Lord of the Wolves (15 page)

Yes,
he had. Once, long ago, on a cobbled street in the fortress city of Quebec, he
had trustingly followed in the footsteps of Antoine Baer, taking his hand as
they mounted the steps and entered the stark parlor of the grand house where
Antoine’s true and legal wife and legitimate son Jean stood waiting... and on
that very day his innocence and naïveté, his trust, had slowly begun to erode.

On
that day, he had begun to erect the hardened shell  that protected him from his
half brother’s cruelties... the icy wall which had kept him from grieving for
the loss of his family... and which seemingly only Sarah possessed the power to
penetrate.

He
glanced at her now, and that glance lingered. She was innocent, and naive,
trusting, there could be no denying. Yet it was her innocence and openness he
found so endearing. In all truth, he did not want her to change. Yet, the
wilderness was unforgiving, and the very qualities that drew him to her and
held him enthralled were likely to end her life. His thoughts went ‘round and
‘round and with each revolution it became clearer that she needed a protector.

Creator
help her, she needed him.

Frowning
at the absurdity of his own thoughts, Kingston fell into step behind her. The
information he had gleaned with his conversation with McCrae that afternoon had
been invaluable. Word had come in that same morning that Jean had been spotted
two days ago near Standing Stone on the Frankstown Path. His warriors had
reportedly been loaded down with the spoils of several successful raids. They
were headed west, to Fort Duquesne, the French fortification situated at the
forks of the Ohio, just two days march from the Shining City.

They
had reached the boarding house, and Sarah started up the steps, while Sauvage
stood tensely at the bottom. “I surrender, Madame,” he said quietly. “I will
take you there.”

Sarah
turned on the top step. She sniffed and swiped at the tearstains on her cheeks.
Surely, she had misheard him. “What did you say?”

“I
will see you to the Muskingum. Because your stubbornness knows no bounds, I
will take you to the Shining City.”

“Are
you certain?” she questioned. “I do not wish to be a trial to you.”

“I
am certain.”

With
a glad cry, Sarah threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She
simply could not help herself. She’d waged and won her own little war—or
rather, was close to winning. At least he’d given up the notion of abandoning
her. Perhaps with a little coaxing, he could be persuaded to linger at the
Shining City once they arrived... and if she were terribly lucky, he could be
convinced of the error of his ways, and would lay down his rifle for good. “Oh,
Kingston! That’s wondrous news! Simply wondrous!

“Mmmm,
yes,” he agreed softly. “Wondrous indeed. He was standing close, so close that
Sarah could hear his softly indrawn breath, feel that same breath, expelled as
a sigh, stir the tendrils that had escaped her chignon to curl around her face.

A
thrill raced through her. Poised on the steps of the boarding house, with the
velvety darkness closing in to enfold them, the temptation to throw caution to
the balmy breeze drifting in off the water was strong. Sarah sensed the danger,
and knew that she should move away, break the spell which the moment and
Kingston’s dark presence had woven around her, yet for some reason, unknown
even to her, she lingered.

Somewhere
in the near distance, a lone fiddler put bow to strings and scraped out a
lilting Irish melody. Reaching out, Kingston traced the line of her jaw with
his fingertips, pausing to tip up her chin. “Are you certain that you wish to
put yourself in my hands, knowing all that you do about me? You realize that I
am no gentleman?”

Sarah
smiled. “This, I know firsthand. I shall strive to deal with it.”

He
moved his thumb, caressing the corner of his mouth, grazing her full lower lip,
coming closer. “I am a violent man when sorely provoked.”

“Perhaps
in time, that will change,” Sarah replied, hopefully. “Miracles can happen, I
am told, and while I am with you, I shall pray very hard for a miracle.”

He
drew a shuddering breath, and tipping back his raven head, closed his eyes. Sarah
watched him closely. It seemed as though he fought some inner battle, but she
had no idea if he won out, or merely surrendered, for when he spoke again, his
voice was raw with emotion. “I want you, Sarah. More than I have wanted
anything in my entire life. You know what manner of man I am, intimately. How
can that knowledge fail to frighten you?”

Sarah
could not answer. It did frighten her, but not in the sense to which he
referred. It was not hurt at his hands that she feared, but betrayal. Not
Kingston’s, but her own, inflicted upon a man to whom she had pledged her troth.
A man she’d never met.

“Please
do not—” Sarah began, but he silenced her by putting his fingertips over his
lips.

“Sarah,”
he whispered, softly, achingly. He moved his hand, threading his fingers into
her hair, and his lips brushed against hers, tentatively. At the same instant,
the door to the boarding house swung open, emitting a flood of yellow lamplight.
Against that vivid backdrop, Cherry Vining was darkly silhouetted.

“There
you are, Mrs. Marsters! We were just about to send out a search party to find
you. We feared you might have wandered off.” She turned slightly, addressing
Kingston. “Sauvage, Jessie said you’d happened by, but left in a bit of a hurry.
I believe these belong to you?” She tossed the bundle to him, which he deftly
caught. “I guess I’d better send word to Harris that everything’s all right. He’ll
be relieved to hear it.”

“My
thanks, Cherry,” Kingston said.

“No
thanks necessary. Just don’t keep that girl too long in the dark. The night air
isn’t fit for a body.”

Kingston
said nothing as Cherry reentered the house, just held out the bundle to Sarah. Sarah
glanced up, but the shadows masked his expression.

“It
was intended as a parting gift,” he explained. “Something to make your journey
more tolerable. You may accept it with a clear conscience. It was not purchased
with scalp money, but by other means.”

“Other
means?” Sarah questioned. His possessions were few, and she could think of only
one thing besides his rifle that he had to trade. “You did not trade your other
bracelet?”

“You
are displeased.”

“Not
displeased,” Sarah said. “But the bracelets were costly—and they meant so much
to you.”

“Your
comfort means more to me than beaten bands of silver,” came his slow reply. “Besides,
I can always buy another. Will you accept this gift in the spirit in which it
is given?”

To
refuse would insult him, and that was the last thing Sarah wanted. “I will
accept the gift, thank you. May I? At his approving nod, Sarah sat down on the
step, unfolding the items in her lap. “Why, these are—”

“A
second skin, to protect Madame’s delectably soft self from the heat of the sun,
the brambles and gnats.”

“How
wonderfully thoughtful,” Sarah said, “but they are fashioned with a man in
mind, and I have never worn a pair of breeches!” She held the leggings aloft,
feeling slightly scandalized as she whispered, “Oh, my! Why, they have no
seat!”

Kingston
laughed outright at that. “The breechclout covers the bottom effectively
enough, Madame. Shall I show you?”

He
reached for the belt that held his shirt closed, and Sarah shook her head. “Thank
you, no. That is not necessary. I think I understand.” He did not need to show
her. The sight of him garbed in the soft loincloth and fringed leather leggings
was indelibly etched on her mind’s eye.

“Then,
you will accept, and wear my gift?” Kingston said.

“I
will accept, but I have the gray gown, and this lovely rose damask for which
you sacrificed your silver bracelet.”

“The
gray is worn, and it will not withstand the remainder of our journey, Sarah. I
fear the worst is yet to come, and this dreadful rag Cherry gave you will
attract too much attention. It rustles, even when wet. It was a bad trade in
any case—it simply does not suit you.”

Sarah
smoothed appreciative fingers over the leather garb in her lap. He was right
about the gray linen, right about the rose damask, right about everything.

But
the choice was hers to make. She could wear the gray to salvage her pride, and
arrive on her betrothed’s doorstep, ragged and disreputable, or she could bow
to practicality and wear the leather garments, which were infinitely more
suitable, and save her only gown for her arrival at the Shining City.

The
decision was not a difficult one. She would wear his gift, gladly.

Exchanging
her skirts and chemise for the breechclout, leggings, and long-tailed shirt was
not as difficult as Sarah imagined. It had been something of a relief to leave
behind the ornate gown Cherry had provided, even though buckskin leather
fashioned for the male physique in mind was hardly fitting attire for a young
English widow but newly betrothed. Propriety gave way to practicality, at least
for the time being. The fawn-colored leather shirt and leggings protected her
tender skin from the briars, brambles, and stinging nettles that thrived in the
wilderness, just as Kingston had promised, while leaving only her face, hands
and throat exposed to view.

The
preservation of her modesty and the knowledge that the garment had been a gift
from Kingston made the unconventional garb all the more dear to Sarah.

It
had been such a thoughtful gift, purchased at a time when she’d felt certain
that he felt nothing more for her than a passing and inexplicable physical
attraction; now, quite suddenly, she was not as sure.

There
had been moments since leaving Harris’ Ferry when she’d looked into his eyes
and thought she saw something, an expression of gladness, a spark of
contentment, a warmth that had been lacking before, and she wondered if somehow
the impossible had happened, and Kingston Sauvage had come to care for her?

Thinking
of it now, it seemed a ridiculous notion, and Sarah reminded herself that bold
and daring adventurers like Kingston did not fall in love with plain brown
wrens like herself.

Facing
the truth, however, did not stop Sarah from wishing that things could be
different, nor did it stop the yearning she felt each time his burning black
gaze touched her flushed cheek, lingered at her lips, grazed her throat.

He
wanted her, desired her, and she desired him, despite her doubts, her fears,
and suspicions, secretly dreaming of the pleasures to be found in Kingston’s
arms.

At
times she drifted off, picturing it so clearly in her mind that she lost all
sense of time and place, and thoughts of the lives Kingston had taken, and the
mysterious wolf that appeared that fateful night to save her life were far away.
In her mind’s eye, golden sunlight spilled through a cabin doorway to gild his
naked skin. Limbs entwined, they lay together, Sarah falling back into feather
pillows as he rose above her, his raven tresses falling soft and cool against
her heated cheek....

Her
imaginings were not unlike the fairy tales her mother had once spun for her in
secret, stories which Sarah remembered fondly, and as they made their way along
through the teeming forest, she could not help but wonder if the American
wilderness could be such a place? Was there enchantment to be found here in the
deep green forest gloom? Could a prince of wolves, savage in deed, if not at
heart, ever truly be tamed?

Sarah
was uncertain, but her thoughts and dreams and wild imaginings helped to fill
the hours as she followed Kingston deeper into the western lands.

Their
third day out of Harris’s Ferry dawned hot and overcast. Wearing breechclout
and leggings,

 
His shirt tied around his lean middle, Kingston made his way along two paces ahead
of Sarah. Concentration came hard for Sarah when so much glistening bronze male
was exposed to her casual view. Her gaze ran along the breadth of his
shoulders, down his spine, to his waist and the bare curve of his lean
buttocks, wantonly displayed by the thin strip of his loincloth. Staring in
fascination at the flex and release of his muscles, she nearly collided with
his broad back when he stopped on the path in front of her.

His
gaze flew to her face. His slight, knowing smile, the glint of amusement, and
something else—something undefined and vaguely disturbing—that entered his dark
eyes clearly conveyed that she’d been caught. “There’s a spring in the glade
just ahead. We can stop and rest, if you like.”

Sarah
mopped at a trickle of sweat coursing down her throat, noting with dismay how
his gaze followed in her hand’s wake, plunging into the shadowed “V” at her
neckline. Her stomach fluttered nervously, and her voice when she spoke was a
breathy whisper, “That sounds heavenly. How far have we come?”

He
squinted off into the distance. “Nine miles today. We should be close to Burnt
Cabins by nightfall.” He paused, wiping the sweat from his brow with the palm
of his hand. “Can you go a little farther?”

Sarah
nodded. They started off.

A
hundred yards ahead, the path veered sharply to the left. The forest here was
slightly thinning, with small gaps in the foliage through which a shaft or two
of sunlight shifted, playing upon the narrow ribbon of water trickling down the
rocky hillside. At the bottom of the sharp incline, the water formed a deep
pool several yards across.

Sarah
sighed her appreciation and, sinking down, knelt to cup her hands and drink
while Kingston watched. “Will you not join me?” Sarah asked, glancing up into
his shadowed face. “You must be as warm as I.”

He
shifted the rifle into the crook of his arm. “Game is still plentiful here, and
I must hunt if we are to eat. Call out if you need me.” A final heated glance,
and he turned away.

The
sun-dappled glade was silent and still in the heat of the day, oddly serene. Sarah
dabbled her fingers in the glassy pool. It seemed an eternity since she had had
a proper bath, though in reality it had been just days ago. For a moment, Sarah
sat at the water’s edge, basking in the cool green solitude, the unbroken
silence of this place. She was alone, and the water beckoned. Kingston had gone
hunting; it could be hours until his return, ample time, surely, to indulge in
a bath.

It
was just too tempting to resist. In less than an instant she had removed her
prayer cap, loosened the belt at her waist, slipped out of her shirt, then
moccasins, breechclout, and leggings... and naked, waded into the pool.

The
water lapped at her hips. Caught up in the joy of her bath, Sarah failed to
notice that Kingston had returned and stood at a short distance, his attention
riveted on the alluring picture she made.

It
hadn’t been Sauvage’s intention to spy on her, yet it was too late to turn back.
Held spellbound by the sight of her, he could not seem to turn away. Nor, did
he wish to. She was curvaceous, not thin or frail, every inch the woman, and
the very sight of her, so fetchingly displayed before his ravenous gaze, made
his blood pump a little more forcefully through his veins.

His
reaction was instantaneous. Desire gnawed at his vitals, chafing at the raw and
ragged edges of his soul, and all he could do in that moment was stand rooted
to the spot, watching as Sarah turned and realized that she was no longer
alone.

For
an instant she simply stood, her deep blue gaze locked with his, her lips slightly
parted. There was a look of surprise on her face, and something else... thinly
veiled anticipation.

Sauvage
could sense her reaction to his nearness. Sarah was not invulnerable to him,
nor was she an untutored virgin. She had been wed for several years, had shared
a marriage bed with her husband. She was no stranger to passion.

As
she watched him, he dropped the turkey he’d slain, set aside his rifle and shot
pouch and walked to the edge of the pool. “Kingston,” she said, a little
nervously, “I did not expect you to return so soon.” Then, when he quickly
disrobed, “What are you doing?”

“Joining
you, Madame.” His gaze roamed over her softly rounded white shoulders, and
creamy breasts, laid bare beneath his ravenous gaze. Beneath the still water,
her nipples rose in taut little peaks, straining toward him. How he longed to
worship them, to take them into his mouth and....

Suddenly
conscious of where his gaze roamed, Sarah gave a gasp of dismay and hurriedly
crossed her arms over her breasts, Kingston’s soft laughter scorching her ears.
“For shame, sir!” she cried, sucking in a soft, startled breath as a splash met
her ears. Wide-eyed, she turned, scanning the mossy bank, but Kingston was
gone, vanished, leaving only a faint ripple on the glassy surface of the water.

“Kingston?
Kingston, this is truly not amusing!” Looking down at the surface of the water,
she saw a tawny flash and felt something graze her inner thighs. In the next
instant, he surfaced noiselessly behind her. Sarah spun toward him, intending
to give him a good dressing down, yet before she could utter a single word, he
dove again.

And
then, came the nip of his teeth on her ankle, a strong hand sliding up to
stroke the sensitive flesh of her thigh. Sarah gasped as his hand moved higher,
sliding up to cup her buttocks and bring her close... and then she felt his
tongue graze her womanhood.

Heat,
blistering and uncontrollable, surged quickly over her, spreading up her limbs,
licking along her vitals. Her breath caught in her throat, Sarah reached down,
her fingers threading through his hair, sliding over her corded muscles of his
neck and shoulders, urging him up.

As
he rose he did not release her. Instead he grasped her waist, bringing her up
against him so that she could feel the heat and violence of his arousal. His
voice, when he spoke close to her ear, was rough with desire. “Surely, Madame
will not be so heartless as to deny a hunter a cooling bath?”

“It
is not a bath I would deny you,” Sarah began.

“Good.
Then this pleasurable experience is ours to share.”

He
leaned forward, as if to kiss her throat, but Sarah ducked under his arm. Just
as swiftly, Kingston caught her hand and brought her back into his arms. “I
cannot share your bath,” she protested.

“Oh,
but you can.” His hands slid down, over her buttocks, fitting her hips even
more intimately against his.

Sarah,
scorched by the heat of his arousal, was properly shocked. “Sir, this has gone
far enough.”

“Not
by the half,” he replied, bringing her at once into his crushing embrace and
lowering his head to steal a kiss. Sarah made a valiant effort to resist, but
it was useless. Kingston’s kiss was her undoing. Gradually, her rigid stance
softened, the hands that had been braced against his chest in a futile effort
to hold his desires at bay now stole around his waist, and she clung to him,
her fingers tangling in the streaming hair hanging down his back.

Such
intimacies were forbidden outside of wedlock, yet as Kingston’s mouth slanted
over hers, Sarah strained upward to meet him. He urged her to open to him, and
she instantly complied. Her will had deserted her. She was lost, bereft, and at
the same time, filled with a wild elation.

His
presence was intoxicating; his touch thrilling. His mastery over her traitorous
body was absolute, and she feared that de Angelheart had been right after all. From
the first moment, when she had looked into Kingston’s dark, handsome face, she
had been destined to fall.

Her
descent into sin was slow and torturous. One of the hands that cupped her
buttocks and held her tightly to him glided around to the soft round of her
belly, drifting down.

Turning
her head slightly, Sarah whimpered low in her throat. In wordless reply,
Kingston left her lips, nuzzling the gentle curve of her cheek and jaw. Sarah
leaned her forehead against his chest. His skin was cool and wet, the beat of
his heart steady and strong beneath her cheek. “What will come of this,
Kingston? Of us?”

He
pulled back, just far enough to meet her gaze. “Sarah, my dear love, my mouse. This
is our moment. Do not let the world in... love me. Just love me.”

Sarah’s
heart melted in that moment. She did love him, had loved him from the first. “I
am not sure—I—you make my heart flutter so that I cannot think.”

“Your
heart knows,” he said with a mysterious smile. “Just this once, let it lead you.
Listen, and it will tell you what to do.” He lowered his head and found her
nipple, taking it into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth.

Sarah
cried out, clutching his shoulders to bring him closer. A deep wave of pleasure
crashed against her senses, starting at the source of their physical contact and
sluicing downward, raising gooseflesh in its wake, pooling molten in her belly.

All
doubt fled her in that moment. Instinctively, she arched her back, pressing her
pelvis against his loins. She was barely aware of the hand which had been
resting on her belly and was now gliding downward, slipping between her legs.

Slowly,
tenderly, Kingston stroked her woman’s flesh to tingling life. He grasped her
hand with his free one and guided it along his chest and ribs, across his taut
belly, molding her fingers around the throbbing swell of his ardor. “Touch me,”
he commanded. “Show me what you are feeling.”

Sarah’s
breath was coming fast and shallow. How could she possibly convey the strange
new overwhelming need that was consuming her. How could she display her sense
of awe at the deftness of his fingers, her wonder at the magic he was making?

Not
knowing what to do, Sarah gripped him tightly and heard his breath hiss through
his teeth. The hand that held her urged her ever closer; the one that stroked
her flesh became more insistent, his movements lengthening, testing the
tightness of her passage, delving deep within the tender folds.