“I’m afraid I know nothing about making a tipi.”
“We’ll be staying in my grandfather’s home.” He stretched out a hand to her. “Come back to camp.”
She didn’t accept his hand. “I’m glad I’m not a Sioux,” she told him coolly.
Again, she watched him struggle to control his temper. He dropped his hand and spoke with impatience. “Again, you fail to understand. We are all people. A Sioux wife is sought by her husband, cherished by him. Though mores may be different in different human societies, emotions remain the same. A wife cares for her husband and children. In return, she is defended.And loved. And her children will love her, and when she is widowed, her family will care for her, her husband’s friends will give to her and honor her in his name. She is free to laugh, to excel in her arts, to seek to love and be loved. Know pride. She has little need for deception or cunning.”
“Unlike a white woman,” Skylar commented.
He said nothing.
“Unlike me.”
He continued to stare at her. She fought the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. She gritted down on her teeth, realizing with a flash of insight that she had actually hurt him first. She had attacked what he was. He had attacked in return. She wasn’t up to the battle.
“I shouldn’t have forced you to come,” he said.
“But you did.”
“You have a talent for goading my temper.”
“You have a talent for goading mine.”
“You chose to come west.”
“Yes, but I—” she began, yet broke off quickly, not at all certain of exactly what she had been about to say.
“But you didn’t choose me,” he finished.
It wasn’t what she meant at all, but she couldn’t seem to find the words to say so. Even when it seemed that peace between them was within reach, she somehow seemed to lose grasp of it. His fault as much as her own, her heart cried out.
“You’re the one who doesn’t want a wife,” she reminded him lightly.
“But I’ve got one. And this is my life. Which you have chosen to join, since I did give you the opportunity to go back.” Again, he stretched his hand out to her, palm upward. “Let’s go back to camp.”
She hesitated.
“Damn you!” he swore. “I offer you what I can.”
“And maybe it is not enough.”
“And maybe you’ll have to give more to get more.”
“What could I possibly have left to give?” she cried out passionately.
He arched a brow, startled. “The truth,” he said simply.
“I haven’t lied?—”
“And you haven’t given.”
“You’re wrong! I have given. I have given more than I had ever imagined I was capable of giving. There’s nothing?—”
“There’s something. But I don’t think even the Crows could torture it out of you.” He lost patience and grabbed her hand, starting back along the trail toward their camp.
“The Crows!” she hissed. “You’re probably far better at torture!”
“We do like to think ourselves superior to our enemies,” he retorted.
