The Princess and the Wolf Read online

  As they led their horses to water, Prince Alathom, the shortest of the three, said to High Wolf, “I have spoken to my father about you and Sierra.” He paused.

  “And…?”

  “And?”

  Both the princess and High Wolf asked the question at the same time, smiling at one another. As they came to realize what they had done, and that their minds had, perhaps, tended in the same direction, they laughed.

  The prince grinned back at them, as though he, too, understood. “I think that my father looks with favor on the match, for I have told him my wishes on the matter. And as he has declared his intention to adopt you, my friend, you most certainly will have the title to court Sierra officially.”

  High Wolf grinned. It was more than he had dared to hope. Turning toward the princess, he found her smiling, and reciprocating, he took her hand in his own, and led her to a private spot.

  Ah, how he loved this girl, and staring down into her eyes, he became so filled with emotion that he knew he must say something or die of pleasure.

  Bending toward her, he gazed down urgently at her, and said, “I give you all of me, my Sierra. Know that my heart is yours. There is nothing in this world that can change that; not time, not distance, not even the test of the flesh. Know that if ever you have need, you have only to ask, and I will attend.”

  “You do me honor, sir, I am sure.”

  High Wolf smiled. “Perhaps. Or maybe it is simply true, and you are the most beautiful princess in all of Baden-Baden.”

  Again she blushed.

  High Wolf breathed in profoundly, unable to remember a time he had ever been so happy. Gently, he took Sierra’s chin in his hand, turning her face up to him, that he might see her properly. And he said, “From this day forward, my dearest, I shall endeavor to court you in a fashion most suited to your position. And now, tell me, do you love me as much as I do you?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied at once. “And thrice more in kind…”

  High Wolf had, of course, countered with the taunt that he loved her four times as much as she did him, leaving her to quip back that she loved him five times more. Thus had begun the pleasant argument.

  In the end, the prince had found them and had proclaimed that he admired them both more than either of them did each other. And that had solved it.

  How silly. They had all laughed at the joke.

  However, the argument had never resurfaced.

  Of course, there hadn’t been time for it to do so. The magic of that evening had ended too shortly thereafter.

  “You have only to ask…”

  High Wolf froze in his retreat, as though by ceasing all physical movement, his thoughts could be as easily contained.

  It was true…too terribly true. He had pledged his word to help her.

  But he had been a mere boy. Or was that merely a trick of his mind, seeking to justify the abandonment of a promise? Unfortunately for him, it did have that ring to it. For his was an honorable life, a life of duty—to his people, to his clan. And whether he liked it or not, he feared that duty would demand he pay homage to his words.

  Duty.

  “Saaaa,” he hissed out the word to himself. What an incredible situation life had suddenly thrust upon him. He was damned. Utterly damned, condemned by his own integrity. Doomed by his own inclinations toward the princess—tendencies he should ignore.

  Duty.

  Odd, how duty had separated them long ago. Was it also to be duty that, years later, pushed them unwillingly together?

  He glanced skyward, his gaze sullen, intent. He was trapped. Truly, utterly trapped.

  Shaking his head, he stirred uneasily. He needed to think: now. But first he required distance from her…

  To this end, he broke into a run, sprinting through this swarming outpost—which the French had dubbed St. Louis—as quickly as possible; darting on and on until he reached the wooded wilderness that bordered the village.

  As he stepped into the woods, his spirits calmed. Here were things familiar, an environment where the sounds and echoes to be heard were those of the wild. It was here, in the realm of nature, where he felt as much at home as he might in his own lodge, which lay farther north.

  Quickly, he scanned the forest’s depths and valleys, looking for a shelter, someplace that would remain hidden from the untrained, as well as the trained eye of the scout. What he desired was a spot where a man might rest for a while, rest and think through his thoughts. A place where he might grieve for his friend.

  He found refuge easily enough in an old burned-out tree trunk, the tree long gone, the trunk still standing. And though it was doubtful he would be disturbed there—for few Indians and hunters loitered around this village—a good scout left nothing to chance.

  And so he began the preparations of making his camp—though only temporary—invisible.

  This he did easily and quickly, accomplishing the camouflage with the products of the earth. Soon done, he settled down within the hollowed-out tree, built a small smokeless fire, and pulling his pipe out from his parfleche, lit it and smoked, paying homage first to the four directions and then to the Creator.

  At last he was ready to come to terms with his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he was surprised to find that his memories turned, not to the princess, but rather to his brother, Prince Alathom.

  “Would you like to test your prowess with mine?” asked the fifteen-year-old prince, conveying his meaning with sign.

  High Wolf, an “ancient” twelve-year-old, nodded and, handing the prince his spear, indicated that Alathom should throw it out onto the prairie.

  One throw, two, three. On and on. It was a tough match, and though the prince was the elder by three years, he could not quite manage to make his spear fly farther than that of High Wolf.

  “Perhaps we should wrestle,” suggested the prince, on what appeared to be a rather futile note.

  And so they had turned to wrestling, with much the same result.

  “Why am I not beating you at any of these things, for I should. I am three years older…and a prince.”

  But High Wolf had laughed, saying, “Maybe it is because you are not any bigger than I am. And what does being a prince have to do with it?”

  “It has a great deal to do with it,” said the prince at first. But then, as though realizing the absurdity of such a statement, he laughed.

  Thus had begun an incredible friendship. And while the adults had stayed in conference the day through, the two lads had grown closer. Although, even then, there had been things that High Wolf could not share: those secrets and rituals of the clan, for instance. For like the wolf of the plains, a scout’s best defense was his obscurity.

  Then came the time when his whole life changed.

  It had occurred on a day such as this; sunny, bright, cloudless, though of course it had been on the plains farther north. The adults had been hunting buffalo that morning, having spotted a small herd. And though a buffalo hunt was not out of the ordinary for High Wolf, any buffalo chase was not without its danger.

  And so it had happened.

  High Wolf wasn’t paying attention. In truth, he had been off on his own, tracking an antelope, which looked as though it had been injured.

  His Serene Highness and the other hunters were stationed more than a mile away from where the prince and High Wolf had wandered. And no one had seen the bull, a dangerous animal with an arrow sticking out of its ribs.

  The bull was angry: It was looking for a good target. It found one in the prince.

  At first it had snorted, and perhaps that was the first alert given to High Wolf. He glanced over his shoulder.

  And that’s when he saw it.

  The huge beast was pawing the earth, head down, horns pointed.

  And the prince hadn’t seen it; he had been busy chasing a butterfly.

  High Wolf didn’t think. He ran for all he was worth.

  And then the bull charged. The prince turned, his countenance startled, and the
n nothing: He froze.

  The bull hadn’t seen High Wolf, and leaping forward in a lunge, directly into and over the bull’s path, High Wolf toppled the prince to the ground, rolling over and over, one boy tumbling over the other.

  The bull kept running, but turned posthaste. However, that allowed High Wolf to crouch down amid the tall prairie grass.

  “Do not move,” he whispered to Alathom. “A bull does not see well, although he might smell us.”

  But luck was with them that day, for the wind changed directions, blowing away from the bull and toward them, effectively erasing their scent.

  But the buffalo bull wasn’t finished, and it prowled the grounds around them, looking for its target. However, alert, High Wolf kept himself and the prince well hidden and downwind.

  Still, neither boy had mustered the courage to stand up again until the adults had found them, though the bull had long ago trotted away.

  And then came the celebration, and a coup for High Wolf…and more…

  An invitation—to go to the prince’s home—to live like the prince did, in his castle in Baden-Baden, a beautiful country, a beautiful land.

  High Wolf’s father and uncle, pleased with what High Wolf had accomplished that day, had been more than willing to grant him his wish. And off High Wolf had gone, on to the adventure of his life.

  Educated and treated like a prince, High Wolf had come to know the advantages permitted the royal class, though at first High Wolf had little understood or even agreed with such foreign principles.

  Still, the royal lifestyle was not without its rewards, and High Wolf was often glad that he had made the journey. Indeed, the beautiful and serene Black Forest region of Baden-Baden had become his home, the prince’s family his own, His Serene Highness even adopting High Wolf.

  And then, there had been Sierra…

  Yes, Princess Sierra.

  Saaaa, but she was beautiful—had always been so, with her dark, dark, hair, green eyes and pure, clear complexion. Yet he had been right in observing from the start that there was something sterner about her now, something that had aged her, if not on the outside, then on the inside.

  It was as though her spirit were sick, as though the softness in her manner—the one that he recalled so well—was missing. Why? Hadn’t the prince nurtured that aspect of her personality?

  Ah, the prince…

  Why had Prince Alathom been in the Americas? And without her?

  How long had he been here? And why hadn’t he tried to contact his old friend? Unless the prince, unlike his lady, had been too embarrassed by the turn of events that had taken place.

  Unfortunately, these speculations and questions led High Wolf far afield, since the prince was not here to either answer these questions or to field them. Which led him back to the matter at hand:

  Why was the princess here? Yes, why, indeed?

  From the first moment he saw her, High Wolf realized that he should have asked this most intriguing question—and demanded an honest answer—for he was certain that “hunting” was of little interest to her. She, who in all his acquaintance with her, had never once held a rifle?

  Had she come to renew her relationship with him?

  He snorted at such inventiveness on his part. Ten years was a little long to wait to do that. Besides, he had watched her closely enough to know that her manner had been too distant, too reserved and too arrogant for that to be true.

  Looking back on the entire matter, he realized that when Red Hair had originally written him, he had mentioned that the Europeans who would be arriving were anxious to hunt. And contrary to what High Wolf had related to the princess, this sort of event was not something objectionable, or even unusual. In truth, these excursions usually turned out well: The royalty gained the excitement they were seeking, and the tribes acquired free meat.

  But for the princess to endure the rigors of a sea voyage to do nothing more than seek a diversion from her loss?

  No, she wasn’t telling all. She couldn’t be. Not unless she had changed so much as to acquire traits and tastes in sport that were normally considered masculine.

  But if not that reason, then why was she here?

  Because she was free?

  At this last thought, High Wolf’s heart tumbled over itself, as though anxious to make itself known.

  But as quickly as it came, he stifled the feeling, for that sort of response betrayed him as much as it excited him.

  He breathed out slowly. That she had specifically asked for him was without doubt. That she must have envisioned some design for doing so was also a given.

  Did her presence here have anything to do with the prince? That is, besides her avowed need to forget her loss?

  As High Wolf turned this thought over in his mind, it occurred to him that the prince’s death might not be…It might be a lie.

  Stranger things had happened here on the plains. People sometimes did deeds they might not normally do.

  For a moment, High Wolf experienced a perception of old—that of being of one thought with Sierra and the prince. And he wondered, did she, like he, sense that the prince’s death might be too fantastic to be true?

  That he had merely staged it?

  Oddly, this last thought brought on a calmness of mind that was as welcome to him as a warm day. And for the first time since espying the princess, High Wolf felt as though he stood on more solid ground.

  Yes, if she were the same person he had once known, he could envision Sierra venturing west to investigate the report. Discard the fact that she was female, it was not so farfetched an idea, especially since it would be exactly what he would do.

  Thus, in coming here, she had asked for him, hiding her identity until the very last moment.

  Haa’he, yes. Though these were mere suppositions, other facts fell neatly into place.

  But still, the real question was this: Would he help her?

  Did he have a choice?

  Damn, he cursed to himself.

  There was none. No choice. Absolutely none.

  He hunched his shoulders forward and shuddered. His thoughts had brought him once again full circle, having decided nothing—a circumstance that usually resulted from lack of information. Which left only one thing for him to do: He would seek out Red Hair and ask for a council, because, if what he suspected were true, Red Hair knew more about the princess’s reasons for being here than those he had revealed.

  And so it was that High Wolf broke camp, and rising, trod off toward the home of General William Clark, governor of this territory, and the same man of the famed Lewis and Clark expedition. And it was there, perhaps, at Red Hair’s home—a place that sat high on a bluff above the Big River, or as the white man called it, the Mississippi—that High Wolf hoped he would glean the information he sought.

  Chapter 7

  “Why, she cannot rule the country without him, and with him gone these long years,” said the kitchenmaid. “’Tis unrest in the streets…and all because of her.”

  “Aye,” agreed the housemaid. “One can only hope His Royal Highness will return forthwith.”

  Gossip between servants at

  Prince Alathom’s castle

  Red Hair and High Wolf never counselled.

  Sierra was there before him, and not wishing his presence to be known, at least not yet, High Wolf kept to the shadows of the trees that clustered around the western rim of the house. The princess and Red Hair had taken their seats out upon the open veranda, where the two were enjoying a cup of tea.

  And he couldn’t help but hear…

  “…You cannot go into Indian territory alone,” said Red Hair.

  “I will hardly be alone,” the princess responded. “I have Mr. Dominic, my steward, who will protect both myself and Maria, my maid. Now, Governor…” She smiled. “Would you tell me, sir, which name you prefer that I use when I address you? Am I to call you Superintendent, Governor, General, or simply Mr. Clark?”

  “Any of those will do, Your
Highness. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  She nodded.

  “But to your needs, Princess. I feel it my duty to inform you that Mr. Dominic will not be enough protection. Though he is certainly a big man, he doesn’t know the lay of the land out here on the western frontier, nor is he familiar with the various Indian tribes and their customs. And these things are imperative to ensure your safety, Your Highness. I beg you to consider this, as it has become very concerning to me. Not only do I feel compelled to see to your welfare myself, but only this morning, I received a letter from your father, who charges me with this duty, as well.”

  “My father has written to you?”

  “Yes, my dear. Now, rest assured that I will find you another guide.”

  Princess Sierra sighed. “My father promised that he would not interfere in this.”

  “Parents sometimes worry.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Sometimes they do. Now, Governor Clark, how long might it take to find another guide?”

  “I’m certain that I can obtain the goodwill of another gentleman very shortly. There are several trailblazers right here within this territory. I will send each of them a letter at once.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yes, it is a fast means of communication.”

  “I see. Ah, thank you, Governor. But time is of the essence, as you might well comprehend. How long will all this take? As you know, the steamship is due to leave by dusk, since we are making up time. And I wish to be on her.”

  “You are planning to leave tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe there is only one trip made into the north country each year. I cannot afford to miss this chance.”

  William Clark was rubbing his chin as though deep in thought. At last, however, he said, “Tonight. That might be a little difficult, but not entirely impossible. And there still are the two men whom I already procured, and they are ready to—”

  “I have seen those men and have spoken to them. They will not do.”

  “But, Your Highness, they know the countryside as well as the various tribes who roam this land and—”