Lord of the Wolves by S K McClafferty Page A

“Dear me,” she said. “Are you always so direct? You
make everything sound so calculated, deliberate, indelicate, and nothing could
be further from the truth.”
    “Madame,
this is not England, and I cannot take the time to be delicate—time that is
better served in keeping us alive.”
    His
words sent a chill up Sarah’s spine. She must be bold and brave and a help to
Kingston, instead of a cowardly hindrance. “Is our situation so dire?”
    He
glanced at her, that same measuring look he’d given her earlier. “We are
running low on supplies. I was headed north to trade when I came across you and
Kate.”
    Sarah
frowned. “How low, precisely?”
    “I
have but five rifle balls left, less than an ounce of powder, and the jerked
meat I carried will soon all be gone.”
    His
implication was clear. They were facing great difficulties in the days ahead
and would need to ration their supplies. “Well, then, we simply must subsist on
what we have, or find a place to purchase more.”
    He
shook his head and his raven locks shimmered blue in the firelight. “There
isn’t a trading post within fifty miles.”
    “What,
then, do you suggest?” Sarah asked quietly, bracing herself for his reply.
    It
was precisely as she suspected. “It isn’t too late to turn back,” he replied. “We
can make it to Bethlehem without undue hardship, and once there, I can trade
for supplies at Nat Leasure’s place on Maiden Creek.”
    Sarah
was already shaking her head. “It is out of the question. You gave your word.”
    “Damn
my word! It is the wisest course.”
    She
would not hear it. “I do not think you appreciate how difficult it was for me
to leave England behind and come here to America. I put my faith in God and
gave Gil my pledge to come to the Muskingum. What manner of sister-in-law would
I be if I went back on my pledge because of the paltry matter of five rifle
balls? What manner of Christian would I be if I failed to put my trust in God
to see us through this minor difficulty? Have you not heard of the Lord Jesus
Christ and his loaves and fishes? How he fed multitudes with a small bit of
food?”
    Kingston
smiled at her comparison; it was the first time his expression had softened
since early morning. “I have heard the story, but had no idea the same theory
could be applied to rifle balls. On the other hand, I once killed two men with
one shot. The missile went straight through the first and into the heart of the
second.”
    “I
am not sure I like that comparison,” Sarah said. “And I confess that I cannot
help but notice that your concern seems newly arisen. You seemed to have no
qualms last night in the hunter’s camp about pursuing La Bruin, despite
the low state of your supplies.”
    At
the mention of the French renegade, Kinston’s expression clouded. “That was
then, and this is now,” he said flatly. “Quite suddenly I have more than my own
life to worry about.”
    His
statement chilled Sarah. “Are you saying that you would have gone off in pursuit
of your enemy, knowing full well what you lacked?”
    “ Oui ,
Madame. I would have done exactly that. And because of it you think me mad.” It
was not an accusation, and he was not at all defensive. Indeed, he seemed
amused, though it was something more sensed than seen by Sarah, for his
expression remained as hard as flint.
    “In
all truth, I do not know what to think,” Sarah admitted, “except that something
must have occasioned all of this. Something you are not confessing.”
    Sauvage
passed a hand over his face. She was bringing it all back to him with her
constant chatter, everything he’d been trying to forget over the course of the
long afternoon. The carnage of the massacre, the lily of France, the parlor in
Quebec, things he did not wish to remember, yet could not seem to forget. Into
the dark memories, Madame’s voice intruded. “It is the Frenchman, is it not? That
terrible, godless man, La Bruin ?”
    Gazing
into her large blue