Dakota Dream (32 page)

"Do not look at him." Jacob glared at
Chatanna
, knowing he would try to do a lot more than stare at the golden vision the next time opportunity struck. Would Gall be able to prevent the inevitable? Did he even have the right to ask his brothers to forgo taking what they felt was their right? Beside him, Dominique squirmed, nudging him with her complaints.

"Forget
Chatanna
and eat. He means no harm," Jacob lied, hoping to ease her fears, even if he couldn't relieve his own. "You will soon feel at home."

Unable to play the obedient captive any longer, Dominique slammed her bowl on the ground and turned on him.
"Never.
I could never feel at home under these barbaric conditions, and I cannot survive eating this slop."

"Then don't eat," he snapped back, his anxiety beginning in earnest, his patience at an end. "Starve to death if you wish. It no longer matters to me."

Turning his back to her, Jacob began to stuff chunks of buffalo meat in his mouth, swallowing them along with the lump in his throat. When he finished his meal, he jerked her to her feet in spite of her unfinished supper,
then
marched her back to his tipi.

"Stay in here and go to sleep. Do not come outside again tonight." Dominique opened her mouth, but Jacob closed it with a well-placed finger. "We'll speak no more this night. Do as I say and you will be safe."

Then he closed the flap and headed for the warriors' lodge. He'd run out of time, used up nearly all of his options. And he couldn't go on like this. As long as Dominique was in camp, as long as his friends expected to have what was rightfully theirs, he could not complete his mission. His concentration—the considerable
lack of it since he'd met the crazy one—would soon become
a problem, if it hadn't already. His full attention was crucial to the Lakota survival. Jacob could think of only one way to regain the concentration he so badly needed.

The time had come to take some drastic measures.

 
Chapter Thirteen

Jacob looked across the dying fire and into the eyes of his father, Gall. He continued trying to put into words that which he really couldn't explain. "But, Father, you saw her hands. You know what the other women have forced her to do. The crazy one is too young to tan hides. That is a job for old women. What else will they make her do if you and I cannot protect her in some way?"

The wise chief regarded his white son a long moment before he spoke. "I agree she has been treated badly, especially by the one who would hope to be yours, but I believe there is something more here. Something that has nothing to do with the other warriors or this white woman's wrinkled hands. Speak to me of it now, or this council is over and we shall not mention the crazy one again."

Jacob drew a long breath and stared into the flickering embers. How much should he confess? Would a complete explanation garner his father's understanding or earn his disdain? Too much discussion of Dominique, of her family, and of the reasons for her visit, would bring up the Custer name. Jacob didn't need his imagination to know what the council would do with that information. He suppressed a shudder and settled on a half-truth, taking the only option he knew would be respected and, he hoped, understood by all.

"I wish to have the crazy one as my woman alone. I ask for your permission to marry her."

"Ah." Chief Gall nodded, as if he'd been expecting the announcement. "I feared this change in you. I suspected once you were returned to the people of your birth, you might wish to become one of them again."

"No, Father. That's not it at all. I spit on the soldiers and what they stand for. My feelings for Dominique have nothing to do with her white skin." He flattened his palm and pressed it against his chest. "They have to do with what I feel in here."

Again the chief nodded. Gall took a long pull on his pipe and closed his eyes as he thought back to long ago. Then he asked, "Are these feelings like those you had for Lame Fawn?"

Jacob expelled his breath in a low groan. He should have been expecting the question. It was honest enough, especially coming from the chief of the Hunkpapa. It was only natural that Gall would want to know if Jacob felt the same love for Dominique that he'd once had for the woman he'd taken as his wife. What was his answer?

No.
Surprised—not by the thought, but by the rationale behind it—Jacob averted his gaze so Gall couldn't see the confusion and the surge of insight flickering in his eyes. Where was the pain he used to feel whenever he thought of his days with Lame Fawn? He'd used that pain, the sense of emptiness, over the last four winters as a kind of punishment for the part he'd played in her premature death. Now it was gone, save for the remnants of a guilt he would never shake.

But what of love?
Why had his mind instinctively told him this new love was nothing like the love he'd had for Lame Fawn? His feelings for the Indian maiden had been deep, but never filled with the intensity of those he had for Dominique. This niece of Custer was constantly in his mind. She rendered him nearly helpless, with a loss of control so complete that at times it terrified him. Life and love with his wife had always been quiet and dignified, a simple thing. With the crazy one, he was in constant turmoil, either wildly happy or insanely angry. He couldn't even imagine what life would be like as her husband. Suddenly he couldn't wait to find out.

Choosing his words carefully, he looked across the dying fire again and said, "My feelings are very much the same, Father. I cannot explain it better than that."

Gall narrowed his eyes and nodded, then continued with his questions. "The crazy one has no people here. Who will bless her union with you and give permission for this marriage?"

"I was hoping you would give it along with my own permission."

Gall nodded, deep in thought. "Then what of her people, her own mother and father? How will they feel about their loss, about the fact that she is being held captive in a Lakota camp? Will they turn their backs on her? Will they increase their persecution of us?"

Jacob walked a very narrow ledge. Any more discussion of Dominique's relatives would put the Custer name foremost in his mind and on the tip of his tongue. His inherently honest nature would be sorely offended if he had to tell his father any more lies. Then inspiration struck, and he used the words he'd recently heard spilling from the general's mouth: "It is no problem. She is dead to her family already."

"Then it is done. I wish you happiness, son, and hope this marriage does not interfere with the success of your mission."

Feeling cleansed, as if he could finally speak with a refreshing splash of honesty, he said, "Once we are wed and I no longer have to worry about the crazy one, my total concentration will be on our mission. That is a promise."

“I hope it is one you can keep.'' Gall gestured for Jacob to rise. Then he followed suit and walked with him to the opening in the lodge. He turned to his son, his mouth twisted into a sideways grin. "Since this woman has no family and I am to represent them, I hope you do not expect me to deliver gifts at your door in the morning."

"No, Father," Jacob said, with a chuckle of relief. "I think we can forget that part of the ceremony. Taking the crazy one as my bride will be gift enough."

"From what I have seen, taking the crazy one for a wife may be more burden than gift, my son. My present to you is a wish for much luck.''

"Thank you, Father," Jacob said through his laughter as he stepped into the night air. "I believe I can use all the luck I can get."

Still laughing, he made his way across the small village and stepped into his own lodge. Dominique sat in the middle of the tipi near the fire. His uniform lay beside her in a heap. In her hand, she held the letter of invitation she'd written him several weeks past.

Her dark eyes flashing accusations, she held the paper out. "So Peaches ate it, huh? Is everything you've ever told me a lie, Jacob? Can I believe anything you have to say?''

His good humor a distant
memory,
he stalked across the floor and snatched the note from her hand. "This is no concern of yours."

"It most certainly is. You lied to me.”

"Enough. I did not say you could look in my clothing. Now lie down and go to sleep before I am forced to put you to sleep permanently."

Dominique jerked her head back in a huff. "How dare you threaten
me.
"

All thoughts of tenderness, of explaining their upcoming marriage and the reasons for it, vanished. Jacob rumpled the paper into a ball and threw it to the ground. "You still don't understand, do you? Perhaps I should throw you outside where many warriors will be happy to do much more than threaten you."

Dominique crawled to the edge of the rug, her eyes wide. "You wouldn't dare."

"No? Maybe it's time that I should dare a lot more." Jacob dropped to his knees and reached for her. "If you had been raised in this village, you would be the mother of many strong young sons by now. Perhaps you have remained a maiden for too long, crazy one." Keeping one strong hand firmly clasped around her arm, he reached up with the other and lightly drew the backs of his fingertips across her cheek. "A night spent in the arms of a Lakota warrior will most surely soften that barbed tongue of yours."

Wondering how serious his intentions were, she felt equally outraged and intrigued by the idea of their union. Dominique's voice was weak with indecision as she said, "No, thanks. Just leave me alone."

"That isn't what you want. I can tell by the look in your curious eyes." His middle finger traced her eyebrow. "See how your mouth trembles as you think about the heat of my lips against yours?" The finger moved down to her lower lip,
then
his hand slid down between her breasts and began stroking her flat tummy.

 
"You know better than I how good you feel here."

"No," she said through a sudden gasp. "Stop it."

Jacob's laugh was hoarse as he said, "Your voice and the look on your face do not match your words, crazy one. Let me show you what it is to be truly a woman."

Dominique pushed at his big hands as he grabbed her hips and dragged her beneath him, but it was no use. He was as strong as an enraged bear and twice as intent on his mission. Filled with indecision as he stretched his big body above the full length of hers, she opened her mouth to beg for mercy, but her parted lips only provided access for his driving tongue. He pressed himself down on her, bruising her, cutting off her breath with his massive chest as his passion flared to frenzy.

His strong hands were suddenly everywhere, punishing and rewarding her at the same time. Fingers of liquid heat pulled one of her breasts over the top of her low-cut dress and began kneading her nipple, surprising her with a surge of desire. The fingers of his other hand, tipped in flames, slid under her dress, singeing her thighs as they traveled to her center on a search for the treasure buried beneath her golden mound. Hampered by her drawers, Jacob's educated fingertips probed blindly, lighting small fires wherever they touched, as he sought entrance to the uncharted valleys of her sweetness.

Dominique bucked, moaning with pleasure and
surprise as his touch threw open
the doors of raging desire. No longer the lady, the properly educated daughter and the pristine niece, Dominique was raw, pulsating flesh, demanding gratification, consumed for the first time by the needs of a full-grown woman. She was desperate for some unnamed fulfillment, frantic to ease the agonizing pressure building inside her.
Instinct made her snake her hands along Jacob's hips, then sent them slithering beneath his breechclout to his nude buttocks.
There, her roaming fingers dug into his rigid flesh. She pulled him down toward the white-hot ache between her legs, grinding her hips against his, cursing the barrier of clothing between them.