Free The Bride Wore Feathers by Sharon Ihle Page A

river—to keep her and teach her to live among his people. She would have been worth the risk, he decided too late, definitely worthy of the challenge. Then he thought of the difficulties, the nearly impossible task a man would face in trying to tame one such as her, and Jacob laughed out loud.
    "See?" She beamed. "I told you you'd like this dance. It's not hard at all, is it?"
    Brought out from under his thoughts, but not her spell, Jacob smiled down at her, and relaxed for the first time since he'd left the Hunkpapa camp. "It is a very nice dance, Miss D-Der—"
    "Please, Private," she said with a grin. "My name is Dominique. It's all right with me if you use it."
    "Dominique," he whispered, testing the name, loving the sound. Caught by her beauty, her closeness, Jacob thought back to the night in his lodge, to the feel of her flesh beneath him. She was strong and agile, yet soft and yielding, as brave as any warrior and endowed with the vitality of the finest squaw—nothing like the image the Lakota had painted of white women. His eyes darkened, as much with desire as with anger and frustration at his hasty decision to release her when he'd had the chance to make her his.
    Aware of Jacob's intense gaze, Dominique glanced up and met those deep blue eyes. Again a sense of intimacy swept through her, and again she was drawn to the past and into the mysterious night shadows of the Sioux's tipi. Her feet continued to move, to dance after a fashion, but the music sounded far off, as faded as the whisper of a summer breeze. The paper lanterns flickered emerald shamrocks against the barracks walls, but they were no match for the explosion of color and the steady glow in her mind. She stared at Jacob's mouth, but saw the lips of a savage named Redfoot. His were the lips, she finally realized, that had kissed her so well. Dominique trembled at the surprising memory, then shivered as hot fingers of desire skittered across her abdomen.
    "Dominique?"
    She heard a voice in the distance, the song of some delicate bird, yet still she thought of the kiss, of the marvelous hypnotic effect it had on her, and she continued to drift along in her memories. She had not only allowed Redfoot to kiss her, Dominique realized, she'd kissed him back. And quite unashamedly at that. Her mouth had parted easily, and the savage had taken full advantage of her generosity by—
    "Dominique."
    She tried to open her eyes and look for the person who'd called her name, but her lids felt heavy and languid, weighted somehow. Dominique's ears nagged at her, insisted the sounds of the party were all wrong, and then she realized the problem wasn't the kind of noise, but more the lack of it. The music had stopped. Peering through her lashes, she noticed the other dancers had made their way to the refreshment tables or were standing in clusters talking.
    "Dominique—look at me."
    Finally recognizing the sound of her chaperon's voice, she turned and focused her eyes on Hazel Swenson's round, motherly features. She was upset. "Is something wrong?"
    "I'd like a word with you, if I may."
    "Of course." Dominique looked back at Jacob and smiled. "Thank you for the lovely waltz. I hope we'll have another before the night is over."
    Jacob bowed. "Thank you for the lovely lesson."
    Dominique's invitation had been automatic, a courtesy she had offered to countless young men who hoped for the thrill of another dance with her. Now as she stared into the deep blue of Jacob's eyes, again a shiver skittered throughout her. Surprising herself, she whispered, "I really hope we do get another dance, Jacob."
    Again uncertain about what was expected of him, he glanced at the older woman and smiled to acknowledge her presence. Hazel scowled and narrowed her eyes in return. Understanding that he had no place in a conversation between two white women, Jacob clicked his heels together and retreated to a far corner to observe the proceedings.
    Keeping her voice low, Dominique repeated, "Is