The she-wolf in the Tower

Meeting again

*Horace*

I enter the drawing room early and stand about talking to a crowd of the bride’s relations, trying to appear as if I’m not bored to tears.

When I attended the Goldtail ball, and indeed most of the time, I wear English attire: an embroidered coat, a starched neck cloth, silk pantaloons. But after that sparring exchange with Rapunzel, I want to reveal myself to her as myself, not as a pretend Englishman.

I wear the Montroses kilt, in the tartan of the Chief of Clan MacAulay. It feels right. Surrounded by these sleek and silly Englishmen with covered knees, my bare legs feel twice as strong for being free of the hindrance of breeches.

Marcus Holroyd, the Alpha of Chatteris, pauses at my side. “Montrose, it’s a pleasure to see you here. My fiancée has just informed me that you are newly betrothed.”

I incline my head. “Yes, to Miss Rapunzel Goldtail.”

“My very best wishes. I understand that she is a gifted musician. Do you play as well?”

I feel not a little embarrassment that I have no idea of Miss Rapunzel’s interests, let alone her gifts. “A musician along the lines of your inestimable fiancée?” I have sat through a recital once, and I hope never to be in the presence of such dissonant cacophony again. If my wife is a musician of that caliber, I will implore her not to play.

“I have not had the pleasure of hearing Miss Rapunzel play,” Chatteris replies, not revealing by so much as the twitch of an eyebrow less than complete support for his fiancée’s musical talents.

There is a stir by the door, and we turn. “There’s Honoria,” Chatteris says. I glance at him. The man has a look of quiet longing in his eyes.

Odd. Weddings among the High packs aren’t usually arranged for amorous reasons. As I watch, Chatteris goes straight to Honoria’s side.

Where is Miss Rapunzel, damn it? I am getting sick of deflecting lascivious glances from she-wolves who appreciate my kilt for all the wrong reasons… and appear curious about what I wear under it.

The Alpha of Goldtail enters the drawing room, and approaches me with his slightly awkward, rigid gait, then bends his head. “My Alpha prince.”

“We are to be kin,” I respond cordially, extending my hand. “It’s good to see you, Goldtail.”

The alpha clasps it briefly. “I expect that you will be pleased to see my daughter after this separation. It is well that you come to know each other better before your wedding.”

“In fact, we should discuss dates for the ceremony. I would like to reconsider the length of our betrothal.”

“I do not approve of hasty marriages,” Goldtail states. “A year’s betrothal would not be untoward, in my estimation.”

I wouldn’t have minded before Rapunzel and I exchanged those letters. But now… “I did mention my orphaned half-sister,” I remind the alpha. “I would be reluctant to leave her motherless for a year.”

Luna Goldtail now joins us; I turn and bow to her, straightening in time to catch Goldtail’s unguarded look at his mate. It is embarrassing. The man is at his wife’s feet, figuratively speaking.

“Luna Goldtail,” I say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“You must be so eager to see our daughter,” she says, an unexpected dimple appearing in one cheek. When she looks like that… a bit naughty… the combination of her beauty, sensuality, and wit is dazzling.

I kiss her hand, returning her smile.

Then I notice that Goldtail’s eyes have gone black. I am startled until I realize that blank rage can mean only one thing: Goldtail believes his mate will stray, even to her own son-in-law. I feel sorry for him.

A trace of that pity must have appeared on my face, because Goldtail’s eyes narrow, and he raises his chin. “Luna Goldtail,” he says, his voice as hard as a piece of granite, “where is my daughter?”

Luna Goldtail doesn’t show the slightest reaction to his tone, though I think his tone is harsh in the extreme, never mind that he’s changed her ‘our daughter’ to the decidedly proprietary ’my daughter.’

“Rapunzel entered with me,” she says, “but she met that lovely young Miss Iris, who also plays the cello. One of the bride's sisters.”

She turns, surveying the room. “Ah, there she is.”

Young she-wolves are everywhere, looking like little drifts of snow in their white frocks. My eyes move from one to the next, rejecting each. Not… not… not… I frown, looking again from white gown to white gown.

I am certain I will recognize Miss Rapunzel’s sweet countenance. After all, I stared at it for two dances in a row. I know the tilt of her nose, her green eyes, the slant of her cheekbone.

“Perhaps,” Luna Goldtail says, amusement curling through her voice like smoke, “you are not taking into account the fact that Rapunzel is not fond of white gowns, although she does wear them when she must.”

“I would hope that my daughter is recognizable to her future spouse no matter her gown,” Goldtail says, his words sharply clipped.

I ignore him and begin to look at each and every she-wolf in the room, not only those wearing white. Beside me, Luna Goldtail’s chuckle is like the drowsy call of a bird at dusk.

Then I see her.

My fiancée… My future mate.

Rapunzel.

My heart thunders. I recognize every angle of her face, lush lips, hair… Who could forget that hair? It looks as if old Roman coins have melted into canary wine, leaving strands of darker gold woven with sunlight.

At the same time, she is not precisely the she-wolf I chose to marry.

This she-wolf is utterly sensual. Her body is shaped for a man’s caress; her breasts are soft and full, alabaster skin framed by red silk. She is talking to someone and laughing… her laughing lips match her gown. Her hair shines with the deep luster of jasmine honey. It is pulled up in ringlets that flow with slight variations in color.

I hear Goldtail say something, but I don’t listen. Blood pounds in my ears. When I first met her, Rapunzel’s eyes were placid pools of sweet water. Now they are deep, filled with laughter and intelligence. There is nothing placid there. Nor in the scarlet lips, nor the rounded bosom.

“I see why you did not recognize her immediately,” Goldtail is saying, his tone pinched and disapproving. “That gown is most inappropriate. I can only think this is your influence, Luna Goldtail.”

“It is not merely my influence, but indeed my gown,” his mate replies. “As a betrothed she-wolf, she need not rigidly adhere to the conventions regarding dress which govern unmarried she-wolves.”

“If you will excuse me,” I say, bowing. “I will greet Miss Goldtail.”

“Do call her Rapunzel,” Luna Goldtail says gaily, seemingly untouched by her husband’s dour judgments. “She prefers informality among family members.”

I have the same edgy, intense feeling as when I embark on a hunt. This is the she-wolf who wrote me that letter. She is to marry me. She wrote of dancing in the sheets with me.

As I move across the room, my eyes fixed on my betrothed, my kilt brushes against my legs, reminding me of other body parts that are hardening as I walk. I sense a kind of erotic surprise such as I’d never felt… never dreamed I would feel… before.

As if conscious of my gaze, she turns and meets my eyes.

How in the world did I believe her to be chaste, quiet, and submissive? Her eyes are brilliant, her mouth mobile and utterly sensual. It is as if I am encountering a complete stranger.

Desire flames through my body. Her lips part slightly, and I know that she, too, recognizes me.

I thought she was like a drink of clear water. But now, meeting her gaze, she is a river that tumbles with life and danger. She will change my life. She will change everything about me.

Instinctively, I respond as the men of the Highlands always have before the she-wolf they honor above all others. Dimly aware that the room has gone still, I stop just before my fiancée, sink onto one knee, and take the hand she extends to me.

“My dearest,” I say, my voice deep and sure. I see no one but her, know she sees only me. With one swift, sure tug, I peel off her glove. A sigh comes from behind me, but I pay no mind.

This is no performance for an audience; it is for the two of us alone.

I raise her hand to my lips, and carefully place a kiss on her naked fingers. It is a brazen, outrageous gesture.

And I don’t care.