“You will own the tipi,” Sloan assured her, grinning.
“She’ll have to make it first,” Hawk reminded him. “And she’ll have to remember as well that women have their place. They serve their men, then dine themselves.”
“Oh?” she said.
“You may need to be careful. Wife-stealing does take place, though it is a shame upon those who indulge, unless, of course, a man is so powerful that the warriors around him are willing to let their wives go.”
“There have been such occasions,” Willow said.
“But sad ones as well!” Sloan commented. “Think of what it cost Crazy Horse when he fell in love and ran away with No Water’s woman.”
“Of course, he failed to pay No Water for the woman,” Willow reminded them.
“Crazy Horse was shot in the face, and his family was shamed. Thankfully,” Sloan said, “his family did not seek retaliation for the shooting.”
“And neither was Black Shawl harmed,” Hawk reflected, smiling at Skylar. “She could have had the tip of her nose sliced off—it would have been her husband’s right.”
Skylar had had enough. She stood, angry with the lot of them. Hawk had been almost charming himself that afternoon. But no more. He, Sloan, and Willow might well be telling her the absolute truth, but in the telling, they were very definitely taunting her.
She tossed the rest of her coffee into the fire, dropped her camp cup, and started off on a walk toward the water.
“Skylar!” she heard Hawk call sharply.
She ignored his call, bristling as she hurriedly walked along the trail, pulling her cloak around her. The moon remained round, lighting the path well. Only the trees around her were shrouded in shadow. Not far ahead, she could see the glowing patterns of moonlight dazzling and rippling upon the stream by which they camped. The sky itself as well as the landscape seemed to be reflected there.
It isn’t my world! she thought furiously. Damn him! She’d done her best, she was here. She’d come with him into uncivilized country. She’d been abducted by enemy hostiles. She’d even made the damned coffee.
She kicked the earth furiously.
She was still paying.
She reached the water’s edge and squatted, scooping up a handful of the cool, clear water with which to bathe her face. Her touch broke the soft rippling reflection, sending small waves shooting out against the night-darkened stream. She cooled her cheeks again, wondering why she was so angry when they had all probably been speaking the truth. It was the way they had spoken it. So mockingly. No matter what price she paid, it didn’t seem that Hawk could forgive her. Right now, she hated him because of it.
And she hated herself for caring.
The rippling waves she had created began to ebb. A huge, dark shadow suddenly appeared on the water. She watched the shadow in honor, panic rising within her. The Crow. The Crow were back again…
She leaped up, a scream of terror forming in her throat.
She’d walked away again! God help her, couldn’t she learn to be angry and stay where she would be safe?
She spun around, ready to lash out, scream—run.
“Skylar!”
Her scream faded. Relief filled her with such force that she trembled with it.
Hawk stood behind her, his shoulders broadened by his cross-armed, irritated stance.
“What?” she demanded, trying hard not to gasp or to betray how very afraid she had been. She kept her distance.
She saw that he was trying to control his temper, grinding his teeth, relaxing his jaw once again.
“You can’t keep walking off.”
“There was little reason to stay,” she replied.
He lifted his hands. “There are certain things which are true in Sioux society. I cannot tell you differently.”
