Lovestorm by Judith E. French Page A

that he had noticed her restlessness. “Patience,” his touch urged. If he had spoken, his meaning could not have been clearer. Elizabeth stifled the urge to give him a piece of her mind and lay still, straining her eyes to see any movement in the bushes around them.
    She felt strangely alive. The sharp odors of the sand and grass, of the cedar and pine, and the unmistakable scent of the ocean filled her nostrils. She was intensely aware of the texture of the earth beneath her body and the star-strewn sky above. And—more than she cared to admit—she was conscious of the man beside her.
    She knew she should have felt anger for the liberties Cain assumed. But then, nothing in her upbringing or past experiences had prepared her for Cain Dare, and she was at a loss to find the right way to deal with him.
    Across the pond, an owl hooted, and an answering call came from the forest. Elizabeth didn’t flinch. She knew an owl when she heard one, and she certainly wasn’t afraid.
    Frogs peeped and croaked from the pond, and there was an occasional splash of water. Once, she caught sight of a furry head breaking the surface of the pond. Then, a graceful animal moved from the shadows into the moonlight, followed by a tinier replica. To Elizabeth’s delight, a doe and fawn walked toward the water’s edge. Nervously, the mother deer lowered her head to drink while the baby butted and frolicked around her.
    Elizabeth blinked her eyes and the deer were gone. Had she fallen asleep? She wasn’t certain. She tried to look up to gauge the position of the moon, but Cain squeezed her arm once more. Before she could respond, a twig snapped a few yards away and she tensed as she remembered the fierce beast they had come to hunt.
    Cain leaned close to her ear and whispered. “Shhh, oopus comes.”
    Elizabeth gasped as a doglike animal trotted into the moonlit clearing. The creature paused and raised its head, sniffing the air, then gave a sharp whine. “The wolf,” she murmured softly. The breeze brought a light musty scent, and her eyes widened as she realized that it was the beast she smelled.
    â€œWatch,” Cain ordered. His voice was so low, Elizabeth wasn’t certain if she heard him with her ears or with her mind.
    In the bright patch of moonlight, the shaggy gray animal cocked its head as though it were listening. The pointed ears twitched, and it dropped to a sitting position and emitted another high-pitched whimper. Immediately, four pups bounded from the darkness, launched themselves onto their mother, and began to nurse.
    Elizabeth let out a muffled gasp. “Oh. That’s my wolf,” she whispered, “but it looks smaller now.”
    Cain’s hair brushed her cheek, and a little shiver passed through her. “Not tumme the wolf,” he corrected. “Oopus the fox.”
    She stared at the vixen and her cubs, suddenly aware of what must have happened when she believed she was under attack by a ravaging wolf. Even her father’s hounds would growl if a stranger came near their pups. “A gray fox,” she uttered softly. “Not a wolf, but a vixen.”
    â€œYou learn,” Cain replied gently.
    The animals gave no indication that they were aware of human presence, and Elizabeth realized that the noises the young foxes made prevented the bitch from taking alarm. One of the pups had left off nursing and was tugging at the mother’s tail; another burrowed under the vixen’s neck.
    Elizabeth was fascinated by the scene. An accomplished horsewoman, she had always been fond of animals. As a child, she had loved an odd assortment of kittens and dogs; once she had even kept a mouse hidden from her nurse for weeks. But never before had she seen a wild creature so close.
    â€œShall I slay her for you?” Cain asked.
    â€œNo!”
    The vixen’s head snapped up and she gave a warning yip. Before Elizabeth’s eyes, mother and cubs