Read Dakota Dream for Free Online Page B

happened to you, Nikki? Has someone—your rescuers, perhaps, did they ... violate you in any way?"
    Dominique swallowed another mouthful of broth, then patted her mouth with Libbie's lace-trimmed napkin and shook her head. "No one hurt me in that way, but as for the rest, I really don't know what happened after the boat turned over. One minute I was swirling downstream in that horrid freezing water"—she paused and shuddered at the memory—"and the next thing I knew, I was lying on a buffalo skin in a tipi."
    "A tipi? My Lord, you were captured by Indians?"
    Dominique nodded as she took another spoonful of soup.
    "Oh, my stars," Libbie groaned, knowing full well how the inhabitants of the East Coast looked on the West and its abundance of "savages." "Your father's going to have apoplexy when he hears about this."
    Dominique's almond-shaped eyes flew open. "You haven't wired Papa and told him I was missing."
    "No, no, but just the same—" Libbie shook her head and took her niece's hand in hers. "I just know Jacques will never speak to me again. After all, I'm the one who begged and needled him to let you come out west to keep me company. I'm the one who's going to incur his wrath for bringing you out to the Dakota Territory before the spring thaw was fully upon us."
    Even though Dominique was thoroughly warmed, guilt chilled an icy path up her spine as she listened to her aunt. It was she, not Libbie, who'd done the begging and pleading, she who'd enlisted the aid of everyone from the general's youngest sister, Margaret, to casual acquaintances in her quest to persuade her father to let her make the trip. It had sounded so exciting at the time—so full of adventure. The stuff from which the little forbidden books were made.
    Dominique hung her head and quietly murmured, "Please don't blame yourself. I'm to blame for everything bad that happens to me. If I just wasn't so strong-willed and determined to get my way, these things wouldn't happen. Papa is right—not even a fine lady like you can teach me how to behave. You ought to just put me on a train and send me back home."
    "No more of that, Nikki. I've had enough of the general's nephews and nieces join us for your father to know he was right when he agreed to let you visit us. What I blame myself for is not waiting another month before sending for you." Libbie began to wring her hands as she thought of the near-disaster. “One never knows about that horrid, treacherous river when crossing from Bismarck to Fort Lincoln, but I was afraid if I waited any longer, the general's newest campaign would take us away before you could get here. I am sorry for the—"
    A great commotion in the hallway cut off her words. Both women turned toward the arched entrance of the parlor as male voices grew louder. Then George Armstrong Custer burst into the room.
    His very presence commanded the attention of all wherever he strode, transformed the atmosphere around him into awe. He wore troop boots reaching up to his knees and buckskin breeches with fringed sides. His shirt, rumpled and slightly askew, was dark blue and set off by a long red necktie. After removing the large felt hat he wore bent low over his forehead to protect his delicate skin from the sun, he shook his head, the thick red-gold curls brushing the tops of his shoulders.
    "Dominique," he said in a tight voice. "Then it is you."
    "Hello, Uncle Armstrong." Dominique's dark brown eyes flashed with good humor and began to sparkle as her playful nature slowly returned. "Papa sends his greetings."
    Sharing a nervous chuckle with the ladies, Custer pulled a three-legged footstool up beside Dominique's rocking chair. "And now, finally, I can send my greetings to him and news of your safe arrival. For a time there ..." He left the sentence unfinished and shook his head.
    "Autie," Libbie cut in softly. "The poor dear was captured by Indians before being found by the infantry.''
    "Oh?" Custer cocked a thick cinnamon-colored eyebrow