But then, Custer was a man of many contrasts. Again, though he doted on his wife, it was also common knowledge or accepted rumor that she often vied with his beloved hunting dogs for space upon their bed.
None of these things mattered on the battlefield.
“Custer disturbs me,” Hawk said at last, “because he is far too eager for glory.”
“But he may wind up in political trouble,” Sloan told him. “You know, he had President Grant’s son arrested on his expedition through the Black Hills. Arrested him for being drunk. Custer might well have been in the right. He’s at odds with the administration on other matters. He may well find himself without a command when the campaigns against the Indians begin in earnest. If someone reasonable spearheads these movements, there will be war and blood, but someone may live to tell about it.”
“Autie Custer is a hero,” Hawk argued. “People love the boy, whatever his failings. I fear him—and fear for him.”
“But can there be peace?” Willow said, his very tone suggesting it was not possible. “It will do no good for youto speak with either Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull,” Willow told Hawk.
“I know.”
“But you plan on speaking with them anyway?”
Hawk nodded gravely. “I’m riding with Sloan.”
“You’re sure you’re willing to take the time now?” Sloan asked him.
Hawk nodded. “I’m sure. I know that I can speak with them if anyone can.” He smiled. “It was my vision quest, remember? I’ll bring the word of the eagles to the buffalo. It wouldn’t be right if I did not because they must hear one another, then weigh their choices. Sloan, what made you think that I might not go?”
Sloan lifted his snifter, indicating the floor above. “We’ll have to leave quite soon. Within a week, if at all possible. Were she my new wife, I’m not certain I’d be undertaking any journeys.”
“Ah, yes. My wife,” Hawk murmured. He lifted his snifter toward Sloan. “To my new wife!”
“Here, here,” Willow and Sloan agreed.
Hawk set down his snifter. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me… Sloan, if you’ve leave from the army for the night, both guest bedrooms remain empty. Take your pick. Willow, good evening. Thank your wife for the time she has given me and for her generosity in lending her husband to a friend in his time of need.”
“Lily is glad to help. Good night, Hawk,” Willow said.
Sloan echoed him. “If I stay, I’ll be gone early. I’ve still supplies to gather. And you’ve still time to change your mind.”
“I won’t,” Hawk said. “I can’t.”
Hawk left the library behind and quickly climbed the stairs to the master bedroom.
Skylar was asleep. The lights were out, and the fire was low. He was quite certain she wasn’t feigning her rest because the hour was so very late. She was in soft blue flannel tonight.Another nightgown that encompassed her from neck to toe. He shook his head. She didn’t seem to realize yet that no matter how concealing her gown, it would mean nothing against him if his determination was set. But for the moment, he let her rest.
He silently looked through the wardrobe until he found the black silk skirt she had worn for the funeral. He found the pocket, slipped his fingers inside. He found paper. The wire envelope. And in it…
The wire.
Not burned.
But here. In his fingers now. He carefully opened the paper, wondering if it could give him some clue to his wife.
But the words were cryptic.
“Trouble. Have you legal title? Can manage no more than a few weeks. Help fast. Pray you’re well.”
The wire wasn’t signed. There was no indication of who had sent it.
If the sender had been male or female.
He folded the telegram thoughtfully, sliding it back into the pocket of her skirt. He closed the wardrobe doors and came to stand over his wife once again. She still slept, the picture of angelic chastity in her modest flannel. In silence he stripped down, mechanically folding his clothing, leaving it lying on the trunk.
He slid in beside her, keeping to his side of the bed. For tonight, he’d leave her in peace. He stared at the ceiling, closed his eyes. Heard his heartbeat. It was slow, soft.
