Chapter 22 #2
“Skylar, please,” she told the lieutenant, smiling down at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. And thank you very much for finding me gorgeous.”
The lieutenant smiled sheepishly up at Skylar, “Good day to you, Lady Douglas—Skylar!” He gaped at her a second longer, then seemed to come to his senses.
He lowered his voice quickly. “Hawk, Major, Willow, I think it’s a hard time to be Sioux, indeed.
Why, it seems to me folks in Washington must be blind.
They can’t keep a promise to save a life, and that’s a sad fact.
They’re tense as rabbits about this conference.
The general is just about gnawing on his own hat, awaiting your report, Major.
Though what anyone is meeting about, I don’t know.
The folks from Washington want the Black Hills burst wide open. And it’s happening!”
They neared a cluster of tents where Skylar saw officials in civilian dress, military men in uniform, and Indian scouts in their mixture of Plains dress and army issue.
Suddenly a young woman with long pigtails came hurrying forward.
“Bless me!” she exclaimed, staring at Skylar.
She pressed her hand to her heart. “Bless me!” she repeated.
“Minister’s wife, Sarah,” Danby said, making the introduction as if it were a warning.
Skylar realized that it was her doeskin dress the woman was staring at in horror.
She had forgotten her apparel until now.
How foolish. There weren’t many women at the camp, but those she saw were respectably dressed, in petticoats and skirts that had been somewhat modified for prairie conditions, but they were all quite feminine and fashionable, nonetheless.
“You poor, poor dear!” she exclaimed. “Lord Douglas, has this darling creature been a prisoner among the Sioux? Have you brought her back to the bosom of her own people? Does she speak English?”
“Quite well, Sarah. This is my wife, Skylar.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped, much as Danby’s had done. “There was a rumor from up your way that you had married, Hawk, but—oh, God, I am sorry. Lady Douglas. Er, Lady Douglas…” she broke off, extremely uncomfortable. “Lady Douglas, the sutler has some lovely gowns, if you’re interested.”
Skylar glanced at Hawk, amused.
He smiled in return. “I imagine my wife is quite interested. Skylar, I assure you, you’ll be fairly safe in Sarah’s company.”
“Lord Douglas, you can be very bad!” Sarah chastised him.
“Bad can be good upon occasion, Sarah,” Sloan assured her.
Poor Sarah flushed crimson. “Danby, can you please escort these men to the general? He’ll get them into some civilized clothing, and perhaps they’ll learn to mind their manners and quit taunting a na?ve little spirit like me!”
Hawk laughed. “Don’t let her fool you, Skylar. She’s a tigress.”
“Danby!” Sarah cried. “Will you please!”
“Major, Lord Douglas, please follow me.”
Danby seemed happy enough with his task as escort. “Lady Douglas, if you wish to accompany Sarah, I’ll care for your horse.”
Skylar thanked him. She slipped down from Nutmeg, well aware that Sarah was staring at her. Sarah suddenly regained her own manners. “I’m so sorry. Your hair is just so—”
“Blonde?” Skylar suggested.
“For that outfit!” Sarah gasped.
“I’m afraid I gave my ‘civilized’ clothing away,” Skylar told her, emphasizing the word “civilized.”
Sarah didn’t notice. She shuddered. “You’ve just come from the East? And been cast among the heathens!”
“My husband is half heathen.”
Sarah crossed herself. “Hush now! We’ve worked hard to bring him into the proper fold.”
“Oh!” Skylar said. She hurried along with Sarah, who could walk very briskly.
She felt the eyes of soldiers, civilians, and the scattered women here and there upon her.
She straightened her shoulders, wondering with more than a trace of amusement how many of them thought that she had been a prisoner of the Sioux, recently released by Hawk, Sloan, and Willow.
Then she felt guilty, well aware that many people here had had friends and family slaughtered by the Indians. She had found it very easy to take the Sioux side in this battle, perhaps because she had seen the Sioux side of it for the first time.
War was tragic for both sides, she reminded herself.
In a matter of moments, Sarah had her to the sutler, and in a matter-of-fact way, had quickly managed to go through every single one of the man’s garments, bargained outrageously for everything Skylar could possibly need, and managed to get it all folded and in a basket.
“The general will make arrangements for your tent tonight,” Sarah assured Skylar. “For now, you must come with me. David—my husband—is out among the men. You can wash and divest yourself of that dreadful garment—”
“This dreadful garment is a cherished gift,” Skylar said firmly.
“Oh.” Sarah didn’t exactly say the word.
Her mouth rounded into it. She stared at Skylar.
Then she started walking again. “Well. Well. One day, we’ll reach the Indians.
David says so. Then they won’t be heathens any longer, and they’ll learn that they can’t do murder and that they must settle down to white ways.
You can just…change your clothing. Fold up your, er, gift, and pack it for home. ”
Sarah hurried on. Skylar followed her, considering the woman a rather pompous but well-meaning creature.
Two hours later, she had washed. Her flesh carried the scent of Sarah’s lavender soap, and she wore a dress of calico cotton, silk stockings, and leather shoes.
David, young like his wife—just as pompous, Skylar thought, but just as well meaning—had come back to the large tent he had set up at the campsite.
Hawk, Sloan, Willow, the general, and many of his aides had come to the minister’s, and Skylar sipped sherry while she listened to the men worry about the question before them.
She realized that the soldiers among them seemed to realize that the treaties thus far made with the Sioux had been nothing more than promises made to be broken, and that half of them were sick about what duty required them to do.
A serious, middle-aged captain named Clark was especially interested in querying Hawk, Sloan, and Willow.
“Is it definite, then, that none of the Crazy Horse people will come?”
“It is definite that Crazy Horse will not attend,” Sloan told him politely.
The captain seemed deeply depressed. “I see trouble ahead. Great trouble.”
“The whites just don’t want to see how far they’re pushing the Sioux,” Hawk said.
“The whites! The whites!” Captain Clark exclaimed unhappily.
“We group them all together as savages. I suppose it is only fair that they group us together in return. I find our policies appalling! But if we wind up in battle, no brave will stop to ask me if I approve of American policy before he takes my scalp.”
“He wouldn’t understand that you weren’t part of it,” Skylar said quietly. “The only reason he will go into battle against you is because he chooses to do so. He assumes you have made a similar choice.”
She had spoken so softly. She realized that despite that, everyone in the tent was staring at her. Her husband in particular. He smiled at her and set down the glass of sherry he had been drinking. He turned to the general and the minister and his wife.
“We’ve had a long ride. If I understand correctly, you’ve accommodations for me and my wife?”
“Of course, Lord Douglas! Danby will be glad to escort you to your tent.”
Skylar said her goodnights, thanking Sarah. She paused by Sloan. He smiled and very elegantly and properly kissed the back of her hand.
Danby, talking away, brought them to their tent.
It was fairly large, with a decent enough camp bed. It was closely surrounded by many other tents. Hawk sighed softly, removing the white shirt he had donned since she had seen him before the party, tossing it over the back of a folding camp chair.
He sighed. “I guess we’d better get some sleep,” he said.
Skylar nodded, stripping down to her chemise. She climbed into the small cot. He doused the lamp on the crude table in the center of the tent, getting in beside her. He scooped an arm around her, holding her close.
“Comfortable?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
He was silent a minute. “You know, you’ve actually done quite well in a house, a tipi, and a tent.”
“I’m so glad you think I can handle ‘hardship’ competently.”
He laughed softly. “I’m very…”
“Yes?”
“Proud of you,” he said.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
His arm tightened around her.
“We’ve no…”
“Privacy?” he finished for her. He must have felt both her comfort—and her discomfort.
“No privacy.”
“We need some sleep anyway,” he said politely. His hand moved very gently through her hair. “Good night…wife.”
She smiled and closed her eyes.
He didn’t close his. Somewhere in the night, very late in the night, he noted a shadow.
The fire just outside the tent had burned low. Perhaps he imagined the shadow.
No. No matter how low the light might be, the canvas of the military tent was light and thin, reflecting any form of shadow.
And someone was moving just beyond their tent. Lifting the flap.
He leaped up in a silent flash, prepared this time, ready to follow…
“Hawk?”
She whispered his name, frightened, only half awake, clinging to him.
The shadow was gone.
“Hawk, what is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing, Skylar. I’m so sorry I woke you. Just a—a dream,” he said. He smoothed her hair.
She lay back again, her cheek against his chest. So trustingly. He stared at the canvas ceiling, entirely frustrated.
“Monsters,” she murmured, falling back asleep. Her fingers moved over the bare flesh of his chest. He bit back a groan.
They’d be home soon. Back to Mayfair. He’d be in complete control there. She’d be safe from Crow attacks.
He wondered why he had the feeling that monsters just might follow them anyway.
The actual meeting was to take place some distance from where they had camped.