"Sandra, Lady Douglas has arrived. If you would be so good as to show her to her room ... ?"
Sandra ceased staring at Skylar to made a small bow toward her. "Lady, if you will... ?"
"Your trunk will be brought up," Hawk told her. "Sandra will see to anything you need. When you're settled, someone will bring you back down."
"As you wish," she murmured.
"No, my dear, as you wish," he said, mockery tinging the polite words. She felt him watching her as she followed Sandra up the stairway.
"This way, Lady Douglas," the girl told her, opening the door to the room for her. Skylar stepped into it, amazed once again at the old-world elegance that had found its way into a hostile land.
The bedroom was huge, with double doors leading to a porch. A huge four-poster bed with dragon claws and wings was the centerpiece for the room, which also contained a dressing table and two heavy bureaus. The brocade bedcover was crimson and forest green, showing hunting scenes. The pattern was repeated in the drapes. The hardwood floor was clean and polished but mostly covered with a Persian carpet that picked up the crimson colors in the bed clothing and draperies. An Oriental dressing screen stood in the far left corner of the room next to a cherry wood wash stand. Against the wall opposite the bed was a large fireplace with a marble and gilded mantle, bronze wall sconces on either side of it to light the room. A copper bath was in front of the fireplace, steam rising from it, while a rack with heavy linen bath sheets had been set close enough to it for the fire to warm the sheets. She could scarcely believe that she was at the very edge of the civilized world.
"Is everything satisfactory?" Sandra inquired politely.
Skylar nodded, awed. "Very."
There was a tap at the door. Two Feathers had arrived, carrying her heavy traveling trunk. "Where would you like this, Lady Douglas?"
"Down!" she said, laughing. "It must be very heavy."
"It is not so heavy," the boy said indignantly, but setting the trunk down as he had been bidden. He looked at Sandra, then back to Skylar. "We didn't know you were coming. We could have—done more."
"Everything seems fine."
"Hawk didn't know you were coming."
"Things have been very—confused."
She thought that Sandra sniffed derisively, but when she turned to stare at the exotic woman, she had taken hold of young Two Feathers' arm and was leading him out of the room. "There is a bellpull by the bed, Lady Douglas." She said the last words as if they caused her great pain. "You may call when you wish to go down."
"Thank you," Skylar told her, watching her curiously. What role did the girl play in the household?
The two left the room, closing the door behind them. For a moment, she simply stared around the room again, awed. She walked toward the fire, suddenly needing to warm her hands, then she spun around to stare at the room again. She closed her eyes, remembering how she had sat with Lord Douglas at his table at the inn in Baltimore. She had needed to move fast, really fast, and she had known it. But after the friendship they had shared, she couldn't just desert him and disappear. She hadn't even wanted to sit, she had been so anxious and so nervous, so very aware that she had to flee. But he had insisted that he had to understand her, understand what had happened. Then he had been grave. "I've suggested you come with me before—"
"I can't do that; it wouldn't be right. And if someone were to waylay me along the path, you might be implicated. I—"
"I'll take that chance. I am not without my own influence, young lady. I'm Lord Douglas, and even if you Americans did win the Revolution, most are still impressed with British titles. Ah, Skylar, you're so accustomed to crime and corruption on the part of your fellow man that you can't trust an honest offer. My health fails me. I need help—you know that. Nothing other than your kindness will be expected of you in return. Change your name, change your life. You've no choice anymore. It's the perfect answer. We must conduct a marriage service; you must come with me. Don't be afraid."
She could remember smiling and reminding him, "I'm not afraid. But, Lord Douglas, it is dangerous territory. It's Indian country—"
"Umm," he said lightly, "so there are a few Indians around; you'll grow accustomed to them." He winked.
' 'You may even like them. If the greedy Petes in Washington would hold to a single treaty, there could even be peace among them. Skylar, you've no choice now. Where else will you run? Where will you go? You will love the house, May- fair. It's airy, comfortable, solid. My home. I love it dearly. You will, too. I will not be with you long—"
"Please don't say that."
"My heart is all but gone. I've known it, I've accepted it. The doctors have told me so time and again. I came east for a miracle, but there's no miracle to be had. You've been such a strength to me so far. Please don't look at me with those tears in your eyes. You've added the greatest happiness to my last days. To know that you would go directly to Mayfair with or without me would ease my days and delight me. That I may somehow be of service to you when your kindness and tenderness have so belied the travesty you lived! Come what may, you will love Mayfair. No matter what dangers you face, there you will be safe. I swear, it will be your home."
It will be your home....
Those words now seemed to repeat themselves, as if she could really hear him again, as if they ricocheted against the walls.
"I do love Mayfair!" she whispered aloud then, biting lightly into her lower lip. She smiled, feeling wistful tears touch her eyes all the while. "You scoundrel!" she said softly, addressing the spirit of the late Lord Douglas that seemed to be haunting her now. "You tricked me wickedly. Indeed, there are a few Indians around! An honest proposal."
Actually, he'd never told her a lie. He'd simply failed to tell her who she was being married to in the hasty proxy ceremony. And that he, one of the Indians, would be waiting, mad as a hornet.
Unwilling to reason or be reasonable in the least.
Her eyes fell upon the bath. She had longed that morning to soak in a tub. The opportunity awaited her—along with a trunkful of her own clothing.
She looked around the room again. This was the master bedroom. It was elegant—but it gave no sign of actual habitation. If Hawk slept here, nothing of his remained in the room. No pictures of friends or relatives, red or white, deceased or living. No hat, no shaving utensils, no brush upon the dressing table.
No arrows, scalps, or feathers decorating the walls.
He didn't sleep here, she thought. But it was where he would put his wife. A wife he'd have as a wife when and if the whim struck him. A wife he'd forget when he chose to. A wife he'd clearly stated he didn't want.
Well, it wasn't what she had imagined either! Mayfair. She had expected to arrive here nearly two days ago. She certainly hadn't imagined anything so grand.
But then, she'd assumed that when she did arrive, she'd be her own mistress....
How abruptly life changed. What wretched tricks it played upon the unwary! It seemed she was to be little more than a prisoner to a man who led his own life and intended to command hers. A man with a fierce ability to manipulate and seduce.
She trembled for a moment, not wanting to remember last night, seeing it flash before her whether she willed it or not. The choice had been hers. She could have run if she had desired. He didn't understand that there was no turning back for her.
No. To him she'd been for sale to the highest bidder— and he'd unknowingly paid the price. And the damnedest thing was not that he'd forced her to yield. What galled her was that he demanded so much more, managing somehow to steal a part of her very will, her soul. He hadn't just forced her hand, he'd forced her to respond. He'd proven that he couldn't just take what he wanted, but that he'd have it how he wanted just as well.
"Not again!" she whispered aloud. "If you don't want a wife, you're not getting a willing one."
She turned around, hurrying to the door to assure herself she could bolt it. She did so, then stripped off her clothing a
nd sank into the scalding water. For the longest time she feared that he would somehow come bursting in upon her there.
He did not.
She leaned back, feeling the water steam and somewhat ease her. Her body remained just slightly sore. Memories of the past night brought hot flashes racing through her once again. Memories of him. The sleek copper skin, the scars on his chest and back. The ripple of his muscles against her. She'd been so terrified of an Indian attack. Of—rape. She nearly laughed aloud, it was so ironic. The same Indian who had seized her, scared half the life from her, trying to urge her to escape him by seeking an annulment ...
Why didn't he go for his own damned annulment? Could he still do so now? Would he?
She wasn't going back. He'd have to understand that. She couldn't allow herself to be afraid of him. But she was afraid. Of what? Failure? She couldn't fail, wouldn't fail. She'd come this far. But now she had to have ...
Money.
Money to wire back east.
She shivered suddenly.
"Oh, God!" she prayed suddenly, vigorously. "Let everything be all right back home!"
The water grew cold. She rose, dried herself vigorously with the warmed towel, then opened her trunk. The clothing within it was new, purchased in St. Louis once she'd reached that gateway westward. She bit lightly into her lower lip, reflecting upon David Douglas. He'd insisted she carry with her a certain amount of cash—necessary if she was to help him, so he had said. She blinked back threatened tears, thinking of the care he had determined to give her, even if his son had not. He'd made quite certain even before his death that his Maryland banker would see to the return of his body, and his last business papers, to his home in the West. He'd made certain she'd had money for any immediate needs. Then, of course, the trickery came in, because he'd assured her as well, in the event of something happening to him, she needed only reach Mayfair, and his "people" would help her understand his affairs.
"Well, David, I am beginning to understand!" she murmured aloud. She still missed him. And she still believed that he had meant the best for her.
She selected a chemise, bodice, pantalettes, and one of the two remaining mourning gowns she had purchased, one with a black silk skirt and form-hugging velvet bodice. She donned it quickly, then brushed her hair with a nervous fervor and started for the door. She paused, staring at the bellpull. She didn't need help to get down the stairs. She'd go on her own.
She hurried down and found the foyer empty. She hesitated, then chose the set of doors to the left of the stairway, quietly pushing them open.
Candles blazed in the room. Dozens of them. Lord David Douglas's coffin, draped in black, sat in the center of the room on a long table.
Hawk was seated in a high-backed brown leather chair before the table, his green eyes on the coffin, his long fingers resting on the arms of the chair. Chameleonlike, he appeared incredibly different from the war-painted man she had first met, and yet, when those eyes lifted to hers, she discovered them to be as searing and warlike as ever. He could slide easily into either world, she thought. This was his heritage, and seated in the leather chair, he seemed very much the lord, a power within the white, civilized world. Tonight he was elegant, austere. The perfect nobleman.
His father's son.
"You were told to summon someone to bring you down," he said coldly.
"I didn't need any help to find the way."
His eyes rose to hers. She thought she saw an accusatory expression in them "But I did not wish to be disturbed. I will spend toniglit alone with my father. Dinner awaits you in the dining room. You may retire at your leisure."
She didn't think she'd ever been quite so cleanly dismissed in all her life. She tried to understand his feelings. Surely, he had loved his father. Loved him deeply. And was now grieving for him.
Yet she couldn't forgive him for the way he was treating her.
"You may go straight to hell," she told him icily, and with tremendous dignity, turning as quickly as she had come, headed out of the room. She crossed the foyer, threw open the second set of doors, and entered the dining room. A single place was set at the end of the elegant dining table that might have easily accommodated a party of twelve. Two candles glowed over the fine china dishes, and a crystal wine glass sat beside a bottle of burgundy.
As she stood there, a woman entered the room from the rear doorway. She was plump and matronly, with sparkling blue eyes and snow-white hair. She spoke with a refreshingly cheerful Irish brogue. "Ah, dearie, there you be! Welcome then to Mayfair! My, but you're a beautiful wee creature! I'm Megan, my lady, Meggie, as the girls do call me. Cook, chief dish washer, and unfortunately, the best excuse for a butler his poor dear departed lordship could find, way out here in the wilds of the frontier!"
"Meggie," Skylar said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Ah, dear, the pleasure is mine! And, I must add, the surprise! None of us had the least notion that Lord Douglas planned on returning with a wife for Hawk, but look at ye, my dear child; what a fine job he's done of it! And lord, but well, we should have seen it coming, thinking back now, and not the least of it, Hawk himself! But I do go on. Sit, child. I've my famous beef and kidney pie, with pastry light as clouds, and the finest wine to give y'a fine welcome home, lass." Meggie pulled out the chair at the end of the table. Skylar thanked her and took it, reflecting that even if Hawk was a monster, the people who shared his home tended to be charming. She'd discovered that she liked Wil- low, that he was an intelligent and thoughtful man. Jack Logan was polite and little Two Feathers charming. Then there was Sandra. A young, incredibly beautiful, and exotic woman, living within his household. He'd told her there were women in his life. She'd told him that he must keep them there. She was certain he fully intended to do so.
"Take your seat; I'll be right back."
Meggie was good to her word, disappearing for less than a few seconds before reappearing with a tray of food. She poured the wine while urging Skylar to dig in. Skylar was aware that the older woman studied her with good-humored interest and curiosity. " 'Tis such a hotbed you've come into, though, lass! Like as not, things will get worse as well!"
' 'What do you mean?'' Skylar asked with a frown. The food was delicious. She would certainly not suffer any of the hardships of the frontier here at Mayfair.
Meggie shrugged. "Ah, well, now, we've been here for quite some time, of course—I came here nearly twenty-five years ago to work for Lord David, imagine—but most whites, well, they've just started venturing here in the last year, since Colonel Custer opened the way through the Black Hills, bringing his massive army with him! What will happen now is anyone's guess, what with the government trying to buy what they had promised as sacred land to the Indians and more and more of the Sioux standing like proud men, determined to tolerate no more of the government's treacherous ways!"
"The government has been at war with the Indians as long as I can remember," Skylar said.
"Off and on, yes. But you don't understand until you've been out here a while that the Indians are not one enemy. You can make peace with one band and still have a thousand enemies. You can wage war against them one day and play cards with them the next. You can find yourself under attack by a Hunkpapa Sioux, and have his brother, a Brule, perhaps, plead for your life and rescue you. Ah, well, the hostile bands are keeping west of the hills these days. It's a hotbed indeed, but we've been good and safe here these many years, and so it will continue. The Sioux do keep their promises better then most white men, that I can tell you!"
With a sniff, Meggie shook her head. "Now you go ahead and eat, lass. I'll be back shortly."
Skylar finished her meal, swirling the dark burgundy in her glass before drinking it down. She rose then quickly, determined to depart before Meggie returned, anxious to do a little exploration on her own. When she exited the dining room and slipped back to the foyer she heard voices coming from the parlor. The door stood ajar. She glanced through it. Several cavalry officers were in
the room. Three stood before David's coffin, their heads bowed. A fourth stood with Hawk at the rear of the room, speaking to him in an anxious, heated whisper. The man looked up. His gaze happened to fall exactly where she stood. He broke off, staring at her with a curious, fascinated smile. Hawk, frowning, followed the officer's line of vision. His eyes touched hers with their customary green sizzle. She would have turned and fled had it not been for the military men. She refused to appear to be a coward.
"My wife, Major," Hawk said, lifting a hand. "Do join us, my dear."
She knew he wanted her in there as much as he wanted a rattler. The invitation was merely a show of courtesy. But she lifted her chin and stepped forward, extending a hand to the tall, handsome cavalry officer who took her hand and bent over it to kiss the back of it lightly.
"Lady Douglas!" he murmured.
He was somewhere around her husband's age, well built and striking. He had rich dark hair with a reddish tint to it, and very deep dark eyes. Like Hawk, he had an intriguingly sculpted face. There was certainly some Indian blood in this man as well. His eyes were frank in their curiosity and his admiration of her. "What a pleasant surprise. We had not heard prior to the night before last that Hawk is now a married man. Your husband so rarely travels into civiliza tion, we'd never have imagined him taking a whi—er, a new wife. That he has acquired such a devastating beauty scarcely seems fair."
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