The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  But perhaps this state was only natural. For despite the treacherous nature of this woman, his dreams had been filled with her image these past ten years. And, truth to tell, he was finding that, to his utter shame, his dreams had done her beauty little justice.

  Worse, of its own accord, his body was answering her unspoken allurement, even to the extent that the frosty nature of the water had little effect on him. Alas, the gradual stiffening in his groin was becoming more of a problem than it should have been.

  However, his only choice at this time seemed to be to sit still and endure it…and above all things, keep his hands to himself. But it was a difficult thing to do, particularly when her backside was thrust up so intimately against him. Alas, had his discipline been any less, he might have succumbed to her charm. Strict training, however, kept him quiet, and in control.

  At that moment, she moved slightly, snuggling even more deeply into his embrace, her head coming back to rest on his shoulder. And without thought, he pulled her in closer.

  She was either freezing, frightened or both. Her body still shook, and he realized it would be his task to urge some heat into her, lest her trembling lead another to them.

  And so it was to this end that he gently kissed the top of her head, one more kiss, then another, all the while cradling her to him as a mother would for a child, or perhaps as a husband would for a wife.

  A wife…

  The thought was alarming, not because of the nature of it, but because at one time, he had so much wanted this woman to be exactly that.

  Quickly, he put the thought from him. He could ill afford the kind of reaction that idea might likely bring him…not at a time like this.

  He needed to think of something else. But most of all, he needed to do something else. And so it was that he concentrated on what he should have been doing all along. Ignoring his physical difficulties, he tuned his senses in to the environment, and as he did so, he felt the disturbance in nature, for the war party was headed back to shore.

  Discipline had his body stiffening without his conscious thought, preparing him for a fight, and in consequence, his hold on Sierra became tighter still. Now would come the test. Although their hiding place should keep them invisible, it might not escape notice from their scout.

  Would they go free? Or would they be discovered, the princess captured and himself killed…?

  Holding her securely, he said a silent prayer.

  Sierra felt something swim by her legs, and startled, she trembled. But her fear was misplaced. It was only a fish. Her action, however, earned her a tighter embrace from High Wolf.

  But make no mistake, she was frightened. There was no need to tell her that their chance of survival this night might be slim. Even she could hear the warriors’ retreat, as they passed them by on their way to shore.

  Closing her eyes, she turned her face into High Wolf’s shoulder, afraid, as she had never been afraid in her life. Although, oddly enough, High Wolf’s embrace did offer some comfort. At least enough solace so that she was able to think of something else besides death, and she listened intently for any clues as to what might be taking place outside the tree stump.

  But alas, once the main party of warriors had passed by them, the only things she could sense were the different sounds that were common to the night. The crickets, the river as it rolled steadily along, as though it were oblivious to the fate of man.

  And then the night became quieter still. Too quiet.

  Had the Indians gone? Or were they still out there, lingering, waiting?

  Sierra’s heart pounded in her ears, her breathing fast, hard. She didn’t speak, she didn’t move, though she did cling to High Wolf. For good or for bad, this man had become her only stable reference point in this volatile chaos of silence.

  And a thought kept occurring to her: It could have been she. All too easily, she could have been a victim; here, tonight.

  For the first time since coming to the American West, the precariousness of her situation became suddenly too real, and Sierra plummeted to a realization: She was out of her depth, alone with a man who had shown her open dislike, thrust into an environment she little understood.

  And though it appeared that she had been saved from the same fate as the others on the Diana, it was hardly cause for joy. For one thing, though she needed him, she distrusted High Wolf. For another, she could hardly feel relief when others this night had lost their lives.

  But even these thoughts diminished, as something stronger and more powerful grabbed hold of her attention: She felt something for this man.

  She might hate him, she might suspect him, she might even detest his past actions toward her. But alas, she felt something for him; something warm, something exquisite, something sensual…

  Truth be told, she became suddenly all too aware of this man physically, and chancing a quick glance down at herself, she was appalled to see that she might as well be sitting before him naked, for her wet corset and drawers left nothing to the imagination. Worse, this man was completely naked from the waist up. Not only that, she had become aware of a rigidness in him that pushed against her backside.

  And dear Lord, though she might be incredibly embarrassed by what was transpiring between them, she liked it…

  Her response startled her, and she shivered, but instead of the action sending High Wolf away from her, he pulled her in even closer yet.

  And then it happened.

  He kissed the top of her head, once, and again, hugging her against him as though he might never let her go. And despite their circumstances, past and present, such an act of tenderness shot straight to her heart. Alas, she was helpless as the memory of what this man had once meant to her came back to haunt her. And she recalled again his love, his humor, his laughter, his understanding, his incredible smile—those and many other reasons why she had loved him so much.

  She sighed against him, her only response to his open display of affection. To have done more would have spoiled the moment. Instead, she savored it.

  Undoubtedly, if she lived to see morning, she would still distrust him, and truly, she might never let him into her life again. But his actions tonight had exonerated him in her opinion, and she was coming to realize that because of tonight, she might never hate him again…

  The wind, which seemed incessant in this far western land, suddenly picked up force. Surreptitiously, she quivered.

  “They will soon leave. Remain calm,” High Wolf whispered into her ear as he held her to him, his chest against her back.

  “You are speaking?” She drew her head to the side that she might also whisper the words against his ear.

  But quickly, he caught her activity and held her. “Do not move,” he said.

  “But I thought—”

  “If we whisper, the wind will wash away our words, but we must speak softly. And if you move, it must be done so slowly that it leaves no ripple in the air. Do you understand?”

  “Not really,” she said, “but I will try.” And then, “High Wolf,” she began, her voice a low murmur. “Thank you for being here, for rescuing me tonight.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “If you hadn’t come when you did,” she continued, “I would most likely be dead.” Most likely? she thought. It would have been an assured fact.

  Again, he said nothing.

  “Why is it that you are here?”

  A long pause followed the question, and she wondered if he were even going to answer. At last, however, he said, “I have been following the steamboat.”

  “You have?” she said, careful to make no movement at all, though she noted that she could feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. “But I thought—”

  “You were right,” he said, and then stopped.

  “Right?”

  “Haa’he, I gave you my word to help you, and now, help you I have.”

  “Yes, and thank you,” she said again. After a moment, however, she queried, “But will you give me the a
ssistance I need most? Will you guide me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “High Wolf?” she prompted softly.

  “We will talk about that later.”

  “But—”

  “Later.”

  She fell silent, until at length, she said, “Very well.” But Sierra couldn’t stay mute forever, and she murmured, “When this war party leaves, what will we do?”

  “I will ride the currents of the river until I find a safer place to camp. There I will let you sleep while I backtrack and see if I can discover the fate of your friends.”

  “You will?”

  “Haa’he, yes.”

  “Then you never did intend to desert them?”

  “Hova’ahane.”

  “What does that word mean?”

  “No,” he said simply.

  “I see. Is that ‘no’ in the language of the Cheyenne, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you say it again?”

  “Ho-va’a-ha-ne.”

  She repeated it, going on to say, “I like it.”

  But when he remained silent, making no response, in due course, she said, “Do you think that you will find my friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am happy to hear it,” she said. “And after you find them, what will you do?” she whispered.

  “I will take you all back to St. Louis.”

  Sierra stiffened, and had she been allowed to move, she would have sat up, away from him. As it was, she was left to do no more than mutter, “I am not going back there until I accomplish what I must, so you might as well save yourself the bother.”

  “You will do as I tell you to do, and we will discuss this later.”

  “Will we? Will I?” she countered. Had he always been this tyrannical? “You are awfully certain of yourself, Mr. High Wolf.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “I would escape, if you try to take me there.”

  “I would find you. Do not forget, Princess, that you are in my country now.”

  “I do not forget.”

  “Then you should remember to do as you are told.”

  She bit her lip in frustration, although after a while, she said, “You treat me as though I am a child, unable to take care of myself.”

  “In my country, you are, perhaps, exactly that.”

  “How demeaning,” came the instant response. “Do you mean to insult me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Very well. Do as you see fit. Take me back to St. Louis, and leave me in the care of Governor Clark.”

  She could practically sense his disbelief. However, all he said was, “You would give in so easily to me? I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

  What was this? Another insult? And though she whispered, her voice was mocking as she said, “’Tis strange. I have thought much the same about you.”

  He paused, as though he were letting her meaning take hold. Within an instant, however, he said, “Did you? Then perhaps we both overestimated the other. Let me be quite clear: I will wait in the village of St. Louis until you are safely aboard a ship that will return you to your home.”

  “Will you? And you are certain you will watch my every movement until I am aboard ship?”

  “There is little that escapes me.”

  She grinned.

  “You smile,” he said softly. “Do you think you can elude me?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “One never knows, I might be that ‘little’ something that manages to get away from you.”

  Suddenly he stiffened. “Quiet!”

  Sierra instantly bit off whatever else she was going to say. Instead, she froze.

  Wasn’t the danger past? Hadn’t High Wolf intimated as much?

  But then she heard it, the sound of someone moving slowly through the water, as though searching for something…or someone. Closer and closer came the danger, and Sierra shut her eyes, backing up against High Wolf as though he would shield her from it. And in response, he slowly changed position, his back shifting away from the edge of the tree, his weight coming forward onto his feet, his legs out-spread. And she knew, he was now poised for action.

  His hands came down above her breasts, to rest on her chest.

  It was an intimate position, and despite the danger to her, to him, she was more than aware of the familiarity of his touch. However, conversely, it seemed the right thing to do, for if attacked, he could better protect her.

  Had something gone wrong? she wondered. Had their whispered words been overheard?

  Oh, how she wished she hadn’t been arguing with him. What if those were to be the last words between them?

  Would it matter?

  Perhaps. However, she had no time in which to ponder the thought, for she heard something or someone stop next to the tree trunk. That same someone or something trod around the stump, had started climbing the tree trunk…

  Sierra swallowed hard, and waited…wondering if each new breath were to be her last.

  It was a strange thing, to confront death. And oddly, in that instant before expected discovery, she became aware that she felt little fear. Indeed not. No, rather she had become profound, her philosophizing hurling her toward a self-realization.

  She loved this man, who held her in his arms, and had done so from her first acquaintance with him. And despite all reason not to, her love for High Wolf had never died. Forget that he was the worst sort of prospect, a treacherous liar. Once bestowed, her love had caused High Wolf to become a part of her, as he still was.

  The truth stung, and yet curiously, the knowledge calmed her. It changed nothing, of course. She didn’t want to love him; indeed, she wished she had never done so.

  And yet, there it was in all its simplicity: She loved him…still…

  Perhaps, she thought, she had been wrong in identifying her true mission in this land. Perhaps there was more to it than simply finding Prince Alathom and committing justifiable murder—if the need arose, of course. Rather, it might be asserted that she had hoped to discover the whereabouts of High Wolf and in finding him, put to rest, forever, her infatuation with the man.

  Possibly. And if this were so, maybe, if she lived to see another day, she would embark upon this new mission with as great a vigor as she had shown the other. For of one thing she was entirely certain: To let this man back into her heart could hurt her as she had never been hurt before.

  Still, kneeling there as she was, practically naked—and he, too—and held tightly against him, she felt that this new task seemed an almost impossible feat. Alas, deep within her, she craved exactly this…only more…

  And so it was with some trepidation that she realized she was in trouble. Deep trouble…

  Chapter 11

  Had we indulged ourselves when we first met,

  When love charmed us and made us feel its might,

  Would we be looking backwards with regret,

  And wonder how we fell from such a height?

  Excerpted from a poem by David Ziff

  “Sonnets to a Soul Mate”

  Saaaa, their voices had drawn attention, and High Wolf silently chided himself for such foolishness. She might not know better; he did.

  Still, there was nothing to be done but to wait. Slowly, High Wolf shifted his position so that his weight was on his feet, a pose that would allow him to spring into action. Unknowingly, also, he tightened his arms around the princess and brought his hands up to rest over her chest. True, being a scout, his usual tactic was to avoid a fight. But that didn’t mean that he, or any other scout, was not fully able to defend himself, if the need arose. Quite the opposite. Alas, a scout could make a most formidable opponent.

  As the danger drew near, High Wolf vowed that he would defend this woman, give his life if need be to save her. Not that he loved her—for who could love a woman who had proven herself to be so treacherous? But she had once been a friend…more than a friend…

  But wait. Someone was climbing the tre
e trunk.

  High Wolf tensed, straining in preparation. But he did no more than wait—and listen.

  And then it happened. A wolf howled, a nighthawk squawked, a cricket chirped ever so sweetly, and the warrior who was scaling their tree stump halted long enough to answer those calls, giving back his own signal with the hoot of an owl. Someone farther away spoke softly, another man answered. And then there was a scraping sound, followed by a plop in the water.

  The war party was leaving.

  Of course, it could be a trap. Whoever it was who had started to clamber up the tree stump had sensed High Wolf’s presence. That particular warrior might not leave so readily.

  It meant that High Wolf would have to bide his time, would have to stay in position if need be all night, all morning. The only problem, if there were one, would be Sierra.

  She was unused to the control needed to stay in one physical position for hours on end. Which meant that he would have to prop her up, keeping her awake and on guard. For her tendency would be to nap, and of course he could not allow it; people were known to do strange things in their sleep.

  He could take her attention off the danger if he perhaps kissed her again. After all, that had appeared to bring her some relief from their immediate situation. Although this, too, might provide a greater risk…no doubt from himself. For he, too, had become caught up in that kiss, becoming himself unaware of his environment.

  Clearly, there was only one thing left to do.

  Taking hold of her hand, he brought it up to his face, placing her fingertips over his lips. He sensed her bewilderment, but to her credit, she moved not at all; plus, she kept wisely quiet.

  Silently, he mouthed words against her fingers, and he said slowly, “We must wait until I am certain it is safe to leave.”

  She readily understood what he was doing, and taking his hand in her own, placed his fingertips over her lips, Then, silently she mouthed, “Why? The Indians have left.”

  “There was one—he knows we are here. He will not leave—easily.”