The Bride Wore Feathers (23 page)

"Maybe you will," Jacob said, proud of her progress.

"Why don't we get a move on?" Barney shouted. "Time's awasting." He clucked at the pair of bay geldings hitched to the buggy and slapped the reins across their backs, calling out his orders to Jacob as the rig pulled away from the house. "You and Miss DuBois ride on a ways ahead of us. Keep a lookout for any stragglers or renegades, and make sure you don't get out of sight of the blockhouse."

Jacob nodded as he wheeled the sorrel onto the path. "Where do you want us to stop?"

"A ways past the juniper trees and just this side of the river you'll find a meadow. You two pick a nice shady spot somewheres along in there."

"Yes, sir." Glancing at Dominique, Jacob asked, "Are you ready?"

"Let's go." She bumped Peaches in the flank with the heel of her boot, intending to wake her up, but the startled mare reared, nearly unseating her instead.

"Easy, girl," Jacob said to the animal, his tone deceptively cool. "All is well." He calmed the mare, then took her reins in hand. "I think it would be best if I lead her out of the garrison."

Her teeth chattering with fear, Dominique nodded and allowed him to lead Peaches down the road past the officers' quarters and post storehouses. Once in the open, Jacob returned the reins to her and issued a warning: "Be careful not to make any quick movements this time."

"Don't worry about that. I intend to sit as still as a mouse all the way to the meadow."

Jacob's only reply was to nudge the sorrel a few steps ahead of Peaches, making certain Dominique was no longer in his peripheral vision. He would have to find a way to maintain control of his mind, concentrate on the mission and the new demands it would make of him at dawn. He would have to forget the beautiful woman riding beside him. Maybe if he couldn't see her, he thought, knowing he was asking the impossible of himself, he wouldn't think of her.

They rode like that, silent and brooding, for nearly a mile. Finally unable to stand it any longer, Dominique clucked softly and carefully urged Peaches to catch up to the gelding. "Good morning again, Jacob. Why aren't you talking to me?"

"No reason. I am scouting."

"Oh," she said, lifting her chin. "I see." But she didn't. And she didn't like it one bit. She nudged Peaches sideways until her knee brushed Jacob's thigh. "When tomorrow comes, you'll be gone. I shall miss you Jacob. Will you miss me?"

He waited a long time before answering, and when he did, he kept his gaze on the box elder trees ahead. "I will think of you often."

"You'll write me often, too, won't you?"

"Write you?" he said, finally turned to face her.

"Yes. Friends usually keep in touch."

And because he couldn't see the harm in adding one more lie to their already tainted relationship, he said, "Sure. I will write you every day."

"Really?" She beamed.

He looked into her expressive sable eyes, saw the hope and genuine affection, and expelled a heavy sigh. How could he add to the hurt he had already caused her? How could he live with his conscience? Unable to bear the thought of the pain she would feel when the expected letters never arrived, Jacob altered his story. "No, Dominique, not really. I am sorry, but I will be very busy over the next few weeks. I will not have time to write to anybody."

"But of course you will. Aunt Libbie says the general writes to her just about every day when he's away, no matter where he's gone."

"I believe we are going into battle. I do not think that will be possible, even for the general."

"Yes, it will," she insisted. "She says Uncle Armstrong even writes her from the field of battle, so now you don't have any excuse. I shall expect a letter at least every other day."

"Do not expect anything from me. I will not be writing to you. Please understand that."

"But, I thought we were friends."

"We are, but I simply cannot write to you. Please don't ask me to do so again."

Reckless anger gripped her. Controlled by a sudden rage, unable to recognize its source, Dominique felt her temper flare. "Don't worry about that or about me, Jacob. I won't be asking a damn thing of you ever again." Then she drove a furious boot into Peaches's flank and jerked on the reins.

Unused to such treatment, the mare squealed and bolted, nearly tossing her rider to the ground before she broke into a dead run. The sudden movement tore Dominique's foot from the stirrup. With one knee hooked around the saddle horn and her hands wound into the horse's mane, she clung to Peaches, alternately cursing and begging the animal to stop.

"Whoa, Peaches, oh please stop," she screamed into the wind as the mare gathered speed. Her new bonnet was torn from her head as Peaches swerved, changing directions, and again, Dominique nearly fell to the ground. Instinct drove her to press her bosom against the animal's body and throw her arms around the thick neck. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, no longer able to scream or speak.

Behind the fleeing horse, Jacob spurred the gelding on, whipping the animal as he'd never whipped a mount in his life. He saw Peaches swerve and prepared to witness the worst, but Dominique surprised him by keeping her seat. The big sorrel was finally gaining ground on the smaller, faster bay, but would they be in time? Could he catch the terrified beast before she stumbled and fell, tossing and perhaps killing her burden in the process? Would Dominique's strength give out before he could prevent the inevitable fall?

The gelding leapt over a small bush and accelerated as his rider leaned forward and encouraged his progress. As they approached the foaming mare, Jacob slid down to the right side of his saddle, then encircled Dominique's waist with his arm as he raced by her flying skirts. Scooping her off Peaches and veering away from the mare in the same motion, he straightened in the saddle and shouted, "Put your arms around me, Dominique. Hang on."

Her fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt, she managed to cling to him, dangling from the side of the slowing gelding until it skidded to a halt. Then she released her grip and slid to the ground.

Jacob sprang off the horse and shooed him away. He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. "Dominique, are you all right?" he gasped, out of breath, wild with concern. "Come on, tell me you are all right."

Her lashes fluttered lazily. Her eyes popped open. With a start, Dominique pushed herself up to a sitting position, then scrambled to her feet. She stumbled in a blind circle trying to get her bearings. "Oh,
Mon Dieu!"

Jacob got to his feet and pulled her into his arms. "Easy, crazy one. You are only frightened. Your confusion will pass."

She allowed him to comfort her, and she gradually forgot her terror as his strength seeped into her. Snuggling her head against his chest, she sputtered, "Oh, Jacob, I was so
scared
. Peaches wouldn't stop. I yelled at her. I said everything you taught me, but she wouldn't listen."

"Hush, now. The horse is stupid. You are not to blame." He kissed the top of her head and rocked her, surprised at the depth of emotion welling up inside him. "You are all right now," he crooned. "Nothing can harm you when you are with me."

"Oh, Jacob, how can you say that now?" she cried, lifting her head off his shoulder. "You're leaving tomorrow and I'll never see you again."

Her doelike eyes glistened as she looked up at him, and her rosy lips beckoned with a need he hadn't the strength to fight. Ignoring the voice of reason calling him from somewhere down inside, Jacob lowered his mouth to hers and took his fill of her sweetness.

The kiss was incredibly soft and nurturing as he came to her, but when Dominique parted her teeth and invited him inside her sanctuary, a sudden surge of passion combined with the anticipation of tomorrow drove them deep inside each other. Tongues entwined, hearts united as one, they grasped at the moment, at the only chance they might ever have to know what they could be together. She encouraged his loss of control, mimicking his movements, matching them, and surprised herself with a few of her own. Today was all that mattered. This moment would be the sum total of their short time together. Dominique suddenly wanted it all.

She pulled back from his fevered lips and drew her fingertips across them. "Oh, Jacob," she sighed. "If only you weren't leaving, if only you could stay."

"Don't," he whispered hoarsely. "We should not have done that. It will be best for us both if we do not speak of this kiss, or of tomorrow, again."

"Oh, stop it. I'm tired of hearing you go on about what we should and shouldn't do. I want to be with you, and I know you feel the same way about me." She looked into his dark blue eyes, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment, but the shutters were firmly in place. "Well, don't you, Jacob? You do want me, don't you?"

Still holding her in his arms, his hips pressed against hers, he was surprised she had to ask. Attributing the question to her inexperience, he allowed himself a hint of a smile as he said, "I do not have the right to want you. It is foolish for either of us to think that I do."

He tried to push away, but Dominique kept her arms locked around his waist. "Is it because you're a private? If that's all, don't give it another thought. I couldn't care less about rank and who's who."

"No, that is not the problem."

"I've heard enough from you," she said with a pout. "Stop fighting me. You're out of excuses. I know you must care for me. I've seen the way you look at me, and sometimes when we're talking, I can tell by the way you gaze into my eyes and touch my hand that you care."

"Stop it," he said, breaking free of her arms. "This is no good. It cannot work."

"Of course it can. If you feel the same way I do."

"I don't want to know how you feel. Please do not tell me."

"Then you tell me, Jacob. Stand there and tell me you don't care. Tell me you hate me and wish I'd go away."

"What do you want from me, Dominique? What do I have to say? That I love you and I always will?" he raged. "That I've loved you from the first moment I saw you floating down the river? Fine. I will say it, then."

"The river?" she cut in, her face ashen.
"The river,
Jacob?"

His heart beating wildly, no longer with passion or anger, but with fear, he said, "I do not know why I said that."

"Crazy one?"
She took a backward step. "You called me crazy one, too. I don't understand. How could you know that name? Oh, my God." She took another, larger backward step. "You're not Jacob at all, are you? You're you and your supposed brother."

"Dominique, please." He started toward her, his hand outstretched as he glanced beyond her to judge their position. Peaches had led them farther from the fort than he'd first thought, around the bend in the river and down to a small grassy valley hidden by a row of oak and elm trees, out of sight of the blockhouse and the guards. Barney and Hazel were at least thirty minutes from finding them, maybe closer to an hour in the slow-moving buggy. Was it enough time to convince her she was wrong?

Dominique's mind worked frantically as the implications of what she'd stumbled over came into focus. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "What do you have to gain? Are you some kind of spy for the Indians?"

"Please, I would like to explain."

"I don't care what you'd like. I don't care about you. When I think of all the lies, the filthy rotten—"

"Dominique, you must believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you."

"I'll never believe another thing you have to say, you miserable heathen," she sputtered, still backing away. "You tricked me. You lied and pretended to be someone you're not." As his deeds piled up, as she recalled some of the things he'd said, she became more enraged, and continued to list her grievances. "And to think you let me go on and on about a brother you never had. You really had me feeling sorry for you and that clabber-headed behemoth who never existed, didn't you? You are lower than the soles of my shoes. Why, you're so low, I can't even
think
of anything low enough to be on the same level with you."

"Dominique," he said softly, following along in her tracks.

"And don't call me Dominique. Don't you ever speak my name again, you no-good Indian snake, or whoever in the hell you really are."

"Please. If you will just listen to me, I can explain."

"Explain?
That's a laugh. You'll explain all right, but it will be to my uncle, General Custer, not to me. I don't want to hear another thing you have to say."

"In that case," he said with a quiet sigh, "I am sorry."

"Sorry?
You think you can pull a trick like this, sneak into the cavalry for God knows what purpose,
trifle
with me, and then brush it off with an 'I'm sorry'?"

"No, crazy one," he said with a heavy heart. "I am not sorry for any of that. I am sorry for this."

Then he drew back his fist and drove it into her chin.

* * *

Barney urged the team of horses up the small hill, careful not to whip them into a speed they couldn't handle, then pulled the rig to a halt at the crest. "I can't understand it," he said, scanning the valley below. "We should have caught up with them by now. I wonder how far that crazy mare got?"