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

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

T he woods were dark as Reid and Jacques led the small band of women and children along the overgrown trail toward the XY post. They had already passed Curly Head’s quiet village where several Chippewa had watched them go by in silence. The night air had cooled, and the earthy smell of wet soil filled Reid’s nose. No one spoke as they walked, which allowed Reid to hear angry men approaching before they were spotted.

Reid lifted his hand, and the group of women and children came to a stop. A moonless sky caused a dome of sparkling stars to shine vibrantly above. His eyes were adjusted enough to see the trail and the dense vegetation to their right, but the bright torches coming around the bend illuminated a far more dangerous landscape.

“Halt!” Reid called to the advancing men. “I have some of the women and children.”

The first of the XY men stopped when he saw Reid.

It was Lachlan. Behind him, at least a dozen men bore rifles, axes, and other weapons.

“Go ahead,” Reid said to the women and children behind him. “Join your men.”

They did as Reid directed, moving around him and Jacques.

“These are not all the women,” Lachlan said to Reid, his face illuminated by his torch. “Where are the others?”

“They chose to remain behind.”

Lachlan said something to his men then advanced again, this time with only two others. The rest began their retreat to the XY post.

When Lachlan was just a few feet from Reid, he spoke again. “My men will not be happy until all their women return.”

“You ken as well as I that they are free to come and go.”

Jacques stood silently beside Reid, while Lachlan’s men stared at him.

“You had better watch your back . . . brother.” Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “Our battles have only just begun.”

“I have no wish to fight you.” Reid was not a man of violence, though if driven to such action, he’d defend anyone under his care.

“You’re a coward then?” Lachlan sneered in Reid’s face. “You must not be a McCoy after all. Mayhap someone else sired you while my mam warmed Faither’s bed at his fur post.”

Rage burned hot and fierce within Reid’s gut, and spots dotted his eyesight as he balled his fists and took a step closer to Lachlan, anger forming the words he’d longed to say since he was a lad. “You’re the illegitimate son, not me.”

The blow came before Reid was prepared, and he staggered back, pain radiating from his eye to the back of his head.

It only took a half second for Reid to find his foothold, and he barreled into Lachlan’s gut with his shoulder, knocking his brother and the torch into the mud. Reid fell on top of him, throwing punches blindly.

Lachlan punched Reid’s jaw while trying to get out from under him. He bucked and pushed, but Reid would not let him move. The fury and resentment he’d felt for his father’s second family pulsed through every muscle and sinew of his body.

Someone pulled at Reid from behind, tearing him away from Lachlan.

“Do not waste your strength,” Jacques said. “He is not worth the trouble.”

Reid’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Lachlan—wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand—slowly rise.

His men stood with their torches, watching and waiting, hatred in their eyes.

“You will regret today,” Lachlan said as he straightened to his full height and adjusted his coat, wiping his lip again.

Reid yanked himself free of Jacques. “I only regret that I dinna get a chance to finish what I started.”

“It will be finished one day,” Lachlan promised. “And you will be sorry.” He turned and followed his men without looking back at Reid.

“I’m sorry,” Jacques said to Reid as they started back to their post. “But I did not see that ending well for either of you.”

Reid didn’t reply, his anger running too deep to form any response he’d be proud of.

They followed the path to Reid’s post without a word.

Many of the voyageurs still sat around their campfires, though most of them were silent when they saw Reid and Jacques approach.

Leaving Jacques with the men, Reid entered the half-formed stockade. The faint light of a candle flickered through the oiled paper windows in his living quarters. He’d never been so thankful that Charlotte was waiting for him—but would she still be quiet and withdrawn?

Tonight, more than any other, he wanted to speak to her, to share his frustrations, his pain, and his anger with someone who knew him, and, he hoped, cared for him at least a little.

He worked his jaw back and forth and winced at the pain. His eye was swollen shut, and he cringed at how she might receive him.

Opening the door slowly, he found Charlotte sitting at the table, a piece of paper laid out before her.

His heart turned at the sight of her. Even though she was dressed like a man and her hair was short and pulled into a queue, he still found her the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. It wasn’t hard to picture her hair long and unbound, a pretty dress accentuating her form.

“Reid!” She pushed away from the table and was across the room before he could close the door. She touched his face with gentle fingers. “You’re hurt.”

He put his hand over hers, not wanting her to pull back but to stay this close for as long as possible. Just for tonight, he needed her tenderness and care.

“Aye.”

“Who did this to you?”

“My brother.”

She stared helplessly at him. “What happened?”

He closed the door and walked to the table and sat, his anger still brimming as he told her all the horrid details from the trail.

She stood, a frown wedged deep between her brows as she listened. When his tale was done, she sat again in the chair she’d been occupying and toyed with the paper in front of her.

“What do you have there?”

“A courier du bois arrived while you were gone.” She swallowed and turned the paper to face Reid. “He traveled day and night to come here, and he’s exhausted. I gave him a few biscuits, and he is now asleep under his express canoe near the river.”

Reid’s lips parted in concern. The courier du bois were the fastest men in the fur trade, independent voyageurs who were paid well to carry news throughout the territory. Their expert paddling, combined with their knowledge of the interior, made them indispensable to the traders. They were rarely sent unless the news was dire. Had something happened to his mother? With Rutherford somewhere in the interior, he had not worried about her safety since they’d left Montreal.

Reid pulled the flickering candle closer to the paper, struggling to read the scrawled penmanship with his good eye.

“The letter was addressed to you,” Charlotte said, “but when I realized it was from Stephen, I opened it. I hope you don’t mind.”

Stephen? Reid looked up quickly, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He was both relieved and deeply disappointed that Stephen had sent word. “He’s alive?”

She nodded.

He squinted and could finally make out the words. He read them aloud. “McCoy, I received your missive and am thankful that you were able to transport my cargo from Montreal. I will leave as soon as I am allowed and will meet you at Crow Wing. Stephen Corning.”

Reid leaned back in his chair, a soul-deep sigh on his lips. Stephen was alive, and he was probably on his way to retrieve Charlotte. Within just a few weeks, she might be gone. Forever. He wanted to be happy for her—but he didn’t have the strength of character to pretend.

He loved Charlotte Fairfax with his whole heart and soul, and to act as if he didn’t was a waste of his energy. Yet—he couldn’t tell her how he felt, because it wouldn’t be fair to her or Stephen. And it wouldn’t change anything. Instead, it would make everything worse.

Even if Charlotte was not betrothed to marry another, she could not stay in the interior as his wife. It was against the rules. And he could not ask her to live as his mother had lived—with uncertainty and a visit every three years.

The silence stretched until Charlotte couldn’t stand it another moment. She stood and walked to her desk and placed the letter into her cassette. Even though it was addressed to Reid, the letter was hers. She stood near her desk, facing the window, but saw nothing.

She wanted Reid to say something—anything. She wanted to be happy that Stephen was finally coming, but she only felt a keen disappointment. How had she allowed herself to hope that he would never come? She didn’t wish him ill—but part of her had somehow started to believe she could continue this ruse with Reid indefinitely. Though, what would be the eventual outcome? How could it end well for either of them?

“Have you nothing to say?” she finally whispered.

“What would you have me say, lass?”

She didn’t know, and that was what troubled her. Did she want him to be just as disappointed as she was? But why? To what purpose? Did she want him to be happy? Relieved? Ready to be done with her?

Would that make it easier to say goodbye?

Shaking her head, she moved toward the medicine chest.

Reid pushed back his chair and stood. He reached out and stopped her.

“I’m a fool for saying it, but Charlotte, you must know how much I’ve come to care for you.” He rubbed his thumb on her arm. “The thought of never seeing you aga—” He paused. “I canna stand the thought.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she could do nothing but nod as she turned to face him.

“I think back to how frustrated I was when you showed up in my kitchen.” He lifted his hand and touched one of her curls as his voice lowered. “Now I’m frustrated for a far different reason.”

“And I think about how frightened I was to go on this journey.” She put her hand on his and met his sad gaze. “Now I’m frightened for it to end.”

He drew her into his arms and held her. She fit so perfectly against him—but even as she took delight in his touch, guilt washed through her, as she belonged to another. There was nothing inappropriate about Reid’s embrace—but after what happened in the river, she knew how quickly things could change. No matter how much she cared for him, she could never let it go that far again.

Charlotte pulled herself out of his embrace and let out a long, low breath. She wasn’t excited about Stephen’s eventual arrival, but she would have to find a way to accept it—to anticipate it with joy.

“What will happen once Stephen arrives?” she asked.

He put one hand on the back of his chair. “There is a missionary priest at Fond du Lac. Stephen will probably take you there and marry you in secret.”

“And then?”

Reid furrowed his brows. “Then your husband will decide what is best from there.”

Was Stephen capable of protecting her like Reid? She’d always thought so—had staked her life upon that assumption—but now, knowing the rigors of the fur trade, would Stephen know what was best?

“If you were to counsel him?” she asked.

“I’d tell him to never leave your side again.” His voice was so low, so intimate, so full of longing her heart raced. “If Stephen desires to leave the fur trade and return to England with you, then you should go with all haste.” He didn’t move as he watched her. “If he doesna want to leave”—Reid shook his head, as if that would be the most foolish decision of his life—“then he’ll be forced to leave you at Fond du Lac and return to his post in the Upper Red River district. And you’ll have to continue as a clerk until you can return to the Rendezvous at Grand Portage in the spring—and then back to Montreal with the pork eaters at the end of the summer.” He put his other hand on the back of the chair to face her. “But I dinna think he’d make you do that. I think he’ll break his contract and take you home as soon as he marries you. I canna imagine a man wanting anything less.”

His words stirred the longing in her heart, but it was a longing for Reid and not for Stephen that warmed her. She hoped Reid’s guess was correct, however, and that Stephen would break his contract and return to England. Because the thought of doing all of that on her own was daunting.

Silence filled the space again.

Reid’s eye continued to swell, and the skin had turned from a light purple to a deeper purple.

Without asking him, she went to the medicine chest on the shelf and took out some lint and witch hazel. “If you’ll sit, I’ll treat your wounds.”

He pulled his chair out and sat, his hands on the table.

Charlotte brought the items to the table and wet the lint. A waft of the sweet-smelling astringent drifted to her nose. She set down the bottle and drew closer to Reid as he watched her.

As lightly as possible, she dabbed the skin near his eye with the witch hazel, wincing when he grimaced. “Sorry.”

She blew on the raw wound where his skin had split, and his face began to relax.

“I’ve missed you, Charlotte.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“I ken I disappointed you somehow. Things have not been the same between us.”

She folded the piece of lint and put more witch hazel on the clean cloth, then she dabbed at the scratch on his chin, not knowing how to respond. She couldn’t tell him the distance was because of love—not disappointment.

“If this is about Daanis and the night of the storm—”

“You owe me no explanation.”

“But I want you to understand.” He stilled her hand on his chin and met her troubled gaze. “I’ve made up my mind. I dinna plan to take her as my wife. I willna let her be a pawn in our trade war. I’ll find some other way to do my job.”

She admired him for it more than she could say, especially because it might cost him a great deal— if he could follow through with his plan.

Charlotte recorked the bottle and set it in the medicine chest. “What if she is not a pawn? What if she wants to marry you?”

“It changes nothing. I made a promise to myself and my mither. I willna take a country wife.”

“But she’s—she’s beautiful.”

A disarming smile turned up his lips. “You’re the bonniest lass I’ve ever set eyes on.”

It was a preposterous lie, of course. Especially dressed as she was. “Don’t jest, Reid.”

“I’m not.” He looked down at his hands. “Do you ken how difficult it was to share a tent with you all these months?”

Suddenly her mouth felt dry, and she longed for a sip to cool her. “Reid.” She forced herself to look at the cassette where Stephen’s letter was resting. It was dangerous, these waters they were treading. “Stephen is coming.”

“I ken it well, lass.” His face and voice were somber, and he sighed. “But do we need to keep a wall between us? I miss you.”

She knew he didn’t mean the literal wall that was now separating their sleeping quarters, but the invisible one she had placed around her heart. It was hard enough to know Stephen would take her away from Reid—but even harder to think of leaving Reid on bad terms.

She didn’t want to waste these last few weeks with him. “No, there doesn’t need to be one.”

“Good. Because I couldna stand to live with you and not have the pleasure of your friendship.”

“Friendship is all it must be.”

“Aye.” He nodded once. “And so it shall.”

Even if it could not last, she would force herself to focus on the present. It was far better than dwelling on a future uncertain and shadowed with grief.