Chapter 16 #3
“And neither was Black Shawl harmed,” Hawk reflected, smiling at Skylar. “She could have had the tip of her nose sliced off—it would have been her husband’s right.”
Skylar had had enough. She stood, angry with the lot of them. Hawk had been almost charming himself that afternoon. But no more. He, Sloan, and Willow might well be telling her the absolute truth, but in the telling, they were very definitely taunting her.
She tossed the rest of her coffee into the fire, dropped her camp cup, and started off on a walk toward the water.
“Skylar!” she heard Hawk call sharply.
She ignored his call, bristling as she hurriedly walked along the trail, pulling her cloak around her.
The moon remained round, lighting the path well.
Only the trees around her were shrouded in shadow.
Not far ahead, she could see the glowing patterns of moonlight dazzling and rippling upon the stream by which they camped.
The sky itself as well as the landscape seemed to be reflected there.
It isn’t my world! she thought furiously. Damn him! She’d done her best, she was here. She’d come with him into uncivilized country. She’d been abducted by enemy hostiles. She’d even made the damned coffee.
She kicked the earth furiously.
She was still paying.
She reached the water’s edge and squatted, scooping up a handful of the cool, clear water with which to bathe her face.
Her touch broke the soft rippling reflection, sending small waves shooting out against the night-darkened stream.
She cooled her cheeks again, wondering why she was so angry when they had all probably been speaking the truth.
It was the way they had spoken it. So mockingly.
No matter what price she paid, it didn’t seem that Hawk could forgive her. Right now, she hated him because of it.
And she hated herself for caring.
The rippling waves she had created began to ebb. A huge, dark shadow suddenly appeared on the water. She watched the shadow in honor, panic rising within her. The Crow. The Crow were back again…
She leaped up, a scream of terror forming in her throat.
She’d walked away again! God help her, couldn’t she learn to be angry and stay where she would be safe?
She spun around, ready to lash out, scream—run.
“Skylar!”
Her scream faded. Relief filled her with such force that she trembled with it.
Hawk stood behind her, his shoulders broadened by his cross-armed, irritated stance.
“What?” she demanded, trying hard not to gasp or to betray how very afraid she had been. She kept her distance.
She saw that he was trying to control his temper, grinding his teeth, relaxing his jaw once again.
“You can’t keep walking off.”
“There was little reason to stay,” she replied.
He lifted his hands. “There are certain things which are true in Sioux society. I cannot tell you differently.”
“I’m afraid I know nothing about making a tipi.”
“We’ll be staying in my grandfather’s home.” He stretched out a hand to her. “Come back to camp.”
She didn’t accept his hand. “I’m glad I’m not a Sioux,” she told him coolly.
Again, she watched him struggle to control his temper.
He dropped his hand and spoke with impatience.
“Again, you fail to understand. We are all people. A Sioux wife is sought by her husband, cherished by him. Though mores may be different in different human societies, emotions remain the same. A wife cares for her husband and children. In return, she is defended. And loved. And her children will love her, and when she is widowed, her family will care for her, her husband’s friends will give to her and honor her in his name.
She is free to laugh, to excel in her arts, to seek to love and be loved.
Know pride. She has little need for deception or cunning. ”
“Unlike a white woman,” Skylar commented.
He said nothing.
“Unlike me.”
He continued to stare at her. She fought the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. She gritted down on her teeth, realizing with a flash of insight that she had actually hurt him first. She had attacked what he was. He had attacked in return. She wasn’t up to the battle.
“I shouldn’t have forced you to come,” he said.
“But you did.”
“You have a talent for goading my temper.”
“You have a talent for goading mine.”
“You chose to come west.”
“Yes, but I—” she began, yet broke off quickly, not at all certain of exactly what she had been about to say.
“But you didn’t choose me,” he finished.
It wasn’t what she meant at all, but she couldn’t seem to find the words to say so. Even when it seemed that peace between them was within reach, she somehow seemed to lose grasp of it. His fault as much as her own, her heart cried out.
“You’re the one who doesn’t want a wife,” she reminded him lightly.
“But I’ve got one. And this is my life. Which you have chosen to join, since I did give you the opportunity to go back.” Again, he stretched his hand out to her, palm upward. “Let’s go back to camp.”
She hesitated.
“Damn you!” he swore. “I offer you what I can.”
“And maybe it is not enough.”
“And maybe you’ll have to give more to get more.”
“What could I possibly have left to give?” she cried out passionately.
He arched a brow, startled. “The truth,” he said simply.
“I haven’t lied—”
“And you haven’t given.”
“You’re wrong! I have given. I have given more than I had ever imagined I was capable of giving. There’s nothing—”
“There’s something. But I don’t think even the Crows could torture it out of you.” He lost patience and grabbed her hand, starting back along the trail toward their camp.
“The Crows!” she hissed. “You’re probably far better at torture!”
“We do like to think ourselves superior to our enemies,” he retorted.
“And am I your enemy?”
“You’re my wife.”
“But unwanted. So surely, there are times when you must forget that fact!”
He stopped walking so suddenly that she plowed into his back. The buckskin of his shirt smelled good. The feel of his strength, his warmth against her was still somehow reassuring in the wilderness despite the hostility of the words passing between them.
She stepped back, looking up at him, meeting his eyes, as he turned to her.
“Not for a second, my love. Not for a single second. And let me warn you. There’d best not be a single second you forget it either.”
“Is my nose at peril?” she demanded.
He arched a jet-black brow. “Your nose? How ridiculous.” He caught her hand, drawing her suddenly hard against him as he stared down at her. “Now, come along,” he told her again. Then he smiled, a menacing glitter in his green eyes.
“Squaw!”