by Karen Kay
Being a very perceptive young man, High Wolf had initiated her into a few specialties of the scout, had drawn her attention to things in their environment—causing her to look at people, at objects, as she never had before.
He grinned at her. “We have been practicing this skill for several weeks. This time, however, why do you not tell me what you want me to concentrate on, instead of the reverse?”
“Yes, all right,” she said, nodding. “I will. Now let’s see…” She glanced around her. “Here is one: Do you feel the heaviness of the air, the moisture in it? The knowledge that a storm may be pending?”
“Ah, this is a good one,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
“Good,” she said. “Did you know that I have always been afraid of storms?”
“No, but I would like to learn all these things about you.”
“Well, it’s true. The thunder scares me and the lightning makes me want to hide my head.”
He bent toward her. “I would never have you hide your head so long as you are with me. If I could, I would make you strong like the war eagle. Perhaps in the future, when you hear the thunder and lightning, you will remember our talk and will think of me and recall that I love you. And this you will have, instead of your fear.”
She grinned. “Yes,” she said, “Yes, that would be better, would it not? Now, I have another one: Do you smell the fragrance in the air?”
He turned his head, sniffing. “I do.”
“I think the air is scented with the perfume from perhaps each lady present. It is a pleasant odor, is it not?”
He nodded. “It is pleasant. And I think that from this moment on, whenever I smell perfume, I will think of you.”
She could feel herself blushing. Nevertheless, she said, “This is great fun, Mr. High Wolf. Now it is your turn.”
“At your command, Your Highness,” he said, bowing slightly at the waist. “Ah, let’s see…”
“Yes?”
“Do you feel the pressure of your hand in mine, as I take it into my own? Do you sense the light tension as I hold it?”
She nodded.
“And do you feel how wonderful it is to touch?”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “I do.”
“And so it is that when I touch you, I will always feel wonderful. And I hope you will feel the same. Do you?”
She giggled. “You know that I do.”
But he barely heard her, for he was continuing to talk, and he said, “And as I look at you, under the lighting of a multitude of stars, I am reminded of a painting, a painting of a beautiful, young lady.”
Sierra felt the blood rushing again to her cheeks, although she protested, “But I am not a painting, sir.”
“No, you’re not. And for this, I am most thankful. Now, look above you, my loveliest one, at the starlit night; and below you, do you feel the solidness of the marble floor beneath our feet, can you hear the soft sway of others’ feet upon it?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“And as they move, do you hear the swish of a lady’s dress? The solid clicking of the gentleman’s boots?”
“Yes.”
“And when you recall these things, will you remember them and me, and think on this night pleasantly, as will I?”
“Always, my love. Always.”
“And yet, my dearest,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips, “there is a most vital perception I have not yet mentioned. I think it is because it is more subtle. Do you know it?”
“I…I’m afraid I do not.”
Stepping to the side, he brought her into the shadows on the veranda, and as he did so, he placed her hand over his heart, and whispered, “Do you feel my heart’s steady beat against your palm?”
“Steady?” Sierra asked, glancing up at him with a smirk. “My dear wolf prince, your heartbeat is racing. Are you ill?”
She watched as he shut his eyes, watched as he shook his head. “No, no, I am not ill; I am merely in love with you. And when you are near, my heart aches most strangely, and beats most furiously. If it is illness, my sweet, beautiful Sierra, I am certain that I never wish to recover.”
“Oh, High Wolf.” She fell into his arms. “How happy I am,” she said, as she took his fingers and placed them gently against the pulse at her neck, letting him feel the effect he had on her. She said, “My dear love, I do promise you that even in my old age, I will recall these things you have pointed out so cleverly this evening. And I will remember them along with my love for you…always.”
High Wolf inhaled swiftly, as though he could hardly utter a word. However, when he did speak, all he said was “Yes, I, too, will always remember.”
And then he looked down at her, and, with his gaze trained softly upon hers, he brought two of his own fingers to his lips, where he kissed them, before placing those same fingers against Sierra’s own. And murmuring in her ear, he said, “I love you so very much.”
“And I you.”
Deep inside the ballroom, the music had ended, but it was only a temporary affair. For within moments, the orchestra struck up a chord, and Sierra’s spirits took flight. Gazing back into the room, Sierra observed His Serene Highness, Prince Eric, and His Royal Highness, Grand Duke Colheart, her father, step up onto the orchestra platform, which sat high above the crowd.
She heard High Wolf’s breath catch, while her own heart pounded in double time. The time to announce their engagement had come at last.
Excitement flooded her nervous system, and as she placed her hand in High Wolf’s extended one, she felt herself shaking.
Gently, High Wolf pressed his lips to her hand before saying, “Do not worry. All will be well. You will see.”
They smiled lovingly at one another, and stepping back through the balcony doors, they took their places within the crowd.
The rest was not worthy of recalling, she decided.
Sierra lay down, resting her head for a moment upon her arm. In the distance, a whisper of thunder coursed through the air.
Was there to be a storm?
“Whenever a storm threatens, I will be reminded of our love…”
So she had promised herself. Had she meant it?
Perhaps she had. For at the moment, though her eyelids drooped sleepily over her eyes, he and he alone filled her thoughts…
Chapter 14
Was this a sunset? This a moon’s bright glow?
Was this a lake? A vase of roses unfurled?
I saw first with your eyes till I could see,
Discovered first through you reality.
Excerpted from a poem by David Ziff
“Sonnets to a Soul Mate”
She was asleep, sound asleep, he realized as he carefully removed the camouflage from above their camp. With an easy jump, he squatted down into their shelter, replacing the camouflage at once.
Seating himself beside her, he gazed at her fully now that she was asleep, taking his time, filling his mind with her image, wondering at the same time if she had always been this beautiful. And what a tantalizing sight she presented, her softly rounded curves amply displayed, since she wore only corset and drawers. Her dark hair, usually caught up in ringlets, had long since fallen from its pins and was, at present, hanging over one shoulder, softening her look.
Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he ran his fingers over the silkiness of those waves, adoring them; his gaze lingering over her luminous, unblemished skin. So beautiful, he thought. So incredibly beautiful.
And he knew in that moment exactly what he would do: He would take her with him. For, as Grandfather had once said, “Do not leave your woman behind, but rather, keep her at your side. Though you may believe she could not long endure the hardship of the trail, she will fare better by your side than if you left her behind.”
“Your woman,” Grandfather had said. How he wished that were true.
At that moment, she stirred and, opening her eyes, stared straight at him. Sleepily, she smiled.
“You are back,” she said
.
“Yes,” he replied.
“And did you find any trace of my maid and steward?”
“I did.”
She waited, as though expecting him to continue, but when he remained silent, she went on to say, “Did you find them well?”
He hesitated, then, “They are well, I believe.”
“And…?”
“They are safe for the moment.”
“For the moment? Then they are in some kind of danger?”
“No, at present, they are well.”
He heard her breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good. That is good,” she said sleepily.
“I have brought some berries and pemmican if you would like some food.”
Again, she smiled lazily. “I am quite hungry, but I’m afraid I am too sleepy to do anything about it directly, my wolf prince.”
Instantly, High Wolf’s attention caught her words, and his stomach dropped, while an overpowering desire to take her in his arms overwhelmed him. He hadn’t heard her speak that name, and with that particular endearment, in so many years…
He closed his eyes against the onrush of longing, wanting, hoping…
But it all came to nothing. Within moments, she was fast asleep again…
…Leaving High Wolf to consider doing the same.
Alas, he might not be able to kiss her, to make love to her here and now as he would like, but he could settle down next to her, take her in his arms and hold her.
And so, as he surrendered to the toil of physical exhaustion, he curled his body around hers. And with his arm draped protectively over her, he fell asleep at once.
She awakened with a dead weight over her stomach. Was something wrong with her?
Her eyelids flew open, and she stared straight up; pine boughs and branches were her ceiling, as well as her bed; mud, dirt and stone, her walls. Plus, there was an odd, earth and pine sort of smell all about her. Where was she?
And whose arm was this thrown over her?
She started up, but fell back with a grimace as the previous day’s events came flooding back to her: a narrow escape from a burning boat; a near encounter with a hostile war party; the loss of her companions. Briefly, she shivered, reminding herself that it was over. Her servants were safe; as was she…for now. But safe from whom?
Gazing to her side, toward High Wolf, she took a moment to wonder: Had she jumped from one dangerous situation into another? Traded one predicament for another?
Because her feelings for this man had never died.
Her response to that thought was a deep, sincere groan. And she wondered, how could this be? Hadn’t enough time intervened between the past and now? Shouldn’t her affection for this man have died?
Yes, most definitely. Yet it had not.
And if that weren’t shock enough, to come to realize that she was still harboring a passion for him was staggering.
Indeed, she thought with more conviction, there was great danger here. But it was a danger not from the rampages of the wild Indian or from the perils of a more natural force.
Alas, the danger was from within herself. And if she were wise, she would run from High Wolf, his influence, his charm, as fast as she could.
And yet, had she made this dreadful journey only to give in at the first hint of risk? Was her character not more steadfast?
Of course it was. Besides, she had a score to settle with Prince Alathom. Make no mistake, he would either do as she said, or…
No, returning home with her mission unaccomplished was unthinkable.
She could not, however, go on without High Wolf.
Briefly, she turned her head toward the object of her thoughts, watching him as he slept, studying him as though his sleeping form might give her some clue as to the best inroad past his defenses.
Odd, in slumber, he appeared harmless, looking much like a little boy. His long hair had been pulled back, out of the way, throwing his face into prominence.
And it was the handsomest of faces, she decided. His eyelashes were unusually long and straight, creating shadows over his cheekbones. His breathing was even, relaxed; his bare chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm as his body curled in toward hers.
And despite herself, she wanted to touch that chest, his face. Indeed, the urge was hard to suppress. After all, he was asleep…
She raised her hand, inched it forward, but let it drop to her side. She dared not do it. What if she were to awaken him? How would she explain herself?
And so she did the only thing to be done in the circumstances, and picking up High Wolf’s wrist, she placed his arm, which was draped so possessively over her, to his side. And rolling away from him, she came up onto her knees.
Her stomach growled.
“There are pemmican and berries in my parfleche.”
She gasped. “You are awake?”
“No,” he replied. “I am talking in my sleep.”
The statement made her smile. “You speak well for a man who is out of his senses. Where is your parfleche?”
“Over there.” He pointed. “Eat to your fill,” he said as he came up onto his side, extending his arm beneath him. And bending that arm at the elbow, he placed his head against his hand. “We are in good game country. I will be able to hunt for our supper this day.”
“Will we be staying here, in this camp, then?”
“Only through the rest of the day. When evening comes, we will leave here to follow the trail of your maid and steward.”
“We will?”
He nodded.
“We wander by night, then?”
“It is the only safe way to travel when one is in enemy country. The plains offer little cover during the day, making it too easy to be discovered by a hostile war party.”
“I see,” she acknowledged, grabbing a handful of pemmican as they spoke, and holding the bag out to him, she proffered some of the food. Quietly, he accepted the gift, his hand lingering over hers as he took the parfleche from her.
At that touch, pure ecstasy rushed over her nerve endings, the shock of it reverberating through her body. In sooth, she felt the urge to swoon toward him, inviting more.
What madness was this? she wondered, and retrieving her hand from him, she asked, “Where did you obtain this food?”
“I carry pemmican with me always.” Softly, he smiled at her before taking a handful of the stuff.
“Really? It is tasty, I must say.” Her voice was breathy, but she calmed herself enough to comment, “I am hungry, however, and I think that at present, most anything would taste good.”
He nodded.
“What is it made from?”
“Dried buffalo meat, ground fine; bone marrow fat, as good as butter; and chokecherries. It will sustain you throughout the day.”
“Chokecherries?”
“They grow on bushes by the thousands. They are slightly bitter, except in certain seasons.”
“I see,” she said, and looking toward him, she noted that his gaze practically caressed her. She swallowed, hard, before saying, “Y-you have b-berries, too?”
Again he pointed. “They are in the parfleche that was sitting next to this one.”
She grabbed hold of that one, a little too quickly, her nervousness a palpable thing.
But he made no comment.
And so, after a time, when he remained silent, she relaxed enough to ask the question most pertinent to her present state. She began, “Will I be able to bathe today? I am afraid I am in need of one…quite.”
He nodded. “When night comes. I will then take you to a stream.”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “And of course you won’t look.”
“Of course.”
She caught her lip between her teeth. Then, inhaling deeply, she said, “But evening is a long time away, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And I suppose in the time between then and now, you are willing to overlook my appearance?”
“If you will overlook mine,
” he replied, though she noted he said it with a smile.
A quick nod for an acknowledgement and then she said, “That is fair enough, though I would dearly love to wash the odd taste from my mouth.”
He pointed out yet another bag that was hanging from the three-pronged sticks that stood over the fire. Dubiously, she gazed at it. It looked as though it were made from the innards of some animal. Not exactly the most appetizing way to store water, she supposed. Yet, when she reached her hands into that bag, the water was deliciously wet, cool and tasted wonderful.
She sat back, picked up the other parfleche—the one that contained the berries—and began nibbling on fresh, wild strawberries. A silence descended over them, though in truth, it was most comfortable, as though they were each perfectly at ease with the other. At last, however, her curiosity would be satisfied, and she asked, “Where are my maid and steward?”
“They have been taken by the Mandans.”
“The Mandans?”
“They are a tribe of Indians who live on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River. Because of where they are situated, they serve as a trade center for all the plains tribes.”
“Ah. And are they friendly Indians?”
He nodded. “A bit too friendly sometimes. The women have been known to welcome the white man in a very friendly fashion. But you may discover this all on your own. There is a white man’s fort that stands beside their village. Your maid and steward have undoubtedly been brought there, where they will be well taken care of.”
“That is good,” she said, bestowing upon High Wolf a most leery glance. After a moment, when he did not volunteer any information, she asked, “And do you intend to leave me there, also? Or—once we find Maria and Mr. Dominic—do you intend to take us all back to St. Louis?”
“No.”
She hesitated. “Ah, does that mean no, you don’t intend to leave me there? Or no, you don’t intend to take us back to St. Louis?”
He shrugged. “Both will do.”
Cautiously, she gazed at him, her eyes staring straight into his. “Does that mean that you have changed your mind? That you will guide me further into Indian country?”