Lord of the Wolves
Page 13
“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.”
“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.
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 eve
n 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.”