Page 67 of The Spirit of the Wolf

Marietta inclined her head. Indeed, if their scouts were anything like this man, they would be very hard to deceive.

“Ito, come, we have much to do. And I would ask you to stand now. Part of the plan is to paint you well. I must give it much attention.”

“All right,” she agreed, though even she could hear the reluctance in her voice. “Somehow putting mud all over me is not something that appeals to me.”

“Hiya, I suppose not. But come, it must be done.”

“Yes, all right.” It was an odd sensation, standing before Grey Coyote as she was. In truth, she felt almost naked, and perhaps she had good reason, for she wore only her corset, drawers, slippers and hose.

“Ah, I wish I had more time.” He shook his head, reaching for her and running his hands down her torso. “But we have very little time, and this must be done right, so let me begin. The first action I must take is to cut off and cache much of these leggings you wear.”

“Leggings? You mean my pantalettes?”

“Call them what you wish. To me they are leggings.” He pointed toward them. “But look at how loose they are. Haiye, they are too full, and I fear they will snag if I do not cut them.”

“Cut them?”

“And I must cover their color, also. Pure white is not necessarily a common shade on the plains at this time of year.”

She drew slightly away from him. “But if you cut away my clothes, what will I wear to cover my legs?”

“Clay.”

“Clay? That’s all?”

He nodded while she sighed. Perhaps because she had already resigned herself to such a necessity, all she found herself saying was, “It is, indeed, very good for us to refer to ourselves as being married. For, if we were not married—even though we are only pretending to be so—I am afraid I would be required to slap you quite soundly.”

“Hokahe.” He chuckled. “At last you see the advantage in our being married.”

Marietta didn’t answer him right away. In truth, she couldn’t. Something had lodged in and caught in her throat.

Feeling silly for being so emotional, she exhaled, then said, “Do what you must.”

He proceeded to do so. However, with the first cut he made, she drew in her breath.

“You have beautiful legs.” He was caressing her thigh.

“Thank you, but the rule of fashion is that no one is supposed to see a woman’s legs. A properly dressed woman is not supposed to have legs,” Marietta recited, as though she were a couturière for a fashion house. “A woman, once dressed, should appear to float as she walks.”

“Float?” He grinned.

“That’s right.”

He shook his head. “It is little wonder, then, that I have found the white woman’s style of clothing to be…strange.”

“It is not strange,” she defended. “A woman’s legs are supposed to be kept hidden from all but a husband’s view.”

Grey Coyote chuckled again. “Perhaps it is good, then, for us to be married.”

Her response was little more than a grimace. “Still, it doesn’t make what I am doing right. Look at me. I might as well be naked.”

“I am looking. And I like it.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Haiye, I understand you and know you are upset, but this has to be done.”

“Yes. But it doesn’t mean I can’t protest.”