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M onsieur Bouchard was unhappy with their departure time and the weight of their supplies. Yet he launched his bateau, and they started out toward Ottawa while he sang out a stream of French curses, curses so humorously foul that Crispin refused to translate them for Luke.

Aside from his theatrical anger, Crispin rather liked Bouchard. The man narrated his every action, leaving no doubt that he was doing everything possible to keep them afloat and on course. He was also tolerant of Luke’s many questions.

“Do you have an Indian name?” Luke asked.

“Non! I am a Frenchman. Although,” he said, thinking a bit, “Some call me Charon.”

“That’s enough,” Crispin said with a laugh. “He doesn’t know his Greek mythology.”

“In my village you are called Jacques Paddles Here,” Birdy chimed in.

“Well,” he said, “Jacques only paddles in the daylight. We will make camp along the shore when darkness falls. Lord Morgan, if you wish to be helpful, grab a pole and be ready to help. We travel upstream, yes? We will need your muscle.”

Whether they made good time or not was hard to measure. Without the surge of London life surrounding him, Crispin quickly lost track of time or even what day of the week it might be. Despite Birdy’s astute shopping, he was still dressed as if he were attending a country house party that planned nothing more strenuous than a hike to a folly. A fact, he realized, that made him stand out along the river.

As they set up camp for the night, Birdy tended to a cooking pot while he, Luke, and Bouchard secured the boat and their belongings for the night. The knife they’d purchased for him at the five corners rested heavy at his side. Unaccustomed to the weight of it, he reached down often to touch it and ensure it was ready should he need it. He hoped he wouldn’t need it tonight.

Their troubles should have been left behind in Grimsby. Dunwoody’s reach could not possibly extend to Upper Canada. They were the only passengers on the Agonde . They could not have been followed. Still, he was determined to keep Birdy close.

The fire was extinguished shortly after sunset, and he looked forward to crawling under their new woolen blanket. Despite it being spring, much of the ground was still embracing winter’s chill.

“Let me keep you warm,” he whispered to Birdy as he snuggled up beside her. There was no one else he’d rather have at his side. If it took the rest of his life, he’d convince her of this truth. He was beyond lucky to have been matched with her.

“I’ll keep you warm right back,” she said, wiggling suggestively in his arms.

“Stop teasing,” he said, as he began raining silent kisses along her neck. “I can’t wait to have you again.”

“And yet you will.”

Smiling into the darkness, he pulled her closer and closed his eyes. Morning would come soon enough, and he had much to learn before reaching their destination. He was not ignorant of the sport of archery, and he planned on putting their purchase of bows and arrows to good use.

If a one-armed Frenchman could navigate a boat into the wilderness, surely he could master a useful skill that would prove him worthy to be Birdy’s husband. By the time he reached Ziinzi Island, Birdy and Carmody would be proud of him.

Cursing the daylight, Crispin found he was the last to rise the next morning. Angry with himself for not feeling Birdy slip out of his arms, he tossed the blanket aside and sat up with a frown.

“So Sleeping Beauty will join us,” Jacques said with a laugh. “This dirt was very comfortable, yes?”

“Yes. Where’s my wife? Where’s Luke?” Jumping to his feet, Crispin looked around for any sign of them.

“Relax, mon ami , they are nearby. Your wife makes her toilette in the trees. I do not follow. Young Luke is washing in the river. He is, how shall I say, stinky.”

“Was there breakfast?” He hated to ask, but his stomach was ready to protest.

“There is coffee,” Jacques pointed to a small pot resting near the fire. “We eat what the natives call pimikan . We are lucky it is of the moose and not the fish.”

Crispin folded their blanket before taking a bite of the pimikan and making a face. It was an odd, dried mixture of meat and berries bound together by some sort of grease. He quickly swallowed down some coffee to drown the taste.

“The taste is, as they say, acquired,” Jacques teased. “Buffalo and blueberry are the best. Fish with heart berry the worst. Either way, it will keep a man alive. Take another bite, monsieur , you will need the energy it will provide. As the river narrows, we will need to be more skillful.”

Forcing himself to take another few bites, Crispin walked to the water’s edge upstream of their camp to wash himself. He hadn’t had a proper bath since their first week on the Agonde and he feared Luke wasn’t the only one getting stinky. Butterworth would have palpitations over the state of his person.

Poor Butters. The clerk at the bank in Grimsby promised to post the letters Crispin had hastily written. Surely, Butters, Mumford, and Davies had received his explanation by now. They’d all been forbidden to share his location with anyone, including his father. It had not been an easy decision to share their escape with anyone. He hoped his trust in them was not misplaced.

Forcing himself into the cold rushing water, Crispin washed as well as he could without soap or flannel. He’d skip his shave this morning. He’d already made them all behind their time. Deciding he wasn’t yet ready to test his modesty in a breechcloth, he pulled on a pair of heavy serge trousers and shoved his feet into moccasins. They were comfortable enough he thought, as he wiggled his toes. He’d see how they stood up to a day on the river.

Birdy and Luke emerged from the trees wearing their new buckskins. Birdy’s dress was much like her wedding gown, except it was trimmed with nothing but a bit of fringe rather than beads and bells. Luke, grinning from ear to ear, let out a whoop when he saw him.

“Do I look like a red Indian?” the boy asked.

“Had me fooled.” Crispin covered his smile with his hand. Luke’s nearly blond hair and bright green eyes marked him as an Englishman if not a Viking. His Geordie accent removed all doubt.

“It’s so comfortable,” Luke said with a grin as he wiggled his hips. “I ain’t wearing no underthings either.”

“You don’t need to tell everyone that.” Crispin shook his head and looked to Birdy for help.

“He couldn’t wait,” she explained.

“Let me help you pack,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “I’ll be awake on time tomorrow.”

“It was only a few minutes.” They walked a few steps before she added, “I thought you needed the extra rest. I’ll leave the bed more loudly tomorrow morning.”

“I appreciate that. Aren’t you the one who should be getting extra rest?” he asked, his eyes lingering on her midsection. By his reckoning, she’d never had her courses. He was both hopeful and afraid of what it might mean. Would their child be born in this wilderness?

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head at his concern.

He dropped the subject for now and helped her pack up the supplies they’d unloaded for the night. The least he could do was to make certain she didn’t exert herself or lift anything too heavy.

An hour into that day’s journey, Luke grew bored and started to play too close to the edge of the boat, splashing and dragging his foot through the water.

“ Arrêt! This you must not do,” Jacques yelled at the boy. “I will not stop to fish you out of this river, minnow. The current, it will take you all the way out to the sea.”

Luke looked dubious but pulled his leg out of the water.

“The current is strong here. Luke, come help me paddle,” Crispin said, trying to find a diversion for the young man.

“After the next bend, we will hire oxen to pull the boat up the river from the shore. It grows lazy as we travel west. The current will not be as strong.” Jacques wiped his brow with his sleeve and rested his punting pole on his shoulder.

“Can I ride the ox?” Luke asked.

“ Non . If you behave, I’ll tell you the story of how a moose chewed off my hand.”

“ I want to hear that,” Crispin said to Birdy. Her response was to purse her lips and roll her eyes.

Jacques weaved his tale while Luke hung on every word. It was a fantastic tale with a talking bird, a helpful turtle, and a moose as tall as a building.

“What really happened?” Crispin whispered to Birdy.

“Frostbite,” she whispered back.

This was going to be a very long journey. And he would use the time to make sure he made Birdy proud when they arrived.

Crispin didn’t know how bad he looked, but he could guess how bad he smelled. Due to an unfortunate accident, his last tailored suit now rested peacefully at the bottom of Lake Nipissing, and he needed a bath and a shave. Bouchard’s small fleet of canoes landed on the shores of Ziinzi Island without much fanfare, but Hardy Carmody’s voice could be heard in the distance.

Funny, he never thought he’d miss that man’s booming voice. After what they’d been through to get here, he just might have to hug the old salesman. Children were the first to gather at the shore to stare at the newcomers. Bouchard called many by name and they approached with curiosity, pulling at the packages they unloaded and trying to pry them open.

Birdy shooed away the most persistent of them with a mild rebuke. He could only tell by the tone of her voice as, despite daily lessons, he didn’t speak Ojibwe well enough to follow a conversation.

His time hadn’t been completely wasted. He’d perfected his archery skills along the way, adding small game to their cooking pot and saving them from eating the pimikan made with fish. Never again would he turn away from an archery competition at a country house party.

“Oh, my darling girl!” Hardy Carmody ran to the shore and scooped Birdy up in his arms. “It is like heaven to see you again, my little hummingbird.” Kissing the top of her head, he swung her around like a child, quickly losing his breath. “Married life appears to agree with you. Lord Morgan is keeping you well fed.”

In the split second after he spoke, Carmody looked to Crispin with a question in his eyes. Crispin nodded in the affirmative. Birdy would not yet admit it out loud, but she was with child. His child. The future Earl of Angleswood.

“Is grandfather in the village? I brought gifts.”

“Good girl. I was hoping you remembered.”

“Grandfather? You never once mentioned having a grandfather.” His mouth fell open as Crispin waited for her explanation.

“Sore subject,” Carmody leaned in close and whispered. “I’ll explain later.”

“Chief Staring Eagle took a small party out on a fishing expedition. They intend to return by nightfall, but you know how these things go. Singing Grass and Crooked Foot are waiting in the village. You were spotted an hour ago. The entire village is in a fuss about it. We’ll share a fire with your aunt tonight so you can introduce Lord Morgan more formally.”

“Aunt?” Crispin asked. The only response was a quick shake of Carmody’s head. How could Birdy still keep secrets from him? Of course, he hadn’t mentioned all his relatives either. This seemed like an important omission. What else was she hiding?

The children were put to work offloading the canoes, falling in with Luke with little fanfare or obvious trouble. Crispin envied the boy’s ease. Already the boy spoke Birdy’s language in a rudimentary fashion, enough to get by with a few words and sign language. He doubted it would be that easy for him.

“Why the hell didn’t you come to the main dock?” Carmody admonished Bouchard. “I’d have my men unload this for you and take it directly to the house. It will all be paraded through the village now. I hope you brought enough gifts.”

“What is all this about gifts?” Crispin asked.

“Gift-giving is important in this culture,” Carmody explained. “People give and get gifts for everything. Sneeze three times in a row and someone will give you a useful piece of antler or a shard of flint. Then they’ll send you off into the woods to die alone,” he added with a laugh.

“My canoes struggle from the weight of your gifts. Your lady, she buy and buy along the way. No gift for Jacques?”

“I’ve got your gift,” Carmody said, patting his wallet. “I wish you’d come right to the trading post.”

“I thought it best to slip in quietly and let you decide before the entire village knew. Besides,” he said, pointing to Luke, “That one was driving me mad with his questions.”

“Hold up,” Crispin interjected. “I was led to believe this would be a happy reunion. Birdy speaks of this place so fondly. What is going on?”

“Ben Red Feather has returned.”

“Ben Red Feather from the knife fight? Birdy’s old suitor?”

“She told you, good. He’s just as mean and ornery as ever.”

“Is she safe here?” Crispin struggled to recall the details of the incident Captain Kelly related to him. Someone had died in that knife fight. Birdy had to leave her village because of that knife fight.

“Of course she is. He’ll likely have words for you once he hears you’re married. But he’s out fishing with Staring Eagle now. After all these years he appears to still be holding a bit of a grudge.”

“We were supposed to be safer here.” Crispin raised his voice in frustration.

“Safer than what?” It was Hardy’s turn to look shocked. Crispin had forgotten that Hardy was ignorant of their fiery escape from Grimsby.

“Our troubles didn’t stop after you left Town. We found out where Dunwoody was hiding my sister’s baby, and he tried to burn us out. I could no longer risk Birdy’s life. This was the safest place we could think of where Dunwoody wouldn’t find us.”

“You should not have chased that baby. You have your own to worry about now.”

“I promised my sister. I had to know.” It was his only explanation and hearing it out loud reminded him of how weak an excuse it was. “My wife wasn’t with child, then.”

“You made promises to my daughter, too.” Hardy spat out the words and turned away in disgust.

“Gentlemen, mes amis , we accomplish nothing by fighting amongst ourselves, no? We have until nightfall to present his lordship as the greatest prize in all the land. If they accept you,” he said, directing his speech to Crispin, “Red Feather has nowhere to turn.”

“I look bad, and I smell bad,” Crispin groused. He neither looked nor felt like a lord at the moment.

“Oh, look around you,” Hardy said, motioning to the surrounding wilderness. “We all look bad and smell bad. You’ll fit right in. Forget society as you know it. That doesn’t exist here. They have their own rules and, let me tell you, they don’t make any sense. If the chief says the sky is green, then Crispy, the sky is fucking green.”

“I believe you once told me this place was paradise.”

“It is. All you have to do is respect the tribe’s interpretation of things. Don’t fight it. Don’t try to reason with it. Don’t ever argue about it because you will lose.”

“Hardly the slice of heaven I was expecting.”

“In a month or two, I’m going to remind you that you said that. After a while, it grows on you. You’ll see.”

“Your trading post wouldn’t happen to have a bathtub, would it?” Noticing Birdy was still surrounded by children, he decided she was safe enough for now. He realized, however, how very English she looked among her mother’s people. In London, her native features stood out, yet, here, she also looked out of place.

“The best within a thousand miles,” Hardy replied, snapping him back to attention. “Three wooden, one copper, and two carved right out of rock.”

“I’ll be enjoying the use of one of those tubs. Maybe along the way I can hear all about Aunt Singing Grass and Birdy’s mysterious grandfather.” He needed more intrigue in their life right now as much as he needed a bad rash.

“I shall stay with my canoes.” Jacques slapped him on the back and walked away.

“When Birdy’s mother married me, her father wasn’t too happy about it,” Hardy explained as he motioned for Crispin to follow him. “I gifted him a box of rifles for her and then spent my time proving I was worthy of her. When Birdy was born, her mother tried to get the elders to sort her out into a clan with a dodem. No matter how much tobacco she gave them, they wouldn’t budge. You see, a child inherits their father’s clan and, as an Irishman, I had no recognized clan.”

“Makes sense so far.” It really didn’t, but Crispin was taking Hardy’s advice by not over analyzing it. He decided to find out what he could as they walked to the trading post bath house.

“Here’s where it gets odd. When my dear wife died, may she rest in peace, her sister, Singing Grass, who had no children of her own, decided that she and her husband Crooked Foot should adopt my Birdy so she would then be made a part of their clan.”

“Did you allow that?” A gaggle of small children pointed and laughed as he passed them by. Was he the first Englishman they’d seen?

“I had little choice. The elders got involved and finally there were two schools of thought. One was that Birdy should be given her grandfather’s clan dodem, the bear. The other was that Birdy should be made an otter like Singing Grass and her husband.”

“Did she need a dodem?”

“Her mother would have wanted her to be a bear, just like she was. Bear is a strong dodem. Your dodem is your clan. Your family.”

“What did they finally decide?” A young girl, who Crispin guessed to be no more than five, spit out the rock she was carrying in her mouth and handed it to him. Afraid of causing offense, he accepted it with a smile. Hoping he wasn’t expected to carry it in his mouth, he slipped it in his pocket and quickened his steps to catch up with his father in law.

“A third option was introduced in which Birdy should be married off and allowed to take on her husband’s dodem,” Hardy kept talking as if nothing had happened “Small tribes need to keep the breeding pool fresh, so the elders rallied around option three.”

“And that’s where Ben Red Feather fits in?”

“Ben is a bear and the other fellow, George Knife-In-Neck, was an otter. Singing Grass said she already thought of Birdy as her daughter, so she was in spirit an otter. An otter can’t marry another otter, so they favored Ben Red Feather.”

“I see. And Birdy favored the other fellow.”

“Absolutely. Unfortunately, Staring Eagle said he thought Birdy’s spirit was a bear, just like her mother. So, back to loggerheads.”

“All of which led to a knife fight and a death for which Birdy was punished.” His head started pounding and his stomach clenched. “So Ben Red Feather is back looking for Birdy?”

“He’s back. As to what he wants, I cannot say. He could not have known she was returning. Someone will tell him of your marriage.”

“I’ll tell him myself,” Crispin declared. “But I’m going to need that bath first.”

Despite his worries, Crispin enjoyed his bath more than any other bath in his life. There was little to be done for his hair, which had grown well past his collar, but to gather it into a queue and tie it with a leather band.

The clothes from the trading post that Hardy promised him were folded and waiting for him. They were more utilitarian than fashionable, but they were as clean as promised. With his shaving gear still packed, he used his knife to trim away his unruly beard until it was a more manageable scruff. It was hard to tell with nothing more than a reflective pan of water for a mirror.

He frowned at the boots laid out in front of him; he wasn’t looking forward to forcing his feet inside them after weeks of butter-soft moccasins. Tonight was his formal introduction, and he didn’t want to insult anyone by wearing their native dress as a form of costume for the occasion. Wincing, he pulled on the boots.

This is how Birdy must have felt in London. As if she were putting on a costume every day. Every day except their wedding day. He was glad now that she’d worn her buckskins. She was brave to have done so.

As the sun slipped lower in the sky, he was eager to be at her side once again. He had his knife and their pistol. She would be armed as well. Most likely Hardy was too. As for Jacques, who knew? But the man had mercenary tendencies. They needed to find a way to keep Luke close as well. The little scamp had run off with the local children and had not been seen since.

It was time for Crispin to gather his little family and keep everyone safe.

“Were your gifts acceptable?” he asked when he saw Birdy waiting for him at the trading post. He gathered her hands in his to calm his nerves.

“I believe so. I’m sorry about your hat.”

“What about my hat?” It kept blowing off on the journey and he hadn’t worn it in weeks.

“I gave it to my uncle.”

“It was custom made.” He tried not to whine but it had been an expensive hat and his favorite.

Birdy smiled in a way that told him she found it funny. “He loved it.”

“Do you feel safe here?” he asked, raising her hands to his face to brush his lips across her knuckles. “Will this Red Feather fellow be a problem?”

She leaned her cheek into his caress. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, it would all disappear. He shouldn’t be any trouble. What happened is in the distant past. My aunt told me he is here seeking a second wife.”

Crispin was sure he’d misheard her. “A second wife? That’s a thing?” She nodded. “Are you allowed to have two husbands?”

“No tribe that I know does that. A man may have as many wives as he pleases. Marriage and divorce, even adoption, are simple things among my mother’s people. There’s no reason for Ben Red Feather to choose me for a wife. I have no clan. I’m already married and I’m going to have a baby.”

“Aha! I knew it.” Crispin pulled her into his arms. “I knew it,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m so happy I could dance.” He twirled her around. “Dance with me.”

“You know I can’t dance. It’s bad luck to celebrate so soon. I don’t want to tempt fate.”

“Fair enough, but know this,” he said. “In my heart, I’m dancing.”