by Sharon Ihle
No. Surprised—not by the thought, but by the rationale behind it—Jacob averted his gaze so Gall couldn't see the confusion and the surge of insight flickering in his eyes. Where was the pain he used to feel whenever he thought of his days with Lame Fawn? He'd used that pain, the sense of emptiness, over the last four winters as a kind of punishment for the part he'd played in her premature death. Now it was gone, save for the remnants of a guilt he would never shake.
But what of love? Why had his mind instinctively told him this new love was nothing like the love he'd had for Lame Fawn? His feelings for the Indian maiden had been deep, but never filled with the intensity of those he had for Dominique. This niece of Custer was constantly in his mind. She rendered him nearly helpless, with a loss of control so complete that at times it terrified him. Life and love with his wife had always been quiet and dignified, a simple thing. With the crazy one, he was in constant turmoil, either wildly happy or insanely angry. He couldn't even imagine what life would be like as her husband. Suddenly he couldn't wait to find out.
Choosing his words carefully, he looked across the dying fire again and said, "My feelings are very much the same, Father. I cannot explain it better than that."
Gall narrowed his eyes and nodded, then continued with his questions. "The crazy one has no people here. Who will bless her union with you and give permission for this marriage?"
"I was hoping you would give it along with my own permission."
Gall nodded, deep in thought. "Then what of her people, her own mother and father? How will they feel about their loss, about the fact that she is being held captive in a Lakota camp? Will they turn their backs on her? Will they increase their persecution of us?"
Jacob walked a very narrow ledge. Any more discussion of Dominique's relatives would put the Custer name foremost in his mind and on the tip of his tongue. His inherently honest nature would be sorely offended if he had to tell his father any more lies. Then inspiration struck, and he used the words he'd recently heard spilling from the general's mouth: "It is no problem. She is dead to her family already."
"Then it is done. I wish you happiness, son, and hope this marriage does not interfere with the success of your mission."
Feeling cleansed, as if he could finally speak with a refreshing splash of honesty, he said, "Once we are wed and I no longer have to worry about the crazy one, my total concentration will be on our mission. That is a promise."
“I hope it is one you can keep.'' Gall gestured for Jacob to rise. Then he followed suit and walked with him to the opening in the lodge. He turned to his son, his mouth twisted into a sideways grin. "Since this woman has no family and I am to represent them, I hope you do not expect me to deliver gifts at your door in the morning."
"No, Father," Jacob said, with a chuckle of relief. "I think we can forget that part of the ceremony. Taking the crazy one as my bride will be gift enough."
"From what I have seen, taking the crazy one for a wife may be more burden than gift, my son. My present to you is a wish for much luck.''
"Thank you, Father," Jacob said through his laughter as he stepped into the night air. "I believe I can use all the luck I can get."
Still laughing, he made his way across the small village and stepped into his own lodge. Dominique sat in the middle of the tipi near the fire. His uniform lay beside her in a heap. In her hand, she held the letter of invitation she'd written him several weeks past.
Her dark eyes flashing accusations, she held the paper out. "So Peaches ate it, huh? Is everything you've ever told me a lie, Jacob? Can I believe anything you have to say?''
His good humor a distant memory, he stalked across the floor and snatched the note from her hand. "This is no concern of yours."
"It most certainly is. You lied to me.”
"Enough. I did not say you could look in my clothing. Now lie down and go to sleep before I am forced to put you to sleep permanently."
Dominique jerked her head back in a huff. "How dare you threaten me."
All thoughts of tenderness, of explaining their upcoming marriage and the reasons for it, vanished. Jacob rumpled the paper into a ball and threw it to the ground. "You still don't understand, do you? Perhaps I should throw you outside where many warriors will be happy to do much more than threaten you."
Dominique crawled to the edge of the rug, her eyes wide. "You wouldn't dare."
"No? Maybe it's time that I should dare a lot more." Jacob dropped to his knees and reached for her. "If you had been raised in this village, you would be the mother of many strong young sons by now. Perhaps you have remained a maiden for too long, crazy one." Keeping one strong hand firmly clasped around her arm, he reached up with the other and lightly drew the backs of his fingertips across her cheek. "A night spent in the arms of a Lakota warrior will most surely soften that barbed tongue of yours."
Wondering how serious his intentions were, she felt equally outraged and intrigued by the idea of their union. Dominique's voice was weak with indecision as she said, "No, thanks. Just leave me alone."
"That isn't what you want. I can tell by the look in your curious eyes." His middle finger traced her eyebrow. "See how your mouth trembles as you think about the heat of my lips against yours?" The finger moved down to her lower lip, then his hand slid down between her breasts and began stroking her flat tummy.
"You know better than I how good you feel here."
"No," she said through a sudden gasp. "Stop it."
Jacob's laugh was hoarse as he said, "Your voice and the look on your face do not match your words, crazy one. Let me show you what it is to be truly a woman."
Dominique pushed at his big hands as he grabbed her hips and dragged her beneath him, but it was no use. He was as strong as an enraged bear and twice as intent on his mission. Filled with indecision as he stretched his big body above the full length of hers, she opened her mouth to beg for mercy, but her parted lips only provided access for his driving tongue. He pressed himself down on her, bruising her, cutting off her breath with his massive chest as his passion flared to frenzy.
His strong hands were suddenly everywhere, punishing and rewarding her at the same time. Fingers of liquid heat pulled one of her breasts over the top of her low-cut dress and began kneading her nipple, surprising her with a surge of desire. The fingers of his other hand, tipped in flames, slid under her dress, singeing her thighs as they traveled to her center on a search for the treasure buried beneath her golden mound. Hampered by her drawers, Jacob's educated fingertips probed blindly, lighting small fires wherever they touched, as he sought entrance to the uncharted valleys of her sweetness.
Dominique bucked, moaning with pleasure and surprise as his touch threw open the doors of raging desire. No longer the lady, the properly educated daughter and the pristine niece, Dominique was raw, pulsating flesh, demanding gratification, consumed for the first time by the needs of a full-grown woman. She was desperate for some unnamed fulfillment, frantic to ease the agonizing pressure building inside her. Instinct made her snake her hands along Jacob's hips, then sent them slithering beneath his breechclout to his nude buttocks. There, her roaming fingers dug into his rigid flesh. She pulled him down toward the white-hot ache between her legs, grinding her hips against his, cursing the barrier of clothing between them.
"Oh, damn," she muttered. "Damn it all, Jacob—stop a minute."
Her writhing hips and agonized moans, the sight of her golden hair hanging loose and unkempt against the buckskin dress, inflamed him beyond reason even as her words jolted his conscience. She was desperate, not with passion but with fear. In her terror, her frantic attempts at escape, she'd nearly torn the skin from his backside. What was wrong with him? He'd almost taken her in a rage, used his passion for her as a tool of domination instead of an instrument of love. He was behaving like a lowly beast. He was no better than the wildest of animals to ravage an innocent like Dominique. Small wonder, if his behavior had been repeated by others, that the white man had labeled
Indians savages. Control returned to Jacob in a wave of disgust. He rolled off her and onto his back.
Fighting for air, Dominique struggled to a sitting position. What had happened to Jacob? Where had he gone? Still panting, she turned her head and stared over at him. He lay on his back with one arm draped across his face. His chest rose and fell in short, rapid movements, and droplets of sweat glistened in the shallow valley below his breastbone, spilling down along the trail to his navel. Her gaze followed that course to his hips, where her eyes held, then widened with surprise. The pouch beneath his breechclout strained to harness the huge swelling she'd heard about but never before seen. How could this be? How could such a monster fit inside even the largest of women? What had she been thinking of a few moments ago?
With a startled gasp, Dominique averted her face. Overcome by the sight, her own bold desires, and the dark forbidden thoughts running rampant in her mind, she covered her mouth and fought a sudden girlish urge to giggle.
At the sound, Jacob lowered his arm from his eyes and looked up at her. She was hunched over, her delicate shoulders trembling like those of a frightened rabbit. Knowing she must be horrified at his outrageous assault on her, probably crying as well, he ground his teeth and sat up behind her. "Dominique, please forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you. I thought you were ... I thought I could ... please understand. I meant you no harm." The trembling increased, and she turned her lovely face even farther away from him. Snarling with self-loathing, he lightly touched her shoulder. "Rest now. I will not disturb you again this night."
When she collapsed onto the blanket, Jacob lay down beside her, careful not to make any physical contact. He stared at her back, the icy blast of his own scorn freezing his muscles into tense cords, and exhaled heavily. How could he have touched one of such purity and naiveté so violently, so intimately? He had to remember that she was white, and white women were frightened of such things, found little or no pleasure in the most natural acts. He would have to move slowly with her, treat her as he would a young filly in need of breaking. Maybe, he thought, finding a glimmer of hope for the future, if he informed her of his plans and told her he intended to make her his wife in an effort to protect her from the others, she would react differently, accept him more easily.
Jacob practiced the gentle words he would use when he broached the subject in the morning. Then he thought of her barbed tongue and the probable response. First she would laugh at him, tell him she needed more protection from him than from the others. Next she would spit on him and tell him she could never agree to marry an animal such as he. So how should be proceed?
Thinking of the ceremony from every angle, it occurred to Jacob that she probably wouldn't even wonder what was happening if he went ahead with his plans. Marriage was a simple, private thing between two people in the Lakota nation. What had transpired would never even cross the mind of a white woman. She would not know that she was his wife. He would not tell her. The day he did would be the day she could look into his eyes without wanting to spit in them. Satisfied with the solution, Jacob prayed to the gods for sleep—and for the strength to ignore the woman lying next to him, the woman he wanted so badly.
But thoughts of Dominique, of her soft ivory skin and rounded curves, of how very close he'd come to making that softness his own, kept the ache in his loins at high tide. Grumbling to himself, Jacob tugged the blanket around his shoulders and began counting the dwindling Plains buffalo.
Even as she struggled to bring her breathing under control, Dominique continued to fight the urge to laugh. What was wrong with her? There was nothing funny here, not one single moment a woman of her breeding could find even remotely amusing. Yet here she was, still fighting the urge to giggle, panting as she wondered what it would have been like if Jacob hadn't stopped fondling her. Cursing him because he had stopped, she squirmed against the buffalo rug, seeking some unnamed relief, then rolled to her side.
Sleep. Perhaps if she could force herself to sleep, the inappropriate thoughts would vanish. She would stop thinking of Jacob and the new exciting sensations his touch ignited in her, forget the strong urge to reach out for him and beg him to ease her torment. She would think of Monroe, her papa, the lush greens of spring in her own hometown. Sighing to herself, Dominique rolled over on her tummy and began counting the ducks lining up for their morning treats along the banks of Lake Erie.
When she finally dropped off, the relief she sought was not to be. Her mind returned to Jacob and his experienced mouth, Jacob and his fiery hands, Jacob and the fascinating swelling that branded him as a man of passion. Her mind brought her body back to the heights he'd shown it, then suddenly her imagination carried her a step further. She was tossed inside a wildly gyrating kaleidoscope of passion she'd never guessed at or dreamed of before. She fluttered, with Jacob's hands and tongue as her wings, ever higher through the spectrum of colors until a brilliant explosion of scarlet and platinum shattered her dreams and eased her suffering. Then she sank into the dark, endless depths of slumber.
The following morning Dominique awakened refreshed from the first good night's sleep she'd had since her kidnapping. Then she realized her drawers were damp. Horrified, only vaguely aware of the sensations she'd experienced during the night, she jerked upright. What had happened to her? Why did she feel so alive, so ... strange? Dominique twisted her head to the side as a new, equally terrifying thought occurred to her: Did Jacob know? Had she cried out his name during the night? But he was gone. With a sigh of relief, she lay back down and stretched, curiously happy and satisfied. Then the flap opened, and Jacob stepped inside.
"Well," she said, unable to look into his eyes as she sat up, "this is a surprise. I would have thought you had to run back to the cavalry so you could pretend to be a soldier by now."
Spurred on by what he assumed was sarcasm, Jacob added some of his own. "That is no problem yet. Your dear uncle was quite happy to send me scouting two or three days ahead of the troops. In fact," he added as he crossed over to where she lay, "since I'm the nincompoop who managed to lose you, I think he encourages me to go on these trips of great bravery in the hopes that I will be shot or scalped."
"My uncle Armstrong is a very intelligent man." Dominique set her chin in a challenge, hoping he would accept it and continue his teasing, say anything as long as he didn't mention last night. But he ignored the invitation and instead tossed a buckskin dress across her lap.
"Put this on," he ordered, forcing his features to remain impassive. "Then we will eat."
Dominique glanced up at him, her eyebrows arched, then examined the garment. It was just another dress, but the hide was pure white and as soft as any flannel she'd ever touched. "Is this for something special, a party or something?"
"No. One of the women gave it to me. It is newer and cleaner than the one you wear now." To make sure she would change into it, he baited her. "Be quick about it. You are beginning to smell bad."
"I am not. If anything stinks around here, it's you." She pushed up to her feet, intending to continue her tirade, "In fact, if—"
"Removing your tongue is a job I have been looking forward to since you first flapped it at me," he said, interrupting her. He fondled the handle of his knife and grinned. "If you'd like to keep it, I suggest you put it back in your mouth and get dressed. I will wait outside, but only for a minute. Be quick."
"Oh, very well," she said with a stomp of her foot.
After he closed the flap, she studied the dress more closely. Not only was the hide white but the sleeves and hem were embellished with rows of thick fringe. The neckline, cut in the shape of a V instead of the round shape on the dress she wore, sparkled with decorations. Porcupine quills, sewed to echo the lines of the V, covered the entire front. Between these oblique lines were clusters of shiny blue beads along with a few scattered shells painted in bright colors.
Dominique quickly shed the tattered garment she wore and donned the beautiful new dress. Smaller than the previous buckskin,
this one fit snugly across her hips and ended a good two or three inches above her knees. She laughed as she pictured her indecent image descending the elaborate staircase of her home, then shrugged. She had much bigger things on her mind, couldn't afford to concern herself with modesty and the conventions that bound a young lady in white society. Her only priority now had to be survival—and escape. Dominique snatched the porcupine-quill brush off the rug and pulled it through her tangled hair.
She thought of Jacob's warnings about the jealous squaws as she smoothed her naturally wavy locks, but decided to adapt his orders to fit her own sense of style anyway. How could the other women hate her more than they already did? She braided a length of hair from either side of her head, then tied the two plaits together at the back of her head. This left the rest of her long red-gold hair to spill down her back, unfettered and free, a gesture of defiance of sorts, in contrast to the fact that the rest of her remained a prisoner. She topped the look off by plucking an eagle feather from Jacob's lance and jabbing it into the knot where her braids met. Then she positioned a length of hair across her shoulder, coaxing it to slip off the tip of her breast at just the right angle, and tore back the flap of the tipi.
