Page 49 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

Chait pushed away from the rowhouse and came to her side. He began to stack wood in his own arms. “Whether ye realize it or not, lass, ye need me, especially now that Old John is dead.”

Anger made her pulse tick faster. She did not need him, nor anyone else, but Arran.

She could have held more wood, but she did not wish to stand in his presence any longer. She turned to leave, but he caught her elbow with his free hand.

The force of his grasp caused her to drop the wood. It fell down the length of her shins and pounded into her toes. Pain raced up her legs, but she did not cry out.

“Ye walked away from me once. I willna let ye walk away again.” He was close at her back, speaking into her ear. His words tickled and burned her skin.

Here, on the back side of the rowhouse, close to the stockade wall, there were few—if any—people to see them. She’d been foolish for putting herself in this position.

“I want to protect ye, Eleanor,” Chait said.

“From men like you?” She pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him. “I have given you my answer, Mr. Fraser.”

“And I have told ye I always get what I want.”

“Not this time.” She started to walk away again, but he tossed down the firewood he held and took two quick steps, grasping her by the upper arms. He turned her and pressed her against his chest in the matter of a second.

Anger burned in his eyes. “I will wed ye before the priest leaves this fort, and then I will take ye to Montreal to live with my parents. It’s for yer best.”

She pushed against him and opened her mouth to cry out, but he pressed his hand over her lips.

“If ye dinna agree, there are ways I can force yer hand.” He pressed her back against the wall of the rowhouse, his voice and movements suggestive.

Terror coursed through Eleanor’s body and she tried, with all her strength, to push against Chait. He grabbed her wrists and held them against her chest.

“Now,” he said, as calm as if he was sipping tea from an elegant cup.

“Let’s think rationally. Yer fiancé is facing murder charges in Montreal as we speak, and ye no longer have the protection of that old man to see to yer needs.

Ye are at the mercy of Mr. Barlas and have no money or resources to return to England.

Even if ye did, who would take ye in? Yer cousin, Lady Selkirk, is herself now residing in Montreal. ”

Dread and dismay warred in Eleanor’s mind.

All the things he said were true, but surely she had other options.

Even if she did go to Montreal to be with Lady Selkirk and to be close to Arran as he stood trial, she could find a job as a governess or lady’s companion—but who would take her on with a toddler in tow?

And hadn’t she promised Arran she would not leave Jack River House?

But how would she survive the winter in a tent?

Already, the weather was getting colder at night.

There would only be a few more weeks before she would need to find more permanent lodgings.

“I can see in yer eyes that ye’re taking my proposal seriously.” Chait lifted a corner of his mouth. “If I let ye go, will ye promise not to run away again?”

She would promise him almost anything to be free. She nodded.

“Ye are a wise woman.” Chait took his hand away from her mouth and moved back, so he was no longer pressed against her.

Eleanor breathed deeply, keeping her eye on him.

“I am not completely without feeling,” he said. “I am a gentleman, despite what ye may think of me.”

He was anything but a gentleman, but she would not say such things, afraid she’d anger him.

“I will not have my way with ye, unless ‘tis necessary. I’m patient, if nothing else, and I am not a brute.” He let his eyes wander the length of her body.

Despite the layers of clothing she wore, she felt exposed and vulnerable under his eyes.

“If we are to make our way to Montreal before the winter sets in,” he said, “we must leave soon. And, if ye want a wedding, we’ll have to have one before the priest leaves. But I ken ye have things to settle, so I will give ye a couple days to make plans.”

“Settle?” What did he mean by that?

“The bairn. Ye will need to find a home for her.”

Eleanor was done with this conversation.

There was nothing left to discuss. She had no intention of marrying Chait, nor to give Miriam away.

But if she told him, he would only grow angry again and do something she would regret for the rest of her life.

She needed time—but how much time would she need?

And what, exactly, was she waiting for? Word from Arran? Directions for her to follow?

“I will let ye go now,” Chait said with a slight bow. “But I will speak to the priest on our behalf and ask that he stay for another day or two. In that time, I fully expect you to be rid of the bairn.” He looked at her expectantly.

What could she do? If she disagreed with him, he’d ruin her.

She did the only thing she could. She nodded, slightly, and then left.

She walked quickly, and then began to run.

Tears threatened to fall. Where was Arran?

Would she ever see him again? How would she protect herself from Chait?

She could not tell Mr. Barlas what he’d said—the man was Chait’s friend.

He would never believe Eleanor over Chait.

All the men she had known and trusted in the settlement were either gone or dead.

Arran, James, Governor Semple, William, and Angus. The others she only knew by name.

“Lord,” her heart cried. “Please deliver me.” It was all she could pray. All her battered heart could whisper.

So many of her prayers had been unanswered this past year, she could hardly find the faith to believe this one might be heard.