by Sharon Ihle
Squatting down, the Indian opened the large parfleche she carried and took several small pots from it. "These are your paints. They are made from the juice of berries and baked earth of many colors. If you wish to have more colors than these, you can mix them together." She pointed to a pot, explaining, "If you mix this one with the one—"
"I think I understand," Dominique cut in, eager to begin. "Thanks for your help."
With a barely contained sneer, Spotted Feather returned to her chores.
Dominique stood back and surveyed her giant canvas. After visualizing, then discarding many subjects, she finally settled on the perfect one. Then she painted until dark.
Two days of travel and two temporary villages later, the Hunkpapa settled down in a ravine near the Powder River. They were now eighty miles closer to their rendezvous with the other hostiles waiting at the Rosebud, and more than thirty miles beyond the reach of Custer's army.
While the other women finished setting up camp, Dominique finished the first scene on the tipi. Using her lips and tongue, she shaped the end of her small brush into a fine point and added a dash of white to the large sapphire eyeball she'd painted earlier. Then, as she stood back to make certain she had the correct angle on the highlight, Spotted Feather approached.
"Oh," the Indian sighed, her jealousy overridden by astonishment. "This is truly magnificent."
"Do you really think so?" Dominique glanced at the squaw, then back up at the giant eagle she'd been working on. Perched above the flap of the tipi, the bird's image was one of strength, of boldness, from the tip of its open beak to its wide-stretched wingspan. Dominique had blended the paints, then shaded the canvas so precisely that each feather was clearly defined.
Below the bird's body, one foot, its talons sharp and threatening, gripped the limb of an oak, but the other hung free, swollen and useless. Beneath this blood-red foot, a column of ants led down to the small mound painted at the base of the tipi.
Laughing at the symbolism, Dominique turned to Spotted Feather, asking, "What do you think Jacob will say about this? I hope he won't think it's too silly."
"Not silly," she breathed, still shaking her head in awe. "Oh, no. Redfoot with think it is truly beautiful." Her mouth open, she continued to stare at the expert depiction of the eagle.
From the distance, several yips reached their ears, then echoed throughout the village.
Spotted Feather turned to Dominique, her eyes wide. "He has returned. I must prepare his food."
"Who?"
"Redfoot, crazy one. I must go prepare his food."
"He's my—" She paused, still unable to believe it, but managed to say, "My husband. I'll prepare his supper."
Spotted Feather glared, in spite of her promises, then turned and marched toward the fire. Dominique followed along behind the Indian, uninterested in the squaw's instant lack of respect. She suddenly had bigger things on her mind. Over the past three days, she'd done little but paint and think about what she would say to Jacob when she saw him again. She'd rehearsed angry speeches, indignant demands, and accusing phrases. Now she couldn't seem to remember even one of them. She stood beside Spotted Feather at the cooking pouch, more hindrance than help as she absentmindedly stirred the stew and tried to recall the slightest word that might trigger her memory.
Then, too soon, Dominique saw him at the fringes of the village. Jacob walked through the smoky ribbons of twilight, his carriage proud, his thick German body shadowing those of his smaller Lakota brothers. His head bent low, he listened to one of the warriors, then responded with quiet animation. As he talked, he transferred his broad-rimmed hat and rifle to one hand, and worked at unbuttoning his gray regulation shirt with the other. When he stopped to give the hat and gun to his friend, Jacob finally looked up toward the center fire ring. Then he saw his woman. He froze, locking her eyes with his.
From across the short distance, his intense gaze hit Dominique harder than his fist ever had. She took a backward step, stunned by the raw emotions running rampant inside her. And then he began to move again. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he peeled off his shirt and added it to his friend's bundle. Then, his steps deliberate and calculated, Jacob advanced on her.
By the time he reached the fire, Dominique had given up the search for forgotten speeches. Instead, she struggled just to form the syllables and say one word: "Hello."
"Dominique," he breathed as he reached for her hand. "Are you well and happy? Have you—" Jacob's words evaporated as he noticed the healing wounds running the length of her arm. "What has happened to you?"
"It's nothing."
But Jacob pulled her closer and began a thorough inspection. He found not only the claw marks on her arms, but the bruises on her neck and the scratches on her legs. "You have been mauled, and more. How has this happened to you?" he demanded.
Spotted Feather shouldered her way against him, but the blend of envy and love vanished from her eyes as she listened to Jacob's questions and understood the response the answers might bring. The crazy one would tell him what had happened. Redfoot's anger would not be with the white dog but with her. And worse, if he really did feel some love for this she-devil, he might be very angry.
Spotted Feather hunched her shoulders, making it look as if she were shrinking inside her dress, and backed away from them.
The movement wasn't lost on Jacob. He glanced at the Indian, then turned his suspicious gaze on his wife. "Well? I do not wish to ask you again. What happened?"
Dominique peered out of the corner of her eye at the woman she'd befriended, then straightened her shoulders and found her voice. "Like you, I've been a little clumsy. I fell off my horse."
Jacob's eyes narrowed. Again he looked from Dominique to Spotted Feather and back to Dominique. "I don't believe you have told me all there is to tell. You did not receive these wounds falling off a horse. I want the truth."
At his words, Dominique found a lot more than her voice. Her memory returned. "That's as much truth as you deserve. It's certainly as much or more than you've ever told me."
After glancing around at his people, he looked back at Dominique, his gaze a distinct warning. "The only words I want to hear from your flapping tongue, woman, are the answers to my questions. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," she said, setting her chin. "And the thing I understand best is that you are two-toned, two-faced liar."
Taken back, Jacob raised his brows and said, "What? Why do you dare talk to me this way?"
"Because I, too, seek the truth, Mr. Redfoot." She lifted her chin and stood on tiptoe, bringing her shoulders level with his chest. "Why don't you start telling me the truth, husband dear? Maybe then you'll get a few honest answers from me."
"Oh," he whispered quietly, "you found out about that." Jacob released her arm, then stepped aside. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion later in my—our tipi."
"Perhaps, dear husband, that is one of the more clever things you have thought of in a long time." She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. "I think now would be an excellent time for our conversation, don't you?"
Jacob stared into her eyes, into what might have been the sable depths of insanity, and considered his options. He could stand his ground, as any Lakota warrior would, and order her to the tipi where she would have to wait until he was good and ready to talk. He took a quick survey of the other villagers. Yes, that was what he ought to do. Then he thought of the possible consequences and of Dominique's probable reaction.
The idea of the tears and sobs that would most likely accompany her expected response, the fact that her reaction would occur right out here in front of the other warriors, drove him to say, "Now may be the best time for us to talk. Yes, we will talk now. Into the tipi, woman. Go now."
Flashing a triumphant grin, Dominique whirled around and sashayed off toward the lodge.
So intent on choosing the correct words to explain their "mystery" wedding, Jacob directed his full attention to Dominique's retr
eating figure—and to her cute round bottom straining at the fabric of the white buckskin dress she still wore. After that taut behind disappeared into the tipi, Jacob started to follow her inside. Then he froze in mid-stride. Surely that was not the eye of some monstrous bald eagle staring him in the face. He stood back, staring up at the painting and said, "What is this?”
Dominique poked her head out through the flap. "Well, I had to do something to keep busy around here." When he ignored her words and continued gawking at the painting, she added, "Didn't I, Jacob?"
But still he didn't answer. He stood there staring, twisting his head this way and that, then brought his hands to his cheeks and sighed in amazement.
Anxious, Dominique said, "What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen an eagle before? Jacob? I thought we were going to talk."
"Yes. Yes, we must talk," he said, still transfixed by her work. "We have much to talk about, too." Then he finally ducked through the flap and joined her inside. “You painted my tipi? By yourself?”
Dominique blew out a sigh and stalked over to the fire. She grabbed a long stick and began stirring the embers, complaining, "There are a few things I'm capable of doing, Jacob. Things, I might add, that I can do extremely well. Painting is one of them. Don't you like the eagle?"
"Oh, yes," he said in a whisper. "I like it very much. It is very beautiful—like you."
Immensely flattered, her anger melting, she mumbled, "It's not that good. I'm a little rusty."
"I have never seen a painting of such perfection. But the thing I like best about it," he added, his voice a soft low caress, "is that you did it for me." He started toward her, a sensual glaze clouding his eyes.
Using all of her resolve, the last of her strength, Dominique pulled the stick from the fire and held it between their bodies, narrowly missing his exposed navel with the red-hot tip. "Oh, no, you don't," she warned, backing up. "None of that, Mr. Redfoot. We came in here for one reason and one reason only. Now, talk. You have a lot to explain, my darling husband."
Chuckling to himself, Jacob gave her a slow, lazy grin. Hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his cavalry trousers, he said, "Sorry if I'm having trouble remembering why we're in here. I've had many things on my mind these past few days—you in particular. I have been worried about you. I see by your many injuries I had cause."
"Don't change the subject. You know what we're here to discuss. Tell me all about this wedding I didn't know I was at. Who said 'I do' for me?"
He cocked his head. "I do?"
Exasperated, Dominique threw the stick to the ground. "How in God's name did you manage to marry me without my knowledge? Can you answer me that? And please tell me why you married me? I mean, was this absolutely necessary?"
"I see your tongue has suffered no injuries in my absence," he sliced in.
Grumbling inwardly, Dominique produced her best pout and stared up at him with mournful eyes.
Knowing from experience those beautiful eyes would flood with tears any minute, Jacob held up his hand. "Please, don't do that. I will try to explain."
The pout vanished. "Well? Go on. I can't wait to hear your newest lie."
"I have no need for more lies. I did what I had to do in order to protect you from the other warriors. If I hadn't married you, they would have used you for their own pleasure while I was away."
"Thanks for that much, Jacob, but couldn't you at least have asked me? Don't Lakota women usually know when they're about to become someone's wife?"
"Lakota women, yes," he said with a smile. "And I did mean to speak to you before the ceremony, but I'm afraid your flapping tongue left me no choice.''
"I see," she said, her eyes glittering. "So you just wrapped me in your blanket, took me to your tipi, and bam, we're married. Is that it?"
"Pretty much."
"Some ceremony, Jacob. Very impressive. How do you intend to divorce me? Unwrap your blanket and spin me out the front door?"
Laughing as that image flashed in his mind, he said, "Divorce is a little more complicated, but not much. I must say to you in public that I divorce you. Then the marriage is no more."
"Just like that?"
His expression solemn, he echoed, "Just like that."
"I see," she snapped. "And how do I divorce you?"
"You cannot. Divorce is not your decision. You are my wife until I say the marriage is no more."
"Not where I come from." Dominique looked away from him, no longer interested in or amused by the strange customs. Her tone low, accusing, she said, "It doesn't sound to me like the Lakota take marriage very seriously."
"They do," he said softly. "I did."
She jerked her head up to meet his gaze and saw the naked truth in his deep blue eyes. They seemed to be saying that he considered their marriage real, that to him the fact that she was his wife meant much more than a simple act to protect her. Could she believe him this time? Or was this just another in a series of deceptions?
"Jacob," she began, biting her lip between words, "when you brought me to your tipi—the second time, that is, several days ago—you said something." Dominique hesitated, searching for the right words, gauging his expression. She found an intensity in his gaze that shook her, knew that he was willing to stand there and let her babble on—flap her tongue, as he would put it— without making any attempt to rush her. With an awkward grin, she finally spit it out. "You said you loved me. Was that true, Jacob?"
His smile deepened and grew warmer as he said, "Except for a few necessary lies, I always speak the truth."
"Now what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "It sounds like another of your lies, and it doesn't make any sense."
"It does to me." He shrugged.
Dominique narrowed one eye and stared at him a long moment before she said, "Maybe it makes some sense to me after all. You don't really, honestly love me. You just—"
"I have put the entire Lakota nation, not to mention my life, in jeopardy because of you," he cut in, his tone cool. "After doing that, if you cannot understand how much this man must love you, then it is you who have managed to deceive me. I had thought you to be very smart in the head."
Tears stung her eyes and a huge lump blocked Dominique's airway. The words swimming through a tiny sob, she said, "Oh, Jacob. What's going to become of us?"
The anguish in her eyes, the look of what he hoped was a hint of her love for him, was too much for Jacob. He took two large steps and crushed her to his chest. "I don't know," he breathed against her golden hair. "I wish I could see the future like our great medicine man, Sitting Bull, but I cannot."
Dominique accepted the comfort of his strong arms and basked in the warmth of his love. Her senses drenched in his essence, in the heady scent of raw power and horseflesh, of sage and all that was nature, she pressed her mouth to his chest and murmured against the silken mat protecting his heart. "Why, Jacob? Oh, why does it have to be like this? Why couldn't we still be at the fort, dancing and having a good time, falling in love the way I've heard it should happen?"
Laughing in spite of the tender moment, Jacob pulled back and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "You mean there is a special way it should happen and we have not followed the correct order?"
"Oh, you know what I mean." Her cheeks grew warm, and Dominique knew they must be flushed. She lowered her gaze and shrugged. "I thought falling in love was supposed to be easier than this."
Again he forced her to look into his eyes. "Is this what has happened to you, wi witko? Have you fallen in love with me?"
Dominique puckered up her mouth and glanced around the tipi. She wasn't ready to tell him, couldn't seem to bring herself to say the words. She searched the walls, following the seam up to the skylight, then down the other side, cocking her head from side to side as if she were trying to decide how she felt.
Jacob released her and stepped back. "Perhaps you will know when I return from the warriors' lodge. I must go now. The Father awaits."
Dominique gasped
. "All right, I'll say it. Jacob, I love you."
With an indulgent grin, Jacob pressed his hand to his chest and said, "I'll believe those words from your mouth when they start from here. Perhaps when I return you will understand what I mean."
"But you can't go. We're not done talking yet."
"I am done for now. And I must go. I am not going to return to the cavalry tonight. I will come back to you. Surely your questions can wait until then."
Her expression coquettish, her dark eyes full of mischief, she said, "Well, I suppose most of them can, but there is one little thing I've been wondering about since I found out I'm your wife."
"Tell me what it is. Then I must go."
"I just wondered. I mean, if I've been your wife for the last four days and during that time you spent not one but two whole nights with me in this tipi, how come I'm still ... you know. Why haven't you ... Shouldn't you have tried to ..." She shrugged and rolled her impish eyes. "By now?"
