But she lifted her hand, indicating where he should rightfully take his place as host. He narrowed his eyes at her, in warning, hoping that she had no tricks up her sleeve.
Soon after he entered, Sloan arrived, then Willow, Ice Raven, and Blade. Crazy Horse’s friend He Dog arrived as well, and the tipi was quite full.
They smoked, and they drank brandy that Hawk had brought from Mayfair. Skylar served them the liquor, and she served them stew in wooden bowls. She never looked directly at any of the men—except at Hawk once.
And still there was that glint of amusement in her eyes, which made him a bit uneasy, but…
She was beautiful, graceful, so very quick to serve—and most mercifully, silent. She couldn’t have been more charming and subdued.
Which was why he was so startled when her revenge befell him.
He noted that He Dog was behaving strangely at first, gulping down brandy as if it were water. Crazy Horse, who had appeared to savor Skylar’s stew, was suddenly doing the same. Skylar was quick to serve more and more brandy, but it never seemed enough. His guests stopped eating and kept drinking.
Hawk took a bite from his own stew bowl. Skylar really was an excellent cook, the stew was very good, but…
Hot. Burning. There was enough pepper in it to season half the buffalo kill in the West.
Crazy Horse was wheezing. He Dog was coughing. Even Sloan was choking. Hawk grabbed his own brandy—guzzling it. He set his stew bowl down and rose, staring at Skylar.
She stared back blankly. With complete innocence. He excused himself to his company striding toward the back of the tipi where she was standing. His mouth, his throat, his eyes, nose, and body all still seemed to be burning from the pepper. None of his guests said a word, of course. Crazy Horse was being courteous, assuming Hawk’s wife could do no better.
“Lady Douglas,” Hawk said, keeping his voice low so that he could not be heard by those among his company who understood English. He opened his mouth to continue. He was afraid to talk, afraid to move, so furious that he was afraid he would hurt her. He reached to the ground, picking up a large skin gourd and shoving it into her hands.
“Water!” he ground out.
Her brows shot up. “What is the matter with you? I’ve done everything?—”
“In the world to humiliate me. Get water, now!”
Her lips pursed, her eyes burned silver. She started to shove the gourd back. “Get your own damned water—” she began.
But never finished. He caught her wrist, twisting it around with such speed and determination that he had forcefully pressed her before him and was on his way out of the tipi with her. He excused himself to his guests, explaining that his wife wasn’t as familiar with the use of her Mayfair seasonings in different surroundings as she was at her customary home.
“This time, Lord-Wretched-Manhandling-Douglas, I have had it!” she cried out, still propelled forward as they left the tipi. She cried out, swearing at him, as his rush toward the river caused him to press harder upon her arm. “I spent the entire day trying to entertain squaws who spoke no English, I welcomed one of your ex-mistresses into the tipi—since it seems you and Sloan apparently never minded sharing before. I worked the entire day and now?—”
“You worked the entire day!” he exploded, shoving her forward and free from his grasp. “You plotted the entire day, is what you did!”
They’d come to the same alcove in the trees by the river where Sloan had been with Earth Woman that day. Night had brought a definite chill to the air, and Skylar was shivering. “Plotted! I beat the meat, seasoned it?—”
“Enough to kill a herd of buffalo!”
“I did not!” she snapped back indignantly.
“You almost ended the entire Sioux problem all by yourself, choking to death half the leaders of the resistance!”
“I did not!” she repeated, appalled, her indignation growing, along with her tremors.
“I hope you’re freezing,” he told her, “Because I’d like to shake you until every bone in your body rattles, slap your perfect little derriere. String you up?—”
“Me!” she shrieked, suddenly approaching him. “You ungrateful, swaggering egotist! How dare you!”
She came before him. Directly before him. She suddenly slammed both fists against his naked chest with a power that hurt.
“You get your own damned water and kiss your own damned butt! I’ve had it!”
She slammed her fists against him again and turned imperiously on her heels to walk off. Incredulous, he watched her for a moment. Then it seemed that his fury ignited, sending him tearing after her, not knowing what he was doing, but damned determined she wasn’t going to just walk away. He caught her by the hair. She shrieked. He grabbed hold of her shoulders, spinning her around. He was down upon a knee, not really intending to drag her over it, but she tripped and fell there and was shrieking like a wild cat before he made a conscious move. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare—” she cried.
He dared. Her doeskin dress had been dragged up her body. His hand fell upon naked flesh.
