She waited for Nicolette to nod, then she left them by their campfire and walked toward the fur post, where the voyageurs kept a vast supply of firewood. Those who needed it, like Eleanor and Fiona, had permission to take a certain amount each day—but those who had a man to cut and chop their own wood in the surrounding countryside, were asked to get their fuel somewhere else.
The fur post was a long, narrow rowhouse, comprised of several rooms. On the far end was the Hudson’s Bay Company store. Now, in the month of September, the trade was slow. It would pick up again when the cold winter months set in. Mr. Barlas spent his days overseeing the work of his voyageurs, preparing for the long winter months.
Stopping at the woodpile behind the post, Eleanor began to fill her arms with the small sticks of wood. Splinters jabbed into her skin and the fabric of her sleeves. She stopped and looked at her work-worn hands, amazed at how different they looked in just one year.
“Would ye mind a little help?” Chait appeared around the corner of the rowhouse. He leaned against the wall in a casual pose, his arms crossed.
Eleanor’s heartrate escalated at seeing him again. Though she knew he had not left the fort since their conversation weeks ago, he had not approached her again. “No, thank you.” She continued to stack the pile, focusing on her work and not on the penetrating look he gave her.
Chait pushed away from the rowhouse and came to her side. He began to stack wood in his own arms. “Whether ye realize it or not, lass, ye need me, especially now that Old John is dead.”
Anger made her pulse tick faster. She did not need him, nor anyone else, but Arran.
She could have held more wood, but she did not wish to stand in his presence any longer. She turned to leave, but he caught her elbow with his free hand.
The force of his grasp caused her to drop the wood. It fell down the length of her shins and pounded into her toes. Pain raced up her legs, but she did not cry out.
“Ye walked away from me once. I willna let ye walk away again.” He was close at her back, speaking into her ear. His words tickled and burned her skin.
Here, on the back side of the rowhouse, close to the stockade wall, there were few—if any—people to see them. She’d been foolish for putting herself in this position.
“I want to protect ye, Eleanor,” Chait said.
“From men like you?” She pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him. “I have given you my answer, Mr. Fraser.”
“And I have told ye I always get what I want.”
“Not this time.” She started to walk away again, but he tossed down the firewood he held and took two quick steps, grasping her by the upper arms. He turned her and pressed her against his chest in the matter of a second.
Anger burned in his eyes. “I will wed ye before the priest leaves this fort, and then I will take ye to Montreal to live with my parents. It’s for yer best.”
She pushed against him and opened her mouth to cry out, but he pressed his hand over her lips.
“If ye dinna agree, there are ways I can force yer hand.” He pressed her back against the wall of the rowhouse, his voice and movements suggestive.
Terror coursed through Eleanor’s body and she tried, with all her strength, to push against Chait. He grabbed her wrists and held them against her chest.
“Now,” he said, as calm as if he was sipping tea from an elegant cup. “Let’s think rationally. Yer fiancé is facing murder charges in Montreal as we speak, and ye no longer have the protection of that old man to see to yer needs. Ye are at the mercy of Mr. Barlas and have no money or resources to return to England. Even if ye did, who would take ye in? Yer cousin, Lady Selkirk, is herself now residing in Montreal.”
Dread and dismay warred in Eleanor’s mind. All the things he said were true, but surely she had other options. Even if she did go to Montreal to be with Lady Selkirk and to be close to Arran as he stood trial, she could find a job as a governess or lady’s companion—but who would take her on with a toddler in tow? And hadn’t she promised Arran she would not leave Jack River House? But how would she survive the winter in a tent? Already, the weather was getting colder at night. There would only be a few more weeks before she would need to find more permanent lodgings.
“I can see in yer eyes that ye’re taking my proposal seriously.” Chait lifted a corner of his mouth. “If I let ye go, will ye promise not to run away again?”
She would promise him almost anything to be free. She nodded.
“Ye are a wise woman.” Chait took his hand away from her mouth and moved back, so he was no longer pressed against her.
Eleanor breathed deeply, keeping her eye on him.
“I am not completely without feeling,” he said. “I am a gentleman, despite what ye may think of me.”
He was anything but a gentleman, but she would not say such things, afraid she’d anger him.
“I will not have my way with ye, unless ‘tis necessary. I’m patient, if nothing else, and I am not a brute.” He let his eyes wander the length of her body.
Despite the layers of clothing she wore, she felt exposed and vulnerable under his eyes.
“If we are to make our way to Montreal before the winter sets in,” he said, “we must leave soon. And, if ye want a wedding, we’ll have to have one before the priest leaves. But I ken ye have things to settle, so I will give ye a couple days to make plans.”
