“The governor is dead?” Isla asked in horror.
“Aye.”
Eleanor clung to Old John’s sleeve. “But they did not see Arran or William’s bodies?”
“I dinna ken, lass.” Old John put his gnarled hand over Eleanor’s, compassion in his eyes. “But ye must prepare for the worst.”
Grief and shock washed over Eleanor and she stumbled as she tried to find a chair.
“Dinna fash,” Old John said in a gentle, soothing voice. “We dinna ken the whole of it. Mayhap they’re alive.”
Pain unlike anything Eleanor had ever experienced, or even imagined, pierced her soul. She turned her desperate gaze to Old John, trying to hold on to reality, though she could only find a delicate thread to grasp.
“Please,” she begged Old John, though she didn’t know what to ask. “Please.” It was all she could think to say.
The Bois-Brûlés made a camp not far from Seven Oaks, at the northern end of the settlement, at a place called Frog Plains. Dusk had settled over the prairie as Arran sat beside James, Archie, and Pritchard, the tall prairie grass jabbing at his back and bound hands. Close by, the half-blood men pitched their tents and watered their horses, laughing and joking as if nothing horrendous had just transpired.
Fire and sorrow burned deep in Arran’s heart as he thought about the fallen men lying dead on the plains. Men such as Semple and West, who had been full of life just hours before. The loss was incomprehensible and senseless.
But the battle was not yet lost. If Arran had breath in his lungs, he would fight for everyone inside the fort. He couldn’t even imagine the grief and agony filling the hearts of the widows and orphans—and for what purpose? What did the deaths of those men accomplish?
Arran was not about to let them die in vain.
“Grant wants to see you,” Lavigne said to Arran, motioning toward one of the tents along the banks of the Red River. “Come.”
His wrists were already sore from the rope as he followed Lavigne, twisting his hands this way and that to see if he could escape the bonds. Lavigne pushed open the flap and Arran entered, ducking his head.
“MacLean.” Grant sat on a folding chair with a traveling desk in front of him. At the sight of Arran, he set his pen down and then blew the ink on the missive he’d just composed. Taking his time, he folded it and then handed it to Lavigne, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Send this letter to Alexander Macdonell at Portage a la Prairie. He and the others will want to be apprised of our success today.”
Success? It took every ounce of self-control, and the constant reminder of Eleanor and Miriam, to stop Arran from taking vengeance on this man. His anger felt like a wild animal, caged and demanding release. It screamed and beat against his chest—but Arran had to keep it in hand, for fear of the repercussions it would have on those in the fort.
Lavigne left, casting Arran a weary glance as he went.
Grant folded his arms and stared at Arran, hatred brimming in his eyes. "If you had remained with the North West Company, instead of changing allegiances to the HBC and Lord Selkirk, you would be on the winning side today.”
Arran did not respond. He only wanted to return to the fort and see to Eleanor’s safety. Whatever he needed to do—or to give up—to get there, he would, no matter how much he wanted to lash out at Grant. “I am here to negotiate the terms of surrender. I will return to the fort and convince the others to hand it over to you and your men. But I must be released first.”
“What does it benefit me to let your fort surrender?” Grant asked. “I can easily overtake it, just as I did your men at Seven Oaks.”
Panic swelled in Arran’s chest, but he refused to show his fear. “You are only fifty strong and the fort has four times that number in men.” It was a falsehood, but he could not tell Grant that there were only a hundred and fifty within the fort, and a third of those were women and children.
“We did not intend to meet you on the plains today.” Grant rose and came to stand in front of Arran, impatience and irritation in his voice. “We were to camp north of here and await the men coming from Fort William within the week. When we had enough men to outnumber those at the fort, we were going to take it by night, and leave no man, woman, or child alive.” He stood very close to Arran. His breath was foul and he smelled of sweat. “I am still tempted to hold fast to the original plan. I can have you executed and then wait for the Fort William men to arrive to finish off the rest. What good are the settlers to us, anyway?”
Arran breathed heavily through his nose, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He could not allow Grant and his men to kill one more soul. “They are your father’s people,” he said, trying desperately to appeal to any shred of decency the man might possess. “You canna kill your own people. I will personally see that they leave Fort Douglas and dinna bother you again. We will not leave one man, woman, or child behind. We can be gone as early as tomorrow.”
“I do not simply want them gone.” Grant crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “If I let them go, they will leave everything behind—including their weapons. It will all become property of the North West Company.”
All their property? The settlers had next to nothing—if they were forced to leave all their earthly belongings, they would be completely destitute. And how would they defend themselves on the trek to Jack River House or hunt for wild game to feed their families, if they left their weapons?
“Either complete surrender,” Grant said, “or we will destroy the fort.”
It would be almost impossible to convince the men at Fort Douglas to surrender, but even more so if he had to tell them to leave all their things behind.
But what good were things if they lost their lives, or the lives of those they loved? Arran would give up anything to ensure Eleanor and Miriam’s safety—and he was sure any woman in the fort who lost a husband would give up everything to have him back.
The hardest to convince would be the voyageurs and company men, who had little to lose but their self-respect. They would live and die for Fort Douglas, as Arran had these past few years. He understood their mentality. But now that he had more at stake to lose, he couldn’t risk putting up a fight. He didn’t doubt that Grant would cut down every inhabitant at Fort Douglas if they did not comply. He had watched how ruthlessly they had killed Semple, West, and all the other men who still lay on the plains.
“Allow me to return to the fort,” Arran said, trying to sound confident and not desperate. “And I will convey your terms of surrender.”
