by Karen Kay
“Of course I know that animals do, must have feelings…it’s only that I…I owe the wolf a debt of gratitude, then.”
“Make him well. That will be enough.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“Hear me well, Little Brave Woman. Never again are you to go into the fort without at least two escape routes well planned. Nor should you let yourself be led into a trap.”
“A trap? That wasn’t what this was tonight, was it?”
“I believe it might have been.” His face showed none of the concern she heard in his voice as he continued, “How did you learn of this bull train?”
“I overheard some men talking.”
He paused a beat. “Why did you not tell me about this?”
She backed away from him, straightening up. “I knew you would only try to stop it and I didn’t think that you were ready for that yet.”
He withdrew from her, too, and appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, barely listening to her, until, at last, he said, “They were talking to set up a trap, I believe. Did they see you listening? I should never have asked you to do my work for me. You must be careful in the future. You do not want suspicion thrown onto you.”
“I do not think anyone would suspect that I am helping the Wolf Shadow. I have been back here such a short time.” She frowned. “What makes you think it might have been a trap?”
“Because there was no whiskey on that shipment and I think that the wagon was there only to lure the Wolf Shadow into the open and capture him…which they almost did.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “How do you know that those wagons had no whiskey?”
“I went back to the scene of the fight that I might cover our tracks.”
“You what? Are you crazy? You could have been captured…you should have been. Why were you not?…”
He shrugged.
She thought for a moment, while several unanswered questions, like pieces of a puzzle, started to fall into place. She stated, almost to herself, “You use some sort of disguise when you go into the fort, don’t you? That’s how you can go into it and out of it as easily as you do. That’s it, isn’t it? I should have realized this before now.” She scrutinized his appearance. “What is it you pretend to be?” She sniffed at the air. “A drunk?”
He lifted a single eyebrow at her, his only response.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You pretend to be a drunken Indian, don’t you? And I wager that you have other people helping you in the fort, too. That’s how you can mastermind several routes of escape. And that’s why no one has been able to catch you.” Her glance up at him was full of respect.
His expression, however, didn’t change, nor did he utter a word.
“Although if that is the case,” she continued, “why did none of the Indians I approached in the fort help me? In truth, most of them seemed antagonistic toward the Wolf Shadow.”
“Because,” he spoke at last, “no one knows you and no one understood that you were a friend. You are white. Did you think others would trust you so easily?”
She shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Haiya,” he said inspecting her up and down, his gaze lingering over that area of her body where her breasts should have been in evidence. Under his intense regard, her knees went a little weak, while a sensation like white-hot lightning careened down her nervous system. She had never felt more like collapsing. But she didn’t. She stood before him, shoulders pressed back, listening as he continued, “It seems that like the wily fox, you are very clever and quick of mind, yet it occurs to me that, once again, we leave the purpose of our talk. I can only wonder, do you distract me purposely?”
Her answer, a simple one, was a mischievous grin.
He shook his head. “Now hear me well. You are not to masquerade as the Wolf Shadow again.”
“Fine. I won’t.”
He relaxed.
“As long as you promise me that until you are completely recovered, you are not to become the Wolf Shadow, either.”
“Haiya, you are impossible. This is what I do. What gives you the right to dictate my actions to me?”
She raised her chin. “The right of any nurse. Besides, I am not trying to tyrannize you. I am only trying to cure you.”
“Then beware the cure.” A hint of humor tainted the hard quality of his words, though he paused for a moment. “What is this ‘tyrannize’?”
“I…well I guess it means to try to run other people’s lives and not necessarily for their own good.”
“Aa, yes, this is a good word, this tyrannize, and describes exactly what you are trying to do.”
“I am not.”
He held up his hand. “We will not argue this any further. Do not make me repeat this again. You will not go about disguised as the Wolf Shadow again. I have spoken.”
“Fine,” she said. “I will devise my own disguise.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“And who will stop me?”
“Haiya, you would test the patience of Sun,” he uttered before he moved forward so swiftly that she didn’t have time to react. He swept her into his arms. “It is I who would stop you.”
She didn’t resist. Indeed, such a thing would have been the last thought in her mind. The clean, though earthy, scent of him assailed her, and she stared intently up into his dark, dark eyes, his lips so very close to her own. She dared to ask, “And how would you do it?”
In the space of a moment, he captured her mouth with his own, his answer to her, and she rejoiced, her own lips hungrily seeking out the sweet-salty taste of him. Was this what she had been awaiting all these long weeks? Was this where the long hours of teasing had taken them?
Indeed, her head spun, her body felt light, and excitement, sexual and thrilling, washed through her. It was as though an emotional reservoir had been let loose within her. Never, she realized, never would a kiss such as this stop her from trying to protect him. In truth, it made her all the more determined.
It did occur to her that perhaps, because she acted as a nurse, she should follow some code of ethics and pull away from him. But as his arms swept her even closer to him, with the rock-solid contours of his body outlined against her, she ceased to think at all.
Ah, sweet heaven. She felt herself melt.
All at once he drew back from her, staring down intently at her. Briefly, his fingers came up to brush over her cheeks once, again; his eyes alternately adoring, then angry. He asked, “Alas, Little Brave Woman, is this a madness with us?”
She couldn’t answer.
“Do you feel it, too?”
“Hmmm,” she nodded, unable to voice a single word.
He groaned. “I don’t need this right now,” he protested, even while his lips assailed hers again, kissing her, then holding her tightly to him, rubbing his cheek against hers. “Do you understand that, Alys?” he asked, his voice heavy with dissent. “I don’t need this.” But even as he spoke, his lips, his tongue, played havoc with her.
“I must see you,” he admitted contrarily, breaking off the kiss and pulling her in closer. He ran his hands up and down her spine as though he might ease the yearning between them with his touch alone. He said, “My memory is not so long that I desire to use only it to bring the naked image of you back to mind. I must look upon you again, now, and”—he tugged on the shirt—“without this.”
She didn’t think to deny him. She couldn’t. Coherent thought had deserted her, her body now under his command, and she let him ease the buckskin shirt up and over her head, the chilly touch of the cave’s cool air only adding to her awakening. His fingers, however, met with the layers upon layers of linen she had used to wrap her breasts.
Clearly frustrated, he drew back, but only a little. “What is this?” he asked, fingering the material, his tone half amused, half tormented.
She grinned up at him. “I did not think it right that the Wolf Shadow should have breasts. I thought it might spoil his reputation.”
/> “It might at that,” he uttered, his voice a mere whisper. “But perhaps the seizers would not have fired upon you had they seen or been aware of these.” His hands cupped the material where her soft mounds should have been.
“Perhaps not.”
“Then you must promise me that if you decide to do such a reckless thing again, you will not wrap these. If you must fight, and I am prevented from stopping you, promise me that you will go as yourself, as a woman. In that way will your safety be assured. Do you so promise?”
She nodded, looking up at him, her eyes meeting the haunting euphoria in his.
“Not that I have relented,” he persisted, his hands beginning the task of unwinding the cloth.
“I understand.” She held up her arms, giving him full access to her, while the yards and yards of material began to curl and tumble to her feet.
“I think I knew, all those years ago,” he mumbled, his eyes dark with desire, his hands full of the cloth, “that you and I were destined to be together. It is why I gave you the necklace and asked you to accompany me. But you denied me.”
“Though I do not deny you now.”
“No,” he admitted, the last of the material falling away, harmlessly hitting the ground, “you do not.” He stared at her, at all the bareness revealed for the space of a second before his hands came up to massage her through the thin layer of her chemise. “But I think if I had known back then what a beauty you would become when you had grown, I would have stolen you away, no matter your protest.”
Her stomach twisted as though in agony at such a declaration, although it would have been inaccurate to label what she felt pain. She fell against him, gladly giving herself to him.
His voice husky, his hands shaking slightly, he declared, “I think I died a little when I saw the seizers firing at you.”
“I think I did, too.”
“It would have been a great loss if their aim had been a little better. I am grateful for the inaccuracy of their training.”
“As I am, too.”
“What is this thing that you wear?”
“This?” She stared down at herself, at the newest shade of apricot underclothing. “You mean my chemise?”
“It is too many clothes; let us remove it.” And as she smiled her encouragement at him, he tore into the delicate garment as though beneath it waited a feast—and perhaps one did. Quickly mastering the art of the hook and eye, and pushing the chemise off her and to the side, he left her standing before him in only knee-high moccasins.
As a man might pause for a moment to admire a banquet laid out before him, so did his gaze relish over her nakedness, allowing her to become more than a little aware of his own desire, so clearly outlined there within the tight fit of her father’s trousers.
Alys suddenly felt the uneven odds of their various states of dress—or, rather, undress. She wished to see him, too.
With delight, she reached over to pull at his shirt, snatching it off him with his complete cooperation. Her eyes noted the necklace he wore, one she had left for him, but she said nothing. Next to his trousers.
His hands were upon her flesh now, his fingers seeking out her curves, her breasts, the femininity of that, her most secret realm. Her knees buckled under her, and she found herself unable to finish the task of undoing his trousers without his assistance.
Her hand reached out to him again and she whispered, “I cannot control the urge to touch you, Moon Wolf. What is happening to me? Can you tell me what is wrong?”
“Shhh. It is nothing wrong. It is desire, that is all.”
“Desire? But is it always so…intense?…”
“Saa, no, I do not believe so. What we share is a coming together of spirit, I think, a nourishing of the soul, as well as passion. I can feel you, the essence of who you are and in this moment, I can see the beauty and simplicity of you. Can you feel it in me, too?”
She nodded.
“Aa, I have heard of this before, have known men who speak of this thing, but never have I experienced it. Saa, there is nothing wrong. There is a great deal that is right.”
“Is that why I want more? More of what? And why can’t I stop myself from wanting to touch you?”
He groaned, his eyes closing.
“I think, Moon Wolf, that resisting you when I was younger was not so wise a thing. I should have gone with you and taken your offer of marriage all those years ago. If I had, do you think we would have experienced this passion long before now?”
“I think that is possible,” he responded, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper.
“Has it always been this way between us, unacknowledged, do you think?”
He nodded, his head against her own, his breathing quick and shallow.
“And do you think it will be like this still, when we have been long married and are growing old together?”
He caught his breath and held it while several moments swept by, followed by a deadly silence. At last he uttered, “Married?…” It was almost a whisper. “Old age? I think that…” He didn’t finish. His hands slowed in their exploration of her, and his body went suddenly rigid. He backed away slightly. Had she been at all experienced, she might have taken heed of the brusque change in him, but she had never been in love before, had never been with a man. And even when he took a short step back, away from her, she didn’t register his transformation.
More startled than concerned, particularly since she stood nude before him, she took a shaky step forward, trusting him to wrap her back in his arms. After all, this was a time of great import for her; the moment when she would give herself fully to the man she loved.
That he remained before her, his hands to his side, his stance tense, escaped her notice, at least for the moment.
“Alys, Little Brave Woman, we must talk.”
“Talk? We are talking.” She reached out her hand for him.
He ignored her and glanced away. “Alys?”
“What?”
“I must think.” He stepped back, even farther away; she tread forward. He shook his head, frowning. “Do not consider that this is something that I wish to do, but it must be done and you are not making it easy for me.”
“What are you talking about? Easy for you…to what?”
He flashed her a scowl. “We must stop this.”
“Stop?”
She didn’t need his quick glance to know what he meant.
She tilted her head to the side. “Why?”
“Because you need to allow me to think…more clearly. I must remember again the words of my grandfather, who instructed me that when a woman is in the heat of passion, I must reason for the two of us. A woman pushed too far can too easily be toppled, leaving her ruined. It is not a wise thing to do to a good woman.” He cast a brief glimpse down at her. “And you are a good woman.”
“I should hope so, though I do not feel so proper right now.”
“But you are a very good woman and what I was about to do is best done only to one’s wife, which you are not. It is for this reason that we must stop. We must refrain from becoming…physical with one another.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I see.” She paused. “And this is because we are not married?”
He nodded.
“Well, if it is merely the lack of a marriage certificate that makes you desire to stop, perhaps arrangements could be made…if you are willing…”
Her words trailed off as she watched an invisible mask drop down over his features, his look all at once deadly stoic.
His dark eyes captured hers, though it did her little good to stare back at him. She could detect nothing. And he became so still that she wondered if he continued to breathe. In response, she uttered no sound, though she did shiver as the lethal silence spread around them, the water dripping in the cave somewhere far away the only sound in an otherwise silent universe.
At last he spoke. “I do not know what this certificate is but I know that it would do us no good.”
A child? She hadn’t thought of it. But now that he mentioned it, the idea gave her mood a certain buoyancy. That is, until she glimpsed his expression.
Then, with a single glance, she plummeted, trembling with a premonition.
“It would be an Indian child,” he was continuing. “Can you tell me how a child such as this would be viewed by the white man? And how you would be as well?”
She lifted her chin, dismayed that she had started to shake. “Do you honestly think that I care about such pettiness?” Her voice quivered.
But he appeared oblivious to it. He sent her a heated look. “I think that you should. I know you are a strong and a good woman, but you must regard for a moment the other life that you might carry if we were to…continue as we were.”
“But—”
“Know that I am not in a position to marry. I may never be.”
There it was, she thought, his intention clearly stated. She tossed her head and straightened her spine, as though his simple words hadn’t affected her. But her bravado was fleeting; within herself and in secret, she withdrew.
“My life is too unstable,” he continued to speak, apparently unaware of the changes taking place within her. “I cannot permit a wife into my life. It would be unfair to her; from one day to the next I do not know if I will be alive. Such is the direction I have chosen to take my life. I do it willingly for my people. But it is a life that does not permit the presence of a woman, or a child.” He stood up at last, tossing the borrowed shirt at her, which she caught in midair. “What would happen,” he asked, “if I were to get you with child and then die? You alone would have to bear the brunt of the talk and the prejudice that would surround you. Do you think I would wish this upon you, upon a child of my own making?”
She shook back her head, thrusting her arms into the shirt with vigor. And, pulling the material up and over her head, then down her body, she felt a little better, at least a little less vulnerable. Enough so that she could point out, though perhaps only in an attempt to spare her dignity, “I have not asked you to marry me, nor to get me pregnant.”
