No Other Man (30 page)

"A Sioux doesn't need to seek a great victory; he needs
to lead a continually brave life," Sloan said. "Taking coup is part
of the bravery of battle. And last night against the Crows, you, a woman,
struck a warrior. They were still talking about it when we arrived on the
scene. It was a great humiliation for the warrior."

"But it made you a greater prize of battle," Hawk
murmured, throwing a stick onto the fire.

"Any warrior can instigate a war party," Willow said.
"And those who choose to follow him may do so."

"If a man chooses not to follow a war party, then that
is his prerogative," Sloan said.

"However," Willow continued, "during important
movements, hunts, or major battles, the akicitas must control the young braves
who might jeopardize the party by seeking to break early and count coup or rush
the buffalo for the first kill."

"The akicitas?"

Hawk looked to Willow and Sloan, then lifted his hands.
"Indian police."

"Who change with the wind."

"I'm lost again."

"They are chosen from the warrior societies, but the
head men choose warriors from different societies so that no man may have too
much control over others."

Skylar smiled. "It all sounds very democratic."

"It
is a free society," Hawk said softly, "and that is often the best of
it, and the worst of it."

"What do you mean?"

"He
means," Sloan said, "that in the army, the generals i;ive the orders
and privates obey without question. No one chief can command hundreds of braves
if the braves do not choose to follow him."

"The
people who have banded together with Crazy Horse have done so because they have
chosen to do so," Hawk said. "And when we visit there, although we
have chosen to enter the white world, we don't visit there as whites."

"So what am I?" Skylar demanded.

Hawk
lifted his hands and looked to Sloan as if he were again seeking the proper
explanation. Then he stared at her and shrugged. "Property," he said
complacently.

"You're not serious—"

"You
will own the tipi," Sloan assured her, grinning.

"She'll
have to make it first," Hawk reminded him. "And she'll have to
remember as well that women have their place. They serve their men, then dine
themselves."

"Oh?" she said.

"You
may need to be careful. Wife-stealing does take place, though it is a shame
upon those who indulge, unless, of course, a man is so powerful that the
warriors around him are willing to let their wives go."

"There have been such occasions," Willow said.

"But
sad ones as well!" Sloan commented. "Think of what it cost Crazy
Horse when he fell in love and eloped with No Water's woman."

"Of
course, he failed to pay No Water for the woman," Willow reminded them.

"Crazy
Horse was shot in the face, and his family was shamed. Thankfully," Sloan
said, "his family did not seek retaliation for the shooting."

"And
neither was Black Shawl harmed," Hawk reflected, smiling at Skylar.
"She could have had the tip of

her
nose sliced off—it would have been her husband's right."

Skylar had had enough. She stood, angry with the lot of them.
Hawk had been almost charming himself that afternoon. But no more. He, Sloan,
and Willow might well be telling her the absolute truth, but in the telling,
they were very definitely taunting her.

She tossed the rest of her coffee into the fire, dropped her
camp cup, and started off on a walk toward the water.

"Skylar!" she heard Hawk call sharply.

She ignored his call, bristling as she hurriedly walked along
the trail, pulling her cloak around her. The moon remained round, lighting the
path well. Only the trees around her were shrouded in shadow. Not far ahead,
she could see the glowing patterns of moonlight dazzling and rippling upon the
stream by which they camped. The sky itself as well as the landscape seemed to
be reflected there.

It isn't my world!
she
thought furiously. Damn him! She'd done her best, she was here. She'd come with
him into uncivilized country. She'd been abducted by enemy hostiles. She'd even
made the damned coffee.

She kicked the earth furiously.

She was still paying.

She reached the water's edge and squatted, scooping up a
handful of the cool, clear water with which to bathe her face. Her touch broke
the soft rippling reflection, sending small waves shooting out against the
night-darkened stream. She cooled her cheeks again, wondering why she was so
angry when they had all probably been speaking the truth. It was the way they
had spoken it. So mockingly. No matter what price she paid, it didn't seem that
Hawk could forgive her. Right now, she hated him because of it.

And she hated herself for caring.

The rippling waves she had created began to ebb. A huge, dark
shadow suddenly appeared on the water. She watched the shadow in horror, panic
rising within her. The Crow. The Crow were back again.. ..

She leaped up, a scream of terror forming in her throat.

She'd
walked away again! God help her, couldn't she learn to be angry and stay where
she would be safe?

She spun around, ready to lash out, scream—run.

"Skylar!"

Her
scream faded. Relief filled her with such force that she trembled with it.

Hawk
stood behind her, his shoulders broadened by his cross-armed, irritated stance.

"What?"
she demanded, trying hard not to gasp or to betray how very afraid she had
been. She kept her distance.

She saw
that he was trying to control his temper, grating his teeth, relaxing his jaw
once again.

"You can't keep walking off."

"There was little reason to stay," she replied.

He
lifted his hands. "There are certain things which are true in Sioux
society. I cannot tell you differently."

"I'm afraid I know nothing about making a tipi."

"We'll
be staying in my grandfather's home." He stretched out a hand to her.
"Come back to camp."

She
didn't accept his hand. "I'm glad I'm not a Sioux," she told him
coolly.

Again,
she watched him struggle to control his temper. He dropped his hand and spoke
with impatience. "Again, you fail to understand. We are all
people.
A Sioux wife is sought by her husband,
cherished by him. Though mores may be different in different human societies,
emotions remain the same. A wife cares for her husband and children; in
return, she is defended. And loved. And her children will love her, and when
she is widowed, her family will care for her, her husband's friends will give
to her and honor her in his name. She is free to laugh, to excel in her arts,
to seek to love and be loved. Know pride. She has little need for deception or
cunning."

"Unlike a white woman," Skylar commented.

He said nothing.

"Unlike
me."

He
continued to stare at her. She fought the tears that threatened to roll down
her cheeks. She gritted down on her teeth, realizing with a flash of insight
that she had actually hurt him first; she had attacked what he was. He had
attacked in return. She wasn't up to the battle.

"I shouldn't have forced you to come," he said.

"But you did."

"You have a talent for goading my temper."

"You have a talent for goading mine."

"You chose to come west."

"Yes,
but I—" she began, yet broke off quickly, not at all certain of exactly
what she had been about to say.

"But you didn't choose me," he finished.

It wasn't
what she meant at all but she couldn't seem to find the words to say so. Even
when it seemed that peace between them was within reach, she somehow seemed to
lose grasp of it. His fault as much as her own, her heart cried out.

"You're
the one who doesn't want a wife," she reminded him lightly.

"But
I've got one. And this is my life. Which you have chosen to join, since I did
give you the opportunity to go back." Again, he stretched his hand out to
her, palm upward. "Let's go back to camp."

She hesitated.

"Damn you!" he swore. "I offer you what I can."

"And maybe it is not enough."

"And
maybe you'll have to give more to get more."

"What
could I possibly have left to give?" she cried out passionately.

He
arched a brow, startled. "The truth," he said simply.

"I haven't lied—"

"And you haven't given."

"You're
wrong! I have given. I have given more than I had ever imagined I was capable
of giving. There's nothing—"

"There's
something. But I don't think even the Crows could torture it out of you."
He lost patience and grabbed her hand, starting back along the trail toward
their camp.

"The Crows!" she hissed. "You're probably far
better at torture!"

' 'We
do like to think ourselves superior to our enemies,'' he retorted.

"And am I your enemy?"

"You're my wife."

"But
unwanted. So surely, there are times when you must forget that fact!"

He
stopped walking so suddenly that she plowed into his back. The buckskin of his
shirt smelled good. The feel of his strength, his warmth against her was still
somehow reassuring in the wilderness despite the hostility of the words
passing between them.

She
stepped back, looking up at him, meeting his eyes, as he turned to her.

"Not
for a second, my love. Not for a single second. And let me warn you. There'd
best not be a single second you forget it either."

"Is my nose at peril?" she demanded.

He
arched a jet-black brow. "Your nose? How ridiculous." He caught her
hand, drawing her suddenly hard against him as he stared down at her.
"Now, come along," he told her again. Then he smiled, a menacing
glitter in his green eyes.

"Squaw!"

Seventeen

They reached the camp of the Crazy Horse people during the
late afternoon of the following day.

For
many hours before they had actually come upon the camp, Skylar had felt as if
there were the slightest change in the breeze, as if the trees could see. Sloan
assured her that they had been watched for a long while. Before they actually
reached the camp, a warrior rode up to their party. He frightened Skylar
because at first, to her, he looked just like the men in the Crow war party.
Hawk seemed impatient that she could not see the differences in paint and
manner of the Crow and Sioux, but Sloan assured her that men who had ridden
with cavalry for years did not always learn the fine distinctions between many
of the Plains tribes.

It
seemed to Skylar that there were hundreds of tipis, lodges as Hawk called them,
stretched out along the river. There would be hundreds of Sioux here. Indians.
More than she had seen in all her life. She didn't want Hawk to know that she
was afraid of his people.

But she was.

The
warrior who had ridden out to meet them was his cousin, Willow's brother, Ice
Raven. As they entered the camp, children gathered around them, scampering
beside the horses, laughing all the while. Women, working by their tipis,
cooking over fires, sewing hides, paused, looking up with the same avid
curiosity. Men and women called out; Hawk, Sloan, and Willow responded. They
stopped before a large tipi in the center of the camp. Hawk dismounted from
Tor. Willow and Sloan followed suit, greeting the tall, straight man with long,
iron-gray hair who stood there. He was old, Skylar thought. Very old, yet he appeared
to be in good health. He was proud and dignified, captivating in his stance.

Hawk, Willow, and Sloan all greeted him the
same way, taking his lower arms as he grasped theirs in return. Children,
women, and some of the braves gathered around behind them. Hawk called out to
some of the older boys, and they came over and took the cattle and ponies from
their party. Skylar suddenly felt the old man's eyes on her. She returned his
gaze, at a loss for what to do.

But by then, Hawk was beside her, lifting her from Nutmeg,
speaking to the elderly man as he did so. He nodded gravely, watching her, then
indicating the flap opening to the tipi. For the moment, Hawk's arm was around
Skylar's waist; she hoped he would stay with her for a while.

"I have to go. You must stay with my grandfather while
I'm gone."

"That's your grandfather?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"He's—fierce."

"He won't hurt you."

"I didn't say he would. I just... I don't speak any
Sioux. Do you have to go now?"

Hawk laughed. "Now you're suddenly eager for my
company?"

She flushed. "I—"

"You don't need to be afraid."

"I'm not."

"You'll do fine."

Hawk's grandfather stepped aside, and Hawk ushered Skylar
into the tipi. He wasn't going to come in with her, she realized. He was
determined to leave her to her own resources with his fierce-looking
grandfather remaining at the entrance to the tipi. She straightened, still
afraid despite herself. She was startled at first by the size of the tipi. Then
she was further alarmed to realize that there were people inside it.

Indians.

An old woman with white hair sat near the center of the tipi.
She sat not cross-legged but with her limbs folded beneath her. She sewed fine
turquoise embroidery into bleached white buckskin. It would be a beautiful
garment, Skylar thought. A robe of some sort or perhaps a dress like the ones
most of the women were wearing. The old woman looked up at her. She nodded as
if she had expected Skylar and was not alarmed or even disturbed by her
presence.

Besides the old woman, there were children in the tipi.

There was a girl of perhaps eleven or twelve, a boy of maybe
eight, and four very little children: one a baby in a cradle board, two
toddlers, one a bit bigger. She wasn't even sure of the gender of the little
ones, but as she stood there, the twelve-year-old girl offered a tentative
smile, and the little ones, except for the babe in the cradle board, started
coming toward her.