Chapter 11 #3
He grinned at her slightly. “So it is. But it is also yours. Still, there is another position which might be more comfortable for you, my wife.”
“Don’t call me your wife.”
He frowned. “Do you want others to think bad of you?”
“I don’t care what others think of me…here. Besides, I have no acquaintances in this land—except for you, of course.”
“And it does not bother you what I think?”
“Why should it? Why should I care what a man who has the audacity to throw me over a horse should—?”
“I placed you gently upon its back.”
“You threw me,” she contradicted. “So why should I care what you think?”
“I do not know why.”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do. You care very much.”
“Humph!”
“Indeed, so much do you care, you are furious with me for not allowing you your freedom.”
“Stop it, do you hear? Stop it.” Jumping up suddenly, she ran to the pony, vaulting onto it. She had almost attained her seating too, when, having followed her, he reached up and pulled her to the ground. He held her by the wrists.
“You are breaking your promise,” he spat at her. “You gave me your word that you would not try to escape.”
“And you have broken your promise to me. We are even.”
“We are not even. I did not promise.”
“Let me go! Do you understand?” She wiggled out of his grip and turned, as if to run. But he caught her. “Let me go!”
“I cannot.”
They fought then, in earnest, she twisting and squirming, he trying to hold her steady. They struggled against each other, and at last he became the victor, but only after he had wrestled her once more to the ground.
She lay face up, the dry grass and rocks scratching her backside. He adjusted himself over her, holding her hands above her head.
“You did promise,” she accused.
He chose not to dignify her allegation with a response.
After a while, she demanded again, “Let me go.” She glared daggers at him.
They were both breathing heavily, but she wasn’t about to cause the same mistake she had made the last time by attempting to scream. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to be as resistant as possible to any form of a kiss.
He said, “I will release you if you give me your word that you will not run away. But you must keep your word. If you don’t, I will tie you and not let you go again.”
She gaped up at him silently, his handsome features—made more so by the shimmery moonlight—swimming in her line of vision. “I will never promise you anything. Do you understand? Never. If I am to be a captive, it is your problem to keep me with you and contain my struggles.”
“Then I cannot release you.”
She didn’t respond.
He said, “Here we are, on this balmy night. Though you fight me, I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. The moonlight is indeed your friend, my wife.”
She remained silent, but when he didn’t move and didn’t make an effort to say more, she repeated, “You can get off me now.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear you promise me to not run away?”
“I will not promise you anything.”
“Then I would be foolish to remove myself.”
She turned her head away from him, tears of frustration pooling in her eyes.
He must have seen them, for he asked, “Do you cry?”
“Of course I am crying. I am disheartened.”
“And is this the only reason you cry?”
She bit her lip, refusing to say more.
He groaned and rolled to the side of her, though he kept one arm and one leg thrown over her. With some reluctance he said, “You have made your point.”
“Oh? Really? And what point is that?”
He sighed. “I will do it.”
“What? What will you do?”
“I will take you to the trading post instead of going on to the forest.”
Instantly, she went still. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to.”
She hesitated, then, “You will?”
He nodded, but she could barely see the gesture.
“However, we will not be able to take the pony, for our safety will rely completely on my ability to move across the prairie undetected. So I might be able to do this, you will have to learn a little about the prairie itself, for you must become a scout.”
She eagerly bobbed her head.
“And if I do this, if I teach you how to scout, I must have your promise that you will use every bit of your power to learn these skills—and quickly.”
“I will,” she said at once. “I promise.”
“And there is one more thing.”
“Oh?” Cautious, she raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“You must swear to me that you will obey me, no matter what I say, and at once. For if there be trouble, I will not have the leisure to explain myself. Do you agree?”
She hesitated. “Whatever you say?”
He breathed out heavily, as though she did much to frustrate him. “If there is trouble.”
“Oh, very well then. I agree.”
“It is well. I will make a camp here so I can fashion a few weapons from stone and begin your instruction in how to become the spirit of the wolf.”
She stared at him, simply stared at this man’s uncommon handsomeness. “Spirit of the wolf?”
“Hau. In an Indian village, this is what we call our scouts.”
“I see,” she said, and then she did the unexpected. Without a single word, she threw her arms around Grey Coyote and whispered, “Thank you.”