youthful, more carefree, more devastatingly handsome than any
man had a right to be. Sarah was careful to keep her distance. “Scoff if you
wish, but I am convinced that the wolf that saved my life last night was sent
by God for that very purpose, and it weighs heavily upon my heart that it was
nearly killed.”
Sauvage
watched as she looked around, and knew what she was thinking. “Rest easy,
Madame. If indeed there was a wolf, it has found a place by now to rest and
lick its wounds.”
“There was a wolf!” she insisted. “A great wolf, with a coat as pale as
moonlight. It saved my life, then watched over me as I slept.” She scoured the
ground near the place where Sauvage lay, looking for proof of the animal’s
presence. “It must have left some drops of blood, some sign to indicate its
passing.”
She
made to walk past him, intent upon her search, Sauvage took her arm, bringing
her back to face him. He wanted to tell her that searching for signs of the
animal was futile, that a wolf was a creature of the night and rarely seen in
daylight. He wanted to bask in her soft angelic beauty, to ease her worries, to
claim the tenderness and caring she bestowed upon the wolf for himself. Yet, as
he opened his mouth to speak, he saw her gaze skim his middle, where the
hunting shirt gaped open. In that instant, her expression went from gentle
consternation, to concern, and then to disbelief in rapid succession.
Sauvage
bit back a groan of frustration, aware what would follow. “Sarah, it is nothing.”
He started to close the shirt, to hide the quartet of deep slashes that scored
his side, just above the belt that held his breechclout.
Madame,
however, had other ideas, and was already on her knees beside him. She grasped
the leather, pulling it back for a closer look. “How came you by these wounds?”
she demanded.
“A
minor incident,” Sauvage said. “Barely worthy of note.”
“You
are far too modest, Kingston. The cuts are deep and need attention. I’ll ask
again. How came you by these wounds?”
“As
is happens, I ran afoul of the same bear that frightened you last night. I
startled her, and she took a swat at me.”
He
felt her gaze go over him, and knew that she missed no small detail of his
appearance. But did she notice how her mere presence inflamed him? Then,
when he saw her gaze skim the front of his loin cloth and dart quickly away, he
decided that she had.
“There
must have been a great deal of blood.”
“Madame?”
He hoped he’d misheard her.
“No
man could sustain such cuts without bleeding profusely. Yet, there is no blood
on your shirt, or your leggings.” She met his gaze sharply, then, abruptly
turned away. “The wolf had similar gashes on its flank. I knew that I should
give it aid, but I feared that it would attack me. Curiously, it did not—-and I
thought that it—-but no, it is too preposterous—-is it not, Kingston?”
Sauvage
braced a hand against his side and got stiffly to his feet. Yet, as he
advanced, Madame backed away. “Sarah,” he said. “You will not leave this camp. To
go off on your own would be far too dangerous, especially when you are so
distraught.”
“Distraught?”
she cried. How can I be anything but distraught? To think that you—that the
wolf was—” She pressed a fist to her mouth. “Where were you last night?”
“We
must be leaving soon,” he replied impatiently.
“Kingston,
I must know.”
The
look on her face in that moment was heartrending. Sauvage could not lie to her,
but neither could he tell her the truth. “Suffice to say that I was never very
far away.” Then, before she could say another word, he snapped, “Enough! My
wounds will heal, and you are safe! Be satisfied with that.”
Sarah
was not satisfied. All day, the notion plagued her. When they halted for the
night and Kingston went off to scout, she could think of nothing else. Was it
possible? Could a man change his shape at will? Could Kingston have been
man had a right to be. Sarah was careful to keep her distance. “Scoff if you
wish, but I am convinced that the wolf that saved my life last night was sent
by God for that very purpose, and it weighs heavily upon my heart that it was
nearly killed.”
Sauvage
watched as she looked around, and knew what she was thinking. “Rest easy,
Madame. If indeed there was a wolf, it has found a place by now to rest and
lick its wounds.”
“There was a wolf!” she insisted. “A great wolf, with a coat as pale as
moonlight. It saved my life, then watched over me as I slept.” She scoured the
ground near the place where Sauvage lay, looking for proof of the animal’s
presence. “It must have left some drops of blood, some sign to indicate its
passing.”
She
made to walk past him, intent upon her search, Sauvage took her arm, bringing
her back to face him. He wanted to tell her that searching for signs of the
animal was futile, that a wolf was a creature of the night and rarely seen in
daylight. He wanted to bask in her soft angelic beauty, to ease her worries, to
claim the tenderness and caring she bestowed upon the wolf for himself. Yet, as
he opened his mouth to speak, he saw her gaze skim his middle, where the
hunting shirt gaped open. In that instant, her expression went from gentle
consternation, to concern, and then to disbelief in rapid succession.
Sauvage
bit back a groan of frustration, aware what would follow. “Sarah, it is nothing.”
He started to close the shirt, to hide the quartet of deep slashes that scored
his side, just above the belt that held his breechclout.
Madame,
however, had other ideas, and was already on her knees beside him. She grasped
the leather, pulling it back for a closer look. “How came you by these wounds?”
she demanded.
“A
minor incident,” Sauvage said. “Barely worthy of note.”
“You
are far too modest, Kingston. The cuts are deep and need attention. I’ll ask
again. How came you by these wounds?”
“As
is happens, I ran afoul of the same bear that frightened you last night. I
startled her, and she took a swat at me.”
He
felt her gaze go over him, and knew that she missed no small detail of his
appearance. But did she notice how her mere presence inflamed him? Then,
when he saw her gaze skim the front of his loin cloth and dart quickly away, he
decided that she had.
“There
must have been a great deal of blood.”
“Madame?”
He hoped he’d misheard her.
“No
man could sustain such cuts without bleeding profusely. Yet, there is no blood
on your shirt, or your leggings.” She met his gaze sharply, then, abruptly
turned away. “The wolf had similar gashes on its flank. I knew that I should
give it aid, but I feared that it would attack me. Curiously, it did not—-and I
thought that it—-but no, it is too preposterous—-is it not, Kingston?”
Sauvage
braced a hand against his side and got stiffly to his feet. Yet, as he
advanced, Madame backed away. “Sarah,” he said. “You will not leave this camp. To
go off on your own would be far too dangerous, especially when you are so
distraught.”
“Distraught?”
she cried. How can I be anything but distraught? To think that you—that the
wolf was—” She pressed a fist to her mouth. “Where were you last night?”
“We
must be leaving soon,” he replied impatiently.
“Kingston,
I must know.”
The
look on her face in that moment was heartrending. Sauvage could not lie to her,
but neither could he tell her the truth. “Suffice to say that I was never very
far away.” Then, before she could say another word, he snapped, “Enough! My
wounds will heal, and you are safe! Be satisfied with that.”
Sarah
was not satisfied. All day, the notion plagued her. When they halted for the
night and Kingston went off to scout, she could think of nothing else. Was it
possible? Could a man change his shape at will? Could Kingston have been
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