No Other Man

by Shannon Drake

  "Want to wash up?" Hawk asked her.

  She nodded, rising.

  "Want some fresh clothes?" he asked her.

  "I brought my own," she told him.

  "Ah," he murmured, nodding. She thought that he was smiling again. She pointed to her blanket bundle, lying now near a tree next to her roan's saddle.

  "Allow me," Hawk said, going for the bundle. He took her arm. Sloan, nibbling at a blade of grass, lay back against his own saddle, smiling slightly as they left.

  When they reached the stream, Skylar knelt down, sliding her fingers into it. She shivered. The water was cold.

  Hawk was behind her. "You don't have to douse yourself in it," he told her, handing her the bar of sweet-scented soap he'd taken from her bundle.

  She shook her head strenuously. "I do!" She could still feel the touch of too many hands upon her. Maybe he couldn't understand that. Maybe he could.

  She stood, stripping quickly in the cool night, and plunged into the water. Gasping and shivering, she scrubbed herself with the soap. Hawk waited beside the stream with a blanket. When she couldn't stand it anymore, she rose.

  He clasped her with the blanket, wrapping it around her and pulling her close to him. Despite the warmth and the comfort he offered her, she was shivering wildly.

  "There were so many dead men!"

  He sighed, running his fingers over her hair. "We are warrior societies," he told her. "Crow boys grow up knowing that they will fight, that they might meet death in battle or on raids. They are a very brave enemy. Sioux children are also taught that they must fight their enemies. Neither are they afraid of death."

  "They are harsh societies."

  "It can be a harsh world, Skylar. I entered a white war where brothers fought brothers, fathers might have faced their own sons. Can our battles on the plains be any more harsh?"

  She fell silent, then whispered, "I was so afraid."

  "It's over."

  "The one with the black-painted face. He might have—"

  "He wouldn't have. Skylar, I was there. Yes, I was watching, taking care. Assessing their strength and trying to give Sloan time to get the ponies. But I was there. No

  matter when he might have tried to touch you, he couldn't have done so. He was doomed by his very interest. Come on, let me help you get dressed. Sloan will take second watch, but I must take third. We need to get some sleep."

  She was still cold, but she managed to stop shivering long enough to let him help her slip into the new chemise, pantalettes, and dress. He noticed the red rings chafed into her wrists by the ropes. He pressed his lips against the pulse at one of her wrists and then at the other. "Do they hurt?"

  She shook her head, pulling her hands back. "What about you—where I shot you?"

  He smiled, shaking his head. "Flesh wound. You barely grazed me."

  "Let me see it."

  He sighed, pulling back the ripped flap of his shirt. She had just grazed him, but there was still a nasty gash on his arm.

  "It doesn't look good—"

  "I washed it out with whiskey. It's fine."

  "At least bandage it up!" she said, reaching into her blanket bundle for a cotton handkerchief. She soaked the material in the cold water before binding it around his arm. She didn't meet his eyes as she went about the task; she was afraid he would try to stop her.

  She tied the cotton securely around his arm and then started to turn back toward their camp, hoping that Willow had retrieved her shoes for her. She suddenly felt Hawk's hand upon her shoulder, drawing her back around.

  "Was it different?" he demanded.

  She shook her head, at a loss.

  "I don't know what you mean?"

  His tone remained somewhat harsh. "Was it different? You were hauled off by a brave before. Attacked."

  She tried to pull her arm free. He wouldn't let her go. She couldn't meet his eyes.

  "Yes!"

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, it was different." "How?"

  "Some—how. It was always different. You were different. Then you were speaking. And you—"

  "I what?"

  She looked up at him at last. "You gave me a choice," she said.

  He shook his head. "But it wasn't really a choice for you, was it? You were staying here, no matter what. Because you weren't going back."

  "But that was my choice; you—you were my choice!" she said, and she tried to wrench free from him once again. Hut he wasn't letting her go.

  He swept her up. She struggled briefly against his hold, then met his eyes. She ceased to struggle.

  "Feet still hurt?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "We'll hurry home, then. My aunts will have salves to heal them."

  We'll hurry home....

  He said nothing more as he carried her back to camp. He laid out their blankets by their saddles. He rested his head upon the seat of his; his chest was her pillow. He wrapped his arms around her protectively. He smoothed back her hair. His touch was almost...

  Tender.

  She was exhausted. And despite the trauma she'd suffered earlier in the night, she began to drift.

  We'll hurry home ...

  Home.

  Home to him was still among the Sioux.

  She wondered a little bit wistfully if home to him would ever mean her.

  She was riding with Sloan the following day when he suddenly turned and told her, "There are good things about (he Plains way of life as well, you know."

  Startled, she looked at him.

  "Few people make better parents than the Sioux," he continued, gazing her way. "They are generous to a fault, finding the only good in collecting material possessions to be in the act of giving them away. We cherish the wisdom of our aged and take the greatest care of them."

  "We care for our aging people!" she protested.

  He looked at her.

  "Most of us do," she said.

  He smiled.

  "You said 'we,' you know," she told him. "A cavalry officer who considers himself one with the Sioux."

  He shrugged. "Striped like a zebra. What can I say? I'm telling you this because you seemed so appalled last night. Glad to be rescued—yet almost as horrified by your rescuers as you were by your kidnappers."

  "That's not true at all," she protested. "I just—Sloan, I've just never seen such bloodshed."

  "I'm afraid there will be a great deal more of it on the plains," he said matter-of-factly. "Bad things happen."

  "I didn't say that I've never seen bad things happen," she murmured. "Sometimes I think that I've seen the worst. Just not so much ... blood."

  He glanced back at her again sharply. "So life in the East was wretched, eh?"

  She smiled slowly. "We were talking about the West."

  "But we can talk about the East. How did you and Hawk wind up married? I hadn't heard a word about it. And suddenly, a bride appears. A stunning beauty, at that, like a princess out of a fairy tale."

  "Hawk hasn't told you?"

  With a devilish grin he leaned toward her. "There were rumors, you know. Tales about a woman arriving claiming to be Lady Douglas yet seeming to have no idea that there was a Lord Douglas, or,at least a live one. Now, one could think that you might have been an impoverished beauty, cast upon hard times, seeking whatever fortune the wind might blow her way."

  "I see. You think, too, that I somehow took advantage of Lord David Douglas?" "Not in the least," Sloan said, and she was surprised to realize that he was speaking honestly. "David might have been ill, and we might not have realized it. He was a man of great strength. If he chose not to reveal a weakness to others, then no one would know about it. But he was no lool. No young woman, no matter how lovely, could have i.iken advantage of him."

  "Thank you."

  "I didn't mean to be insulting."

  "I really meant 'thank you.' I didn't take advantage of liiin, nor did I ever try to."

  "Agreed."

  "Between us."

  "Ah! You t
hink your husband assumes otherwise."

  "I know so."

  Sloan was quiet for a minute. "He loved his father, you know. In a way you may not even be able to understand. I lawk judged David wrongly for a very long time. When a man has done that, he owes a great deal to the man he has misjudged. In David's final years, they were very close. If he judges you harshly, it's most probably because of the pain he feels himself. Then again ..."

  "What?"

  "Well, what is your story, Lady Douglas?"

  She smiled because he could so charming. He was a hard man, almost ruthless at times, yet he could be so kind when I he occasion demanded it.

  And damned persistent and cunning when he chose as well.

  "Long and complicated," she said simply. "Let it suffice to say for the moment that I meant Lord Douglas no harm, that he was my dear friend, and that I cared for him deeply." She felt herself blushing. "Not in that way," she amended.

  Sloan laughed. "I imagine David took one look at you and knew that you'd be just right for his son."

  "But I'm not, am I?"

  Sloan reined in his horse suddenly, facing her squarely.

  "More right than you may ever realize. You haven't passed out on us once yet, have you?"

  "Well, once."

  "And when was that?"

  "When Hawk told me that he was Lord Douglas."

  Sloan laughed, then laughed harder. He nudged his horse, cantering on ahead of her. When he had gone, she rode a few steps in puzzlement until she realized that Hawk had come from behind to ride with her.

  Sloan, apparently, meant to keep his laughter to himself.

  "Well," Hawk commented, moving Tor along next to Nutmeg, "at least you seem to get along well enough with my friends. Enjoying the ride?"

  There was a slight edge to his voice. For the moment, she decided she'd enjoy it. She smiled. "It's very beautiful here."

  "Wakantanka lives here."

  "The Great Mystery?"

  He nodded.

  "Do you believe that? You gave your father a Christian burial."

  He shrugged. "My father was a Christian."

  "And you?"

  "Among the whites, I'm a Christian. I believe in a power greater than man. You may call him God, or Wakantanka. And all men are his creatures, no matter what their color may be. When you see this kind of beauty on earth, then you must believe in a god. Do you?"

  She nodded. "Definitely. And in all the powers of good—and evil."

  "Heaven and hell?" he inquired.

  She nodded.

  "Evil spirits?"

  "Evil," she told him softly, "lies in and is created within the hearts of men."

  "Red men?"

  "Perhaps—if they are the same as white men."

  "Imagine," he murmured to her. "Something we agree upon."

  She smiled, then laughed. It was amazing, but the fear and terror of last night seemed so very far away.

  "Of course, among the Sioux, Wakantanka is the Great Mystery. But the Sioux have many gods, and they are all very colorful."

  "Are they?"

  He nodded gravely. "There are four superior gods beneath Wakantanka. They are Inyan, the Rock; Maka, the Earth; Skan, the Sky; and Wi, the Sun. They all have very special responsibilities. Beneath them are four more gods, associate gods, because they all associate with one above them. Wi's associate is Hanwi, the Moon. Tate, the Wind, is associate to Skan, the Sky. Whope is the associate of the Maka, the Earth. Whope is the daughter of the Sun and the Moon, and is known as the Beautiful One. Wakinyan, the Winged, who cries out like thunder and has eyes like lightning, is the associate of Inyan, the Rock. Make sense?"

  "I suppose.... what a world!" Skylar exclaimed, gesturing at the clear blue big sky and the magnificent land.

  "Many Sioux feel that they have the world. The sky, the sun, the earth, the beauty of the land around them."

  "The land they are losing?"

  He nodded gravely.

  "What will happen?" she asked him.

  "The government has determined that the American people must have the Black Hills."

  "And?"

  "They will have them."

  "But if an agreement can be reached—"

  "There have been dozens of agreements. None has ever been worth the paper it was written upon. Yes, the Indians have committed atrocities upon the whites, and indeed, the whites have practiced tremendous cruelty as well. One wonders if any man's god is looking down at all of this. Personally, I think that a time has come when there will be a great deal more tragedy before another 'agreement' is reached."

  "So then—"

  "So then I'm here with Sloan because we always try for peace, the least possible bloodshed. It's the best that anyone can do."

  He smiled ruefully at her and nudged Tor's ribs with his heels and started riding hard, cantering ahead of the cattle to ride alongside Sloan.

  That night, when they stopped to make camp, Skylar took it upon herself to tie Skeffington securely to a tree. The mule still twisted and wiggled to elude her, but Skylar was determined she'd not be gotten the best of by a mule again. She had Skeffington's packs down and the coffee perking before the men returned from caring for the cattle for the night. No one, however, seemed to expect her to know how to cook over an open fire. It seemed to be Willow's task to prepare their meal, but Skylar had never minded cooking, and she made herself available to Willow to help in any way she could. They hadn't hunted that evening, so they warmed some of the food Meggie had packed for them: ham, beans, and corn muffins, warm against the coolness of the night.

  Yet even as they ate, and even if it appeared that they were all relaxed, Skylar was aware that either Sloan or Hawk was standing at all times, that they were both well armed with their Colt repeaters and knives, and that, though they didn't seem to expect an attack, they intended to be prepared should one come their way.

  "Do you think there are more Crow near us?" Skylar asked Hawk, trying not to sound nervous.

  "Not now," he said, shaking his head and taking a seat beside her while Sloan rose and leaned against a tree as he stared out at the night sky. "We're very close to the Crazy Horse people."

  "How do you know?" she asked.

  "The trail."

  "The trail?"

  He smiled. "Men have hunted through here. Many men. I don't know what those Crows were up to, coming so far cast. But this would be a very dangerous place for any ('row right now, so close to a large Sioux encampment of warriors."

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but it's all still so contusing. Some of you get along, some of you don't. The (!razy Horse people hate the whites so much that they won't go to the agencies to talk, but both of you, with white blood, can go to the Crazy Horse people!"

  Hawk glanced up at Sloan and shrugged in a way that assured Skylar that both men believed there were things she just would never understand—she wasn't one of them. But Hawk tried to explain.

  ' 'Each man is an individual among the Sioux. He has his own path to follow. No man can tell another man what his path is."

  "So anyone can do what he wants to do at any given lime?" she asked.

  Hawk shook his head. "Most of the time, men and women desire to live up to certain mores that rule our society. There are four great virtues we strive to achieve: bravery, fortitude, generosity, and wisdom."

  "Naturally," Willow offered, "they are virtues which helped us to survive through the years."

  "Naturally, a warrior must be brave. He must defend his home, be a great hunter, and take many coup against the enemy," Hawk said.

  "Coup?" Skylar murmured.

  "Coup—unfortunately, taking coup has sometimes hurt us in warfare," Sloan said. "Coup is what you took against that Crow yesterday."

  "What?" Skylar demanded.

  "You struck him," Hawk said. "In battle, it is a braver deed to come close to the enemy and strike him than it is to shoot him down from a great distance. Very often, in battle, the Sioux are determined
to count coup, and so they come close and strike their enemies, but in so doing, fail to eliminate some of their numbers."

  "Whereas white soldiers know damned well they can be killed by tomahawks, rifles, and arrows and are determined to kill the enemy who are carrying those weapons with all possible speed," Sloan continued. "In our system, officers must achieve great victories in order to rise through the ranks."

  "Or beyond. If the rumors are true, Autie Custer is trying for one great victory over the Sioux so that he can run for president of the United States, become the Great White Father, and keep his promises to his Crow scouts and others," Hawk said, his voice carrying a definite note of irritation.

  "A Sioux doesn't need to seek a great victory; he needs to lead a continually brave life," Sloan said. "Taking coup is part of the bravery of battle. And last night against the Crows, you, a woman, struck a warrior. They were still talking about it when we arrived on the scene. It was a great humiliation for the warrior."

  "But it made you a greater prize of battle," Hawk murmured, throwing a stick onto the fire.

  "Any warrior can instigate a war party," Willow said. "And those who choose to follow him may do so."

  "If a man chooses not to follow a war party, then that is his prerogative," Sloan said.

  "However," Willow continued, "during important movements, hunts, or major battles, the akicitas must control the young braves who might jeopardize the party by seeking to break early and count coup or rush the buffalo for the first kill."

  "The akicitas?"

  Hawk looked to Willow and Sloan, then lifted his hands. "Indian police."

  "Who change with the wind."

  "I'm lost again."

  "They are chosen from the warrior societies, but the head men choose warriors from different societies so that no man may have too much control over others."

  Skylar smiled. "It all sounds very democratic."

  "It is a free society," Hawk said softly, "and that is often the best of it, and the worst of it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He means," Sloan said, "that in the army, the generals i;ive the orders and privates obey without question. No one chief can command hundreds of braves if the braves do not choose to follow him."

  "The people who have banded together with Crazy Horse have done so because they have chosen to do so," Hawk said. "And when we visit there, although we have chosen to enter the white world, we don't visit there as whites."