The Fur Trader’s Lady (Ladies of the Wilderness #1)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

T he Port of Montreal hummed with life as Reid walked alongside Charlotte—Charlie—down the thoroughfare to the waterfront. Thankfully, his headache from the day before had dissipated, but it threatened to return. He’d tried not to be impatient as he had taken her to the North West Company’s main office. There she had signed a standard five-year contract under the name Charlie Crawford and been given two new sets of clothes and a pair of boots, which fit much better. Along with the clothes, she’d been given a blanket and a wooden cassette box, which held all the necessary writing supplies she would need as his assistant clerk. Paper, ink, a journal, several ledgers, and so on were tucked into the box she now toted awkwardly, along with the large pack on her back.

When she had laid eyes on the paper, she had fingered it tenderly, and he’d almost chastised her for the feminine behavior, but something had stopped him. He recognized the longing within her for something dear to her heart, though he didn’t know what it might be.

He could have helped her with the burden she carried, but if his men saw him assisting the new clerk, they would raise their eyebrows for sure—and she would be teased incessantly.

Scanning the bustling wharf, he looked for signs of Rutherford but didn’t see the older man. It would be easy to miss him in the crush of people and cargo lining the riverfront. Any of the dozens of warehouses, stores, and homes could hide someone who didn’t want to be seen.

“Remember to walk like a man and keep your face down,” Reid said quietly to Charlotte.

She jostled the cassette and almost lost her hold on it. “Do you see him?”

“No, but we canna be certain.”

Thousands of wooden boxes, barrels, and drums had recently arrived from England and had already been inventoried. They would be carried in the large Montreal cargo canoes to Grand Portage. Tons of flour, salt pork, corn, rum, high wine, and the like would be hauled into the interior along with the trade items for the Indians. Kettles, needles, cloth, beads, hooks, rifles, and much more were used to trade for animal furs—and all of it was imported from England.

Hundreds of men worked along the shoreline sorting the goods that would fill hundreds of canoes leaving within the next week. Over four tons of cargo would be hauled in each one, along with ten to twelve men. Voyageurs were the heartiest men Reid had ever met. Most of them were French-Canadians. Their short stature and wide shoulders, coupled with their superior strength, made them ideal for paddling.

The noise and commotion filled Reid’s ears like the incessant grinding of a gristmill. He much preferred the quiet of the woods over the bustle of the city. It would be good to return to the lakes and rivers he’d come to love.

“The voyageurs are made up of two different groups.” Reid pointed to a group of men stacking packages into five large Montreal canoes in preparations for their departure. “The north men stay in the interior through the winter and only return to Montreal at the end of their contract, which might last from one to seven years.”

She nodded as she observed the voyageurs at work.

“The pork eaters are over there.” He pointed to another crew working independent of the north men. “They do not winter over in the interior. Instead, their job is to bring the cargo from Montreal to Grand Portage every spring and then to bring the furs from Grand Portage back to Montreal to be shipped off to England by fall. The two groups rarely work together because the north men have little respect for the pork eaters.”

“Why do they call them pork eaters?”

“Because their main food item on the long journey from Montreal to Grand Portage and back is pork.”

“They just paddle back and forth?”

“Aye. And stay in Montreal during the winter.”

Charlotte watched the activity with keen curiosity. Color had returned to her cheeks and her brown eyes held a shine today that they had lacked yesterday. When he had gone to her room earlier, he had been stopped short by the transformation a bath and a good night of sleep had made on the lass—and her hair. He’d never seen anything like the thick curls that had fallen over her shoulders almost down to her waist. It had taken his breath away to see her standing there wrapped in a blanket, her face still soft from sleep. She was every bit a woman. For a second, he had thought twice about bringing the bonnie lass into the male-dominated fur trade, but then she had come downstairs dressed like a man, her hair cut short, and all the womanly curves hidden under her clothes, and he knew she was willing to do whatever it would take to get to Stephen.

“Hullo, Bourgeois !” Calum Roberson called to Reid from his place near one of the canoes, using the term designated for the chief trader. “Glad to see you could finally make it this fine morn.”

Reid hadn’t seen his good friend and long-time assistant clerk Calum since last fall when they had arrived in Montreal. Calum had left immediately for Scotland to see his mam and had recently arrived back in Canada. He was only five years younger than Reid but looked up to him as a mentor.

The old friends met with a hearty handshake.

“’Tis good to see you,” Reid said with a wide smile. “How was your crossing?”

Calum didn’t answer, because he had laid eyes on Charlotte. “And who’s this wee lad? Planning to replace me, are you?”

It was time to begin the charade in earnest, and Reid said a quick prayer that it would work. In the light of day, Charlotte’s feminine features were much more attractive than they had been the evening before. She was a bonnie lass, even with her short hair and trousers, but she could pass for a fair-skinned lad, too, if no one was the wiser.

“This is our new assistant clerk, Charlie Crawford,” Reid told Calum. “He’ll be traveling with us to Grand Portage.”

“Ah!” Calum put his hand on Charlotte’s head and rubbed her hat against her hair until it slid down over her forehead.

Indignation rose in her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a scowl. But to her credit, she didn’t speak.

“An assistant of my very own to torture.” Calum grinned, revealing a wide mouth with evenly spaced teeth. “But you’re not a strong lad, are you?” He gripped her thin upper arm. “Did your mam coddle you and keep you away from the men’s work?”

The indignation in her eyes turned to panic, and Reid knew he’d need to step in and make an excuse for the girl’s lack of body weight or muscle. “The lad was sick crossing the ocean. It’ll take a bit of time to put some meat on his bones.”

Calum let go of her arm and lifted one brow. “It’ll take more than a bit of time.” He narrowed his eyes as he looked her over, his stern countenance an act for Charlotte’s benefit, no doubt. Calum was the jolliest person Reid had ever known—sometimes to a fault. His humor could get wearisome after a time. “How old are you, lad?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “Fifteen,” she said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Calum frowned. “You either are or you aren’t.”

“I just had my birthday,” she said in a way that seemed to excuse her lack of confidence in her age.

With a laugh, Calum knocked Charlotte’s hat off. “We’ll make a man out of you yet.”

Charlotte scrambled to grab her hat and pulled it down tight onto her head, scanning the riverbank, no doubt looking for Rutherford.

Reid crossed his arms and took his place between her and the thoroughfare, so one side of her was to the river and the other was protected by him. She was such a wee thing, she wouldn’t be hard to hide. “He’s just left his mither,” Reid said, as a way of explaining Charlotte’s awkwardness. “You remember how it was when you first joined. We’ll have to go easy on him until he learns his way around.”

“Easy?” Calum laughed. “I’ll be anything but easy on him.”

“We’re already late.” Reid tilted his head toward the brigade of canoes almost ready for departure. “Let’s be off.”

Reid led the way to the water’s edge, where he greeted several men.

“I’ve already inspected the seams of the canoes,” Calum told Reid. “And I’ve gone over the inventory list. All our cargo is accounted for.” He presented the ledger he had been holding under his arm to show Reid that he’d done the work.

“How many men do we have?” Reid asked.

“Forty-eight, now that Charlie’s here.”

Reid gave the canoes a cursory glance, trusting Calum’s inspection. “From now on, I want you to work with Charlie. Show him the inventory lists and explain what will be expected of him each day.”

Calum nodded. “Will he be in my canoe?”

“No.” Reid shook his head and realized he’d spoken too quickly. He took a little more time to explain. “I’ll keep him in my canoe for now—until he’s more comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Calum snorted. “You’re getting soft, McCoy.”

Reid located the guide who had been hired to take their brigade into the interior. Pierre. He was Métis , his father European, a fur trader, and his mother a Chippewa Indian. Pierre knew the best route to travel to Grand Portage and would lead the men, with Reid’s approval, through the lakes, rivers, and portages. Beside Reid, who was a senior clerk and the highest-ranking officer of the brigade, the guide was the best-paid man in the group. After discussing a few trivial matters, Reid told him they were ready to leave.

“Time to move out!” Pierre shouted in French to the voyageurs in his vicinity.

The men took up their paddles and the one personal bag they were allowed and moved to the five canoes. Each person assumed their positions around the boats, all standing in varying depths of water. At the call of the guide, all the voyageurs, except the avants , who sat at the front of the canoes, jumped into their vessels at the same moment.

“Charlie,” Reid said to the lass, “you’ll travel with me in this canoe.” He pointed to the one closest to them.

A movement caught Reid’s eye. Rutherford stood near a warehouse, speaking with a bourgeois from the XY Company, one of Reid’s rivals. If Rutherford had noticed Charlotte, he wasn’t paying her attention, so engrossed was he in his conversation with the XY man.

“Quick, lass,” Reid said under his breath, close behind her. “Into the canoe and keep your face toward the river.”

“Roger?” she asked on a shaky breath.

“Aye. But dinna show any fear and dinna look for him. Just get into the canoe like everyone else.”

She did as he bid, her footsteps unsteady as the canoe tilted slightly to the side.

Reid held it steady with the help of their avant, and she found a place to sit on a bench in the rear of the canoe.

At Pierre’s next command, the avants pushed their canoes into the river and jumped into the stern, immediately directing their boats toward the rushing current.

“Strike!” At Pierre’s call, the voyageurs dipped their brightly colored paddles into the muddy water, pulled back, and then lifted them out again, over and over, in a well-timed rhythm. Pierre called the synchronized movements for the first few seconds, but then the men fell into the natural pace of sixty-strokes a minute.

“We’ll travel two miles downriver to Lachine,” Reid said to Charlotte. “And leave the St. Lawrence River to enter the lake of the two mountains. There, at the head of Saint Anne’s rapids, the last church on the island of Montreal will bid us farewell on our journey.” Many of the voyageurs were Catholic, and they would stop at the church to pray for Divine guidance and safe travels. The church had been dedicated to the tutelary saint of voyages for this reason.

As Reid spoke to Charlotte, he watched Rutherford out of the corner of his eye. The Englishman took notice of Reid’s brigade, as did many others on the wharf, but he quickly continued his conversation with the XY man.

Before long, Rutherford was out of view, and Reid turned his focus back to his canoe.

Charlotte sat beside him, her back straight, her shoulders stiff, and her chin high. She looked out at the river and did not glance behind her toward the life she had just left behind.

Reid offered a prayer for safety and protection, and asked God to help him do right by Charlie Crawford. Any number of things could go wrong.

It would take a miracle to get her to Stephen.

For almost an hour, the men paddled in perfect tempo, keeping to the rhythm of several songs sung in French and led by Pierre. Charlotte was familiar with many of the songs, but others were foreign to her, though she spoke the language fluently.

The wharf at Montreal had faded, and the empty countryside had opened before them. It didn’t take long for the sun to melt the remaining snow and take the chill from the air. On both sides, the riverbanks were low, allowing Charlotte to see cultivated fields for miles.

“Where is my paddle?” she asked Reid, who sat beside her, his steady gaze watching the men, the canoes, the countryside all at once.

“Officers are not required to paddle.”

“But you said—”

“I was trying to dissuade you.” He spoke quietly, under the sound of the voyageurs’ song.

The bench beneath her had grown uncomfortable, but she would not complain. “Nothing you could have said would be more frightening than my former life.”

He finally took his gaze off the horizon and shook his head just enough to silence any further conversation about her past.

Behind them, the gouvernail of their canoe stood with a long pole. Reid had explained that the gouvernail, along with the avant, directed the course of the canoe. The avant sat in the front and watched for rocks, branches, or other snags that could damage the canoe, while the gouvernail watched the voyageurs paddle and kept their rhythm in synchronization. The mileux sat in the middle, and their only job was to paddle.

Two low-lying mountains with snow-covered tops came into view in the distance, capturing Charlotte’s attention. She had never seen mountains before coming to Canada and was enraptured by them. Reid had told her they would veer off the St. Lawrence and take a tributary upriver toward a lake that sat between them.

“ Arretez ,” Pierre called to the brigade. Each gouvernail in each canoe echoed the command to stop, and all the voyageurs lifted their paddles out of the water.

The canoes continued to glide down the river at a slower pace, while the men pulled pipes and tobacco out of their bags, chatting comfortably with one another. There was a general sense of excitement among the men, which Charlotte marveled at. How could they be eager for the long trip ahead? She knew why she was anxious to get to Grand Portage, but what about these men? They had nothing to look forward to but turning around and coming back the way they had traveled.

“Every hour we stop for a break and smoke a pipe,” Reid explained to her as he, too, pulled a pipe from his bag. “Each employee is given an allowance of tobacco as part of his supplies.”

Charlotte nodded her understanding as the men filled their pipes with the leathery brown leaves and pushed them down with their fingers. Matches were produced and used to light the pipes.

“We break for as long as it takes to smoke the pipe.” Reid lit his pipe and inhaled a draught of smoke.

Calum’s canoe was beside Reid’s, and he produced a second pipe, which he offered to Charlotte.

“No, thank you,” she said kindly—and then remembered she was supposed to sound like a man. “I don’t smoke,” she said a bit deeper.

He pushed it at her and didn’t give her a choice. “Everyone smokes.”

Charlotte frowned and caught Reid watching her. A half smile tilted his mouth as he took another inhale of smoke.

Glancing around, she found every man smoking, without exception.

The voyageurs began to look her way, and for the first time since departing Montreal, she became the center of attention—the last thing she wanted.

“Is the boy too good to smoke?” asked one voyageur in French.

“Maybe his maman wouldn’t let him,” said another.

“His maman isn’t here anymore,” the first said, and the rest joined in laughing. “It’s time he became a man.”

“It’ll put some hair on your chest,” Calum said to Charlotte as he pushed tobacco into the pipe.

The others jeered her on, but Charlotte felt physically ill to think about smoking the pipe. Her father used to smoke when her mother wasn’t looking, and she always liked the smell, but she had no desire to try it herself.

She pleaded to Reid with her eyes, but he looked away from her toward the riverbank, and she remembered what he had said just that morning. Everything she had learned as a lady must be forgotten. She should not so much as blush in their presence.

And she must do what they did if she wanted the charade to succeed.

With a slight nod, she allowed Calum to light the pipe.

“Just hold it to your lips and inhale through your mouth,” Calum instructed.

All the men watched as she put the mouthpiece between her trembling lips. Reid turned his gaze back to her and observed her quietly.

Smoke spiraled out of the bowl of the pipe, scenting the air with the fragrance of sweet tobacco. It gave her a twinge of longing for her father, but she pushed all thoughts from her mind and took a deep breath.

The smoke filled her lungs and immediately began to burn. She coughed uncontrollably, forcing Calum to take the pipe from her before it fell into the river.

Reid pounded her back as the entire brigade roared with laughter.

The men went back to their conversations, but Reid handed a canteen to Charlotte. “Take a drink.”

She looked at it warily. “Is it rum or whiskey or some other disgusting beverage I’ll be forced to drink as well?”

He grinned. “’Tis only water.”

Charlotte took the canteen and allowed the cool water to fill her mouth. It coated her throat and eased the burning in her lungs. But her eyes still watered.

Reid leaned back again and continued to smoke his pipe. The smoke left his mouth in a series of rings floating on the air as they dissipated into the clear sky above. “They won’t leave you be until you’re smoking a pipe like the rest of them.”

She gagged at the thought of smoking that pipe again.

Reid grinned like before and continued to enjoy his break with the other men.

Water rippled by the edge of the canoe, and an eagle soared on the wind above the pine trees in the distance. Charlotte tried to steady her breathing as she listened to the boisterous laughter of the voyageurs.

“ Partir !” Pierre called to the men. Some took another draw from their pipes, while others tapped the used tobacco into the river and put their pipes back into their packs.

Within seconds, the brigade sliced through the water again.

Just as Reid had told her, they left the wide river and followed a narrow tributary, twisting and turning their way into a vast lake. They paddled for another hour across the expanse and came to the other side. A quaint little church sat on a point of land jutting into the lake at the foot of one mountain, just as Reid had said. It was positioned so close to the water’s edge that Charlotte wondered if they feared flooding. On either side of the church, hundreds of Indian lodges were scattered around the level ground, and just beyond the church, the lake narrowed again and turned into a series of rapids as far as she could see.

Charlotte held her breath at the sight of the Indian village. Never in all her life had she expected to see Indians. She’d read about them, even saw pictures, but she hadn’t anticipated seeing them in person. While part of her shivered at the thought, another part of her was curious to see if the Indians looked and dressed like the books portrayed.

With expert ease, Pierre guided the brigade to the shore. Before the canoes touched the land, most of the voyageurs disembarked from the vessels right into the lake. One man from each brigade stayed in the cold water and held the canoes in place, while the others began to unload the cargo.

No one offered to help Charlotte leave the canoe, so she was forced to step into the lake like the rest of them. The frigid water filled her boots and wet her trousers, sending a shock throughout her body. The others didn’t seem to be bothered by the inconvenience, so she had to pretend it didn’t trouble her, either, though a chill caused her teeth to rattle.

Within fifteen minutes, twenty-thousand tons of cargo were unloaded and stacked on dry land.

“Why do the men get in and out of the canoes in the water?” Charlotte asked Reid, who stood watching the men work. “Why don’t they run them ashore and spare their shoes?” Her own feet squeaked with each step she took and her body shivered.

“The bark used to line the canoes would be damaged by the rocks and gravel. The canoes only leave the water once they have been emptied. Then they are carried onto land.”

As he spoke, four men surrounded each canoe and lifted them onto their shoulders as if they weighed nothing.

“The canoes are very light,” Reid told her when he caught her look of surprise. “They are little more than bark and branches.”

Yet they carried tons of cargo and almost a dozen men.

With practiced ease, the voyageurs flipped the canoes over and laid them on their topsides, and then, one by one, the men walked toward the church.

Reid and Calum stayed behind with the cargo. Calum found a rock to lean against, where he pulled out his pipe again and proceeded to fill it with tobacco.

Reid didn’t sit, nor did he smoke. Instead, he faced the lake from where they had just come, his eyes on the horizon.

Thankful for the opportunity to stretch, Charlotte stood beside him, the sunshine warming her shoulders. She watched the Indian village in quiet awe. Men and women went about their work, barely taking notice of the new brigade, while children ran and played in the cold mud. Smoke spiraled from dozens of campfires, and the unfamiliar scents of cooking food floated on the breeze.

A priest opened the door of the church and waited silently for the voyageurs to pass inside. The solemn men removed their caps as they entered, many forming the sign of the cross before stepping over the threshold.

When all the men had disappeared inside, the priest followed, closing the door behind him. Soon, the sounds of prayers echoed across the still waters, enveloping Charlotte, warming her more than the sun. Should she have joined the men? As a member of the Church of England, she wasn’t sure how these men would view her participation in their worship. Better to follow Reid and Calum’s example and stay with the cargo.

But why had Reid and Calum stayed?

“Do you not believe?” she asked Reid after a few moments of silence.

He turned his gaze from the lake. “Believe?”

“Why didn’t you join the others?”

“Just as the pork eaters do not work with the north men,” Calum offered as he puffed out a plume of smoke, “the officers do not worship with the voyageurs.”

But did Reid believe? It mattered little to her and her need to get to Grand Portage, but it made her wonder about the man who had risked everything to help her. Had he done it out of Christian duty? Or something else?

“Are you a believer?” Reid asked.

Was she? The question, shot back at her, made her pause. Until her parents had died, she’d had the faith of a child. She’d attended church regularly and had given her heart to Christ. But once Roger had come into her life, he forbade her to attend services. She had wondered where God was when Roger began to turn the servants against her and dictate her every step. She’d felt alone, as if God had disappeared along with her parents. She didn’t doubt He was there—somewhere—she just doubted whether He cared about her anymore.

“I’m a member of the Church of England,” she said as a way of explanation, not wanting to reveal her deepest doubts to this man.

His left cheek came up in a half smile that held more sadness than joy. “That isna what I asked.”

She turned her attention back to the little church on the edge of civilization. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

“Aye.” He nodded and didn’t ask her to explain, yet somehow, she knew he understood. But was that possible? He was a free man, able to come and go as he pleased. He wasn’t required to marry someone he didn’t love—or marry at all, for that matter. His money was his own, his future belonged to him. He couldn’t possibly understand.

“Many of these men are superstitious,” Calum said to Charlotte, tearing her thoughts away from Reid. “Their religion has intertwined with Indian beliefs and folklore, and they will do everything in their power to appease each god they believe in, even the Lord God. Most of them would refuse to continue our journey if we did not stop here first.”

“They consider this the true start of our journey,” Reid told her. “They would not go any farther unless they received a blessing from the priest.”

Much sooner than she expected, the men left the church, and without a word from Reid, they pulled straps out of their bags and secured them to the packages on shore. With amazing dexterity, they hoisted the goods onto their backs, pulling the carrying strap up and over their shoulders, allowing the widest part of the strap to rest on their foreheads. With the packages on their backs, they started down a path that followed the edge of the water, many of them running, and disappeared around a curve at the bottom of the mountain.

“I’ve never seen anyone carry a package that way,” she said in awe.

“The straps they use are called tump lines.” Reid nodded at a man just slipping his over his head. “It allows the men to use their whole bodies to carry the packs, freeing their hands for balance and to navigate some of the steep hills they climb.”

Calum finished his pipe and took up his personal bag and cassette, much like Charlotte’s, and followed the men.

“This carrying place is about two miles long,” Reid said to Charlotte. “We canna take the canoes over the rapids, so we unload them and portage them to a spot below the rapids. The men will make two or three trips before all the cargo is moved from here to the next loading point downriver. They are required to make at least two trips, but they can make more, if they’d like. Calum records how much each man carries, and when we arrive in Grand Portage, they will be paid according to how much cargo they moved. He will stay with the cargo on the other end of the path.” Reid stood with his feet planted wide and his arms crossed over his chest as he supervised the men. His muscles rippled under his tight trousers as he shifted positions to point to a large barrel that required two men to carry without the use of their slings. “See that the barrel of whiskey is taken first.” He spoke in French. “I do not want it to remain here in the village any longer than necessary.”

The voyageurs did as he instructed and hoisted the barrel between their shoulders. Off they went, running down the trail.

It took the men less than two hours to move all the cargo, and when the last twenty men returned to where Reid and Charlotte waited, they lifted the canoes onto their shoulders, four men to a canoe, and started down the path for the third time.

Reid put his pack onto his back and helped Charlotte with hers. Then he handed her the wooden cassette she’d received that morning, while he picked up his own large traveling desk, and they started down the trail after the last of the voyageurs.

As the men pulled farther and farther ahead, Reid took his time and did not rush Charlotte. Her muscles ached and her chest burned with the need to cough, but she would not give in to the cries of her body. If these men could do all the things she’d witnessed this day, then surely she could carry a wooden box and back pack. If she didn’t do her share of the work, the others might start to suspect there was something different about her.

“You’re doing fine, lass,” Reid said quietly. Had he sensed she needed a little reassurance? “Just keep to yourself and dinna do anything that might draw their attention, and none will be the wiser.”

They walked in silence for a long time, Charlotte breathing heavier with each step. The cassette became awkward in her arms, so she readjusted the burden and almost dropped it.

Reid stopped and nodded at her box. “Set it atop of mine. I’ll carry it for a wee bit.”

She shook her head, not wanting him to have to give her special treatment. She’d agreed to do her part.

His warm brown eyes invited her to take this respite. “You’re still ill. You need to rest as much as possible, so you dinna become worse. You’re doing my men and me a favor by getting better.”

He wouldn’t take no for an answer and was giving her a way out of her agreement—at least for now.

It took all her strength to lift the box high enough to set it on top of his, but the moment she released it into his care, she felt better.

He carried the extra weight with ease, and Charlotte couldn’t help but admire his strength and agility. He was practically a stranger, and she was alone with him in the middle of the wilderness, yet she felt safe in his presence. It made her long for Stephen and the protection he would offer her once they were married—though the thought made her hesitate. She hadn’t seen him in five years. When he left home, he’d been nothing more than a gangly seventeen-year-old boy. Had he filled out like Reid? Become a man in this wilderness? Would he make her feel as safe as Reid made her feel?

By the time they reached the next landing point on the Utawas River, the men had already filled the canoes with the cargo and were ready to continue.

The brigade followed the Utawas for the remainder of the day, passing smaller Indian villages from time to time. This river was much narrower than the St. Lawrence and had far more twists and turns. They stopped every hour or so for a pipe break until the sun kissed the horizon and Pierre called for the brigade to stop for the night. A clearing on the north bank revealed a common campsite with several fire rings of stones and charred wood.

Charlotte was exhausted and thankful for a chance to camp.

“Work fast,” Reid called out to the voyageurs as they jumped from their canoes and immediately began to unload all the cargo once again. “There is a storm on the horizon.”

Dark clouds rimmed the western skyline, hiding the sinking sun.

Charlotte left the canoe, her feet and trousers getting wet once again, and tried to stay out of the way as the voyageurs worked. Within fifteen minutes, the cargo was unloaded and stacked on dry land. Large oilcloths were tied over the piles in preparation for the storm.

After the cargo was secured for the night, they hauled the canoes on shore. Several men began to fix broken seams with a black, sticky concoction made from pine-pitch and grease, while a group of others erected two tents, using the poles that had lain on the bottom of the canoes that held the cargo off the hulls.

When the canoes were repaired, they were tipped over, and the men prepared their beds underneath. Some of the men went into the surrounding forest to gather firewood, while others produced food from boxes and barrels and prepared their evening meal over several communal campfires.

“Here, Charlie,” Calum called to her from where one of the tents was being set up away from the cargo and canoes.

Charlotte joined Calum, who was helping the voyageurs with the tent. “We’ll sleep in here tonight,” he said.

She took a step back at the thought of sleeping with the strange man in such a small tent. “I-I thought I’d have my own sleeping quarters.”

Calum laughed. “You have been coddled.” He shrugged. “Only the bourgeois is guaranteed his own tent. If you dinna want to sleep with me, you can always sleep under a canoe with the pork eaters.”

Reid stood by the river with Pierre, his gaze focused on the water they had just passed. Another brigade traveled downriver and would be upon them soon.

He turned and met Charlotte’s gaze, and suddenly she wasn’t as worried about the sleeping arrangement as she had been. She didn’t know Reid well, but she could see in his eyes that something was wrong.

Leaving Pierre, he came to her side.

“The lad wants his own sleeping quarters,” Calum said with a mocking bow. “We’ll have to call him Your Royal Highness before long and start carrying him from the canoe to the shore so his shoes dinna get soiled either.”

“Charlie will sleep in my tent.” Reid took her by the arm and led her away from Calum. “I must speak to you.”

Calum lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say a word.

Reid’s tent was set up several paces away from Calum’s and a great distance away from the voyageurs. He opened the flap and allowed her to step inside. Following, he let the flap fall behind him.

“The XY brigade is about to arrive,” he whispered.

“XY?” She frowned in confusion, speaking just as quietly as him.

“The XY Company, rival fur traders. They were formed by a group of disgruntled Nor’West men several years ago. They still follow our routes, and we cross paths with them almost every day.” His mouth turned down in disgust. “They’re despicable human beings.”

“Is that why you’re so concerned?”

“I wish it was as simple as that.” He ran his hand over his face then rubbed his temples for a moment. “I saw Rutherford speaking to the bourgeois of their brigade on the wharf in Montreal.”

Charlotte’s pulse ticked in her wrists. “And?”

“There’s a chance he either hired them to locate you, or—” He paused.

“Or what?”

“Or he came with them.”

Her throat suddenly felt dry, and she couldn’t breathe. “He could do that?”

“The XY men are always willing to take passengers—for a cost.”

“But.” She’d thought she would be free of Roger once she left Montreal. “How will we know?”

“They will most likely camp across the river from us. ’Tis not unusual to send some of my men to spy on them—and they’ll send men to spy on us too.” His brown eyes were filled with concern, and she knew she was placing him in a compromising situation. If Roger found her, he’d call her out, and Reid would lose his job.

“I want you to stay in the tent for the rest of the night,” he said. “I’ll have your cot brought in here with your other things and get you something to eat. You canna leave this tent for any reason. Do you understand?”

The few hours of freedom she felt on the river had vanished, and she became a prisoner to fear all over again. Panic clawed at her chest, threatening to overwhelm her.

Reid must have seen it in her eyes, because he put his hands on her arms and bent his head until she was forced to look at him.

“I willna let him harm you, lass.” His voice was low, soothing. “But you must do as I say and try not to worry.”

Warmth filled her chest at the look of strength and confidence in his eyes. When he straightened, he stood at least a foot taller than her, offering her a sense of protection she had not felt in years.

“I will try,” she said softly.

He regarded her for another moment, then stepped out of the tent, letting the flap fall in place behind him.

The sounds of camp filled the evening air. Laughter, singing, and conversation mingled with pots clanging, wood crackling in the fire pits, and footsteps shuffling in the dirt. The merriment of the men grated on her exhaustion and fear.

In the empty canvas tent, with no way of seeing the world around her, she felt cold and vulnerable—and desperately alone.

She sat in the corner and pulled her legs up to her chest, wishing Reid had stayed with her. Setting her cheek against her upturned knee, she rocked back and forth ever so gently and tried, in vain, not to worry.