The Bride Wore Feathers (22 page)

"Nothing much," he said. "Nothing but castrate me in front of my men, render me impotent as their leader."

Libbie jerked back, her brow knotted.
"What?
Oh, please, Autie, please tell me what that swine has done to you."

With great difficulty, Custer swallowed the steel ball of hatred in his throat and said the words he would have to repeat time and time again over the next few days. "I've been relieved of my command."

Libbie broke free of his arms. "You can't be serious." She cupped her palms over her ears and shook her head. "I won't listen to another word until you tell me the truth."

"Telling the truth is what put me in this position." He ground his teeth and reiterated. "President Grant relieved me of my command. General Terry is the commander of both the Montana Column and the Dakota Column. I wasn't even supposed to be allowed to join in this campaign."

"But downstairs, you told the men you had a new assignment."

"I know what I said, and it wasn't a complete lie. Generals Terry and Sheridan know what we're up against, even if Washington doesn't. They convinced Grant that my experience was badly needed in this campaign, so he relented, but I'm only to head up my own regiment. The entire command is under Terry."

"Oh, no," she choked out through a sob. "Oh, God, no."

"There now, sunbeam. Chin up." He pulled her back into his arms and pressed her trembling head against his shoulder. "I'll come out of this all right. You know I'll find a way to make them pay, to sit up and take notice of the best damn military man the cavalry has ever seen."

Libbie took several deep breaths, fighting off the sobs, and said, "But why? Why was Grant so angry with you?"

Custer pressed his face into her warm brown hair and shrugged. "Because I'm an honest man. Because when he asked this forthright man to testify in congressional hearings on what I know about fraudulent practices out here on the frontier, he didn't like my answers. I guess he didn't
really
want to know how the government was being cheated or by whom. That's why."

"Oh, Autie, there must be a way for you to convince them they're wrong. They simply can't treat you this way."

"Apparently they can treat me any damn way they like, but I don't intend to tell them another thing. From now on, I'll show them." Custer narrowed one steel-blue eye and stared off into an imaginary future only he could see. "I'll show them on the field of battle, where I have no equal."

Encouraged by the change in his tone, Libbie stepped away from her husband and stared into his eyes. Trancelike, illuminated by fires of imagination, they revealed his skills as a great craftsman, a man whose talents were no less creative than those of a fine artist. His canvas was the uncharted territories into which he would lead his men; his paintbrush, uncanny skills in strategy and the tenacity to pull off miracle after miracle. A landscape, when George Armstrong Custer finished with it, was no less than a masterpiece that could be viewed as a graphic monument to man's fascination with war.

Libbie observed her husband and trembled with desire. He was beyond the reach, past the understanding of mere mortals at this moment. Above even her. But when he broke out of that spell, when she knew he could be approached as a man, as
her
man, she would make him forget his trials in Washington. She would ease the pain of his loss. She would show him her own creativity, those areas in which she could only hope she had no peers.

Back to reality, Custer shook his head and yawned. "That's my sad tale, precious sunbeam. And please believe me when I say I will not discuss it again."

"As you wish, Autie." She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. The kiss, a brief, gentle caress, ended when Libbie slid her hands to the front of his trousers and began to tug at the buttons.

"No," Custer said, "not like that. I'm in need of comfort tonight. Strip and get into bed."

"Oh, Autie," Libbie breathed with a shudder of excitement, "whatever you want."

She helped herself to another quick kiss, then began to remove her clothing. Making sure her movements were slow and deliberate, Libbie kept one eye on her husband as she disrobed, hoping to see that he was as excited as she. By the time she slithered between the sheets, her mouth watered in anticipation.

"Well, General? What are you waiting for?" She curled a seductive finger and beckoned him.

Custer peeled off the rest of his clothing and climbed into bed beside her. When she rolled toward him, he pushed her back against the mattress. "I said I'm in need of comfort tonight. Be my best girl. Hold me, take care of me."

"Of course, darling. Whatever you say, you know I'll do anything you want." Unsure what he expected from her, Libbie forced herself to remain still even as her hot blood raced through her system, heating her loins, driving her mad with longing. Impatient for his touch, she waited for the next instruction wondering what new game he'd thought of.

Sliding down on the mattress until his head was level with Libbie's breast, Custer curled into a fetal position and rested his newly shorn head in the crook of her arm. Then he took her rosy nipple into his mouth and began to suckle.

"Oh, Autie," she gasped, "that feels so-o-o-o good."

But he didn't reply. Custer squirmed, nestling his head deeper in the valley between her arm and ribs and curled himself into a tighter ball. His mouth worked furiously against her breast, then slowly eased to an occasional pull at her nipple. A random cry, muffled, pathetic, broke the silence. Soon, his lips ceased to move.

"Oh, my poor, poor boy," Libbie whispered against his golden hair.

But there was still no answer. As the rhythm of her husband's light snoring reverberated in her ears, tears swamped corners of Libbie's stormy blue-gray eyes.

Chapter 10

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity as the troops made preparations for their long journey. Dominique spent most of her time helping Libbie sew new silk flags for Custer and the troops to carry, and spent the rest of her hours fretting.

She'd hardly seen Jacob since the evening he'd spent with her in the parlor. If he wasn't off scouting, sometimes two or three days in a row, he was busy with the rest of the soldiers. Only twice had he found a few moments to give her additional riding lessons, and during those precious minutes, she had found him guarded, indifferent. She'd hope for some different lessons, a few stolen moments to further her education as a woman. Now it looked as if that would never happen—not with Private Stoltz, anyway.

Tomorrow the Seventh Cavalry would pull out. Jacob and the troops would head for the hills of Montana. There they would spend the entire summer in pursuit of some naughty Indians while she withered away at the deserted post. By the time Uncle Armstrong and the men returned to Fort Lincoln in the fall, she would be back home with her papa in Michigan. She would never see Jacob again. It just wasn't fair.

"Pooh. And bloody hell double pooh." Dominique kicked a spindle-backed chair across the room, then collapsed in a heap as a scorching pain shot from her big toe to her knee. "Ow," she cried, cradling the injured foot in her hands.

"Nikki?" Libbie rushed into the room and knelt by her side. "What's happened? I heard a crash and then your cry. How did you get hurt?"

"It's nothing," she fibbed, biting her bottom lip. "I stumbled against the chair, that's all."

"Let me see." Libbie pushed Dominque's hand away. "Oh, my, honey, you're bleeding. I think you've torn your nail." Libbie got to her feet. "Stay put. I'll get a bandage and, oh, how about some of the professor's tonic for the pain?"

"No. I mean, no, thanks, Aunt Libbie. It doesn't hurt anymore. I don't even think I need a bandage."

Libbie cocked her head. "Are you sure, dear? It's no trouble."

"I'm positive."

"Well, all right." Libbie clasped her hands together and swung them like a pendulum. "I think I may have some news to turn that frown of yours into a great big grin."

"It will have to be awfully wonderful news. I'm afraid I'm not in a very good mood today."

"This should cheer you up. Autie says the men have done a splendid job of preparing for the campaign. He's giving the entire post the day off to do as they please." She lowered her voice, then went on. "Hazel and I had a long talk this morning—she's taken with Lieutenant Woodhouse, you know—and she thought a picnic would be great fun. Would you like to go along with them?"

Dominique wrinkled her nose. "Just me?"

"No, dear. That's where the good news comes in. Don't think I haven't noticed your interest in Private Stoltz."

Dominique swallowed a gasp.

Libbie paused, clucking her tongue, then went on. "Since the odds of you seeing him again after tomorrow are nil, I don't see the harm in inviting him to go along for the ride. The buggy seats four. Now what do you think about the picnic?"

Dominique jumped to her feet, unfazed by the jolt of pain in her toe. "I think it sound wonderful. Thank you Aunt Libbie." She gave the older woman a hug, then glimpsed her riding boots out of the corner of her eye. "Do I have to go in the buggy? I do so love riding Peaches, but I'm not good enough to try her on my own after the troops leave. This will probably be my last chance to go horseback riding."

"Oh, you'll have other chances, Nikki. All the men aren't leaving, but if you'd rather ride, I don't mind." She started for the doorway, adding, "I'll run downstairs and have Mary prepare a basket of food, then send Annie with a message to Barney and Private Stoltz. They'll probably be at the door by the time you get dressed."

* * *

Jacob tugged on the lead, coaxing Peaches up alongside the big sorrel he was riding. A sense of foreboding swept over him, but unlike his earlier feelings of doom, this had nothing to do with the bad blood between the cavalry and the Lakota. It had everything to do with the crazy one. He'd worked hard over the past two weeks, alerting his people to the upcoming confrontation, gathering information about the types of weapons the soldiers planned to use against his people, and studying the most likely routes the soldiers would take in their quest.

During that time, he had avoided Dominique as much as possible, and had managed to keep their meetings to a minimum. Now this picnic threatened to ruin what was left of his sanity. This "day of fun" could be his undoing. How would he be able to endure an entire afternoon of looking into those lively brown eyes, of hearing her infectious laughter—of wanting her?

Jacob jerked on the line and instantly regretted the excessive force he'd used. "Sorry, Peaches."

"What's that you say, Stoltz?" Barney called from the buggy.

"Nothing, Lieutenant. I am talking to the horse."

Barney laughed, then said, "I'm telling you, Stoltz, you should have taken my advice and run down to the Dew Drop Inn last night. Gonna be a long time fore you see another woman. You might fall in love with that horse and think of doing more than just talking to her fore this campaign is over. You still got tonight. Better run along while you're still thinking clear, son."

Jacob chuckled under his breath. "I have not noticed you taking your own advice. Do you plan to visit this hog ranch tonight?"

Barney puckered his mouth, forcing his mustache up under his nose like a small piece of black string. "Shucks, Jacob. You know how I feel about the widow Swenson. I don't have any interest in other women."

Neither do I, Jacob thought, nearly vocalizing his feelings, but he said, "Maybe tonight I will make that trip for us both."

"There you go. Now you got the right idea."

They'd reached the house. Jacob remained seated on the gelding while Barney went to collect the women. When the trio returned burdened with baskets and blankets, his sense of gloom increased as Dominique dropped her bundle in the back of the buggy and walked over to Peaches.

"Good morning!" she said with a bright smile. Shading her eyes with the back of her hand, she looked up at Jacob, and her grin widened. "Beautiful day for a picnic, isn't it?"

Helpless when she was near, he smiled back in spite of his qualms. "Perfect. May I help you mount?"

"No, don't bother," she said, taking the reins from his hand. "So far, this is the only thing I've been able to master by myself." Slipping the toe of her new black riding boot into the stirrup, Dominique gracefully lifted herself onto the saddle. "There, now," she said, gently patting the mare's neck, "that wasn't so bad. We'll do just fine today."