The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  Saaaa. He used the Cheyenne expression which stood for many things, including astonishment. It was as though she might be the wounded party from all those years ago…not he.

  High Wolf nodded a silent acknowledgment, even if the movement of his head was a slight one. Then, leaning his weight upon his rifle, he awaited the “angel in blue” as she approached.

  “Ho’neoxhaa’eho’ese,” she pronounced his name in Cheyenne as soon as she stepped within a few feet of him. “It has been a long time.”

  She did not offer her hand, and her words, softly spoken, cut through him, as though the sound of her voice were blazed in steel. Yet High Wolf simply nodded, trying to shake off the feeling of being ill-at-ease.

  In contrast, she seemed all poise and assurance; she even smiled. However, he took careful note, no happiness reached those green eyes before she said, “How have you been?”

  “I am well,” he replied, his voice, usually full-bodied, no more than a dull monotone.

  She seemed unaware of any problem with him, however, and replied, “That is good. That is good, indeed.”

  “And you?” he inquired politely.

  Again, she grinned up at him, before saying, “I am well, as you can see.”

  High Wolf inclined his head toward her, catching her eye before he said, “And your husband?”

  She flinched as though he might have dealt her a blow, and oddly, her face drained of color, her eyes becoming suddenly dull. Hurriedly, she glanced away.

  Strange.

  Frowning, High Wolf ventured further, “Is he in company with you?”

  However, the princess did not deign to answer; her gaze looked instead out upon the dock as though it were of great interest—a dock that was streaming with people. “Mr. High Wolf,” she said at last, “over there, due west of us”—she nodded toward the spot—“there is a patch of level ground that looks fairly well deserted of people. I would very much like to take a turn in it, if you would be so kind as to accompany me.”

  Take a turn. He hadn’t heard that phrase, hadn’t spoken that phrase in well over ten years. Hearing it again, unfortunately for him, had the effect of turning back time.

  Politely, out of a habit from long ago, he bowed at the waist. “I would be happy to join you, Your Highness,” he said, “at some other time. But I am afraid that I have…other business that calls my attention at the moment.”

  She acknowledged him with a delicate dip of her head. “I understand,” she said. “I am assuming this business relates to Governor Clark and his hiring you as a guide?”

  High Wolf said nothing in reply.

  “And I am sure you have already surmised that I am to be the party you are to accompany into the interior.”

  He blinked at her, his only acknowledgement.

  “And you are considering declining, now that you know more of the facts?” She might have asked it as such, but he knew her words were no question.

  He shrugged, saying, “As you say.”

  “Very well,” she acknowledged, “although I find it monstrous ill that you can turn so easily away from a promise.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “For you see,” she continued, “I am calling in a favor you once granted me. A favor, you had once said, that would send you to me in a moment of distress. If I remember correctly”—she gave him a sly look—“you promised to come to my aid if I did no more than call upon you.”

  He didn’t blink—not even a single eyelash—as he countered, “All such promises came to nothing, Your Highness, on the day you became Prince Alathom’s wife, by the very nature of that act.”

  When she frowned, he went on to observe, “Did you not vow to forsake all others? That would include me, would it not?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, then grinned up at him, while High Wolf suddenly found himself at odds, disliking her, while all the while longing to take her in his arms. Instead of doing either, however, he stepped back, away from her.

  But she continued, “If I remember correctly, there were no restraints upon your favor when you made the vow, although I do admit it was a long time ago. You merely said, ‘Ask, and I will come.’” She smiled at him flirtatiously. “Perhaps your favors expire with time if not used?”

  He shrugged off the insult. “It was the heartfelt promise of a boy from long ago. You have a husband now to attend to your needs.”

  “But that is precisely the reason for my visit, Mr. High Wolf,” she said, her expression suddenly modest. “For you see, to all the world, I no longer have a husband.”

  High Wolf went very still, his outward demeanor showing little of his agitation. Instead he watched her watching him; saw her scrutinize him, her glance perhaps hoping to find some weakness in him. But High Wolf was too well versed in the ways of a scout, and much too observant to be affected by such an overt contemplation, and with ease, he carefully hid the sudden quickening of his heart.

  But she was continuing to speak, and said, “Now, please, Mr. High Wolf, let us take that turn.” And sweeping her skirts with a grand gesture, she stepped toward the place she had earlier indicated, though shortly she turned back. “Mr. Dominic,” she called over her shoulder, “please inform Governor Clark that I will join him soon. I shall be only a moment.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” said Mr. Dominic, and bowing, turned away.

  Slowly, Princess Sierra pivoted around, her gaze capturing his. “Now, Mr. High Wolf,” she said, “shall we?”

  And High Wolf, bound by an imprudent oath from his past, had no other option—at least none at the moment—but to hear her out. And though he wished himself somewhere else—anywhere else—he followed her lead.

  Oh, how she wished things were different. Oh, how she wished she could turn back time.

  But events were as they were, and not even God in His heaven could change the past.

  Princess Sierra sighed and, as she stepped lightly toward the spot she had earlier indicated, she wondered what she could say to this man that would sway him to her cause, trying to recall her well-rehearsed speech.

  It was one thing to determine and practice such things in the privacy of one’s quarters, quite another to confront the actual man. Plus she hadn’t counted on the increased rate of her heartbeat, or on the weakness which came over her limbs. And despite herself, Princess Sierra was experiencing a desire to throw herself into High Wolf’s arms and beg for his mercy.

  She snorted instead. She? Beg this man?

  Never.

  Still, she must do something to solicit his help, and all without allowing him to perceive her real purpose. Could she do it? Could she fool this very insightful man?

  Oh, if only life, past events could be different. For within her, and increasing with every minute, was a sensation of old, a desire to purge herself of her troubles—as she had often done with this man in their not-too-distant past.

  But she could hardly afford such a luxury and remain true to herself. Indeed, not only must she remain steadfast, she daren’t forget that this was the same man whose treachery had broken her heart…

  Sierra inhaled deeply once again. There were some things that, once done, could never be taken back. And make no mistake, this man’s offense had been such a one.

  Well, so be it. Squaring her shoulders, the princess turned to face him and said, “The prince is dead.”

  High Wolf frowned. “Dead?”

  “Yes, apparently so.”

  “Apparently?” As High Wolf’s frown deepened, his stare became piercing.

  Ignoring the look, she continued, “Prince Alathom was not home when the event which took his life happened, as you might already know.”

  High Wolf raised one single eyebrow. He repeated, “Already know?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It was a hunting accident—here in the Americas. We received word of the incident only a few months ago.”

  “We?”

  “Our families.” Sierra swallowed, and inhaling a deep breath, took a plunge,
when perhaps it might have been more prudent to tread water. However, she continued, “Come now, High Wolf, I’m certain that I’m not telling you anything of which you are not already aware.”

  If he detected the note of censure in her voice, he overlooked it, for all he said was, “Why would you think that?”

  How dare he pretend to be innocent? Did he mean to insult her intelligence? Did he honestly think she would not be able to piece together the facts?

  Well, perhaps it was time to show him that she could play any game that he chose to play. And, determined to put him in his place, she began, “I would think that, because the accident that took his life happened here…in the West, you would be well versed in it.”

  High Wolf narrowed a glance at her. “Meaning that you think he and I were together when it happened?”

  “If the shoe fits…”

  “And you think I was responsible for his death? Is this what you’re insinuating?”

  “No,” she denied, momentarily thrown off guard by his question. In vain, she tried to ignore the confusion his question brought her, for despite her anger at him, she never would have thought this man responsible for the prince’s accident. He and Alathom were simply too close.

  No, the truth was that she simply did not believe such an accident had taken place.

  If she were correct—and there was no reason to assume she was not—the prince and High Wolf had conceived the deceit together, had planned it as deceptively as they had once planned another escape.

  But she could not very well tell him that.

  However, he was frowning at her, staring at her in a way that brought her to understand that he was reading every nuance of her reaction…something he was quite adept at, and a little too breathlessly, she continued, “I…I would not accuse you of having caused his death. I know you would never do anything to intentionally harm the prince. It’s only that…”

  “You think I should have died in his place?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Then why, when you had a reason to do so, didn’t you come back to me?

  No, that wasn’t right. She couldn’t have actually thought that—not about this man.

  High Wolf, however, as though ill-at-ease, crossed his arms over his chest before repeating, “Then what? What are you accusing me of?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything except perhaps being more friendly toward the prince than you have been to me.”

  This last appeared to baffle High Wolf, and even he could not subdue the look of bewilderment that settled across his features. In truth, so honest was his perplexity, had she not known better, she would almost have believed in his innocence—almost…

  And she said, “Come now, High Wolf, we were always friends, weren’t we? You, the prince and myself?”

  High Wolf visibly stiffened, though all he said was, “We were—once.”

  “And so all I am asking of you is that you give me as much deference as you would, or more correctly, as you have, the prince. I would like to go into the interior for a hunt, perhaps to ease my mind from my ‘loss.’” She emphasized the word. “I would request that you guide me there.”

  Sierra glanced up to see, not the countenance of a man who had been caught out in a lie and was quietly ready to admit it, but rather she was met with indisputable contempt.

  Oddly, it was this look that gave her courage. For it was she, not he, who had a right to indignation.

  He stirred, moving away from her, and said, “I will not lead you into the interior of this country.”

  Instantly, a feeling of disdain swept over her, returning to her a presence of mind. And she said, “Stay where you are. I have not yet given you permission to leave.”

  He stilled. “No, you haven’t, Your Highness,” he said, pivoting around and coming face-to-face with her once more. However, with a leer on his countenance, he added, “But perhaps you should look around you.”

  In defiance, she kept her glance glued to him.

  “And maybe, if you did so, you might examine your environment even more carefully.”

  Sierra stared straight ahead, still training her gaze on him and him alone.

  He continued, “For, Your Highness, if you were to do this simple act, you might discover that you are no longer in Europe. Now look at me closely.”

  “I already am.”

  “More closely than even this.”

  She blew out her breath, refusing to do as he bid, and glanced away from him instead.

  But if her reaction bothered him, he seemed not to show it. Indeed, he said, “Do you see that I am not one of your subjects?”

  Even as he uttered the words, the sneer in his tone, the curtness of his very manner, could not have been mistaken for anything other than what it was: disrespect. In response, her chin lifted high into the air, and she declared, “One does not need to be a subject of a particular country in order to exhibit proper manners,” she scolded. “And there is nothing that I have said that gives you leave to mock me. Indeed, I ask a simple thing.”

  If she had hoped to make him more propitious, she had certainly failed, for within his glance was pure defiance, and he said, “True, the request is simple, but I suspect that the entreaty which is so sweetly given is yet filled with venom.”

  She sucked in her breath.

  And he continued, “I am not for hire by you.” He spun about, ready to leave.

  Goodness! The man hated her.

  For an instant, the realization caused her to sway from where she stood. And for another heartfelt moment, she felt as though every single drop of blood in her body had become frozen.

  She had certainly not anticipated this man’s hatred. After all, by what right did he dare show her ridicule? She, and she alone, possessed leave to seek revenge.

  Yet he was retreating from her, without her leave, without her approval and with as much ill-will as she had ever witnessed. Worse, his departure was not something she would or could permit.

  Reaching forward, she grabbed hold of his sleeve, the rough leather of his shirt feeling oddly soft against her fingers, a softness, she noted, that was not reflected in his countenance, or in any other part of him. She said, “What did I ever do to you that you feel compelled to treat me like this?”

  He stopped, he stiffened, he inhaled slowly before he at last rocked back on his feet. Then swallowing hard, as though he were not as confident as he might like her to believe, he shut his eyes, letting go of his breath.

  It was a show of minor weakness, but it was also the advantage she wanted, and she said, “You, sir, deserted me. It was not the other way around.”

  “Was it not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He let out his breath. “Try to understand, Your Highness, I am a different man now than I was when you once knew me. Ten years can bring about a great deal of change in a person.”

  “I see,” she said dumbly, as yet another thought struck her. Aloud, she asked, “Are you married?”

  She held her breath. It was a reasonable question, given their situation. It was also one she should have asked herself before now, if only to soften any surprise. After all, High Wolf was nothing if not a handsome and virile man. And being such, he was probably much sought after as a husband.

  Her stomach dropped, and unreasonably, she felt defeated.

  He said, “Does it matter if I am?”

  “Of course not. Not to me.”

  “Then why would you ask, I wonder?”

  She shrugged. “Curiosity. Is this, then—your marriage—the reason why you will not guide me?”

  “Could be.”

  “I see.” She gulped in air. “You could bring her with you. I would not mind.” It was a lie; even as she spoke the words, Sierra knew she would rather die than meet this man’s wife.

  It was an odd thing to become aware of, and she trembled with realization: Did she still care about this man?

  Impossible. It simply could
not be.

  She glanced up to catch him grinning at her. But his good humor was far from a pretty sight. In truth, his grin was simply a movement of his lips, with no inclination to mirth whatsoever, a mere shadow of what she remembered.

  However, he was speaking, and he said, “Well, I, for one, if I did have a wife, would mind bringing her along, although I realize you might not share my scruples on that.”

  If he had a wife…?

  “No, Princess,” he continued, “you are wasting your precious time on me. Go home. Leave me to my own thoughts, and let me grieve for my friend in private, for I meant what I said. I will not lead you anywhere in this country.”

  The words had no more left his mouth than he had spun about and was doing exactly as he had threatened: He left, without so much as a by-your-leave, and with no deference to her whatsoever.

  But this time Princess Sierra barely noticed. In truth, she was frowning, thinking…

  Had High Wolf always harbored such antagonism? And if he had, how had she missed seeing it until now?

  Sierra closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Well, this was a fine mess. Should she have confided her own doubts about the prince? That he might still be alive? And if he were, that she wanted nothing more than to have a council with him? Would that have persuaded High Wolf to her cause?

  No, she had already made up her mind on this account, and she was certain: High Wolf and the prince were in one another’s confidence, as they had always been. And little good would come from her pleading.

  But, dear Lord, what was she to do now?

  Chapter 6

  “’Tis said she threatened to bite him; lest ’tis what her maid said.”

  “And did she bite him?”

  “She would have if he would have been here. ’Tis said she is like a vampire, that she is.”

  Gossip between servants at

  Prince Alathom’s castle

  The sun shone brightly on the trio as they rode through the lush woodland valley of southern Germany. Laughing, the three friends stopped at a brook, both gentlemen dismounting to help the princess to the ground.