The
Princess and the Wolf
The
Clan of the Wolf Book 1
by
Karen Kay
Genre:
Historical Romance
TWO
HEARTS BETRAYED
Refusing
to believe the rumors that the European prince she was forced to
marry had died in a far-off land, the princess, Sierra, sets sail to
America, bent on revenge and determined to learn the truth. Because
she will require a scout to guide her through the wilderness, she
calls in a favor from the man who had betrayed her long ago, the man
she had once loved deeply and had hoped to wed, the noble Cheyenne
scout, High Wolf.
Many
years before, a European prince had invited High Wolf to travel an
ocean and as a brother, to live as a member of the royal family.
There High Wolf had fallen in love with the princess, Sierra. But
instead of an engagement and the planned wedding, the princess had
treacherously married his friend, the prince. Betrayed and
broken-hearted, High Wolf sailed back to America, determined to
forget the princess. But a promise given to her years earlier brings
her back into his life, igniting a desire he must resist, for to
surrender to her again is unthinkable.
Forced
into one another’s company, with the threat of life or death around
every corner, overcoming their prejudice might be their only means of
survival. But can either of them trust in a love, once betrayed? Or
will their past force them apart again, this time forever?...
This
book has been previously published.
Warning:
A sensuous romance that might fan the flames of desire. Be warned.
You might fall in love all over again.
“The housekeeper tells that ’ tis well known the prince would divorce her, were he here,” said the kitchen maid.
“Aye, that he would,” replied the housemaid. “And good riddance, says I. It was she that drove him away. That she did.”
Gossip between servants at
Prince Alathom’s Castle
“Do you wish anything else before we go ashore?”
“No, Maria,” answered Princess Sierra, watching from her perch high above the dock, as Governor Clark stepped from the carriage, accompanied by an Indian maiden. “I do not require anything else at the moment. You’ve done quite well, my friend, despite the demanding conditions of this vessel.” She gave Maria a brief smile. “Would you please find Mr. Dominic and inform him that I am ready to leave this ship?”
“Yes, Your Highness. At once. Do we go to greet Governor Clark, then?”
“I believe so,” said the princess. “And for this task, I will have need of you both to accompany me.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Maria said, curtsying before she turned to do as bid.
Sierra smoothed a white-gloved hand over the blue and white muslin of her very full skirt, pulling the lace that bordered her walking dress into place. Straightening her shoulders, she settled her blue and white-lace mantle over the double bouffant of her sleeves, buttoning the mantle’s closure at the neck. Briefly, she touched her wide belt, which was made of the same light blue color as her dress, pulling it a little more tightly around her waist so as to accentuate its most tiny aspect. A white straw bonnet, adorned with ribbons of blue and tied at the neck, completed the image of the fashionable royal that she was.
Opening her blue and white parasol, Sierra narrowed her eyes, placing a hand gently over her forehead as though it were an extra shield from the sun. She frowned.
From her view of it, there seemed to be no sign of the man she had instructed Governor Clark to hire. Had she needlessly tortured herself over this first meeting with High Wolf?
Perhaps he hadn’t yet arrived.
Or maybe, she thought on a grimmer note, he wasn’t coming. Had he mayhap learned that it was she behind the request?
For a moment, she worried over the possibility. As absurd as it might appear, such a thing was possible: He might know of her coming. He’d always seemed to have ways of gleaning information about things—ways that she had never understood. Perhaps he had discovered her scheme well ahead of the fact.
At that thought, Sierra tried to swallow her disappointment.
It wasn’t that she was looking forward to seeing him again. No. It was only that he, and he alone, could lead her to Prince Alathom, and it was Prince Alathom she needed to find and challenge, Prince Alathom whom she would repay in kind...if need be...
Squaring her shoulders and setting her features into as delightful a smile as she could, Princess Sierra pulled unconsciously at her mantle, noticing as she did so that her fingers shook with the effort.
It was then that she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision...something familiar. She turned her head carefully to the left, her eyes colliding with and staring hard at a pair of dark eyes looking directly back at her.
Her stomach flipped over twice before it at last performed a dive toward her toes. She inhaled swiftly to try to quell the reaction.
It was he, High Wolf. He had come, after all.
As impossible as it might seem, she stared back at a face that she had once thought never to see again. Yet, there he was; there, across a very short distance.
And unable to curtail it, she was suddenly awash in nearly palpable relief.
Relief? Nonsense. It was probably more to the point to say that she was glad that her scheme now contained the element of possibility, the possibility of success.
But if he were to be caught looking up at her, she would be staring back down at him as well, almost as though she were hungry for the sight of him…although she corrected herself, this last thought was ridiculous.
Again, she reminded herself that he, as well as the prince, had betrayed her. In different ways, perhaps. But betrayal was certain treachery after all, regardless of the circumstances. And faith, once lost, could never be restored.
Still, despite the intervening years, an all too familiar pain shot through her, and without her conscious will, she found herself scrutinizing the man she had once thought herself to be in love with...a man who had left her for no more than three hundred gold dukaten.
He looked much the same as he had ten years ago, yet different. Whereas High Wolf had been little more than a boy then, he was now very much a man, and he looked bigger somehow, though he was still extraordinarily slim. Perhaps it was because his chest was wider, larger...or perhaps he was more muscular.
He looked...better, more handsome, more virile.
Sierra grimaced at her thoughts and decided to scrutinize something else less potent...his manner of dress, for instance...
Gone were the fashionable trousers and high leather boots that she remembered him wearing in the past; in their place were buckskin leggings, breechcloth and moccasins. Gone also were the carefully stitched linen shirt and cravat so precisely tied, supplanted now with a long buckskin shirt, fringed, with the bottom of it hanging down almost past his breechcloth. An ornament of what looked to be a concatenation of beads and bone, in the shape of a breastplate, hung down over his chest. It was a sight she had never beheld until this moment.
Instead of a hat, however, he now wore feathers on his head—or at least there was one feather sticking straight up behind him. And his hair...
Relegated to the past was the fashionable haircut she recalled so well, displaced now by long, black hair that hung well past his shoulders.
He looked...Indian, alien from all she had ever known and loved. Yet his countenance was, contrarily, as familiar to her as a well-rehearsed play.
And she wondered: Despite their past, would he help her?
Not if he knew her purpose.
Only too well, she recalled that High Wolf considered the prince to be more than a friend. To him, and perhaps rightly so, Prince Alathom was a brother, a brother in fact as well as in deed. Besides, High Wolf would hardly condone her murderous plan...a scheme she fully intended to execute if the prince refused to return to the Continent, whereupon he would take up his responsibilities.
Indeed, she would be satisfied.
Those at home thought she knew nothing of their wagging tongues; they believed their whispered insults were discreet. But Sierra did know. She did care. And he would pay.
Oh, yes, he would pay.
Which meant, she realized, that the real reason for her journey must remain a well-guarded secret; from Governor Clark, from her guides and especially from High Wolf.
She only wondered if she could successfully hide her motives from High Wolf. After all, as she had already surmised, High Wolf was an extremely perceptive man. Might he guess?
Well, it was up to her to keep her secret well hidden. She only hoped she was up to the task.
Brave
Wolf and the Lady
The
Clan of the Wolf Book 2
He saved her life, then stole her heart….
To escape an arranged marriage, Mia Carlson, daughter of a U.S. senator, instead elopes with the man she loves. As they are escaping from her Virginia home, heading west, their wagon train is brutally attacked, leaving Mia alone and in grave danger. Rescue comes from a most unlikely source, a passing Lakota scouting party, led by the darkly handsome Indian, Brave Wolf.
Although Brave Wolf has consented to guide Mia to the nearest trading post, he holds himself apart from her, for his commitments lie elsewhere. But long days on the trail lead to a deep connection with the red-haired beauty. Yet, he can’t stop wondering why death and danger stalk this beautiful woman, forcing him to rescue her time and again. Who is doing this, and why?
One thing is clear, however: Amid the flurry of dodging assassin bullets, Brave Wolf and Mia come into possession of a powerful love. But is it all for naught? Will Brave Wolf’s obligations and Mia’s secret enemy from the past finally succeed in the sinister plot to destroy their love forever?
She awoke slowly, and to the scent of the fresh, wet dew that had settled over the entire landscape. The cloud-like moisture that hung over everything made for a gray morning, yet there was something comforting about it, all the same. In the distance, the sound of many different bird songs filled the air with music, and she wished that she could distinguish one song from the other. But she couldn’t, and she sighed at her inability.
Soon a deep, masculine voice, raised in song, drifted to her on the breeze. Of course, the voice had to belong to Mr. Lakota. What time was it? Where was he? He sounded far away.
Already the low-to-the-ground moisture was giving way to the new day. Was that really a pinkish-orange sun showing through the scattering of the steel gray mist and light-colored blue clouds? Obviously it was morning, and soon they would be back upon the trail. Shame. She would have liked to linger here if only to “catch her breath.”
She started to rise, but winced when her muscles refused to obey her. Fair enough, she thought, and she lay back down, only to find herself staring straight up. Dawn crept into the sky slowly today, but even still, faint colors of orange and pink were settling into the gray-blackened sky. The feel of the wet mist touched her everywhere, bringing with it the scents of mud, grass and prairie flowers.
Below her the ground was soft and giving, encompassing her weight with ease. The blanket that he had laid beneath her was warm, and for a moment, she experienced a feeling of well-being.
But the awareness was quickly gone, replaced instead by the utter realization of her loss. The tears, which were never far away, blurred her vision. She sobbed, then she checked it. She didn’t want him to know she was awake. Why she felt this way, she didn’t understand. She only knew that these few moments alone felt important to her well-being.
Luckily, he appeared to not notice her at all, for his singing continued, his voice deep and baritone. In many ways it was soothing to listen to him, but after a while she began to wonder what he was doing, and why he was singing at such an early hour of the morning, and to whom was he paying tribute?
Turning silently onto her side, she saw him at last, and despite herself, she found the sight of him inspiring. He was facing east, his arms outstretched, as though he welcomed the misty warmth of sun into them. Perhaps he was.
She watched him for the spread of a few more moments, admiring the muscles in his broad shoulders. The two lengths of his hair-braids fell down over his back, a back which narrowed in a V-shape into his breechcloth. An eagle’s feather waved back and forth in the ever-present wind, and she was reminded that there was a beauty to this moment that even she didn’t understand.
That’s when she realized it.
He was praying.
She sat up smoothly, so as not to distract him. Was she wrong about that? No.
He was standing, his legs apart, his arms open. And he sang and he sang.
There was a wonderment to the moment that reached out to her, but rather than such pleasure bringing her relief, her appreciation brought on more tears, which fell gently onto her bosom. That’s when it struck her: she hadn’t talked to the Lord since she had laid Jeffrey in the ground. Perhaps there was reason for that lack, for she couldn’t understand why God had taken a person so precious from her.
Watching Mr. Lakota carefully, she discovered a need in her to do the same. Perhaps a talk with the Lord might help her to understand her loss.
She rose up to a sitting position, and from there she came to her knees, and then onto her feet. She took up her rifle, placing it in the crook of her arm, as she stepped toward him, and reaching him, she fell to her knees. With head bowed, she brought her free hand to his, taking his in her own.
It gave her comfort to know he was there, to know that he, too, was praying. Perhaps between the two of them, God might smile more favorably on her...on them both, and perhaps He might forgive her the anger, the absolute horror, that even now stirred in her soul...
Writing
under the pen names of Karen Kay and Gen Bailey, Karen is a
multi-published author of Native American historical romances. She
has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the
historic American Indian culture to life, and she has been nominated
for several different awards. Karen's great-grandmother was Choctaw
Indian, and because of this, she is honored to be able to write
stories that depict the Native American point of view.
All
of her books concern the Native American culture, and says Karen,
"With the power and passion of romance, I hope to bring about an
awareness of the vital forces that helped shape the American Indian
culture. There are some things that should never be forgotten."
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