“Your family grows. You’re richly blessed.”
“You should have married again before now,” Dark Mountain told him gravely. “Had you had two wives before…you’d have had solace for the loss of she you loved so much.”
Hawk smiled. “It’s different in my father’s world, you know. A man takes but one wife. At a time, at least.”
“Because white men must worry about their belongings,” Dark Mountain said with a shake of his head.
Hawk nodded. “Yes, that can be quite true. But then again, wives can cause headaches. One at a time can be enough.”
Dark Mountain was grinning. “I’ve heard tales about your new wife,” he said. Hawk arched a brow, though he realized his cousins Blade and Ice Raven must have been talking about the parts they had played for him in the stagecoach attack. “One husband needs all his strength to subdue her. Though for a white woman, she is said to be very beautiful, with hair just like the sun, well worth a battle.”
“She does have a fighting spirit,” Hawk admitted dryly.
“Well, even if she’s much trouble, I am glad you have a wife now. You will not be alone. You’ve lost much, suffered much. In time, perhaps, Wakan Tanka will bless you with many children. When you come among us, we will do the proper ceremonies. You are a warrior who has graced his heritage. Wakan Tanka will listen. He will give you sons. Sons will help you remain close to your father with less pain because you will give them all that your father was, and in the telling, you will remember. Loss, my friend, is the way of life.”
Hawk nodded, smiling. He was truly glad to see Dark Mountain today. Though their paths had greatly diverged since the days when they had been boys, they remained friends, and Hawk felt certain they would remain so no matter how much time passed and no matter how dire relations grew between the hostiles and the white world.
“I’m glad for you, Dark Mountain, that life remains rich and grows richer.”
“It grows more dangerous as well, but that is for another time. I will stay with you and your father now. Soon, others will come, and then you will give him up.”
Several hours later, Hawk sat at his desk, rubbing his temples.
There was a tapping at the office door. “Come in,” he called wearily. He’d already spent an hour with Henry Pierpont, going over his father’s will—and the addendum, which he had just received. The document had arrived, duly witnessed, Henry assured him, soon after the news of his father’s death. There were no surprises in it other than what he already knew. The fact that Skylar would receive Mayfair and the Sioux lands if he were to make any attempt to negate the marriage. A reading of the will wasn’t necessary since he was the sole heir as long as he complied with his father’s wishes. His home was by right his wife’s home as well.
It was Skylar herself who opened the door. Skylar in black velvet and silk. Despite the somber color of her gown and the severe twist of her golden hair, she looked perhaps more compelling than usual. Black became her, enhancing the glittering color of her hair, the ivory of her skin. The clean sweep of her hair emphasized the classical perfection of her throat and features. Though she had risen when he had awakened her and done quite an admirable job of taking over a household full ofstrangers, she had equally managed to avoid him throughout the morning and afternoon.
“Yes?”
“The Reverend Mathews has arrived. He’s eager that the service be conducted at the graveside before dark.”
He nodded. She didn’t leave.
“Mr. Pierpont was your father’s executor?”
He arched a brow. “Yes?”
She hesitated still. He smiled with no warmth. “I see. You are curious about whether you were mentioned in the will.”
She stiffened. He shook his head grimly. “I’m so sorry, my love. It seems my father left you—me. And your place in this house, of course.” He stood. “Other than that—well, my love, I was his son. I’m his sole heir.” Was it a lie? No, it was the absolute truth because he’d damned well comply with his father’s terms. She wasn’t going to walk away free with one bit of Douglas property.
“I am quite aware that you’re his heir. But I must admit that I was curious if there were any mention of how I am to live.”
He arched a brow and extended his hands. “You’re to live here. Amply provided for, no?”
“But there are little things?—”
“If you should need something, you need only say so. It will be provided for you.”
Her lashes lowered. He thought for a moment that she was in distress, and for some absurd reason, he felt a tug at his heart rather than a rise in his temper.
But then he remembered that he was about to bury his father. And she had thought that she had married his father, had become a widow—and an heiress. The tug at his heart faded. With renewed but controlled anger, he walked around his desk, taking her arm.
“Let’s go down, shall we?”
The company was very mixed indeed, with agency Indians, soldiers, settlers, sutlers, and their various wives gathered in the parlor. Old Sam Haggerty and Riley, who along with David Douglas had been among the first whites to stake a home in the Dakota wilderness, sat in the front row of chairs that had been set up there.
The Reverend Mathews stood at the head of the coffin. He looked as if he might be a hundred and ten, with a full head of white hair and a face so wrinkled by the sun that it seemed to carry deep grooves. He nodded to Hawk when he saw him enter the parlor with Skylar on his arm. “My friends, we will begin.”
