“Come.” Lavigne motioned toward the retreating backs of the Bois-Brûlés. “We have a camp not far from here. Grant will want to speak to you.”
James, Archie, and the man who had worked as Semple’s secretary, Mr. Pritchard, were also brought into custody. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and they were forced to walk away from their friends.
They had not gone far when another shot rang out. Arran flinched, then turned and saw a man above Semple, his pistol still smoking.
Semple lay dead on the ground.
Grant had led Semple to believe he would live.
What hope did Arran have that he, James, Archie, and Pritchard would survive to help those at the fort?
Chapter Fifteen
Eleanor stood near the window in the governor’s house and held Miriam while the baby cried. She had begun to fuss moments before Governor Semple and William had been called away with news of riders approaching, and her fever had started soon after. There was nothing Eleanor or Nicolette could do to soothe the little girl, and there were no other signs or symptoms to help them diagnose her ailment.
Miriam’s incessant cries only added to the fear and tension permeating the house. Eleanor had not stopped praying since she had watched the riders leave the fort gates. Old John and his wife, Isla, had come, but even they could not distract Eleanor from her worries, or Miriam from her tears.
“There, there,” Isla said as she came up to Eleanor. “I’ve set a kettle to boil and we’ll have some tea in short order. Hand me the wee bairn and I’ll take a turn at comforting her.”
Though the baby’s cries had worn on Eleanor’s patience, and given her a headache, she knew Miriam would be even more upset with someone else.
Eleanor tried to smile at Isla, but it was a weak attempt. “I’ll try to lay her down again,” she said. “Perhaps she’s exhausted herself enough to sleep.”
There was an irritated gleam in Isla’s eyes, but Eleanor could not bring herself to care whether she had insulted the lady by refusing her offer.
With one last look toward the closed fort gate, Eleanor walked Miriam back to the bedroom and laid down on the bed with her.
Miriam’s cheeks were red and her eyes were glossy. There was a stench to her breath that Eleanor did not like, nor recognize. She would have sent for the fort doctors, but they were two of the men who had gone out with Governor Semple. Even if they had stayed, Old John had forbidden any of them from leaving the governor’s house until the men returned.
Earlier, Mr. Burke had returned to the fort, in search of a fieldpiece and all the men the fort could spare. Old John had gone out to speak with him, then came back to the house to report that they would only spare one more man to head to the plains. They needed as many as possible to stay and defend the fort.
Panic had threatened Eleanor all day. It hid at the fringes of her conscious mind, ready to attack at a moment of weakness. The only way Eleanor had known to keep it at bay was to pray and recite Scripture she’d memorized as a child at the hands of the family cook. Mrs. O’Leary had been a kind, Christ-like woman who had taken Eleanor under her wing. If not for the love of the staff, Eleanor would have had no one.
The child continued to cry, twisting and turning on the bed in a fit of frustration and pain.
“Oh, love,” Eleanor whispered as she smoothed Miriam’s blond curls against her sweating brow. “I wish I knew what ailed you and what would make you better.”
Slowly, Miriam began to calm, though her tears continued. Her eyelids closed, and whimpers came from her lips, but her exhaustion finally won over.
The room grew quiet and Eleanor let out a long, weary breath. She whispered a prayer of thanksgiving and then lay in the silence.
But the quiet was almost worse than the cries, because in the silence, her fears grew louder. She had no way of knowing what Arran and William were facing on the plains. No way of knowing if they were safe or injured.
No way of knowing if they would return to her.
Panic seized her. It raced up her legs like a demon unleashed, rushing toward her chest. Her heart pounded and dread filled every part of her being.
She could not lie still. She had to move, to fight or to run. But she could not stay here.
Her breathing was labored as she stood from the bed and left the room.
Moving helped, as did seeing the familiar faces of those waiting with her.
“Is the bairn finally asleep?” Old John asked.
Eleanor nodded, taking one deep breath after another. Her heartrate began to slow and her legs didn’t feel as weak or wobbly. She walked to the window and looked out again.
There were several people in the yard, voyageurs and company men who were speaking in small groups, and the settlers who had flooded into the fort from Colony Gardens at the first sign of attack. Their reports of half-blood men, armed and dangerously disguised, were filled with dread and fear, but they did not have any other news to share.
