of tears. "Really, Jacob? I mean, did I manage to make you happy?"

"You are what I believe your people call 'spoiled,"' he said with a low chuckle. "But so shall I spoil you this night. Tomorrow and other nights I will show you how to touch me, and I will allow you to discover for yourself what it is that arouses my passion."

"Oh," she said on a quiet sigh. "Then you weren't truly pleased with me?"

But how could he tell her how deeply he'd been moved, explain that even though thoroughly sated, his body ached to join with hers again? Jacob simply smiled and said, "You have pleased me so, still I cannot think straight."

"Oh, Jacob," she sighed, resting against him. "You make me feel so happy, so cherished. How long can these feelings last? What will happen to us when I return to my family? How in God's name will I ever explain this to them?"

Unable to look into her eyes, unwilling to stain their union with any more deceptions, Jacob shook his head. "I do not know how to answer your question. I am not even sure you can go back to your people."

Dominique bolted upright. "What do you mean, I can't go back? Of course, I can. I must."

Pained more than he ever could have imagined, Jacob stared into her frightened eyes, and settled on an offering of hope. "I will do what I can to see you are returned to your family. That is the best I can offer."

"Jacob?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, her heart at a standstill. "You said surely you meant to say us. We belong together. We are husband and wife now."

Jacob dropped his gaze to the blanket and sighed, "I belong here with my people."

"But you're white," Dominique said, suddenly gripped with panic. "You can fit in with white society, I've seen you do it. You were a soldier just like any other, Jacob. I know you can do it again for me. Can't you? Jacob?"

He'd guessed this conversation would take place someday, sometime, but never had he imagined it would be so difficult. His expression tormented, his eyes filled with pain, Jacob softly said, "I cannot expect you to understand so easily,
wi witko.
I can only tell you that even though the skin you see is that of a white man, it protects the heart of a Lakota warrior. It always will."

"Oh, Jacob," she softly cried through a throat suddenly tight. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Overcome himself, Jacob gathered her in his arms and gently eased her down on the rug.

Too filled with emotion to speak, Jacob answered his bride the only way he could. He made love to her as if this time might be the last.

Chapter 18

Montana,

June 18, 1876

More than three weeks later the main body of the Hunkpapa council rode into the valley of the river they called the Greasy Grass. Accompanying the group on one of his increasingly rare visits, Jacob rode beside his bride of nearly a month. When the Hunkpapa band turned toward the south and headed down through the valley to set up camp, Jacob nudged Sampi's flanks and held Peaches's bridle.