Wolf Shadow’s Promise

by Karen Kay

  “I did,” he agreed. “But not by your window. Were you expecting someone else, perhaps?”

  “Of course not,” she replied at once. Now what had he meant by that?

  He commented, “You stand here where others might see you and this thing you wear is very thin, I think. Do you try to entice someone else to you?”

  She felt taken aback for a moment. What, for land sakes, was wrong with the man? “I am trying to entice no one but you, my husband.”

  “Humph,” was his only reply, and Alys noticed for the first time that there was a difference about him this night. The space around him radiated with intensity, so much so that it felt as if it, the very atmosphere, were in motion.

  No, she must be imagining it.

  He said, “Perhaps I have been a fool to try to keep you virginal.”

  “Perhaps you have,” she agreed unwittingly.

  “Maybe you are not so maidenly after all.”

  “What?” She drew her head back from him so that she might gaze into his countenance. “What are you talking about?”

  “Many days ago, by the creek, you played the seductress well, perhaps too well, my wife. Why I did not notice this from the beginning, I do not know. You say it was your mother who taught you to do those things?”

  “Of course, who else?”

  He grinned, but it was not a gesture of humor. He repeated, “Who else, indeed.” One arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled her forward, enfolding her against him and bringing his buffalo robe around her to keep her in place.

  “Moon Wolf.” She pushed against him. “Is something wrong?”

  “What could be wrong, my wife?” He gathered her back into his arms, the scent of his robe, of his skin heavy upon her senses. She swam in the wonder of it. He continued, “You asked me to come to you tonight, I am here. Not even the guards posted outside your window could keep me from you.”

  She tilted her head, glancing at him suspiciously. “I don’t know,” she said, “but you are not acting quite like yourself.”

  “And how should a husband act toward his wife?”

  “Please, Moon Wolf, what is the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he said, “only that I think it is time we consummated our marriage.”

  With those golden words, her doubts fled, and she practically beamed up at him. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Truly.”

  “No more hesitation? No more worrying about a child and what might happen to it?”

  He shook his head gently. “No more.”

  “Oh, Moon Wolf.” She flopped herself into his arms, surrendering. “Take me.”

  He complied easily enough and picked her up off her feet, drawing her toward the bed, while the moonbeams flooded in through the open window, outlining the white of her nightgown.

  She remarked, “I have waited for this all my life.”

  “Have you?” He smiled at her, and in her own happiness, she failed to note the strained quality about him.

  Her only response was to grin at him and pull him closer to her. “Moon Wolf, you will be gentle, won’t you?”

  “Always,” he said, as he laid her none too tenderly on the bed, his fingers coming to the tie of her gown and the row of buttons under it.

  His fingers quickly pulled the tie loose, though they stumbled over the buttons. Obviously frustrated, he pulled at the material until it gave under the pressure.

  “Moon Wolf!” Her words might have scolded, but in her eyes lay pure invitation. She whispered to him, “Are you so anxious?”

  “Always, my wife. I would see all of you.”

  She smiled at him. “And so you shall.” Sitting up, she shrugged off the nightgown, leaving her body bathed in the pearly glow from the moon.

  She heard his indrawn breath. “I do not think I will ever become used to the sight of you like this,” he said. “Promise me that when we are together and alone, you will wear as little clothing as possible.”

  Drugged by the passion in his voice and immune to any danger, she agreed, “I promise.”

  “And you will not forget, not ever, that I am the man in your life. The only man.”

  “Never.”

  He flopped down next to her, losing the buffalo robe that had hid his own body from hers. She noted, in turn, that he wore very little beneath it—her father’s pants, his moccasins, and the white shell necklace.

  “Moon Wolf, please,” she begged. “Love me. Do not hold back,” she whispered.

  “I will,” he murmured, “I promise. I will love you until the sun comes up to begin a new day and I promise you that you will be my wife in fact.”

  She drew her hands over his chest, down to his flat stomach, on downward, her gaze following where her hands led. Briefly she brought her glance back to stare up at him. “I love you,” she said.

  Her words seemed to be his undoing. He groaned and, pulling off his pants, settled himself on top of her. He muttered, “Remember me, Little Brave Woman, that is all I ask. Remember me to our children.”

  She smiled and pulled his body down closer to hers, ready for whatever he held in store for her. “How could I ever forget you? But I won’t need to remember you to our children, for you see, you will be there, too.”

  With that said, she began to nibble on his neck. And lost to all but the wonder of him, she didn’t hear his tortured reply…“But as what?”

  She would remember him to their children, but as what…?

  His agonizing words hung heavy in the air, at least to his own ears. Even if he survived this time in his life, in what capacity did she envision him? As her husband?

  And what of the replacement she encouraged?

  He grimaced. He loved her; he’d come here tonight to consummate their marriage, not lovingly but in anger. But he had not been able to do it. Not when his heart was filled with her.

  Her skin, beneath his embrace, felt like the softest of elkskin, her hair like the airy touch of a warm wind, the silken strands falling over his arm. The heightened scent of her urged him to love her deeply, forever, and her lips tasted sweeter than the ripest berries in spring.

  No more holding back, he confirmed to himself. He would give her the full extent of his love, fulfilling the pleasure she had sought from him from the beginning. And the consequences? Need he think of them, when she already encouraged his successor?

  He pressed kisses down her face, toward her neck, down further, over her breasts. He felt her response, too, gloried in the way her body arched into his.

  Aa, yes, he would give her great pleasure this night, and he hoped that she would never forget it, nor him. In truth, he would ensure that she would not.

  Down further still, he kissed his way to her stomach, the tangy taste of her skin driving him slightly mad for more; more of her, more of what he knew lay nestled there between her legs.

  She opened up for him readily, and he moaned, hungrily accepting the gift she offered him.

  He tasted her once, twice, briefly lifting his head to say, “Kitsikakomimmo.”

  And somehow, though he knew she didn’t understand, she must have gleaned the intention from his words, for she arched her back, opening to him even more.

  He built her up then, taking her higher and higher, more than aware when she met her release, letting her drift slowly downward before he began the same ascent again. Over and over, not just once or twice, he brought her to the height of ecstasy, until he could no longer stand the pressure building within him, and, rising up onto his forearms, he lay over her, yet above her.

  Gazing down into her eyes, he repeated again, “Kitsikakomimmo.”

  “She reached up and touched his cheek. “I love you, too.” Her words were soft, so very genuine, he could almost believe her…almost.

  Aware of the direction of his thoughts, he asked, his voice husky with passion, “Are you ready for me?”

  “I think so.”

  He would be considerate, he determined. This night might have brought him uncer
tainties about her, but there was no doubt within him now as to what he felt for her.

  He loved her, and she, him. That was all that mattered. Not race, not prejudice, not culture, not even her past. They loved. It was that simple.

  Slowly, yet with surety, he joined his body with hers, lingeringly, the warmth of her silken recess encompassing him as though he were being gradually wrapped in a cocoon. He felt the evidence of her maidenhood and knew a moment of surprise, since he had been certain, after what he had overheard tonight, of its lack.

  He ceased that line of thought almost at once, however, and gloried in the discovery, then pushed upward.

  She gasped, but he kissed away her protest and whispered, “It will hurt but a moment.”

  She nodded, her hands reaching down to cup his buttocks and push him, if possible, ever upward.

  She asserted, “I would have all of you.”

  He groaned in response, and after some moments began to move with her. Still, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

  “Very little.”

  “You must tell me.”

  He saw her grin. “I am fine.”

  Like honeyed nectar, the perfume of her engulfed him, the magic of her spirit inspired him, and soon he was driving within her, over and over, faster and faster, she keeping an even pace with him.

  He heard her gentle groans, soft and high-pitched, the sound almost sending him over the edge. And as he drove within her, he felt the power between them building, building until she began to trip over the edge, her muscles contracting around him.

  It was more than he could take and still remain immune. He let himself go all at once, spilling his seed within her, rejoicing in the sensation of being one with her, if only for a moment.

  He floated for a moment, above his body, above hers, the essence of who and what she was staying with him as though neither one of them could afford to leave the other, not even in spirit.

  And as her hands ran up and down his back, he uttered again, “Kitsikakomimmo,” and fell immediately into an exhausted sleep, his wife, his love, still wrapped firmly within his arms.

  Chapter 17

  The tinkle of laughter, the clamor of feminine voices, and the clinking of teacups and saucers combined to fill the Clayton parlor. Two young women sat before her, dressed in the very best Dolly Varden walking suits, one adorned in a green foulard polonaise overskirt and the other in peach silk. Each young lady sat clutching a cup and saucer in their hands and gazed in rapt attention at Alys.

  As she had expected, the announcement of her engagement to Bobby Thompson had become the talk of the town, thus allowing the rather limited social circle in Fort Benton to seek her out.

  “Tell us, Alys.” It was Emma speaking, the governor’s daughter, the pretty blond who appeared to have very little on her mind except fashion and climbing the rather limited social ladder. “Tell us, what made you decide to marry Bobby?” She gave Alys a brief, forced smile, as though she were trying to veil some hidden intention. “Truth to tell,” the young lady continued, “you two seem quite ill matched.”

  “Do you really think so?” Alys countered. She cast a swift glance at the other young lady, Abigail Flint, who sat directly to her right. The two young women, Abigail and Emma, had called upon Alys late in the afternoon, clearly more than a little curious about the announcement of her engagement.

  Under more normal circumstances, Alys would never have sanctioned the two women in her own home, but things had changed. She had to remember Bobby, her commitment and her pledge to him. She said, “Then I suppose you have never heard about the royalty on Bobby’s side of the family.”

  “Royalty?” Emma seemed to choke for a moment. “Surely you jest. If there were royalty in his family, do you think we wouldn’t have heard of it before now?”

  “Ah,” Alys gave her challenger a conspirational wink. “That’s just it. Bobby doesn’t speak of it much because it’s too painful. But truth is, his mother was a countess.”

  “A countess?”

  “Emma, please, keep your voice down.” This came from an elderly matron who had accompanied the two women.

  Alys continued in a voice barely above a whisper, “Bobby doesn’t wish to speak of it because his mother chose to marry a commoner. At the time, her family disowned her, and she and her husband sought to lose themselves here in the west. But that is all behind them now, the rest of the family is wanting to make it up to Bobby. Did you know that we have an invitation to Austria at the end of this month?”

  “Austria.” This came from the winsome Abigail. “I have always wanted to visit the Continent. You must be excited no end.”

  “Oh,” said Alys, “I am.” She straightened away from the back of her chair, delight etched in her eyes as she continued, “But that’s not the only thing that makes Bobby such a handsome matrimonial match.”

  “No?” Emma, replied disbelief coloring her tone.

  Alys sat forward, lowering her voice at the same time. “Have you ever been kissed by a man who really knows how to kiss?” Alys added a note of enchantment to her voice. “Have you ever been held by a man who you know will never desert you? Who you know will stand by you all your life?”

  “You are not speaking of the same Bobby Thompson that we know, are you?” Emma said, Abigail remaining conspicuously quiet.

  “That I am, ladies,” said Alys. “That I am.”

  “Oh, my dear, I feel I must protest,” Emma giggled slightly, fanning herself furiously with a free hand. “Kissing Bobby Thompson? Really, banish the thought.”

  “His kisses are divine,” Alys improvised, “heavenly really, and he makes me feel like a princess.”

  “Bobby Thompson?” This from Abigail.

  Alys nodded. “I feel like I walk on air whenever he is around me.”

  “Well,” said Emma, “this is certainly a side of Bobby that none of the rest of us have ever seen.”

  “And thank goodness that you never have, otherwise I might have all of you as competition.” She gave Abigail a brisk glance, repeating Emma’s words. “Banish the thought.”

  Gunfire sounded from outside, causing all three women to jump.

  “What was that?” Alys was the first one to speak, sitting up a little straighter and staring out the window.

  “I don’t know,” said Emma, “but I’m certain it’s not something I want to be a part of. You don’t suppose it’s that Wolf Shadow again. The man is becoming quite a menace.”

  Alys grew morosely silent. She rose, pacing toward the window, her guests forgotten for the moment.

  She hoped it was nothing to do with the Wolf Shadow, although lately Moon Wolf and Makoyi had been taking too many chances—even challenging the soldiers during the daylight hours. What was wrong with the man?

  If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she might be led to believe that he was trying to cause his own demise. What was more, she hadn’t seen him or talked to him since that night in her bedroom almost a week ago.

  It was practically more than she could stand. She dared not seek him out in the cellar; he did not come to her. It was a situation she would have to change, but how?

  She voiced, almost to herself, “I certainly hope it is not the Wolf Shadow.”

  “Heaven forbid. As I said before, the man is a menace.” Emma’s cold voice penetrated Alys’s meanderings.

  Alys swung around to face her guests. “Do you think so? Do you really think the man is a menace?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, Alys? Of course he is, destroying the merchandise on the bull trains. I would think, you being engaged to Bobby and all, that you would be more concerned about it.”

  Alys glanced back at the pretty blond. “Those shipments have nothing to do with Bobby. They originate with the government and go through the Indian agent. Trading with the Indians is not like it used to be in the old days when the Indians bartered directly with the general store. The government now controls what gets sent to them, what gets bought from them
and anything else that pertains to them. Heaven only knows what would happen if the government agent were at all apathetic to their cause.”

  “My father says the Indians need to be exterminated from this land,” Abigail asserted.

  Alys sent the woman a sharp glance.

  “That way,” the young Abigail continued, apparently unaware of the onset of friction in the room, “civilized man can use the land for profit and for his own benefit. Why, my daddy says it’s the only way this state will ever be admitted to the Union.”

  “Humph,” replied Alys. “Thank goodness not everyone shares your father’s opinion on that.”

  “What do you mean, Miss Alys?”

  “I’m sorry, Abigail, but your father makes it sound like the Indians are nothing more than animals.”

  “What do you mean? They are little more than animals, aren’t they?”

  Alys gave Abigail a tolerant smile. “Hardly.”

  “Well,” Emma volunteered, “I guess we will have to allow that you feel the way you do, seeing as how your mother always was a bit eccentric—”

  “Please, do leave my mother out of this. It has nothing to do with her. No, it appears to me that we, as the newcomers here, are doing no more than stealing land from the Indians. But we don’t seem to stop at that. Not only do we want the Indians’ land, we seem to desire to change him into our own image.”

  “Really, Alys! How vulgar of you,” Emma declared.

  “It’s easy to pretend the Indians are animals,” Alys continued on as though Emma had not spoken. “It then makes it all right to commit all manner of evil upon them, doesn’t it? It seems a harder, although a much more humane route, to admit that the Indians, too, are human, just like ourselves, and to try to find a solution that benefits both cultures.”

  Both women sat stunned. Alys could see it upon their faces.

  Emma was the first to speak. “I think that perhaps your viewpoint is too radical for this town,” She picked up her fan and straightened it out with a flick of her wrist. “And I do believe that if you persist in this outlook you might find yourself ostracized by the very best people.”