The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  Taking her arm, he propelled her along with him as he fought his way toward the lifeboat, shoving through the hurrying crowd of voyageurs. Confusion reigned supreme, and men rushed by them with little regard to what they did, more times than not pushing Mr. Dominic and Sierra out of the way.

  Within moments, although it seemed to Sierra to take a lifetime, the two caught a glimpse of the lifeboat. Through the haze of smoke, they could see that several other passengers were scrambling toward it.

  Sierra stared around her, coughing as she inhaled soot and smoke. “Where is Maria?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Mr. Dominic, “but I am certain she will find her way here on her own.”

  “Find her own way?…Mr. Dominic, do not lie to me. If she could easily come here, she would be here. Why is she not?”

  Mr. Dominic didn’t answer.

  “There must be trouble, I fear. Please, you must go and see to her.”

  “I cannot, Your Highness. My first duty is to you, and we must get you quickly aboard this lifeboat, while there is still room aboard her.”

  “Yes, you are right, I must, but,” said Sierra, “you will not stay with me a moment longer. You must go and find Maria.”

  “Your Highness,” pleaded Mr. Dominic, “you must not ask me to desert you. It would cause me great alarm, for not only are you my first concern, I am duty-bound to your father, having promised him that I would not leave your side.”

  “Mr. Dominic, how could you promise my father such a thing?”

  “It seemed little enough to ask.”

  “Yes, well, you can ease your mind, Mr. Dominic. You have done your duty. My father could not have foreseen all situations that would arise on this trip.”

  Mr. Dominic didn’t answer.

  “Do you not see? I cannot leave this vessel until I can determine what has happened to Maria. What if she has fallen somewhere? My mind would never rest easy if I saved myself and deserted her.”

  “But Your Highness—”

  “It is either you go to see about her, or me.”

  Mr. Dominic looked uncertain.

  “Man the lifeboat!”

  Eyes wide, Sierra grabbed hold of Mr. Dominic’s sleeve. She said, “Tell me, is there another lifeboat aboard this vessel?”

  “No, there is not, Your Highness.”

  “Then you must leave this instant. You must find Maria, stay with her and keep her safe. Do you hear me? I will gladly step into this lifeboat, but not until you—”

  Suddenly, Mr. Dominic bent over and picked her up, setting her into the boat. Then, straddling one leg over the side of the boat, he began to climb into it.

  But Sierra would have none of that. She jumped up from her seat, straddling the boat herself, her pose an obvious dare. She said, “I command you to find Maria this very instant. I would be of little help to her, as I cannot swim, but if you do not go, I will.”

  “Your Highness, please, I beg you. I…” Mr. Dominic trailed off his objection, looking, for all that he was big and muscular, as though he might wail. But at last he appeared to capitulate, releasing his straddle from the lifeboat.

  “Now go!” It was Sierra commanding. “Before more time is wasted, go! I promise that I will ride this lifeboat to shore. Do not worry about me. I will await you both from the safety of the shoreline. Go quickly!”

  Mr. Dominic looked as though he would raise yet another objection, but, as the flames climbed higher into the smoke-laden sky, and with little choice other than to obey his monarch, Mr. Dominic turned and fled in the direction of the maid’s cabin.

  Chapter 9

  “’Tis said she is the cause of our own prince’s death.”

  “Aye,” said the housemaid, “that she is. ’Tis rumored as well that he died rather than return here to her side.”

  Gossip between servants at

  Prince Alathom’s castle

  At the first hint that something had gone amiss, High Wolf immersed himself in the waters of the river, and in doing so, became a part of the river, so much so that not even a swirl could be seen in the water to indicate his progress. Cautiously, he floated toward the ship, practically invisible. He didn’t swim, nor did he float, but rather he executed what could only be described as a dance with the river’s current. Never did he fight the river’s power, but rather he moved with it, letting the water propel him closer to his target.

  At last he came up close to the boat, himself a calm influence in comparison to the turmoil aboard the Diana. He could feel the terror there, sense the smoke-induced delirium of the boatmates, but it was not in his mind to aid these men. No, she was the reason he was here; he would find her.

  Quickly, he perused the voyageurs, as well as the passengers who were still aboard the steamboat. Some of them were already jumping from the burning remnants of the boat, an action that could bring sorrow, unless a person either knew how to swim with the river’s flow or was strong enough of body to fight it. But perhaps these men were that hardy, for these white voyageurs, who worked the boats, were sometimes admired for the physical marvels they could perform.

  Alas, however, High Wolf saw nothing of her.

  Making a quick circle around the boat proved to be a waste of time, for he still had not seen her. And so it was that he found himself with little choice but to board the boat. Quickly, he hoisted himself up to the main deck, coming down flat-footed and at a run, aware as he did so that the steamboat was sinking, and with the majority of the Diana’s body enveloped in flames, there was little to be done for her. As it was, her lower deck was flooded, and in places already half submerged.

  Still, without losing more than an instant, he found his way around the decks, until as he rounded a corner, something large and heavy fell into the water, creating a terrific splash. But the gray mist of smoke hung heavy over his eyes, and High Wolf found he could see but little.

  Swiftly, he trod closer, and looking toward the spot, High Wolf recognized the cause at once: a smaller boat; one he knew to be a lifeboat, had been thrown into the rushing current.

  Suddenly, things became worse: A piece of wood from above, engulfed in flames, broke off the Diana’s main hull and fell, streaking, toward the water. And before anyone knew what it was about, the wood, now a flaming dagger, struck the lifeboat. In moments, the boat tipped off balance, catching fire.

  A feminine scream split the air, its intensity piercing High Wolf like a knife. Bodies dove off the life boat, but not one of these people was female. Where was she?

  And then, through the soot-induced haze, he saw her, still aboard the blazing lifeboat, her countenance oddly composed. For she didn’t move, not even to save herself.

  What was wrong with her? Was she frozen in place from shock and fear? Although it seemed impossible, he knew that sometimes these things could happen to a person.

  Or was the problem something else? Was it her outrageously full dress? Was she afraid, with so much weight upon her, that she might sink, becoming entangled in its mass?

  But if that were true, she was surely acting in a poor manner to solve the problem, for she did not remove any of her clothing, or take any action to save herself. Instead, amid the ballet of diving bodies, the princess slowly sank along with the boat.

  Quickly, High Wolf plunged into the Missouri’s depths, then came up for breath and caught his bearings. But she was gone, swallowed up by the muddy, swirling waters of the Missouri. That’s when it occurred to him:

  Could she swim?

  It seemed amazing to him that he had no answer to that; he, who should know her well. Instinctively, High Wolf swam toward the place he had last seen her, and diving deeper into the water, hunted for her, but not with his eyes, for the murky waters of the Missouri did not allow sight for more than a few feet.

  No, he searched for her intuitively, spiritually, and in doing so, found her within seconds. But he had no time in which to experience relief. Grabbing hold of her, he kicked out hard, bringing her up with him
to the river’s surface, forcing her head above water, where he heard her gasp for breath. She struggled, and down they both went once more.

  He kept hold of her with one arm, while with his other hand, he took out his knife, and then he did the unthinkable. As quickly as the water would allow him, he cut off her dress.

  In response, she mustered a formidable response. Whereas before he’d seen little life in her, she now fought him with renewed strength, as though he were some sort of madman, or perhaps she, a madwoman. But High Wolf didn’t have time or even the ability under water to explain his actions, and despite her best efforts, he continued cutting away until the dress was removed and the danger had passed.

  The weight of her dress fell away. That this left her in nothing more than her calf-length drawers, hose and corset was hardly discreditable, for she was still almost fully covered.

  But their commotion under water had sunk them too low, and an undertow grabbed hold of them. Quickly, he seized her around the chin, and with mighty strokes, fought his way to the surface of the water, not stopping until he heard her sputter.

  At least she was still breathing.

  He caught his breath, feeling somewhat safer, now that their heads were above the water’s surface, and he called out, “Do not fight the river’s current, or me, because if you do, this river will claim us. You must become composed.” He spoke loudly, but calmly, as though the two of them were taking a stroll, instead of fighting for their lives. He continued, “You must become one with the water, for if you do, it will protect you.”

  But she appeared to be beyond listening, and she fought him with revitalized vigor.

  Once again, he called out, “Cease your struggles, or you will force me to bind you, so that you do not drown us both.”

  But she was obviously unused to the water, and in the end, he had to use brute strength against her, holding her arms and legs with one each of his own. Meanwhile, he kept afloat, lugging her with him and letting the water carry them back to shore.

  After a few moments, she came suddenly alive and howled at him, “I can’t breathe,” and she struggled once more. “You…you’re drowning me.”

  “I am not drowning you; you are doing it to yourself. Cease your struggle and merge your body with mine. I will not let you drown.”

  “And who will keep you afloat?”

  “The water, of course. I have no fear of the water, for I become as one with it. Only those who fight the river’s power ever come to harm in it.”

  “But—”

  “Do you see that you are talking? That you have energy enough to yell at me?”

  “I…I…”

  All at once, she ceased her struggle. In truth, his words must have had effect, for she at last let her body meld with his, allowing him to repeat his earlier dance with the river’s current, shoving off here, letting the stream take him there, forging through the water as easily as if he were picking his way across lily pads.

  It took little time before they were set ashore, appearing, to anyone who might have been looking, that the river had lovingly placed them there.

  At once, High Wolf left the water, and with her tucked under his arm, crept into the protection of the bush, where he granted her a moment to catch her breath.

  But, alas, a moment was all he could afford.

  Staring out toward the vestiges of the boat, at the brightly burning embers, Sierra thought for a moment she saw a hooded figure, cloaked in black, moving through the smoke. Warily, she rubbed her eyes. But when she opened them, it was gone.

  It must have been a figment of her imagination, a result of her near brush with death.

  But, if not that, if she were here, alive and well, what about her friends? Her maid and servant? Dear Lord, were they safe?

  Glancing toward High Wolf, she ordered, “You must go back!”

  The command had been spoken more harshly than need be, but at present, Sierra could hardly consider such things.

  But High Wolf did not deign to answer at once, and in a voice louder still, she once more commanded, “You must save the others!”

  But if he heard her, High Wolf ignored her, except to indicate with hand signs that she should cease talking.

  How rude! Cease to communicate at a time like this?

  How dare he pay her no heed. Did he not remember who she was?

  Unused to her wishes going unfulfilled, she charged him again, only this time she practically yelled the words, “You are to go back, Mr. High Wolf! Now!”

  But instead of sending him into action, her words acquired his anger instead, and without another moment to be gained, he took hold of her arm, and with one hand, jerked her to him impolitely. Then, with no ceremony whatsoever, he clapped his other hand over her mouth. His warm body pressed up against her own caused a degree of pleasure to shoot through her that was simply not to be borne.

  The strap of his parfleche bag bit into her chest and Sierra squirmed. She attempted to scream, too; even tried biting that hand, but without any success. He held her so tightly that she could not even kick him.

  How impertinent. How demeaning. How close he was to her…

  She ground her teeth together in frustration. Why would he not let her speak? Surely, there was little need for silence. After all, there was noise enough from the effects of the fire, from the struggles of the men. Indeed, that clamor alone would drown out the sound of her voice, if that were truly a concern.

  However, High Wolf seemed loath to share her viewpoint, and, rough-handling her to keep her quiet, he effectively gagged her with one hand, freeing his other hand momentarily to motion her again to silence.

  What nerve! What daring! He, thinking to command her?

  It was not to be endured. Thusly, taking advantage of his loosening grip, she bit down hard on that hand, gaining a moment to command, “I charge you to get back to that boat, Mr. High Wolf! Do you not understand? My maid, my steward are still there!”

  However, her antics produced the wrong kind of effect, and he not only frowned, but worse: She gained his utter contempt. His lip curled, his eyes spit indignation, and in his regard was disgust.

  Sierra, however, little cared what he thought at the moment, and her own reaction was to stick her nose into the air.

  But at last he decided to speak out, and though his voice was no more than a whisper, he managed to utter, “If you say another word aloud, I will gag you. Do you understand?”

  She opened her mouth, but when he leaned over her, leering at her, she closed it.

  “The steamboat under fire will attract attention from neighboring tribes,” he continued in that same low, mocking voice, “and some of these Indians are not friendly toward either you or me.”

  “Do you think I care about Indians at a time like this? How can I sit safely ashore, while my friends and the others are in danger? And you shall not thwart me, Mr. High Wolf. If you cannot be coerced to save them, then stand aside, that I might. For I, at least, shall do all that is within my power that I might save them, and now.”

  High Wolf rolled his eyes. “An enlightening speech, to be sure. But no, you will not. Nor will I,” he said. “Your steward is strong enough to fight the current. You will not embarrass him by sending me to save him, or going after him yourself.”

  “But—”

  It was all she dared utter, for with a devilish grin, High Wolf increased his hold on her with one hand, while he reached into a pouch tied to his side with his other, producing a wet strip of rawhide. Merrily, he waved it in front of her.

  Sierra snorted, tossing her head to the side to keep from looking at him. However, she kept wisely quiet.

  But High Wolf seemed to have missed the point altogether, and before she could inquire as to what he was about, he fell to his knees, bringing her with him.

  She opened her mouth to utter a protest, gaining a mouth full of mud for her efforts. But no sooner had she started sputtering out the unsightly dirt, than he shoved her onto her stomach. At the
same time, he, too, fell forward, onto his forearms and stomach, and then, without so much as a by-your-leave, began to belly crawl through the bush, clearly expecting her to do the same.

  “Argh!” The sound escaped her throat quite involuntarily. Nevertheless, at the noise, High Wolf sent her a glance, and she would have had to be dead to miss his opinion of her. Contempt—most passionately displayed—was emblazoned upon his countenance. Again, he motioned her to silence, sending her as stern a look as he had yet to muster.

  She opened her mouth, but High Wolf, sitting up, turned around and, taking hold of her, jerked her to him, hauling her forward. And whatever she would have said was lost to the grass and dirt beneath her. She came up onto her elbows choking out mud, and would have gladly told him exactly what she thought of him. However, the words died in her throat. Once more, he was leaning over, waving that silly rawhide in her face…

  …And didn’t stop waving it until it became evident she would remain mute. Only then did he face forward once more, coming back onto his belly, and crawling over the loose soil and tall grass. Slowly, inch by inch, using only one forearm and his chest to propel him, he kept his other arm thrown around her waist. He pulled her along with him, forcing her to move in the same way as he was. And, make no mistake, there was no pleasure to be had in either her position or in his embrace.

  Pleasure? She sneered. How could there be such a thing as pleasure, when sand tore under her fingernails? When plants and sticks pricked and scratched her as he tugged her along? When her clothes, wet and cold, hindered and chilled her until her flesh had become a mass of goose bumps?

  Trembling, she became acutely aware of the earthy odor of mud, soil and sand under her nose, as well as the aromatic smells of the river and those of the prickly bush. And heaven help her, all these scents clung not only to her, but to the air around her, making her feel as though she might surely swallow the odious stench.

  Her hair was another problem, her coiffure having long ago come loose from its pins. It was at present hanging down over the front of her shoulders, hindering her. But her arms were not free to take care of the problem, and alas, each movement pulled on the length of it, sending shooting pains through her.