Page 51 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

Eleanor sat on her own cot, her feet drawn up beneath her like she saw the Indians sitting around their campfires.

Mr. Barlas had been kind enough to spare some of his paper and a charcoal pencil.

It was all Eleanor had, but it was enough.

Someday, when she had a new journal, she would slip these pages inside.

She still mourned the loss of her other journal, and all those she’d left behind at St. Mary’s Isle Priory.

But for now, she would use what she had and pour out her thoughts and feelings on the paper.

As she wrote, her gaze traveled to the closed flaps of her tent. Each little sound made her look up. At any moment, she feared Chait would force his way into her camp to demand she stand before the priest and become his wife.

If she didn’t, she was certain he would follow through on his threat and ruin her reputation to force her hand. The very thought sent a shiver up her back. She wouldn’t put it past the man. There was something about him that made her cringe, and she wondered how she had ever enjoyed his company.

Nicolette and Isla had gone to Fiona’s tent to watch after her children while Fiona washed her family’s clothing at the communal cauldron near the lake. Fiona was aware of Chait’s threat and had promised to keep her eye on Eleanor’s campsite, in case the man forced his way into her tent.

A commotion in the fort yard made Eleanor’s breath slow. She stopped scribbling on the paper and listened closely. It was hard to make out what was being said, but it sounded as if several people had been stirred into motion.

Panic seized her, and for a moment, she feared the Nor’westers were descending upon the fort to exterminate the colonists once and for all.

But no one was screaming or yelling. There had been no call of alarm. No gunfire.

The sound came closer, as if people were moving in her direction.

Eleanor set down her paper and stood from the cot.

Her body was sore from sitting in the same position for so long, but she hardly gave it thought as she untied one of the strings holding the flaps of her tent in place so she could peek out.

Fiona strode toward Eleanor’s tent—and beside her was—

“Arran!” Eleanor cried out his name, heedless of Miriam sound asleep on the cot.

She tore at the canvas strings, trying desperately to open the flaps.

Her hands trembled and her heart pounded erratically.

Butterflies filled her stomach and warmth flooded her limbs.

Arran had returned! It was almost too good to be true.

Tears of happiness filled her eyes as she struggled with the confounded strings.

Finally, the flaps were free and Eleanor burst out of her tent.

Arran walked with purpose toward her and when she appeared, he stopped in his tracks.

She had never seen anything more beautiful or wonderful in all her born days.

He was taller and broader than she remembered.

His hair was longer, though he wore it tied back in a queue.

Several curls escaped and teased his cheeks and forehead.

His brown eyes were focused on her, and her alone.

Love and relief radiated from them now and his wide mouth turned up in a smile that could have rivaled any sunrise or sunset she’d ever seen.

“Eleanor.” He said her name like it was a prayer.

She ran the short distance between them and pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, lifting her feet off the ground, embracing her in a hug so powerful, it took her breath away.

“Arran.” She said his name on the breath of a cry.

He kissed her then, right there, in the presence of the entire fort.

His lips were searching, fervent, and hungry.

She responded with all the passion and love she’d stored in her heart these many weeks.

She could not get enough of him. His strength empowered her and made her feel as if anything was possible again.

And perhaps it was.

He finally pulled back, breathless and a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, lass. I couldna help myself.”

She laughed and placed her hand on his dear face. “Do not apologize. I’m just happy you’re home.”

He wiped a tear on her cheek, one she had not known was there, and smiled at her. “Home.” He nodded. “I am home.” His gaze shifted toward the tent and his smile grew even bigger. “Miriam.”

The toddler had climbed out of her bed and was standing near the open flap of the tent, wiping sleep from her eyes. Her blond curls were in disarray and her face was puffy from slumber. But when she saw Arran, all trace of sleepiness disappeared and she grinned.

She had not forgotten him.

More tears fell from Eleanor’s eyes as Arran left her side and went to Miriam. The little girl lifted her arms and Arran picked her up. She hugged his neck and snuggled into his embrace.

Arran turned back to Eleanor, wonder in his eyes.

She went to his side and allowed him to bring her into his embrace again.

“I have dreamed about this moment every single day since I left you,” he said to Eleanor.

“I feared it might be years before you returned. I was so afraid—” She couldn’t continue, too overcome with relief that she would not have to face Chait now.

Fiona had made herself scarce, as had everyone else. It was just Arran, Eleanor, and Miriam at her campsite.

“Why was Fiona so upset?” Arran asked Eleanor. “Just now, when I saw her at the cauldron, she made me believe you were in great danger. I thought I’d find you here on your deathbed.”

Eleanor shook her head, not wanting to tell Arran about Chait. The whole experience had left her feeling defiled and shaken—but she could not keep it from him, either. She never wanted to keep anything from him. So, she told him about Chait’s proposal and his threat.

Arran’s jaw tightened and he scanned the fort, as if looking for the offender.

“No.” Eleanor put her hand on his arm. “Do not concern yourself with him. Now that you’re here, he’s not a threat to me any longer.

He’ll leave. I know he will.” She lifted her hand to his cheek to turn his gaze back to her.

“Please don’t do anything to ever put yourself at risk again. I cannot bear to be apart from you.”

His features softened. “And I you. Not for one more night.”

Heat filled his gaze and Eleanor’s insides melted at the look in his eyes.

“There’s a missionary priest visiting the post. He plans to leave soon.” She dropped her gaze and toyed with a buttonhole on his vest. “If there was anything you wanted him to do before he leaves.”

The corners of Arran’s mouth came up. “Aye. I have something very important I’d like him to do, as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’ve never been more ready in all my life.” She met his gaze, hoping he saw how very much she wanted to marry him.

“Will you marry me, lass?”

Eleanor nodded. “Yes.”

He lowered his lips to hers again, his kiss full of the promise of so much more to come. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” She leaned her cheek against his chest, not wanting to part with him for even a moment.

“I’ll go speak to the priest. How long do you need to get ready?”

“I’m ready now—though, if you’d rather I change into a prettier dress—”

“You’re the bonniest bride I’ve ever seen. I dinna care what you’re wearing.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words. “I’ll have Fiona help me change. I still have a few pretty things.”

He smiled and nodded. “And I’ll take Miriam with me to find the priest, so you can change without keeping an eye on the little one.”

His thoughtfulness warmed her as much as his passionate kisses.

“Dinna take too long,” he said. “I may not have the patience to wait.”

“That makes two of us.”

“We’ll wait for you by the lake.” He walked toward the fur post and Fiona materialized, as if she’d been waiting for Arran to leave.

“Ach, lass.” Fiona’s cheeks glowed and tears rimmed her eyes. “Look what the good Lord has done this day.”

Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes as well, but not only from her reunion with Arran. Her heart ached for her friend and all that Fiona had lost.

“Dinna let one day go by that ye dinna thank God for Arran and Miriam.” Fiona’s smile trembled. “Each day is a gift.”

Eleanor wiped at her tears and nodded. “Will you stand up with me at my wedding?”

“I would be honored.”

“I have a gown I’ve been saving for today.” Eleanor went to the trunk in her tent and lifted out several pieces of clothing before she came to the bottom. She removed the wrinkled garment and gently shook out the folds. “It’s one of my nicest dresses, though I don’t know why I brought it with me.”

“For yer wedding, of course.” Fiona touched the fine pink silk almost reverently. “’Tis lovely.”

“I have a silk ribbon that matches, for my hair.”

“Mr. MacLean will be very happy to see ye in this dress.”

“Do you think so?” Eleanor’s heart beat hard with the desire to please him.

“Ye could wear the filthiest rags in the fort and he’d still think ye were the bonniest girl he’d ever seen. Love has a way of doing that.” She nodded a bit brusquely. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

An hour later, after Isla had joined them to help in the preparations, Eleanor was washed and dressed, and her hair was restyled.

She stood near the closed flaps of her tent, Fiona behind her, tying the sash around her waist. Isla had left to retrieve Fiona’s children and Nicolette, and would send them all to the lake for the ceremony.

“Are ye ready?” Fiona asked, finishing the bow at Eleanor’s back.

Eleanor turned and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Fiona hesitated, but then she said, “And do ye ken the intimacies of the marriage bed?”

Eleanor’s cheeks grew warm and she nodded quickly.

“That’s good.” Fiona patted her hand. “And if Arran is a good man, he’ll be sweet and gentle with ye.”

More heat filled Eleanor’s cheeks, dipping down her neck and into her hairline. “He is a good man.” Eleanor had no worries about Arran’s kindness or his affection. If his kisses were any indication, she would love being his wife in every way.

“We’ve made the lad wait long enough.” Fiona held the flaps open for Eleanor and she stepped out into the light of day.

The sun was high in the sky and the air was warm. Not a cloud marred the blue overhead.

It was the perfect day to become Arran MacLean’s wife.