Free Lord of the Wolves by S K McClafferty Page B

She grabbed for the great fish, catching his tail, jerking
him back and into her arms as she teetered off balance and, encumbered by the
tangle of her sodden skirts, slowly sank beneath the surface.
    And
then, Kingston was there, taking her elbow, urging her up and onto her feet. He
pounded Sarah’s back as she coughed and sputtered, then, regaining her composure,
grinned soggily, triumphantly up at him, clutching her struggling prize. “Delaware
w-woman, indeed!” she said.
     
    Evening
came, and the nightly serenade of cicadas and crickets began. Just before
twilight they struck up a lively tune, that continued until the first gray
light of dawn.
    Sarah
sat by the fireside, vainly trying to wring the moisture from her sodden skirts
as she awaited Kingston’s return. He’d gone off on his nightly rounds shortly
after their meal of fish, in order to assure himself there were no Hurons
lurking nearby. But that had been hours ago, and he had yet to return. The
purple dusk was slowly fading into night, and threatening storm clouds were
beginning to gather.
    There
was thunder in the distance, intermittent still, but moving closer, and a brief
flash of lightning now and again that lit up the sky. A breath of a breeze,
heavy with damp and uncommonly chilly, swept through the valley and was gone.
    Sarah
shivered. She was starting to worry. Where was Kingston? Had something happened?
Had he run afoul of the Frenchman, or one of his allies? Was he even now lying
out there somewhere, wounded and helpless and breathing his last?
    Images
of the massacre flashed behind Sarah’s eyes, but instead of Ben Bones being
besieged behind the huge oak tree, it was Kingston who was cornered, hopelessly
outmanned. “Father, please,” Sarah said quietly. “Watch over him.”
    Heavy
silence, then the low rumble of thunder. Sarah chafed her arms, wishing she’d
listened to Kingston earlier and disrobed to fish in the creek. Her clothing
was still cloying and wet, her skin damp and cold, despite the cloying warmth
of the evening.
    Bravery
might come more easily, she thought, if she were warm and dry instead of damp
and miserable. Caught up in her thoughts and fears, Sarah at first failed to
notice the rustling of the underbrush to the left of the fire. Then, it sounded
again, and a chill snaked up her spine.
    Had
Kingston returned? Or had something else caused the noise? Something she was
too fearful to even try and identify?
    She
wet her lips and called aloud, “Kingston?”
    The
noise came again, furtive and infinitely frightening. Sarah felt the fine hair
on her arms and at her nape stand erect. She strained her vision, looking for
bears or great mountain cats or painted warriors, and instead saw something
pale moving in the shadows. Someone, she mentally amended.
    Her
mouth was dry from fear, but somehow Sarah found her voice. “Who is there? Please,
come into the light.”
    Nothing
moved, and no one answered. Sarah sought calm. Perhaps she had imagined the
figure, so ghostly, so pale, so human—-and then the lightning flashed again and
Sarah saw the woman. Dressed in a faded, simply fashioned gown, she kept beyond
the circle of firelight, and Sarah sensed her wariness.
    Lightning
lit up the sky. Thunder rolled over the valley, then died away. In the ensuing
silence, there came the crack of a branch underfoot. The woman must have heard
it, too, for she sent a warning glance Sarah’s way, then, clutching the bundle she
was carrying more securely to her bosom, she turned toward the forest.
    “Please,
wait!” Sarah cried, leaping to her feet.
    And
at the same instant, Kingston emerged from the trees.

Chapter 6
     
     
    When
Sauvage returned to the clearing, Sarah ran to him. “Kingston! Oh, praise God,
you’ve come! There was a woman! I saw her standing at the edge of the trees!”
    “A
woman, you say? Are you certain?”
    “Yes!
I saw her! Please, Kingston! You must believe me!”
    “Slowly,
Madame,” he said, trying to soothe