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

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

T he trading room felt overly warm. Smoke from the fireplace mingled with the stale scent of alcohol and sweat as Reid stood with six Indian men haggling over the price of the fur they had brought to him. Jacques and the interpreter were also there, prolonging the exchange.

All Reid wanted to do was to return to Charlotte.

For three days, he had spent almost every moment by her side. Noemie and Daanis had insisted on staying with him around the clock, for which he was grateful, but he couldn’t risk leaving Charlotte alone with either one of them.

This morning, when Jacques told Reid it was vital that he meet with this group of Indians, Reid had sent Noemie and Daanis to Curly Head’s village to retrieve herbs from his healer for a poultice.

Thankfully, Charlotte had been resting peacefully when he’d left her not more than twenty minutes ago—but it was twenty minutes too long.

“Mr. Crawford is awake.”

Reid turned away from the men and found Daanis standing in the door to the storage room.

“You were with him? I thought you went with Noemie.” Momentary panic filled his chest. Had she guessed Charlotte’s secret?

Daanis nodded but didn’t seem alarmed or concerned, so perhaps she hadn’t.

“Thank you.” Reid left the trading room without excusing himself, pushing his way past Daanis.

Charlotte was finally awake.

He’d never been more relieved in his life.

Smoothing his hair away from his face, he suddenly felt nervous to see her again. Would she remember what happened the day she was shot? There had been no witnesses or clues, nothing to help him learn the truth. The marks in the mud near the stockade were unhelpful because of all the foot traffic coming and going from the fort that day.

Pushing open the door, he stepped into the small room, then closed the door behind him for privacy. Charlotte was on her bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. The air was cool, and the heat from the fireplace in the main room did not reach her here.

Thankfully, she did not burn with fever, though that could still happen. He’d bled her twice since she was shot. His medical instruction book told him it was the best thing he could do for a bullet wound. He would do whatever it would take to make her well.

At the sound of his footsteps, she opened her eyes.

The love he felt for her became so strong and so sweet in that moment that he couldn’t help but kneel beside her bed and pull her hand out from under the blanket and press it against his lips. “Charlotte.” He breathed out her name. “Thank God you’re alive.”

She squeezed his hand, and though it was a weak grasp, he briefly closed his eyes with relief.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asked, searching her beautiful face.

“Love?” she whispered.

He swallowed and touched the curls lying on her pillow. “You must ken the truth.”

Tears gathered in her brown eyes, and she blinked several times, but they slipped down her cheeks.

He wiped one away with his finger and tried to smile, but he was too overcome with the reality of what he was confessing. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved Charlotte. It was both freedom and vulnerability, ecstasy and torture. It consumed him so fully, there was nothing he could do but tell her.

“Reid—” Charlotte tried to move but winced.

“Shh.” He put his hand on her healthy shoulder to keep her still. “You dinna need to speak.” He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, loving the feel of her soft skin. “You had me scared these past three days, and I told myself if you survived—” He paused, hating how terrified he’d felt while she’d been unconscious. He was in love with her, and nothing could change that fact.

“If I survived?”

“If you survived, I wouldna keep my feelings hidden from you any longer.”

She nibbled her bottom lip in a way that had become as dear to him as everything else about her.

“I—” She blinked again and swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

His chest constricted, and he realized that he had wanted her to tell him that she loved him too. It was a foolish desire, and he’d been unwise to share his heart. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel obligated to respond. “Dinna say anything, lass. I shouldna spoken—especially not now when you’re still recovering.” He pushed away from her bed and pulled the chair close beside her. It would be better to talk about something that didn’t concern his feelings for her. “Now that you’re awake, can you tell me what happened the day you were shot?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyes hooded with uncertainty.

“What is it?” he asked.

Licking her lips, she slipped her hand back under the covers. “I don’t remember.”

He’d been afraid of that. She had hit her head hard and been unconscious for days. Maybe he could help her remember.

“Have you left the stockade alone before?”

“No.”

“Then why did you decide to go that day?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“You dinna remember?”

She was so still as she lay on the bed, her face pale. “No.”

Reid nodded. He wanted to know what had happened, but it wasn’t as important as having her return to him. “If you remember anything about that day, please tell me.”

“I will.”

He hated to know that whoever had shot her was on the loose somewhere, but hopefully they were far away. He’d do everything he could to protect her from this day forward.

“I’m just happy you’re awake.” He moved one of her curls off her forehead. “I’ve been praying for you night and day.”

“Thank you.” Her eyelids started to lower with exhaustion.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back in a wee bit with some broth.”

He stood and walked to her door.

“Reid?”

He turned. “Aye?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful?” He frowned and walked back to her bed. “About what?”

“Everything.”

“Lass?” He knelt by her side again, confused. “What aren’t you telling me, Charlotte?”

“I just want you to be careful.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t trust anyone. Promise me.” Her voice was so full of pleading, how could he say no?

“Of course. I promise.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

He left her room, his heart heavy with the words she’d spoken—and those she’d left unsaid.

It was two weeks before Charlotte was able to get out of bed. Another week before she didn’t feel as weak as a newborn lamb, and a week after that before she felt almost like herself again.

And in those four weeks, she kept the truth about Daanis and Lachlan to herself. She never spoke of the day she was shot, and Daanis didn’t return to the post to tell the truth about Charlotte.

After Reid’s confession in her sickroom, he never spoke about his feelings for her again, either, though she often saw them in his eyes and in the way he cared for her. She loved him too, more now than ever, but she refused to let herself dwell on her feelings. It would only hurt worse if she confessed her heart to him. Both Stephen and Roger were well overdue. One day soon, they would appear, and she must be prepared for either.

October had turned to November and the land took on a death pall. Where there was once lush green foliage, now bare brown branches reached to the pale sky. The Mississippi was low—so low a few of the men had waded across to Crow Wing Island in water barely above their knees.

One afternoon, Charlotte stood outside the row house on her way back from the necessary and paused as large white tufts of snow fell from the sky. She lifted her hand, and one dropped into her palm and began to melt. As they fell to the cold, frozen ground, they collected, soon covering her whole world in a soft blanket.

The ugly brown earth was fresh and new again.

With a smile, Charlotte pushed open the door into the trading room and stepped inside.

Reid and Jean-Paul looked up from a piece of paper on the counter and stopped talking.

Charlotte stilled with her hand on the doorknob.

Reid’s face was red with fury, and Jean-Paul’s eyes were clouded with concern.

“Come in and close the door,” Reid said, his voice hoarse. “This concerns you.”

Her heart hammered as she closed the door.

The rage in Reid’s face mixed with something more—panic? He looked as if he wanted to gather her in his arms, but he couldn’t do that with Jean-Paul present.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“An anonymous note slipped under the door moments after you left.” Reid clutched the piece of paper in his hand. “Someone saw Lachlan and Daanis together the morning you were shot—and they saw Lachlan pull the trigger.”

Charlotte’s mouth slipped open. Who saw? And why had they waited so long to share the truth? Worse, what would keep Daanis from revealing Charlotte’s secret now that Reid knew about Lachlan?

“Do you remember anything?” Reid asked. “Do you remember Lachlan shooting you? All I have is this note—and ’tis not even signed. ’Tis my word against his, unless you remember something. If we can prove he shot you, we can have him removed from his post and brought to trial for attempted murder.”

And Reid would win the unseen war he battled with his half brother and father.

The desire to tell him the truth nearly choked her, but how could she? If she did, Daanis would reveal the truth about Charlotte, Reid would lose his job, and if Roger came, he’d force her back to England.

Reid moved around the counter and came to stand directly in front of Charlotte. “Do you remember who shot you, Charlie? ’Tis a simple question.”

Her hands trembled and her stomach turned, but she had to look him in the eyes and lie. “No.”

He studied her, his jaw tight. “I dinna believe you.”

“Mr. Crawford is not on trial,” Jean-Paul said to Reid, his voice patient and calm. “We will have to investigate this claim to see if it is true. I will ask Daanis to meet with us, and we can question her.”

Reid clenched his jaw. “I willna get the truth out of her either.”

It was the first time she saw disappointment in his gaze directed at her, and it hurt deeply.

Without another word, Reid grabbed his coat and hat off a hook.

“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked.

“I am going to speak to my brother and get the truth out of him.”

Alarm seized her, and she put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Don’t go, Reid.”

“It isn’t wise.” Jean-Paul strode across the room. “You are angry, and you’ll only make things worse.”

He yanked his arm away from Charlotte and pulled his coat over his shoulders. “I willna let him get away with this.” Reid met Charlotte’s gaze, pain and anger mingling with fear. “He could have killed you, and for whatever reason, you’re letting him get away with it. I won’t.”

“If you insist on going, let me come with you,” Jean-Paul said.

“No.” Reid grabbed his hat. “This is between me and my brother.”

Charlotte gripped Reid’s arm again, heedless of Jean-Paul. “Don’t go. I beg you.”

Reid did not listen—or if he did, he chose to ignore her, because he pulled away and left the row house without looking back.

The XY post stood before Reid in the falling snow like a formidable fortress, its tall pickets pointing toward the heavens like sentinels. Rage burned deep within his gut and propelled his feet to carry him over the distance on the frozen ground.

Reid didn’t know what made him angrier, that Lachlan had shot Charlotte, or that she would lie about it. Why would she want to protect his brother?

The gates were open, and Reid walked into the stockade yard. One campfire burned to his right, and a woman stood near it, stirring dirty laundry in a cauldron. The snow fell into the water, melting before it touched the surface. She didn’t pay him any attention as he crossed the yard and walked into the trading house.

Lachlan stood alone in the room, behind the counter, a ledger before him. When he glanced up, his eyes focused on Reid, and he braced his hands on either side of the book. “What do you want?”

Reid planted his feet and crossed his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was older than Lachlan, or Lachlan was older than him—but it was clear that his father had created two families at the same time. Did either wife know about the other at the time? “I came to tell you I ken you shot Mr. Crawford.”

Lachlan did not react, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

“And I willna let you get away with it,” Reid said.

Lachlan straightened. “You have no proof.”

“I have an eyewitness as well as Mr. Crawford’s testimony.” Reid took a step toward Lachlan, his hands balled into fists. “You will hang for attempted manslaughter.”

“It will be your word against mine.” Lachlan snorted in disgust. “Besides, this isna about your clerk. This is about our faither and your need for revenge.”

Reid didn’t respond.

It was about both.

“There are others,” Lachlan said evenly. “I have three sisters and two brothers.”

His father had six other children—besides Reid?

“He sent my brothers and me to Montreal to school.” Lachlan walked around the counter to stand before Reid. “I saw you, many times at church and other places—and I laughed every time, because I knew that our faither chose to stay with me when he could have returned to you.”

Anger blurred Reid’s vision and made his hands shake with the need to punch the smug look off Lachlan’s face.

“I wasna the only one to laugh.” Lachlan looked Reid up and down, a smirk on his lips. “All my friends laughed too. You were a great joke to all of us.”

Reid caught Lachlan’s chin with his right fist, snapping his brother’s head back. Lachlan fell against a shelf, sending several trade goods scattering to the floor. He touched his jaw and then barreled into Reid’s gut, pinning him to the opposite wall.

Energy raced through Reid’s limbs as he lost his footing and fell to the ground. Lachlan sat on top of him and threw punches into Reid’s face, but Reid rolled and tossed him aside.

His brother scrambled to his feet and Reid followed, but Lachlan threw a punch before Reid could steady himself. It connected with Reid’s nose. Blood began to flow from his nostrils. His jaw ached, but he would not back down.

This was about more than Lachlan. It was about all the years of pain and heartache his father had inflicted upon Reid and his mother. Reid had felt so helpless—until now. For the first time in his life, he could do something with his anger. He fought in a blind rage until the door flew open and three of Lachlan’s voyageurs entered the trading room. They lifted Reid off the floor and held him as Lachlan rose, wiping blood from his lip.

Lachlan approached and punched Reid’s gut several more times. Reid knew the moment his rib cracked. It sent searing pain through his chest, and he doubled over, his breath rushing from his lungs.

“Toss him out of the fort,” Lachlan demanded. “And if you see him anywhere near here again, show him what happens to the unwanted trash.”

“I will prove you shot Mr. Crawford,” Reid gasped. “And you will hang.”

Lachlan laughed and then winced, holding his side. “You canna prove anything.”

The voyageurs pulled Reid from the trading house before he could respond to Lachlan and threw him onto the frozen ground just beyond the fort gates. Reid tried to stand, but stumbled and fell, gritting his teeth from the pain.

Lachlan came to the open gate, hatred seething from his face. “This is not the end. You will hear from me soon—and you will regret coming here.”

Reid pulled himself from the ground, breathing hard. His brother could threaten all he wanted, but the truth would prevail, and Lachlan would be removed from his post. It might take time, but eventually Reid would win the trade war.

And he’d finally be able to face his father as the victor.