Arran ached with longing for Eleanor. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. When she was near, he wanted nothing more than to hold her. When she was away, he counted the minutes until he could be with her again. His first thoughts every morning, and his last thoughts every night, were about Eleanor. His love for her was stronger and more powerful than it had ever been.
“Aye. I love her.” It was all Arran could say, though it didn’t begin to capture how he felt.
The rushing of the river and the who-who of the owl were the only sounds to fill the silence between them.
“Then why would you let her go, lad?” James finally asked.
“Because I love her too much to see her suffer.”
“We all suffer.”
“Aye. But I canna abide the idea that she would suffer because I canna protect her or save her.” When his mother needed him most, he had failed. His inability to pull her from the fire had almost destroyed him. If Eleanor stayed, and her survival depended on Arran, he was afraid he would fail her, too. He could never live with himself if he lost Eleanor because of his own weakness.
“So you’d rather force her to leave and face the world alone?”
“I will send her with Semple.”
“Aye, only as far as Hudson Bay. What about the rest of the way? A sea voyage is no place for a single lady.”
It was true. The ships coming from England were often full of passengers, both male and female, who could be of aid and protection to Eleanor. But ships traveling from Hudson Bay to England were filled with hardened sailors who possessed little to no morality.
“And what of the bairn?” James asked. “Who will care for the wee one when Eleanor is gone?”
“This fort is no place for the bairn, either.” Arran was not Miriam’s father, but if it was up to him, the baby would return to England with Eleanor. He’d long carried the weight of the suffering women and children in the colony, knowing it was no place for them, either, but they had husbands and fathers to care for them. And he didn’t have a personal connection to them. His love for Eleanor and Miriam made him even more mindful of the dangers that would befall the colony when the battle started.
James sighed and put his hand on Arran’s shoulder. “I dinna envy you. I can see that you love her, and that she loves you.”
Arran met his friend’s gaze. “Do you think so?”
A slow smile tilted the weathered face of James McIntosh. “I dinna ken much, but I ken the look of a woman in love. She only has eyes for you, Arran MacLean. If you hadna noticed that she loves you, you’re the daft one.”
James’s words stayed with Arran while he climbed down the ladder and walked across the fort yard to the governor’s house. A light burned in the upstairs window, telling Arran that West was still awake. He often studied late into the night, when the house had quieted. The habit had not bothered Arran while they had shared the attic at Fort Daer. A little light didn’t bother him while he tried to sleep, especially if it meant the fort’s minister was preparing his sermon.
Arran pushed open the door and stepped into the dark common room.
A part of him was disappointed that Eleanor had gone to bed, but after speaking to James, a new idea had taken root, and it would be best to talk to her in the morning. He needed to speak to someone else first.
After lowering the crossbar in place, he went to the stairs in the corner and walked quietly up the steps. The governor’s housein Assiniboia was much larger than the one in Pembina, offering Arran his own room. Semple was already snoring in his room at the end of the hall, and a light shone from the crack under West’s door.
Arran stood for a long time at the top of the stairs, questioning his plan. He had prayed, every day, for wisdom where Eleanor was concerned. But it wasn’t until tonight that he knew what must be done.
The truth of it had been staring him in the face for months.
Lifting his hand, and saying another prayer for guidance and strength, Arran knocked lightly on West’s door. His heart pounded like mad, and he had to force himself to stand firm.
There was a bit of paper shuffling, the sound of a chair’s legs scraping the floor, and then footsteps across the room. West finally opened the door, pulling his coat over his shirtsleeves, a frown on his face.
“Is everything all right?” he asked Arran. “Is the fort under attack?”
“Nay.” The fort was not under attack and things were not all right. “May I speak to you?”
“Of course.” West opened his door wider and allowed Arran to step into his room.
The space was much like Arran’s, with a single bed, a desk, and a chair. Hooks on the wall held West’s change of clothing.
“Would you like to take a seat?” West asked.
Arran shook his head. He needed to stand for this conversation. “Within weeks, the fort will be under attack.” He didn’t know how else to start. “An army of North West Company men is on their way from Fort William and a band of Bois-Brûlés are on their way from Qu’Appelle. I dinna ken when they will arrive, but it will be soon.”
