No Other Man (18 page)

"The army will ask you to visit Crazy Horse and plead
with him to come to a meeting near one of the agencies and listen to their
arguments. You will come?''

Hawk grinned. "Yes, the army has already asked me.
Cougar-in-the-Night has asked me to talk with Crazy

Horse.
And I will come. I'm anxious to see my grandfather. And my friends."

"Cougar brings the words of the army."

"He brings them honestly."

"He
tries. The army has taken him away. Yet he doesn't forget that he grew up among
honest people."

"He
will not try to influence any man against what he thinks is right or wrong. He
will try very hard to explain how the Sioux can best negotiate."

"War may be the best negotiation."

"Each man must decide."

Dark
Mountain nodded gravely, then let the matter rest. "You have a new wife, I
am told."

"Yes."

"I have a new wife as well."

Hawk
smiled, teasing him. "You've not misplaced the old one."

Dark
Mountain grinned, shaking his head. "I have taken Little Doe, Blue Raven's
sister, for my wife as well. I've a son by her now."

"Your family grows. You're richly blessed."

"You
should have married again before now," Dark Mountain told him gravely.
"Had you had two wives before ... you'd have had solace for the loss of
she you loved so much."

Hawk
smiled. "It's different in my father's world, you know. A man takes but
one wife. At a time, at least."

"Because
white men must worry about their belongings," Dark Mountain said with a
shake of his head.

Hawk
nodded. "Yes, that can be quite true. But then again, wives can cause
headaches. One at a time can be enough."

Dark
Mountain was grinning. "I've heard tales about your new wife," he said.
Hawk arched a brow, though he realized his cousins Blade and Ice Raven must
have been talking about the parts they had played for him in the stagecoach
attack. ' 'One husband needs all his strength to sub- due her. Though for a
white woman, she is said to be very beautiful, with hair just like the sun,
well worth a battle."

"She does have a fighting spirit," Hawk admitted
dryly.

"Well, even if she's much trouble, I am glad you have a
wife now. You will not be alone. You've lost much, suffered much. In time,
perhaps, Wakantanka will bless you with many children. When you come among us,
we will do the proper ceremonies. You are a warrior who has graced his
heritage. Wakantanka will listen. He will give you sons. Sons will help you
remain close to your father with less pain because you will give them all that
your father was, and in the telling, you will remember. Loss, my friend, is the
way of life."

Hawk nodded, smiling. He was truly glad to see Dark Mountain
today. Though their paths had greatly diverged since the days when they had
been boys, they remained friends, and Hawk felt certain they would remain so no
matter how much time passed and no matter how dire relations grew between the
hostiles and the white world.

"I'm glad for you, Dark Mountain, that life remains rich
and grows richer."

"It grows more dangerous as well, but that is for
another time. I will stay with you and your father now. Soon, others will come,
and then you will give him up."

Several hours later, Hawk sat at his desk,
rubbing his temples.

There was a tapping at the office door. "Come in,"
he called wearily. He'd already spent an hour with Henry Pierpont, going over
his father's will—and the addendum, which he had just received. The document
had arrived, duly witnessed, Henry assured him, soon after the news of his
father's death. There were no surprises in it other than what he already knew:
the fact that Skylar would receive Mayfair and the Sioux lands if he were to
make any attempt to negate the marriage. A reading of the will wasn't necessary
since he was the sole heir as long as he complied with his father's wishes. His
home was by right his wife's home as well.

It was Skylar herself who opened the door. Skylar in black
velvet and silk. Despite the somber color of her gown and the severe twist of
her golden hair, she looked perhaps more compelling than usual. Black became
her, enhancing the glittering color of her hair, the ivory of her skin. The
clean sweep of her hair emphasized the classical perfection of her throat and
features. Though she had risen when he had awakened her and done quite an
admirable job of taking over a household full of strangers, she had equally
managed to avoid him throughout the morning and afternoon.

"Yes?"

"The Reverend Mathews has arrived. He's eager that the
service be conducted at the graveside before dark."

He nodded. She didn't leave.

"Mr. Pierpont was your father's executor?"

He arched a brow. "Yes?"

She hesitated still. He smiled with no warmth. "I see.
You are curious about whether you were mentioned in the will."

She stiffened. He shook his head grimly. "I'm so sorry,
my love. It seems my father left you—me. And your place in this house, of
course." He stood. "Other than that— well, my love, I was his son.
I'm his sole heir." Was it a lie? No, it was the absolute truth because
he'd damned well comply with his father's terms. She wasn't going to walk away
free with one bit of Douglas property.

"I am quite aware that you're his heir. But I must admit
that I was curious if there were any mention of how I am to live."

He arched a brow and extended his hands. "You're to live
here. Amply provided for, no?"

"But there are little things—"

"If you should need something, you need only say so. It
will be provided for you."

Her lashes lowered. He thought for a moment that she was in
distress, and for some absurd reason, he felt a tug at his heart rather than a
rise in his temper.

But then he remembered that he was about to
bury his father. And she had thought that she had married his father, had
become a widow—and an heiress. The tug at his heart faded. With renewed but
controlled anger, he walked around his desk, taking her arm.

"Let's go down, shall we?"

The company was very mixed indeed, with agency Indians,
soldiers, settlers, sutlers, and their various wives gathered in the parlor.
Old Sam Haggerty and Riley, who along with David Douglas had been among the
first whites to stake a home in the Dakota wilderness, sat in the front row of
chairs that had been set up there.

The Reverend Mathews stood at the head of the coffin. He
looked as if he might be a hundred and ten, with a full head of white hair and
a face so wrinkled by the sun that it seemed to carry deep grooves. He nodded
to Hawk when he saw him enter the parlor with Skylar on his arm. "My
friends, we will begin."

He started with the Lord's Prayer and then read from his
prayer book. Then he stopped reading and offered a eulogy, extolling David
Douglas as a man unique among men, one who recognized all of God's children,
one who had made better the lives of all those he'd touched, helping those in
distress.

Hawk was surprised to see Skylar listening attentively to
every word the Reverend said, seeming to fight back tears. He nearly set an arm
around her to comfort her.

But then he remembered that she had just asked him about
money. Her inheritance.

He held still, as rigid as an oak.

Willow, Riley, Sam, and Two Feathers carried the coffin
through the back door of the parlor onto the rear porch. From there they led
the funeral procession to the massive oak that spread over the back lawn. A
double tombstone had already been set at the foot of the oak. His mother lay
six feet beneath it. Both her white and Sioux names had been chiseled into the
stone. She had asked to be buried here, at Mayfair, beneath the oak. And David
had asked to be interred at her side.

So it would be.

The Reverend Mathews finished the service, sprinkling dirt
upon the coffin after it had been lowered into the earth. The last words were
said. Sandra and Megan, huddled together, cried softly. Lily embraced them
both, then led them back to the house. People began to drift away from the
grave. Hawk remained, Skylar still at his side.

He disengaged her fingers from his arm. "Go in. I'll be
along."

She hesitated. She began to speak, awkwardly at first, then
more strongly and quickly. "Hawk ... he ... I want you to know that he
died easily. He had known about his illness; he was truly at peace with God and
himself. It isn't easy, it can't be easy, but it was a gentle death. I'm sorry,
truly... he was a very good man. Please believe that he didn't suffer."

Hawk nodded after a moment. She wasn't telling him much, but
she was trying to give him something. "Thank you," he told her
quietly. "Now, please, go on in," he urged her, and despite the
feeling of warmth her words had evoked within him, his tone was sharper than he
had intended.

As he had commanded, she turned and left him.

He stood at the gravesite, realizing oddly enough that Dark
Mountain had been the greatest comfort to him today. Death was part of life. It
had been a large enough part of his. He'd said good-bye to a mother, a brother,
a wife, and a child. Today, he set his father into the earth. He needed sons,
Dark Mountain had said. Sons who he could tell about his father. In the
telling, he would remember.

He heard a soft whining sound and realized Wolf had come to
mourn with him. He hunkered down by the dog and patted him reassuringly.
"He's gone, fellow," he said, then rose, speaking to the grave.

"Pa," he said softly, "I hope you knew. I
didn't come to you a very good son. I spent years trying to tell myself what
you weren't—because you weren't Sioux. Others saw earlier what I didn't. That
you were more Sioux than I, you had all the virtues of the Sioux: courage,
generosity, wisdom. I did love you. So much. I'm just not at all damned sure
what you were doing there at the end, and I wasn't with you. I mean, Pa, who
the hell is she? What was going on? How badly were you hurting at the
end?" His eyes blurred. The whites said that Indians didn't have any emotions.
But the whites didn't understand. Indians felt as deeply and painfully as white
people. They just didn't betray their emotions. "I love you, Pa!" he
murmured.

He turned from the gravesite and headed back toward the
house. Massive amounts of food had been prepared, and he saw people gathered
around the buffet tables that had been set out on the porch.

Skylar had done her job well today; he could definitely
acknowledge that fact. Willow had told him she had worked with Megan on
pastries and bread all morning, up to her elbows in flour. She had arranged the
flowers, set out silver, plates, glasses. Greeted strangers.

Now she stood by one of the buffet tables with Sloan
Trelawny. She smiled at what he was saying. Well, Sloan could be a wretchedly
charming devil. Hell on women. His manner and dark, striking appearance easily
seduced them, and it didn't seem to matter that he carried the blood of a Sioux
war chief. But he was a loner, never letting anyone get too close to him. He'd
changed—become more distant from his old friends sometime after the War of the
Southern Rebellion, Hawk thought. Whatever had happened, Sloan hadn't yet
decided to share it with him.

Sloan could easily flirt with Skylar and enjoy her company
because he would never touch his best friend's wife. Even though he knew that,
Hawk couldn't help feeling irritated because she seemed to be enjoying Sloan's
company too much. Her eyes were very bright. Her laughter genuine. Talking with
Sloan, she was at ease. Absolutely stunning, graceful, dignified, beautiful.

Sloan
turned away from her for a moment. Henry Pierpont, looking very much the
attorney in a pin-striped suit and starched-collar shirt, approached her,
pushing his spectacles up his nose as he handed her an envelope. She frowned.
Henry explained something to her. She nodded quickly, smiled, and thanked him.

Then,
looking around somewhat furtively, she curled the envelope into her hand.

"That
spectacle-wearing little rodent!" Hawk murmured to himself. "What the
hell did he just give her?"

Sloan
turned back to Skylar, handing her a glass of sherry. Skylar offered him a
charming smile and quickly slid the envelope into a pocket in her skirt.

Hawk
could tell she liked Sloan. That much was evident. But she eluded him with a
few words and a smile, slipping back into the house.

Hawk determined to follow her.

It
wasn't so easy. He was waylaid by his guests, some of them commiserating with
him on his father's death, others congratulating him on his exquisite new
wife.

When he
finally reached the parlor, he saw her standing before the fire, staring into
it, with tears in her silver eyes. "Skylar!"

She
started, looking his way. Her hand slid back into her pocket.

She
wasn't going to volunteer any information regarding the envelope. He would most
probably get nowhere by demanding she do so.

"Yes?" she said defensively.

"We've a number of guests," he told her.

"Indeed."

"Has something happened?" he asked her politely.

Her lashes
swept her cheeks. She lifted her chin, shaking her head. "No. Nothing.
Why?"

"I thought I saw Henry give you something."

"Oh
... that. It was a wire, but it must have been a mistake. There was nothing on
it."

"How curious. May I see it?"

"I
burned it. It was blank, so I tossed it into the fire. I ... I think I need to
make sure that the punch bowl is filled for the ladies."

She
moved past him quickly as if she were afraid that he would stop her.

But he
didn't lay a hand on her. He watched her as she left, his eyes narrowed
thoughtfully.

His time would come.