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

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

D arkness filled the camp and was only dispelled by the five rings of fire where the men sat telling stories, eating from communal pots filled with pork and beans, and smoking their pipes at leisure. The scene usually filled Reid with comfort and excitement, especially on the first night out from Montreal. But tonight, he sat near his fire with Calum, his back rigid, his attention on the banks of the opposite river, and his thoughts not far from the lass hiding in his tent.

“You’re not yourself.” Calum put another stick on the fire. “Something on your mind?”

Reid forced his attention back to his campfire. Where were his men? He’d sent them to spy on the XY camp over three hours ago. They should have returned by now with news. He hadn’t been specific but had asked them to look for a passenger traveling with the brigade.

“Does this have something to do with the XY Company?” Calum asked. “You’ve been on edge since we camped.” He frowned and nodded toward Reid’s tent. “And what’s wrong with the lad? Is he unwell? He hasna come out of that tent all evening.”

“Homesickness is my guess.” Reid took a draw from his pipe. “It hits some harder than others. He’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

Calum looked toward the fire and nodded. “I recall my first night out. I never knew such fear. It was one thing to leave Scotland and travel on a ship to Montreal, another entirely to leave civilization and know I was heading into the northwestern wilderness.”

Reid could also recall his first night. He’d been scared senseless, but his fear had been overridden by his desire to prove himself to his father.

Charlotte, on the other hand, had far more to worry about this evening. The man she had traveled thousands of miles to escape could be on the other side of the river.

A commotion at the edge of the camp caught Reid’s attention. He placed his hand on the pistol over his hip, always wary of animals and enemies.

His three spies moved into the firelight. At the front of the group emerged Alexandre Dupree, one of Reid’s most trusted voyageurs. He’d been with Reid for years. If there was something to be done, the first man Reid considered for the job was Alexandre.

While the other two men found a place at one of the campfires, Alexandre came to stand before Reid. He was much shorter than Reid, with a square, muscular build. A red cap covered his dark hair, and around his waist he wore a matching red sash. An oversized white shirt and brown pants were similar to the ones the other voyageurs wore.

“Have a seat,” Reid told Alexandre in the French-Canadian’s native tongue. He took a clean plate and handed it to the voyageur, indicating the stew bubbling over their fire. “You must be hungry.”

Alexandre helped himself to the food and settled back against a log.

It took all of Reid’s self-control to allow the man to eat in silence. The fire crackled, an owl hooted in the distance, and the laughter of the men filled the night air. Even though the temperatures had dropped, the storm held off, blanketing the sky in low-lying clouds. A streak of lightning danced within the clouds, but the rain did not fall.

Calum didn’t speak either, but silently waited. He stared into the flames, looking pensive after speaking to Reid about his early years as a young clerk.

“What news do you bring?” Reid finally asked in French.

Alexandre sat straighter and set his plate on his lap. “We had no trouble spying on their men. Most have already started to drink.”

A common practice among the voyageurs—one Reid could not abide. He rationed the alcohol the men were allowed to drink on the trail, something not all bourgeois bothered to do.

“How many men?”

“It’s a small brigade,” Alexandre answered. “Maybe thirty men.”

“And did they have a passenger?”

Alexandre nodded. “An Englishman.”

Rutherford.

Reid leaned forward, his pipe in hand, studying the licking flames. Even now, there could be XY men spying on them as well. Charlotte wouldn’t be safe if they stayed in proximity with the rival company. Reid would either need to pull farther ahead or stay behind. Neither one was a good option and would require him to make excuses to Pierre.

“Anything else?” Reid asked.

Alexandre shook his head.

Calum watched Reid from across the fire. “Do you ken the passenger?”

Reid had never lied to Calum—had made a point of never lying to anyone—but he couldn’t risk letting even his friends know about Charlotte or Rutherford.

“There was an Englishman speaking to their bourgeois in Montreal. I wondered if they took him along.” Reid shrugged, as if it mattered little to him.

The night was still young, and the men would be up late with the excitement of the new journey, but Reid hated to leave Charlotte alone any longer. Now that he knew Rutherford was with the other brigade, he would need to tell her—and make a plan.

“The day has been long.” Reid stood and tapped his pipe into the palm of his hand. “I think I’ll turn in.”

Calum nodded. “Good night.”

Reid started toward his tent, but the closer he drew, the more aware he became of the fact that he would be sleeping beside a woman—a bonnie one, at that. He’d chosen a life of celibacy, out of deference to his faith, while most other officers had brought Indian and mixed-blood women into their tents and fur posts. It hadn’t been an easy path—and it didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted by the same desires as other men.

How much harder would it be to sleep in the same tent as a woman and continue to honor his vow to God?

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed close by a crack of thunder. The rain began to fall at the same moment the wind started to gust. It pushed and pulled the tall pine trees surrounding the encampment. The men rushed from their campfires to find protection under the large canoes just as Reid lifted the flap of his tent.

He stepped into the interior quietly, his back to Charlotte, and tied the canvas straps together, trying to rein in his thoughts.

It was dark within the tent, but the steady flashes of lightning allowed him to see the interior clearly.

When he finished securing the flaps, he turned and found Charlotte lying on her cot, the blanket pulled up to her chin, watching him closely—warily.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He doubted he’d be able to sleep tonight either.

She continued to clutch her blanket, as if it was a shield. Did she not trust him?

The tent was small—only meant for one man—but he tried to stay as far from her as possible in the tight space. He usually disrobed before bed, but he couldn’t do that with her in the tent—at least not while she watched. Slowly, he slipped out of his coat and placed it on the trunk at the foot of his cot.

Charlotte silently turned her back to him, allowing him a bit of privacy.

He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, laying it on his coat. Then he sat and removed his boots and socks. He’d sleep in his trousers—a small sacrifice for Charlotte.

The storm continued to rage, but within the tent, they were dry, if a bit chilly. Reid slipped under the covers and turned on his side, facing Charlotte.

She no longer wore the hat, and he had the opportunity to finally have a full look at her riotous curls. Without the extra length and weight, they were coiled tightly in thick locks. He’d never seen bonnier hair in all his days and wished she hadn’t needed to cut it. Though it was shorter than before, he still wondered what it might feel like to run his fingers through all those glossy curls.

“Are you in bed?” she asked, cutting into his wayward thoughts.

“Aye.” His voice was a bit thick.

She turned her head slowly, as if checking to see if he had told her the truth, and then she turned the rest of her body to face him.

Their cots were only about a foot apart. If he wanted, he could easily reach out and touch her curls.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating her beautiful face.

Ever since entering the fur trade, he’d been surrounded by Indians and half-blood women. Many were raised—and some educated—in the white man’s ways, but all of them lacked the gentility bred and born to a woman of privilege. Even though he’d cautioned Charlotte to act like a man, he couldn’t deny she was a woman through and through. He saw it in the curve of her hips, the tilt of her head, and the use of her words.

If any of the men looked close enough, they’d see it too.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even if he had wanted. “I’m sorry you’ve had to stay in the tent all evening. It was a bonnie night, watching the storm roll in.”

“Did your spies return?” She studied him as he looked at her, not dropping her gaze when their eyes met during a flash of lightning.

“Aye.” He would have to tell her eventually. “Rutherford is with them.”

She closed her eyes, her face pinching with despair.

“Dinna fash.” He wanted to promise her safety, though he knew he could only do so much to protect her. “Their brigade is smaller than ours, so they will move faster than us. We canna go ahead of them, because they will overtake us again—but I can let them get ahead of us in the morn.”

“Do you think he’s going to Grand Portage?”

“’Tis the only place he can go, unless he plans to join one of the Indian villages along the way.”

He hoped his words would make her smile, but they did not.

“He probably learned your brigade was leaving and thought to either apprehend me along the way or find Stephen at Grand Portage before we can marry.”

Reid didn’t bother to argue with her, since he’d come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll need your help in the morning.” Reid hated the idea of lying to his men, but he didn’t see any other choice. “I’ll tell the men you’re too ill to travel. That will allow the other brigade to get a day ahead of us. They’ll make better time and get to Grand Portage well in advance of us.”

“What about Stephen? What if Roger gets to him before us?”

“Stephen must know Rutherford well enough not to trust him.”

She nodded and worried her bottom lip, tucking it between her teeth.

“Will you help me, then?” he asked.

“I’ll do anything I must.”

They lay in silence for several minutes, the storm blowing against the canvas, rain pelting the oiled material enveloping them.

Charlotte looked small and vulnerable, and a sense of protection tightened Reid’s chest.

“You should get some sleep, lass.”

“I don’t think I can, knowing Roger is on the other side of the river.”

“I willna let him near you. You have my word.” And he meant it.

She didn’t say anything but simply nodded and then turned her back to him, wrapping herself into a small ball, shivering in the growing cold.

For the past two years, no one had protected her. He couldn’t let her down now.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered.

Within moments, her breath evened out, and he hoped she had finally found rest.

Reid wouldn’t be so lucky. The troubles that mounted around him would leave him worried long into the early morning hours.

A moan woke Reid just as the last of the storm rumbled in the distance. Darkness still cloaked the morning, and the sudden quiet beyond the tent was louder than the wind and rain.

Charlotte moaned again, her knees tucked up to her chest.

On instinct, Reid reached between the cots and laid his hand on her forehead. Her skin burned against his palm.

He wouldn’t have to lie to his men, after all.

Reid left his cot and knelt beside Charlotte, the cold biting against his exposed chest. He’d been afraid of taking her into the wilderness, knowing she was ill after her ocean voyage, but there hadn’t been any other options. He couldn’t let her perish now.

“Charlotte.” He said her name quietly, brushing wet hair off her brow. “Wake up, lass.”

She moaned again and rolled away from his touch but did not wake.

Shaking her shoulders, he said her name again, needing to ascertain what ailed her.

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed over and confused. She pulled back from him as far as the cot would allow.

“’Tis only me,” he said kindly. “You’re ill.”

Comprehension returned to her eyes, and she nodded, reaching toward her throat. “Water?” she rasped.

He brought the canteen to her and took off the lid. Gently, he cradled the back of her head, helping her sit up enough to drink the cold liquid.

As she sipped, her body trembled, and she pulled away from the canteen, squeezing her eyes tight. “My head,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. “And my throat.”

Reid took his blanket off his cot and placed it over her. “I’ll find something to help you.”

After tucking the blanket around her, like his mother had tucked blankets around him as a child, Reid looked for more symptoms. There were no rashes or spots, as far as he could see, and no other signs of illness. As the bourgeois of his brigade, all medical care fell on his shoulders or his assistant clerk’s. The only doctor employed by the fur trade was stationed at Grand Portage. Each officer had no choice but to learn how to let blood, set bones, and cure all manner of diseases. Reid had no stomach for treating illnesses, and whenever someone else was available, he turned the task to a more skilled officer.

Today, it would be up to him to help Charlotte.

While he dressed, the men began to stir in the camp. Everyone would soon be awake, expecting to start their day immediately. Breakfast wasn’t served until several hours of paddling were behind them, which meant they would pack their cargo as soon as they were awake.

Reid finished dressing and stepped out into the brisk morning. A hint of color rimmed the eastern horizon as several men climbed out from under their canoes. Mud caked Reid’s boots, and water dripped from the pine needles encircling the camp.

“I need my medicine chest.” Reid spoke in French when he saw Alexandre stretching near one of the overturned canoes.

Alexandre scratched his sides and nodded. “Is someone ill?”

“The new clerk, Mr. Crawford.”

No one seemed alarmed at this news, since it was common for first-season men to become ill upon entering the trade. Everyone would expect Charlotte to rally, even if she was ill, and continue inland toward Grand Portage. She would have to be extremely ill, or near death, for them to stop for the day.

Alexandre moved toward one of the canvas-covered piles that had been emptied from Reid’s canoe. Most of Reid’s personal belongings and company-issued supplies were carried in his Montreal canoe.

Movement across the river gained Reid’s attention. In the growing daylight, the XY men prepared to leave their camp. From his vantage point, it was impossible to make out the individual men so far away, but Reid didn’t doubt Rutherford was among them.

The medicine chest was near the top of the pile, where it was always stored. Alexandre hefted it onto his shoulder and started toward Reid’s tent.

“I’ll take it.” Reid intercepted the man, not wanting him to enter his tent. “The lad is very ill. I think it would be wise to wait a day or two before we continue.”

Alexandre frowned but did not question his bourgeois.

“Find Pierre and tell him to come to my tent.” Reid didn’t wait for Alexandre to agree but left his side to return to Charlotte.

Calum exited his tent as Reid approached his own.

“We won’t be leaving this morn,” Reid told his assistant clerk. “The lad is very ill and will need to rest today. Spread the word among the men.”

A frown creased Calum’s brow as well. “What ails him?”

“Ague.”

“Do you want me to bleed him?” Calum was far more skilled with medicinal practices and had a stomach for the task, knowing Reid didn’t enjoy the job.

Reid clutched the medicine chest. Charlotte would probably have a better chance of healing if Calum cared for her—but it was a risk too great.

“The lad is comfortable with me. I’ll see to his needs.”

Questions shifted across Calum’s gaze, but he didn’t press Reid for answers.

“Set some water to boil,” Reid said, “and bring me a cup when it’s ready.”

Calum nodded and set off to do Reid’s bidding.

Reid entered his tent and found Charlotte tossing on her cot. Her blankets had slipped off, and she shivered uncontrollably. By now, sunlight had crested the horizon, filtering light through the canvas, revealing her flushed face and the sweat glistening on her brow.

“No, Roger!” she called out in her delirium over and over.

“Shh.” Reid set the medicine chest on his cot and knelt beside her. He smoothed her hair back again and pulled the blankets over her thin frame.

She opened her eyes, but the fever dulled her gaze, and she didn’t focus on Reid. “He’s here,” she whispered.

Reid shook his head and touched her brow. She burned hotter than before. Willow bark tea would take down her fever and offer her a bit of comfort from the pain, but it would not heal her. Only bleeding would balance her humours and restore her health.

He would need to wait until she’d had the tea to calm her before performing the bloodletting. If she continued to toss and turn, he could do more harm than good.

While he waited for Calum to bring the hot water, he opened the medicine chest and pulled out the glass jar of willow bark. Setting it aside, he found the four-bladed fleam, which he’d use to make the bloodletting incision. He also located the tincture of friar’s balsam and the roll of lint.

Finally, Calum poked his head into the tent, a steaming cup of water in hand. His eyes traveled to Charlotte and then to Reid, as he scanned all the supplies Reid had prepared.

“Are you sure you dinna want me to do it?”

“Roger?” Charlotte tried to focus her eyes on Calum. She sat up, her face wild with fear. “You’ve found me!” She clutched the blanket to her chest and started to rise, but Reid held her down.

“’Tis only Calum. Not Roger.”

“Roger?” Calum asked, his face twisted in confusion.

Reid shook his head. “Just set the cup on the chest and be gone.”

Calum put the cup down and left the tent without another question.

With patience, Reid was able to calm Charlotte and get her to lie down again. When she was settled, he pulled out two strips of willow bark and set them in the hot water. While he waited for the tea to steep, he sat beside her and wiped her brow, whispering soothing words to settle her heart. His prayers wafted heavenward, much like the steam lifting from the cup. He’d seen sicker men recover and healthier men perish. He would hate to see this woman die when she had come so far.

When the tea was ready, he was able to help her drink some of it down, and as he waited for it to take effect, he prepared her for the bloodletting.

Stiff from sitting on the hard earth, he moved to a kneeling position and took her left arm in his hands, marveling at the softness of her skin. He placed a bowl under her elbow and gently rubbed her arm until she finally calmed down and stopped shaking.

“I’m going to bleed you now,” he said very softly. “Have you been bled before?”

Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. “When I was a child,” she said with a labored breath.

Reid opened the fleam and found the smallest blade. Taking a deep breath, he placed it against the soft inner part of her arm and pushed firmly.

She clenched her jaw but did not cry out.

Reid cringed, hating to cause her more pain, but it was necessary. He set aside the fleam and held her arm over the bowl with one hand, while he gently massaged her hand with his other.

After he bled her for a time, he applied the friar’s balsam onto the lint bandage and wrapped it around her arm, putting pressure on the wound like the instructional book recommended.

When she was finally asleep, he stepped out of his tent. His stomach growled and his muscles were sore, but he was thankful to see the XY men were no longer in their camp.

“They left about two hours ago.” Calum handed Reid a steaming cup of tea. “I saved you a plate of breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

Reid took the tea and swallowed it in one hot gulp. It burned down his throat and settled hard in his stomach. “Thank you.”

“How is the lass?”

“She—” Reid looked sharply at his friend.

“I’ve got eyes,” Calum said quietly, his gaze on the far banks of the river. “Only a woman would behave the way she did when she called me Roger.”

Reid closed his eyes, thankful their tents were far removed from the other men. “You canna breathe a word—”

“Why’d you bring her?” His usual good humor was replaced by concern—and accusation. “Is she warming your bed? Is that it?”

Clenching his jaw, Reid stared down at his assistant clerk. “I’ll have you hold your tongue. The lass is in danger and needs to join her fiancé at Grand Portage. She’s running from the passenger traveling with the XY men.”

“But why’d you agree to take her along with us?” He frowned. “She could get you in trouble.”

“I owe a debt to her fiancé, nothing more.” Reid stared hard at Calum. “I willna have you speak of this to anyone—not even Charlotte.”

“Charlotte?” Calum’s eyebrows rose high.

“I mean Charlie. And not a word. Do you understand?”

Calum rested his right hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

Reid stepped over to their fire and took the plate of biscuits and boiled pork Calum had set aside. It had long since cooled, but he cared little.

“We willna break camp until Charlie is well enough to travel,” Reid said, allowing no argument in his voice.

“The lass-lad is making you soft.” Calum took a seat across from Reid, a smile on his good-natured face. “And now I ken why.”

Reid wished he could be as lighthearted about Charlotte’s presence as Calum was—but Calum had nothing to lose if someone learned about her identity.