No Other Man

by Shannon Drake

  The fire glowed. They whispered, cried out. Stars rode the night sky.

  Climax burst upon them, shattering, dazzling like the stars.

  Beyond the soft crimson glow that danced in light and shadow in the tipi, the moon began to hide her face as the sun sent its first slim rays peeking out from the eastern horizon.

  They slept.

  Skylar woke again very slowly. She was exhausted, bone weary. Sore. Yet she felt delicious. Cherished. The Sioux cherished their wives, he had told her. Last night, he had made her feel that way.

  She opened her eyes fully, then realized that Hawk was awake at her side. The fire had died, but the sun's light was so strong beyond the tipi walls that even though the Happed doorway was closed, there was plenty of light within. She couldn't help noticing how the muscle rippled cleanly within the lines of his handsomely developed chest and shoulders, along the flat line of his abdomen ... hips, (highs. He was beautifully formed and perfectly honed. She was coming to know him so well. The feel of his face, his hair. His mouth. What she feared and resented, she now longed for. He angered her so quickly but compelled her so completely ... it was so dangerous!

  He was her husband, she reminded herself, and the thought made her tremble.

  A husband who hadn't wanted a wife.

  He was staring at her, she realized. She prayed he wasn't leading her thoughts. He drew a line down the length of her cheek with his thumb, drew another across her lower lip.

  "It's late, isn't it?" she asked.

  "In the morning, yes."

  He still watched her very intently. Then he smiled. A satyr's smile. She understood its meaning almost instantly, hut by then, she was drawn against him; he was atop her uid all too quickly eliciting a response from her, so easily did she surrender to his desire.

  And her own.

  Afterward, as he lay beside her, Skylar closed her eyes, succumbing to exhaustion. She could have slept so easily then. She'd never felt so sated in all her life. So filled, so a part of another, and oddly, glad of it. So very much that was wrong lay between them. Yet the distance that stretched between their hearts and minds seemed to be shortening. She'd never imagined such an intrusion as this man in her life. Yet he was her life. Waking, sleeping, and in between. He was her life.

  She opened her eyes, only to find him staring at her intently once again. Something about his gaze caused her to ask, "What is it?"

  He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Nothing, my love. I just discovered something new, that is all."

  "And what is it that you've discovered?"

  "I like the days as well," he told her. Then he rolled away from her and rose, drawing up one of the massive robes from the ground and slipping into it. He left the tipi and she smiled, hugging her arms tightly around her chest as she closed her eyes once again.

  Indeed.

  She liked the days, too.

  Nineteen

  Skylar had slid back into the doeskin when she heard a soft call coming from outside the tipi. It was Little Rabbit, one of Hawk's cousin Pretty Bird's daughters. Little Rabbit peeked into the tipi, smiling shyly. She made motions with her hands to show Skylar she meant to take her to wash her face.

  Skylar smiled and went along with her.

  They walked some distance from the camp, downriver, until they came to a place where a number of the women, both old and young, were bathing. They had lain their i lothing upon the shore and slipped into the water. They laughed, splashing one another, and called out to her in words she could not understand. She felt somewhat shy herself about stripping completely before such a large group, but she found herself surrounded. The dress was I >u I led over her head, and she was being led into the water.

  The cold water was shocking. She would have leaped bom it had she been allowed. As it was, she found herself In the middle of a massive water fight, studied by many of ilie giggling women.

  The Sioux women came in all sizes and shapes, slim and plump, short and tall, young and old. Many of them were very pretty, but one woman stood out, Skylar noted. Not only was she exceptionally well-shaped, but she had unusually beautiful eyes, which slanted slightly upward, and she continually carried the curve of a secret smile about her lips. Her every movement was sensual. Someone said something to the woman, and she laughed, looking over to the embankment. A man was standing there, in the shadows hidden by the brush, so Skylar couldn't see who he was. The sensual Sioux woman made no move to duck beneath the water; instead, she cupped it in her hands, sluicing it down over her body. None of the women seemed concerned about the situation; it must not have seemed unusual to them.

  In time, the women came out of the water, found their clothing, and dried their hair in the sun. Skylar saw the exceptionally built young Sioux woman slip off into the bushes. She watched her, then thought no more of it. She wished she knew where Hawk had gone. She hadn't imagined that he would disappear so early and not come back. He was perfectly at home. He was home. She wasn't exactly suffering, but she couldn't speak with these women, and she didn't have the least idea of how she was supposed to spend the day.

  Hawk's little cousin provided her with a comb that had been carved out of bone.

  And she prayed that it wasn't human bone.

  She worked on her hair, then saw that the women were beginning to drift back to camp. She followed along, but halfway back, noticed that she had dropped her comb. She fell behind the others to search the ground for it, then realized that she had taken a turn from the water as she had done so. She had turned into an area where little alcoves jutted from the hills, almost like caves. She couldn't be lost, she assured herself. She hadn't come that far. Then she heard a woman's laughter. She followed the sound into one of the grass carpeted alcoves, surrounded by berry bushes. There stood the sloe-eyed beauty from the stream. She hadn't bothered to dry herself; her doeskin dress, so soft it might have been cotton, was molded to her body. She talked to the warrior in front of her, a man dressed in leggings, breechclout, moccasins, and no more. She laughed softly again, doing most of the speaking, and though the language was Sioux, Skylar was well aware that her words were both sultry and seductive. She started to back away, hoping to disappear without being seen. But then she heard the man's reply. Again, she didn't know the words.

  She did know the voice.

  Hawk's.

  She was completely unprepared to discover him where he was, and with whom. She didn't think, she reacted, and her reaction was frightening. She felt as if she had been knifed cleanly through the lungs, and the pain was staggering, as if she could no longer breathe.

  And she felt like a fool.

  Believe him, take him at face value. Well, he constantly admitted to his past. The past kept catching up with them now. And this woman seemed a very determined piece of his past.

  Furious, Skylar turned and stumbled from the alcove. She walked straight into a bramble and was almost blinded. She spun around, the bramble catching her hair. As she tugged to free the wayward strands from the bushes, another set of hands came in to help her.

  "Stand still."

  Hawk.

  She wrenched at her hair, trying to free it from the bush and his grasp.

  "Let go of me."

  "Skylar, stop it, stand still—"

  "Get your hands off me!"

  "Skylar, I'm warning you—"

  She was free. She'd left half her hair in the bush, but she was free. She spun around, hands on her hips, meeting his gaze and hoping she wouldn't burst into tears. Just when she had thought that...

  That what? she mocked herself. He had fallen madly in love with her? That despite the circumstances of their marriage and everything he had said about other women, he had come to long for only her? A whore in town was perhaps easily forgotten. Perhaps he had intended on meeting an Indian lover here all the time. But what difference could that make? He had told her he wouldn't allow her to really mean anything in his life when she had insisted that she wouldn't go back. Why did she care?


  "You had no right to drag me here. None. You could have ridden here on your own without humiliating me, you could—"

  "Shut up, Skylar."

  She inhaled instead. He looked wickedly dangerous. Half naked like any pagan on the plain, sun-bronzed, lean and muscular. She hated it—hated it! She wanted to be reasonable, but jealousy and pain were overwhelming her. She fought it as best she could. "You could have just left me alone, you half-breed bastard. You could have left me at Mayfair and come here and done—done whatever you chose to do without causing me—"

  "Skylar!" His green eyes narrowed sharply; his voice lowered. "I'm warning you, lower your voice."

  "Don't you dare warn me about anything—" she began, then gasped. She hadn't chosen to be silent; she simply gave up speaking because all the air that had been in her lungs had been swept out of them when he'd wrenched her up and thrown her over his shoulder. She tried to push up against his back. She slid—his body had somehow been subtly greased. She slid down against his flesh, but managed to inhale again, growing worried despite her anger as he walked long and furiously down a path through the brush that fronted the river.

  "Let me down now! You can't get away with this—" "You're going to stop me?" he demanded, suddenly setting her upon her feet.

  "Yes, I'll stop you!" she challenged. But as she stumbled and tried to catch her balance, his hands were on her again, pulling off Deer Woman's elegant

  doeskin dress. She swore, striking him, fighting to retrieve the garment. But she was lifted again, and then she had the sensation of sailing. She cursed him as she flew through the air, only to cry out as she landed in the icy cool river once again.

  She sputtered to the surface, but he was there. Instead of admitting defeat, she flew at him again, but his chest was now wet and slick and her blows seemed to be deflected even as they fell. He caught her arms. "I don't begin to understand you. I don't even know what the hell this is about, but you will not do this here."

  "You don't know what it's about? And I will not do what here?'' she demanded. Then she cried out because his fingers had tightened to such an extent that her arms were in real pain. He didn't seem to notice.

  "Hawk! Damn you, please!"

  "We're going back to the camp. Where you are going to be a good wife. No one expects you to really understand a woman's work, but you are going to cook a delicious meal for your husband and a number of his peers."

  "Oh, am I?"

  "You are."

  "What peers?"

  "Crazy Horse is joining me to eat this afternoon."

  "Crazy Horse is coming to dinner?" she repeated, astonished.

  "And it had best be a damned good one!"

  She tried to jerk free. He held her fast.

  "You're out of your mind. I'm not—"

  "You are."

  "Since it seems you are in pursuit of another woman, get a second wife for the entertaining you plan on doing. Your white wife is leaving."

  "What?"

  "You heard me!"

  "My white wife is about to be throttled or drowned. And 11 you humiliate me any further—"

  "If I humiliate you!"

  "You risk our lives if you risk my reputation here. I'll tie you to a lodge pole and take a buggy whip to you before I let that happen."

  It was an idle threat. He'd never dare carry it out. Or would he?

  "Let me go!" she demanded.

  To her surprise, he shoved her from him. She landed some distance from him in the water. She quickly scurried across the shallow river to the other side, emerging naked upon the grassy embankment.

  She stood, flipped her soaking hair around, and started walking.

  "You're walking back naked, my love!" he called back to her.

  "Well, you are the one who just removed my clothing."

  "You needed to cool off."

  "Fine. I'm cool. And I don't give a damn! Morality seems completely lost here."

  "Morality is higher here than anywhere you know, Lady Douglas. Now get your sweet little butt back here and listen to me before—"

  He was still talking, but she suddenly stood dead still. She was looking across the river again, near where where she had found Hawk. The buxom Indian maid remained in the general area, but now she was back in the water, her doeskin dress once again lying upon the branches of a tree. Her back was to Skylar as she laughed softly, talking with a brave in the water, splashing him. Skylar saw the brave, leaned back upon the embankment, scantily clad in breech- clout and buckskins he didn't seem to mind wetting any more than Hawk had minded. From the rear, from the side, he looked very, very much like Hawk. He lifted his dark head, his eyes focusing on Skylar, a brow rising.

  It wasn't actually a warrior. It was Sloan. Casual, muscled, bronzed, and yes, so very much like Hawk in that strange way they shared as half-breeds.

  A smile of amusement flicked across his features, and she realized that she was standing there stark naked. But even as she made that realization, the breath was knocked out of her again as she was swept up firmly from behind. Hawk. His hold a vise once again, his body slick, wet— and burning. He was angry with her. Nothing new. He was more than angry. He was furious, and disappointed.

  The Indian maid turned, smiled, and waved—bountiful breasts bouncing in the water. She waved to both of them, Skylar thought. With a gnawing in the pit of her stomach she realized that Hawk had probably come to the river with Sloan. He might have just been talking to the girl who was obviously close with Sloan.

  Then again, she might obviously be close with everyone.

  Hawk lifted a hand in turn to the girl and a very amused Sloan and hissed in her ear. "You ever take off naked again, Lady Douglas, and I promise you'll spend a night lashed to a lodge pole!"

  They were going back downriver again. She shivered in his arms, chilled by both the cold and his manner. For once, she thought that she had been wrong. Oh, God. She'd been hurt; she'd been jealous. She'd behaved ridiculously. Why? Why had she allowed herself to care so much that she could behave so badly? What was it about him that had seeped into her system, making her want him, making her care?

  She felt like a total fool. She didn't know how to apologize, and then again, he hadn't behaved so very well himself. After everything else, he didn't really deserve an apology.

  "Hawk!" she cried out, gasping as she hit the cold water once more. He ignored her, dragging her across the river until they stood in the sun once again and he had picked up her dress. "You're the one who stripped the damn thing off! Now you're half killing me to get it back on. You had best make up your mind!"

  "And you—!" he retorted, fingers threaded into her hair, tilting her head back so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "You had better be the best damned Sioux wife you'd ever want to imagine!"

  He held her hair too tightly. Tears burned behind her lashes. "Damn you—"

  "No, Skylar, this time, you've got no right! And you don't know the least thing about fair play, about carrying out a bargain—"

  "Fair play!" she gasped.

  "You wanted money, you wanted it your way, sent to your exact specifications. I did exactly what you wanted. But those little things don't mean a hell of a lot to you, do they?"

  He released her so suddenly that she would have fallen had there not been a tree branch conveniently within reach as she stumbled back. It didn't matter; she was chastely dressed once again, and he was walking away.

  Shaking, she closed her eyes—regrouping whatever pride, strength, and dignity she could muster.

  What really bothered her now was that he had seemed so disgusted with her lack of... commitment? Fairness? She had to admit that he had sent the telegram exactly to her specifications. Thankfully, as well, there was a great deal of Douglas money in eastern banks. She had gotten precisely what she had asked him for. And wasn't that all that really mattered to her?

  Skylar squared her shoulders and started back to the camp. She couldn't be the absolutely perfect Sioux wife— she
was going to need some help.

  But she did believe in fair play, and she did owe Hawk. And Crazy Horse was coming to dinner.

  When she reached the camp, she saw that people were watching a group of braves prepare to ride out of camp. Some of the men were adding touches of paint to their ponies and faces before mounting up. Hawk and Sloan were among the group. Neither seemed to notice her.

  One brave, however, seeing her, suddenly broke from the group and came striding toward her. He wore a red jagged slash of color down his face, and no more. The color partially hid a scar on his face, but neither the paint nor the scar diminished the fact that he was a striking warrior with strong chiseled features. Arms crossed over his chest, he surveyed her without apology. Skylar didn't think she'd ever seen a more menacing warrior, but she determined to stand her ground and returned his perusal. Yet even as she stared at the warrior, Hawk, chest naked but unpainted, strode to her side, pulling her in front of him as they both laced the man. "Crazy Horse," he said, then switched to Sioux for a moment. She heard her own name spoken before Hawk returned to English, telling her, "Skylar, this is an introduction—acknowledge it!"

  She longed to elbow her husband directly in the ribs. She controlled her temper, refrained from doing so, and nodded gravely to the impressive warrior before her. He smiled. He became completely different in that moment—a man like any other man. She smiled in turn.

  He said something to Hawk in Sioux. Hawk stepped by her, and the two men strode back to their party, swinging up with swift agility onto their horses. Crazy Horse suddenly lifted his rifle into the air, letting out a frightening cry. Skylar nearly jumped at the sound of it but managed not to do so. Sloan raised a hand to her. He had quite a smile of his own, she thought. For a man who could be so intense and determined, the charm and the sensuality in his grin were startling. She flushed slightly, remembering that she had sauntered naked in front of one of her husband's closest friends, yet it was with a certain encouraging friendliness that he smiled to her now. Sloan was willing to do something Hawk was not: accept her without terms.