Far Horizons (33 page)

Harriet's voice came out strong as she kept the rifle aimed at his head. “Don't move, or I'll shoot.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“How do you know Margaret?” Henry dropped the letter onto the table and looked hard at Ian.

“She's my sister's closest friend, and a distant cousin. How do you know her?”

Henry smiled briefly. “She's my betrothed.”

Ian's jaw dropped. “What! But Margaret never said...”

“As it happens, I asked her to marry me the day we sailed from Tobermory,” Henry replied. “So you were already signed up for my ship. She'd no occasion to tell you.” He sat down in one of the wing chairs and looked up at Ian. “However, you'd better tell me what happened with your family, lad, as I'm sure to become a part of it.”

Ian swallowed audibly. He did not want to tell Henry Moore, whose respect he felt he had come to earn, if only a little bit, of his folly and shame. Looking into the older man's wise eyes, though, he'd a feeling Henry had already guessed if not the exact cause of his departure, then at least the nature of it.

Slowly the story came out, how Ian had insisted on handling the sale of the Campbell land, and how he had subsequently lost it.

“You mean you were only meant to sell twenty acres, and you sold everything instead, by mistake?”

Ian nodded, his throat tight. “I ruined my father's legacy, as well as my own.”

“I don't know about that.” Henry leaned back in his chair. “It sounds as if it might've come to that one day as it was.”

“My father never would've sold.” Ian shook his head, tears suddenly blinding his eyes as he remembered.

Henry put his hand briefly over Ian's. “He might not have had a choice.”

“And what of you and Margaret?” Ian asked, clearing his throat in an attempt to dislodge the tears. “She never mentioned any of this to me, although I don't suppose she'd cause to. She keeps to herself, does Margaret.”

“Yes, I know.” Henry's smile was bittersweet, and even Ian could see the love shining in her eyes. “We met in the street in Tobermory. She was reading Boethius.”

“She always did like her books, more than her brother.”

“I think they were her brother’s books. In any case, we struck up an acquaintance, and then a friendship. I tutored her a bit, but I confess it was a mere pretext to spend time with her. I’ve never met a woman with such spirit and determination. She enchanted me from the moment she dropped her book in the road.”

“And you'll go back to her in the spring?” Ian asked. “To marry?”

“If she'll still have me.” Henry stood, and picked up Ian's letter. “I'll take this, as I'm sure your family will want news of you. They've been wondering a long time, haven't they?”

Ian nodded, his eyes downcast. “I wanted to wait till I'd made something of myself.”

Henry chuckled. “Well, you have at that, lad, you have at that. I'll see you in the summer, when I bring Margaret back as my bride, God willing.”

Later that evening, after Henry had sailed with
The Allegiance
for the Caribbean, Ian sat down to dinner with the Moores. He felt a bit ill at ease in the formal dining room, with Isobel across from him and Mr. and Mrs. Moore on either end of the table.

Mrs. Moore smiled at him warmly. “Henry told us of your connection before he left. And we'd no idea he'd planned to marry...! It was a surprise, of course, but we're pleased to see him settle down at last.”

“He's obviously in love,” Isobel added, her eyes shining. “You can see it in him!”

“As for that nonsense, I don't know.” Mr. Moore laughed jovially. “But for matters nearer to home...” he turned to Ian. “Not to worry about your school bills, lad,” he said. “Now that you're family, we'll make sure to take care of you.”

Ian opened his mouth to stammer his thanks. “I really don't what to say. You've given me so much.”

“But you're family, dear,” Mrs. Moore said, as if it were obvious. “That's what matters.”

Late that evening Ian sat in the deep window seat of his bedroom and gazed out at the city of Boston, clothed in darkness. The stars and moon lit the streets with a silvery glow, and a few lanterns and candles flickered in the homes on Beacon Hill.

This was his new home, he realised afresh. His new life. And he thanked Providence for bringing him safely to this haven, and this new start. Perhaps he didn't deserve it, after what he'd done, but Ian vowed he would try his hardest and make good.

And one day, in the not too distant future, he would return to Achlic and his family, and give them back the legacy he lost. Ian closed his eyes tightly.

“I will do it,” he whispered fiercely. “I will.”

“I will shoot,” Harriet repeated, her voice quavering. “Don't think I won't.” Her hand shook, and the rifle pointed briefly to the floor.

In one quick, fluid movement the trapper lunged forward and grabbed the rifle's muzzle. Harriet's finger fell from the trigger and for a brief moment they struggled with the weapon, their eyes locked. Harriet could see little besides the man's bushy beard and hazel eyes.

The man's movements stilled and he stared at her, his eyes wide. “
Harriet...?
”

Shock made her drop the rifle, and it fell to the floor with a useless clatter. “How do you know...? Who are you?”

“I can't believe...” Tears sprang to his eyes and he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. Harriet screamed. “Where's your husband? Why are you here?”

Harriet was tense with fear, her voice a choked whisper. “I don't have a husband.”

“Andrew Reid? What about him? You wrote me you'd married him!” He let go of her, pushing her away from him so she stumbled. “Has he left you? Or have you gone looking for another?”

There was a moment of charged silence, and then Harriet stepped forward. With gentle, trembling fingers, she touched his beard and his cheek. She took off his fur cap and let it fall to the floor. The eyes were the same, the face, underneath the beard, so achingly familiar.

“I can't believe... Allan?” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “They told me you were dead. You died in a shipwreck. They
told
me.”

“I didn't get on the ship.” Allan's voice was ragged as he clasped her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “I told Archie to tell them... my parents. I was going away, to make my own fortune. I joined the Hudson's Bay Company as a trapper. I didn't even know the ship had sunk, till a few weeks ago.” He turned on her suddenly. “Did you marry him? Why? Why did you never write me?”

Harriet shook her head slowly. “I never loved him. I had to do it, to save Achlic after it was lost. It seemed like there was no choice, after Ian lost it all. But in the end I couldn't go through with it. Not when I still loved you.” Her voice broke. “He kept your letters from me. I never knew...”

“You never received my letters?” Allan’s voice was hoarse.

Harriet shook her head. “Not till later, and then I broke our betrothal. I thought you’d forgotten me, Allan... that you'd be glad to be released from your promise.”

“Why?” Allan asked quietly. “I told you I would keep faith.”

“I know... I know!” Harriet’s voice was broke. “It is I who broke faith, it has tormented me ever since.”

Allan cupped her face in his hands. They were rough and dirty and so beloved. “I set you free, don’t you remember? You were not faithless, Harriet. If anything, I was, for being so angry with you when I learned of your betrothal.”

“I’m sorry,” Harriet whispered.

“No, you must not be. Why did you come to Scotia, then? And to here?”

“To find you, and to explain. When they told me you were dead, I kept running.” Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you go on that mail packet, Allan? Why are you here?”

“The same as you, I suppose. I had been blaming everyone for my misfortune... everyone but myself. And I kept running.”

“I don’t want to run anymore,” Harriet whispered and Allan pulled her toward him.

“Nor I. Harriet, do you still love me?”

She nodded, her throat too tight with tears to speak.

Allan pulled her into an embrace, his tears mingling with her own. “
Cridhe
, I've never stopped loving you. You've been in my mind, my heart, always.”

From behind them Katherine let out a dry, rasping chuckle. “What on earth is going on here?”

Harriet laughed through her tears. “Katherine, this is Allan, my...”

“Betrothed,” Allan finished firmly. “We will marry as soon as possible.”

“This is the man you were talking about, then.” Katherine smiled in satisfaction. “Well, I'm glad to see one happy ending, although how we're to get out of here I don't know.” She glanced at Allan. “You're a trader. Were you with the Métis at Seven Oaks?”

“I was, in the vain hope that I could prevent such a disaster.”

“What will happen to us?” Harriet asked.

“The Métis will take Fort Douglas. They don't want blood, only justice.” Allan sighed. “Eventually, those who rule will have to find some way for the Métis and the settlers to live together peacefully. I can see no other way. As for us...” He looked into Harriet's eyes. “I must return to the island, and my parents. They believe me dead. Will you come with me, Harriet? Are you settled here? Can you come with me and make a life back east?”

Harriet glanced at Katherine. “Of course I can, but... I have obligations here.”

Allan assessed the situation at once. “Then your companion is naturally welcome to travel and stay with us.” He turned to Katherine, bowing slightly. “Harriet has made her home with you, you must make your home with us... if you desire it.”

Katherine laughed again. “Not much of a home as it happened. Yes, I'll come with you, if you'll have me. Since my husband died, there's been no place for me here. And I'm looking forward to hearing the story of how you two know each other, and came to be in this forsaken place!”

“It's quite a tale,” Allan replied soberly. “However, first we must get out of this place. The Métis have taken Fort Douglas, as I said, but I don’t believe they will continue to be violent. If the new government will change its ways... in the meantime, they'll let us stay there, especially as we have injured. When you're recovered enough, we can make our way back to York Factory, and from there to Pictou. It won't be an easy journey and with winter closing in, we'll have to spend the cold months holed up, probably at the Factory. Will you be able to manage?”

Harriet nodded. She knew it would be hard, and yet for the first time in many months the future held a joy she'd thought forever lost. Whatever hardships she endured, she rejoiced in knowing she would share them with Allan.

It was a cold, bleak day when Henry Moore sailed
The Allegiance
into Tobermory's harbour, but his heart was singing. He'd spent the winter hauling freight in the Caribbean, for a handsome profit, and now as spring touched the earth he was finally returning to the home of his ancestors, and to Margaret. He could hardly wait to see her. He only hoped that she would welcome him, and he hoped they'd be married within the month.

His first stop was the shipping agent's office at the harbour side. After he'd explained who he was, the agent's clerk nodded.

“Yes, Mistress MacDougall mentioned back in the autumn that there might be some sort of inquiry into her whereabouts. I trust it is a happy occasion?”

Henry could not contain his broad smile. “Yes, indeed. God willing, we shall be married as soon as possible.”

“Then I offer my felicitations along with this letter.” The clerk gave Henry a folded paper, sealed with wax. Henry took it, his heart thumping.

He waited till he was seated in a public house, waiting for his dinner to be served, before he opened it.

Dearest Henry, if you are reading this you have landed safely in Tobermory, and I thank God for your health.

Henry put the letter down as his meal was served. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. And thank God that he was safe, and that Margaret still loved him. He turned back to the letter.

I am currently lodging at the McCready farm, near Craignuire. My dearest friend Harriet has emigrated to Canada, and I am staying with her father, David Campbell, and his new wife. His young daughter, Eleanor, enjoys a few lessons from me as well! I look forward to your return, when we can be together again... and for always, God willing. Yours, Margaret.

Smiling softly, Henry folded the letter and finished his meal. As soon as he could, he would leave for Cragnuire, and Margaret.

A young girl stood outside the small farmhouse, feeding chickens. With the sunlight on her auburn hair, she looked, Henry thought, like a pastoral painting. He smiled at her.

“Is this the Campbell holding?”

“Aye, David Campbell is my father.” She was about thirteen years old, still slender and girlish, with freckles across her nose. “Are you looking for him?”

“No, I'm looking for Mistress Margaret MacDougall. You must be Eleanor.”

Eleanor stared at him curiously. “How do you know my name?”

“I know Margaret.”

“Eleanor, are you talking to someone...?” Margaret stood in the doorway, the breath catching in her throat. She looked as beautiful as ever, Henry thought, with her rosy cheeks, black eyes, and a mass of dark hair caught loosely in a bun. She wore a plain, homespun dress, and there was flour on her apron. He took a step towards her, holding out his hands.

“Margaret.”

“You've come back.”

“Didn't you know I would?”

Margaret walked slowly towards him, her expression dazed, as if in a dream. “I knew you wanted to, but I was afraid. We’ve learned all too well how dangerous the sea can be.”

“I'm safe.” Margaret stood in front of him, and it felt the most natural thing to put his arms around her. She pressed her face against his shoulder.

“I've been so worried, all this time. How will I live as a shipmaster's wife?” she cried, then gasped, flushing. “That is... I didn't mean to be presumptuous...!”