Page 19 of The Spirit of the Wolf

It took him a while to answer. “You could perform your wifely duties for me.”

Chapter

Five

“My what?”

“Your wifely duties,” repeated Grey Coyote, his tone of voice the same as if he spoke to an infant.

Marietta was not the meek foundling this man might assume her to be. Perhaps she needed to demonstrate what she was made of, for if he expected her to…

Glancing down, she noticed she was, indeed, not far from the ground. With a sudden move, she swung her leg over the animal and jumped.

However, she had not accounted for the arm around her middle. Grey Coyote caught her before she hit the earth.

“Omph!” She hung along the side of the pony. “That hurt.”

Grey Coyote shook his head at her, but he smiled.

She glared up at him. As though she wasn’t dangling delicately from the side of the horse, she said heatedly, “Would you let me go?”

“Hau, if you really want to hurt yourself.”

“This was not my intention.”

“Ahhh.” He drew out the word. “Then it must have been your plan to leap down and set up camp?”

She sent him a sardonic look, but for all the antagonism she felt toward him, she voiced sweetly, “Of course.”

“It is not in my mind for us to camp here.” With a quick motion, Grey Coyote pulled her back onto the horse, setting her upright and seating her in a sidesaddle fashion against him. “We will stop when I have put a good distance between us and the Minnetaree village.”

She squirmed in his arms, but if her fidgeting bothered him, he showed no sign of it.

At last she glanced up at him…a mistake. From this position, the man was much too close, the musky scent of his skin altogether too pleasant, and despite his rain-soaked appearance, Grey Coyote was considerably too handsome for her own good.

Perhaps this was the reason why there was a tinge of desperation in her voice when she articulated, “Please, Mr. Coyote, it is very important for me to make my way to St. Louis with all due haste. There are correspondences I must attend to, there are people I must see and I…” Abruptly, she stopped. What was she thinking? This man cared nothing for her concerns.

He gazed at her curiously, seemingly encouraging her to continue. Instead of speaking immediately, she clenched her jaw.

With brows narrowed in preparation for a good fight, she cleared her throat and said, “Now, Mr. Coyote, I am more than willing to help you, but there are some things a woman cannot do, and I will not… Well, you know what it is that I can’t… I won’t do…”

He frowned. “Hiya, I do not know. What is it that you cannot do?”

She gestured toward him, toward his midsection. “That…that…well, you know…”

Puzzled, he glanced down, then back up at her.

“That…that…” she stumbled, “…lovemaking thing. I will not⁠—”

“Hau, hau.” He smiled slightly. “At last I understand. However, when I spoke of wifely duties, I did not mean I wish to engage in sex with you.”

That he had spoken the actual word in relation to her almost unseated her, but once again he steadied her before she could slip off the pony. He held her firmly.

She shot him as casual a look as she could. “Well, if not that… What did you mean?”

He speared her with a searching glance. “I would like you to clean the game that I bring to camp. To gut it, cook it and do other wifely chores. Gather wood for the campfire. Light the fire when we camp, mend torn clothing. Tan hides. Patch moccasins. Dry meat. Gather berries…all those duties a wife is expected to do.”

“Oh.” It sounded like hard work to her, although harmless, at least compared to what she had thought. However, there was a problem. What did she know about cleaning game, or gathering firewood, tanning hides, or for that matter, cooking over a fire? She had been a lady’s maid for a royal princess, not a scullery maid. “I am skilled in mending clothing,” she said. “But I am not a cook or a gatherer.”