The Princess and the Wolf Page 3

  “Yes, Father, that I had,” the princess said, her countenance downcast.

  “And you think I should have prepared you more aptly for what was to come?”

  “No, Father. ’Twas not your responsibility.”

  “Perhaps not, my child, yet here you are. Now, please. Come.” He beckoned her forward. “I would have you pray with me.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Father Junipero bowed his head as did the princess, and from afar, it would have appeared as though the father was in deep contemplation with his Maker. However, at the moment, Father Junipero’s mind was caught up in other, more pressing contemplations.

  Placing a hand over Sierra’s head, the father said, “Continue with your prayers, my child, while I retire to my study.”

  Sierra nodded.

  Slowly, Father Junipero backed away from where the princess stood. And silently gaining his study, Father Junipero carefully took a seat behind a large, wooden table. Folding his fingers under his chin, he frowned as he carefully assessed what would be his next course of action.

  He must wield extreme caution in this matter of the princess. Indeed, if he were to fulfill his destiny and become a power behind the throne, he must make each move quite warily.

  With care, Father Junipero turned a page in the book that always remained open upon this table. Quickly, he scanned the written words that stood out upon the page, reading them reverently, stroking the page at the same time as though it were a living thing.

  And perhaps that wasn’t quite so farfetched an idea, since this was not a usual sort of book. This particular treasure had been passed down from monk to monk through a span of practically four hundred years, if the book’s legend were to be believed. A legacy from Tomas de Torquemada, of Spanish Inquisition fame, the book was purported to be made of human skin, a fitting effigy; plus, if myth were true, he who held the book might possess—for a moment only—the power to damn anyone.

  In the name of heresy.

  If only the princess were guilty of that. But she was not…although she did keep and hold opinions that were dangerous to the well-being of the state: ideas of free speech, of frankness of mind, of enlightenment. Indeed, these were hardly beneficial to his own ambition, an ambition that had thus far been nurtured by the cleverest of deceits.

  And make no mistake, Father Junipero, out of necessity, had been resplendent in his deceptions. And why not? Who better to rule than he? He, who knew best for the country? He, the only man who understood what to do to those who did not, or would not, repent.

  Thus far his ambition had gone undetected. No one suspected him to be the power behind decisions of state.

  Was he now to let a mere wisp of a girl undermine all his good work? A mere child fell him from power? And all because she had fallen in love with an Indian…an American Indian, who insists on keeping alive ideas of freedom, of self rule, of individual rights.

  It had not been an easy task to attain his current position, for Father Junipero had begun his work in a lowly capacity, having come into the royal family as no more than a tutor. Yet he had worked diligently, seeking royal confidences until at last he had gained the position of the royal family’s confessor. And from there, the rest had been easy: a choice statement here, a carefully worded threat there.

  Certainly, if he were to retain his royal influence, the princess’s ideas must be squashed, even though it might prove to be a difficult task. For he feared that at an early age—before Father Junipero’s more recent tutelage—the princess’s governess had been English, the young lady influencing the princess to believe in the tradition of the Enlightened Age of the Greek philosophers. For good or bad, the princess had cut her teeth on the work of Pericles, a reformer and believer in the rights of the people.

  Thus, from the start, the princess had been led to behold the power of her own mind, had even been taught to trust in her right to reason and to think for herself. Furthermore, of late she had taken to voicing her opinions without any regard to Father Junipero’s convictions.

  Ah, undoubtedly, the princess’s ideals must be squashed, and she must be brought to heel…quickly. Would marriage be the answer? Was Prince Alathom the man to coerce her?

  It was doubtful, much too doubtful to trust to chance.

  At least Prince Alathom was easy to control, even if the princess was not.

  Stroking the book before him, Father Junipero glanced down toward the open page; a page filled with images of the damned, of fires, of sacrifices. Could the book be an answer?

  Perhaps. Perhaps.

  Carefully, he rubbed the parchment and under his breath decreed, “For your ‘goodliness,’ to an unworthy, my dear princess; for your open defiance to me, your unwarranted and untimely devotion to a heathen; I place a vex on you. Not to kill you, no, but rather to frighten you should you do something that defies me. Yes, yes. If such an event should come to pass, may those things you fear most materialize, and those things you love most elude you.” In his excitement, his fingers lingered over the images of fire.

  And then he smiled, but the look could hardly be called joyful. Alas, such was the look of great evil.

  And perhaps it was not in the father’s mind to curse the princess so utterly. Mayhap he did not realize his power, and like a spoiled child, simply wished for the demise of one who might defy him. Perhaps…

  “Father?” The princess’s voice carried even to his study.

  He arose at once, walking toward her. “Yes, my child.”

  “I must go. My maid awaits me in order that we prepare for tomorrow.”

  A light of artifice entered into Father Junipero’s eyes, his duplicity of mind carefully hidden by the poor lighting in the chapel. He said, “Yes, Your Highness, of course you must. Are you aware that I have seen your maid this night?”

  “Have you?” the princess whispered, though she suddenly cast her gaze toward the ground.

  “Yes,” said Father Junipero. “Only an hour past. She begged for my assistance in helping her leave the castle, that she might deliver a note to someone…a letter from you…”

  “Ah, yes,” said the princess evenly. “That is right.”

  Father Junipero took a step closer to her. “I granted your maid’s request.”

  “That was kind of you,” said the princess, though she did not raise her gaze to meet his.

  Father Junipero paced another careful step forward. “I delivered the note for you.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, my child.”

  The princess paused significantly, then said, “And did you read it?”

  “The note?”

  She nodded.

  Father Junipero smiled. “I would not presume to read a note not meant for me.”

  “Of course you would not, Father. Please forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, my child. You have every right to question me.”

  Again the princess nodded, her head still bowed.

  “But I should tell you that High Wolf, after reading your note, became quite upset and left.”

  Father Junipero watched closely as the princess looked up at him. “Excuse me, Father?”

  “High Wolf is gone.”

  “He is gone?” Princess Sierra’s eyes went wide. “I…I don’t…I’m afraid, Father Junipero, that I don’t understand.”

  “He told me to tell you that he sends you and the prince his blessings.”

  The princess frowned. “I…I…,” she stammered. “I cannot believe it.”

  “Yet believe it you must.”

  “I cannot…there must be some mistake.”

  “I assure you there is not one. High Wolf demanded money from me, to be repaid by your father. He seemed to feel that he should be repaid for his time spent with you.”

  “He demanded…money?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. He requested and was granted a sum of three hundred gold dukaten, in order that he quit his claim on you.”

  “Quit his cl
aim on me? Excuse me, Father, but are we speaking of the same man?”

  “It is easy to see how the boy deceived you, Princess.”

  “He did not deceive me. He is in love with me.”

  Father Junipero shook his head. “Oh, yes, I am sure he told you that. He seemed quite amicable. Almost believable.”

  “No, it was real. Real—”

  “Come now, my child, do not despair.”

  “I do not despair. I simply do not believe you.”

  “You do not believe the word of your priest?”

  “I…I—”

  “Come now, my child. I know it is a hard thing to accept that one’s friendship should be repaid in such a way, but I, for one, have always thought that High Wolf might do as much. It is lucky for me that I had the forethought to bring some finance with me as I followed your maid into the woods.”

  “Show me, Father. Show me your ledgers that I might understand it. For without such evidence I will not believe it,” she said, and then under her breath, “I must not believe it.”

  “Very well,” said Father Junipero. “Though it pains me to learn that you do not trust me. Rest assured, Your Highness, that High Wolf is well satisfied and is probably en route to the Americas as we speak.”

  The princess said nothing until Father Junipero had shown her the ledgers. Clearly, three hundred gold dukaten had been taken from church’s coffers, disbursed to a man named High Wolf for services rendered. It was all there, carefully written. For Father Junipero—knowing that no living person would dare to dispute the church’s system of accounting—was nothing if not thorough.

  At last, however, she spoke, but all she said was “Thank you, Father, for indulging me. However, I am positive still that there has been some sort of mistake.”

  “Oh?”

  “High Wolf might have thought you offered him finance for an entirely different purpose.”

  “A different purpose?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes, yes, perhaps you are right,” said the priest. “And yet, I remember High Wolf asking for safety in leaving the country. And I was quite specific when I gave him the money, that it was in payment for his services to you, which were no longer required.”

  The princess fell silent.

  “Of course it could be I, who is in the wrong, but it appears,” said Father Junipero, “that the young man had his eye on your fortune, and your fortune alone. Becoming a prince, sharing in your responsibilities meant nothing to him. Apparently his was a facade, a pretense of interest in you, in your country, even in Prince Alathom. But I must say that this, however, is only apparently so.”

  The princess rubbed at her temples. “Forgive me, Father, but this is too much for me to comprehend all at once. I must go to High Wolf and speak to him myself. I believe I know where he has gone, and the way is not far.”

  “Your Highness. You must see that it is impossible to do so. You are to marry Prince Alathom in a very short while.”

  “But the prince does not wish to marry me, nor I him. Nor is he even to be found in the castle, if you were to look for him.”

  “Is he not?” Father Junipero stiffened. What was this? Carefully, he inquired, “And where might he be?”

  “If I am correct, I believe the prince might be elsewhere.”

  “Ah,” said Father Junipero, “and that place is…?”

  “May I have your word, Father, that you will not repeat what I am to tell you?”

  He gave her a look of much disappointment. “You must ask?”

  But she was firm. “Your word, Father.”

  He nodded. “You have it, my child.”

  And though the princess’s countenance clouded with uncertainty, she said, “He awaits us on a ship, Father. It sails one hour past midnight.”

  “Ah, I see. Then we must go there at once.”

  “No, Father. First I must seek out High Wolf and speak to him.”

  “But my child,” said the father, “would he not also be aboard the ship, having obtained that thing most precious to him?”

  “No, I…I…” She hung her head. “It is possible, Father.”

  “It is not only possible, it is most assured. But come, let us make haste. The prince must not be allowed to slip away.”

  The princess frowned.

  “And, of course, if you need to speak to the Indian, you best accompany me.”

  “Yes,” said Sierra. “Perhaps you are right.”

  And without further conversation, Father Junipero hurried the princess from the chapel, obtaining a coach and a guard as quickly as if their services had been awaiting them all evening.

  But alas, too much time had been consumed in talking. And quite unhappily, they were late, much too late. For all that could be seen of the ship when the two figures arrived, was nothing more than a speck upon the ocean, as though it were but a toy that had been set adrift in a stream.

  “They are gone,” said the Father.

  “Gone?” repeated the princess, as though she were incapable of placing meaning to the obvious. And she trembled.

  Exhaling deeply, Father Junipero placed his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, they are gone. But take heart, my child. Remember, there is always marriage by proxy. Yes, indeed,” said the father, as though the thought had only occurred to him. “Marriage by proxy. I believe that His Serene Highness reserves the rights in such matters. Yes, my child. Trust me. I will determine the facts of the matter at once.”

  Wearily Sierra watched the ship—out in the distance—until even the tiny speck of it disappeared from view, leaving nothing to see but ocean and the moon-bathed waves. And gradually, as a tear found its way onto her cheek, she said good-bye to the two people she had loved most in the world.

  Her heart broke, yet instinctively Sierra knew that more than her heart had been taken from her this night. Her trust in the character of her fellow man, her belief in the loyalty of friendship, were both cast into as dim a light as possible.

  And there, beneath the wavering beams of a full moon, Sierra vowed to herself that she would not forget this treachery. Neither High Wolf’s, nor the prince’s own. Not ever.

  Chapter 3

  “’Tis said she is a black widow,” whispered one of the kitchenmaids.

  “Yes,” agreed a housemaid. “And did ye know that ’tis rumored that this is the reason why His Royal Highness, Prince Alathom, our wonderful, lonely boy, has never, in all these years, returned to her side.”

  Gossip between servants at

  Prince Alathom’s castle

  Ten years later

  St. Louis

  June 1834

  She was going to kill Prince Alathom. Simple, pure, straightforward murder…unless he agreed to act as a responsible adult, something he hadn’t done in ten long years. After all, the rumors at home would be set right. Too, she hadn’t defied her parents, crossed an ocean and endured the thunderous swells of the Atlantic for this…this…

  What was this port of call dubbed St. Louis?

  “Why, it’s nothing more than a silly, overrated village of…of…”

  “Colonials?” Golden-haired Maria grinned cheekily. “Your Highness?”

  “Yes,” agreed Princess Sierra after a moment. Turning slightly to her right, she bestowed a smile upon Maria, her maid-in-waiting. “Colonials to be sure, but also savages, I think. Savages in an untamed, barbaric land.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. If you say so, Your Highness.”

  “And do you find it otherwise?” asked the princess.

  Maria cocked her head to the side, her look serious as her eyes—as golden in hue as a summer field of wheat—took in her surroundings. “No,” said the maid at once. “’Tis a savage land at best, I think. And yet, it has its own beauty, too.”

  “Yes, Maria. If you say so, Maria,” Sierra mimicked, grinning at her maid before returning her attention forward, facing west. From her position atop the highest deck of the steamboat the Diana, Princess Sierra Morena Colheart,
daughter of His Royal Highness, Grand Duke Frederick Colheart III, gave St. Louis another scathing glance.

  Below her lay a village that could only be described as primitive or savage, no more than an outpost. On the dock, laborers of all different types, clad only in what might have been the worst in homespun wear, busily rushed about here and there, intent, it would seem, upon their own individual tasks.

  Raising her sights for a moment, she espied, there in the distance, a swarm of hogs, roaming about the town.

  “Pigs, pigs and more pigs. How weary I am of seeing them, in most all of these western villages.”

  “Yes, so am I, too, but I suppose they serve a purpose.”

  “Yes, I am aware of it, Maria, having been told several times of their use in hindering an overabundance of snakes. And yes, I am also cognizant of how it is said that the pigs keep the streets clean of debris—better than any man could.”

  This last was voiced in unison by both maid and princess as they glanced at one another and smiled.

  Said Maria, “And they are also owned by families who can use them as food if the need arises.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. Still, I find the sight of them rather tedious, do you not?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. On this I must concur. I find them tedious, indeed.”

  Inhaling deeply, Princess Sierra let the subject drop, and training her gaze back onto something closer to hand, she stared out over the muddy waters of the Mississippi, noting that not even the sun could brighten the river’s turgid character. True, the air in this place was clear, unfettered by the tarnish of burning coal, by soot which marred a good part of the continent. But the earthy scent of humidity in the air, the odor of the mud, the fishy smell of the water and even the fumes from the burning of the cord wood used to produce steam for the ship did not bring her comfort.

  And never would it. Never. For Princess Sierra was determined to hate America, the frontier, the West; hate it as much as she disliked the two men in her life who loved it.