The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  “No, you should let it go.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Then tell me why this is so.” He eased himself into lying next to her, and with his head propped up by his hand, he said, “I think the time has come for you to tell me what has happened in these last ten years. What is it that gives you such a determined purpose, for I sense that there is much you are not telling me.”

  She inhaled swiftly, letting go of her breath slowly. “It is complicated.”

  He gestured around him, saying at the same time, “I have much time in which to listen.”

  “No, I cannot tell you. You might not understand, and I think you will condemn me, much as everyone else has.”

  “Who is everyone else?”

  Again, she sighed. “The servants, the serfs, the housemaids, the kitchen maids, the butlers, the farmers, their wives. But mostly Prince Alathom’s father and mother.”

  “They blamed you when the prince left?”

  “Not at first,” she said. “But when one year turned to three, four, five, and still he could not be found—despite envoys sent to discover him—it became apparent that he was not coming back because of me—or so they thought.”

  “And ’they’ are all these people you mentioned?”

  She nodded. “But mostly his father and mother.”

  High Wolf frowned. “I know his father and mother well. After all, I spent six years there myself, and I became close to them both. I cannot imagine them condemning you, unless there was ugly gossip that they began to believe.”

  “Of course there was gossip. From the lowliest servant to the highest. From the townspeople to the clergy. And it is a certainty that I do not even know most of what was said. All I am aware of is that no matter the problem, I became the reason for it. There were even those who began to say I was a witch, and this was the reason Prince Alathom left. Luckily Father Junipero defeated most of these rumors.”

  “Father Junipero did this?”

  “Yes.”

  High Wolf frowned.

  “But even Father Junipero could not put all the rumors to rest, and eventually I had to flee Baden-Baden. Soon after I left, however, the country was invaded, and the reason for the invasion was placed on me, as well.”

  High Wolf sat in silence for a moment, then said, “Why would you want to return there? If all this has happened, why would anyone be so determined to go back?”

  “Because,” she sat up, taking hold of her corset and drawers and placing them in front of her, much like a shield. “Because my family, as well as my country, bear the insult. And there is tension now between those who were once the best of friends. In truth, war threatens between my country and Prince Alathom’s unless I can resolve this.”

  “Saaaa, now I understand. And so you hope to find the prince and take him back to the Continent in order to prevent a war?”

  She nodded. “For a long time, no one knew where Prince Alathom was. But when, only several months ago, he was found at last, I began to make plans to come to America. I concocted the scheme, and Maria helped me design each detail. Arrangements were set; all was in order. I had even obtained my parents’ permission. But then, only weeks after learning of Prince Alathom’s whereabouts, news came announcing his death.

  “Well, as you might imagine, I refused to believe it. I refuse to believe it still. No, it is my conviction that his ‘death’ is simply another ruse on Alathom’s part to keep from assuming the responsibility that is rightfully his. And he will be made to come home and take it, for it is only he and I together who can put an end to this threatened war between our two countries…if it has not already started.”

  High Wolf nodded. “Thus, you are honor-bound to return.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what if the prince is dead?”

  “Then I will return and continue to help my country as best I can.”

  “And if the prince is alive and refuses to go back with you?”

  “Then he truly will be a dead man.”

  High Wolf grinned. “Surely you would not, yourself, try to kill him?”

  “And why would I not?”

  “Because he is your friend.”

  “Was my friend.”

  High Wolf paused, looking as though he were deep in thought. “I could return with you. I was adopted by the prince’s father and mother. Perhaps I could…”

  She grimaced. “No, that would also make very little difference. Your relationship to the family is not a blood lineage. You cannot inherit the throne or rule. No, it has to be the prince or no one.”

  High Wolf nodded. “I feared as much. I must admit that I never understood all these rules and conditions that govern the royalty. I knew that you and the prince were bound by them, but they made little sense to me.”

  “Yes, but we are not bound by rules so much as we are by duty. Duty to do the best that we can for our people and our countries. Rules can always be changed; duty cannot.”

  High Wolf tipped his head to the side. “And so you cannot marry me because you and the prince must remain married in order to establish peace?”

  “Yes.”

  Lost in thought, High Wolf rolled over onto his back, putting an arm onto his forehead, saying nothing.

  And at length, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

  He hesitated. “I am thinking that we had better find the prince as quickly as possible. And to that end we should prepare to leave immediately. I no longer believe we should wait until nightfall to prepare.”

  “But I thought you said it was unsafe to travel or even to venture out into the open by day.”

  “That is true. But it can be done.”

  “But weren’t we going to finish…I mean, there is more to making love, and…”

  “That can wait; I can wait. Besides, there will be other times, other places.”

  “Yes, I suppose there will be, even though we were pretending to be married only for today…”

  But if he heard her, she would never know, for he didn’t move or acknowledge her in any way. He lay there beside her, saying nothing, doing nothing, his mind obviously as far away from her as if they lived in different worlds.

  At last, Sierra queried, “Does something else trouble you?”

  “Hova’ahane, no. But I think I should warn you that, though you may believe that you have to marry the prince, I do not intend to let you go now that I’ve found you.”

  “There is no other way for me, for my country.”

  High Wolf grunted, the sound low in his throat. “There is always a way,” he said after a moment. “It’s simply that I have not yet discovered it. However, of this I am certain: You are my woman. Now, and for the rest of our lives. So perhaps I should warn you: I will not rest until the world knows that it is I who is married to you…”

  Sierra opened her mouth to retaliate, but upon casting High Wolf a sidelong glance, she thought better of it. And, alas, what would she have said anyway? What could she have said when her heart had warmed to the very thought of marriage to High Wolf…

  Chapter 17

  Of more than bodies bound in harness and yoke—

  Mechanics are a stage, technique ignites

  A purpose senior to each breathless stroke:

  Affinity’s own golden, joyful mission,

  Transcendence of the physical position.

  Excerpted from a poem by David Ziff

  “Sonnets to a Soul Mate”

  “Ohhhhh! Is this truly necessary?”

  High Wolf chuckled as he streaked yet another bit of mud on her face. “You must be covered completely with the mixture of this mud, for when it dries, it will become a gray color, which is similar to that of the prairie wolf. Thus, to any casual glance, you will look a natural part of the landscape, instead of like an enemy. I will even make ears of this mud to set on your head to complete the image.”

  “But to wear mud—on my face…in my hair…”

  “It is clean mud—it is good for you.”


  “Somehow that isn’t reassuring.”

  High Wolf merely smiled at her, choosing to remain silent. After their talk in the morning, he had left their camp posthaste, that he might scout out a safe place in which to prepare themselves for their coming journey. And he had found a good spot, one that was filled with timber and the much-welcome shade from the majestic willow, as well as the cover from the larger, more numerous cottonwood trees.

  It overlooked a small lagoon. That it was nestled away from the Missouri River made it an even more secure spot. And the fact that it cut into the canyon walls above them provided a natural shelter, and made it fairly private.

  Briefly he had tracked the circumference of the place to ensure its safety, had even set a few man traps, just in case. And at present, he was satisfied that, despite the daylight, the two of them could be there without too much worry.

  But Sierra was continuing to complain, and she said, “I do not believe that there has been a day in my life where I have purposely tried to make myself appear ugly.”

  High Wolf shook his head. Did she not know? Was she not aware that her beauty needed no fancy trappings? It seemed incredible that she did not, and he said, “You could never be ugly. Even in this ruse, you are the loveliest creature I have ever been so fortunate to witness. Truly, your green eyes shine through this mud like stars against a darkened night, and I confess that no amount of dirt I cake on you hides your curves, for they seem to have a life of their own.”

  She grinned at him, then gave him a stern look. “I think you are a bit heavy-handed with your compliments, High Wolf. Look at me, I’m covered.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m looking…and I like very much what I see.” He smiled when she made a face at him, and he added, “My lady wolf.”

  No sooner had the words left his lips than her eyes lit and sparkled, reminding him of starlight, and she said, “My lady wolf. Yes, I like that.”

  “I will have to remember.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, “you will. Now, tell me, am I to paint my clothes…my undergarments in a similar fashion as this?”

  He inclined his head. “There must be nothing about you to indicate that you are anything other than a common wolf. As we travel, I will do my best to initiate you into the manner in which a scout moves, that you might learn to blend your body—as well as your mind—to the force of nature. That will be your protection.”

  “But I don’t know how to do any of this, let alone paint myself correctly.”

  “I know,” he said. “That is why I will do it for you.” Even if it means pure torture, he thought.

  Perhaps, he conjectured, she could relegate their early morning rendezvous to the back of her mind; he, however, was more than unusually aware of her; of the bends and turns of her figure, her planes, her hollows and valleys, her sexuality. To touch her, knowing that he could most likely persuade her to his need…

  And he could only think: Was it really necessary that he rush? Would a few hours, a day, perhaps two, set them back too readily? Yes, an urgency within him demanded that he set out at once, but another part of him longed to linger.

  He exhaled slowly, saying, “Come close to me now.”

  She obeyed, stepping toward him, not stopping until she was little more than a hand’s-length away from him.

  “Saaaa.” The low-pitched sound was centered deep in his throat. This was too much. Her scent engulfed him; her nearness bewitched him, and his head spun. Nevertheless, he said, “None of the white of your underclothes must show. Your body, as well as the things you wear, must blend into the colors of nature. I will pat mud on you, but it may not stick. We men put the mud on our nude body, but I cannot ask that of you. So I might add a bit of ash or charcoal to help it stick, as well as to hide the color of your clothes.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, leaning in toward him.

  And he clenched his jaw. “Now watch what I do,” he instructed, “for you may be required to repair this yourself.”

  Ever so gently, and with eyes twinkling, she bobbed her head, while throwing back her shoulders to accentuate her breasts.

  High Wolf grinned. She was flirting with him, actually flirting with him. The knowledge warmed him, made him want to sing. And perhaps, he thought, it might not be as difficult as he had thought, to have her longing for him, which would, of course, be a necessity. That is, if he were to keep her with him.

  Hope sparked within him, but pretending indifference, he simply said, “It might be best to streak the material of your clothing with mud and charcoal. Like this…” And with his fingers dipped in the stuff, he smeared it onto her shoulders, his fingertips seeking out each hollow, each peak and valley of her body, that he might memorize it.

  How soft was her skin, how radiant her glow, and he realized he wanted to stay like this, be like this for the rest of his life.

  But he said not a word as he spread the earthen mixture over her, though he did massage each feminine inch of her flesh. As he bent slightly at the waist, his touch roamed lower and lower, down over one breast, to knead the silky skin beneath her clothing. Then over to the other breast.

  Involuntarily, he groaned.

  And she was quick to ask, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “Everything is right, except perhaps the moment I have chosen to do this. To touch you like this, to feel your skin, to paint the outline of your breasts, causes me to think of other things besides scouting, other things besides duty, besides finding the prince. Yes, at this moment, my mind wanders onto many other pleasant things.”

  She remained silent, though he noted that as he spoke, she had drawn in her breath.

  But he said no more, continuing his work down, over each of her arms, over to her flat tummy, lower still to the juncture of each leg.

  And coming down onto his knees where he reached for more sludge, he said, “Spread your legs.”

  Instantly, she complied, without objection, without even a mild word of censure.

  In response, High Wolf swallowed the knot in his throat before going on to say, “I am going to touch you once again, in the same place I did earlier. Do you understand?”

  She acknowledged him with a nod.

  And he continued, only this time his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper as he said, “Earlier, however, you had no clothes to protect you.”

  Again, she bobbed her head, though no words escaped her lips.

  But that was all it took to have him touching her, smudging the silted muck onto her clothes, there at the top of each leg. And his head spun.

  Despite the binding of her clothing, her honeyed scent filled his nostrils, making him think, making him want other things. Even the feel of her hot skin beneath her clothing lured him to do what he knew he should put off until later. Worse, he was aware, without even inquiring, that were he to ask it of her, she would receive him. She was ready. He could feel it, could sense it.

  And so was he.

  Still, he picked up another piece of the sooty dirt to splatter on her, knowing that if he gave in to his desires, he’d only have the entire procedure to repeat.

  But she tantalized him, her femininity only a touch away, and the knowledge that he could tug at those drawers to feel the supple flesh beneath, was almost more than he could bear.

  She would let him make love to her. He knew she would. Why not reach out and take it?

  At that moment, she leaned down to him and whispered in his ear, “We could spare an hour or so, could we not?”

  He practically came apart right there. Even still, it was all he could do to utter as smoothly as possible, “Yes, my lady wolf, I think we could spare an hour or so.”

  And she smiled. She simply smiled at him, and in response, his world exploded.

  Her drawers were the first thing to leave her body, though his fingers trembled with their work. Nevertheless, tugging them down her legs, he helped her to step out of them, leaving that place most private open, not only to his touch
, but perhaps to his kiss, as well.

  And as he knelt before her, he did touch her there, spreading her legs as she stood before him, until he could place himself between them.

  And he whispered, “I am going to do something to help prepare you for lovemaking, for I worry that I might hurt you.”

  “Yes,” she said, but she swayed unsteadily, and he caught her as her knees gave way and she swooned toward the ground. Holding her in his arms, he came up to his feet and carried her to a grassy knoll, upon which grew a large, old weeping willow. And pushing back its branches, he set her down on a soft patch of grass beneath it, the branches of the tree surrounding them as though it were nature’s canopy.

  “I will do something I think might make this more pleasant for you. It is only that,” he muttered, “I want you so much that I fear I will not be able to long control myself.”

  Gazing up at him, her eyes were filled with passion, but also with love, and he thought he might surely cheer when she said, “Please don’t hold back. I would have you experience what I did earlier this morning.”

  “Yes,” he said, “however, I must rein myself in, if you are to have a pleasurable experience.”

  “But why? Have I not already—”

  He shook his head, laying a finger over her lips. “A woman, unlike most men, can usually experience this sort of thing over and over.”

  “Oh.”

  But he barely heard her. He had already bent toward her, his fingers working over the corset, which was now caked in mud. And he found himself silently cursing this particular article of clothing, for the material and gook on it proved to be too much.

  Luckily for him, she reached up to help him. And when she at last gave a tug and the garment fell away, he knew what it meant to crave something desperately.

  And looking down upon her, he sucked in his breath.

  What beauty. What treasure. What loveliness.

  Her breasts were perfect, white mounds that spilled out into his hand, begging not only for his touch, but for his kiss.

  And he complied, sampling first one breast, then the other, kissing her deeply, but listening, always listening for her response.