Only a faint glow lightened the darkness, which could either be from bright stars or the beginnings of dawn.
As much as he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and pull the furs back over his head, he couldn’t let this woman out wake himandoutwork him. She’d stayed up as late as he had, cutting out the edible parts from the bear and wrapping them so they could freeze through the night. He would eventually need to cook the meat so he’d have fare to eat on the trail, but as long as the weather stayed so cold, that chore could wait.
Though his body protested, he pushed the furs farther down and sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair. He’d had it cut before he headed out with Arsenault, but the curly ends had grown out enough they probably stood at all angles now.
Miss Durand looked up, and when her gaze took him in, her expression softened. She was a beautiful lady at all times, but something about her now seemed to glow. Perhaps only a trick of the fire, but it stirred his insides just the same.
“Bonjour.” Her soft voice warmed the cave even more than the fire.
He cleared the sleep from his throat. “Morning. Do you always get up so early after you spend half the night dressing a bear?” She’d been up early the day before, too, but he’d assumed that was because she wanted to get on the trail early. Maybe that was the case now, as well.
She glanced toward the cave opening. “The rest of my family is usually up and around by now. I try to have the morning meal ready for them.”
He must be a sluggard in her eyes, then. This last year, greeting the day had been painful, so he’d found himself putting it off as long as he could. There was a time when rising hadn’t been so hard, but that seemed another lifetime.
After climbing from his warm furs, he patted Gulliver on his way outside. The snow had finally stopped, and most of the wind with it. A lighter breeze stirred the frigid air, making him pull his coat tighter around himself. Dawn had just begun to break in the eastern sky, but he couldn’t see the clouds well enough to know whether they portended snow again.
He had no doubt Miss Durand would want to head out this morning, either way. He’d not seen any ash trees to use for snowshoes, but maybe he should try to fashion a pair from a different type of wood. Whatever he made might not last the winter, but if they would just carry him over the fresh snowfall until they reached Fort Versailles, he’d be satisfied.
With the addition of the bear pelt, Gulliver would have more than enough work of his own today. He could probably still handle Miss Durand’s slight weight, but Damien needed to stay off the poor mule’s back.
The meal Miss Durand prepared was as warm and surprisingly delicious as the others she’d made. He’d been eating over a campfire for so long, he’d forgotten food could actually taste good. That a meal could be something to look forward to, full of flavor.
Somehow, she could accomplish that even over an open fire. It made him wonder what her kitchen looked like back in Laurent. Perhaps this setting was normal for her.
He found branches that could suffice for snowshoe frames, and once he’d secured the wood in an oval shape, Charlotte strapped the animal skins in place to finish the platforms. He’d not expected her help with the task, but she’d taken up the first frame when he finished it and simply begun her work. She clearly knew what she was doing—she’d probably made a dozen more pairs than he had, at the very least.
But she didn’t seem to work from a desire to show her superior abilities. Since they’d talked over the evening meal last night, she appeared more relaxed in his presence. Comfortable even, as though she’d accepted him. The feeling was as foreign as ... well, he’d certainly not felt it since he lost Michelle.
As Charlotte brought him the packs to load onto Gulliver, their supplies seemed to have doubled. When she sat the last bundle by his feet, she eyed his handiwork with a frown. “You don’t expect us to ride him today. He’s carrying a bear he didn’t have yesterday.”
Her wording brought a smile. “Not the full bear. We’vedrained all the liquids and left behind the bones and organs. Gulliver’s stronger than he looks. I think my weight would be too much, but he’ll be fine carrying you.”
She didn’t lose the crease that had gathered between her brows, and when he motioned for her to mount up, she shook her head. “I’ll walk until we’re off the mountain.”
A flare of frustration surged inside him. “I wouldn’t let you hurt my mule. If I tell you he can handle your weight, it’s because I’m certain he can.” He should’ve kept his mouth shut, though, for his words only drew the stubborn jut of her chin.
“I’d rather walk.”
He didn’t waste his energy with an answer, just turned and tugged Gulliver forward.
As they trekked around the mountain, the usual wind whipped at them, stirring up the snow and swirling white around them. At least the gusts would die down once they reached the next valley.
In his mind, he tried to visualize the next landmark he should be watching for, then the one after that. Was it possible they might reach the fort before dark? Probably not, as slowly as they had to travel over the snow. Especially if Charlotte refused to ride at all. Then he would need to stop and make snowshoes for her, too.
That stubborn streak she possessed might be helpful at times, but there certainly were moments it worked against her—not only making her days harder, but also endangering her. Like when the bear was charging and she’d refused to take the mule and run.
If he’d been able to get a clean shot from the first, none of them would have been in danger. With the price bear hidescurrently brought in trade, he would’ve been foolish to let that opportunity go.
But when the bear sprang up again, and Charlotte refused to run, what had been a simple business decision became so much more. Instead of being able to move around and take shots from the best angle, he’d had to position himself between the beast and her. Thank God that last bullet had brought the animal down, for he’d already been imagining what a swipe from one of those powerful paws would feel like as it knocked him sideways.
And now her stubbornness to go to the fort—a woman alone in that den of iniquity—was putting her in as much danger as with that bear. Maybe worse.
Death by bear would come within minutes, no doubt. But the women-hungry men at Fort Versailles . . . there was no telling what they would put her through. Sure, there were many decent folk there, but also many who would be swept away by lust for a woman as beautiful as Miss Durand.
He sent a glance over his shoulder to where she followed in his tracks. The activity had brought a lively flush to her cheeks, brightening the porcelain of her skin. Hers was a face any artist would love, features proportioned so perfectly. How could he lead her into such danger? Even if he stayed as close as she’d allow, protected her every chance he could, her stubborn streak would likely place her in situations where he couldn’t save her.
And if something happened to her—either to her life or her innocence—he couldn’t live with that. A lump gathered in his throat at the thought of losing another woman who mattered to him. Charlotte wasn’t like Michelle, as he’d only just met the woman two days ago, but he already feltresponsible for her. More than just responsible, now that he thought about it. Hewantedto help her. To be for her what no one else could be right now.
