No Other Man (37 page)

Skylar
shook her head. "Not tonight, please. The past, please God, is behind
me," she said softly. She wasn't about to give him anything more. And
tonight it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. Right now, it was too good
just to hold her.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked her.

She
nodded, then shivered fiercely. "I have to forgive you. You came for me
again. You were alive. You saved my life."

"They wouldn't have killed you."

"I think that they did mean to kill me. Eventually."

Hawk
stood, shaking his head. "You're safe," he said huskily. "And
very beautiful. Maybe you're not so safe. I'm shaking, needing to hold you
again."

"I'm a mess, covered with dirt."

"You're
very beautiful, and I can understand why any man would want to ravish
you."

"I
think you've already done some ravishing tonight."

"I thought you were doing the ravishing there."

She
smiled. A real smile, sweet and warm. She shrugged.

"I
was so afraid that you were dead. And at the same time, I couldn't believe that
you could have possibly been killed."

"If
I'd been killed, you know, Mayfair would have been yours. And you would have
been the widowed Lady Douglas."

"I
never wanted to take anything from your father—or you," she told him.
"And I—"

"What?"

She
shrugged. "I don't want to be the widowed Lady Douglas."

He
smiled, nodding his head. "Do you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm actually rather glad to have a wife."

"Are you?"

"Very much so at times like this."

There
was a definite insinuation in his voice. "I was frightened by what
happened tonight," she reminded him, "but you were injured. Your
head—"

"I
had a headache, but it's gone. Now that I have duti- fully groveled, I could
perhaps use a little gentle care myself."

"Hawk, they knocked you out. You were hurt—"

"Nothing that you can't make better."

"But—"

"Lady
Douglas!" he groaned. "Must I state it plainly? You'll not get me on
my knees again, I'm not in any pain, and I want my wife. Come here,
woman,"
he demanded with a wry grin.

Skylar
lowered her head, a half smile playing upon her lips. She looked up at him.
"I know that we're in Sioux country, but could you possibly come here,
man
? Meet me in the middle?"

He arched a brow. "Hmm. What an invitation."

Skylar
took a step forward. She reached down for the hem of the buckskin dress and
drew the garment over her head, tossing it carefully aside. She was smudged
with dirt and dust, just as he was, but he just didn't give a damn right now.
Passion simmered slowly. Provocatively. He needed to hold her now. Touch her.

Shivering just slightly, she stared at him, waiting.

"What
an invitation!" he repeated in a husky whisper.

Her
smile deepened. Her eyes glittered, and she cocked her head just slightly.

"Want
to bet I can't get you on your knees again?" she teased him.

But
then she gasped because he had moved so quickly, sweeping her up. Then she was
on the ground, lying upon a bed of furs, his body on top of hers. What remained
of the red blaze from the cooking fire warmed them, just as the silver fire
that exuded from her eyes seared into him, building new heat, slow, simmering
warmth. Everything slow, everything savored, so careful...

So tender.

She did get him on his knees again.

And
magically, a night that had begun in fear and bloodshed and fury became . . .

Eden.

Twenty-two

They stayed among the Crazy Horse people for three more days,
then they prepared to depart. They would head south to the site where the
meeting between the representatives of the American government and the Sioux
was scheduled to take place. It would take them two days to ride there. They
would be traveling southeast, from Montana back to Dakota territory.

When
they were ready to leave, Skylar bid a fond farewell to Hawk's family and to
the other people she had come to know during her visit. When they mounted their
horses, she was surprised to see that Blade and Ice Raven would be accompanying
them.

It was
ironic, she thought, that she would be riding with all four of the warriors who
had attacked her stagecoach and convinced her that she was about to be
slaughtered and scalped just a matter of a few weeks earlier. Sloan made their
number five. He and Hawk still wore the clothing they had donned each day
during their visit to the camp: breech- clouts, leggings, moccasins, little
else. If it weren't for her hair, Skylar thought, she would fit right in with
them. She had become so involved in Sioux generosity that she had given away
all the clothing she had brought with her and now wore nothing more than
doeskin herself.

Crazy Horse came out to bid them all
farewell. What the men said, Skylar had no idea. They seemed to be parting in
complete friendship, but for some reason, the words spoken between them made
her uneasy. She smiled at Crazy I lorse and waved good-bye to him. He smiled in
return and raised his hand in farewell as well. She was glad that he seemed to
like her, for she had to admit that she liked him, even though he was extremely
warlike and might go to battle against the whites at any given time. He was
still a man of integrity, one who had been backed against a rock lime and time
again. He didn't intend to be an agency Indian, a drunkard, or a layabout. His
way was free and steeped in tradition. She couldn't blame him for being ready
to fight for his own existence.

Earth Woman, who had apologized about the pepper and decided
to become Skylar's friend after the attack, bade her a warm farewell—one that
seemed sincere. But then Hawk had told Skylar that both Crazy Horse and Sloan
had severely chastised her—the incident had made them all vulnerable to the
attack.

The children ran alongside them as they rode from the camp by
the river. The men tossed down keepsakes to the children, Sloan providing
whistles he had carved and cavalry buttons, Hawk, Ice Raven, and Blade dropping
some of their arrows.

When they reached the more heavily wooded countryside,
Skylar urged Nutmeg up closer to Tor. "Why are your cousins coming with
us? I thought they had decided they wanted to stay away from the white
community, with the Crazy Horse people."

Hawk shrugged without saying anything for a moment, then he
told her, "No one understands why parties of Crow Indians and others keep
appearing to wrest you away."

Skylar frowned. "I don't mean to tread upon your feel-
ings, but it is natural for many of the Indian bands in the West to attack
whites."

Hawk
smiled wryly, shaking his head. ' 'The attacks were just a bit too strange. You
thought so yourself. Remember? You told me one of the men spoke English. Sloan
had seen one of them before."

"Is that so unusual?"

"Maybe not. It's just that..."

"What?"

"Something seems not quite right."

Skylar
sighed softly. "Hawk, lots of things just aren't right at all."

"Beyond
the obvious," Hawk told her. He cocked his head toward her, a wry half
smile curved into his features. "Skylar, I don't tend to be a
superstitious man—perhaps I'm too grounded in my father's white world—but
having you abducted twice in less than a week seems a bit on the strange side.
Even among warring Indians. To be less than careful would be entirely foolish.
Between us, Sloan, Willow, Ice Raven, Blade, and myself, of course, we're
quite a powerful group."

"I
do believe you." Skylar smiled. "So Ice Raven and Blade came along to
protect me?"

"They
won't come to the conference on the Black Hills. They'll turn back when we near
the site."

"That
makes it all the nicer that they are willing to come so far."

"We do our best to protect our women."

"Wives," Skylar murmured.

"What?"

She
looked at him innocently. "Wives. In the plural."

He grinned.
"Such jealousy warms my heart, Lady Douglas."

"I'm not jealous in the least."

He
reined in suddenly, catching hold of Nutmeg's reins to pull her back as well.
"I can be a very jealous soul myself, my lady. Thank God you hadn't had
much of a past when you came to me. But then, there's so much about your past
that I don't know! Should I be jealous, worried?"

"I can't imagine
you worried," she told him.

"Ah, jealous, then."

"That from the man who might not have chosen a multitude
of wives at one time, but most certainly entertained a score of lovers!"

"But my past is an open book."

"Umm. I get to read it every time I stumble upon
it."

He laughed softly. "Well, there is nothing anyone can do
to change the past."

"Only the present—and the future," Skylar added.

"Umm," he murmured. He was looking at her intently,
and she was tempted to start blurting out explanations. But the bonds that held
them together still seemed too fragile and tenuous. How could she explain that
she would have done anything in the world—to escape the man who had killed her
father?

The
respected
man who had killed her
father.

She saw that he was still looking at her probingly. She
pointed to her right, where the sun was just falling behind
a
mound of emerald green grass, dotted with purple wild- llowers. "My God,
have you ever seen such a sunset!" she exclaimed.

His gaze moved in the direction in which she pointed. She
kneed her roan and glanced back at him. "Race you to it!" she
challenged, and took off, flying across the field.

She knew she was not nearly as good a rider as Hawk. The
Indians of the Western Plains tribes seemed to be the most spectacular horsemen
she had ever witnessed in action. But she was a good rider, and she could
certainly try to outrace him.

The only problem was that he raced on Tor.

Nutmeg tired as she dipped down into the valley. She slowed
her gait. He came behind her on Tor. Before she could catch her own breath, he
had leaped from Tor and caught her about the waist, bringing them both down
into the rich green grass. They rolled in it, laughing. Then Hawk rose, drawing
her to her feet. "The others will be right behind us. Seems like a good
place to camp for the night, though. What do you think?"

She
looked around, then shook her head. "No water."

He smiled. "Smell the air."

"The air?"

"The water is down at the bottom of that hill."

She
stared at him doubtfully, then started to run down the hill to the next rise.

A brook gently trickled by beneath her.

Sloan,
Willow, Ice Raven, and Blade came riding up and dismounted from their horses.

Hawk started to unpack with Willow.

Sloan
rode over to Skylar. "Did he really
smell
water?" Skylar demanded.

"Of course," Sloan told her.

He
lifted his horse's saddle from the animal. "Then, of course, we camped
here a few times before, so he probably knew the creek was right down there
anyway."

He winked at her and walked away.

That
night, they slept in a circle in a copse of tree. Two men remained on guard
throughout the hours of darkness.

It was
a peaceful night. Skylar slept beside Hawk. Slept with her head upon his chest.

He rested his hands upon her shoulders, her hair.

But
even when his watch was over, he stayed awake through most of the night.

Watching.

He
sensed a strange danger. Sensed a warning in the call of the night birds. Felt
it burn within his blood.

But he couldn't see it.

The
hours passed. The night was uneventful. Morning came, and they prepared to ride
again.

Though they traveled light, it took them two days of riding
in a southeasterly direction to reach the agreed-upon site for the conference.

The morning before the meeting was to take place, they t ame
upon a temporary camp for some of the white commissioners, army personnel,
journalists, and the sutlers who were bound to follow such a group.

Before they neared the white camp, Ice Raven and Blade
departed. Skylar wanted to thank them, perhaps hug them good-bye. But the Sioux
were not demonstrative, and she had learned that wives were seldom direct with
the male relatives of their husbands, and so she simply said goodbye and thank
you, and waved when the two of them left.

"Hawk! Major! Willow!" A soldier called as they
neared the camp. He hurried out to meet them, a young man with red hair,
freckles, and a lieutenant's insignia upon his uniform. He wore a broad grin.
"Why, you two look more like redskins than redskins!" he exclaimed.
"And Willow, well..."

"Well, I'm Willow, eh?" Willow said.

Skylar was surprised that neither her husband, Willow, nor
Sloan seemed to take offense. Sloan looked at Hawk. Hawk shrugged.

"It's the boy's red hair," Hawk said. "He
wishes he had the skin to match it."

"Irish," Sloan said sadly with a shake of his head.

"Irish is just fine," Hawk said, "if you can
mix it with Sioux."

"An Irish Sioux!"

"It's happened upon occasion," Sloan warned.

The young man grinned, but then his grin froze as he gazed at
Skylar "Oh, my God! Is this gorgeous creature such a half-breed? I'd have
never imagined—"

"Danby, this is my wife, Lady Douglas, recently come
west from Baltimore," Hawk said.

His jaw dropped. "Oh, God! Now I've sworn—I'm sorry,
Hawk, I—"

"Skylar, meet Lieutenant Danby Dixon. Danby, Lady
Douglas," Sloan interrupted.

"Skylar, please," she told the lieutenant, smiling
down at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. And thank you very much
for finding me gorgeous."