"No baby will ever die if it is in my power to save it!" she vowed in a voice that shook with determination. "No white baby nor Indian baby, either."
"Well, you'd damn well better not let me catch you helping the Indians or their babies again. I came here to kill the redskins, not to coddle them."
Cassie stood her ground, her head high and her jaw clenched, holding tight to her convictions in the face of his anger.
"Do you understand me, Cassie?" Drew bellowed.
Before she could draw breath to answer, someone knocked on their front door.
Both of them clung to the moment, needing the question resolved between them. The silence thickened.
The knocking came again, louder and more insistent.
"Oh, Christ!" Drew spit, and spun away.
Weak at the knees, Cassie sank down on the bench beside the table. Over the drumming of her pulse, she could hear the conversation going on at the front door.
"Begging your pardon, sir," someone was saying. "Major McGarrity has asked me to inform you that the Sioux chief, Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse, has come into the fort. There's to be a dinner in his honor at seven o'clock."
"A dinner?" Drew echoed. "To honor some Sioux chief?"
"Yes, sir. At the headquarters building, sir. And the major says that the ladies are invited, too."
"Are they now?" Cassie could hear the sarcasm in Drew's tone. They'd been cut off from fort society all these weeks.
"Shall I tell the major that you and Mrs. Reynolds will attend?"
"Indeed we will," Drew answered, as if he had a choice.
Cassie heard the door bang closed, and a moment later Drew came bowling into the kitchen. "Who in hell is this Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse?"
"He's peace chief for the Sioux," Cassie answered. "He has an encampment up on the Powder River. There are many warriors at his command if he should choose to ride to war with Red Cloud, but so far he has steered a moderate course."
"And why would he come here?" Drew asked, giving voice to the very question Cassie herself was asking.
She glanced up at him and shrugged. "I don't know. He could have skins to trade, or prisoners."
"Where would they get prisoners?"
"Where did they get me?"
Drew nodded. "Well, it's safe to assume he wants something."
He hesitated a moment, staring into space, and then looked down at her. "It's too late to do anything about the milk, but this can never happen again. If we were at war, what you've done would be construed as giving aid to the enemy. You could be hanged for that, and I'd be court-martialed. Is that what you want?"
Cassie shook her head.
"Then you must promise not to help the Indians, no matter what." When she said nothing, Drew went on. "This is important, Cassie. Your actions could hurt everyone at the fort. They could compromise my position here."
Cassie inclined her head in acknowledgment. She understood the consequences of what she'd done. What's more, she loved this man. She loved his daughter, too. She didn't want to see either of them hurt.
It wasn't hard to speak the words when she had so much at stake. "I promise," she said, and wanted with all her heart for the vow to be true.
Chapter 12
Hunter translated Ben McGarrity's comments for Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse and watched the guests arrive. He introduced the chief's two companions to a flock of young lieutenants and eyed the entrance. He chatted with Mrs. McGarrity and stared at the door. Then Cassandra stepped into the room, and Hunter's mood settled like birds at sunset.
Marriage to the captain agreed with her, Hunter observed with a hitch of surprise. She looked lovely tonight dressed in a dimity gown of dusty blue. There was high color in her cheeks, and her hair shone gold in the lamplight. But it was the glow in those clear, pale eyes that convinced him she'd found what she needed. Hunter just wished she'd found it with him.
He should have been glad that the marriage between Cassie and the captain was working out. He should have been pleased that Cass had secured her share of happiness. Instead a hot, bright spark of longing sizzled in his gut. He wanted what Drew Reynolds had.
Hunter straightened as Captain and Mrs. Reynolds came up to be introduced and tried to ignore the shy, half smile that touched Cassie's lips when she looked at him.
"Sir," McGarrity began, addressing Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse, "may I present to you the commander of our second cavalry company, Captain Andrew Scott Reynolds. Captain Reynolds served gallantly in the recent war, and is the descendant of one of the United States' most decorated generals. He was also graduated from our military academy at West Point. The lovely lady with him is his wife Cassandra."
As Hunter translated, Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse looked the new arrivals up and down. He took in Drew's square-shouldered stance and his possessive grip on Cassie's elbow. He nodded with approval at the way Cass tipped her head differentially. But before he spoke, his gaze seemed to settle on the tattoo that marred Cassandra's cheek.
"I have heard much about the soldiers from this military academy," he said, addressing Drew. "Is not General Sherman, who came to Fort Laramie some months ago, a graduate of West Point?"
"Indeed he is," Drew answered. "There are many fine West Point officers serving on the frontier."
Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse took a moment to think that over. "And is it your counsel, Captain Reynolds, that we accept the treaty that was offered to us last spring rather than fight such men as these?"
"Of course you should sign the treaty," Drew replied. "The quality of our officers, our numbers, and our equipment are far superior to anything you redskins can muster. If you and your warriors choose to fight, your people will be annihilated."
Hunter broke off translation as soon as he realized the trend of Reynolds's remarks, but Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse seemed to understand them well enough.
The Indian's eyes narrowed. "And how is it that a man with views like yours is married to a woman who wears the Kiowa's mark?"
Hunter took it upon himself to answer. "Captain and Mrs. Reynolds were promised to each other before she was captured," he explained as simply as he could. "When she returned to the whites, they were reunited."
Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse nodded. "Because of nearly losing his bride, this man believes he has reason to hate all Indians."
Hunter inclined his head.
"Well, then," Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse said with a nod, "we must listen to such as he. Men with hatred in their hearts tell truths that others prefer to keep among themselves."
Before Hunter could respond to the chief's words or the colonel's inquiring gaze, Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse spoke directly to Drew. "I would not like to meet you in battle," he said. "But if I do, I will know to kill you first."
Hunter translated word for word, watching Reynold's eyes.
Cold amusement flickered and died away. "Then look to yourself, sir," Reynolds answered, and turned to go, making room for the next officer and his lady to be presented.
As the couples passed, Sylvie Noonan arched one brow in Cassie's direction and jerked her skirts aside.
At the deliberate slight, a fierce, slow-burning anger ignited in Hunter's belly. Sylvie Noonan had been willing enough to pity Cass when she was a poor Indian captive, but now that Cassie was her equal in military society, the woman refused to acknowledge her.
Yet if either Cassie or Drew saw what Sylvie had done, they gave no sign. They crossed the room toward where the crystal punch bowl stood amidst a muster of mismatched cups. Two garrulous young lieutenants strode toward them as if they were drawn both by curiosity and Cassie's exotic beauty.
When all of the line and staff officers had been presented and even Tyler Jessup had shambled in to join the party, Sally McGarrity ushered everyone to their places at the table. It was laid with immaculately ironed linen that suspiciously resembled bed sheets. An array of patterned china and silver gleamed in the light cast by the quartet of silver candelabra that graced the table. Stemmed wine and wate
r glasses stood at every place. Hunter guessed that McGarrity had raided every household in the fort to set a table grand enough to impress the Sioux chief.
If Hunter was awed by the table service, he was even more surprised by the meal that was served by six efficient, white-gloved orderlies. It began with a savory onion soup, progressed to a course of poached white fish, a salad of field greens, and entrees of roast venison and quail. Parsleyed potatoes were offered around, along with the vile green mush the army passed off as peas. There were pickles and onions, rolls and biscuits, jelly and marmalade, water and wine.
Hunter ate sparingly and kept his eye on his companions, yet the meal went far more smoothly than any of them had a right to expect. Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse handled his cutlery well. He made polite conversation with Major and Mrs. McGarrity and listened attentively to Hunter's translations.
Yet in spite of their veneer of affability, Hunter knew every officer in the place was wondering when raiders would burst through the doors to take their scalps. After the Fetterman massacre the previous December and the skirmish when the Cheyenne traded Cass, everyone thought the Indians were about to swoop down out of the north as thick as mayflies.
That Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse should come to the fort when bands of Sioux were already warring off to the east didn't make sense. It didn't even make Indian sense, and that left a cold, hollow feeling in Hunter's middle. Still, he kept his misgivings to himself.
Doing that was easy when he could sit and watch Cassandra. She was luminous in the soft light of the candles. Her eyes shone bright and warm. Her smile came and went like sunbeams through a bank of clouds. She didn't say much, letting Drew, Captain Noonan, and several of the lieutenants monopolize the conversation. Still, she laughed at the jests and answered when someone spoke to her. She was handling with innate grace what must be an intimidating new experience.
Hunter ached with regret just watching her. He longed for the brief time when she'd depended on and trusted him. For the few short days she'd lived in his world and shared a closeness Hunter had never had with anyone. But before he realized how much he wanted her, Cass had married someone else.
Hunter raised his glass of wine to his lips and grimaced at the bitter taste. He could see that Cassie's marriage wasn't perfect. The captain was a proprietary man, an exacting man, a man driven by demons of his own. But he was giving Cass security, a place in the world. He had given her a child to care for. They were things Cassie desperately needed, things Hunter himself could never provide. Though he wished he could make room for her in his life, Hunter knew Cass was safe. He knew Cass was provided for and, for the most part, content. He supposed what he wanted didn't matter much if that were so.
Still, when it came to Indians, the captain was unpredictable and dangerous. If Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse had responded differently, Reynolds might have set off his own little war.
"Sir?" Hunter looked up to find an orderly standing over him. "There's a man outside who says he needs to speak to you."
Hunter excused himself and slipped away. One of the Indians from the friendly camp was waiting in the shadows at the corner of the building.
"What did you find when you rode out?" Hunter asked.
"Nothing," the brave answered.
Hunter bent closer. "You must have found something. There has to be an encampment nearby. Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse wouldn't have ridden all this way with just two guards."
The tracker shook his head. "Up north are the winter camps. There is nothing else."
Hunter cursed under his breath. If he had been able to leave the fort, he'd have gotten to the bottom of this. He'd have found out why Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse was here. Still, he'd used this man before and knew he was reliable.
"No camp. No tepee. Nothing." The brave clarified and held out his hand for pay.
Hunter dug in his pocket for the agreed-upon amount. "And there's no sign?" he asked, withholding the coins for an answer.
The man shook his head and reached again. Hunter let the money go and watched as his informant headed off toward the friendly camp.
"What the hell is Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse doing here?" he mumbled under his breath. "Just what the hell is going on?"
* * *
Arrogant bugger, Drew Reynolds thought as he glared down the dinner table to where Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse sat in the place of honor to Major McGarrity's right. What in hell was this savage doing here all gussied up in his war shirt and feathers? And why was McGarrity treating him like an honored guest?
Everyone at the fort knew that as soon as orders came from Omaha, they'd be riding out against the Indians. The army had the matter of the Fetterman massacre to settle with the hostiles. Once they started on the summer campaign, they might just as well clean out that rats' nest of Sioux and Cheyenne villages up along the Powder River and secure the Bozeman Trail all the way to Montana. With all of that ahead, Drew didn't see why McGarrity was bowing and scraping and giving parties for one of the redskins who'd be riding against them.
Drew settled back in his chair looking long and assessingly at the officers gathered around the table. Only Anderson, one of Noonan's young lieutenants, and Clark, who was too old and rum-soaked to have the stomach for a fight, spoke about their hopes for peace. The other men—the real men—were silent and every bit as itchy for battle as Drew was.
He shifted his regard to the others who had come tonight—the wives and the Indians—and caught one of the redskins palming a silver spoon. The man glared back, daring Drew to speak, knowing he could not. Drew swallowed a curse and looked to the women seated around him. Sylvie Noonan was too busy fanning herself to notice the thievery and Sally McGarrity was regaling Alma Parker with some story she'd read in Harper's Monthly. He did notice that Tyler Jessup and one of the chief's companions were using hand talk to converse and wondered just what they'd found to discuss.
Then Drew's gaze came to settle on his own wife. He smiled, thinking how well she was behaving herself. Dressed in a pretty new gown, with her hair curled and her hands folded demurely in her lap, she came close to being the woman he wanted her to be—not marked by her experiences, not cursed with strange and inexplicable loyalties.
Heat built up inside him just thinking about what Cassie had done. How could she have met with that Cheyenne squaw and given her food? How could she feel anything but hatred for the Indians? He'd tried to understand. He'd tried to be patient, but she kept giving in to her impulses and making mistakes. He wanted so much for Cassie to be the woman she'd been before, the woman she seemed to be tonight. Yet she kept failing, failing herself and failing him.
Only with Meggie were things as he had hoped. The child's laughter rang through the house for the first time since Laura had died. Meggie was growing, behaving herself, and learning things. Cassie was the reason, and for Meggie's sake Drew was willing to overlook most of Cassie's transgressions. But not all. Not the kind of mistake he'd discovered today.
Drew glanced up and found that one of the orderlies was offering him a selection of cigars and a glass of port. He took a cheroot from the box, trimmed the end, and lit it.
"This is every bit as elegant a meal as any I had back East," he commented to Lieutenant Braiden, who sat to his left.
He could see at the far end of the table that Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse had refused a cigar and was making some other request. With Jalbert inexplicably gone, McGarrity didn't seem to know how to respond to him.
The Indian raised his voice and asked again.
Everyone turned to see what Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse wanted. McGarrity gestured for one of the orderlies to find Jalbert, but Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse didn't seem willing to wait.
He repeated the words a third time and stared down the table to where Cassandra sat.
Drew looked to his wife. She was pale as whey and staring at the tablecloth.
A hush settled over the diners as Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse continued to glare at her.
Her chest rose and fell in agitation.
The room went still.
"Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse would like more water, if you please," Cassie finally said in a very small voice.
Drew's stomach tumbled, dropped like a stone off a cliff.
He heard the whispers begin, the buzz of speculation. Alma Parker and Sylvie Noonan exchanged knowing glances. Drew could well imagine what all of them were thinking.
At the head of the table, the chief held out his glass, and one of the orderlies leaped forward to fill it with water.
"You understand Sioux, Cassandra?" McGarrity asked quietly.
Cassie inclined her head. "I speak it, too."
"Then extend our apologies to our guest for not realizing what he needed."
Cassie did as she was bidden.
Drew would rather she'd shouted obscenities.
"Well then, Cassandra, have you any other talents we should know about?" McGarrity wanted to know.
Cassie raised her chin a little. "I speak Cheyenne and Kiowa and Sioux, a little German and a good deal of French. And I know some hand talk, too."
"You're a veritable dictionary, aren't you, my dear?" Drew muttered under his breath.
Cassie's color ripened, and she slid him a sidelong glance.
Drew scowled back, letting her feel his displeasure.
Jalbert returned from somewhere outside. "Excuse me, Major," he broke in. "One of the orderlies said you needed me?"
"Thank you, Jalbert," McGarrity acknowledged, "but it seems Mrs. Reynolds speaks the Sioux language and was kind enough to translate."
Drew intercepted the startled look Jalbert shot in Cassie's direction. Not even the half-breed had known about her facility for languages.
At the head of the table, Jalbert leaned across to McGarrity. "Major," he prodded, almost as if he and not McGarrity was the host tonight, "didn't you have some words of welcome for our guests?"
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