Page 12 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

The governor’s house at Fort Daer was half the size of the one at Fort Douglas, though still sizable.

The main room had a fireplace, a cupboard, and a table with six chairs.

There were two bedrooms on the first level and a large, open room under the eaves in the attic.

Arran assumed the governor would take one bedroom and use it as his office, while Eleanor, Nicolette, and Miriam would take the other, smaller bedroom.

Arran and West would share the room under the eaves.

It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be more comfortable than the smaller, tighter cabins the colonists would share.

“How has trading been at Fort Daer?” Semple asked Sean as they began to eat.

“’Tis still early,” Sean said, scooping a spoonful of rubbaboo out of his bowl. “The furs are thicker than usual, suggesting a long, cold winter.” Though he spoke to Semple, his gaze remained on Eleanor.

She was so unlike any other woman in these parts, Arran didn’t blame Sean for the interest. Her fashionable gown was tailormade for her slender body, and her dark hair, which appeared to be refreshed after their journey, was in perfect order, with gentle tendrils framing her face.

She looked as if she was prepared for an evening meal at St. Mary’s Isle Priory with Lord and Lady Selkirk, and not a humble meal in a far-off fur post. The fact that she had traveled so far, under such difficult conditions, and still maintained her composure, impressed Arran more than it should.

Though she was out of place, she didn’t show any discomfort.

And it made Arran think about his own time at St. Mary’s Isle, when she had been in her element, and he had been the one out of place.

He was not a nobleman, or even a man of any wealth or status in the world.

Yet, not once had Eleanor made him feel like an outsider.

From the start, he had been welcomed into her world with utmost respect and admiration.

Yet, he had done nothing to ease her transition into his world.

On the contrary, he’d made her feel like an unwelcome outsider.

Guilt burned in his gut and he swallowed the shame he felt at the revelation.

Her words from the night before they left Fort Douglas returned with startling clarity.

“Please do not discredit me now, before I’ve even had a chance to prove myself to you. ”

As Sean and Semple discussed business matters, Eleanor met Arran’s gaze across the table. The undivided attention she gave him made every muscle in his body tighten with awareness.

William glanced between Eleanor and Arran, his thoughts and feelings inscrutable. Arran had noticed William’s increasing attention toward Eleanor and watched as he leaned a little closer to her now, as if staking an unspoken claim.

“Miss Brooke,” Sean said as he turned his focus to the lady at the table. “What would make you give up civilization to come to a place like this?”

His blunt question hung in the air as everyone turned to Eleanor for an answer.

But instead of responding, her gaze slipped to Arran again, and he saw the truth in her eyes.

Realization hit him like a gale-force wind, and he suddenly felt like a fool.

It should have been obvious to him from the first day. Eleanor could have gone anywhere and done anything with her life.

But she hadn’t. She’d convinced Lord Selkirk to let her traverse an ocean and endured unspeakable hardships to get to the Red River Valley. To Arran.

William’s jaw tightened as Eleanor licked her lips and tried to smile as she faced Sean.

“I wanted to make a difference,” she said. “To have a goal that gave me a purpose. I heard of the difficulties in this colony and knew that a school would give it permanence and stability. It is the one thing I can offer.”

She had told Arran something similar, but it wasn’t that simple. Eleanor had risked everything to come to the Northwestern Wilderness to be near him. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself before, but the look in her eyes every time she glanced at him told him all he needed to know.

Yet, he had done nothing to make her feel welcomed or wanted—even if she wasn’t staying.

He would need to do something to remedy that. If he didn’t, it would be a long winter for her.

Eleanor had no wish to go to sleep that evening after the others had gone to bed.

Her journal had not been tended to since her arrival in the Red River Valley and she knew if she wasn’t careful, she would start to neglect her writing.

It was a habit she did not want to fall into, knowing how important it was to her well-being to share her thoughts on paper.

After she left Miriam and Nicolette sleeping in the room, she went to the fireplace and shifted the coals to spark them back to life.

It was a luxury to use the wood for her late-night writing session, but she didn’t know how long she might be awake, and the room was bitterly cold, even with the leggings she still wore beneath her dress.

Outside, the wind had picked up, blowing around the eaves with vengeance.

A storm had settled over the territory, unlike anything she’d ever seen in England.

It was fascinating to watch the snow pile up in the fort yard, and though she suspected she might grow weary of it in time, for now it was a beautiful and awe-inspiring sight to behold.

She was just thankful she was tucked inside the snug log home, and not sleeping in a tent on the prairie as they had done the past few nights.

She lit a candle and set it on the table before pulling out her journal. The last time she’d made an entry was while camped near Lake Winnipeg, several days before their arrival in the colony.

Her words flowed freely for several minutes, capturing the sights and sounds of Assiniboia and of Arran.

She closed her eyes and thought about the moment they’d been reunited, and the after-effects of her arrival.

She cautiously wrote about their discussion before leaving Fort Douglas, and her hope that they could forge a friendship.

At supper, he had been more aware of her than usual, and she had desperately wanted to know what he’d been thinking.

But there had been no time to discuss personal matters.

Mr. Campbell had stayed late, and then everyone had gone to bed when he left.

Eleanor nibbled on her bottom lip as she continued to write.

She described Fort Daer and her plans to start the school.

She recorded Miriam’s developments and wrote about Nicolette and how much she appreciated having another woman’s help with the baby.

On and on she wrote, until her hand began to cramp and her eyes grew tired.

A movement at the ladder leading up to the attic made her glance in that direction.

Her heart hammered against her breastbone as Arran appeared.

She wasn’t sure if her reaction was a response at being caught up past her bedtime, or if it was the sight of Arran in his loose shirt and trousers, without a vest or jacket, and nothing upon his bare feet.

“Eleanor.” He seemed just as surprised at seeing her sitting at the table.

He wiped his hands across his sleepy face as he moved toward her.

His hair was loose around his face, coming down to the edges of his chin, and his shirt was open at the top, revealing a patch of dark hair on his chest. It was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him and it did something funny to her insides, making her feel a bit breathless.

She tried to focus on something other than his bare feet and chest, and her gaze landed on his hands.

The scars there were deep and wide, and not for the first time, she wondered how he’d acquired them.

She’d asked him once, at St. Mary’s Isle, but he had shrugged off her question and she instinctively knew not to bring it up again.

It was part of a past he didn’t speak of often, and if he wanted to tell her, he would.

Whatever had caused them would have been extraordinarily painful.

A few scars extended past his hands to his wrists, and she wondered if they went any further.

But that led her to thinking about his bare skin again, which made her hands tremble. She busied herself with closing her journal and slipped it into her traveling desk before he reached the table.

“What are you doing up so late?” His eyes wandered over the desk and her ink-stained fingers. “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

“I’ve been writing in my journal.”

“This long?”

“I had a lot to say.” She stood and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “It’s been almost two weeks since I wrote in it last.”

He watched her movements, his gaze gently following the course of her hands before coming to rest on her face once again. “I dinna ken you were a writer.”

The storm blew ferociously outside, but the look in his eyes warmed her to the core.

“I wouldn’t call myself a writer.” She held both ends of her shawl and crossed her arms. “I simply record my thoughts and feelings and experiences in my journal. I’ve done it all my life.”

A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and her knees grew weak at the sight of it. She’d loved his smile in the moonlit gardens at St. Mary’s Isle, especially when it touched his eyes as it did now.

“Aye.” He crossed his muscular arms, much like she had, and continued to smile at her. “You’re a writer. Even your letters were full of poetic charm.”

Her cheeks warmed at the memory of the letters she’d written to him when he’d been in Inverness, recruiting settlers for Lord Selkirk.

“Poetic charm?” She shook her head, trying desperately not to succumb to the appeal of his smile, or the recollection of those letters.

“I simply write what’s on my heart and how I see the world. ”

“We would all be better off if we saw the world the way you do, lass.”