Lord of the Wolves (14 page)

“No
need to be so cranky, Sauvage,” Simmons said, sounding slightly strangled. “I
was just funnin’. Jesus! Loosen up a bit, will you?” Then, “I give, damn you. She
went off with Ziggman Black.”

“The
white slaver?” Sauvage shook him like a dog would shake a rat.

“Ow!
Aye, the slaver. Said he was lookin’ for a likely female to trade to Busted
Bill Claymore, then she come along, lookin’ fer someone to help her find you. She
found Black instead.”

“You
saw them leave?”

“Said
as much, didn’t I? He took her south, along the river. Now, leave be, damn it.”

Sauvage
flung away and ran for the river where he slowed to scour the soft silt for
sign. A trail of footprints led south along the water. They were unmistakably
Sarah’s. And there were others... the second set large, masculine, the
impressions deeper at the heel than the toe.

A
white man. Ziggman Black. Kingston quickened his stride. The sun slipped behind
the western hills as he rounded the bend in the river. It would be dark soon. The
signs of their passage were getting increasingly harder to follow, and this
time there was no Caroline to point out the way, to lead him to Sarah.

Two
men hunched near the campfire, gnawing on the bones of some small forest
creature. One man was tall, the other short, bent at an odd angle, one shoulder
pulled back, the other forward. His posture looked painful, yet any sympathy
Sarah felt for him bled away the moment his cold blue gaze slid over her. “That
all you could find?” he said around a mouthful of meat.

Sarah
stiffened. “I wish you to understand that I am a woman betrothed. I am on my
way to the Muskingum, and have been brought here against my will!”

“She’s
got some starch in her petticoats,” Black admitted. “But she’s the best I can
do on short notice.”

“Her
teats ain’t as big as Three-toed Sally’s was, nor her waist as small,” the bent
one said.

Sarah
lifted her chin, sending Busted Bill a cutting look. “No wonder they call you
‘Broken.’ It would seem that you are twisted in more ways than one, and I want
no part of you.” She turned to Ziggman Black. “Take me back to Cherry Vining’s
this instant, or so help me, I shall scream every Huron dog within a ten-mile
radius down upon your head.”

Black
shoved her forward. “Go on and scream. There ain’t nobody to hear you, and no
one to care.”

Busted
Bill grabbed a handful of Sarah’s rose damask skirt in one hand, and her trim
ankle with the other. Sarah kicked him hard with her free leg, but he merely
gave a grating laugh and, with a hard yank, knocked her feet from under her.

She
went down in a flurry of petticoats, kicking and screaming as Black tugged his
forelock. “Well, gentlemen, since this concludes our business, I’ll just be on
my way. Mrs. Marsters, it surely was a pleasure.”

Sarah
screamed, and screamed again. Cursing, Bill clapped a grimy hand over her
mouth, and as she found purchase, she bit down hard.

He
yanked his hand away and pulled back to strike her. At the same time, Kingston
materialized behind him, a murderous expression on his handsome face.

Bill
stared in disbelief at the hand that held his fist. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your
worst nightmare,” Kingston said. “I am here for the woman.”

“
My
woman,” Bill fairly spat. “I bought an’ paid for the privilege. Tell him!” Bill
looked from his partner, who nodded so vigorously his thin jowls shook, to
Ziggman Black, who grinned disarmingly, and started backing toward the dark
glimmer of the river.

“He
cannot sell what he does not own. Now, get you gone, the both of you! While you
still can!”

Busted
Bill and his partner exchanged glances, then rose as one and slunk away,
leaving Black to face Kingston alone.

The
borderman put up his hands as Kingston advanced upon him. “Now, look you here,
Sauvage,” he said, his tone wheedling, conciliatory. I didn’t know the woman
belonged to you, or I’d’ve found someone else to give to Bill, honest—”

“You
would have abducted another unsuspecting woman,” Kingston corrected, forcing
him back, and back. “To settle your debt.”

“Three-toed
Sally was willin’. I didn’t snatch her. Only Bill was a little rough on her,
and she ran away. It made Bill mad, and I was just tryin’ to make good on a
deal. Surely you can’t hold that against a man!”

“Can’t
I? I seem to recall having heard that Sally Monroe had all of her toes when you
gave her to that man.” They had come to the water’s edge, and still Sauvage
stalked him, unable to erase the image of Busted Bill’s hand on Sarah’s shapely
calf, of the smoke-blackened remains of a cabin starkly silhouetted against the
evening sky, and Jean Baer’s laughing face. The images rode him hard, goading
his fury, clamoring for an instant release.

Catching
Black’s shirt in his left fist, he brought back his right for a punishing blow,
and at the same time Sarah plucked at his sleeve. “Kingston, please. Violence
will solve nothing.”

Sauvage
glowered at her. Black seized the opportunity to throw a left hook that caught
Sauvage on the chin. He staggered back, tasting blood, and almost fell. Sarah
tried to steady him, but he pushed her toward the shore, growling, “Damn it,
woman! You are not helping! Stay out of the way!”

Black
threw another left, but this time Sauvage was prepared. He caught the fist in
midair, at the same instant delivering a solid punch to the midsection. Black
doubled over and Sauvage grabbed a fistful of hair, dragging him into the river
and forcing him under the surface.

Ziggman
Black struggled and fought to break his hold and Sarah clawed at Sauvage’s arm.
“Oh, Kingston, please, no! You are killing him! I could not live with another
man’s death upon my conscience! For my sake, let him go!”

With
a muttered oath, Sauvage shoved Black from him, watching in disgust as the
other man surfaced, and slowly picked himself up, staggering to shore a safe
distance away. When Black had disappeared into a thick stand of cattails,
Sauvage turned to Sarah. “You should have let me drown him, Madame. He is a
wretched excuse for a man.”

Sarah
struggled to wring the water from her skirts. “Violence is not the answer to
everything, Kingston. There are times when you must look to your heart for a
better solution.”

“It
was my heart which goaded me to drown him,” he shot back. “He should not have
attempted to sell you.”

“And
you should not have attempted to take his life. It was wrong of you to do so,
just as it was wrong to shoot Killbuck.”

“I
was saving your lily-white hide both times, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Sarah’s
frown deepened. “That is quite beside the point.”

He
stalked from the water and stood with his hands on his hips, scowling down at
her, so close she could feel the chill of the river that clung to his clothing
and the hard-muscled body beneath. “It is precisely the point! I made a solemn oath
to protect you, and I take my vows very seriously. If you do not wish me to use
violence against men like Ziggman Black, then you should use greater caution,
and think before you act.”

Sarah
gave an indignant sniff. “I am not sure how you mean.”

“You
know precisely how I mean. Have you lost all reason, venturing out unescorted?”

Sarah
glanced at him from the cover of her lashes, then quickly averted her gaze. He
was furious, not only with Ziggman Black, but with her as well. “I was not
unescorted, exactly,” she said, a little more softly, hesitantly. “I was with
Mr. Black, marriage broker and Indian scout—-or so he claimed.”

“’He
claimed’,” Kingston said, punctuating the words with a snort of pure derision. “I
don’t suppose he mentioned that he is also a white slaver, an abductor of women—-the
worst of the worst this particular hell has to offer.”

“It
was not as you seem to think,” Sarah began. “He was going to help me find you,
and I did ask for references—”

“’References’,
she says.” He shook his head and sighed. “Open your eyes, Madame, and look
around you! Does this look like England to you?” He didn’t wait for an answer,
but went steadily on. “A single miscalculation, an error in judgment, will
quite likely get you killed! You were lucky that I came along a moment ago. Next
time you might not be so fortunate.”

He
was right, of course. He was always right, Sarah thought, frowning down at the
toes of her shoes, which wavered and swam before her sudden rush of tears. He
was so full of woodcraft, and wisdom and sage advice, a fine judge of character
when she was not.

“If
I cannot trust anyone but Mrs. Vining, and cannot venture out alone, how, sir,
am I ever to reach the Muskingum? Or perhaps that is it!” she cried with a
watery laugh. “You do not mean for me to reach the Muskingum at all! You expect
me to molder away at Cherry’s until the war is over, fearing my own shadow! Break
my word, and disappoint those who are depending upon me, hoping that one day a
reputable guide will walk through the door and see me safely to my destination,
before I’m too old and gray and Brother Liebermann has taken another to wife! You
would have me see the evil in my fellow man, instead of the good,” Sarah said,
losing all caution in the face of her rising anger. “Grow cynical and hard and
suspicious like you! More inclined to take a life than to spare it!”

She
saw the change in him, saw the look of hurt that flitted across his features
and then was gone, and wished she could recant. He took her by the shoulders,
his fingers biting into her tender flesh. “I would kill a thousand Ziggman
Blacks to see you live,” he grated out. “I would risk your animosity, your
hatred, to keep you safe... because I have lost too much already. I do not wish
to lose you, too.”

“Then,
abandon your quest for revenge, and let your brother live. In pursuing Jean,
you risk bringing down the curse of Cain upon your head.”

He
threw her a dark glance. “You
know.
I am not sure why I am surprised. You
would have found out sooner or later.”

“Why
did you not tell me that
La Bruin
is your brother?”

He
sighed deeply, and some of the tension seemed to go out of him. “It is not a
subject that lends itself well to discussion, and our kinship changes nothing. I
will not rest until I find him, and when I do—”

He
let the thought hang unfinished between them. His lingering glance, so full of
dark fire, said it all. That look, chilled Sarah to the bone. What he was
contemplating was a sin against God and nature, and she feared, not just for
his safety, but for his soul. “I do not understand how you can think of killing
your own flesh and blood.”

“It’s
easy. I have but to think of my wife and son.”

“What
Jean did was terrible,” Sarah agreed, “yet, if you take his life, does that not
make you as guilty as he?”

Kingston
drew himself up, folding his arms across his chest. “To you, perhaps. But not
to me. It is a man—a warrior—to whom I bring death, not a vulnerable woman,
great with child. The difference may not be plain to your god, Madame, but it
is exceedingly clear to me. Come, I will take you back to Cherry’s.”

He
took her arm, and Sarah allowed it. His touch was cool from his dip in the
river, as sure and strong as it ever had been. Sarah could not help thinking
that despite his violent reputation—a reputation which, from all accounts was
well-deserved—he was a good man. What he needed was a calming influence in his
life, someone to temper his violent streak, a beacon to light his way. But who?
“I wish you had confided in me. Perhaps I could have helped.”

“Sarah,
if you truly wish to help, then try to be less of a trial. Abandon your plans
and go back to Bethlehem! It is the only way. You do not belong here, and
sadly, you never will.”

His
words stung. Sarah felt the tears come, and was powerless to stop them. Angrily,
she dashed them away, sniffing loudly. “I am sorry if I have proven a trial to
you. I certainly did not set out to plague you. We must both carry on, however,
you with your quest, and I to find my future husband.”

He
stopped in the middle of the path and stared at her in amazement. “After all
that has happened, after everything I have said, you still insist on going on?”

“What
occurred this night was most unfortunate,” Sarah admitted, “but I will not
permit the unscrupulousness of one individual to alter my plans. I will proceed
to the Muskingum, as soon as the arrangements can be made.”

“You
will only succeed in getting yourself killed.”

“I
shall trust in the Lord to protect me and keep me according to His will,” she
stubbornly insisted. “My life, my future, is in His hands, and you need no
longer concern yourself for my welfare. Now, if you don’t mind, I must be
getting back. I must resume my search for a guide in the morning.”

With
a shallow curtsey, Sarah left him, making her way back along the path that led
to the town in the gathering darkness.

Sauvage
stared after her in disbelief. He had never known a more obstinate, mulish
woman than Sarah Marsters, nor one so determined to get herself killed. The
Lord would protect and keep her. Such blind faith! Such deer droppings! Had he
himself ever been so naïve, he wondered.