“There is a woman in the settlement who might agree to be a housekeeper,” Arran said to Semple. “She was married to a settler who recently passed away. I will send for her immediately.”
“And perhaps Miss Brooke will take the room on the main level,” Semple added. “While we men bunk upstairs. There are four rooms up there, correct?”
“Aye.”
“Then you shall have one,” Semple said to Arran. “West will have the other, and I can occupy the third, with an extra for guests.” He grinned with self-satisfaction, as if he had just solved a troubling puzzle.
Arran wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep in the same house as Eleanor. The last time they’d been in residence together, at St. Mary’s Isle Priory, he’d become a besotted fool.
Thankfully, there was no threat of that happening again. He had dedicated his life to Assiniboia. He had no time for a wife—especially an English lady who would be a liability to the colony.
Eleanor nodded at the proposed arrangement, her gaze wandering over the spacious room. Did she find the accommodations lacking? They were nothing compared to the priory, nor to her manor in Northumberland, he was certain.
This was no place for an unmarried lady, in a home with three single gentlemen, without parents or guardians to see after her. Not to mention the hardships she was about to face. Unlike the other settlers, Eleanor had led a life of luxury and comfort. Colonizing was dangerous and grueling for the most hardened fur trader. How much more difficult would it be for a pampered lady?
The shock of seeing her had begun to wear off, and now the reality of the situation turned his confusion to anger. She had no business being here and he would not hesitate to tell her so. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be on a ship returning to England when the spring thaw allowed travel back to York Factory. If she did not choose to go on her own, as he was certain she would, he’d appeal to Semple’s better sense.
But, first, he must keep her alive through the long winter ahead—a more daunting task he’d never undertaken. How would he make a level-headed decision if the fort came under attack, knowing she was inside?
The ship heading to England could not leave soon enough.
Darkness had fallen over Assiniboia as Eleanor left her bedroom and stepped into the common room, closing the door gently, hoping Miriam would remain asleep.
In a room above her head, loud snores rumbled through the cold house. Eleanor surmised they belonged to Governor Semple, since William had gone upstairs only moments ago and she had not seen Arran since eating the simple meal the new housekeeper, Nicolette, had prepared for them. He had left the governor’s house, mentioning the need to address some issues concerning the new arrivals, but had not returned.
Nicolette was a middle-aged, mixed-race woman who was quiet and industrious. Her father had been a French fur trader and her mother an Ojibwe Indian, and she’d been raised in various fur posts. She had silently made the evening meal as if she had lived in the house all her life. After serving the meal, she’d cleaned all the dishes and then made a pallet for herself in the corner of Eleanor’s bedroom. The only time she’d spoken, or shown any hint of personality, was when she noticed Miriam. She had fussed over the baby like an aunt or a grandmother, speaking English in bits and pieces with her gentle smile, telling Eleanor about her family.
Eleanor suspected she and Nicolette would get along well.
Despite the hours of travel, Eleanor was too overcome with the events of the day to sleep. Not wanting to keep Nicolette or Miriam awake, she brought her traveling desk and journal into the common room and took a seat at the table where the lantern still burned low.
There was a chill in the air, but the fire Nicolette had used to make supper had dwindled to embers. She had banked the fire before going to bed and Eleanor did not want to disturb it now.
Instead, she tightened the thick shawl over her shoulders and opened her traveling desk. She took out the red-cloth-covered journal and held it for a moment.
Her journal was her constant companion. She had kept one since she was a child, loving the way her mind worked out its problems while she put words to paper. All those journals were at the Selkirks’ home in Scotland with her other things.
The journal in her hands had been fresh upon her departure from Gravesend, but it was already filled with both the exciting and the mundane events that had shaped her journey thus far. It wasn’t an impersonal account, but one full of her thoughts and feelings, as well as her experiences. For a child who had grown up without the love and companionship of a mother, her journal had become like a best friend. It was a place to share confidences, explore her thoughts and feelings, as well as record events.
But as she cracked open the book and laid it flat against the table, she couldn’t find the words to write tonight. What could she say about seeing Arran again? It was hardly the reunion she’d hoped for. His shock at seeing her was understandable, but she had hoped that as the surprise wore off, he would have shown her some sort of excitement. Instead, he had seemed to grow angrier as the evening progressed. He’d left the house without looking back.
And now he stayed away.
The main room was quiet, except for the snores still rumbling upstairs. Beyond the house, the night was dark and the prairie silent. A few snow flurries brushed against the windowpanes, with no wind to push them about.
The front door creaked open, and Eleanor stood, clasping her hands as her heart began to pound.
Arran appeared at the door, his musket at his shoulder. He paused when he saw her, his dark brown eyes filled with emotions, none of them warm or welcoming.
Without a word, he closed the door and set the crossbar into place, locking the world out.
For a heartbeat, he faced the closed door before turning to look at her.
Eleanor swallowed the rush of nerves that fluttered up her throat. She didn’t know what to say, or how to begin the conversation, but they needed to speak.
He started to move across the room toward the stairs, as if he meant to ignore her.
She couldn’t let him go to sleep without telling him why she’d come. She took a step forward. “Arran.” She said his name on the breath of a desperate whisper.
