“Were Anne’s parents very upset?” Eleanor asked, hoping to divert his attention away from her.
It had the effect she hoped it would. He turned his gaze away and stared off into the distance, as if seeing another place and time. “They made her choose between me and them. When she chose me, they said she was dead to them and they would not wait to hear about her death, but chose to mourn their loss right there, before her eyes.”
Eleanor touched William’s sleeve, horrified at what he’d just said. “I’m sorry.”
“And they were right. I was wrong to bring her.” He nodded at his daughter. “Now you know why I cannot send the baby back to England. There is no one who would take her.”
“Assiniboia ahead!” one of the voyageurs called in his thick French accent.
All around, cries of excitement filled the cold October air.
Eleanor’s heart suddenly beat faster, and she sat up straight, trying desperately to look calm and relaxed, while inside every nerve hummed with unease. She’d had years to think about this moment, and months to plan what she might say. But now, with her and Arran’s reunion only moments away, every muscle in her body tensed and she had the sudden and irrational urge to jump out of the canoe and flee in the direction she’d just come.
Chapter Three
Anorthwesterly wind blew against Arran’s face as he stood in the lookout tower on the corner of the stockade and watched the dozen canoes approach Fort Douglas. Guards were on duty around the clock and one of them had alerted Arran about the approaching colonists. He had left his office, where he’d been writing yet another letter to Lord Selkirk, and now waited for the advancing brigade.
Overhead, the sky was gray and thick with the threat of snow. The temperature had dropped in the past few hours, portending an early season snowstorm. Arran had not wanted to move to their winter quarters until the new batch of settlers had arrived, but now that they were in Assiniboia, they could make plans to head south to Pembina. The seventy-mile journey would not be met with excitement from the new colonists who had been traveling for the past four months, but it could not be helped. The buffalo wintered on the plains near Pembina, providing much-needed meat for the long, cold months.
“Semple will be with these people,” James said as he entered the lookout tower and stood beside Arran. “Do you ken the man?”
“Only by reputation.” Arran had heard enough about Robert Semple to know the man was brash, overconfident, and impatient. He was an American who had served as an army captain for the British during the American war for independence. Now retired, he was known for his upright character and bulldog courage. He would not only be the governor of Assiniboia but would be in charge of all sixty posts in the Hudson’s Bay Company. His authority, unlike Macdonell’s, would not come into question. Rupert’s Land, which was the whole of the Hudson Bay drainage basin, had been granted to the Hudson’s Bay Company by a Royal Charter from King Charles II in 1670. The North West Company men, based out of Montreal with headquarters on the northern end of Lake Superior, were, in every sense of the word, trespassing on land belonging to the Hudson’s Bay Company. But they disregarded the 140-year-old Royal Charter and treated the land as their own. This had led to constant battles and bloodshed. The recent conflict within the Red River Colony had brought years of trouble to a festering head.
“Come.” Arran set his musket on his shoulder and climbed down the ladder to the fort yard. “Let’s welcome our new governor and neighbors properly.”
James followed Arran out of the east gate and down the path to the riverbank. Several settlers had come from their homes in Colony Gardens to meet the canoes, while mixed-race children and visiting Saulteaux Indians had gathered on the opposite side of the river to watch in quiet curiosity. No doubt news of their impending arrival had already made its way to Duncan Cameron’s cohorts in Qu’Appelle. No doubt they were hopefulthat the settlement was dead. More colonists meant it was gaining strength again.
The voyageurs jumped from the light-weight canoes and into the water before the boats could touch the shore and ruin the thin birchbark that covered the outside. Inside the vessels, the colonists sat on the supplies and personal items that had been brought with them across the ocean, rivers and lakes. For many of them, everything they owned and held dear was in the boat with them.
“Welcome to Assiniboia,” Arran called to the colonists, his gaze roaming over the weary-looking group. Robert Semple was an easy man to identify, sitting proud and confident in the lead canoe.
The others were dressed in their Highland plaids, worn and soiled from the long trip. One exhausted face after the other turned to look in Arran’s and James’s direction. Arran tried to meet each gaze with a welcoming nod, but his attention snagged on a woman who stood out among the peasants from Kildonan.
She sat straight and proper, her brown dress made of high-quality material. The spencer jacket she wore looked completely impractical and out of place, though it was no match for the frivolous bonnet on her dark brown curls.
But it was the face under the bonnet, with the beautiful brown eyes and familiar curvature of the mouth, that caused his heart to gallop out of control.
Every shred of self-composure and authority Arran MacLean had felt walking toward the riverbank fled at the sight of Lady Eleanor Brooke.
He stared at her, fearing he may have lost his mind. Was it truly her? But how? Why?
Almost as an afterthought, his mind took notice of the baby she wore in a sling on her front—and the self-possessedEnglishman sitting close by her side—and then his shock turned from confusion to unreasonable anger and envy.
“Arran?” James asked, watching him closely. “Are you well?”
Even under battle, Arran had not felt this unsure of himself. What was Eleanor doing in Assiniboia? Had she come with a husband and baby? How could she be so thoughtless or foolish?
“Mr. MacLean?” Robert Semple stepped out of the canoe and onto a large, solid rock, much like the first pilgrim had at Plymouth Rock nearly two hundred years before. “I’m Governor Semple.”
It took every bit of strength Arran could muster to turn his gaze—and thoughts—to the new governor. He stretched out his hand to Semple and sized him up in one glance. The man was tall and commanding, his red hair turning gray with age. He shook Arran’s hand with a firm grip.
“I’ve heard good things about your leadership of the colony,” Semple said. “I’m eager to see the place for myself and get settled into my quarters.”
“Aye.” It was all Arran could manage to say as Eleanor was assisted from her canoe by the gentleman who had been seated beside her. Arran felt like a simpleton as he stared, dumbstruck, at her approach.
“I think you’ll be pleased to hear we’ve brought a minister and a teacher with us,” the governor continued, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Perhaps the colony will be civilized now that the British have arrived.” He laughed at his own joke, though no one joined him.
Eleanor’s gaze was hooded as she walked slowly over the uneven ground, one hand on the baby’s back and the other wrapped around the minister’s elbow. She did not look at Arran again until she came to stop beside Governor Semple. When she did, Arran feared his heart would stop at the sight of her warm,steady gaze. He’d never thought to see her beautiful eyes again, though his dreams had been haunted by them for years.
