“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.
Chapter Four
It had been two days since Eleanor had arrived with the colonists from Kildonan, and Arran had not yet become used to seeing her around the fort. He had tried to avoid her whenever possible, and it hadn’t been difficult. He’d told everyone to begin preparing for their winter trek to Pembina and there was much to be done.
“The governor would like to see you.” A young boy named Ben found Arran in the barn currying Tiberius after returning from Colony Gardens.
“I’ll be along shortly.”
“I can do that for you,” Ben said, stepping up to Arran’s side. “The governor says ’tis important. Mr. Robertson is with him.”
Arran was not accustomed to letting someone else handle his stallion, but the lad was often around the barn, and he’d shown an aptitude for animals.
Tossing the currycomb to Ben, Arran left the barn and crossed the fort yard.
Wisps of snow fell from the sky and gathered in small piles along the stockade walls and at the base of the buildings. His breath puffed out of his mouth as he glanced at the heavy clouds. The sight of them made him uneasy, but there was little to do about the oncoming weather. He didn’t want to make the seventy-mile trip to Pembina during a storm, or after the river froze. There were dozens of dogs in the settlement used for pulling carioles during the winter months, but there weren’t enough sleds or dogs to transport a hundred and forty people at once. And they needed to remain together for their own protection. They would need to go by canoe, and soon.
Arran pushed open the door to the governor’s house and stepped into the common room. Nicolette stood near the fireplace, stirring a pot, while Eleanor sat at the table with the baby in her arms. Eleanor’s head was bent as she spoke softly to the bairn.
She looked up when Arran entered, and their gazes met.
The sight of her made his pulse tick faster, as it had every time he’d laid eyes upon her these past two days. She wore a blue gown, the waist cinched just under her bosom. The sleeves were long and the neckline high, but it contoured to her feminine form and was very pleasing to look upon. Her dark brown curls were piled high on her head with tendrils framing her pretty face. Seeing the baby in her arms only made her more attractive. She was so gentle and loving toward the child, he couldn’t help but picture Eleanor as a mother with her own wee ones.
He steeled his reaction to her and barely acknowledged her presence as he crossed the room and knocked on the governor’s door. It was the only way he knew how to protect his heart.
“Come in,” Governor Semple called through the door.
Arran removed his hat and entered the governor’s office. “You sent for me?”
Semple motioned to the chair next to Colin Robertson. “Have a seat. I’ve just been told some alarming news from Mr. Robertson.”
A heightened sense of awareness came over Arran as he sat, his hand holding his musket against the floor, his back rigid. “What have you heard?”
Governor Semple was a tall man with a thick chest. His military bearing was evident in the way he moved and conducted himself. He faced Arran now with a steady gaze. “Duncan Cameron has just returned to Fort Gibraltar.”
Arran’s muscles tensed at the announcement. Every time Duncan Cameron was in residence at Fort Gibraltar, it meant trouble for the colony.
“He came from the yearly rendezvous at Fort William,” Robertson supplied. “I saw him with my own eyes just an hour ago.”
“I’ve been told the Nor’westers stole our six fieldpieces when they raided the colony in June,” Semple said to Arran. “And that they have not been recovered.”
“Aye.” Arran nodded. Duncan Cameron had ordered the removal of the small cannons, leaving the fort defenseless until Archie had remembered the rusted cannon in an old shed near the river. “They took our fieldpieces, as well as our ammunition,” Arran explained. “Duncan said it was payment for the two hundred bags of pemmican Governor Macdonell confiscated from them the year before when he signed the proclamation.” Pemmican was a staple food for everyone in Rupert’s Land. The mixed-race people were especially adept at making the concoction. After drying buffalo meat, they pulverized it to a fine powder and then combined it with animal fat and dried berries before packing it into ninety-pound bags. It could be eaten cold, but it was best when stewed with root vegetables and a flour paste. The dish was called rubbaboo.
“As the new governor of Assiniboia,” Semple spoke with authority, “I’m ordering the arrest of Duncan Cameron for the theft and destruction of Red River Colony property.”
Robertson exchanged a glance with Arran. Both would be happy to see Duncan punished for his actions at long last.
“I want the two of you to take a dozen armed men and go there immediately,” the governor continued. “He won’t anticipate seeing you this soon. Bring him back to me when you have him in your custody.”
“Aye.” Arran stood, eager to have the deed done but not excited to face the difficulties that waited for him. “Will that be all?”
