Embarrassment warmed her cheeks and she took the bowl he offered.
He was more handsome than ever, his dark brown hair curly and wild, though he tried to contain it in a queue. He hadn’t shaved in several days and his facial hair only made him look more masculine and powerful.
“Thank you,” she said after she swallowed her first bit of hominy. “For taking care of us.”
A smile softened his lips. “’Tis my pleasure. I thank God He gave me the chance.”
She was as weak as a newborn kitten, but she would rally so they could move on. “When will we break camp?”
“Are you ready?” he asked, searching her face.
She nodded. “After I clean up a bit.” She had brought one trunk of her personal items, and one of her books.
“There is a creek which empties into the river nearby. You may bathe there with little trouble.”
She desired a bath more than she did food, but she ate every bite and drank the tea he had brought for her. The warmth of it felt good as it flowed down her throat.
Arran sent Nicolette in to help her prepare for her bath, and then Eleanor and Nicolette took Miriam to the creek. Arran promised to stand guard at the mouth of the creek, near the camp, to make sure no one intruded upon their privacy. He told her to take her time, but she did not want to make the others wait. Though she had gained their respect over the last several months, she did not want to lose it now by being selfish.
Miriam laughed as Eleanor held her in the water. The baby splashed and giggled as Eleanor washed her hair with the soft soap she had brought from England. When Miriam was done, Eleanor handed the baby to Nicolette, who dried her in a towel and then began to dress her in a clean gown made from the fabric of one of Eleanor’s old dresses. She put a white bonnet on Miriam’s blond curls, then entertained the baby while Eleanor finished her own bath.
The water was cool and refreshing. Eleanor washed her hair and every inch of her skin, allowing the gentle pressure of the flowing water to lift her off her feet to float for a few moments, unencumbered by the pull of the earth.
All too soon, she was finished. With a quick glance to see if she, Nicolette, and Miriam were still alone, she hastened out of the water and onto dry ground.
The air was still thick and humid, but the sun was shining bright, and she was soon dry and properly clothed again. She tried to press the water from her long, dark curls, but her hair was still damp as she turned it up and placed several pins to keep it off her back. The coil of hair was heavy as she and Nicolette made their way back to camp.
Arran stood right where they had left him. When he saw her coming, he smiled and took in the full length of her, from the tips of her half-boots to the top of her wet head. From the look of pleasure on his face, she could tell he liked what he saw.
Butterflies filled her stomach and for the first time since the massacre, a flood of hope filled her chest. Now that she was feeling better, she could turn her thoughts to their wedding at Jack River House. They had all lost so much, she was eager for a little joy amid the pain.
It would be a long two-week journey across Lake Winnipeg, but on the other side of the trip, she would become Mrs. Arran MacLean.
“I told everyone to break camp while you were bathing,” Arran said as he took Miriam in his arms and held the baby as naturally as if he’d been a father for years. “We are ready to go, if you are.”
She nodded and followed him back to their camp.
Just as he’d said, the tents were down and the canoes were packed and ready for departure.
While Arran helped Nicolette into the lead canoe, Eleanor looked up the riverbank at the settlers who were ready to leave. Fiona sat in her canoe, her children tucked close to her side. Her gaze was fixed on a point far removed from the banks of the Red River.
Now that Eleanor was better, she would see to her friend’s needs, just as Fiona had met Miriam’s needs after Anne had died.
Soon, the brigade was off again, and this time, Eleanor was awake and alert. She was still fatigued, but the bath and meal had done wonders for her outlook.
Arran sat beside her, his calm, steady presence a balm to her weary soul. From time to time, he would squeeze her hand. He did not talk about anything beyond Jack River House, and she did not wonder why. There were still so many unanswered questions.
They had not been on the water for more than an hour when the leadavant, the voyageur at the front of the canoe, spotted a brigade approaching from around a bend downriver.
Eleanor’s muscles tensed as she counted nine canoes and one bateau. All were laden with men—men who spotted them at the same moment and lifted their muskets, preparing to fire.
“Halt!” a voice cried out from the canoe directly in front of Arran’s.
The hair on the back of Arran’s neck stood on end as he found the owner of the voice. Archibald Norman McLeod, the Justice of the Peace for the Western Territories—who also happened to be a partner in the North West Company.
“Who are ye?” McLeod asked as he searched the canoes for a familiar face. “I demand an accounting of yer party.”
“Aye.” Arran lifted his hand to gain McLeod’s attention. “And you’ll have it.”
