Page 40 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

“There is a creek which empties into the river nearby. You may bathe there with little trouble.”

She desired a bath more than she did food, but she ate every bite and drank the tea he had brought for her. The warmth of it felt good as it flowed down her throat.

Arran sent Nicolette in to help her prepare for her bath, and then Eleanor and Nicolette took Miriam to the creek.

Arran promised to stand guard at the mouth of the creek, near the camp, to make sure no one intruded upon their privacy.

He told her to take her time, but she did not want to make the others wait.

Though she had gained their respect over the last several months, she did not want to lose it now by being selfish.

Miriam laughed as Eleanor held her in the water.

The baby splashed and giggled as Eleanor washed her hair with the soft soap she had brought from England.

When Miriam was done, Eleanor handed the baby to Nicolette, who dried her in a towel and then began to dress her in a clean gown made from the fabric of one of Eleanor’s old dresses.

She put a white bonnet on Miriam’s blond curls, then entertained the baby while Eleanor finished her own bath.

The water was cool and refreshing. Eleanor washed her hair and every inch of her skin, allowing the gentle pressure of the flowing water to lift her off her feet to float for a few moments, unencumbered by the pull of the earth.

All too soon, she was finished. With a quick glance to see if she, Nicolette, and Miriam were still alone, she hastened out of the water and onto dry ground.

The air was still thick and humid, but the sun was shining bright, and she was soon dry and properly clothed again.

She tried to press the water from her long, dark curls, but her hair was still damp as she turned it up and placed several pins to keep it off her back.

The coil of hair was heavy as she and Nicolette made their way back to camp.

Arran stood right where they had left him. When he saw her coming, he smiled and took in the full length of her, from the tips of her half-boots to the top of her wet head. From the look of pleasure on his face, she could tell he liked what he saw.

Butterflies filled her stomach and for the first time since the massacre, a flood of hope filled her chest. Now that she was feeling better, she could turn her thoughts to their wedding at Jack River House. They had all lost so much, she was eager for a little joy amid the pain.

It would be a long two-week journey across Lake Winnipeg, but on the other side of the trip, she would become Mrs. Arran MacLean.

“I told everyone to break camp while you were bathing,” Arran said as he took Miriam in his arms and held the baby as naturally as if he’d been a father for years. “We are ready to go, if you are.”

She nodded and followed him back to their camp.

Just as he’d said, the tents were down and the canoes were packed and ready for departure.

While Arran helped Nicolette into the lead canoe, Eleanor looked up the riverbank at the settlers who were ready to leave. Fiona sat in her canoe, her children tucked close to her side. Her gaze was fixed on a point far removed from the banks of the Red River.

Now that Eleanor was better, she would see to her friend’s needs, just as Fiona had met Miriam’s needs after Anne had died.

Soon, the brigade was off again, and this time, Eleanor was awake and alert. She was still fatigued, but the bath and meal had done wonders for her outlook.

Arran sat beside her, his calm, steady presence a balm to her weary soul. From time to time, he would squeeze her hand. He did not talk about anything beyond Jack River House, and she did not wonder why. There were still so many unanswered questions.

They had not been on the water for more than an hour when the lead avant , the voyageur at the front of the canoe, spotted a brigade approaching from around a bend downriver.

Eleanor’s muscles tensed as she counted nine canoes and one bateau. All were laden with men—men who spotted them at the same moment and lifted their muskets, preparing to fire.

“Halt!” a voice cried out from the canoe directly in front of Arran’s.

The hair on the back of Arran’s neck stood on end as he found the owner of the voice. Archibald Norman McLeod, the Justice of the Peace for the Western Territories—who also happened to be a partner in the North West Company.

“Who are ye?” McLeod asked as he searched the canoes for a familiar face. “I demand an accounting of yer party.”

“Aye.” Arran lifted his hand to gain McLeod’s attention. “And you’ll have it.”

“Arran MacLean.” McLeod shook his head, his lips turning up in a sneer. “We meet again, though I am not surprised to see ye are the head of this band of ruffians.”

The group with Arran could no more be called ruffians than a litter of puppies.

They were hungry, destitute, and afraid.

Without weapons, mourning the untimely death of loved ones, and forcibly removed from their homes, they posed no risk to anyone—let alone the Justice of the Peace and his hundred or more armed men.

McLeod had been the officer responsible for discharging Arran of his duties as a North West Company clerk when Duncan Cameron had falsely accused him of stealing from the company. No doubt, he would assume the worst of Arran and his men.

“I can only surmise that ye are the last of the settlers from Assiniboia?” McLeod asked. He smiled and a gleam filled his beady eyes. “Did ye have trouble?”

“Aye.” Arran had nothing but his wits and intelligence to defend himself and these hundred and fifty men, women, and children with him. “We have come from Assiniboia and have had a great deal of trouble.”

McLeod looked over the group and then nodded toward the shore. “I want everyone to disembark for a thorough investigation. I expect a full account of the events leading up to yer departure from the colony.”

Arran had hoped and prayed they could avoid McLeod.

The man was known to be ruthless and single-minded.

There was no telling what he might decide to do with the settlers.

They had been so close—just a half-day more of travel and they would have been to Lake Winnipeg.

They could have easily taken a different course along the lake to avoid McLeod if possible.

But none of that mattered now. “Disembark!” Arran called to his men. “Post-haste.”

A great commotion of humanity unfurled as almost three hundred people from both groups found their way to the riverbanks.

Here, the land was full of marshes as they drew closer to Lake Winnipeg.

Mosquitoes swarmed and crickets hummed as the settlers tried to find enough solid ground to unload their belongings.

Each time a canoe was brought onto land, it had to be emptied of all its weight or the thin bark lining the hull could easily be punctured.

Eleanor was quiet as she stepped out of their canoe. Arran helped her, Nicolette, and Miriam onto dry ground.

“Dinna be afraid,” he said quietly to Eleanor. “We’ll be on our way soon.”

McLeod’s men had also disembarked, and dozens of them circled the colonists with their muskets at the ready.

“What will happen?” Eleanor asked Arran as she eyed the Nor’westers.

“I will meet with McLeod and tell him exactly what happened at Seven Oaks. There are several witnesses to corroborate my tale. I will bring them forward.”

“He is a Justice of the Peace?” she asked. “He will see that justice is served?”

Arran did not have the heart to tell her that justice was the last thing McLeod would have in mind.

He had come to help remove the settlers from Assiniboia, and he would not care how it was done.

The most Arran could hope was that McLeod would allow them to proceed as planned.

“Just sit here and rest. You’ve had a hard few days of illness. ”

“If we had not stopped early last night for Miriam and me, and had left at daybreak today, could we have avoided these men?” She searched his face.

He would not tell her the truth. There was no point in heaping guilt upon her shoulders. “There is no way to know.” He tried to smile. “Please rest, for me.”

Her brown eyes filled with apprehension, but she nodded and offered him an encouraging smile. “I will pray.”

His heart was filled with such love and affection for her. She constantly amazed him with her fortitude and faith in his abilities. It warmed his chest and gave him the courage he would need to face McLeod.

James, Archie, Pritchard, John Burke, and another man, the blacksmith, Michael Heden, who had gone out to the plains with the second group of men, waited for Arran.

They walked toward McLeod, who had set up a makeshift office, complete with a folding chair and traveling desk.

Several pieces of paper and a feather pen were before him on the desk.

At least a dozen of his men stood by, watching and waiting.

“Are these the only men who have an account to give?” McLeod asked Arran.

“Nay.” Arran crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “Every man, woman, and child in this party could give you an account of the horrors we have just endured.”

McLeod’s jaw tightened and he breathed through his nostrils. “I willna tolerate lies or innuendoes, MacLean. I simply want the truth.”

“Have you not heard?” Arran asked. “About the massacre at Seven Oaks?”

“Massacre?” McLeod’s eyes narrowed and he studied Arran. “What massacre?”

Arran, James, Archie, Heden, Burke, and Pritchard did not spare any details about the events leading up to, and comprising, the battle with the Bois-Br?lés.

Pritchard even wrote down the account for McLeod.

But the entire time the men recounted the affair, he did not ask any questions.

He just listened, his face devoid of emotion.