impenetrable woodlands.
What lay in store for her now? Would they even have a roof over their heads and a place to call their own? How would she pass the days, for plainly there was no call for an ale house there. What a silly notion that had been.
She swiped her fingers across her cheeks to dry them and then sucked in a huge breath of sparkling fresh air to steady herself.
“Why are we here?” she blurted when Temple moved to stand beside her.
He tapped her on the tip of the nose. “You’re here to hide, remember? From the constables. And I’m here to earn a living.”
“Couldn’t we have found somewhere closer?” A wave of homesickness rolled over her and she squeezed shut her eyes. “How long do we have to stay here? I want to go back.”
“Not long, Simone. I’ll fulfil my obligations to the North West Company then we’ll go.” He dropped a hand on her shoulder.
A brotherly gesture, nothing more, but she took comfort in it and lifted her hand to her shoulder to cover his. They stood silent for a moment, gazing out over the silken water reflecting the pristine clouds and blue June sky.
“I can see why this land is called New Caledonia,” he remarked. “I visited the Scottish highlands once. It looks very similar.”
“Wouldn’t the Scottish highlands have more people?” An inane comment but at least it gave her a chance to collect herself. She dropped her hand and stepped away. No use thinking he meant anything by the gesture.
“I daresay yes,” Temple grinned. “Anywhere would have more people than here.” He tilted his head back to watch an eagle circle high over them, a scrap of feathers against the soaring sky. “Magnificent birds, aren’t they?”
“It’s just as well there are so few people here.” Her voice trembled. Blinking hard against the still threatening tears, she pointed first to her heavy woollen dress, soiled and stained from the journey, sleeves rolled up against the heat, then to her discarded boots, muddied and worn at the heels.
“Our attire would turn more than a few heads in London,” he hooted. “Fashion pariahs we are.”
“If nothing else, it’s practical.” A strange voice interrupted them.
They both whirled about to see a dark-haired white man on horseback drawing to halt. He slid off his mount and threw the reins over a bush before approaching them, hand extended.
Intelligent eyes peered at them from beneath quizzical eyebrows and a receding hairline, and long sideburns feathered away along his clean-shaven jaw. His clothing was European in fashion: trousers, jacket and high-collared shirt. In short, a welcome breath of civilization.
“Daniel Harmon,” he said. “And you are the new partner sent by the North West Company? Your travelling companions told me,” he added.
“Yes, Temple Wellington.” The men shook hands, eyeing each other up and down like bulldogs. Apparently satisfied with what they saw, they broke apart.
“But who are you?” Daniel pointed at Simone.
“Mrs Wellington,” she answered. Temple had instructed her not to use his title so as not to arouse too much curiosity and by now “Mrs” slipped off her tongue naturally. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Harmon.” She bobbed a stiff curtsy, the first one in a long while and a welcome reminder of refined manners.
Daniel stared at Simone, clearly amazed but too courteous to say anything.
“I couldn’t bear to part with my darling wife. Simone agreed to accompany me,” Temple interjected, correctly interpreting the expression on the other man’s face. “I know it’s rather unusual.”
“Yes,” Daniel replied. “Some of the French Canadian traders travel with their wives, but they’re native women. You are the first European woman I’ve seen this far in the wilderness. How very brave and adventurous of you.”
“Yes, my wife is an extraordinary woman.” A half-smile curled Temple’s lips.
Simone felt Temple’s gaze on her, warm and admiring.
What lay in store for her now? Would they even have a roof over their heads and a place to call their own? How would she pass the days, for plainly there was no call for an ale house there. What a silly notion that had been.
She swiped her fingers across her cheeks to dry them and then sucked in a huge breath of sparkling fresh air to steady herself.
“Why are we here?” she blurted when Temple moved to stand beside her.
He tapped her on the tip of the nose. “You’re here to hide, remember? From the constables. And I’m here to earn a living.”
“Couldn’t we have found somewhere closer?” A wave of homesickness rolled over her and she squeezed shut her eyes. “How long do we have to stay here? I want to go back.”
“Not long, Simone. I’ll fulfil my obligations to the North West Company then we’ll go.” He dropped a hand on her shoulder.
A brotherly gesture, nothing more, but she took comfort in it and lifted her hand to her shoulder to cover his. They stood silent for a moment, gazing out over the silken water reflecting the pristine clouds and blue June sky.
“I can see why this land is called New Caledonia,” he remarked. “I visited the Scottish highlands once. It looks very similar.”
“Wouldn’t the Scottish highlands have more people?” An inane comment but at least it gave her a chance to collect herself. She dropped her hand and stepped away. No use thinking he meant anything by the gesture.
“I daresay yes,” Temple grinned. “Anywhere would have more people than here.” He tilted his head back to watch an eagle circle high over them, a scrap of feathers against the soaring sky. “Magnificent birds, aren’t they?”
“It’s just as well there are so few people here.” Her voice trembled. Blinking hard against the still threatening tears, she pointed first to her heavy woollen dress, soiled and stained from the journey, sleeves rolled up against the heat, then to her discarded boots, muddied and worn at the heels.
“Our attire would turn more than a few heads in London,” he hooted. “Fashion pariahs we are.”
“If nothing else, it’s practical.” A strange voice interrupted them.
They both whirled about to see a dark-haired white man on horseback drawing to halt. He slid off his mount and threw the reins over a bush before approaching them, hand extended.
Intelligent eyes peered at them from beneath quizzical eyebrows and a receding hairline, and long sideburns feathered away along his clean-shaven jaw. His clothing was European in fashion: trousers, jacket and high-collared shirt. In short, a welcome breath of civilization.
“Daniel Harmon,” he said. “And you are the new partner sent by the North West Company? Your travelling companions told me,” he added.
“Yes, Temple Wellington.” The men shook hands, eyeing each other up and down like bulldogs. Apparently satisfied with what they saw, they broke apart.
“But who are you?” Daniel pointed at Simone.
“Mrs Wellington,” she answered. Temple had instructed her not to use his title so as not to arouse too much curiosity and by now “Mrs” slipped off her tongue naturally. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Harmon.” She bobbed a stiff curtsy, the first one in a long while and a welcome reminder of refined manners.
Daniel stared at Simone, clearly amazed but too courteous to say anything.
“I couldn’t bear to part with my darling wife. Simone agreed to accompany me,” Temple interjected, correctly interpreting the expression on the other man’s face. “I know it’s rather unusual.”
“Yes,” Daniel replied. “Some of the French Canadian traders travel with their wives, but they’re native women. You are the first European woman I’ve seen this far in the wilderness. How very brave and adventurous of you.”
“Yes, my wife is an extraordinary woman.” A half-smile curled Temple’s lips.
Simone felt Temple’s gaze on her, warm and admiring.
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