Lakota Princess

by Karen Kay

  The man shook his head.

  Was he to let all his efforts slip away then, simply because the Duchess of Kent kept overstepping her influence?

  No, he could not. He had worked too hard, too completely, now and in the past, to achieve his present position of power through which he could advise England on her own foreign policy. He could not let such hard work go to waste.

  The man smirked. He remembered all those years as though they had only happened, his fear of Leopold, his conviction that the child, Estrela, must never be allowed to ascend to the throne of England. For through her, Leopold would rule all of England, uniting England and Belgium.

  But it had never occurred. He had ensured it.

  It had been easy, in those early years to convince the King, George III, to sequester the twin babe, his great-granddaughter, away. After all, the man had been insane. It had only required a few choice words spoken to a select group of people.

  The Prince Regent, on the other hand, had proved to be more difficult to control; that one requiring strong counsel and proof in action. Thus had been born the constant threats to the Princess’s life, some staged, some real. For only in this way could the Prince Regent be persuaded to hide the child.

  The silent figure of a man suddenly laughed, though the sound was hardly infectious.

  Well, he’d done it. He’d forced the powers that be to do his bidding all those years ago. And if he had done it then, he could do it now.

  It only required that he mend this situation between the Duchess of Kent and the King. He would need to talk with her, to convince her to cease her flamboyant ways. He could not allow Her Grace to lose influence with the Royal Court, with the Princess. For then what would his own position be?

  The man sighed. Such was the matter of whim. He had no time for it. He had other problems to attend to, other things that required his attention, other matters to resolve—like that of the Princess Estrela.

  What was he to do about her?

  Rotten luck, that’s what it was. Didn’t he have enough to think about without adding worry of her to his already full itinerary?

  He had thought the young Lady Estrela’s quick murder would put at least one problem to an end.

  It should have been a simple thing. He had hired good assassins. Twice they had failed. Twice they had blundered.

  Something he could ill afford. Hadn’t he just yesterday been forced to kill them both? For their knowledge of her, for their knowledge of him.

  Foiled. How was he to know some wild Indian would rush to her assistance, twice, and, amid stray bullets, save the young lady’s life?

  He snorted.

  His plans had been too-often thwarted of late. With everything else he had to worry about, he didn’t have time to spend on a would-be Princess who didn’t even know her own true identity. Her quick murder must be accomplished. And soon. He had too many other matters to which he must attend.

  He must hire other assassins and soon.

  Already the Duke and Duchess of Colchester suspected the Lady Estrela’s aristocratic heritage. Luckily the Duke’s search for that young lady’s identity would come to nothing, since there were no clear-cut records of her existence.

  Hadn’t he ensured that condition long ago? Hadn’t he, himself, burned all records of her birth?

  Still he worried.

  The Duke of Colchester could be a determined man, the wild Indian an entirely unknown quality. What if they stumbled onto—

  The dim, gloomy figure arose.

  He hadn’t considered her upbringing; the loyal Earl of Langsford, his staff, his household of long ago. The old Earl was gone now. But there were other people there, loyal servants who would remember her. Would any of them know of her royalty?

  He must seek them out, each one, he must eliminate them all. He could take no chances.

  He would have to set out to the country at once—there to hire assassins, there to eliminate anyone who had been with the Earl ten to fifteen years ago.

  Ah! The duties he had to perform. Did no one else see it? Did no one else know? Was it always to be upon his own head that lay the exalted future of England? Of his beloved Netherlands?

  He felt heavy with the weight of responsibility. What he would do he did as his patrotic duty. But he must act quickly. All must be quieted. All must be murdered. Only in this way could England be saved from herself.

  There was no one else.

  And as the Lord was his witness, no one would stand in his way.

  Rising, he advanced toward the fire, stirring the dead embers as though it were a cauldron pot.

  ‘Twas highly symbolic.

  And with this thought, he laughed, the evil sound of it carrying to every part of his small, sparsely furnished chambers. And even the fat, fearsome ravens outside took wing at the horrible sound.

  Chapter Ten

  Estrela gasped. She stared, her eyes widened. She’d never seen anything like this. She’d never witnessed anything so—

  What was the man about?

  He sat upon a horse, his long hair, unbound, falling well below his shoulders, the blue-black strands of it fluttering slightly in the wind. His chin jutted forward, his face lifted proudly, his eyes watched everything about him.

  But that wasn’t why she stared. He…his clothing. She gulped.

  He was dressed as…he was… Where was his Indian clothing? His buckskin shirt, his leggings, his breechcloth? He wore no moccasins on his feet and the conspicuous absence of quiver on his back, bow in his hand seemed altogether strange. He looked more foreign now than he had ever appeared to her in the past. He looked English. He looked like a gentleman. Goodness help her, he could have been an aristocrat by the manner in which he now appeared.

  At that moment, he shifted his gaze to look toward her coach, and Estrela ceased to think. She groaned.

  It was the only sound to be heard in the otherwise quiet coach. Even Anna, seated across from her, who was watching the same thing, said nothing.

  They were sitting, she and Anna, in the Duke of Colchester’s carriage, a barouche that comfortably held four people. As was common for the English aristocracy, the Duke had spared no expense in making this carriage as beautiful and as ornate as possible. White satin curtains trimmed with gold hung at each window. The curtains could be pulled back to afford the person inside a view of the out-of-doors or they could be hung down straight, giving privacy to those inside.

  Estrela chose the former, her gloved hand holding the curtain back while she peeped outside. She rested her cheek against the polished, mahogany wood that adorned the inside of the coach and lay in trim all around the window. The dark, red velveteen seat upon which she sat cushioned her weight in luxurious comfort.

  “What do ye suppose t’ man is up to?” It was Anna who spoke.

  “I don’t know except that I—”

  He jumped off his horse at that moment, dismounting Indian-style, swinging one leg in front of him, up and over his mount, the action at complete variance to the manner in which he dressed. And Estrela in reaction to him, flung the satin curtain down and straightened away. She looked wildly about the carriage.

  She heard the approaching crunch of boots—not the muffled sound of moccasined feet—against the cobbled drive, and she gulped. What was she to do? What could she say to him?

  She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken with him in well over a week. After the incident in the park, she hadn’t known what to do, so she took to her chambers. She did not come down for meals, for entertainment, nothing, no communication until now.

  She had tried to hide, from him, from herself, from a would-be assassin. But it hadn’t worked. During the past week, she’d become more and more certain of just one thing: She needed Black Bear. Now more than ever. And the terrible part of it was that she dared not do anything about it. For she must, must send him away from her—somehow.

  She fidgeted. What was she to do? She’d been more content to live without him before…but now�
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  After the attempted assassination, something had happened to her and she didn’t quite understand what it was. Yes, there had been danger there, a threat to her life, but it wasn’t either of those things that plagued her now. Something powerful had taken hold within her, something forbidden. Something…

  She moaned. Truth be told, she felt closer to Black Bear now than she had ever felt at any other time. He had stirred something within her, awakened something, something she had thought had died on a sea voyage long ago. And though she knew she mustn’t, that she must fight whatever attraction he held for her, she sensed that from this moment forward, without Black Bear, she would be only half alive, a circumstance, she realized, she must learn to face. She—

  The door to the carriage opened and, in response, Estrela’s stomach plummeted.

  “Ladies.” Black Bear’s deep voice rang out into the crisp, early-morning air, causing spasms to run along Estrela’s nervous system.

  It was a simple word, really. It conveyed nothing but greeting, yet Estrela could not account for its effect upon her, nor for the change it bespoke upon Black Bear. Like the clothing he now wore, the word, the way in which he said it, was reminiscent of nothing of the Black Bear she knew.

  Estrela sat, gazing at him. “Mato Sapa,” she said at last, her lapse into Lakota unintentional, yet…

  He grinned back at her and Estrela almost swooned.

  It was his smile, that lopsided, boyish grin that she knew so well. Its charm, set against the magnificent sight that he made, set her heart to racing, and she suddenly felt life coursing through her.

  “I have missed your presence,” he was saying to her, “at breakfast and at dinner this past week.”

  “Oh?” It was all she could manage to say at the moment, and even that was said softly.

  “Yes.” His eyes twinkled. “We have had so many things to discuss and I have entertained my friends with stories. Stories of hunting, of geese, of love, of—”

  Estrela conveniently coughed.

  And he laughed, saying after a moment, “Do you two women ride alone in this…carriage?”

  Estrela spread her skirts over the seat as though in answer before she glanced up at Black Bear, saying, “I think so, but I do not know for certain. I have only just settled in here myself.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  That last had her squinting her eyes at him. What was he implying?

  She saw him glance around the yard. “I will speak to the Duke,” he said. “You must have someone guard your carriage. If he has no one, then I will do it.”

  Estrela smiled politely. “Thank you,” she murmured, “but I—”

  He shot her a glance, his look alone silencing her.

  “I must ensure your safety. Had I time, Estrela, Waste Ho, I would show you why it is I worry over you. I would finish what I had started so many nights ago. Despite your husband, I would—”

  She gasped, glancing briefly at Anna, and catching the maid’s gaze, Estrela blushed, she set her glance at once back toward Black Bear, but he merely grinned devilishly.

  “Now, please do excuse me,” Black Bear continued. “I must find the Duke of Colchester and see to your safety. I hope both of you are well-seated.” And as though to further startle her, he bowed slightly toward them.

  She couldn’t help herself. “Black Bear,” she said, detaining his retreat with her quietly spoken words. “Forgive me, please,” she said. “I know that if we were at home, in Lakota country, I would never think to ask you this, but we are here in England and I…well, you…what I mean is… Black Bear, what has come over you?”

  She expected anger, or at least a reminder as to proper Lakota manners. She had spoken out of turn. She waited, but nothing happened. She received none of it. No anger. No incriminations. Just a grin, a heart stopping, soul-stirring grin.

  She set her gaze away from him, hoping to lessen the effect he had on her.

  It didn’t work. Instead, she became much more aware of him, of the clean, male scent of him, a combination of the smells of the buckskin and leather from his English trousers, of soap and water and a musky fragrance that was his, alone. She sighed, inhaling also the crisp aroma of autumn air.

  He took his time answering her, too, as though he knew what he did to her. At length, though, he said, “I take it you have noticed the change in me, then?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning back to him, “pray believe me, it would be hard to miss.”

  He laughed. “I am merely,” he said, a leer in his glance, “trying to show the goose all that she resists. Husband or no. He is not here. I am. And…” he stressed his next words, “…I am available.”

  “Oh!” She glanced briefly at Anna, but seeing the maid gazing discreetly out the carriage window, Estrela shifted her glance once more back to Black Bear.

  He immediately placed a booted foot against the carriage floor and, leaning forward, brought into her vision exactly what he meant. And, this time, she could not look away.

  But he wasn’t finished. He continued talking to her, saying, “I have decided that if the goose is silly enough to entice more than one male to her nest, it would be a foolish gander who would not take advantage of such…whim.”

  “Oh!” she said again. And then for good measure, “Oh!”

  And she looked exactly where he meant her to, exactly where—

  Estrela moaned. But she did not avert her eyes. No, she watched his every move, his every flicker of sensitivity as he stood before her. Was the man flaunting himself at her? Or was it her? Was she irresistibly sensitive to him?

  She shut her eyes. She shouldn’t look at him in this manner, she shouldn’t gape at that area of his body. She shouldn’t.

  She opened her eyes and stared all the harder. And as though she had forgotten all the teachings of the grandfathers and all the good manners of the English, she gazed at him as though he might suddenly take the view from her.

  And while she longed to focus her attention there, she forced herself to look away, glancing back to his face.

  What was she to do? Here was Black Bear, the man she loved, the man she worshiped, the man she would just as likely die for, but this man…

  Well, this man wore a white, linen shirt with a cravat at his neck, not the beautifully ornamented, white elk-skin shirt that fell well below his thighs. On this man’s legs were tights, a light buckskin that was popular in the more lofty English circles for its snug fit as well as its soothing feel to the skin. This man wore no revealing breechcloth, yet the outfit he sported so exposed his masculine form that her gaze was once more drawn to the juncture between his thighs.

  Reluctantly, she looked away from that area, but not before she heard him snicker, the sound not at all pleasant. She met his eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Black Bear was angry. His face, his eyes, the set of his brows, the way he pursed his lips as he stood before her, they all mirrored raw emotion.

  What had happened? Only a few minutes ago the man had been teasing her, certainly it had not been a gentle tease, but it had not been this…this…

  “You look at me as though you are hungry,” he taunted her, speaking in Lakota.

  “Black Bear, I—”

  “Does Waste Ho,” he asked, interrupting her, “have so little feelings for her husband that she would so easily…admire me? Have you no respect for him that you would act this way in public?”

  She gasped.

  “Did you think I would not see it? That I would not respond to such open admiration?”

  “Black Bear, I am trying not to—”

  “But then, Waste Ho,” he went on in the same language as though she hadn’t spoken, “is much used to seeing…men, though most likely without—”

  “You go too far!” This from her in English.

  “Do I?” he asked in Lakota, the subject seeming to make him ever angrier. “Why do you admire me like this? You act as though you have never seen
a man… Can you say to me now that you have never seen your husband—?”

  “Black Bear!”

  He straightened away, bringing his booted foot to the ground, and Estrela watched as he visibly strove to bring his temper under control. She allowed him that time, glancing away, and wondering what it was that had come over her.

  He was just a man, after all, and men were all endowed with…

  She glanced back at him. She moaned.

  He was not just any man. This was Black Bear, the man from her past, the man she loved. She could no more ignore him than she could cease her own breathing.

  Estrela swallowed, a great effort, and closed her eyes; in truth, she was as scandalized as he was with her behavior. Not only did she admire him in the most exotic way possible, she had done it in such a manner that anyone could watch her.

  “Black Bear,” she began softly, speaking in their shared language, “I am truly sorry. I do not understand either what has come over me. You have every right to chastise me, every right to—”

  “Halt!” He said it, his hands signed it. He leaned forward again into the coach, resuming his former position and bringing back into her vision all that troubled her. He smiled. “I will not hear you speak of yourself in this way. After all,” he said, taking her gloved hand and placing it on his knee, “it is not so terrible. I—”

  He inhaled sharply.

  And Estrela, in reaction, glanced at him, herself gasping He was…

  He immediately replaced her hand to her lap, though when he looked up to her, he merely grinned. “You,” he said, “have an interesting effect on me. One I intend to examine further in a more…private moment.”

  “’Tis the way you dress,” she said.

  He peered down at himself. “I fail to see—”

  “Before now I never noticed… I mean I was not so… You didn’t… ’Tis the vest and coat,” she said as though with full authority. “See how the vest conforms to your waist? And the coat. See how it tapers down to a long tail in the back? Why the very effect emphasizes all that…that is to say it…”