Then the steel within it.
She drew the knife from the sheath and slammed it into his leg with all her strength.
He let out a bone-chilling scream, cursing her. Promising her a slow, agonizing death.
But he instinctively let go of her to grasp his thigh.
And she was free.
She leaped down from the horse, shrieking again as her ankle twisted. She didn't care, couldn't care. The others in the war party were staring at her with murderous fury.
Shouting to one another.
Racing toward her.
She turned and ran into the brush, hobbling with amazing speed, the bloody knife still clutched desperately in her hand.
They heard a cry for help, then a shriek from a very feminine, well-recognized voice.
Then a masculine voice crying out in pain, cursing.
"Come!" Hawk shouted, kneeing Tor so that he and his horse leaped forward as one. He burst onto the narrow trail through the trees to discover Skylar racing down a path that ran parallel with his own. Three warriors on horseback were trying to corner her and trap her.
One of the nearly naked Crow, still cursing, was bearing down on her quickly. Hawk didn't think; he drew his knife from the sheath at his calf and hurled it swiftly through the air. He must have hit the Crow's heart dead on, for the man fell from his horse without a whimper.
He thundered through the trees, weaving perfectly on Tor. He didn't fear his other enemies; his own people would be protecting his back as he retrieved his wife. He rode up behind Skylar, who still ran. She heard Tor and turned back, her golden hair flying in the night, her flawless features wild as she looked up at him, silver eyes still defiant nonetheless.
She gasped his name, her hand flying to her throat as she ceased running, stumbled, stood still. He swept her up, cradling her against his body, running his hands over and over her, touching her face, her lips, trembling as he did so.
' 'Oh, God, oh, God, you came, I was so afraid you were dead, I was so afraid—" she sobbed.
"Shhh ... shhh ..."
He held her more tightly against him. A knife was clasped tightly in her fingers. He had to pry her fingers free from it.
She surely felt the terrible thunder of his heart, the rampant shaking within him. He gave a slight twist to the reins, urging Tor to take them back to the trail, assuring Skylar softly all the while that she was all right.
Their Crow enemies lay dead on the ground, stretched out next to one another. The man Hawk had killed with the knife to the heart also sported a bloody leg-—Skylar's attack, Hawk was certain.
Sloan and Willow stood by the bodies, shaking their heads and speaking softly to one another.
"What is it?" Hawk demanded.
"I don't know. It's just so strange. This one ..." Sloan said, striking a match against his boot to better illuminate the body and indicating the man Hawk had killed himself, "he's dressed like a Crow, painted like a Crow. But I don't think he is a Crow."
"What do you think he is?" Hawk demanded. He was going to jump down to study the dead brave himself, but Skylar clung to him so tightly he didn't want to rip himself away from her. Besides which, he knew and trusted Sloan's opinion.
"He's a half-breed. And I think he's half Arikara."
Crazy Horse spoke up. "The Arikara have been known to be our enemies as well. This man, though ... he pretends to be what he is not. It is very strange."
Sloan spoke again, slowly. "I agree. I think I've seen him before."
"Where?" Hawk asked.
"Hanging around Fort Abraham Lincoln. Trying to get a job as an Indian scout."
"So he didn't get work with the white army, and he started to run with the Crows," Crazy Horse said. "What does that mean?" He spat down on the body.
"I don't know," Sloan said. "Any ideas?" he asked Hawk.
Two of the Sioux warriors with them had leaped down from their horses.
They were going to take the scalps, Hawk realized. A woman had been abducted from their very camp, and they had taken a war party out in the night to bring her back. The scalps were theirs. And these were no-good warriors, sneaking into a camp, attacking a brave from the back, abducting a lone female. They would be maimed so that they would not play so foolishly in the afterlife.
He needed to move on with Skylar and ponder the problem of these strange "Crow" attacks later.
She was silent as they rode, and still. She didn't even wince as she heard the tremolos and cries go out as the Sioux took the Crows' scalps.
He nuzzled the top of her head. "Are you all right?" he asked her very softly.
Her hair was as soft as silk against his chest as she nodded.
She wasn't all right. She was as strong as steel; she would defend herself to the death, he knew, but even steel could be bent.
"Thank God!" he murmured, urging Tor in a steady walk along the trail. He drew the backs of his fingers over her cheeks. "You've got to be all right tonight. I don't want you to miss the sight of me on my knees when I know you'll enjoy it so much."
She jerked slightly away from him and turned around to look at him. Her face was smudged. The beautiful doeskin dress was a mess. She had put up quite a fight. He drew a line over one of the smudges on her face, smiling.
"Earth Woman admitted to the pepper."
Her eyes widened. "Why, that—bitch!" she exclaimed.
He smiled. "I'm sorry."
"Not good enough."
"Really sorry."
"Still not good enough."
"Then you'll just have to wait a bit," he said gruffly. "But then, you owe me an apology as well."
"I owe you—"
"For this morning. I was never with Earth Woman." When she said nothing he prompted, "Well?"
"I'm sorry, too."
"You didn't believe in me."
"You certainly didn't believe in me regarding the pepper!"
"I already promised you a better apology, but I think life will go a little bit more smoothly if we both start believing in each other. What do you say?"
She nodded.
He nudged Tor to a quicker gait. The others rode behind them now. When they returned to the camp by the river, though the hour was late, other warriors, old men, young men, women, and children rushed out to greet them. Squaws took the scalps.
The camp came alive with activity.
But Hawk evaded it, leaving Sloan to make any apologies for him. He carried his wife into their tipi and set her down, studying her from head to toe for injury as he had done once before.
"I'm all right," she insisted. "Well, my ankle is a bit sore because I tripped and bit my lip when that Crow warrior clamped his hand down on my mouth, but—''
"No one hurt you."
She frowned suddenly. "Hawk, one man spoke English."
"Sloan said he was a half-breed he'd seen around one of the army forts," Hawk said.
"He said he'd just as soon kill me sooner than later if I didn't shut up, but one of the others shouted at him and he shut up. Are such attacks common?"
"Yes and no. The Crow and the Sioux have been enemies forever. We have fought forever, we take coup upon one another, steal horses ... but this ... this is the strangest damned thing I've ever seen, even if you do have spectacular hair."
"Do I?" she inquired, almost smiling. Hawk breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to be all right.
"I'm waiting to see you on your knees," she told him.
She was definitely going to be all right, he thought as he went down upon a knee. "I'm sorry. I am really, truly, honestly sorry. I kneel humbly before you in apology. Will that suffice?"
"With a little more pure humility in your voice it won't be half bad."
"I'm humble."
"The hell you are."
"But I really am sorry. You did work hard all day, and you did intend to appear to be a perfect Sioux wife."
"I always pay my debts."
"Your debts? Ah. Your sister, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, it seems you've found monsters here, but apparently you've known a few monsters in the past. I wouldn't want her under attack by any monsters either. But then, perhaps you'd like to tell me a little bit more about the monsters in your past?''
Skylar shook her head. "Not tonight, please. The past, please God, is behind me," she said softly. She wasn't about to give him anything more. And tonight it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. Right now, it was too good just to hold her.
"Am I forgiven?" he asked her.
She nodded, then shivered fiercely. "I have to forgive you. You came for me again. You were alive. You saved my life."
"They wouldn't have killed you."
"I think that they did mean to kill me. Eventually."
Hawk stood, shaking his head. "You're safe," he said huskily. "And very beautiful. Maybe you're not so safe. I'm shaking, needing to hold you again."
"I'm a mess, covered with dirt."
"You're very beautiful, and I can understand why any man would want to ravish you."
"I think you've already done some ravishing tonight."
"I thought you were doing the ravishing there."
She smiled. A real smile, sweet and warm. She shrugged.
"I was so afraid that you were dead. And at the same time, I couldn't believe that you could have possibly been killed."
"If I'd been killed, you know, Mayfair would have been yours. And you would have been the widowed Lady Douglas."
"I never wanted to take anything from your father—or you," she told him. "And I—"
"What?"
She shrugged. "I don't want to be the widowed Lady Douglas."
He smiled, nodding his head. "Do you know what?"
"What?"
"I'm actually rather glad to have a wife."
"Are you?"
"Very much so at times like this."
There was a definite insinuation in his voice. "I was frightened by what happened tonight," she reminded him, "but you were injured. Your head—"
"I had a headache, but it's gone. Now that I have duti- fully groveled, I could perhaps use a little gentle care myself."
"Hawk, they knocked you out. You were hurt—"
"Nothing that you can't make better."
"But—"
"Lady Douglas!" he groaned. "Must I state it plainly? You'll not get me on my knees again, I'm not in any pain, and I want my wife. Come here, woman," he demanded with a wry grin.
Skylar lowered her head, a half smile playing upon her lips. She looked up at him. "I know that we're in Sioux country, but could you possibly come here, man? Meet me in the middle?"
He arched a brow. "Hmm. What an invitation."
Skylar took a step forward. She reached down for the hem of the buckskin dress and drew the garment over her head, tossing it carefully aside. She was smudged with dirt and dust, just as he was, but he just didn't give a damn right now. Passion simmered slowly. Provocatively. He needed to hold her now. Touch her.
Shivering just slightly, she stared at him, waiting.
"What an invitation!" he repeated in a husky whisper.
Her smile deepened. Her eyes glittered, and she cocked her head just slightly.
"Want to bet I can't get you on your knees again?" she teased him.
But then she gasped because he had moved so quickly, sweeping her up. Then she was on the ground, lying upon a bed of furs, his body on top of hers. What remained of the red blaze from the cooking fire warmed them, just as the silver fire that exuded from her eyes seared into him, building new heat, slow, simmering warmth. Everything slow, everything savored, so careful...
So tender.
She did get him on his knees again.
And magically, a night that had begun in fear and bloodshed and fury became . . .
Eden.
Twenty-two
They stayed among the Crazy Horse people for three more days, then they prepared to depart. They would head south to the site where the meeting between the representatives of the American government and the Sioux was scheduled to take place. It would take them two days to ride there. They would be traveling southeast, from Montana back to Dakota territory.
When they were ready to leave, Skylar bid a fond farewell to Hawk's family and to the other people she had come to know during her visit. When they mounted their horses, she was surprised to see that Blade and Ice Raven would be accompanying them.
It was ironic, she thought, that she would be riding with all four of the warriors who had attacked her stagecoach and convinced her that she was about to be slaughtered and scalped just a matter of a few weeks earlier. Sloan made their number five. He and Hawk still wore the clothing they had donned each day during their visit to the camp: breech- clouts, leggings, moccasins, little else. If it weren't for her hair, Skylar thought, she would fit right in with them. She had become so involved in Sioux generosity that she had given away all the clothing she had brought with her and now wore nothing more than doeskin herself.
Crazy Horse came out to bid them all farewell. What the men said, Skylar had no idea. They seemed to be parting in complete friendship, but for some reason, the words spoken between them made her uneasy. She smiled at Crazy I lorse and waved good-bye to him. He smiled in return and raised his hand in farewell as well. She was glad that he seemed to like her, for she had to admit that she liked him, even though he was extremely warlike and might go to battle against the whites at any given time. He was still a man of integrity, one who had been backed against a rock lime and time again. He didn't intend to be an agency Indian, a drunkard, or a layabout. His way was free and steeped in tradition. She couldn't blame him for being ready to fight for his own existence.
Earth Woman, who had apologized about the pepper and decided to become Skylar's friend after the attack, bade her a warm farewell—one that seemed sincere. But then Hawk had told Skylar that both Crazy Horse and Sloan had severely chastised her—the incident had made them all vulnerable to the attack.
The children ran alongside them as they rode from the camp by the river. The men tossed down keepsakes to the children, Sloan providing whistles he had carved and cavalry buttons, Hawk, Ice Raven, and Blade dropping some of their arrows.
When they reached the more heavily wooded countryside, Skylar urged Nutmeg up closer to Tor. "Why are your cousins coming with us? I thought they had decided they wanted to stay away from the white community, with the Crazy Horse people."
Hawk shrugged without saying anything for a moment, then he told her, "No one understands why parties of Crow Indians and others keep appearing to wrest you away."
Skylar frowned. "I don't mean to tread upon your feel- ings, but it is natural for many of the Indian bands in the West to attack whites."
Hawk smiled wryly, shaking his head. ' 'The attacks were just a bit too strange. You thought so yourself. Remember? You told me one of the men spoke English. Sloan had seen one of them before."
"Is that so unusual?"
"Maybe not. It's just that..."
"What?"
"Something seems not quite right."
Skylar sighed softly. "Hawk, lots of things just aren't right at all."
"Beyond the obvious," Hawk told her. He cocked his head toward her, a wry half smile curved into his features. "Skylar, I don't tend to be a superstitious man—perhaps I'm too grounded in my father's white world—but having you abducted twice in less than a week seems a bit on the strange side. Even among warring Indians. To be less than careful would be entirely foolish. Between us, Sloan, Willow, Ice Raven, Blade, and myself, of course, we're quite a powerful group."
"I do believe you." Skylar smiled. "So Ice Raven and Blade came along to protect me?"
"They won't come to the conference on the Black Hills. They'll turn back when we near the site."
"That makes it all the nicer that they are willing to come so far."
"We do our best to protect our women."
"Wives," Skylar murmured.
&nb
sp; "What?"
She looked at him innocently. "Wives. In the plural."
He grinned. "Such jealousy warms my heart, Lady Douglas."
"I'm not jealous in the least."
He reined in suddenly, catching hold of Nutmeg's reins to pull her back as well. "I can be a very jealous soul myself, my lady. Thank God you hadn't had much of a past when you came to me. But then, there's so much about your past that I don't know! Should I be jealous, worried?"
"I can't imagine you worried," she told him.
"Ah, jealous, then."
"That from the man who might not have chosen a multitude of wives at one time, but most certainly entertained a score of lovers!"
"But my past is an open book."
"Umm. I get to read it every time I stumble upon it."
He laughed softly. "Well, there is nothing anyone can do to change the past."
"Only the present—and the future," Skylar added.
"Umm," he murmured. He was looking at her intently, and she was tempted to start blurting out explanations. But the bonds that held them together still seemed too fragile and tenuous. How could she explain that she would have done anything in the world—to escape the man who had killed her father?
The respected man who had killed her father.
She saw that he was still looking at her probingly. She pointed to her right, where the sun was just falling behind a mound of emerald green grass, dotted with purple wild- llowers. "My God, have you ever seen such a sunset!" she exclaimed.
His gaze moved in the direction in which she pointed. She kneed her roan and glanced back at him. "Race you to it!" she challenged, and took off, flying across the field.
She knew she was not nearly as good a rider as Hawk. The Indians of the Western Plains tribes seemed to be the most spectacular horsemen she had ever witnessed in action. But she was a good rider, and she could certainly try to outrace him.
The only problem was that he raced on Tor.
Nutmeg tired as she dipped down into the valley. She slowed her gait. He came behind her on Tor. Before she could catch her own breath, he had leaped from Tor and caught her about the waist, bringing them both down into the rich green grass. They rolled in it, laughing. Then Hawk rose, drawing her to her feet. "The others will be right behind us. Seems like a good place to camp for the night, though. What do you think?"
No Other Man Page 30