The hivernant snickered. “Ask her. She is my woman, the mother of mon enfant. She does not want an English fop with a stupid chapeau.”
Nindaanis clutched Ian’s coat and leaned into his back. His solid strength gave her courage, but she felt anger seething in him.
Her throat constricted when he slowly peeled off his coat, then turned and laid it across her arms. He removed his hat and placed it on top of the coat. “This will only take a moment,” he told her with a smile, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Dinna worry.”
Trembling, she held the clothing to her breast and perched her chin on his hat as he strode forward to confront Henri, fists raised.
Henri copied Ian’s stance, but the confident smirk disappeared from his face. He’d obviously expected his opponent to back down, but her champion cared enough to want to protect her from a ruffian she recognised now as a bully.
She wanted to cheer when the tall Scot landed a punch squarely on Henri’s jaw. Clearly startled, he recoiled, then struck out with his right fist. Ian ducked and countered with a blow to Henri’s nose. The hivernant staggered backwards as blood spurted from his nostrils.
For a tall, well-muscled man, Ian was light on his feet. “You want more?” he taunted as his opponent swayed towards him. “I have to warn you that accusing a Scotsman of being English tends to…”
She wasn’t sure if Henri understood or if he’d simply had enough. He spat into the dirt and disappeared into the bushes.
She grinned at Ian when he returned to where she stood. “Thank you,” she said, handing him his hat and coat. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
He shrugged on his coat and tucked his hat under his arm, then took her hand. The warmth of his gentle grasp was comforting.
“I want to be your champion for always, my lovely Nindaanis,” he said.
His husky voice wrapped tendrils of hope around her heart, but she nigh on swooned at his next words.
“I’d like to wed you, but I’m unfamiliar with your customs. Do I need to ask your mother’s permission?”
~~*~~
Ian cringed inwardly. Could he have sounded more like a dour Scot? What kind of convoluted proposal was that! He could only blame the pain in his bruised knuckles.
When Nindaanis almost toppled over, he put his hand on her waist. “Forgive me. I’m so smitten with you I don’t know what I am saying. What I meant was, I want you to be my wife.”
His spirits plummeted when she shook her head, her gaze fixed on her moccasins. “I have a child,” she said.
There might be a chance. “I’m smitten with him too,” he quipped.
She looked into his eyes. “I believe you truly care for me.”
He put both hands on her waist. “Yes. Dare I hope you like me too?”
His heart rejoiced when she blushed, then went up on tiptoe and put her lips to his.
Her kiss was tentative, unpractised, but its innocent fervor lit a fire in his loins. He growled and lifted her to his body, deepening the kiss, all the while telling himself it was too soon to be so aggressive.
He’d have shouted out his euphoria when she opened her mouth to his coaxing and touched her tongue to his, but he was too busy savoring the taste of newly baked bread, and inhaling the aroma of cedar and woodsmoke. She tilted her hips to his hard need. The heat of her body warmed his hands and fired his blood.
She wanted him.
“The answer is yes, I take it?” he asked when they broke apart for air.
She frowned. “But we have no dwelling. You can’t live in the encampment and I can’t move into the bunkhouse.”
Now he was glad he was a canny Scot who’d already foreseen the problem. “I’ve offered to lease one of the company farms that happens to be vacant.”
He didn’t bother to go into the scolding he’d received from his McGillivray relatives when he’d broached the topic of marriage to a Métis woman. What mattered was they’d eventually given permission.
“But you’re not a farmer,” she replied.
“Actually, my family has raised cattle for generations in Scotland and I’ll still have my employment as a clerk. Who knows, I might even work my way up to a full partnership in the company. My cousins were impressed that I want to put down roots here, help the settlement grow. I think they doubted I’d stay for the long haul.”
“Cousins?”
Perhaps he’d said too much. “Aye. They’re on the North West Company Board. Let’s find your mother and tell her the good news.”
~~*~~
Three weeks later, on the morning after the ceremony binding her in marriage to Ian Donaldson, Nindaanis awoke and stretched like a contented cat, relishing the feel of linen on her naked skin. She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings. It would take a while to get used to waking in a log farmhouse instead of a teepee, but she had no doubt the sturdy chinked walls would provide warmth and comfort for her family in the winter.
Family.
She sat up abruptly wondering where Ian had gone.
She clutched the linens to her breasts, her body quivering with delight at the memory of her wedding night. Ian had quickly taught her what she’d experienced with Henri had nothing to do with love.
Indeed, she could scarcely wait to feel Ian’s manhood inside her again, though the first glimpse of his magnificent maleness had sent a pang of apprehension scurrying across her nape.
It struck her as oddly funny she hadn’t set eyes on Henri’s male part that ill-fated night, but was smugly certain he wasn’t as well endowed as her husband. Yet the guide’s penetration had been painful, whereas Ian had patiently introduced her to unimagined sexual pleasures, and hadn’t been at all annoyed by her screams of delight.
But then he’d done a fair amount of growling and hollering himself, though his cries must have been in some language spoken only in Scotland.
She startled when a fully-clothed and flushed Ian burst through the door, Gabriel’s cradleboard strapped to his back. “You went to get him from my mother?”
“Aye,” he replied, brandishing a letter. “Get dressed, lazybones. William and Duncan have promised to post this missive to my parents once they reach Montreal, and they’re about to leave with the last canoe.”
She got up and hastily pulled a cotton frock over her head. She fretted about what the letter might contain as she tied the red sash around her waist. “Will they be angry you’ve married a Métis?”
He put his hands on her shoulders. The love in his green eyes humbled her. “When they read how ecstatic I am, they’ll be happy too.”
He eased the cradleboard off his broad shoulders and looped the straps over hers. Gabriel slept on. “Come on, the sooner we get this posted, the sooner we can come back and spend the day in bed.”
She frowned. “But you have to go to the Counting House, and the cows…”
He wiggled his brows, a gleam in his eyes. “Already milked, and my benevolent cousins have granted me the day off from my clerking duties.”
She hesitated as he led her through the door, feeling she was crossing the threshold into a new life. “It’s hard to believe the Great Rendezvous is done for another year,” she said. “Before you know it, autumn will be over and winter will be here. I hope you won’t regret your decision to stay.”
He laughed. “Let the winds howl out of the north and the snow pile high in drifts, so long as I have you to warm my bed and brighten my life. Besides, it canna be any worse than winter in the Highlands.”
Nindaanis had never traveled to Scotland, but she held her tongue. He’d have the chance to test that theory soon enough.
HISTORICAL NOTES
The Fur Trade played a vital role in the development of Canada, and the western part of North America in general, all thanks to the lowly beaver. The animal’s fur was used to make the top hats fashionable for decades with gentlemen in many countries.
The bitter rivalry between the two main fur-trading companies, Hudson’s Bay and the North West Company, is well
documented. A Google search will turn up lots of good information.
However, if you want a taste of life as it was for the men and women who lived and breathed the fur trade, a visit to Fort William Historical Park in Thunder Bay, Ontario, is a MUST. http://fwhp.ca/
Wander through the fort, visit the canoe repair sheds, the dairy, the bakery, and all the places I mention in my story, including Boucher’s House and the native encampment.
You will love the experience of living history.
ABOUT ANNA
Thank you for reading Rendezvous. I enjoyed writing about a more “modern” era than the medieval times I normally use for my settings. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the collection, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
For a complete list of my books and Montbryce/FitzRam family trees, you can visit my website, or consult the list with links at the end of this story. I also have a Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.
Tweet me @annamarkland, and join me on Pinterest. If you want to try another sample of my work, you can download a FREE novella, Defiant Passion.
In my bestselling, page-turning novels passion conquers whatever obstacles a hostile medieval world can throw in its path. Besides writing, I have two addictions-crosswords and genealogy, probably the reason I love research.
I am a fool for cats.
I live on Canada’s scenic west coast now, but I was born and raised in the UK and I love breathing life into European history.
Escape with me to where romance began.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do.
MORE ANNA MARKLAND
If you prefer to read sagas in chronological order, here’s a handy list for the Montbryce family books.
Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen
If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen
A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta
Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni
Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina
Passion in the Blood—Robert and Dorianne, Baudoin and Carys
Dark and Bright—Rhys and Annalise
The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun and Glain, Rhydderch and Isolda
Dance of Love—Izzy and Farah
Carried Away—Blythe and Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan and Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna and Reider
Hearts and Crowns—Gallien and Peridotte
Fatal Truths—Alex and Elayne
Sinful Passions—Bronson and Grace; Rodrick and Swan
Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk and Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein and Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus and Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram and Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew and Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar and Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise and Anne—Kindle Worlds
An Unkissable Knight—Dervenn and Victorine in The Kissing Bough
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade and Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden and Charlotte
Book 2.5 Highland Dawn—Keith and Aurora (a Kindle Worlds book)
Book III Roses Among the Heather—Blair &Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia and Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther and Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon and Zara
Myth and Mystery
The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn and Aislinn
Link to Amazon page
PRAIRIE STORM
BY
SYLVIE GRAYSON
CHAPTER 1~THE WELL
Shane Narraway stopped digging and pushed his battered hat to the back of his head. The sun was high, glaring down on the grasslands with a fierce heat. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his forehead, mopping the sweat that ran down the sides of his face. He’d considered taking his shirt off, but didn’t want to get sunburned down in this hole. He wasn’t used to the heat after the long cold winter. But he had to get the well dug.
What was a house without water? And no woman wanted to marry a man who didn’t have a house. Yet marrying was exactly what he had in mind.
He shovelled dirt into buckets, then climbed the ladder to the surface—which still wasn’t far enough away. Ropes were threaded through pulleys and he used them to tug the buckets up, dumping the dirt to the side. It was slow work. His brother Thom had promised to spend time helping him as soon as the planting was done, so he was doing his best to be ready. Two men digging and pulling moved much more dirt than one.
Back in the hole, he dug harder, pleased to see moisture beginning to collect in the bottom. Working with a short-handled shovel was one of the things his father hated most. Dad always complained that if a man was using a short-handled shovel, he was digging in confined spaces, the most difficult of jobs. There was even a song about it, with a chorus that said something about in heaven there weren’t no short-handled shovels, no axes, saws or picks.
He glanced at the sky again. Time for lunch, then he’d hitch the team and plough till dusk. Shane climbed the ladder, emptied the last buckets, and headed toward the barn—the only building on his quarter section, one hundred and sixty acres. That’s where his horses were stabled, and where he slept in the loft. Things were coming together just as he’d planned, although it was taking longer than he thought it would.
It was 1918 and the Great War was still dragging on over in Europe. He and his brothers hadn’t been called up for military duty because they were farmers. That hadn’t held Jake back. He’d signed up the minute the government put out the call for volunteers. But those who were left behind couldn’t slack off. They had a duty of a different sort—to help feed the country and provide grain for the allies overseas.
~~*~~
That night some of the Narraway family gathered at Joe and Annie’s for dinner. Joe was the eldest of the six Narraway sons, although only Father and five boys had farms here. One brother, James, had died of tuberculosis in childhood, before the family moved to Saskatchewan from the rocky fields of northern Ontario. Lewis still had a farm, although had moved to town after an accident with the threshing machine had left him with a limp. The last news they’d had of brother Jake was that his unit had been posted to the fighting in France.
Tonight Annie had roasted two chickens and Shane was hungry. Lunch usually consisted of bread and cheese, with water from the river. This well he was digging had better start producing soon, because he was damned tired of dragging water from the river in barrels on a stoneboat. The horses drank a lot, no surprise there, but the river water tasted punky in spring when the runoff from the land was still pouring past.
“How’s it coming?” Joe asked as he knocked the dust from his boots at the back door. Tall and lean like Shane, he had the same sandy red hair. “I’ll be through planting in another week or ten days. I can help after that.”
Shane leaned against the door frame. “It’s coming,” he said. “I plough all afternoon.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, the horses can’t go much longer than seven or eight hours at a stretch. You’ll wear them out and they’ll be no good to you come harvest.”
He shrugged. “Thom said he’d be free to help in a couple of days, so I’ll hang onto that.”
The men shuffled into the kitchen and washed up in a basin at the dry sink, drying their hands on a towel hanging from a nail by the door.
Annie gave him a cheerful greeting and put a piece of bread and butter on the tray of the high chair where her youngest was howling. Three other children occupied a bench down one side of t
he table. The two oldest were still fetching dishes and cutlery for the meal.
The baby stopped crying and eyed the bread suspiciously before picking it up and stuffing it into his mouth, tears still standing out on his red cheeks.
Joe picked up the carving knife. “Dinner almost ready?” he asked. As Annie nodded and ladled gravy into a jug, the door opened again. Mum and Dad had arrived, bringing with them hot pans of steamed chard and baked tomatoes from last year’s preserves.
Shane leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek. “You guys good?”
She smiled and patted his chin, which, given her short stature, was all she could reach. “We’re just fine, Shane. Good to see you. Hear you’re digging a well. When does the house go up?”
Joe laughed and Shane’s face heated. “Whenever these no-good brothers of mine can get into gear,” he growled. “Now that they all have a place of their own, they aren’t too anxious about building a house for me.”
The family crammed onto chairs and benches. Dad said grace, and everyone helped themselves as Annie spooned food onto her children’s plates. She and Joe had six kids but Shane knew there was another one on the way, probably just before Christmas. Joe hadn’t said anything yet, but his wife displayed obvious signs.
“Where’s Uncle Thom?” one of the children asked. Thom was older than Shane, the second-to-last son, whose land abutted Joe’s.
“Thom’s still working,” Shane said. “He’s almost done ploughing, says he can begin seeding tomorrow,” he added in answer to Joe’s raised eyebrow.
“When are you finished planting?” Dad asked. “Your horses holding up?” The sons would work together to help plant Dad’s and Jake’s fields as soon as their own were done.
Dreams and Promises: Love, Loss and Redemption in a Land of Infinite Promise Page 3
