Lord of the Wolves (3 page)

Kingston
raised his head and looked intensely at her. “They got Ben?”

Standing
a short distance away, Madame shifted her weight restlessly, seemingly uneasy
with the topic of conversation, or perhaps with Sauvage’s presence. The soft
rasp of linen against lawn, skirts against numerous layers of undergarments,
lightly abraded his senses. It was a pleasant sound, so terribly feminine and
so out of place here in this ramshackle wilderness cabin, as indeed Madame was
herself.

Kathryn
gave a barely perceptible nod. “He took a very long time to die, Sauvage. I
would rather my last thought on this earth not be of you, sharing Ben’s fate.”

“Then,
do not think of it,” he said. “I know that you are concerned, Kate. For her,
perhaps for me. It’s admirable; but it changes nothing.
I must go
. You
know that. For Caroline’s sake.”

“It
is for Caroline’s sake that you must stay. She was good and kind, Kingston, and
she loved you—”

“Dammit,
woman! Do not!”

His
thunderous reply fairly shook the rafters, yet had little effect on Kathryn,
who went doggedly on. “She was a gentle spirit! And the truest friend I ever
knew!”

Sauvage
cursed, turning away, but he could not escape her. She was relentless. Determined
to have her way.

“She
loved
you, Sauvage!
Worshipped you!”
She paused to catch a
breath, and her voice lost some of its sting. “What would she say if she were
here with us now? Would Caroline want you to turn away from me in my hour of
greatest need? Would she approve of you abandoning Sarah so that you can have
your pound of flesh?”

Coming
on the heels of Caroline’s strange visitation, Kate’s blistering diatribe was
almost more than Sauvage could bear. The idea that Caroline had been there to
prevent his leaving had occurred to him already. Yet, he could not abandon his
quest. “What would you have me do?” he demanded. “Bless the bastard who stole
my life from me?”

He
made to fling himself away from the pallet, but Kathryn wouldn’t let him go. Struggling
half-upright, she caught the hem of his hunting frock with one hand. It was
enough to hold him rigidly by her bed. “There is talk of you in the settlements.
Wild talk. They say you’ve killed twenty men. That your bitterness and hatred
has become a canker, that they have eaten away at you until there is not a
speck of humanity left inside of you. Until this moment, I refused to listen.” Her
voice broke, and she glared up at him, her face a mask of desperation and pity,
and he knew that the tears in her eyes were for him, and not for her own plight.
“May God forgive me for this, but I am glad she is dead. I am glad she is not
here to see what you’ve become.”

The
statement shocked Sarah, who looked first to Kathryn, and then to this man
called Kingston Sauvage. The look on his face was murderous; his strong hands
were clenched by his sides. For an instant, Sarah feared he might strike the
invalid; then, the storm passed, and he sighed his defeat.

“I
cannot fight you both and hope to win.” He passed a hand over his face, and
Sarah had the odd impression that he had been referring to Kathryn and the dead
Caroline. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

It
had been a fierce, pitched battle, but Kathryn had won. As Sarah watched, the
tension drained from the older woman, who sank back on the pallet with a groan.
“Perhaps after all, I was right in defending you. Perhaps you are not as hard
as they claim.”

Sauvage
snorted derisively, kneeling again to examine the wound in Kathryn’s side. “Do
not try to placate me, Kate. I am everything they claim, and more, as you well
know.” He took the cloth band from his head and placed it inside Kathryn’s
bodice, directly against the wound. “The effort to change my mind has cost you.
I hope to hell it was worth it.”

He
smiled, but there was irony in it. “I’ll get some wood for a fire. You will be
more comfortable, and I will need light if I am to tend you properly.” Then, to
Sarah. “You are needed.”

Sarah
crossed to Kate’s side. He drew her down to kneel beside him, guiding her hand
to the scrap of cloth employed as a makeshift bandage and momentarily covering
it with his. “You hold it just like this, eh?” he said. “Keep the pressure
constant.”

Sarah
wished she weren’t so aware of his nearness, wished she could ignore the warmth
that radiated from him, the fresh tang of the forest that clung to his hair,
his clothing, his skin. But she could not ignore him, no matter how hard she
tried. His warmth conjured up memories of her marriage bed, the feeling of
security that she had known only in Timothy’s arms.

“Madame?”

“Y-yes.
Yes, of course. I can manage just fine.”

He
released her fingers, and the impression of warmth receded as he moved away. Sarah
watched him go, wondering if he would ever return. A promise was all that bound
him to them, and everyone knew that promises were easily broken. It seemed an
extremely tenuous thread to bind a man like Sauvage.

As
if she read Sarah’s thoughts, Kathryn smiled. “He’ll be back, Sarah. It may not
seem so now, but you can put your faith in him. He will not betray your trust.”

Sauvage
reentered the cabin a few minutes later with an armful of wood and kindled a
small, smokeless fire. Madame, still seated by Kate’s side, watched his every
move. He rose, wiping his hands on his leggings and Madame started slightly. Leather
satchel in hand, he walked toward the pallet beside which she sat and she
shrank back.

Another
time, he might have found her fear of him amusing. Now, it was an irritant. “Come
away from there,” he said.

Madame
came instantly to her feet, neatly skirting him as he knelt by the pallet. Kingston
turned his back to her, trying to ignore her. He slit the now unconscious
Kate’s linsey-woolsey bodice up the side with his scalping knife, baring the
wound, then, reached into his leather pouch as a shadow edged across his field
of vision.

A
sidelong glance revealed Madame, peering over his shoulder. When she saw that
she’d been caught, she swallowed hard, yet did not retreat.

“You
wish to help?” Sauvage asked, as gently as he could.

She
nodded vigorously, her prayer cap slipping askew.

“Then,
collect the cobwebs from the corners,” he said. “And when you have finished,
bring them here to me.”

“Cobwebs?”
She
looked properly horrified.

“
Oui,
Madame. Cobwebs. To stop the bleeding.”

She
looked at her shoes. “What shall I do with the spiders?”

Sauvage
sighed. “If you blow on the spiders, they will retreat, and you can take their
web in relative safety.” He turned back to his task as Madame moved away, cleansing
and examining Kate’s wound. By the time he had finished, Madame had finished
and returned in triumph. Sauvage pulled the fine, sticky filaments from her
fingers and carefully placed them over Kate’s wound.

Madame
continued to linger by his left shoulder. Concern for Kate had seemingly taken
precedence over her fear of him, at least for the moment. “Will she recover,
monsieur?”

“I
am afraid that her chances are slim,” Kingston answered. “The ball has lodged
in her vitals.”

“Have
you known Kathryn long?”

“Yes,
a very long time. She has been a good friend to me.” Having done all that he
could do for Kate, Sauvage made his way to the fire where he sank down. “Come
and sit, Madame. There is much for us to discuss.”

She
left Kate’s side reluctantly, primly seating herself on the other side of the
blaze. For a moment or two, Sauvage watched her fidget, pleating and unpleating
the folds of her gray skirt with nervous fingers, pressing it flat again.

He
watched her intently, the way an indolent cat might watch a church mouse, with
little more than a passing disinterest. And she did resemble a church mouse,
with her great sapphire eyes and lush black lashes, and little prayer cap, a
cap to which bits of twigs and rotting leaves still clung. It listed to one
side of her soft brown head. “Do I frighten you?”

His
question was sudden and seemed to have caught her off guard. For a moment, she
was speechless, the nervous pleating of her fingers stilled as she searched for
an appropriate reply.

Would
she lie to try and spare his feelings? She looked grave, was reticent to
answer—he couldn’t resist taunting her the smallest bit. “Remember your
lily-white soul, Madame,” he cautioned softly. “I would not wish you to stain
it on my account.”

Her
softly rounded chin came up a notch, and though Sauvage could have sworn he saw
it quiver, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “In truth, I do not know what to
make of you. Kathryn says you are trustworthy, yet—-”

“Yet,
you are not so certain,” Kingston finished for her. “After all, I’ve savage
blood running through these veins.”

“It
is most unkind of you to remind me of my unfortunate blunder,” she said. “Especially
when I have already apologized. Most men of my acquaintance would strive to
overlook such an incident. But then, you are very unlike most men of my
acquaintance.”

“Am
I? How so?”

“I
have never known a man who talks to wolves. Or known a wolf to listen.”

Sauvage
saw her shiver, despite her close proximity to the fire, and smiled to himself.
“It was never my intention to frighten you.”

“Nor
mine to offer insult.” She ducked her head. “Is what Kathryn said true? Have
you truly killed twenty men?”

Sauvage’s
smile faded, and a cold brittle light entered his eyes. “I have never killed a
man who did not merit killing.”

“Then
the rumors about you are founded in truth.” She clenched her hands in her lap.

Sauvage
watched her intently. “What difference does this make to you? You require my
help, and you have it. Be satisfied with that.”

She
frowned, but stood her ground. “Since it seems we are destined to spend a
considerable amount of time together, I deem it necessary to know what manner
of man I am dealing with.”

A
wounded man,
Sauvage thought darkly.
A man whose living heart had been ripped from his
chest, the subject of great speculation in civilized circles, an object of pity
and fear.
He glanced at Madame as he finished the thought. “I have never
harmed a woman, if that’s what concerns you. You have nothing to fear from me. Besides,
if we push hard, we can make it back to Bethlehem in one day, so you will not
be long in my company.”

Madame
shook her capped head. “Oh, no. You misunderstand, monsieur. I’ve recently come
from there. I cannot go back. I am bound for the Shining City, on the Muskingum
River. You have agreed to take me there. Surely, you will not go back on your
word?”

“I
gave my word that I would not leave you here, alone and defenseless,” Sauvage
countered. “The Muskingum lies three hundred miles west of here. That’s three
weeks on foot, discounting the fact that the country you speak of is teeming
with hostiles—-longer still if we encounter difficulties. Even if I were of a
mind to take you—which I am not—I cannot spare that kind of time.”

“Cannot?”
she said stubbornly. “Or will not?”

Sauvage
swore in colorful French. When he finished and calmed again she was still
watching him with that unfaltering stare of hers. “You should not speak so,”
she replied in kind. “It’s most unseemly, even for a man who takes pride in the
fact that he is not a gentleman. Besides, I heartily doubt the acts you just
described are physically possible.”

“Madame,”
Sauvage said with a shake of his head. “You astound me.”

She
shrugged, a gentle lifting of her plump shoulders which drew her linen bodice
taut across full, round breasts. Sauvage felt his male body stir to life
beneath the thin rag that was his breechclout, and was grateful for the
concealing shadows. “My husband, Timothy, was a scholar and very indulgent
where I was concerned. He taught me French and Latin, and encouraged me to
dabble in other pursuits as well.” She raised her gaze to his and deep blue
clashed with obsidian. “Do you find that shocking, monsieur? The fact that I am
learned?”

Shocking,
yes,
Sauvage
thought. A woman of refinement and education was a rarity here in the
wilderness. And Madame was not just learned; she was exasperating.

He
shook his head again, this time in amazement, and took to muttering in
Delaware, secure in the knowledge that this, at least, she could not comprehend.
Kate had certainly done him a disservice by wringing the promise from him that
he would remain. Seemingly there was but one way to rectify the impossible
situation, and that was to see Madame to safety as quickly as possible. The
moment he had fulfilled his vow to Kate, he would strike to the west again, in
the hope of picking up the trail of
La Bruin.

“Madame,”
Sauvage said, as gently as he could, “you must understand that what you are
asking is impossible. The journey you speak of is not just perilous; it is
tantamount to suicide. The Ohio country is in French hands, and zealously
defended by the Ottawa, Wyandot, and Chippewa. To these men—
these savages
—a
scalp is a scalp, and it makes no difference if its owner is a man, woman, or
child.”

Madame
was unmoved. “I shall put my faith in God to protect me until I reach the
Shining City. As long as I have faith, He will not fail me. Besides, you have
been to the Ohio country, have you not? And I see that your luxuriant scalp is
still in place.”

Sauvage
could not argue the point, and so he contented himself with a noise that
conveyed his utter disgust.

Madame,
however, remained undaunted. She pinned him with her sharp blue gaze and tried
another tack, obviously hell-bent on convincing him. “Monsieur Sauvage, my
mission is most urgent. I am expected at the Shining City. If I fail to arrive,
concerns will be raised, and a search may be organized.”

“Who
would ask that you make such a dangerous journey?” Sauvage demanded. “Surely,
not your husband?”

“Timothy
died several years ago in London. It is his brother Gil who is anticipating my
arrival, along with Brother John Liebermann, the man I am to wed.”

“Then,
this ‘business’ you mentioned earlier is a matter of the heart. I begin to see
why Madame is so eager to reach the Muskingum,” Sauvage said with a knowing
smile. He watched as Sarah Marsters blushed becomingly.

“Brother
Liebermann and I have never met,” she admitted softly. “It was the children who
were the deciding factor in my present undertaking, not any pressing desire to
wed.”

“Children?
What children?”

“The
children at the mission,” she replied. “We live communally—not unlike a large
religious family. Gil has promised that I can work with the little ones at the
Sisters’ House. I’ve always wanted children, but God has seen fit to deny
them—” She broke off, and it took her a moment to collect herself.

Sauvage
continued to watch her. Her face had changed when she said the word “children.”
Her expression had softened, and a light had come into her deep blue eyes, a
warm and mellow light he’d seen in the eyes of another woman, a thousand
lifetimes ago.

Physically,
she was nothing like Caroline. Caroline had been tall and willowy, with hair
the shade of ripening wheat and eyes of icy blue. Madame was petite, just three
or four inches above five feet, the crown of her head barely rising above
Sauvage’s collarbone. The body beneath her plain garments was well rounded,
perhaps best described as plump.

From
the top of her soft brown head to the tips of her sturdy leather shoes, there
was nothing so very extraordinary about Sarah Marsters, not the slightest
similarity between her and Caroline, until she had mentioned the children, and
then the face of Sauvage’s lost love and this lost and forlorn young woman
overlapped, melding one with the other... while the burning pain in his chest
burgeoned and swelled, until he thought that he would die of it.

What
was there about this young woman that stirred him so, conjuring up a vast
discomfort within his body and soul? Was it her generous curves and shy glances?
Or her vulnerability, a quality which beckoned to his predatory instincts?

Whatever
it was, he resisted it, hardening himself to a threatening tide of emotion,
retreating from Madame without moving a muscle, distancing himself from her
emotionally, until the terrible aching need that gripped him receded, too.

Seated
across from him, Sarah felt his emotional retreat, his sudden coldness, as if a
wall of ice had settled down between them. Her dream of reaching the Muskingum
lost some of its bright sheen in that instant. “Will you not relent, monsieur,
and guide me to my destination?” she asked, unable to resist making one last
bid to change his mind. “I can pay for your services. I have this brooch—” Unbuttoning
three of the tiny pearl buttons that fastened her bodice, she reached inside
and, after several fumbling attempts, produced a gold and onyx brooch, which
she handed to Kingston. “It belonged to Timothy’s mother. He gave it to me on
our wedding day. I have never had it appraised, but I am sure it is worth a
great deal of money.”

For
a long while, Kingston Sauvage stared down at the brooch in his hand, his dark
face impassive, while Sarah watched him, and wished for the power to read his
thoughts.

There
was so much about him she did not know, so much that still remained a mystery,
and there was but one thing of which she was certain where he was concerned. Aloud,
she voiced her certainty: “You will not accept my offer, will you, monsieur?”

“Some
things cannot be bought,” he said without looking up. “Your premature death is one
of them. No, I will not see you to the Muskingum. I will not have your death on
my hands.”

“Yet
you will pursue
La Bruin
,” Sarah said, “with every intention of killing
him.”

He
raised his gaze to hers, and the firelight was reflected in his black eyes. “Yes.”

Despite
the warmth of the blaze, Sarah shivered. “Do you not fear for your immortal
soul, sir, speaking in so cavalier fashion of taking another man’s life?”