Free Lord of the Wolves by S K McClafferty Page A

it.”
    Smiling,
he touched her cheek. “Very well, then. Take off your clothes.”
    “My—-you
wish me—-to disrobe?    Sir! I cannot! It would be most unseemly!”
    “You
cannot fish dressed as you are,” he countered.
    Sarah
narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, wondering if this was some perverted
scheme on his part to rob her of her modesty. “I do not pretend to know much
about Indian culture, but in England, we fish in a far more modest and
restrained fashion—-and we do not disrobe in the presence of the opposite... sex.”
    The
last word was hissed. Sauvage smiled to himself, amused by her outrage. He
found her maidenly blushes very becoming, and could not help teasing her the smallest
bit. “Never?”
    “Never,”
she affirmed.
    “My
sympathies to Brother Liebermann. It is a very great shame that he will never
get to gaze upon your voluptuous charms.” He stood patiently waiting as she
took off her sturdy leather shoes and stockings, and, obstinate as any mule,
refused to undress. Sauvage smiled. She had pluck. Madame did, a fine thread of
tempered steel which lay hidden beneath her timidity and shyness. And then
there was the way her gaze had touched his flesh and lingered as he’d disrobed,
the fullness of her lips that hinted at a sleeping sensual side to her nature
crying out to be awakened.
    Watching
the gentle sway of her hips beneath her voluminous skirts as she moved into the
water, Sauvage gave a wistful sigh. How strange that he should envy a man whom
he had never met. The man who would have the chance to coax Madame out of her
inhibitions and into the sublime light of physical love.
     
    Sarah’s
momentary anger faded as she waded into the creek. Beauty was all around her,
in the dark sluggish stream, the towering hemlocks that grew on the opposite
shore, the green-black boughs of which stretched far out over the water. In the
middle of the stream, shaded by those boughs, a huge gray boulder squatted,
easily as large as some cabins Sarah had seen.
    There
was an undeniable beauty as well in the man who now stood near the great
limestone monument, as silent and still as a bronze statue, the water lapping
‘round his naked flanks.
    “Wait
there, Madame,” he cautioned. “Grandfather is dozing by the rock. I will urge
him into shore. Keep watch, and make ready to seize him.”
    Seize
him? Seize him with what?
    Sarah
glanced sharply up at Kingston, then down at her hands. He’d lost his senses. She
thought of wading back to shore, of admitting her shortcomings... and then she
thought of Kingston’s taunt that Brother John Liebermann would release her from
their marriage contract and take a more worthy woman to wife, someone willing
to learn.
    It
was enough to solidify Sarah’s determination, and she vowed in that moment that
she would succeed in this venture even if it killed her. She stared hard at the
water, trying to look beyond the refractions of silver light on its surface. But
she could see nothing that looked like a fish. Then, she noticed the long gray,
undulating shadow that lay on the rocky bottom, a shadow which, as Kingston
approached it, moved slightly, and became a fish.
    A
whale of a fish, a full two feet in length! A wave of hunger assaulted Sarah. She
could almost taste the grandfather fish, firm and slightly smoky from the open fire...
delicious, and filling and—Sarah’s heart was pounding. She must be cunning to
achieve success. More cunning than the fish.
    She
glanced at the shadowy form, so graceful in the pale green depths of the creek,
and watched, mesmerized as it moved slowly forward, a few feet ahead of
Kingston.
    Bent
upon her goal, Sarah moved, too. The cool water lapped around her knees, her
thighs, soaking her skirts, wrapped around her legs, hampering her movements.
    “Careful,
Madame,” Kingston said. “Slowly. The creek bed is uneven in places.”
    The
sleek gray body swam near and then past her and Sarah lunged, heart thudding
against her ribs.