The Bride Wore Feathers (24 page)

"Oh, Barney, do you think Dominique's going to be all right?" Hazel twisted her hands as if she were wringing a load of laundry.

"Don't worry, sugar. Jacob's the best damn horseman I've ever seen. He'll catch up to that skittish animal and see that Dominique's safe. Don't you worry." But he didn't really believe the words himself. He slapped the reins across the horses' backs and started down the hill, knowing they couldn't go much farther. Not alone. Not in the flimsy buggy. And not under these suspicious circumstances. If he didn't find some sign of Dominique and Jacob before he reached the bend in the river, he would have to turn back and round up a search party. Then he spotted an odd-looking sapling standing alone in a clearing a few yards ahead. Guiding the buggy to the spot, he squinted, then his eyes widened as the tree came into focus. What he had assumed to be a sapling was a large branch stripped of its leaves, stuck into the ground to resemble a pole. An unmistakable Lakota warning.

Handing the reins to Hazel, he whispered, "Get a tight grip on these. I'm gonna check that tree ahead. If I turn and holler, you hightail it outta here. Understood?"

"But, Barney, I'm not going to drive off without you."

"Do as you're told, woman. I don't have time to explain."

"Yes, Barney," she said as he climbed down off the buggy and stole over to the clearing.

Glancing from side to side as he approached the branch, his eyes and ears fully alert, Barney made a fast study of the piece of fabric hanging from it. Then, his eyes bulging, he spun on his heel and raced for the buggy. Vaulting onto the seat, he motioned for Hazel to remain silent as he whipped the horses into action and turned the buggy back up the hill. When they'd passed the crest and were in view of the blockhouse again, he relaxed his tense muscles, but kept the horses going at top speed.

"Why was that branch stripped of its leaves, Barney?" she said against the wind. "What was hanging from it?"

"It was a little message from the Sioux."

"Indians?" she gasped.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, even though he knew he was telling her an outright lie. "It probably doesn't mean a thing."

And it didn't. As long as she didn't understand the challenge represented by the strip of cloth tied to the branch like a flag. As long as she hadn't noticed the lock of Dominique's hair fastened to that flag.

Chapter 11

When Dominique came to, she was flopping to and fro, though a strong hand gripped her waist. She struggled for breath. Jacob? The powerful aroma of moist horse hair told her that her face was pressed against the shoulder of his mount. Then she became aware of a series of familiar pains; a fiery agony flared in her ribs, and a steady throbbing hammered at her chin. She opened her eyes and saw the ground racing past at a dizzying speed. Her mind spinning, she raised her head and saw that Peaches was attached to the gelding by a rope and was galloping along behind. Directly ahead, hooves thundered, kicking up clouds of dust. Through the haze, she could see a half- naked Indian, a Lakota, she supposed, on a black and white pinto. Where had he come from?

Dominique groaned as her memory jolted her. Jacob had hit her
—again,
she remembered as she merged him with the Indian called Redfoot. Apparently after that, he'd flung her over his mount like a sack of grain. Grimacing as the galloping horse jolted her bruised ribs, she clung to the sorrel, praying Jacob's strong hands would keep her across its withers long enough for her to regain her strength. Then, she swore to herself, she would kill him. The horse jumped over a clump of brush, landing with a mind-jarring thud before resuming its breakneck speed. Dominique blacked out again.

The next time she regained consciousness, she was in semidarkness. Her incredulous, bleary eyes told her she was standing next to a cylindrical beam of light that seemed to sprout from the earth. Someone slapped her face, forcing her to stand on legs that seemed to have no bones.

"Come on, Dominique. You must wake up now. I have no time for this." Unable to hit her again, sickened by the bruise he'd been forced to raise on her chin, Jacob turned his head to call for water.

Dominique saved him the trouble. "You. How dare you touch me." She spun out of his arms and lurched into a buffalo-skin wall. Snapping her head upward, Dominique saw that the beam of light shot down to, not up from, the earth. She was in a tipi.

"No." She whirled around, facing Jacob like a spitting wildcat. "You can't do this to me again. I demand that you return me to the fort at once."

If his plight hadn't been so dangerous, he would have laughed, for her words prompted a memory of the first time they had met. She'd made nearly the same request then, in almost the same tone. His answer this time had to be different.

Forcing an anger he didn't feel, Jacob buried his feelings of compassion. "You are in no position to demand anything," he snarled, gripping her arms. "You are lucky to be alive. Remember that."

"I remember plenty, you bully. I intend to make sure you pay for it all."

"You will still your tongue now, or I will have to still it for you," he shouted, causing her to cringe. Satisfied that she understood how deadly serious her situation was, he went on with his instructions. "I have no time to explain anything to you right now. I must get back before the soldiers come."

"Oh, they'll come, Jacob, and when they do, you'll be sorry."

"If you interrupt me again," he warned, squeezing her arms so tight he feared he might snap them, "I will have no choice but to kill you now and spare you the torture the others will put you through. Which will it be?"

Dominique glared up at him and saw instantly that the shutters in his eyes were thrown wide open. There were no illusions, no signs of deceit. If she didn't obey, he would break her neck as easily as he would a twig. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"That is very wise." Jacob relaxed his grip, but kept his big hands wrapped around her arms. "I have time to say this only once, so listen carefully. You are in my Hunkpapa camp with around seventy Lakota Indians. There is no chance for escape, and if you try this foolish thing, you will surely be killed. Your death, should you take this risk, will be very unpleasant. Do you understand?"

Tears sprang into the corners of Dominique's eyes. She'd heard terrifying stories at the fort about the Sioux and their particularly nasty forms of torture. She understood only too well. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, "Yes."

"Good. I cannot take the time to explain the customs of the Lakota people to you now, but pay close attention to what I am about to say. This wiggling tongue of yours can be very entertaining, but in this village, only to me. If you choose to flap it around the women in this camp, they will remove it for you."

"Remove it?" she gasped.

He gave her a solemn nod, then lifted a length of her hair. "They will be jealous of this golden crop also. Braid it and try to keep it out of sight. They will want to remove it, too."

"Oh, Jacob," she cried, tears spilling in earnest. "I'm frightened. Please take me away from here."

"I would if I could, but that is impossible. You will be safe enough for tonight and tomorrow. Just remember to keep that wagging tongue of yours still around the women in camp." He released her and stepped away. "There is one other very important thing. If you want to keep your life, make sure you do not mention the general or the fact that his blood fills your veins. Say nothing about this to
anyone."

"The Indians know about my Uncle Armstrong?" she said through a sob.

"They know the name Custer very well. The Lakota consider him their greatest enemy." He turned and walked toward the opening in the tipi, reassuring her as he departed. "I will try to return by tomorrow night, and surely by the night after if that isn't possible. You will be all right if you do as you are told and say nothing."

Dominique hiccuped, watching him through fearful eyes as he opened the flap. When he lifted his foot to step out into the camp, away from her, panic seized her. "Wait."

Jacob halted in midstride. "What is it? I have no time to spare in conversation."

"I was wondering ..."

"Yes?"

"If I'm so much trouble, if all anyone around here is going to think about is ways to torture and kill me, I was wondering—why didn't you just murder me out on the trail and be done with it?"

Jacob stared down at his troop boots for a long moment, then raised anguished blue eyes to her. "Because, crazy one," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I love you." Then he was gone.

* * *

After tying a rope around his waist, Jacob called to his good friend, Drooping Belly. "Go now, see that your horse is quick." Then he allowed himself to be dragged through the rocks and brush outside the camp.

He spun over and over like a leaf in the wind as the pony raced across the plains, but Jacob endured the pain, found a certain satisfaction in it when he thought of it as a punishment. He deserved worse for bringing the crazy one to camp, for loving her. And now that he had done so, he was responsible—for her life, for the peril her presence might bring to his people.

For now, all he could think of was Dominique. She'd looked so frightened, so vulnerable, when he walked away from her. If anything happened to her, if she should...

Unable to continue the thoughts, Jacob turned his head to the pain hoping it would somehow bring him solace. When the pony stopped, then backtracked to where he lay, Jacob remained motionless, still doing penance.

"Redfoot, my friend, have I done too good a job?" Drooping Belly inquired as he slid down off his horse. "Can you not rise?"

"I am thinking about it." With a heavy groan, Jacob pushed himself to his hands and knees, then accepted his friend's outstretched hand as he struggled to his feet.

Drooping Belly stood back, surveying his handiwork. "I have done a good job," he pronounced, "you will not be doubted by the Long Knives."
      

Jacob winced as he rotated his shoulder joint. "Then I thank you, friend. When I am feeling better, I promise to show my gratitude by trapping you in the den of a mother grizzly with a bad tooth."
      

"Ha-hah." Drooping Belly slapped his thighs with delight. "Your flesh is bruised and torn, yet still you make jokes. You are very brave, my friend."

"No, I'm thinking that I am very stupid."

Still laughing, the warrior returned to his pony and unsheathed his lance. Turning back to his friend, he took a deep breath, then finished his job. Before Jacob had time to realize Drooping Belly was rushing at him, the warrior sprinted on by, slashing his arm from wrist to bicep as he passed.

Jacob let out a startled yelp, then grabbed the wound. "Not this arm, you nincompup! I must
use
this arm."

Drooping Belly whirled around, chagrined to see his friend angry. "I am sorry, Redfoot. I forgot to think about that. Perhaps if I cut the other ..."

Startled, Jacob looked up. The two men exchanged glances, then a bout of hearty laughter. After binding the wound with a strip of cloth torn from his shirt, Jacob walked to the pony, grumbling good-naturedly as he stood at the animal's side, "Well? Come and help me on this pitiful horse. Some nincompup has made the arm I would use to mount him completely useless."

Still chuckling, Drooping Belly vaulted onto the back of his pony, then pulled his friend up behind him. They rode until they reached a spot just past the clearing where Jacob had left the stripped branch.

"This is far enough," he warned, sliding down off the pony. "I will see you in a day or two in the new camp. Have a safe trip back, my friend. And please see that Chief Gall protects the white woman. Let no harm come to her."

"What is this woman to you, Redfoot? Have you decided you prefer your own kind?"

"No. My kind are the Lakota. This woman is a friend. I wish to see that she is protected."

Drooping Belly raised one eyebrow, then waved his hand in farewell. "It is done, my friend." Then he rode off and disappeared into the trees.

Not ready to be discovered just yet, Jacob scrambled to the grass-covered banks of the Missouri and slowly eased himself into the frigid water. Thoroughly soaked and shivering, he climbed back onto dry land and began the long journey back to the post.