Bless her! She couldn't begin to imagine how damned close!
Hawk didn't seem to require very much sleep. When Skylar awoke, he was up, bathed and dressed, sipping coffee. Late last night, they'd drunk the champagne, eaten the fruit, cheese, and bread on their elegant platter. Skylar still felt exhausted.
Hawk, apparently, did not.
She saw that he was losing patience waiting for her to
rise. He was coming toward her. She remembered the less than dignified rap she'd received upon her person the morning before and rolled swiftly away before he could manage a repeat.
"Ah, you are awake."
"Is it really morning?"
"It was really morning when we actually went to sleep. Now it is really, really morning, and we have to get moving."
"Yes," she said. But she rolled again, closing her eyes. A big mistake. That less than gentle pat upon the rear came upon her, resounding in the quiet of the morning.
"Must you do that?" she demanded irately, springing up, clutching the pillow to her chest.
"Well, it does work."
"Well, I imagine one day it will work equally as well on you."
"I'm not terribly afraid of such a consequence, since it seems I'm the earlier riser. And I want to start on the way. Sloan and Willow will be anxious if we don't catch up with them soon."
"Now, why would they be worried when they might surely realize you spent a night in civilization?"
Something changed within his eyes. They glittered with a hard light once again when they had actually gazed at her with something akin to gentle amusement if not tenderness. In the pink filtering early morning light, his hair was very sleek and very black, his stance hard, his features chiseled. He appeared very much the Sioux, and one ready to do battle at the moment.
"We are leaving civilization now," he said, his tone harsh. He came to her, his fingers threading through her hair. "At long last, into the heart of enemy territory!"
"Are these people your enemies?"
"They are yours, aren't they?"
She lifted her chin, staring at him. ' 'Do you immediately think the worst of every full-blooded white? Or is it just me?" she demanded.
He smiled slightly, as if he might almost appreciate the humor of his words.
"Things will change," he assured her. "They will change. I don't know where you've come from, other than that my father found you in Baltimore." He plucked up one of her hands. "But you've never known much hardship."
"Do you think the only hardship is to be found in the wilderness?" she demanded heatedly.
He arched a brow at her. "Want to tell me about it?"
"I can live with your hardships," she informed him coolly.
"Ah. Well, then, though I greatly appreciate your present lack of apparel, I'm afraid I must suggest that you put clothing on. I'll be in the dining room—I admit to liking morning coffee served to me with cream and breakfast. If you make it down soon enough, I'll even let you have breakfast as well."
"You are truly the finest of husbands."
"Take it while you can," he warned her. "Trust me, in Sioux country, things will change."
"Is that a threat?"
"Absolutely."
He left the room. Skylar was capable of being very quick—and she knew him well enough to take his threats to heart. The road might well be full of hardships, and she was certain she was as prepared for them as she boasted.
In fifteen minutes, she was downstairs with him in perfect repair, even her hair combed and simply tied back at her nape by a scarf. She thought that he might offer a glance of approval; he offered her eggs if she could finish them in another fifteen minutes. She gave him a smile in return, ordered eggs, bacon, ham, biscuits, and grits. She managed to eat somewhat daintily—and finish the entire plate within the time he had allotted her.
"Let's move. I want to catch up with Willow and Sloan before nightfall."
"Don't you have to go for the horses?"
"They're waiting outside."
"Our bill—"
"Is on account. May we leave?"
They rose to leave the Miner's Well, assuring Mrs. Smith-Soames on their way out that their accommodations had been excellent. Skylar was certain that the woman was still talking to them when Hawk drew her outside, nearly throwing her atop her roan.
"Come on," he said.
"Damn you, Hawk!" she grated to him. "You're in the most terrible hurry in the world until you decide to stop. You were rude to that poor woman—"
"I wasn't rude; I was on my way."
Dear God, but he was different by morning. Games were over; playtime was done. She was furious; she wanted to protest his behavior anew. Now he was like the warrior, the stranger who had abducted her from the stagecoach. His mood and manner were wild.
He could hold her, and she could feel so close to him. So secure.
She could believe that he could keep all monsters at bay.
But now ...
She didn't know him. He was different. He was a different breed.
Before she could offer another protest, though, he gave the roan a slap on the rump and they were suddenly racing out of the raw, tiny village of Gold Town as fast as they had come into it.
She looked back and shivered.
Aware that it was the last of civilization she might see for a very long time.
She was entering a savage land ...
With a savage man.
Her husband.
Fifteen
By early afternoon, they caught up with Willow and Sloan.
They didn't pause long for any greetings but spent the rest of the day riding very hard.
In addition to the horses and the cattle, there was a mule in their traveling party that carried all the equipment they needed to camp out in the hills.
Skylar became acquainted with the stubborn creature not too long after sunset when Hawk and Sloan agreed to stop for the night. They were both familiar with the region, knew right where to find a beautiful, bubbling little brook with flatlands right around it sheltered by low-dipping trees.
Skylar was amazed when at last they stopped. She had ridden all her life and was a good rider, and she had never thought of herself as a person lacking in stamina, but she was so sore she was afraid she'd fall when she dismounted from Nutmeg. Thank God, for the absolute salvation of her pride, she didn't do so. In fact, none of the men even seemed to notice her discomfort: they were apparently so accustomed to such hard rides themselves. "We'll see to the cattle for the night," Hawk said, looking down at her from Tor's high back. "Perhaps you could get some coffee started."
She nodded. He'd made the suggestion politely enough. The brook was clearly in her view, and Willow, bless him, was starting to make a small fire.
"The coffee pot—?" she asked.
"Oh, in the pack. On Skeffington," Hawk said, gesturing toward the mule before moving on.
And thus she met Skeffington. As soon as she approached him, he turned. "Stand still!" she commanded the creature. She came around again. Skeffington moved in another half circle. "If you'd stand still, you'd be happier. I'd get those packs off your back and you wouldn't have to carry them anymore!"
Skeffington apparently didn't care. He moved again.
"Skeffington, we have to make coffee."
The mule lowered his head and let out a loud bray. He'd been left untethered, and he suddenly started walking off, straight toward the water.
"Don't you walk off on me!" Skylar said, running after him. But Skeffington was already in the water. "Get out of there!" Skeffington ignored her. He was drinking. She swore and removed her shoes and hose, lifted her skirts, and went after him.
The water was icy. She stepped on little rocks. Her hem was quickly soaked.
"I wonder what mule meat tastes like!" she muttered fiercely.
She reached Skeffington and caught hold of his lead rope.
"Come on. You're not going to enjoy a drink or anything else until you lea
rn to behave!" she threatened.
She tugged on the lead rope. Skeffington bucked his back legs and tugged in return. She redoubled her efforts.
"Hey! How's that coffee coming?"
She looked back at the left bank of the brook. Hawk was standing there. As she turned to him, Skeffington suddenly decided to come along. He did so with such an abrupt force that she was sent spinning forward, falling into the icy water.
As Skylar stumbled up, she was shivering wildly. As she found her footing, she saw that Skeffington was standing docilely on the bank, right next to Hawk. Wolf ran around the mule, barking excitedly, wagging his tail.
Hawk wasn't exactly laughing—his smirk was worse.
"Come out of there!" he told Skylar. "That water is cold."
Dripping, well aware that the water was damned cold, she walked from the brook. She passed by Skeffington.
"What about the coffee?" Hawk asked.
"Make your own damned coffee!" she retorted. She made her way to Willow's fire, hunching down before it, trying to warm her hands. A moment later Hawk was at her side, setting the coffee pot atop the blaze, then throwing a blanket around her shoulders.
She stood, allowing the blanket to fall.
"You know, you're as stubborn as that mule," he told her.
"You knew I'd have trouble."
"I know that you are an incredibly resourceful young woman," he told her. He rose, picking up the blanket. "I have more clothes for you: you don't need to freeze."
She arched a brow at him. "You—brought clothes for me?"
He shrugged. "I didn't know how well prepared you might be for this kind of ride."
"Thank you. I can prepare on my own."
"If you insist upon freezing, freeze!"
He left her. She heard him then with Willow and Sloan, back by the brook. She glanced toward the roan and her blanket roll where she carried her own change of clothes.
Not about to undress too close to the men, Skylar led the roan about a hundred yards down water from them. She paused there, looking around. The barest vestiges of natural light remained, softly glowing upon the landscape. It had to be one of the prettiest places she had ever seen. Here, where she stood, an outcropping of rocks rose high to her left, with the brook bubbling just to the side of it. Wild- flowers grew around the rocks and trees in profusion, their colors a soft palette in the twilight. The night was cool but beautiful, the air incredibly fresh. She could immediately understand why this place was so important to the Sioux people. It did seem like a holy land, shrouded in natural beauty.
The roan suddenly hedged back on her, much as the mule had done, neighing, snorting restlessly.
"Not you, too!" she warned the horse. "So far, you've been an angel. No acting up on me now."
She glanced around, a feeling of unease settling over her. She felt as if she were being watched. No wonder the poor horse had been so skittish. "It's nothing, nothing at all." She lowered her voice. "Just another trick being played upon me, probably."
She sensed movement behind her, as if the rocks were coming alive. She spun around, still cold and shivering, feeling the dampness of her clothing more fully now with such a keen sense of discomfort stealing into her as well.
She wasn't alone.
Four braves had slipped down in silence and now stood on the ground, creating a semicircle around her. Despite the coolness of the night, they were dressed in moccasins, leggings, breechclouts, and paint. Their chests were bare, other than the designs sketched upon them in shades of yellow, black, blue, and red.
More of Hawk's friends! she thought, her anger simmering hotly. He didn't dislike her... hah! He didn't believe a word she had said about never hurting his father, and even if he had sent for Sabrina, he was still furious over discovering himself married. He meant to torment her until the end of her days. First the stupid mule and the icy water. Now this.
Well, she wasn't going to fall for any of it anymore.
One of them, the brave in the middle with several feath- ers plaited into his long hair, raised a knife to her, then his free hand, indicating that she should come to him.
"Oh, no. I don't think so!"
He frowned angrily, brandishing the knife again.
"You can stop it right now. You're not frightening me in the least. I've done this once already."
The men looked at one another, then all four painted faces stared back at her.
She walked up to the one closest to her on the right, a fellow with one feather stuck into his head of waist-length ink-black hair. He, too, lifted a knife to her threateningly. She struck out with her palm, hitting his arm with such force that she sent his knife clattering down to the rocks. "I said I've had enough of this! I've had this game played on me once before. I'm not afraid, and I'm not doing it again! You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Just what do you think you're doing?"
They had been quiet, almost uncannily so. Now the fellow toward the center with the most feathers started laughing at the brave whose knife she had knocked away. The other two joined in, coming behind him in a taunting circle.
"Fellows," Skylar said. "This is enough. You were great; you looked wonderful. But I've had it. Now..."
She broke off with a startled scream. The single- feathered warrior she had struck was now coming toward her, plucking up his knife and walking with menace. "You take it any farther and I'll press charges, whether you're a friend of Hawk's or not!" she warned. "I won't be responsible for what I do to you. You could wind up hurt yourself."
Her threats didn't seem to carry much weight. The warrior kept coming toward her. "Stop it—I mean it, now!" An arm snaked out for her, dark fingers encircling her wrist and wrenching her forward. She let out a loud shriek, slamming her free fist against the brave's face while kicking him in the shin. The others continued laughing as the brave wrenched her forward, then dragged her back toward the center of their group.
"Let me go, I mean it!" she cried out.
Then she heard her name called. The sound of pounding hooves against the earth.
Hawk, bareback on Tor, burst into the clearing. He cried out words she didn't understand. He leaped down from Tor, pulling his own knife from a sheath at his calf as he faced the party of four, speaking again in an Indian language.
"I've told them to stop it," Skylar said. "I've told them that enough is enough, that the joke isn't funny—"
"It isn't a joke," Hawk said.
"But they're your friends—"
"Not even my acquaintances."
"But—"
"They're not Sioux, Skylar. They're Crow!"
"Crow?" she repeated.
She was wrenched around then by the Indian with the knife. Hawk came flying across the ground, tackling the Crow brave who held her. Freed from his touch, Skylar instantly backed up against the rocks. There were four Crow Indians. And Hawk. Where were Willow and Sloan?
The two men on the ground rolled furiously in the dirt. She heard a thudding sound. Both men were dead still. Then the Crow, who had been on top, slid into the dust, blood staining his bare chest. Hawk leaped to his feet. Even as he did so, Skylar let out a warning shriek. Two of the remaining braves rushed him then, their knives raised high, aiming to take his life.
She leaped to her own feet, searching the area frantically for a weapon. She found a heavy rock and lifted it, then threw it hard at one of the braves Hawk had pushed away from himself. She'd aimed for his head, but the rock hit him in the shoulder. He let out a bellow of pain, then struggled to his feet with fortitude, staring at her. He no longer seemed interested in the fight between Hawk and the other Crow. He lunged toward her.
She turned to run but tripped over the body of the dead Crow warrior. She landed next to him, staring into his open, glassy eyes. She shrieked out again in terror, trying to rise to her feet. The brave behind her caught her around her waist. She struggled wildly, kicking, flailing, screaming.
Nevertheless, she was dragged away.
The
fourth warrior had apparently gone for the Crow ponies. Skylar suddenly found herself thrown atop one, with the Crow leaping up behind her. While Hawk continued in hand-to-hand combat with the Crow on the ground, the other two warriors began to ride, with her draped over one of their horses and her roan being led along. They paused long enough to try to steal Tor as well, but Tor would have none of it. He reared with such violence that the Crows quickly abandoned their attempt to take him.
Skylar screamed again as loudly as she could manage. She'd been so determined to put some distance between herself and the men! Now there was no one to help her. Hawk would be murdered, and she would be ...
Crow.
She struggled to rise, but the Crow were excellent horsemen. The pony she'd been tossed upon was moving at reckless speed in the twilight, running ridiculously hard over land that was rocky, uneven, rising, falling.
Her head slapped against the horse's haunches. She tried to brace herself. She could see the ground moving, dust flying up from it. If she fell, she'd die.
What of Hawk? If he died, she realized, she'd be heartbroken. How insane! This had been his fault. Her fault, too. She'd left the camp. Because of the stupid mule incident. His fault. He taunted her constantly. His fault. Because she couldn't quite manage to tell him the truth. He'd never given her the benefit of the doubt. But he had been ready in an instant to risk his own life for hers.
Tears suddenly flooded her eyes. Was he dead? He had to be, or he'd be coming for her now. How did she know that he wasn't?
As they approached a high outcropping of rocks, the Indians reined in their horses. She heard voices, a number of them, excited voices. She was dragged down from the pony. There were more warriors here. She tried to count them. The two who had taken her and five more men. They encircled her and spun her around to face each of them. They were mocking her, tormenting her, she thought.
Yet she wasn't as terrified as she should have been. She had known this fear once before. And strangely enough, she was now more worried about what might have happened to Hawk than about anything that could befall her.
One brave thrust her toward another, and then another. She'd had enough. The next time she landed in a pair of arms, she kicked the brave in the shins with all her strength. He howled, raising a hand to strike her down.
No Other Man Page 21
