No Other Man (32 page)

Crazy Horse shrugged. "The army will ride against us,
but that time has yet to come. When it does, we will make a stand. Hawk, you
have brought your new wife?"

He nodded, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
Crazy Horse seemed intrigued, but Hawk was aware that his old friend meant as
well that they were done discussing the business of the Black Hills and the
council the whites—and Red Cloud—had been so anxious for Crazy Horse to attend.

"I have."

"She came here willingly?"

Well, willingly wasn't quite right, but he hadn't actually
dragged her either. He'd threatened to, of course.

They'd bargained. But he wasn't accustomed to lying in Sioux
life, and neither was he ready to speak the truth.

He frowned instead. "We had trouble coming here. A party
of Crow warriors attacked. They were very far east. I don't remember the last
time I saw Crow so deep into Sioux land. They seized my wife. We followed and
seized her back."

"And the Crow warriors?"

"Are dead."

"I'd heard you brought Crow ponies."

"Yes."

Crazy Horse glanced at He Dog. "I don't understand this
either, why the Crow would attack a white woman on our hunting grounds, and
when she was so close to her own people. The Crow tend to become scouts for the
whites— against us. It's very strange to me." He shrugged. "There was
an incident, though. Some young Oglala bucks rode out to raid a Crow camp not
long back. They stole a number of ponies and the daughter of a Crow war chief.
The girl wanted to be stolen; she is now the wife of Stands-Against- Darkness.
But perhaps Crow warriors are riding in revenge. They cannot attack our camp
here; there are too many of us. But you must take extra care when you ride
back. Perhaps you had best gather more braves to ride with you when you leave
here."

"Cougar, Willow, and I are accustomed to taking care of
ourselves."

"But you are riding with your wife. Her hair alone, I
understand, might be considered a great prize to any man. You are white—and
Sioux. You are Thunder Hawk, a brave who took many coup against them, even as a
young half-breed. Sometimes, though, that blood can tell. You cannot see danger
as clearly as perhaps you should. Your wife would be a very great prize to a
Crow."

Hawk inclined his head. "Crazy Horse, you grow richer in
wisdom each year."

"His wife counted coup on her own against the
Crow," Sloan said. "She fought them, struck them."

Crazy Horse arched a brow at Hawk. "It's good that you
killed them all. Is she that fierce? A brave woman. One who fights to protect
her home and children. Bravery is as commendable in a woman as in a man."

"Oh, she is brave. She's very fierce!" Willow said,
a smile tugging at his lips. Hawk noted that his cousin refused to look at
him, but he did refrain from telling Crazy Horse that Skylar had fought him
with just as much vehemence as she used against the Crow.

He forced a smile to his lips. "She's a dove," he
said. "An absolute dove."

Crazy Horse smiled. "I have learned
not
to steal wives. I am happy with Black Shawl. I
wish you happiness. You, too, have suffered the losses of many loved ones. I am
glad of your wife—even if she is white. And your children ... ihey will be so
white." He said the words very sadly. "I am anxious to see your
wife."

Hospitality was very important. Though Hawk had his own home
in the white world, here, among the Sioux, his grandfather's home was
considered his as well.

"Will you eat with us tomorrow?" he asked Crazy
Horse. Crazy Horse would want to see not just what his wife looked like, but he
would want to judge her "wifely" attributes as well. He wouldn't
expect her to be an expert tipi maker or skinner, but he would certainly expect
her to make a good meal. Skylar was a good cook. She had made a delicious soup
the night he had discovered they were married. He just wondered what her
reaction would be when he told her they were having Crazy Horse to dinner. And
that she was to serve but not eat with them.

Skylar would be receptive, he determined. She had to be. And
if not... He remembered the gut-wrenching feeling he'd experienced when the
Crows had taken her, the agony of watching her touched by another, fear, fury.
Longing. Hurting. Wanting.
He hadn't wanted a wife.
Truth. He didn't want one now. Lie. He wanted his wife. He was tantalized,
captivated by his wife. Holding something... and still not knowing what he
held. She had sworn she never meant to hurt his father, and he believed her,
believed her to such an extent that he was sorrier than he could ever say for
whatever fear and humiliation he had caused her in the certainty that she had.
Yet, God! He wanted something from her, something he couldn't shake, drag, or
demand. He wanted to understand her, wanted to know what was driving her, what
made her ready to cast her fate to the absolute horror of
himself.
He could still see her face when she had
looked up at the Crow who had attacked her. She had looked at him the very same
way.

Because he was Sioux. That fact hardened his heart each time
he found himself too enamored of the perfect beauty of her face, the softness
of her hair tangled against him, the silk of her skin against his own ...

If the Crows had taken her, he would have spent his life
killing Crows. Every last one. Until he perished himself. He didn't want to
shake her, strangle her. Beat her. Hurt her.

Hmm.

Bribery remained.

He smiled. "I'm very anxious for my friend Crazy Horse
to see my wife. You will come?" Even if Skylar proved to be difficult,
they'd be in his grandfather's home, with his grandfather's wife, to help.

"I will come," Crazy Horse said. "We've known
you would come, of course. Many of the women have wanted to make you especially
welcome here, should you bring a wife. They have made a special tipi for your
wife. I'm sure that they have shown it to her by now and that she will await you
there."

"A
special dpi of her own," Hawk said, and smiled. He inclined his head.
"How very generous."

Crazy
Horse inclined his head in turn, offering Hawk a shrugging smile. "It is
our way."

"It's our way," he said.

"No wife yet for you?" Crazy Horse asked Sloan.

"There
are too many women for a Cougar-in-the- Night," Willow teased.

Sloan
shrugged, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Ah, well, wives and women! They are
like the sun, eh? Beautiful, dazzling ... burning. One must always take care.
No wife for me, Crazy Horse."

"And no children," Crazy Horse noted sagely.

Sloan smiled ruefully. "You're right, my friend."

They
rose then, bidding one another good night, all of the guests leaving Crazy
Horse's home.

Night
had come. The air was crisp and cool, stars dotted what appeared to be a
never-ending velvet and ebony sky. It was stunning country, cloaked in a
beautiful night.

As they
stood just outside Crazy Horse's home, Ice Raven pointed in the direction of
the newly made tipi the women had given to Skylar. "Sleep well,
cousin!" Ice Raven told him. He clapped him on the back, turned, and
started toward his sister's. His brothers followed him.

"Hmm.
Nice place. Just a bit different from Mayfair, but then, it is completely hers.
I did tell her that the tipi was the wife's property, didn't I? How convenient.
You'll get to be alone when you tell her you're having Crazy Horse to
dinner!" Sloan told him, smiling.

"Every
single god out there will do something evil to you, Sloan!" Hawk muttered.

"It's
a hell of a night. A hell of a night! Because just think of it. You've given
her one hell of a time," Sloan said.

"I haven't really had much choice," Hawk muttered.

"You
bet!" Sloan said. He was still laughing, Hawk thought, but then Sloan
suddenly sobered, shaking his head to the sky above them. "Actually, I
envy you the night!" he said lightly. "Goodnight, Hawk."

He turned and followed Hawk's cousins.

Fires
blazed outside tipis; smoke rose into the night sky. The breeze just stirred
the dirt on the ground, and the stars burst down on the river.

Hawk hesitated just a moment longer.

Then headed for his
wife's
new home.

Eighteen

It was
an extremely handsome tipi; the women had done an exceptional job with it. It
had been sewn from bleached- white buffalo hides, and someone with great
artistic skills had painted his life upon it, his days as a child, his participation
in the Sun Dance, his coups against the Crows. Scenes depicted his departure
with his father, his "white" war against his own people, his marriage
and loss, his years at Mayfair—his arriving home to his grandfather with a new
wife. It had all been very beautifully done.

Yet standing in the center of the tipi, having studied the
pictographs, he felt a moment's sharp dread and a simmer of defensive anger—he
was alone. She wasn't there; she had run somewhere.

But then his eyes adjusted to the hazy firelight and he saw
that against the wall of his lodge there appeared to a long bundle. It was a
sleeping robe, and someone slept within it. His wife. The hour had grown very
late, though he had not realized it. He had spent a long time in the sweat
bath, and a far longer time with Crazy Horse than he had realized.

He approached the sleeping robe—warning himself that he
couldn't just assume that the body was Skylar's—she might have disappeared and
an old friend might have found her way in here. But when he knelt down, he saw
the stream of blond hair flowing over the buffalo robe and he sat back on his
calves with relief. As he did so, she stirred, turning within the robe
restlessly, trying to kick it aside. It was warm within the lodge; a fire
burned in the center— set there by someone who had known what he or she was
doing—and she was dressed in doeskin as well, a beautiful dress, expertly
embroidered and cut. As he studied the garment, surely from the talented hands
of Deer Woman, her eyes suddenly fluttered and opened.

She stared at him, her eyes widening. For a moment he thought
that she was going to scream, and he belatedly realized how he was dressed
himself, still in breechclout, leggings, moccasins, and no more.

"It's me, Skylar," he said quietly.

She
nodded, staring at him, still struggling to awaken.

"You survived the day, so I see."

She nodded again, still studying him.

"And my grandfather."

"Your grandfather was very kind."

"He
is a great man. A wise one." He waited, curious as to what she would tell
him. "And his English is much better than he is ever willing to allow
others to know, so I'm sure you had no difficulty understanding him."

"I had no difficulty understanding him."

"And no one scalped you."

She shook her head. "But I have seen ..."

"What?"

She
shrugged. "I have seen a number of white scalps tied to poles in front of
tipis."

"It
might surprise you to discover that certain men in the cavalry collect Indian
scalps."

"No,"
she informed him. "Very little surprises me any more."

He
offered her a dry smile. "You do have your own home in the West now, you
know. The tipi is yours. If we were to divorce one another, it would remain
yours."

"Does one easily obtain a divorce?"

"Very easily."

"And not so among the whites!"

He
shook his head, staring into her eyes, and wondering what thoughts really
played within her mind. Tonight she M-emed strangely vulnerable. Perhaps it was
the golden ilow of her blond hair over the doeskin of the dress. Per- liups it
was the shadowy light within the lodge. Perhaps it was even the fact that he
had caught her asleep, that she hadn't had time to gather all her defenses
against him. He knew that he was going to touch her. Knew that he wanted her
that night, that he would have her. And in the same ineath of hunger, of rising
passion, he knew that he wanted in hold her as well, throughout the night.
Cherish her.

Protect
her. From whatever it was that she had needed to escape. From the fears she
would not admit. The past that had driven her here.

"No. Divorce is extremely difficult among whites."

"Yet you are among the Sioux."

He
laughed softly. "Yes. A Sioux would never conceive of obtaining a wife
unseen, that words on paper could make i woman a man's wife."

"The
Sioux would surely have a point," Skylar murmured.

"Perhaps,"
he murmured, amused. "But then, a Sioux can acquire a wife just as
strangely."

"How so?"

"If
a man's brother dies in battle, he is obligated to take on his brother's wife.
Or wives."

"And if he already has a tipi full of his own?"

"The
tipi gets fuller. Of course, both parties must find it n satisfactory
agreement, and a wife may thank her brother- in law, applaud his sense of
responsibility, and choose to >'o along on her own. As sometimes
happens."

She was watching him very gravely.

He
leaned down on the ground next to her, stretched out on his side, and propped
himself up on an elbow. "Had you and your sister been Sioux, I'd be
acquiring a second wife right now." He wondered if she might betray a
sliver of jealousy. Her silver gray eyes continued to study him quite seriously
without the least hint of inner turmoil.

"I did tell you that you might like Sabrina."

"If you say so, I'm convinced that I will."

"Are
you considering more than one wife?" she asked politely.

"I didn't want
one,
remember?"

"But
now we are among the Sioux. Since you are burdened with one you don't want,
you might be considering taking on a second wife you do want."

"And you would share the tipi?"

She
smiled sweetly. "Never. I would be long gone, Lord Douglas."

"What if I chose not to let you go?"

"We're
in Sioux country. You'd have to let me go."

"I beg your pardon?"

She
flashed him a quick smile. "I am learning Sioux ways. A very great warrior
is too important a man to be bothered by a woman. A Sioux leader as respected
as yourself would have to allow his wife to leave if she chose to do so. Your
pride would surely dictate that you not be disturbed by the comings or goings
of someone so inconsequential as a wife."

He
grinned, watching her, shaking his head. "Perhaps that is the Sioux way.
But don't forget, my love, that men are men—red or white—and that passion and
jealousy are human traits. Dangerous, combustible traits. And on this you may
rest assured: in my mixed-breed way of thinking, white or Sioux, wives can be
troublesome. I cannot imagine more than one—at a time."

Her
lashes swept her cheeks; she was still smiling. Then she suddenly stared at him
with a pained curiosity.

"You
had a Sioux wife and she died. What—happened?" she asked him.

He
sighed, unwilling to dredge up the memories now. "Smallpox."

"I'm so very sorry." "It was a long time ago."

"Still, you seem to be in pain. I am truly sorry."

"And I told you," he said, wondering why he was
growing so irritated, "it was a long time ago." Yet the last time
lie had lain in a tipi with a woman, it had been with Sea- of-Stars. She had
been learning to speak English because she'd been aware that he was a different
man with property in the white man's world, and she had wanted to be all things
to him. She hadn't wanted to visit Mayfair until her linglish was fluent, but
she'd happily listened to him talk about his home, his father's property in
Scotland, anything iliat interested him.

"I could take a walk," Skylar suggested.
"Perhaps you'd like to be left alone."

"What?" he demanded, startled.

Sea-of-Stars was gone. He had loved her for her gentleness.
Yet he suddenly realized that he'd never felt as pas- ionate about any woman as
he felt about Skylar. The two women could not have been more different.
Sea-of-Stars had been as dark as Skylar was fair. Sea-of-Stars had believed
that whatever he said was right, whereas Skylar would fight tooth and nail for
her right to have her own opinion. He had indeed loved Sea-of-Stars; he had
suffered Iii-1 loss and the loss of their baby greatly. For a long time, In-
had dwelt in bitterness and somewhat relieved the pain of his grief by casting
himself into the current conflict between the Sioux and the U.S. government.
Sea-of-Stars had hren part of a different time. Life itself had seemed shaded
in pastels and comfortable earth tones, the colors of the ji.mss and the trees,
the hills and the sky. Now life itself wined much more vivid, the color of
blood, and the crim-
m>ii
flow of the tide that was destined to run around them. I ikewise, it seemed,
his emotions regarding Skylar were i«<|imlly vivid. From the moment he had
first seen her, she liml both angered and aroused him, and each of those strong
•motions had only intensified since then.

Skylar stood, the white buckskin dress with its beautiful
embroidery hanging in soft fringes to her calves. Her feet

were
bare. Her hair was tousled. The firelight played upon all the vivid colors that
were here: gold, silver—even white. Shades of crimson and sunset were cast upon
her. The night was cool, yet a certain warmth was captured within the tipi. He
rose to stand before her, a brow arched.

"The tipi is yours," he told her.

She
flushed with a half smile. "Yes, but I can be generous, living among the
Sioux."

"There
are some matters of generosity I haven't quite learned myself."

She arched a brow.

"If
you were to walk from here, where would you go?"

"I...
walking!" she said simply. "Perhaps to your grandfather's, perhaps to
see Willow or Sloan."

"I
think not. I could not dream of being generous with a wife."

Her
eyes narrowed sharply. "Generous in what way?"

"My
friends and family must find their own women."

"Don't
you dare be wretched," she warned him. "I'm out here at the very ends
of—"

"Civilization?" he queried.

"Amid
hostiles, and you're the worst of them!" she assured him.

"Want to lose a nose?" he taunted.

"Want
to lose something worse?" she countered quickly.

He laughed aloud, arching a brow high once again.

"I'm
trying to be decent," she assured him. "I believe you're feeling the
pain of your past tonight. I'm trying not to intrude on your memories. I didn't
mean to come into your life, hurt you worse—"

"You
didn't mean to come into my life—or have me in yours?''

"You
twist everything!" she accused him. "I was trying to leave you
alone—"

"But
I don't want to be alone." He wasn't quite sure what it was in his tone,
or perhaps even in the way that he looked at her, but he somehow disturbed or
startled her.

She
took a step backward, tripped over the sleeping robe,
i iih
I
landed hard on her back and buttocks upon the hide- Nlrcwn ground. Not one to
lose an advantage, he quickly I * >unced on top of her, straddling her hips.
The buckskin ilress had slid upward when she fell so that his thighs em- I'i
need bare flesh. The soft brush of her blond triangle leased against his own
flesh made bare by the briefness of Ins breechclout. A shudder ripped through
her, yet she Glared up at him quite defiantly as he smiled, threading his
lingers through hers before pressing her hands to the earth liy her side. He
leaned low, his lips just inches from hers us he asked her politely, "Now,
just what was it you in- lended for me to lose?"

"You think you've got me down, don't you?" she queried.

He looked at his position and hers. Shifted slightly. Felt
the rub of her flesh, her softness.

"Quite frankly—yes."

"Your time will come."

"I'm planning on it," he assured her.

She shook her head and sighed with exasperation, but
I
k
i eyes were bright, filled with laughter as well as irritation as she tried to
ignore the sensuous fire that was being loked between them. "I was truly
just trying to give you nine to think—"

"I don't want to think."

"Ah! That's right!" she murmured, staring defiantly
into
Ins
eyes. "You like—" She hesitated, swallowing. Every ounce of sensation
within him must have been vividly clear io her at that moment. "—the
nights," she finished a little breathlessly. Then added, "Even in a
tipi."

"Especially in a tipi. I love the scent of the earth.
The led of the night. The fire so close that you lie right beside II, feel its
heat on your flesh ..."

Mesh ... God, he could feel her flesh!

"Isn't... isn't there some sort of a taboo against such
ilungs while you're in the midst of important
mule
discus- sions?" Skylar queried sweetly. She shifted slightly. The dress
rose higher.

"Though there are many things I find
exceptionally admirable about my mother's people, I am also quite glad at
times to be white. Sioux braves believe that intimacy with their wives weakens
them when they are about to go into battle. Before they leave on a war party,
they abstain from sex and go through various purification rights. Often, when
I'm among my Oglala brethren, I try to do as they do."

"Do you?"

He smiled at her, moving his hand from hers to draw a strand
of hair from her face. "Ah, don't sound so anxious, my love! You see, a
meeting is quite different. There is no war party being planned for the moment.
And if there were ... the white half of me just wouldn't feel the need for
abstinence."

"No?" she whispered.

"No." With his free hand he removed the breechclout
and tossed it away.

He was probably lucky it didn't land in the fire.

Didn't matter at the moment.

She mattered.

He shifted his position, thrusting his knees between her
thighs, lowering his face very slowly to hers, meeting the silver glitter in
her eyes all the while. His mouth touched hers. He ran his hand down the length
of her thigh, from her knee to her buttocks, shoving the buckskin dress still
higher, caressing the soft, firm flesh of her derriere, lifting her. He thumbed
the soft portals of her sex, teasing, stroking, parting. Thrusting. Finding
the perfect place.