Dakota Dream (44 page)

"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 Eighteen

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.

"Come,
wi
witko,"
he said. "Follow me."

Dominique's sturdy little mount trailed after the larger stallion, carefully picking her way among the rocks and shrubs scarring the ragged bluff. They plodded along to a wide grassy hill rising up over two hundred feet from the valley below. There Jacob slid down off the stallion,
then
lifted Dominique from Peaches.

Still holding her in his arms, he walked to the summit of the hill. "I brought you here so you could understand," he explained as he gently set her on her feet. "Look. See what your uncle and his army face."

A sense of foreboding sent a sudden shiver up her spine, but Dominique wheeled around and stared out at the magnificent view. Along the skyline in the distance, the Big Horn Mountains, still wearing a crown of winter snow, provided a scenic backdrop for the terrain to the west. Below the ragged bluffs, the Greasy Grass River, swollen with spring runoff from these mountains, snaked through
thickets of Cottonwood trees. A huge valley carpeted in thick grass played host to an immense band of grazing Indian ponies. But most impressive, even frightening somehow, were the seemingly endless circles of tipis. Stretching on for miles along the river's path, they seemed to fill every available parcel of land comprised by the quiet pastoral scenery.

Dominique gasped. "This is huge. How many Indians are out there?"

From behind her, Jacob pressed his hips against her bottom and wound his arms around her waist. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he quietly said, "I wanted you to see this so you might understand. I want you to know that these are all my people."

Extending his arm across her shoulder, he pointed out the separate camps. "Most of the circles are Sioux." Then he named each tribe. "Oglala,
Miniconjou
, Sans Arc, Blackfoot, Two Kettles, and
Brules
. Soon our own Hunkpapa camp will join them. At the other
end of the valley, to the north, over a hundred Cheyenne lodges unite
with us."

"But, Jacob," Dominique said, her voice barely a whisper, "what happens if Uncle Armstrong finds them? What will your people do if the cavalry comes across this group?"

"Come," he said softly. "We must talk."

Taking her hand, Jacob led Dominique to a grassy furrow running along the top of the knoll. Sitting down with his back against a small hill, he stretched his legs out and motioned for his wife to sit across his lap.

"This is as far as my people will go,
wi
witko"
he explained. "The Lakota will run from soldiers like your uncle no more. We are not animals to be hunted for sport."

Dominique stared into his eyes, hoping to find just a spark of humor, the hint of a joke, but she saw only a great sadness mingled with a heartbreaking sense of helplessness. She lowered her head and spoke in a flat, cold tone. "Surely you must know there will be a war if your people stay."

"Yes," he
agreed,
his voice resigned, dispassionate. "That seems to be the only solution."

"But
why?
Why does it have to be that way?" Dominique hooked her arms around his shoulders and pulled, hoping to shake some sense into him. "Why can't your people do whatever it is the army asks of them and be done with it? Why do they have to fight?"

"That is a question you wouldn't ask if you understood what the whites demand of us."

"Then help me, Jacob. Help me to understand what could possibly be worth the terrible price the Lakota will pay if your people don't surrender."

Expelling a heavy sigh, Jacob slid down away from the hill until he and Dominique were sprawled side by side in the deep grass. He tried to explain. "Many winters past, eight, I think, Red Cloud, chief of the Oglala, signed a treaty with your government. He agreed to take his tribe and other Lakota, and some Hunkpapa, too, to a reservation on our own land in the Black Hills."

"I've heard of the Black Hills."

"I'm sure you have," he muttered, his jaw tight. Unable to talk just then, Jacob kissed the top of her head,
then
stared down at her golden-red locks. Hair very nearly the same color covered the scalp of a man he'd vowed to kill. How could he hate one of the
Custers
so much, yet love another with every fiber of his being?

Dominique lifted her head and gazed up at her husband. "Jacob? Is something wrong?"

"Only everything, crazy one.
Only the fact that I love you, and that love has become a very difficult thing in my life."

"Maybe it has nothing to do with your love for me at all, Jacob." Dominique looked him square in the eye. "Isn't it possible that I've only been some kind of beacon, a light showing you who you really are?"

"I no longer know who I am."

"Oh, I think you do. You're two people, Jacob.
One, the warrior Redfoot, who wants to protect his people and their way of life.
The other, Stoltz, who would probably like to honor the memory of his murdered family and, I hope, keep the love of his wife." Dominique's heart ached as she watched a painful self-examination flickering in his eyes. "What I think,
Jacob,
is that you are having a very difficult time choosing sides."

"It is more than difficult," he whispered, his throat tight. Jacob slid his big hand behind her neck and crushed her to his chest. Again kissing the top of her head, he said against her hair, "It is impossible."

Jacob's heartbeat accelerated, thundered against her ear. A sudden rush of tears swamped Dominique's eyes, but she squeezed them back, choked on them, and swallowed. After a deep breath, she managed to say, "Tell me about the Black Hills, Jacob. Are they as beautiful as I've heard, and are they really blue?"

Jacob waited a long moment, grateful for the change of subject,
then
said, "Often, on hazy mornings in particular, they appear to be one with the sky." The ache in Jacob's chest gradually eased as he thought of the land in which he'd spent so many summers. "And they are truly the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen. Running all through the thick forest are creeks so thick with fish a man need only reach into the water to catch them. There is so much game that even the poorest hunter need never go hungry."