The Heart of the Lone Wolf by Montgomery Mahaffey Page A

equality.”
    “He saved her life,” Papa retorted. “In a sense that makes him her equal.”
    “That is the talk of a lunatic and you know it.”
    “She adores him.”
    “She certainly does,” Uncle agreed. “And that’s dangerous.”
    “I appreciate your concern,” Papa said, “but the Trainer has never shown himself to be anything other than honorable. He doesn’t deserve your suspicion. She’s a child.”
    “You need to take a closer look at your daughter. She’s not a child anymore.”
    “In the Trainer’s eyes, she is. Of that, I have no doubt.”
    “This cannot lead to any good,” Uncle said quietly. “You must know that.”
    “He makes her happy,” Papa replied. “How can that be anything but good?”
    I’ll never forget the sorrow in Papa’s voice when he said the last. I rushed away from the door before I was caught and hurried to my room. The next day, I was tense every time I heard a man’s tread, fearing Papa was coming to say I couldn’t ride with the Trainer. But he never did.
    I think Papa was grateful to him. He was more relaxed around me than I’d ever known him to be. There was warmth in his eyes when he asked about my day. And instead of sitting back when his questions were answered, he lingered in conversation with me. I think he was fascinated by our friendship. Papa came across us often when we were in the eastern woods. He raised his brows each time at my appearance. My skirts and petticoats were too cumbersome to hunt and fish in, so I took them off and wore only the peasant breeches. My blouses always got soiled within an hour. I hardly looked like a Patron’s daughter, but Papa never objected. If anything, he looked amused, and he always noticed when dinner was something I’d killed that day. Papa and I got on well that summer.
    One thing I never grew accustomed to was riding in the Abandoned Valley. We always headed for the northwest fields where the song of birds and rustle of animals proved the Sorcerer’s Caverns didn’t extend that far. But I always felt like we were being watched. And I was frightened for the Trainer if we ever got caught.
    One afternoon, I was so agitated about it we left the Valley early to go fishing.
    That day was almost the peak of autumn. The leaves were changing quickly, and I remember how bright the trees looked against the blue sky.
    The Trainer was quiet until we had our poles in the water. Then he turned to me with the same focused expression that he always wore when he had something to say. He began by insisting I needn’t be afraid for him. He promised me that he would fare well even if we were caught. He claimed the wages he’d already earned was the most he ever had in his life, enough to take him back into the world. Something about his tone made me uneasy.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “I’ve been wanting to bring this up with you for a while,” he said. “Little miss, the unluckiest chance of my life was sneaking onto the ship that brought me home.”
    “Why are you saying that?” I asked. “Don’t you like it here?”
    The Trainer smiled and tousled my hair.
    “I certainly liked meeting you,” he said. “But wanderlust gets in your blood. Once you have it, you always yearn to keep moving. It’s hard for me to live like this.”
    “But you’re not a vagabond anymore!”
    The Trainer laughed, but he sounded bitter.
    “Exactly,” he said. “That’s why my feet are starting to itch. I want to go back to where I can be a wanderer again.”
    “Vagabond. Wanderer. It’s the same thing.”
    “No, it’s not. In the far parts of the world, the wanderer is revered for the man he truly is. Over here, such a man is a wretch. It’s impossible to describe how miserable that feels.”
    I hurt so badly in that moment my belly became heavy. There was a tug on my line, but I didn’t reel in soon enough and the fish got away.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “There’s a ship sailing east in about six weeks,” the