The Bride Wore Feathers

by Sharon Ihle

  Her attention caught by the sounds of low, soft nickering, Dominique looked over at the horses. Sampi stood almost protectively at Peaches's side and nipped playfully at her withers. The mare's response was a high-pitched squeal—and a swaying movement that brought her flanks in contact with the stallion's.

  Thinking back to the night Jacob had made her his—spoiled her, as he put it—Dominique realized her time for asking was at an end. It was her turn to give. "It seems, my wonderful husband," she said with a mischievous smile, "that our horses have a much better idea of what to do on this beautiful sunny day than we do."

  His grin equally mischievous, Jacob said, "I have not run out of ideas where you are concerned, crazy one." Then he pushed up on his elbows, preparing to lift her off his hips, but Dominique pressed her hands against his chest and forced him back down in the grass.

  "No," she ordered. "Save your energy for your long ride back to the cavalry in the morning." At his cocked eyebrow, she seductively said, "Since I'm already here, I'd like to practice a few of the things I've learned from riding Peaches. How would you like it if I spoiled you for a change?"

  "Oh?" Jacob's eyebrow inched up another notch, but he turned his palms up in submission.

  Using exaggerated movements, taking her time, Dominique stretched her arms high overhead and pulled off her buckskin dress. Slowly, almost imperceptibly grinding her hips against Jacob's as he lay expectantly on a bed of grass, she tugged at the satin ribbon on her camisole. Delighted to see her husband's deep blue eyes darken with desire, she ran her tongue across her upper lip as she removed the undergarment.

  And then she sat there, acting for all the world as if she had no audience, and allowed her fingers to slide down her breasts and off the tips on a journey to the drawstring of her drawers. Squirming against him, she played with the bow, loosening it the barest inch at a time.

  Jacob reached for her. "That's enough," he said gruffly.

  Dominique slapped his hands away. "No, it's not. I'll let you know when it's enough."

  "Maybe you will," he warned, pressing his hips against her bottom, "and then again, maybe you won't."

  "Jacob," she countered as she rose and stepped across his body. "Get a hold of yourself. Let me have some fun."

  "You can have all the fun you want, crazy one," he said as he watched her remove her drawers. "I do not know how long you'll have to enjoy it."

  Stripped now, Dominique stepped back over Jacob's body. But instead of lying down with him, she stood above him, bracketing his hips with her long legs. She looked down at him, shocked by her own boldness, tremendously pleased by his reaction, and said, "Aren't you a little overdressed, husband dear?"

  With a hoarse gasp and a low moan, Jacob fumbled around with suddenly inept fingers as he tore at the rawhide thong securing his breechclout. Unable to turn away from her even for an instant, he let his glassy-eyed gaze follow the curves of her cream-colored legs to her auburn forest, where it lingered, first seeking, then adoring her secrets. His breath coming in short puffs now, the words thick with passion, he managed to say, "If it is your wish to make me as crazy as you are, I think you should know it is working."

  Increasingly self-conscious about her indecent posture, Dominique impatiently said, "Have you gone and tied the strings in a knot?"

  When he didn't answer, but continued to stare up at her as he struggled with the garment, she slowly sank to her knees, hovering just above his upper thighs. "Here, let me do that."

  "No," he muttered. "Stay back—this will keep us apart no longer." Then he reached for his hunting knife, slipping it from the sheath, and cut through the rawhide laces securing not only the breechclout but the holster as well.

  "Oh, Jacob," She laughed as he tossed the ruined garment into the furrow. "How are you ever going to get back to the village?"

  "I don't know, and I don't care," he said with a tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. "All I care about right now is you. Get down here and teach me this lesson you speak of."

  Dominique grinned, inching her knees along the sweet grass, but stopped just short of touching him. "You're sure you're ready for lesson one?"

  "You can see that I am, woman."

  "All right," she said, her own breathing erratic. "First we'll start with the letter A. A is for Apache. An A is nothing more than a tipi with a lance drawn through the middle. Now, B is for buffalo—"

  "Buffalo hides," he threatened. "And if you don't tend to your husband and now woman, you'll be tanning them for the rest of your life."

  Her laughter deep and throaty, Dominique slowly lowered herself on the man she loved, the only man she would ever love.

  * * *

  Later that evening after a supper of barbecued antelope, Jacob and Dominique strolled hand in hand through the Hunkpapa village and headed down to the river.

  The sound of the pretty stream, its cold waters trickling a little song as it made its way to the Big Horn River, the gentle rustling of the cottonwood trees in the light summer breeze, all provided stark contrast to the unrest all around them. But still intent on enjoying his wife, of committing to memory what might be their last night together, Jacob sat down on the grassy banks and pulled Dominique onto his lap.

  "The Greasy Grass River reminds me of the Black Hills," he commented, struck by nature's bounty.

  "Ummmm," she sighed. "It's so peaceful and lazy. If all the streams in the Black Hills are like this, I can't wait for you to take me there. You will someday, won't you?"

  "If I can."

  Dominique raised her head up from Jacob's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

  "We must make some plans now, wi witko." He took her trusting face in his hands and explained. "After tomorrow, when I return to the cavalry, it may be a long time before I can return to you."

  Trying to keep the fear from her voice, the tears from her eyes, she said, "How long?"

  Jacob shrugged. "I do not know. I only know it is time for us to make some arrangements for your safety if I cannot be here to take care of you."

  "Stop it, Jacob. I don't like the way you're talking to me or the things you're saying. Stop it this minute."

  "But I must," he insisted, still holding her face. "Surely you don't want me to go away from here with thoughts of you heavy on my mind."

  "No, of course not," she cried, flinging her arms around him and burying her face in the side of his neck. "But please don't talk as if you're never coming back to me. I can't stand to think about that."

  "Then don't think at all. Just listen to what I say and promise you will do as I ask." When he got no response, he gently said, "Dominique? You must promise that you will do as I ask."

  And finally she did, with a sob she couldn't swallow and a light nod.

  "Good, then." Jacob raised his hand to her hair and stroked the silky waves. "If I cannot prevent a battle between your people and mine, you must do all you can to protect yourself. No one will do it for you. Do you understand this?"

  Again, a slight nod.

  "If the soldiers come into our camp, show yourself and go with them. "

  Tearing free of his hands, she sat up. "But Jacob, I'm not leaving here without you.'

  "You promised," he put a finger against her mouth. "Listen and do what I say. Go with the soldiers. Understand?"

  Through a miserable sigh that was half sob, she said, "Oh, all right."

  "The soldiers will be looking for you if they come into camp," he continued. "Some of them hope you are still alive, especially Barney and the uncle you call Boston. I have a very difficult time around them when they talk of you and your unfortunate ordeal."

  In spite of her heavy heart, Dominique managed a small chuckle. "I suppose you have to stifle the urge to tell them just how alive I am, don't you?"

  Joining her laughter, Jacob pressed his mouth to her hair, whispering, "I believe at least one of them would claim my life if he had that information."

  "Please," she moaned, sad
dened again, "don't even talk about your life in those terms."

  Jacob's entire body stiffened at Dominique's words. After easing her to the grass beside him, he quickly sprang to his feet and walked to the water's edge.

  Alarmed, Dominique pushed up off the bank and tiptoed up behind him. "Jacob?" she whispered softly. "What is it? What did I do?"

  She'd merely pointed out what should have been obvious to him all along. The only way he could hope to prevent this looming conflict, his best chance at convincing either side of the futility of the coming battle, would be to place himself in dire jeopardy. And if he had to go to these extremes in order to keep his promises, there was every possibility they would never see each other again. He would not let what could be their last night together be spent with heavy hearts.

  Jacob turned and pulled her into his arms. Rocking her, squeezing her so tight neither of them could breathe, he said against her hair. "Come, wi witko. Tonight is ours and we will talk of the future no more. Come with me, my wife. Our tipi beckons."

  Chapter 19

  Yellowstone River at

  the mouth of the Rosebud,

  June 21, 1876

  "Jesus, Stoltz," Barney remarked as he approached Jacob. "You look like hell."

  Raising tired bloodshot eyes to his friend, Jacob shrugged.

  Barney sat down beside him on the wooden dock where a steamer, the Far West, was tied, and leaned back against a sack of grain. "How come you keep letting the general send you out on these fool missions?" he asked. "You're gonna get yourself killed, that is, if you don't drop dead of exhaustion first."

  Again Jacob shrugged, too tired to think of anything except the conference going on among the army officers aboard the steamship.

  "Does it have something to do with Dominique?" Barney ventured, his voice low and sympathetic. "Is that why you keep volunteering for Sioux target practice?"

  Jacob glanced at him, then looked away. Able to tell his friend most of the truth for a change, he allowed a weary smile and nodded. "I suppose she has a lot to do with it. Everything that has happened to her is my fault."

  "Look, buddy, you can't go on blaming yourself." Barney began spinning the brim of his hat around in his hand. "I can see how you must feel about that gal. I think I can understand, feeling the way I do about, the widow Swenson, you know, what you must be going through." Feeling as awkward as he'd been that first night with Hazel, he stumbled onward. "Look, you really should think about something else. Try to, you know, forget about her."

  "My friend," Jacob said, his smile warm and grateful. "If you're trying to make me forget about Dominique, you're doing a poor job of it. In fact, you're beginning to sound just like her."

  Barney blew out a heavy sigh. "I know I ain't too good with words, but what I'm trying to tell you is that you should just forget her. Bury her." Jacob's sluggish eyes popped open. "Bury her?"

  "You know, pretend like. That poor gal has been with those savages for over a month now. You might be better off spending your time and energy hoping they've killed her. Believe me, if she's still alive, what's left of her ain't gonna be worth saving."

  The breath whooshed out of Jacob, but he stifled the urge to laugh, not to gasp in horror. Averting his gaze, he covered his face with a big hand and shook his head.

  "Sorry, buddy," Barney said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought it was time you looked at the facts."

  Jacob lifted his head and gave the lieutenant another grateful smile. "Thanks, Barney. I know you're trying to make things better for me and I do appreciate it, but I'll never bury Dominique in my mind or otherwise. I just know she's alive and well. I know it in here." He pressed his hand to his chest, and again he smiled.

  "Stoltz, don't do this to yourself. It ain't healthy."

  "My friend," Jacob said, feeling the significance of the word for the first time with a white man. "I appreciate what you are trying to do for me, but it is—"

  Jacob cut off his own words as a group of officers ended their conference and began marching down the gangplank from the steamer. Generals Terry and Gibbon disembarked first, followed by Custer and an officer Jacob had never seen before. He jumped to his feet, saluting the officers as they passed by.

  "Lieutenant Woodhouse?" Custer called out, ignoring the private. "We march on up the Rosebud tomorrow. Follow me to my tent. We've a few things to go over."

  "Yes, sir," Barney snapped, saluting as he followed the officers through the dusty trail.

  Tagging along, hoping to remain undetected, Jacob fell in step, but when the men reached Custer's tent, the general turned and furrowed his brow. "What is it, Private?"

  Jacob was running out of time, left with few choices if he hoped to find a way to prevent the imminent war. He removed his hat, struggling to sound suitably respectful, and said, "I wish to speak with you, sir."

  Custer raised a thick auburn brow and shook his head. "Later, Private. Can't you see I'm planning our next strategy?" He turned to step inside, but hesitated, adding, "Maybe you heard me say that we'll ride in the morning. Go get some rest. You look like hell." Then he disappeared into the tent.

  * * *

  Three days later, a full twenty-four hours earlier than planned, Custer's command reached the well-worn Indian trail leading from the Rosebud to the Little Bighorn Valley. There was no doubt in Custer's or any soldier's mind, that they had at last found their quarry.

  Jacob rode up alongside the general as he gave orders for camp to be set up. He took a deep breath, realizing he was so close to his own village he could almost smell the evening meal cooking and the hint of lilacs in Dominique's hair. In spite of that, Jacob somehow managed to say, "General Custer, sir? May I have a word with you?"

  "Private Stoltz?" Custer frowned, then stared back out at the wide path. "What in hell do you want?"

  "A word. A private talk."

  Custer heaved a tired sigh. "Do you have any idea how close we are to rounding up those hostiles? Can you guess how very occupied I am at this time? Please go help the others set up camp and leave me to my thoughts."

  But Jacob had finally run out of time. He couldn't afford to be put off again. "I am sorry, sir, but this is very important. I have information for you regarding these hostiles."

  "Oh?" His attention drawn, Custer glanced at the soldier. "Well? If it's something you think I should hear, spill it."

  "You need to hear this, sir." Jacob narrowed his steel blue eyes, adding. "But it is most important that our talk be heard by no one else."

  Custer regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head in frustration. "Oh, all right, Private. This is highly irregular, but I could stand to sit down on something besides this horse for a spell." He dismounted, encouraging Jacob to do the same, then strode across the river valley to his tent.

  Once inside, he showed Jacob to a low box taken from the supply wagon, then sat down on another. "All right, Private. What's this all about?"

  "You cannot lead your men farther up the valley."

  "Excuse me, Private? Are you trying to tell me and the best military minds in the army that you know better how to run this campaign than we do?"

  "No—yes—that does not matter. What I know about this foolish mission, I have learned from the Sioux themselves."

  "Oh, have you, now?" Custer said, his thick mustache twisted in a smirk. "Say something I can use now, Private, or get out."

  Jacob swallowed hard, knowing his next words might land him in the brig—or worse. "I have seen the hostile camp firsthand. You face not a few warriors but the entire Lakota nation. They stretch the full length of the Greasy Grass River."

  "The what, Stoltz?" Custer narrowed one eye and leaned forward. "Are you aware that 'Greasy Grass' is the Sioux name for the Little Bighorn River?"

  Jacob averted his gaze for a moment, then went on. "I know only that you face many more warriors than you would suppose."

  Suspecting now that he spoke to a madman rather than a soldier with valuable inf
ormation, Custer decided to humor him. He rose and said, "Well, thanks, Private. I'll be sure to take this information under advisement. Now if you don't mind, I have several hours' worth of work to accomplish."

  "But I do mind," Jacob declared as he jumped to his feet. "I mind that you will not listen to me, that you do not care enough for my people or your own to try to understand what I'm trying to say."

  "Private," Custer warned, "you are within one word of getting yourself arrested, even as we stand on the eve of war. Don't think for a minute just because we face a few hostiles, our rules and regulations will be relaxed."

  "And I say, respectfully, sir, to hell with your rules and regulations."

  "You're out of order." Custer made as if to stomp from the tent, but Jacob stepped between him and the opening in the tent.

  Custer's determination and inborn arrogance wavered as he stared into the eyes of the private, this madman who made nearly two of him. Lowering his tone, yet trying to keep an underlying threat in his words, he said, "What you're doing here can be considered insubordination, at the very least, Private. Perhaps you're overwrought and have been pushed too hard the last few weeks. If that's the case, I can make some allowances for what's happened here, but I will not tolerate any further—"

  "Why won't you listen to me?" Jacob cut in, no longer interested in protocol or his own safety. "I tell the truth. There are over nine hundred lodges in the valley. Do you know how many warriors await your arrival?"

  Custer's small eyes grew round, their centers hard, as he made the calculations. If what the private said was even close to the truth, he faced not a few hundred, but a few thousand hostiles. Where had this green soldier gotten his information? Could he believe even a little of what the private had to say?

  As he stared into those intense sapphire-blue eyes, warm trickles of foreboding suddenly skittered across Custer's chest. He took a backward step. "I don't see why I should believe you. How could you possibly have obtained such information and lived to tell about it?"