The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  But then he looked at her, really looked at her, and he must have sensed something in her countenance, for he said, “Princess, are you all right? You look pale. Is something wrong?”

  It took Sierra a few moments to speak, and even then, she had no idea what to say. And so when she at last spoke, saying, “He is alive,” it was no wonder that High Wolf frowned, gazing at her as though she had taken leave of her senses.

  What was wrong with her? she wondered. Surely she could talk, although her tongue seemed oddly thick for her mouth. And she found herself stumbling over her own words. However, at last she managed to utter, “The prince…he’s alive.” And that’s when she pointed…

  High Wolf glanced in that direction. Blinking against the sun, he frowned. But alas, he did see him.

  Indeed, it was Prince Alathom. And this was no ghost. The prince was very much alive.

  High Wolf stared, willing his body to show no reaction, though confusion engulfed him as surely as if he were being swept away. On one hand, he loved the prince, had honestly mourned his passing.

  On the other…

  The princess.

  Did this mean she was no longer his?

  High Wolf let out a deep guttural sound, so deep in his throat it was barely audible.

  No!

  “A true scout puts duty before all personal objectives. Honor and trust are the qualities that distinguish a scout. No, my son, if your brother still lives…”

  High Wolf shut his eyes for a moment, as though simply wishing would make it different.

  But it would not; even he knew it would not.

  No!

  Sierra loved him. Him. Surely she wouldn’t leave him, not now…

  “If you are unable to ‘make an honest man of me,’ I will let you go.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  But so much had happened. Things were different now. He could go back there. He wanted to go back there, if only to help her.

  “I cannot marry you. Only the prince can help to establish and keep the peace between our two countries. If I find him, I will bring him back with me or die trying.”

  Or die trying.

  And that’s when he made his decision.

  Grabbing Sierra around the waist, he propelled her down off the roof.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “We are getting out of this place; we are going somewhere where we can talk. I will make a camp for the night. For, if on the morrow, I must lose you because of this, we will have this night to ourselves.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Let us at least have that.”

  And with no more to be said on the subject, they quietly faded out of the village, out onto the prairie.

  In a hidden cove just off the water’s shore, he made their bed of willow branches and soft prairie grass, sprinkling sage and other sweet herbs over the “floor” of their camp. A small, smokeless fire had been built to ward off the cold, and Sierra crowded around it now, if only to chase out the chill of her thoughts.

  She stared straight in front of her, almost afraid to look High Wolf in the eye, and she said, “We don’t have to go back there.”

  He didn’t speak for some moments, and when he at last did, his voice was almost devoid of emotion. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and without looking at her, said, “We do. You know we do. What good would come from running away?”

  “Our happiness, perhaps?”

  He laughed, but choked on the sound. And shaking his head, he said, “I think not. This would always hang over us like a heavy weight, marring our happiness.”

  “But could we not in time forget it?”

  “I think not,” he said. “Besides, what would you think of yourself if you went back to your home without the prince, knowing he was still here in the West? What would you think of me if I let you? No, sooner or later a person must confront his demons. For us, the time has come now.”

  “But I don’t want it to be now.”

  “Neither do I. But come, perhaps we depress ourselves for nothing. Do you remember my thoughts when we were at the grave site? That the prince had staged this so that we could be together?”

  “Yes, then do you think there’s hope for us?”

  “There is always hope, I think. But just in case, let us have this night.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps we should appreciate that our friend is still alive, and we will see him tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But tonight we will not think of him anymore, I believe. No matter what happens, tonight is ours. If I must lose you tomorrow, I will have this night to remember for the rest of my life.”

  “Yes, for the rest of our lives.”

  “Haa’he. This night, let us still be married; we, the old married folk, do you remember?” His voice caught as he attempted another laugh. And softly, almost beneath his breath, he said, “Hold me, my love. Hold me so that I know you are real, and not merely another of my wild dreams.”

  She scooted toward him and took him in her arms at once. “I am here.”

  “Love me,” he said. “This night, I have great need of you. Let us make love to each other so well that we will have memories to last a lifetime, my fine wife. Just in case.”

  She nodded, her voice caught somewhere between her throat and her tongue.

  And he went on, “Do you remember once, we used to pretend that there was no one else alive, only you and me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

  “Then let us pretend this again. Only this time, let us make believe our marriage is real, is true; that on the morrow, there will be no prince to account to, no kingdom to rule, no one but you and me.”

  “Yes,” she said, shutting her eyes, as though the simple action might ward off the lump forming in her throat. She swallowed, hard, but before she lost her voice, she wanted him to know, and she said, “I love you, High Wolf. Never forget that. My love is real.”

  “I know.”

  “Hold me tightly,” she said, as she fell in against him.

  “I promise you that I will…all through this night.”

  He touched her face, then, his fingers trailing down over her cheek, to her neck, lower still, and a million tiny sparks of pleasure cascaded over her nervous system. She inhaled deeply, as though she would fill her lungs with his fine, musky scent.

  And he said, “Do you recollect the game we used to play when we were young?”

  “The ‘remember everything’ game?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Let us play it again, for I would memorize everything about you, about the universe around us, about the world, how it was this night, how we responded to it, to each other.”

  Placing her hand in his, and gazing up at him with adoration, she nodded.

  And he continued on, saying, “I will always want to keep close to me the memory of you. There are little things that make me think of you. Did you know that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Your scent, for instance, your sweet, feminine perfume, even though it might be all mixed up with mud and the odor of a wolf skin.”

  She tried to laugh, but the gesture was beyond her, and so she contented herself with a grim smile.

  “I love the way your lips twitch when you try to smile, the slightly crooked grin you have.”

  “Crooked?” Again, she attempted a turn at humor, but no words of amusement came to her. And so instead, she said, “Now it is my turn. I think that I will always want to remember your humor, the feel of your skin, warm, pliant beneath my fingers.”

  “Pliant?” he said, himself chucking. “I will have to increase my physical exertion if this is your thought. And do you smell the warm air all around us?” he asked. “It is scented with the wild rose—do you smell it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is because there are rose bushes growing outside this small cove. Now, when I smell the rose bush, I will remember you, my love.
I promise you it will be so.”

  She bowed her head, so he could not see the tear falling down her cheek. And that’s when she heard the raindrops outside their cave. “It is raining.”

  “Hmmm. So it is. Do you see? Even the very heavens grieve with us this night.”

  “Yes.”

  He fell into silence, and looking toward him, she saw that he, too, was fighting back a tear or two.

  And placing a hand on his arm, she said, “There is more. Do remember ten years ago, I had confided to you that storms frighten me?”

  “Yes,” he said, “we were together that night, on a balcony, if I remember correctly. We had been talking of our love for one another.”

  “Yes,” she said, “And do you remember what you told me, then? That I should think of you, whenever it stormed, and be comforted because it would remind me of you, and to recall that you loved me. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know that, from that moment forward, storms no longer had the power to frighten me? And do you know why?”

  He shut his eyes, as though to hide an overpowering emotion.

  And she continued, “Because I promised to think of you, instead of my fear. I have done that, my love. With each and every storm.”

  She reached out and touched his face, her finger tracing the tear that he tried to hide. She said, “It was a good thing.”

  And he caught her hand. “It was a very good thing.”

  “Why?” she said. “Why must we part? You tell me. Why can’t the world favor us, instead of…?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I do know this. I love you very, very much. And this time, though we may have to part, we will have a moment we can cherish so long as we exist. This time, when we part, there will be no anger between us. This time, there will be only understanding and the knowledge that we both will stand by our duty. Perhaps this is the meaning of being honorable to one another.”

  “Oh, High Wolf.” She couldn’t help herself. She, too, cried.

  And he kissed away every tear.

  “I will remember,” he muttered against her cheek, “the salty taste of your tears. Perhaps I will begin to salt my food.”

  She laughed, though it came out more as a croak. “I don’t want to say good-bye.”

  “Neither do I,” he agreed. “And maybe we won’t have to.”

  “Yes, perhaps.” She sobbed, and couldn’t speak for a moment. But now was not the time for silence, and she said, “High Wolf, kiss me. Kiss me so that I may commit to memory the feel of your lips against mine; the taste of your breath as you steal away my own. Kiss me so I don’t have to think of tomorrow.”

  And he complied, ever so willingly.

  They kissed and they kissed, as though they might never have the opportunity again. And perhaps they wouldn’t.

  A deep, low groan escaped from his throat. “I don’t think I have ever heard a more pleasant sound,” she whispered against his lips, “than the little noises you make when you are excited. Always, I will recall this.”

  “Truly?” His fingers had made their way to her corset, and, as he fumbled over the ties and buttons there, he said, “I have hated this garment and the way it confines you. But as I gaze at it now, I will always remember the look of you in it, covered in soot and charcoal, wrapped in a wolf skin.” And then as if he couldn’t help himself a second longer, he said, “I love you, Princess. I think I have from the first moment I ever saw you. And I promise you, sometime, somewhere, we will be together. It may not be here and now. But a day will come. I promise. I will not rest until I make it so.”

  Pursing her lips together, she sniffed, as yet a fresh set of tears crept up behind her eyes.

  And then he began to nibble at her breast, and arching her chest toward him, she invited each and every embrace. Briefly, he looked up to her and said, “Do you feel the fire between us?”

  “I do, my love. I do.”

  “Say it will always be so.”

  “It will always be so,” she said.

  And he moaned.

  “I will never think of mud in the same way again,” she said, eliciting a slight chuckle from him. “I believe I will even miss creeping through each and every crevice of the prairie.”

  “As well I hope you will, for these are the effects of my domain,” he commented, his lips nibbling at her again, causing a fresh set of goose bumps to form over her skin.

  And gradually he moved lower, down to her belly. “Did you see the moon tonight, before it began to rain?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It was large and bright, it was almost a full moon.”

  “Another commemoration of our night. Let us make a pact that whenever we see a moon such as this, we will think of each other, knowing that somewhere in the world, both of us are alive. At those times, it will be as though we are together. Do you agree?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, High Wolf, I can stand it no more. Please make love to me.”

  “I will, my love. I will,” and drawing her in his arms, he came up over her, giving her another one of those wonderful groans. And reaching down, he pulled her drawers over her legs, not missing a chance to massage her limbs as he pulled off first one, and then the other leg of the drawers.

  “Oh, that feels wonderful,” she said. “But am I not supposed to be doing this to you?”

  “What? A massage? Perhaps, but I think it is I who would have this memory, if you will allow me.”

  “Yes.”

  And then he removed her shoes, which had become of late moccasins, and he gently massaged her feet, her toes, her instep.

  “You are so beautiful. I wish I were a painter that I might set your naked image to canvas. As it is, I will have to rely on my poor memory, which does you no justice whatsoever.”

  The statement brought too clearly to mind this man’s ability, and casting him a rather dubious look, she said, “You, a poor memory? You, who can memorize everything in a room within mere minutes? This is an extraordinary memory, my love.”

  “But even that is not enough to fill the lonely nights ahead of me.”

  The statement made her sob. And it took a moment before she was able to utter a simple “Yes.”

  “I think I will always remember your rounded hip, your rosy nipples, your tiny waist that you try to make smaller with that horrible corset.”

  She attempted a smile, but the effect was nothing more than the trembling of her lips. “Like your strong shoulders that remind me to unburden my heart to you. Your slim hips, so powerful that they give me pleasure after pleasure.”

  A low grunt met her declaration.

  “I would have you now, my dear,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed, as he came up above her, taking her hands in his grip and placing them over her head. And keeping hold of her gaze, he entered her slowly, so very, very slowly.

  “Hmmm. That feels good,” she said.

  He shut his eyes, as though his feelings were too intense to be shared.

  And she commented, “I will remember the feel of you inside me. All my life I will carry this memory. And I hope that this night will make me a present that I might cherish for many days of my life.”

  He gulped. “If this happens, no matter where you are, you must tell me. Somehow you must get a message to me. It’s important to a man to know these things. You will promise me this?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. And now, my love, I surrender myself to you.” And then he began to move within her, Sierra following his every lead.

  She drew her legs around him, as though she might keep him there forever. How she wished she could.

  And hugging him, she began a series of the internal muscle squeezing that she remembered he had loved so well, pleased when his low-pitched sounds filled her ears.

  She pushed him onward, and he melted into her. And then he thrust upward farther, as they
began their dance.

  She whispered, “Let me look at you, my darling. I would like this memory, as well.”

  And coming up onto his elbows, he stared down into her gaze, as they each one moved in time with the other. It was as though their dance were pure magic. It was not a taking, but rather a giving experience.

  But nothing remains the same forever, and soon, his strokes became stronger, more intense, his guttural sounds more wonderful, as though he would give her all within him that there was to give.

  And then he was there, meeting his release, his gaze caught and held by hers.

  My Lord, he is beautiful.

  “I love you,” he said. “Always you will have my love.”

  And crying, sobbing, loving him, she met him on that plateau, one on one.

  Sweat stood out on her body, his, too, and as their body fluids commingled, he fell against her. And she, closing her arms around him, held him. Just held him.

  She could sense his loss, and the extent of his pain brought on fresh tears. And yet, he was here now, and hugging him tightly, she said, “You are mine. Don’t you dare forget that.”

  She felt his lips flutter against her shoulder, as he attempted a smile. And then together they drew close, so close to each other, it was as though they were one. And lifting up above themselves, they floated into the very heavens.

  For in that moment, she was not only next to him; she was he; he was she. Alas, she knew this man, she understood this man as readily as he knew and understood her. And his desires, his strengths, his weaknesses were hers, as well.

  Lifting up onto his elbows, he trailed a wayward lock of her hair through his fingers, and he whispered, “Take heart, my love. We will always be together. Perhaps not physically. But as long as I live, you have only to think of me, and I will be there for you. Let us also join our minds as we have joined our bodies.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Let us.”

  And together, they shared a tender smile.