by Jody Hedlund
Pierre stopped at the base of the hill and peered up the sloping incline to the top, where the blockhouse was slowly taking shape, along with a surrounding picket fence.
Fort George. That was what the British called it, naming it after their king. At least that was what he’d called it in his letter. Pierre had warned the Americans about the new fort and urged them to attack soon, before it was completed and before the Indian reinforcements arrived.
Now he could only pray the letter reached the Americans in time.
Pierre watched several workers trudge up the incline carrying stones. Only yesterday, Colonel McDouall had issued the order that every islander, including civilians, contribute three days of labor to the construction effort.
He’d heard the grumbling, but the colonel had warned that anyone who didn’t cooperate would get to spend three days in the Black Hole instead.
Pierre had assured the colonel that he’d take the evening shift and work as often as he could over the next three weeks. Yet privately he’d been more than a little irritated about the new order. He didn’t have the time to spare, and he didn’t want to help the British fortify their position.
At this point he was hoping the Americans would be able to take the island back. It would certainly make his life easier if Jean returned to the farm soon. Then he could be on his way again.
With a sigh he turned to go, only to find himself facing another group of civilians carrying the large stones that would be used to construct the bombproof storage building in the new fort. The outline of one young woman caught his attention.
“Angelique?”
She didn’t stop.
He followed after her. The overlong, dull gray skirt and formless bodice belonged to only one woman on the island.
“Angelique, wait.” He rushed to her side.
She was breathing hard under the heavy weight of the stone she carried. Her face was streaked with dirt and sweat. Her hands were red and chafed.
A burst of fury barreled into him. He reached for the stone and tried to wrest it from her grip as she trudged along. “What are you doing? Give me the rock.”
She glanced up at him with weary eyes.
“Let me carry it for you.”
She hesitated only a moment longer, then stopped and relinquished the stone.
He hefted it into his arms. It wasn’t heavy for him. In fact, he could have carried several. “Why are you carrying stones?”
She wiped her sleeve across her forehead before answering him. “Ebenezer has delegated his three days of work at the new fort to me.”
“That lazy old leech,” Pierre muttered. He wasn’t surprised Ebenezer had gotten out of his work and put the burden on Angelique. The man was a pompous crook.
“I suppose you have to work your own three days after you’re done with his?”
She nodded, staring at the hill that stretched before them.
He had the sudden urge to sweep her off her feet and take her someplace where she could rest. “It’s a good thing Ebenezer isn’t here or I’d teach him a lesson or two with my fist.”
“At least I’m free of the attic.”
“So that’s why you didn’t meet me for fishing yesterday morning?”
“He wouldn’t let me out.”
Fresh anger pumped through Pierre, tightening his muscles. “You need to leave him, Angelique. Why are you still living with him?”
She spun around to face him, her features tight with anger of her own. “And where would I go, Pierre? Where could I possibly go to be safe from him? And even if I could find a place to live, what kind of work would I do?”
Pierre was well aware of the only kind of work available to homeless, single young women. He loathed the thought of any such fate befalling Angelique.
“You could live with Maman.” Maman desperately needed the supervision and companionship. Even if he could find hired help for the farm, she’d still be alone in the house all winter. If Angelique came to stay with her, he’d be able to leave with peace of mind.
“There’s no place I could go on this island that would be safe for me. If I defied Ebenezer, he’d come get me and marry me off to the first trader to offer him a good deal—just like he did with Therese.”
“He doesn’t own you.”
“My mother gave him guardianship. He can do whatever he wants, and there’s no one to stop him.” The haunted sadness of her expression spoke of the nightmare she’d lived through with her sister.
“I’ll stop him.”
She gave a faint smile. “That’s sweet of you, Pierre, but you won’t be here to help me. You’ll be long gone.”
He felt helpless. Ebenezer could do anything he wanted to Angelique, and he wouldn’t be there—hadn’t been there—to protect her. The only thing that could keep her safe was marriage to Jean.
Even though he still scoffed at the idea of Angelique marrying Jean, he was beginning to understand why she’d agreed to the plan, and it was all the more reason to fight for the Americans and help them win the upcoming battle for the island. If Jean could come home and marry Angelique, she’d be safe.
“Maybe I won’t be able to protect you from Ebenezer after I leave,” he said. “But I can help you now.”
She quirked a brow at him.
“Stay here,” he said, reaching for her arm and guiding her to the shade of a nearby oak. “I want you to rest while I go talk with the officer in charge of the duties.”
“I don’t think I should rest.”
He gently pushed her down so that she was forced to lower herself. “Promise me you’ll stay here and wait for me?” He was relieved when her shoulders relaxed and she allowed herself to sit back. She looked up at him, her eyes warm and trusting. “Promise you’ll be waiting for me when I get back?” he asked again.
“I promise.” She smiled, and the beauty of it lit her face. She was completely guileless and sweet, devoid of the seductive charms and games that women like Lavinia McDouall attempted to use on him.
It was freeing to know that with Angelique he could be himself, that she knew and accepted him for who he was, faults and all—except for his spying. But it was safer for her if she didn’t know.
He wasted no time in making his way up the hill. He spoke with the officer in charge and then returned to Angelique, who was sitting where he’d left her.
He held out his hand to her. “Let’s go.”
She slipped her hand into his cautiously. “I can’t just go, Pierre.”
“Yes you can.”
“What about the work?”
“I paid so that you can take an hour break.” He pulled her to her feet.
“Paid?” She shook her head and started to pull her hand from his. “No, Pierre. I can’t let you do that. Besides, isn’t that bribery?”
But he wound his fingers through hers and tugged her forward. “It’s not bribery. It’s simply me getting my way. Don’t you know I’m a rich man now?”
“You? Rich?” She gave a soft laugh. “I’d like to see the day when you can hang on to your money. The Pierre I remember was always giving away or spending any pennies he earned.”
“I’d give it all away to make sure you didn’t have to carry any more heavy stones.”
She pulled back. “Are you sure I should leave my work?”
“Oui, ma cherie, I’m sure. The British like me, and they won’t care if I take you away to rest for a while.”
When finally she fell into step next to him, the tension of the morning eased from his body. Maybe he needed a break just as much as she did. Since coming back to the island and discovering the true state of Maman’s situation, stress had been his companion.
For an hour, he wanted to be free—free of guilt and worry and the constant work of the farm. Free to enjoy the beauty of the island, to feel the warm sunshine upon his head and listen to the birdcalls. And he couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d rather spend the time with than Angelique.
They made their way to th
e limestone bluffs east of the island, to the arched rock formation they’d gone to when they were children. They climbed to the center of the rock and situated themselves with legs dangling over the edge.
The long drop below didn’t frighten him, not when he’d been climbing onto the ledge for as long as he could remember. And he was glad Angelique was the kind of girl who’d never been afraid to trail after him on his dangerous escapades.
He took a deep breath of the crisp air at the same time she did, and together they smiled at the stretch of beach far below them and the endless blue of the lake beyond.
“Some things never change,” he said. “I’ll always love this island.”
He glanced to the horizon, to the endless possibilities, adventure, and excitement it held. His heart gave an extra beat in anticipation of the places he would go and the things he’d see this fall when he returned with his brigade to the wilderness, the beauty of the land, the thick untouched forests, the clear lakes, and the rivers so clean he could drink from them.
He loved not knowing what he would see around the next bend. He thrived on each new discovery and place, and the people he met. He even loved the grueling work of paddling all day and portaging the long distances between rivers.
“I breathe adventure, Angelique,” he said at last. “And as much as I love the island, I don’t know how I’d ever be content to live here year-round.”
She released a sigh.
For a long moment he wished he could tell her he’d stay. But he knew that would be a lie. Maybe someday he’d be ready to settle down, to have a permanent home, and do something else besides fur trading. For now, though, he couldn’t imagine that happening anytime soon.
The wind coming off the lake still had the chill of winter. But the sun’s rays poured down upon their heads, warming them. He glanced at Angelique and wished he could pull off her cap, let her hair tumble down around her shoulders.
“Lavinia McDouall is determined to make a lady of you, is she?”
Angelique screwed up her features into a look of disgust. “She won’t have much success. I’m not a lady and never will be.”
“Good. I like you just the way you are.”
She ducked her head and slid her hand over her skirt, covering a large stain. “I suppose I can learn a few things from her.”
“I’d hate for you to become too ladylike to sit up here with me or to fish or swim. That wouldn’t be any fun at all.”
“I’ll never be too ladylike for those things.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Besides, Miss McDouall might not be able to give me her lessons anyway. Lieutenant Steele came with a note yesterday explaining that our lessons are postponed since Miss McDouall is ill.”
“So I heard.”
“The fever and ague?”
“Non. Only a chill that she contracted during the voyage here.” He brushed his hand against the loose stones, sending a shower over the edge of the arch. “She should have stayed back in Montreal where she belongs.”
He could feel Angelique studying him, but he stared at the solid limestone ridge that jutted out around them. Ladies like Lavinia didn’t belong on Michilimackinac Island any more than women belonged out in the wilderness with the fur traders.
“It sounds like you care for Miss McDouall.” Her tone carried a hint of accusation.
He grinned. “And it sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Not in the least.”
“Admit it. You’re jealous.”
“I just can’t picture you with a woman like her.”
“The same way I can’t picture you with Jean.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t just let the issue go. Why did he care so much if Angelique married Jean?
Her eyes flickered with confusion and then with something raw and real. It was partly the admiration for him that she’d always shown, but it was more than that. It was something deeper that went into his blood, pumping it a little faster.
He knew he shouldn’t question her choice of Jean. His brother would give her a better life than any other man could. Jean would treat her kindly and provide for her needs. Pierre should be happy for her and encourage her choice of Jean . . . instead of making her second-guess it all the time.
“I’m sorry.” He peered toward the blue of the horizon, willing the American ships to make their appearance and put an end to the war that had been dragging on far too long. “I need to stop teasing you. Jean will be a good match for you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course he won’t be me.” Pierre tried to make his voice light. “But he’ll have to do.”
“No one can be you,” she whispered. There was a wistfulness in her tone that made him swivel so that he was facing her.
She looked up at him, revealing such a pure and shining adoration that his pulse sped again.
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for the strings of her mobcap and tugging them loose. He slid it off and freed her beautiful hair, so that her curls spilled around her face and over her shoulders. He let his fingers plunge into the silky thickness.
A tiny warning sounded at the back of his mind, but the deep, rich red that was softer and more luxurious than the best of his furs was too hard to resist. He intertwined his fingers and brought a fistful to his cheek. The softness caressed his skin. From there it was all too easy to bring the long tresses to his lips, to graze her curls, and to allow them to tantalize him.
He had the sudden desire to pull her into his arms, to hold her, and to bury his face in her hair. And when he locked eyes with her, the intensity of the longing in her expression sent a ripple of warm waves against his chest.
Her breath came in a gasp between her full and pretty lips.
What would it be like to kiss her?
He’d stolen plenty of kisses from women over the past several years, during the summer rendezvous, especially during his years of rebellion against everything Maman had ever taught him.
It would be all too easy to slide his arms around Angelique now and take a kiss from her. He could charm her into responding. He’d done it before to other women. She wouldn’t want to resist him. He’d make sure of it.
His fingers in her hair tightened.
Had Jean kissed her?
He shook his head at the vision of Jean pulling Angelique into his arms and laying his lips against hers. He couldn’t imagine it—didn’t want to even think about it.
Slowly he pried his fingers from her hair. God help him, but he couldn’t kiss Angelique—not now, not ever. What was wrong with him? How could he even consider such a thing?
She didn’t deserve a fickle man like him toying with her emotions. She didn’t need someone using her or taking advantage of her. Non. She needed him to keep her safe from men like himself. She deserved so much more than a few stolen kisses.
He gritted his teeth and wrenched his hand away from her, every muscle protesting the move.
She let out a soft sigh. Was she relieved to have avoided the awkward moment?
With a shaky laugh he said, “I couldn’t resist seeing your beautiful hair.”
The cries of sea gulls circling over the water below echoed in the air around them, preventing the need for an immediate answer.
Before he knew what she was doing, she’d reached for his hat and swiped it from his head. “I suppose it’s only fair if you can bare my head, that I can do the same to you.”
“I give you my full permission.”
She held his hat out above the ledge. It was one of the hats Maman had woven, perfect for working in the sun. The straw was cooler than felt, and the brim wider, providing protection from the sun.
“If you want your hat back,” she said with a smile, “you also have to give me permission to touch your hair.”
He was relieved she hadn’t taken him too seriously, that she could easily forgive him for his forwardness and make light of it. He shook his head, loosening the strands and letting them flop in disarray. �
�If you want to touch this awful mess, be my guest.”
She tugged playfully at one of the waves that fell across his forehead. Then she combed it back into submission with the rest of his wayward curls.
The gentle touch was innocent enough, but it made him want to lean his head back, close his eyes, and give her the freedom to keep combing.
“Even your hair seems to have a wild streak.” She smoothed the hair against his head.
He held himself rigid, hoping she wouldn’t realize what effect she was having on him. Her touch reminded him again that he wasn’t a boy anymore, and neither was she a child. He was a man with very manly desires. He’d never expected that he would need to restrain himself with Angelique.
But she’d grown into a desirable woman. And now he would have to try even harder to keep himself from being a fool around her.
He stood and held out a hand to her. “Let’s go down and wade in the water and cool our feet before we have to go back.”
She readily accepted his hand.
He had three weeks on the island. That wasn’t long. If he set his mind to it, he could cherish her as a friend—like he always had—and nothing more.
Chapter
10
Angelique wiped the last bowl with sand, cleaning it of any remaining traces of pigeon pie Pierre had baked for their noon meal. The scent of peppercorn and onion lingered, not only in the grain of the wooden bowl but also on her tongue.
“It’s such a treat to have pigeon again,” Miriam said from her chair placed in the shade of the lilac bushes outside the cabin.
Miriam’s words echoed Angelique’s sentiments—except that Miriam was much more positive than Angelique, who couldn’t help thinking how glad she was to have a break from the whitefish and trout that had kept them alive during the days of starvation that spring.
She knew she shouldn’t complain. She should be grateful for the steady supply of fish she’d been able to catch all winter. But after partaking of Pierre’s meals all week, and the fowl he’d shot, she didn’t know how she’d be satisfied with plain and simple fish ever again.
Her eyes went to his broad back, the seams of his cotton shirt stretching under the strain of his work repairing the picket fence around the vegetable garden. She’d helped him plant it that week during the noon break that he’d managed to arrange for her every day from her required work on Fort George.