Wolf Shadow’s Promise (20 page)

This was clearly not the response he had expected. “Do not play with me, Little Brave Woman, for as long as I live, you are my woman.”

“I know,” she said, “and I will not forget. I vow this to you. Now I must go.”

“Humph,” he said. “Do not forget tonight in all things that you do that you are my wife.”

“I won't.”

“I will be watching.”

“But there is no need,” she said in a rush.

“Humph,” was again his quick response. “I think perhaps there might be.”

“I have no more time to stand here arguing with you.” She stepped around him to grab a couple of jars of jam. “Just you remember, if you do come tonight, that my bedroom is the second one on the left.”

Moon Wolf chuckled, his only response to her suggestion, and before she could become consumed with embarrassment, she fled up the narrow cellar stairs.

 

Moon Wolf, crouching behind a bush, watched her from the shadows of the house where she stood near a window. He had easily stolen to this spot in the quiet of the night, once he had observed the posted sentry through a crack in the cellar doors. The hour had become late, and the lackey had at last grown tired. And, as the man had sat back for a nap, Moon Wolf had escaped.

Looking at her now, Moon Wolf knew a moment of pure panic. She was beautiful, so very beautiful. And she had invited another man to be with her tonight.

How could a man, who was any man at all, resist her? But worse, how could he ever attempt to hold on to such a person? She, with her exquisite taste in clothes and her white man's ways?

He had observed in the past that each time he saw her, she wore a different gown. He was not disappointed with that observation now. Her dress tonight looked as though it had been spun from the clouds, so fragile and vaporous was its material. With every step, she seemed to float, as though she were taking a walk amongst the clouds.

He chided himself. Women were such delicate creatures, having need of such things; for the frills and luxuries of life. Luxuries he could not supply, he reminded himself.

It was not a matter of whether she would stay with him despite his poverty. Her integrity had never been in question. No, the question was rather, If he lived, how could he make her happy without these things? Was such a deed possible?

Certainly she had denied that she needed beautiful things, but a man had to live by his own instinct, and he could not envision this charming creature being happy amongst his own people, living the simple life.

Nor could he be content within the confines of her society. His beliefs were such that, as it was in the old days, so it was still: only the weak or the men who had become too much like women desired material wealth.

“I have something to ask of you, Bobby.” Moon Wolf stopped his line of reasoning to listen to her.

He could not hear Bobby's reply, but as though she were drawn to the man who crouched down in the shadows, Alys stepped closer to the window.

“I am in some trouble,” she said, speaking to the man behind her, though she faced the window.

“I reckon I'd do most anything to help you, Miss Alys,” the gentleman said. “What is it you need? Money? I've been in a good spell now for a while, and I reckon I could loan you whatever you need off the reel.”

“It's not money I'd be needing, Bobby.” She spun around to face him. “Do not be alarmed, but I fear it is you that I need…”

The young man actually jumped backward, so taken aback was he. Moon Wolf, himself, stood up, oblivious that he was now fully exposed.

“Let me explain,” she went on, obviously not immune to Bobby's reaction. “I…I am having some trouble with
a persistent suitor, and it is my desire to discourage him.”

“Miss Alys, you had only to say so, and I—”

“It is not you that I am speaking of, Bobby. In truth, I am looking to you for my salvation.”

Moon Wolf gritted his teeth.

“Why, Miss Alys,” Bobby was saying, “you know I would do most anything for you, but—”

“I am hoping that you will. For you see, Bobby, it is my desire to become…engaged to you….”

“Miss Alys!”

For a moment, Moon Wolf could not move. “
Engaged to you
.” The words echoed over and over in Moon Wolf's ears. “
Engaged to you
.”

She was already seeking one to take the place of her husband?

Moon Wolf didn't wait to hear more. Creeping away, not even bothering to determine if he were being watched, he stepped out of the shadows.

And so caught up was Alys in the success of her plan, she didn't hear the rustle of the bush outside the window, nor was she aware of the emotional explosion taking place under her very nose.

And when a skirmish took place between two men, one white, one Indian, outside her home, she remained unaware of it, at least for the moment.

“E
ngaged?” This time Bobby took three steps backwards. Three big steps. He twirled his hat in his hands. “Why, Miss Alys, th-this is unexpected…and I…I…”

“Not a real engagement, Bobby, only a betrothal to discourage this particular suitor. As soon as the suitor withdraws, you will be free, and I…I am willing to pay you for your trouble.” Her voice held a note of hope.

Bobby's face, in the meantime, had become a bright shade of red. He said, “I…don't rightly think I could take money from you, Miss Alys.”

“But I understand that I am putting you into an awkward situation and so I am willing to—”

“It's not that, Miss Alys. I'm willing to help you with most anything, but…and you don't need to feel obligated.”

“But I would,” Alys pressed her point. “I know this is an imposition.”

“I…I…couldn't—”

“Is it because of your mother?”

“My mother?”

Alys nodded. “Yes, I know she might be upset, you being her only boy and all. But perhaps you could explain it to her and then she wouldn't—”

“It's not my mother.” The hat in the little man's hands twirled even faster.

“Then—”

“Miss Alys, excuse me, but it's just that I don't think that I…I…that I'm…in love with you.”

She sighed. “I know that.” Her voice held a patience she was far from feeling. “That's why the engagement would not be a real one. It would only be something to discourage this—”

“But if I become engaged to you, then I'll never get her…”

Alys stopped absolutely still, as though suspended. She lifted her head, her chin jutting forward as she repeated, “Her?”

“Abigail Flint.”

“Abigail Flint? The young girl in the store?”

Bobby nodded.

“You're in love with that girl?”

Bobby's eyes looked momentarily dreamy. “Ever since the first day she walked into my store. She's as pretty as a picture and as sweet as a drink of water on a hot day.”

Alys spun around, away from Bobby, retracing her steps toward the window. She said, “But she's the daughter of one of the richest, most influential people in the territory, and she's only here for a few more months.”

“I love her,” Bobby reiterated, “and I couldn't think of marrying anyone but her.”

“I see,” Alys said slowly. “Then I guess I will have to help you to get her.”

“And so you see I couldn't possibly think of entering
into an agreement which…wh-what was that, Miss Alys?”

Alys whipped around to face Bobby. “Then I will have to help you court her, won't I?”

“C-court her? Y-you would do that for me?”

Alys nodded. “Yes, I would, provided that you are willing to also help me with this unwanted suitor.”

The man glanced over to his left, to his right, looking much like a cornered raccoon.

At last, however, he glanced at Alys, down at the floor, back at Alys. After some time he said, “Then I reckon we got ourselves a deal, Miss Alys.” He moved forward, stealing slowly toward her until he at last grinned. “Or should I say partner?”

Alys smiled, accepting his handshake in the spirit in which it was given. She said, “Yes, Mister Bobby Thompson, I think we have ourselves a deal.”

 

She stood at the French window of her bedroom, waiting for him. She knew he was out there.

Where was he? She had invited him here. What kept him?

She had donned her white nightdress. The light silk of the material was very thin, very scandalous, but it was the perfect complement for what might be her true “wedding night,” if he ever decided to grant her an audience.

She needed to speak to him, to let him know her plans. Now that she had Bobby's agreement, she should explain the mock engagement to Moon Wolf before he found out about it from someone else—and without her reasons for doing it.

She faced outward as a warm wind whispered through the chiffon of the curtains, pushing back her hair, outlining her figure against the light touch of her gown. Still, she didn't move.

Something grazed a strand of her hair. She shook her head but didn't turn around, her attention outward, into the night.

A finger trailed over the nape of her neck.

Gasping, she spun around.

“Do not worry,” came a familiar baritone voice. “It is your husband.”

“Moon Wolf, you frightened me.” One hand at her throat, the other on her heart, she stared at the man who was her husband, even though the shadows hid his figure. “How did you get in here? I had expected you to come, if you were coming, through the window.”

“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 uncertainties 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.