“Do you forgive us?” Riley demanded. “Wait a minute, now, I didn’t really have a part in it?—”
“As much as me!” Sam insisted stubbornly.
“Ain’t much company out here,” Riley warned. “What speaks English, anyway. You need to forgive us, really.”
“You were both horrible,” she assured them. “I thought that I was being attacked, that I was going to be murdered.”
“But you’ve had your chance to explain yourself instead!” Riley said happily. He shook his head. “And turns out you two are man and wife. Don’t that just beat all?”
“Oh, it does!” Skylar agreed.
“Rich folks! They wind up married and don’t even know it. I say again, don’t that beat all, Sam? Don’t that just beat all?”
Sam shrugged. “Lady Douglas, you come on in and sit, and we’ll get you some cool water, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, whatever might warm your toes, eh?”
“Water would be lovely at the moment.”
“Coming right up. Wolf, you go on out to the kitchen. Lem’s in there cooking, and he’ll find a bone for you.”
Wolf barked and ran off, seemingly having understood every word Riley had said to him. Then Skylar was escorted inside by the two graybeards.
A young mixed-race Indian woman worked for Riley. She had coffee poured when they entered the public room, offering Skylar a cup before she was seated. Skylar thanked her, recognizing her as the girl who had brought her to her room when she had spent her one night here on her way west before the stagecoach incident. The girl was very pretty, she realized, and though she had been pleasant enough before, today she seemed to resent Skylar. Skylar didn’t know why but determined that she would ignore the girl’s coldness. Riley asked the girl to bring Skylar water as well as the coffee. The girl did as bidden but left them as quickly as possible.
“Been to Mayfair yet, Lady Douglas?” Riley asked.
“Into Gold Town?” Sam queried before she could answer the first.
She shook her head. “I’ve not seen much yet.”
“They’re newlyweds of a sort, Sam,” Riley advised sagely.
“Well, you’d think he’d take her on to Mayfair,” Sam said with a humph. “It’s a fine house, a very fine house. You’ll be pleased as punch when you see it.”
“I’m sure,” Skylar murmured. She sipped her coffee but then rose. “Where is the parlor, gentlemen?”
Sam indicated a hallway. She thanked him and walked along it until she entered a room somewhat smaller than the public room but more tastefully furnished. In the center of it, set upon a long table, was the coffin she’d purchased for David Douglas in Baltimore. It was fine wood, handsomely carved, cushioned inside with red velvet. She could see that because the man standing in front of it had thrown aside the top, heedless of the fact that the man inside had been dead many days now. Thank God the weather had been cool. Still, the scent of death permeated the parlor.
As Skylar paused, wondering if she could take another step forward without being sick, she saw Riley’s Indian girl approach Hawk from another doorway. The girl easily slipped an arm around his waist, said something softly about the corpse, and leaned her head against Hawk’s arm. Hawk made no protest, replying to the girl in an Indian tongue.
Skylar straightened her spine and turned quickly to return to the public room. She paused again because another man had come into the inn, one she recognized.
Like Hawk, he was dressed today in a cloth shirt and trousers. He had long, ink-black hair, worn straight down his back, a darkly bronzed face, and strong, handsome features. He appeared to be civilized, but she knew he had been one ofthe three Indians who had accompanied Hawk the other day, shrieking out their bloody war cries. She stared at him, and he returned her gaze but said nothing to her. She wondered if he spoke English, but then she heard Hawk’s voice, uncomfortably close behind her.
“Willow. You’ve brought the wagon in?”
He nodded gravely, still staring at Skylar. He arched a brow at Hawk.
“Seems she is Lady Douglas.”
“Oh?”
“My wife.”
“Ah.” He stared at Skylar, still offering no apology or explanation. “Sam, do you have the lady’s trunk? Tell me where, and I’ll fetch it while Hawk and his, er, wife have their meal.”
“I’ll help you with my father later,” Hawk said. Skylar felt his hands on her shoulders, propelling her back toward the table. The Indian girl appeared again with heavy wooden bowls of venison swimming in gravy. She set them down without comment and disappeared to return with a platter of fresh-baked bread. Her eyes were on Hawk, but he was apparently very hungry. He ate, heedless of her regard.
Skylar didn’t think that she could manage anything after having inhaled the scent of the corpse. But she’d eaten almost nothing in two days, and when she took a bite of the venison, she found it delicious and realized that she was starving herself.
