The Bride Wore Feathers (20 page)

"Well, in that case ..." Libbie faced the private. "Would you care to join us around four o'clock on Friday afternoon for tea and cakes, Private? We usually sing some songs or play cards."

Jacob's smile was broad, directed not at Libbie, but beyond her to the vision of cunning beauty in the doorway. "I would be honored. Thank you. I wonder if I might ask Lieutenant Woodhouse to come, too. He helped to care for Dominique this afternoon."

"Lieutenant Woodhouse?" Again Libbie looked toward her niece. "Isn't he Hazel's new friend?"

Grinning, she said, "Why, yes, I believe he is." From the other room, Dominique was sure she heard a small gasp. She continued, "Barney Woodhouse is quite some gentleman too. I think you ought to get to know him better, Aunt Libbie. He's a good one to have around."

"Hummm." Libbie turned back to Jacob. "Very well, then. Go ahead and extend the invitation to the lieutenant as well."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I have one more request."

"I'm sorry, Private, but I cannot invite any more strangers into the general's home in his absence."

"It is nothing like that. I would ask that your invitation be in writing. Some of the soldiers play jokes on each other and I do not want Barney to think this is what I am doing to him."

"Oh." Libbie shrugged and crossed over to her small marble-inlaid desk. She pulled a slip of her personal stationery from the drawer, scribbled a few lines on it, then folded the paper and handed it to the private. "There. That should convince him of the authenticity of my invitation. Until Friday afternoon, Private."

"Thanks, ma'am."

Her duty finished as she saw it, Libbie nodded and glided over to Dominique's side. "Now, then, let's get you upstairs."

"Good afternoon," Dominique called to Jacob as she and Libbie passed under the archway.

"Afternoon, ladies," he replied, hat in hand. After the two women left the room, Jacob followed along behind them, turning left in the direction of the front door as they headed right toward the stairs. When he reached the threshold, he stopped when he heard Libbie's excited voice cry out.

"Oh, Nikki. I almost forgot. I have just the thing to perk you up. One of the major's men was in town today, and he bought a few bottles of a brand-new cure-all. Why, I'll bet all you need to feel better is a dose of Professor Harrington's Nature Cure and Worm Syrup."

Chapter 9

On Friday, once again wearing the white gauze dress with the grass-green satin trimming, Dominique twirled before her full-length looking glass. She leaned forward, tugging at the fabric and encouraging her breasts to swell out over the square-cut neckline, then straightened. After spinning from one side to the other, she gave her reflection a nod of approval and strolled over to her bedroom window.

Through the large gabled window frame, her gaze swept the commanding view of Fort Abraham Lincoln and its Missouri River backdrop. Beyond the cottonwood trees lining the banks lay the wild, untamed Dakota Territory and the Indians fighting so mightily to keep this land as their own. Her thoughts, as they seemed to do more and more, reverted to the night she had spent in the Lakota camp—to the savage Dominique had come to think of as Jacob's brother—the man whose kisses had fueled the fire Jacob had ignited so well in the parlor.

Tonight she would inform him of his mother's fate. She would make it her duty to let him know of the existence of the man who carried his blood in his veins. Again Dominique thought of that man, of the savage whose naked body had warmed, then returned life, to her frozen limbs. His voice, the husky laugh that was so like Jacob's, stirred her memory, her heart. She couldn't let another day go by, allow another shared intimacy to pass, without telling Jacob about the man called Redfoot.

Dominique glanced over at the barracks. Friday afternoons left the fort looking deserted, as the common soldiers cleaned the facilities in preparation for their weekly Sunday inspections. Not a soldier stirred outside the barracks—with the exception of Private Stoltz and Lieutenant Woodhouse. This privileged duo, she noticed with delight, sauntered along the path of Officers' Row on their way to the grand centerpiece, the Custer house.

Ducking out of sight, Dominique gave her cheeks a final pinch before bolting from her room and down the stairs. Once in the hallway, she lifted her chin and modified her manners. Strolling quietly into the parlor, she found a member of her family over by the sideboard.

"Good afternoon, Uncle Tom. I didn't know you were coming by."

Thomas Custer jumped a foot, spilling the ill-gotten brandy down the front of his dress shirt. "Oh, ah, Nikki. I didn't hear you come in."

Unaware of his distress, she approached him. "Sorry if I startled you. Is Uncle Bos coming, too?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." Working with his back to her, Tom managed to hide the small glass behind Libbie's collection of fine silver before he faced her. "You know Bos," he said with a forced laugh. "He's a civilian and thinks he can march to his own drummer. I don't know where he is today."

"Tom, Dominique," Libbie greeted as she hurried into the room. Dressed in a plain brown wrapper the color of her chestnut hair, she looked unusually drab and stern. "Did I hear you mention Boston? Is something wrong?"

"No, dear." Tom reached for her hands. "I was just explaining to Nikki how hard he is to locate since he really doesn't have to answer to anyone."

"He has to answer to the general, Tom."

"Yes, of course, but more as a brother than as a soldier. After all, Libbie, a civilian guide is hardly bound by the rules of the United States Calvary."

"Tom?" Libbie blurted out. Sniffing, she stepped closer. "My stars. You
reek
of brandy. Oh, Thomas, you promised the general, you promised us all you wouldn't take another drink."

"Shussh, Libbie, please?" Tom inclined his head toward Dominique. "I hardly think this needs to be discussed in front of an audience. After all, it was just one little shot of brandy. You're carrying on as if I'd gone out and gotten all liquored up."

Libbie glared up at him, biting her tongue, checking her temper. She'd promised Autie and Grandpa Custer she would keep a close watch on Tom and help to ensure his sobriety whenever temptation reached out to him. And so she had. Or at least, she thought she had. How many times had he broken his pledge behind her back? Had he been fooling her all along? The sound of voices filled the entryway, making it impossible for her to ask him any questions until some more private time.

Libbie leaned toward him, whispering, "You and I are going to discuss this later, Tom, but discuss it we will. Now, if you please, I'd like you to help me greet our guests." Then she took his outstretched arm and walked to the archway as the first of the ladies stepped into the parlor.

Dominique, forgotten and left standing by the sideboard, contented herself by staying in the corner. She had no more interest in her uncle's drinking problem than she had in the officers or their high-and-mighty wives. Her only concern this night was for Jacob and his opinion of her now that she'd allowed him to see the wild, undisciplined side of her nature. Would he think her common and cheap, try to take further liberties whether she encouraged them or not? Or would he ignore her altogether, think her less than worthy of him or of any decent man?

Suddenly more nervous than excited, Dominique bit her bottom lip and began to worry the split at the side of her thumbnail. Then Barney strode into the room. Jacob was one step behind him. After shaking the hand of hostess and saluting his host, the private made straight for her.

"Good afternoon, Miss DuBois," he said in a loud, clear voice. Then, making sure they weren't overheard, he added in a lower tone, "I hope you have had time to recover from your sickness caused by Professor Harrington's cure-all. Or did your aunt force you to drink another bottle of this famous medicine?"

Dominique laughed as she said, "You heard her?" When he nodded, she went on, still chuckling. "I spent the better part of the night convincing her I had suddenly become well. She was determined to test the effects of that horrible stuff on me. Ugh."

Jacob chuckled as she mimicked an exaggerated shudder, then said, "I do hope you are well at last."

"I am." She looked up at him and smiled. His return gaze, the caress in his deep blue eyes, turned her insides to mush, her mind to soup. What was it she wanted to talk to him about?

"Do you intend to continue your riding lessons, Miss DuBois? Peaches misses you."

"Huh? Oh, yes, I do wish to go on with the lessons. Tomorrow, in fact." Dominique glanced around, looking for the most private seating, then took his hand. "Come and join me on Aunt Libbie's new sofa."

She led him to the low-backed Elizabethan couch of flowered damask and eased onto the edge of the cushion. When Jacob sat down beside her, she quietly broached the subject she'd been avoiding for so long. "Before the music starts, I thought we might take a moment to talk. There is something I should have told you before now, but I couldn't find the words. I should have said something right off, but I wasn't sure until, well, I can't say that I'm sure now, but I have a feeling that what I'm thinking is... I mean, if it's true, and believe me, I'm not saying that it absolutely is a fact or anything—"

"Please," he sliced in, rubbing his fingertips across his forehead, "tell me your news while I can still understand what you are saying."

"Oh," she said with a laugh, "I'm sorry. I get carried away when I'm nervous or upset."

"You want to talk to me about something that upsets you? Have I done something wrong?" His mind raced back to the burning kiss they'd shared, that treasured moment he knew he'd never forget, and panic gripped his heart. Had she confessed to her aunt? Was he—and therefore his mission—in jeopardy? Jacob prepared to leap from the sofa as Dominique slid her hand across the back of his.

Her voice hesitant, she said, "I've been afraid to mention this because I thought it might upset you, Jacob."

His confusion complete, he said, "Please, go on. Tell me what this terrible thing is."

"It has to do with my experience in the Sioux village when I first arrived in the Lakota Territory, specifically my ordeal with a warrior called Redfoot." She looked into his eyes and watched them widen, then close as her words sank in.

He'd known this might happen. After all, hadn't he planted the seeds for this story himself? Somehow he wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with it, with her feelings about it. When Jacob opened his eyes again, their azure depths twinkled with animation as he said, "We never did have a chance to talk about our lives as captives. I am very interested in what you have to say about this dreadful savage, but I think it would be best for you to forget it and never speak of it again."

"Oh, but I don't mind. I want to talk about it."

"Wasn't it a terrible thing to be held prisoner by this savage?"

"Terrible? Oh, no, he was very, er, awfully ..." The word she sought wouldn't come to her, at least not a word that could be considered ladylike and decent. Memories of her few hours with Redfoot conjured up many words, many feelings, all unsuitable for the unmarried niece of General Custer. She fought against a sudden blush, and tried to explain. "What I'm trying to tell you has nothing to do with me, Jacob. It has to do with you."

"Me?" he exclaimed, knowing exactly what she was trying to tell him. But even though quills of guilt poked at his gut, he went on with the deception. "None of the Sioux spoke to me. I was captured, beaten, and tossed into a tipi with Barney. I know nothing of a warrior called Redfoot."

"That's not what I was trying to say." She slid closer to him, choosing her words carefully. "Redfoot is someone I think you
should
meet. Oh, Jacob, I don't know how to say this other than straight out. I believe this Indian may be your brother."

Surprising himself with a sudden urge to laugh, Jacob pressed his hand across his lips and worked to twist his mouth into a grimace. His words muffled, spoken through his fingers, he said, "That is ridiculous. I suggest you forget about this Indian and never think of him again."

"But I can't. Don't you understand? These Sioux may be the savages who took your mother years ago. They may have, she might have. Shoot. This man was too much like you
not
to be related, Jacob."