The Bride Wore Feathers (48 page)

"Private," Hazel said as she started toward them, "don't be so quick to judge. She has been through a lot."

"Sweetheart," Barney sliced in as he took Hazel by the arm. "Why don't we give Dominique and Jacob a few minutes to themselves? I believe this conversation should be held in private."

"But, Barney, this is highly irregular, terribly improper."

"Darling," he warned, "I think it's time we took our nightly walk around the compound, don't you?"

Alarmed by her husband's aggressive behavior, but warmed by it as well, Hazel looked to Dominique. "Will you be all right, dear?"

"Yes," she said, finding her voice. "Please don't worry about me. Barney's right. I think we need a moment alone."

Jacob's intense gaze never left Dominique as the older couple slipped into their coats and made their departure. When the door closed and they were truly alone, his expression didn't change, didn't soften. Still he stared at her with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"Jacob," she said softly, her alarm growing. "Why are you looking at me like that? You don't think, I mean, surely you must realize this is your baby."

"Of course I do," he said, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand, as angry with himself as he was at her.

Confused, ready to burst into tears again, she said, "Then why are you yelling at me? Why are you so angry?"

"Because you did not do as I told you. Because you did not seek out the herbs my people know about that would have prevented...
this."

"But, Jacob," she said, still perplexed, but not as alarmed,
"this,
as you put it, is our baby, the best of you and me. And I did get those herbs after our first night together." She laughed, adding, "But I'm afraid taking them then was a little like closing the barn door after the horses got out—don't you think?"

"I see nothing funny here," he said, his expression defensive, desolate somehow.

"What's wrong,
mon amour
? I don't see why are you so angry. Don't you know this baby is the only thing that's kept me going? I thought you had died at the Little Bighorn."

"Oh,
wi witko,"
he said as he pulled her into his arms, "I am not angry with you. It is my own deadly seed that angers me so."

Dominique pushed away from him. "I don't understand what you're talking about. What is it you're trying to say to me?"

Jacob closed his eyes, thinking back to long ago, then pulled her close again. "I am trying to say something that I should have told you before now, but didn't because I thought I could prevent this." He pointed at her belly. "It is the story of Lame Fawn, my Lakota wife."

"Your
wife
?" she said, nearly strangling on the word.

"Many years before you," he whispered, sliding the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

"And so?" she said, her voice the barest of whispers.

"Look," he explained, bringing her hand up in front of her face, then pressing his palm against hers. "See how big I am? See how small and frail you are? Lame Fawn also thought to have my child, but when her time came, the baby had grown so large, she could not expel it."

"Oh," Dominique sighed, her heart numb. "Lame Fawn died giving birth?"

Jacob nodded. "She and the child."

Dominique rested her head against his chest, gauging both his and her own feelings, choosing her words with care. She finally lifted her head, then held his hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry for the pain you must have suffered when you lost them, and for the anguish you're obviously feeling even now."

"I have long since ceased to feel their loss. The anguish I feel now is for you. If I should lose you in the same way, lose you for any reason, the pain I'll suffer will never go away. I cannot lose you, Dominique. I will not take the chance."

"But, Jacob," she said with a soft laugh, "you and I don't have any choice now. Look at me."

He glanced at her round belly and shrugged. "There must be some way to relieve you of this burden, something that will not put your life in danger,"

"There is," she said quietly. "It's called childbirth, and it's going to happen in February." Before he could argue, Dominique began running her lips along the hills and valleys of his knuckles, kissing him, soothing him.

Then she nipped at the back of his hand with her teeth. "You're going to have to do a lot more than get me in the family way to lose me, soldier," she said, giving him a reassuring wink as she backed away.

Spreading her arms, she slowly circled, commenting, "Look at me, Jacob. I'm no frail little flower. I'm strong and healthy, and the doctor says my hips are just made for having babies. Why don't you just trust me, Jacob? I know I can do this."

"But, Dom—"

"I mean it," she cut in, gliding back into his arms. "You kept asking me to trust you, to put my faith in you, and I did. I did everything you asked, believed you when you said you'd do all you could to stop that awful war and save my family. Now it's your turn to trust in me."

Her words triggered another memory, and suddenly he couldn't wait to explain. "I want you to know about your uncle and his brothers. I did try to save them."

"Not now, Jacob. Please not now. If I didn't believe you had done everything you could to save them, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you." She rose up on tiptoe and fit her mouth to his in a brief kiss. "Please, we've both been through so much. Let's have no more talk of death and pain today. We have so much to celebrate, so much of life to experience. Can't we just enjoy each other and rejoice in the fact that we've found each other again?"

In spite of his misgivings, Jacob smiled, then cupped her face in his hands. "My woman has the wisdom of three old chiefs."

"And she has love enough for her husband to be fifty of his wives. Hold me, Jacob. I've missed you so."

He crushed her to him, his heart bursting with love, and whispered in her ear, "Where do you sleep,
wi witko
? Do you stay here with Barney and Hazel?"

She shook her head against his chest. "I live in the small house next door."

"Then let us go there now and celebrate our reunion without benefit of all these clothes."

Dominique laughed and pulled out of his arms. "I wish we could, husband dear, but we're not in your Hunkpapa camp now. As far as everyone around here is concerned, I'm a single lady and I carry the bastard of a sex-crazed savage. I'm afraid that until we're properly married, I'll have to sleep alone."

"Oh, really?" he said, his mind working to find a way around this policy.

"Really," she answered back, looking for a solution to the same problem.

"Then let us step outside now, announce our intentions to marry and be done with it."

Again she laughed. "Would that it were that simple, Jacob, but I'm afraid it's not. Before we can be married, we'll either have to wait for a preacher to come here or go to Bismarck and look one up. That will take a couple of days, at the very least."

"I see," he said, still looking for a solution. Then suddenly his sapphire-blue eyes lit up and a lusty grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Raising his brow, he asked, "This house next door—you say you live there alone?"

"I do." She nodded, pretty sure they'd arrived at the same conclusion.

"This may be a good thing," he said advancing on her. Jacob slid his big hand around her neck. "And what would you do," he asked suggestively as he began to rub his thumb up and down, caressing the length of her throat, "if a half-naked savage should appear outside your window after you retire this evening?"

Dominique's breathing accelerated at his touch. Goose bumps sprang up all over her body, inside as well as out.

"I would probably open my window," she said in a breathless whisper, "to see what was going on."

"And if this savage should come inside your house and lie down on your bed?" he added, his mouth watering at the thought.

"I would go to him as a friend." Dominique closed her eyes and shivered as spurts of desire raced throughout her body. "I would try to help him in any way I could, perhaps give him some English lessons."

"English?" Jacob growled, his voice thick with emotion. "Still you think to give me English lessons?"

"I don't recall you complaining the last time I tried to instruct you," she said with a lazy seduction in her voice.

The sudden image of Dominique standing nude above him sent shudders throughout Jacob's body, melting cords of muscle here, hardening others with an agonizing stiffness there.

Delighted by his reaction and by the glazed look in his eyes, Dominique went on. "A is for Apache—"

"B is for buffalo hides," he cut in impatiently.

"And T is for tired," she said, ending the game. "I'm exhausted. I think I'll turn in early tonight."

Chapter 23

Fort Abraham Lincoln,

Dakota Territory,

February 20, 1877

Jacob paced back and forth in front of the window. He stopped long enough to cock his head toward the bedroom door and listen for a moment, and then he resumed his incessant marching.

"Damn, Stoltz," Barney complained. "Will you sit down? You're making me dizzy."

"I cannot. Something is wrong. The child should have been here hours ago."

"Give the poor gal a chance, Stoltz. She hasn't been in labor but a few hours. I think it takes a little longer for the first one."

Jacob halted again, this time bending down and staring out across the compound at the riverbanks. "Where is the doctor?" he complained. "He should have been here by now."

"You got to take it easy and relax, Stoltz. I'm telling you, you're just this side of wearing me out. Doc will get here when he's darn good and ready to get here." But Barney didn't believe those last words himself, knew the doctor wouldn't be in any big hurry to come back from town just to deliver a baby, the child of a private's wife, no less.

Using up his rapidly waning creativity, Barney tried once again to change the subject. "So what have you heard from the government? Anything new?"

Jacob stopped in midstride and drew his brows together. "The government? What do you mean?"

"About your job. What's the latest?"

"I believe you know the latest," Jacob grumbled as he resumed pacing.

"No, I don't think so. Fill me in. Have you got the job for sure?"

Jacob heaved an exasperated sigh and explained yet again. "You know I have. You know that after the spring thaw, when Dominique is able to travel, we will move on to the Red Cloud Agency at Yellow Medicine Creek. There I will become the Indian agent and Dominique will continue teaching English to the Sioux and others who will sign the treaty of peace. Do you understand this yet, or do I have to write it down for you?"

"I get it." Barney laughed. "It just feels so good to hear you talk about it. You and Dominique might really make a difference for them Indians, what with your uncanny instincts about 'em and the way those little savages flock to her. Maybe your dreams of peace aren't so farfetched after all."

"I hope to persuade the government to return the Black Hills to the Sioux. That would go a long way toward ensuring peace between the people of—"

A loud moan followed by Hazel's excited voice cut into his thoughts and through his head. Jacob stomped across the room, shouting, "That's it. I cannot take this any longer."

Barney watched, wide-eyed, then jumped to his feet when he realized Jacob's intent. "Wait, Stoltz. You can't go in there."

"I go where I must," he insisted, reaching for the doorknob. "I will not stand out here any longer and do nothing while my woman dies." He kicked the door open and barreled into the bedroom.

"Oh, my Lord," Hazel yelped as Jacob reached the bed. "You can't be in here. This is
highly improper,
terribly indecent at the very least. I must insist that you take your leave."

"Leave him be, Hazel," Dominique said, her voice strained even though she languished between contractions.

Jacob sank to his knees and leaned across the bed. Mopping her damp brow with his hand, he asked, "Is the child too big? Are you all right?"