“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.
Chapter 11
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-dappl
ed 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.
Sarah gasped and strained against him. Oh, blessed torment! The scorching tide was rising, a welling desire that left her shaken and weak, completely at his mercy. Kingston seemed to sense it, for he pressed his advantage, drawing out the carnal caresses, increasing Sarah’s agony until she could no longer bear it. Then, he withdr
ew his hand and took her waist, lifting her, guiding her legs around his middle and urging her down until the source of her need rested intimately against his. Slowly, he began to move, teasing the source of her need without a true penetration, fanning the flames that licked along her senses.
Sarah clung to him, joining in the subtle rhythm, wanting more and knowing it could never be. It rendered the encounter all the more bittersweet, a brief and beautiful interlude to hold inside her secret heart for all the endless nights to come when she would share a stranger’s marriage bed.
The thought was excruciating; instinctively Sarah pushed it back, giving herself up to the moment, struggling against the tension mounting deep inside her, glorying in the feel of Kingston’s arms around her, so warm, so strong. Sarah’s desire mounted, gathering in strength and intensity, and, finally, crashing down upon her senses so that she was awash in wave after wave of pure physical bliss.
One final thrust and Kingston pulled away with a shudder, spilling his seed into the water.
Long after the pleasurable glow had faded, Sarah lay curled against Kingston’s side on the mossy banks of the deep pool, her head pillowed on his breast and the steady thud of his heart in her ear, and dreamed that she had found in the American wilderness a second Eden, a place where all things were possible, where even a Lord of the Wolves, given an abundance of patience, love and understanding, could be tamed.
Later that same evening, several miles west of the glade where they had lingered throughout the long hot afternoon, Sarah sat with her legs crossed, plucking the feathers from the fat bird Kingston had killed earlier. It was a simple task, quickly accomplished once she understood what was required of her, and one for which she was inordinately grateful, for it kept her from dwelling on the earth-shattering events of the afternoon, however temporarily.
Lord of the Wolves Page 14
