Page 45 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

Concern wedged between Eleanor’s brows, but before she could move to their tent, a familiar figure appeared near their campfire.

Chait Fraser came to a stop with a nod. “Good morning.”

Nicolette lifted her nose to the man and pretended he was not there.

She was not fond of the Nor’wester and was not alone in her feelings.

Almost everyone at Jack River House wondered why he stayed on.

The fort was held by the Hudson’s Bay Company and there were no North West Company posts nearby.

It had been his job to safely deliver the settlers to Jack River House and then be gone—yet he stayed for these six weeks.

He was an affable fellow and had known the chief factor, Mr. Barlas, who had served at Brandon House when Chait was a child.

Chait’s father and Mr. Barlas had been good friends, even though they served opposing companies.

Mr. Barlas had invited Chait to remain at Jack River House for as long as he liked—though most people had thought he overstayed his welcome.

Eleanor didn’t mind him. He was a refined man with a taste for the elegant. He was also well-read and intelligent. They had enjoyed many stimulating conversations about books and poetry since their arrival at Jack River House, making him a frequent visitor to their campfire.

“Good morning,” Eleanor said. “Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

Chait shook his head. “No, thank you.” He hesitated and glanced at Nicolette, who had her back to him, then he spoke to Eleanor. “May I have a word with ye?”

“Of course.” She waited for him to speak, but he tilted his head toward the shores of the lake.

“In private,” he said.

Nicolette looked at Eleanor, a question in her eyes, but went back to her work. She never spoke up unless Eleanor invited her to, and even then, she was slow to give her opinions.

“I don’t have much time before I need to start school,” Eleanor said, “but I can give you a few minutes.”

The fort sloped down a gentle incline toward the water and there were very few trees on the shoreline. It was all wide-open spaces, with a vast sky overhead. The sun was now low on the horizon, promising another warm day.

“I am leaving Jack River House soon,” Chait said as they walked slowly toward the lake.

“I was wondering when you might go.”

“I have been delaying my departure.” He came to a stop and faced her.

He was a handsome man who wore the elegant clothes of a gentleman bourgeois.

Dark trousers, black boots, a white shirt with a royal-blue suitcoat, and a white cravat.

Though he was an easy conversationalist, there was reservation in his eyes—as if he was holding something back.

He spoke eloquently about any number of things, but when it came to his own personal thoughts and feelings, he rarely shared them.

Instead, he would wax on about philosophical ideals, and other people’s opinions.

In the weeks they’d spent together, she didn’t truly feel as if she’d come to know Chait Fraser.

“We all thought you would leave Jack River House as soon as we arrived here.”

He smiled. “I have been rather preoccupied of late, and had no wish to leave until I had settled my mind.”

“Oh?” Was he hoping she could shed light on one of his problems? He seemed to enjoy her opinions. Was that what he was looking for now? “May I be of help?”

“I believe ye may.”

“I would be happy to offer whatever assistance is needed. What has your mind troubled?”

“It’s not troubled.” He laughed, almost to himself. “Rather, it’s been captured—by ye.”

She frowned, uncertain what he meant.

“No one has ever captured my heart before, Miss Brooke, so it has left me a little befuddled.”

Eleanor’s mouth slipped open, but she was speechless. He had not once shown a romantic interest, or if he had, she had not noticed. She’d always thought herself to be a good judge of such things.

“I—I didn’t expect—”

“Neither did I.” He put his hands behind his back and focused all his attention on her. “I am a man who takes a long time to make up my mind, but when I do, it’s rarely changed.”

“I’m flattered, Mr. Fraser, but—”

“And I’ve made up my mind about us. I believe we would be a good fit.”

“Mr. Fraser, I am—”

“My faither and stepmaither still reside in Montreal and they would be honored to have ye in their home. My stepmaither is also a lady, and she often told me to marry a member of the peerage, if the opportunity allowed.”

“Mr. Fraser”—Eleanor was growing quite uncomfortable—“you must know, I am already engaged.”

“I had heard.”

“I could not, nor do I intend to, break my engagement to Mr. MacLean.”

Chait frowned. “He’s a fugitive.”

“He is innocent.”

“He is facing murder charges—could possibly be tried and sentenced already. I thought ye’d cast him aside after what he did in Assiniboia.”

“What he did?” Eleanor swallowed the anger that swelled at his words. “He saw his own men massacred at his side.”

“Yet he somehow survived.”

“I do not like what you imply.”

“It matters not what happened in Assiniboia.” His voice was growing impatient and irritated. “I want to marry ye.”

Eleanor tried to remember her manners as she said, “I’m honored by your proposal, but my answer is no.”

Chait did not speak for a moment as he stared at her, his face incredulous. “We are a good match, and ye are a lady. Ye deserve to be with a man of exceptional taste and family connections. MacLean is nothing.”

If he thought to convince her, he was failing miserably. “Arran MacLean is an honorable, courageous, and brilliant man. He is my fiancé, and I will not dishonor him by continuing this conversation. Good day, Mr. Fraser.”

Eleanor turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

Her heart thumped hard. “Unhand me!”

He immediately let her go. “Pardon me.” He lifted his chin. “But I have not concluded our conversation.”

“I have.” She smoothed the sleeve of her gown where he’d grabbed her. “Now, please, do not seek me out again.” She turned, and this time, she was able to remove herself from his presence.

Her entire body shook from the force of her emotions.

“I will not leave Jack River House until I have yer consent to marry me,” Chait called out. “I never change my mind and I always get what I want.”

She continued toward her tent as if she had not heard him—but his words stayed with her. Something about Chait Fraser’s proposal did not sit well with her, and she had no wish to find out what it might be. She prayed, with all her heart, that Arran would send word soon.

Fort William, NWC

Northern Lake Superior

August 17, 1816

A cold, steady rain fell against Arran’s shoulders as he silently pushed the light canoe away from the banks of the Kaministiquia River.

Though the rain made his task more difficult and uncomfortable, it also aided in his escape.

There were few men willing to venture out of their warm beds on a night such as this, and fewer still who might notice a lone figure fighting the current in the profound darkness.

He had snuck out of the small window in their room, skirting the stockade wall until he reached the western gate, closing it behind him.

There, he had stolen a small canoe and set out to warn Lord Selkirk.

It was near two in the morning, but Arran was not tired.

His nerves were so taut and full of awareness, he couldn’t have slept even if he had wanted to.

His friends were in imminent danger and so was Selkirk.

Not only was Selkirk a friend and employer, he was also Eleanor’s relation and the founder of the colony Arran had worked tirelessly to build.

In the two months Arran had been away from Assiniboia, he had missed it more than he imagined.

Though he’d been devastated in the days immediately following the massacre, he couldn’t deny that the colony still held his heart.

It was the dream and hope of a colony for his fellow Scotsmen that had propelled him, and the goal of one day owning his own land.

Assiniboia would always be a part of him, and no matter how many times he was defeated, he would always keep fighting for it.

A flicker of hope burned in his heart for what he knew it could be—even if he didn’t live to see it.

That hope propelled him against the choppy waters of the Kaministiquia. Not only did he fight against the current, but also the wind, which seemed to push him back each time he moved the canoe forward.

His muscles soon grew fatigued, and his fingers became numb from the cold. But he continued to fight, focusing on first one stroke and then the next. On and on he went, blindly following the course of the river until he was able to make out the shape of tents on the high banks.

He had no concept of time, or how long it had taken, though the sky was still dark. He couldn’t rest, at least not yet. He still needed to get into the camp without drawing fire from one of Selkirk’s men.

Wet through, Arran landed the canoe and pulled it to shore, securing it under a bush so it wouldn’t float away.

Eleanor was not far from his thoughts as he worked.

It was his love for her that gave him the courage to keep going.

If he failed, he and his friends would suffer much more than they already had.

But if Arran could get to Selkirk, and the earl had the de Meuron soldiers, then perhaps they would all be free soon.

That thought alone gave Arran a surge of energy to pull himself up the riverbank in the slippery mud.

“Who goes there?” A tall, barrel-chested man appeared from around a tent.

He brandished a musket in a flash, pointing it at Arran’s chest. He wore the uniform of a soldier.

A red coatee, gray trousers, a black shako on top of his head, and the white leather baldric, which he wore crossed over his chest. “State your business,” he said in a French accent.