Page 7 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

“Perhaps it’s large enough for all of us?” Semple asked hopefully.

Arran only nodded. He led them up the riverbank, and after seeing that James was helping the colonists organize their tents, he showed the governor, minister, and teacher to their quarters.

“Is there a woman who could be employed to keep house?” Governor Semple asked Arran as they stood inside the main room and he inspected his new home. “And to act as a chaperone for Lady Eleanor?”

“Please,” Eleanor said, the baby still in the sling on her front. She bounced gently as the child began to stir. “Miss Brooke will do.”

The three men turned to look at her.

Her cheeks were pink as she dropped her gaze. “I do not wish to carry my title here, if you please.”

“As you wish,” Semple said with his no-nonsense attitude. “It’s probably for the best.”

“There is a woman in the settlement who might agree to be a housekeeper,” Arran said to Semple. “She was married to a settler who recently passed away. I will send for her immediately.”

“And perhaps Miss Brooke will take the room on the main level,” Semple added. “While we men bunk upstairs. There are four rooms up there, correct?”

“Aye.”

“Then you shall have one,” Semple said to Arran. “West will have the other, and I can occupy the third, with an extra for guests.” He grinned with self-satisfaction, as if he had just solved a troubling puzzle.

Arran wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep in the same house as Eleanor. The last time they’d been in residence together, at St. Mary’s Isle Priory, he’d become a besotted fool.

Thankfully, there was no threat of that happening again. He had dedicated his life to Assiniboia. He had no time for a wife—especially an English lady who would be a liability to the colony.

Eleanor nodded at the proposed arrangement, her gaze wandering over the spacious room. Did she find the accommodations lacking? They were nothing compared to the priory, nor to her manor in Northumberland, he was certain.

This was no place for an unmarried lady, in a home with three single gentlemen, without parents or guardians to see after her.

Not to mention the hardships she was about to face.

Unlike the other settlers, Eleanor had led a life of luxury and comfort.

Colonizing was dangerous and grueling for the most hardened fur trader.

How much more difficult would it be for a pampered lady?

The shock of seeing her had begun to wear off, and now the reality of the situation turned his confusion to anger.

She had no business being here and he would not hesitate to tell her so.

There was no doubt in his mind that she would be on a ship returning to England when the spring thaw allowed travel back to York Factory.

If she did not choose to go on her own, as he was certain she would, he’d appeal to Semple’s better sense.

But, first, he must keep her alive through the long winter ahead—a more daunting task he’d never undertaken. How would he make a level-headed decision if the fort came under attack, knowing she was inside?

The ship heading to England could not leave soon enough.

Darkness had fallen over Assiniboia as Eleanor left her bedroom and stepped into the common room, closing the door gently, hoping Miriam would remain asleep.

In a room above her head, loud snores rumbled through the cold house.

Eleanor surmised they belonged to Governor Semple, since William had gone upstairs only moments ago and she had not seen Arran since eating the simple meal the new housekeeper, Nicolette, had prepared for them.

He had left the governor’s house, mentioning the need to address some issues concerning the new arrivals, but had not returned.

Nicolette was a middle-aged, mixed-race woman who was quiet and industrious.

Her father had been a French fur trader and her mother an Ojibwe Indian, and she’d been raised in various fur posts.

She had silently made the evening meal as if she had lived in the house all her life.

After serving the meal, she’d cleaned all the dishes and then made a pallet for herself in the corner of Eleanor’s bedroom.

The only time she’d spoken, or shown any hint of personality, was when she noticed Miriam.

She had fussed over the baby like an aunt or a grandmother, speaking English in bits and pieces with her gentle smile, telling Eleanor about her family.

Eleanor suspected she and Nicolette would get along well.

Despite the hours of travel, Eleanor was too overcome with the events of the day to sleep. Not wanting to keep Nicolette or Miriam awake, she brought her traveling desk and journal into the common room and took a seat at the table where the lantern still burned low.

There was a chill in the air, but the fire Nicolette had used to make supper had dwindled to embers. She had banked the fire before going to bed and Eleanor did not want to disturb it now.

Instead, she tightened the thick shawl over her shoulders and opened her traveling desk. She took out the red-cloth-covered journal and held it for a moment.

Her journal was her constant companion. She had kept one since she was a child, loving the way her mind worked out its problems while she put words to paper. All those journals were at the Selkirks’ home in Scotland with her other things.

The journal in her hands had been fresh upon her departure from Gravesend, but it was already filled with both the exciting and the mundane events that had shaped her journey thus far.

It wasn’t an impersonal account, but one full of her thoughts and feelings, as well as her experiences.

For a child who had grown up without the love and companionship of a mother, her journal had become like a best friend.

It was a place to share confidences, explore her thoughts and feelings, as well as record events.

But as she cracked open the book and laid it flat against the table, she couldn’t find the words to write tonight.

What could she say about seeing Arran again?

It was hardly the reunion she’d hoped for.

His shock at seeing her was understandable, but she had hoped that as the surprise wore off, he would have shown her some sort of excitement.

Instead, he had seemed to grow angrier as the evening progressed.

He’d left the house without looking back.

And now he stayed away.

The main room was quiet, except for the snores still rumbling upstairs. Beyond the house, the night was dark and the prairie silent. A few snow flurries brushed against the windowpanes, with no wind to push them about.

The front door creaked open, and Eleanor stood, clasping her hands as her heart began to pound.

Arran appeared at the door, his musket at his shoulder. He paused when he saw her, his dark brown eyes filled with emotions, none of them warm or welcoming.

Without a word, he closed the door and set the crossbar into place, locking the world out.

For a heartbeat, he faced the closed door before turning to look at her.

Eleanor swallowed the rush of nerves that fluttered up her throat. She didn’t know what to say, or how to begin the conversation, but they needed to speak.

He started to move across the room toward the stairs, as if he meant to ignore her.

She couldn’t let him go to sleep without telling him why she’d come. She took a step forward. “Arran.” She said his name on the breath of a desperate whisper.

He paused but did not turn to her. He was tall and well-built, his shoulders wide and powerful.

She had always admired him dressed in his finest clothes at St. Mary’s Isle, but here, in his element, dressed in a white linen shirt with a wool vest and jacket, a cotton cravat around his neck and a pair of dark buckskin breeches covering his muscular thighs, he was masculine and devastatingly handsome.

His curls were almost black, and he wore them clubbed in a queue, tied in place with a strap of leather. She was breathless at the sight of him.

“I dinna ken what to say to you.” His Scottish brogue was thick, and his chest rose and fell, as if he was struggling to find his breath. “I was hoping you’d be asleep by now.” He gripped the chair closest to him and finally turned, anger and disapproval deep in his clouded gaze.

She recoiled at the look.

“Why have you come?” he asked, his voice harsh.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words seemed to fail her. She’d come for him—didn’t he realize that?

“Why did Selkirk allow such a thing?” he continued. “He understands the danger. You dinna belong here, and you’re so fresh and untried, you dinna even realize how out of place you are.”

His words were like a slap in her face. Did he mean she didn’t belong here, or she didn’t belong with him?

“I-I came to teach, as Governor Semple told you. To start a school.” It sounded weak even to her own ears.

The colony didn’t need a teacher, not when survival was more important than book learning.

But how could she tell him she had come for him when he’d spoken to her so severely?

“We dinna need a teacher. We need strong, brawny lads and lassies to turn the soil and populate the colony.” He looked her up and down, making Eleanor feel exposed and vulnerable.

He’d passed judgment and found her lacking, just as all the other colonists had.

“We need people with skills. We dinna need someone like you.”

Tears stung the backs of Eleanor’s eyes as she stared at him.

He had no way of knowing what she’d endured the past three and a half years since he’d left.

She’d borne ridicule and shame, but it had been at the hands of people she did not know or care about.

Hearing him heap disapproval and criticism on her shoulders felt like an arrow hitting the very center of her tender heart.

Despite her best efforts, Eleanor’s chin began to quiver, and she looked down at the journal on the table.

Just like all the other times she’d been falsely judged, she had to dig deep within and find the courage to lift her face. She did it now as she swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. She would never admit to this man that she’d come for him. Not now.

Even if the colony didn’t need someone like her, she’d prove them all wrong and become invaluable to them. She would ensure that every child attended her school and learned how to read and write. She would create wonder and excitement among the children; despite the hardships they endured.

“I have come to teach,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt, “and I intend to do my job to the best of my ability.”

“But why?” He took a step closer to the table, his brows coming together in confusion. “You told me you dinna want to come to Assiniboia. You were too frightened.” He paused, his voice growing tight. “Unless that wasna true.”

“It was true—partially. It wasn’t that I was afraid of coming—it was that I was afraid of leaving my father.

” She moved closer to him. No matter what he thought of her, she wanted him to understand.

“I had no choice. Papa needed me to marry someone with wealth to pay off his enormous debts. We were going to lose everything.” How could Arran grasp the pressure she’d been under?

Father had gambled away everything. There had been nothing left, except Edgewood Manor.

She was not a man who could find work to support them.

All she had was her hand to offer in marriage.

He was quiet as he studied her, his brows low over his dark eyes. “Did you?”

“Lose everything?” She couldn’t meet his gaze. They had lost everything, but not because of her. “Yes. Everything is gone. I have nothing in the world, except this job.”

He shook his head. “You refused my proposal and lost everything anyway.”

Eleanor pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders but could not respond.

“What became of your faither?”

She had no wish to talk about her father, but she felt obligated to offer some sort of explanation. “He’s in prison.”

“Debtors’ prison?”

“Newgate.” The word stuck in her throat, dry and unyielding.

“Newgate?” His voice was incredulous as he moved around the table and came to stand beside her.

She played with the edge of her journal, allowing the pages to brush against her fingertips, shame and embarrassment coloring her words.

“It happened shortly after you left, during a game of cards. He accused the Duke of Huntington of cheating. My father was drinking heavily and had just wagered the last thing he had left, Edgewood Manor.” She had never told anyone this story.

Everyone in England had heard about it without her telling the sordid tale.

“When Huntington laid down a royal flush, my father lost his mind. He pulled a pistol from his boot and shot Huntington in the heart.”

Arran did not speak but stood next to her, silent and steady.

“Everything was gone. I had nothing left and no one to turn to.” She finally looked at Arran to see how he had taken the news.

“The only person who would take me in was my cousin, Lady Selkirk. I moved to St. Mary’s Isle and have been living there ever since.

But I could not rely upon her charity forever. I had to find a way to support myself.”

“And you couldna find something less dangerous or more appropriate than moving halfway around the world to the back side of nowhere?”

She studied him, wondering if he suspected why she’d really come. She had too much self-respect to ask. “You praised Rupert’s Land for months when we first met.”

“I was young and foolish. I dinna ken what I was speaking of.”

“But you lived in the district for eight years before you came to Scotland to recruit settlers.”

“Trading furs in the Red River Valley is far different than colonizing it.” He shook his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck.

“We have enemies at every turn, and we dinna have enough supplies to feed hundreds of hungry mouths. This is the first year in three we’ve had a decent crop, and ’tis still not enough. ”

There was no warmth or tenderness in his words or his gaze. Gone was the fondness he’d held for her in Scotland, leaving her feeling empty.

“This is no place for a woman of your upbringing, Eleanor, or the wee bairn you’ve been toting about.” He took several steps away from her. “’Tis too late to send you back to England this year, but I will insist you return in the spring. If you’re still alive.”

He left her standing in the cold room, his words echoing a warning in her heart.