No Other Man

by Shannon Drake

  "Someone will be out to look after it all," he said briefly. "Let's go." He took the coffee pot from her hands, indicating the door. She walked on outside.

  A bark greeted her. She jumped back alarmed, but the dog, Wolf, was wagging his tail furiously. He was huge, half her own size, Skylar thought, and looked as if he could shred her into numerous pieces. But even as her heart seemed to stop and she hung back, he came close to her, shoving his wet nose against her hand.

  "He just wants attention," Hawk said, coming out and closing the door behind him. He hunkered down on the balls of his feet, petting the dog. "Good boy. Let's ride, eh? Let's get Tor."

  Wolf barked and leaped on ahead. Skylar hurried down the steps, realizing the copse where they'd come was very pretty. High oaks shaded a trail down to a clearing where Tor waited. Wildflowers grew at the base of the trees. There were pines as well as the oaks, lending a sweet fragrance to the air and a soft carpeting to the earth.

  Skylar reached the horse and came to a halt. He was saddled and bridled, though she hadn't seen a saddle on him the other day when she'd first taken a wild ride across his haunches. She glanced at Hawk, who read her thoughts. "Stable is right back there," he said, pointing down a path that lead toward the right of the cabin. She nodded. He leaped up on his horse, reaching a hand down for her. She hesitated, wondering if she could manage such a leap, but she needn't have given her own abilities any thought. He reached down impatiently, grasped her arm, and easily swung her up in front of him. His horse instantly began a trot that sent her slamming against his chest time and again.

  A few moments later, it was worse. They were racing across open plains. The breakneck speed terrified her, while it seemed that Hawk barely held her, barely kept her from flying from the mount. She grasped the horse's mane, clinging for dear life.

  If she died, he'd be free again. The thought was not a comforting one. Yet even as Tor slowed his gait, she felt Hawk's hand against her waist, the rock wall of his chest behind her. She had been safe all the time. He didn't intend to kill her. Not yet, at any rate.

  When they reached Riley's, Riley and Sam were sitting on the long bench in front of the inn and stagecoach stop. Sam, his white whiskers twitching, his face red, rose quickly, coming forward to help Skylar down from Hawk's horse. "Afternoon, Lady Douglas. I'm glad to see you, I am—"

  "You should be!" Skylar told him.

  He stood duly chastised as Hawk leaped down to stand behind her. Wolf barked, wagging his tail, and Sam quickly patted him on the head in welcome while addressing Skylar. "Ma'am, I've got to admit, none of us here had an idea of who ye might really be—"

  "Turns out she is Lady Douglas," Hawk said.

  Sam's big blue eyes went moon wide. "You were married up with David—"

  "No, she's married up with me," Hawk informed him. "Seems my father made the arrangements, just forgot to tell me. Sam, did you bring my father in yet?" he asked quietly.

  Riley had come by then to stare at him and Skylar. "Your pa is in the parlor. Hawk. I sent word out to May- fair; guess you weren't there. I'm expecting someone back with a wagon so your pa can be laid out right at his home." He spoke to Hawk. He stared at Skylar, then scratched his head. "So—you're married?" he said in astonishment to Hawk.

  Hawk tethered Tor in front of the inn. "Seems so. I'm going to see to my father. Have you anything good on the menu today, Riley? I'm starving."

  "Some of the best damned venison you'll find either side of the hills!" Riley said proudly. "Fresh bread, apple pie—"

  "We'll take the lot," he said. Without glancing in Skylar's direction, he walked into the inn.

  Sam turned to Skylar then. "Lady Douglas." He spoke quickly. "I'm rightly sorry, miss, I am. Taking part in— what do you call it—sub-ter-fuge."

  "Downright trickery," Riley said sadly.

  "But you got to forgive us. Hawk didn't know who you were no how, and it just seemed as if you had to be playing some kind of that trickery on the lot of us. Do you understand?" Sam asked anxiously.

  "Do you forgive us?' Riley demanded. "Wait a minute, now, I didn't really have a part in it—"

  "As much as me!" Sam insisted stubbornly.

  "Ain't much company out here," Riley warned. "What speaks English, anyway. You need to forgive us, really."

  "You were both horrible," she assured them. "I thought that I was being attacked, that I was going to be murdered."

  "But you've had your chance to explain yourself instead!" Riley said happily. He shook his head. "And turns out you two are man and wife. Don't that just beat all?"

  "Oh, it does!" Skylar agreed.

  "Rich folks! They wind up married and don't even know it. I say again, don't that beat all, Sam? Don't that just beat all?"

  Sam shrugged. "Lady Douglas, you come on in and sit and we'll get you some cool water, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, whatever might warm your toes, eh?"

  "Water would be lovely at the moment."

  "Coming right up. Wolf, you go on out to the kitchen. Lem's in there cooking, and he'll find a bone for you."

  Wolf barked and ran off, seemingly having understood every word Riley had said to him. Then Skylar was escorted inside by the two graybeards.

  A young half-breed Indian woman worked for Riley. She had coffee poured when they came into the public room, offering Skylar a cup before she was seated. Skylar thanked her, recognizing her as the girl who had brought her to her room when she had spent her one night here on her way west before the stagecoach incident. The girl was very pretty, she realized, and though she had been pleasant enough before, today she seemed to resent Skylar. Skylar didn't know why but determined that she would ignore the girl's coldness. Riley asked the girl to bring Skylar water as well as the coffee. The girl did as bidden but left them as quickly as possible.

  "Been to Mayfair yet, Lady Douglas?" Riley asked.

  "Into Gold Town?" Sam queried before she could answer the first.

  She shook her head. "I've not seen much yet."

  "They're newly weds of a sort, Sam," Riley advised sagely.

  "Well, you'd think he'd take her on to Mayfair," Sam said with a humph. "It's a fine house, a very fine house. You'll be pleased as punch when you see it."

  "I'm sure," Skylar murmured. She sipped her coffee but then rose. "Where is the parlor, gentlemen?"

  Sam indicated a hallway. She thanked him and walked along it until she entered a room somewhat smaller than the public room but more tastefully furnished. In the center of it, set upon a long table, was the coffin she'd purchased for David Douglas in Baltimore. It was fine wood, handsomely carved, cushioned inside with red velvet. She could see that because the man standing in front of it had thrown aside the top, heedless of the fact that the man inside had been dead many days now. Thank God the weather had been cool. Still, the scent of death permeated the parlor.

  As Skylar paused, wondering if she could take another step forward without being sick, she saw Riley's Indian girl approach Hawk from another doorway. The girl easily slipped an arm around his waist, said something softly about the corpse, and leaned her head against Hawk's arm. Hawk made no protest, replying to the girl in an Indian tongue.

  Skylar straightened her spine and turned quickly to return to the public room. She paused again because another man had come into the inn, one she recognized.

  Like Hawk, he was dressed today in a cloth shirt and trousers. He had long, ink-black hair, worn straight down his back, a darkly bronzed face, and strong, handsome features. He appeared to be civilized, but she knew he had been one of the three Indians who had accompanied Hawk the other day, shrieking out their bloody war cries. She stared at him, and he returned her gaze but said nothing to her. She wondered if he spoke English, but then she heard Hawk's voice, uncomfortably close behind her.

  "Willow. You've brought the wagon in?"

  He nodded gravely, still staring at Skylar. He arched a brow at Hawk.

  "Seems she is Lady Douglas." "Oh?"

&n
bsp; "My wife."

  "Ah." He stared at Skylar, still offering no apology or explanation. "Sam, do you have the lady's trunk? Tell me where and I'll fetch it while Hawk and his, er, wife have their meal."

  "I'll help you with my father later," Hawk said. Skylar felt his hands on her shoulders, propelling her back toward the table. The Indian girl appeared again with heavy wooden bowls of venison swimming in gravy. She set them down without comment and disappeared to return with a platter of fresh-baked bread. Her eyes were on Hawk, but he was apparently very hungry. He ate, heedless of her regard.

  Skylar didn't think that she could manage anything after having inhaled the scent of the corpse. But she'd eaten almost nothing in two days, and when she took a bite of the venison, she found it delicious and realized that she was starving herself.

  ' 'When you going to have a proper service for his Lordship?" Riley asked Hawk.

  "Tomorrow night."

  "I heard as how some suggested he should be buried in some big family vault in Scotland," Sam said.

  "His wishes were always clear. He wanted to be buried at Mayfair, next to my mother," Hawk said. "He'll have what he wanted. I'll get the Reverend Mathews out tomorrow around dusk to say the words. You all ride on out if you wish."

  "Be fittin'," Riley said.

  "He was one fine man."

  "He was."

  Riley was suddenly staring at Skylar. "Did you know him well, Miss—Lady Douglas?" he asked politely.

  Hawk had suddenly ceased to eat. He was watching her, just as politely, his coffee cup in his hands. "Did you know him well, my dear?"

  "I knew him well enough to know that he was aware he was ill, though he had told no one else," she said, returning Hawk's challenging stare.

  His eyes darkened. He lifted his cup to her. "What a deep and binding friendship," he murmured, and only she, Skylar was certain, could hear the biting sarcasm in the comment. "I can't wait for you to tell me all about it," he continued politely. "Which I'm sure you'll be doing very soon."

  "It's difficult these days to be too sure about anything, isn't it?" she inquired pleasantly.

  He smiled. Sipped his coffee. "There are some things of which I am very sure," he said softly.

  "But you're determined to find out things on your own," she reminded him.

  "You've suggested I do so." "From experience I know that you do so."

  "Sometimes it's easier when I'm given a little information."

  "Pity is that you don't seem to like to accept information when you're given it," she said very sweetly, very aware that both Riley and Sam had grown very silent, their eyes darting nervously from her to Hawk and from Hawk back to her again.

  Hawk stared at her hard, setting down his cup. "You're right. What I have to find out, I will," he said simply. Then he stood abruptly. "Riley, you are managing to have food here good enough to attract a crowd. We're trying to keep the population down around here, remember?"

  "There's gold here, Hawk. Ain't much chance of that."

  "Reckon you're right. I'm going to give Willow a hand with the coffin, then we'll be on our way. Thanks for taking Pa in, Riley."

  "There's nothing I wouldn't have done for him," Riley said sadly.

  Hawk nodded, acknowledging the compliment. His eyes suddenly riveted on Skylar. "We'll be on our way in a matter of minutes. Be ready."

  She resented his tone and didn't reply. It didn't matter. He didn't expect a reply. He went down the hallway. It didn't seem that a full minute had passed before she could see him and Willow through the doorway, carrying the coffin out to the wagon.

  "So his attacking 'Indians' all speak excellent English as well!" Skylar murmured aloud.

  "Now, young lady, that's not quite true," Sam said. "Lots of his kin learned some of the language from David, and some Indians as of late have been learning what they can of the white man's tongue in self-defense, but don't you go assuming anything around here. Willow lives not far from Mayfair. He's got the prettiest little half-breed baby girl you'd ever want to see. But the other two Oglalas with Hawk the other day are just about ready to turn their backs on all that's white, period, plain and simple. Then, you gotta remember this—many Sioux don't think a thing about trading with a white man one day and declaring war on him the next. These are dangerous times. You remember to take care out here, young lady. Great care!"

  Skylar nodded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll do that."

  "We'd best be getting you out there," Riley said anxiously. "Looks like Hawk's about ready."

  "And Hawk can't wait a minute like anybody else, hmm?" Skylar asked him.

  Riley stared at her, shaking his grizzled head. "Why, ma'am, I guess he's just ready to get his father back home again."

  She nodded, sorry to upset these two. Despite the roles they had played in the charade, she liked them. They were comforting old fellows, two peas in a pod. And she might find friends few and far between out here.

  "Then I'd best be going," she said, striding by them out to the wagon. The coffin and her trunk lay in back. Wolf was in the back bed of the wagon as well, his muzzle set mournfully on the coffin.

  Willow held the wagon reins in his hand while Hawk waited impatiently by the single step to the open front seat. Before Skylar had quite reached him, he lifted her up, setting her down next to Willow. "I'll be riding ahead," he told her flatly. "It's only a couple of hours to Mayfair; the weather should hold." He looked at Willow. "All set?"

  "Yep, all set."

  "See you at home, then."

  He stepped back, slapping the backside of one of the two heavy draft horses pulling the wagon. Willow lifted the reins, and the wagon wheels began to turn. They headed out from the flat expanse of rocky lawn in front of the inn to the road. Skylar looked ahead as they jounced out onto it. Then she turned back.

  Hawk had mounted, but he hadn't yet left the inn. The Indian girl stood by his side, her hands on his foot where it rested in his stirrup. He looked down at her, speaking with her.

  Skylar turned her eyes back to the road ahead. The man Willow, at her side, drove in silence, his eyes ahead as well.

  "I don't suppose you're going to apologize for your part in that pathetic act the other day?'' she inquired pleasantly.

  A slight smile curved his mouth, but he didn't glance her way. "Act? He says that you are Lady Douglas, so you are. But that was no act, ma'am. We are all Sioux warriors; we have all raided, seized wagons, stolen horses. . . women." He shrugged. At last he turned to her, looking her up and down. "He needed to know who you were. It was the way he chose to find out. Apparently, he did. And you're still here. You haven't run. So we didn't frighten you so badly after all."

  "You scared me half to death," she told him. "But I don't run easily."

  He smiled again, looking ahead at the horses. "Then maybe you'll survive the Badlands," he told her, adding softly, "and the times to come."

  "And your friends," Skylar added beneath her breath. She wondered if he heard her. Perhaps he did, because he laughed quietly.

  The sun was just beginning to set. Burned into dark pastels, it sank into a mauve splendor that edged the hills in the distance.

  From somewhere, a wolf howled.

  And against the shadow-draped sky, the moon rose even as the sun sank. The air became chill and sharp. Flatlands stretched ahead until the abrupt rise of the hills. The night was suddenly silent.

  But then she started as she heard the sound of horse's hooves bearing down upon her.

  She turned. Hawk rode at her side, looking down at her, his face as shadowed and dark and forbidding as the landscape.

  "You've crossed onto Douglas property again," he told her. "Mayfair lies ahead. As do the rivers, the hills—and true Sioux country."

  "So which is home?" she asked him.

  "All of it," he told her flatly. "But Mayfair is all you need to concern yourself with. I'll be waiting there. Just what was your exact comment last night? What you want to know, you can just find out on
your own? Ah, yes, that was it. There's a damned lot I still want to know. I'll be waiting to find out on my own."

  She spoke softly, very aware of Willow at her side. "If you're expecting something from me, you'll be waiting until hell freezes over."

  "We'll see," he warned her. "We'll see." He nudged Tor. The stallion suddenly took flight in the night. A dark, soaring shadow, horse and rider disappeared across the plains.

  But she knew well that Hawk hadn't gone that far.

  And that as he had promised, he'd be waiting.

  Eight

  Across the hills along the Powder River, Indian lodges stretched out along the horizon. There were perhaps a hundred lodges here, where close to three hundred warriors lived with their women and children.

  When they reached the lodges, Blade and Ice Raven went to their sister's tipi. Pretty Bird was a young widow who had recently lost her husband during a raid against the Crow. She now lived alone with her four young children and was glad that her brothers had come to stay with her. She lived with the Crazy Horse people, not because they were one band or family but because she and her husband had chosen to do so. Still, life for a woman with young children could be difficult, no matter how seriously the rest of the group might take its Sioux responsibility for generosity.

  Yet they had barely greeted Pretty Bird and had a chance to eat and slake their thirst from the ride when a warrior arrived, asking them to come see Crazy Horse. Both men were glad to do so.

  Crazy Horse was a warrior who commanded respect. He had never suggested to others that they must follow him or become hostile. He led by example and was respected be- cause his deeds in battle had always been so extraordinary. Crazy Horse refused to leave his injured braves behind after a fight. He was quick to lead and equally as quick to risk himself. He was brave without being reckless of the lives of others, a brave man who could think as well.

  Crazy Horse had been a Shirt Wearer when the practice had been revived among the Sioux, one of a very few honored men among the people who had the power and authority to keep the young braves together in a hunt or a fight.