Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(18)

For the moment, though, she was free. Free from the confines of the attic, free to go out in her canoe, and free to savor the beautiful May morning. She would relish the precious moments, no matter the consequences she would face later.





Chapter

6



Pierre hoisted the canoe, letting the smooth birchbark rest against the top of his head. He carried the fishing rod inside the canoe—Papa’s fishing rod.

He was surprised Maman had suggested he take it. Even though she said she’d forgiven him, he hadn’t expected her to allow him to use anything that had once belonged to Papa. It was almost as if she’d not only forgiven him for his mistakes but had forgotten them too.

He wasn’t quite sure he could accept that kind of love. It seemed too good to be true. And it made him feel even guiltier that he would need to leave her by the end of the week.

The crunch of twigs under his feet echoed in the crisp morning air. The scent of woodsmoke hung heavy, rising from the Indian campfires along the island’s south shore.

He was planning to get done as much work around the farm as he could before he left. He’d even gotten up early that morning to repair the roof. But a gurgling stomach had prodded him to find the makings of their next meal. Except for the few potatoes left in his pack, Maman had no food anywhere in the house. She hadn’t had any food all winter . . .

Except for what Angelique had provided for her.

Angelique.

Pierre tripped over a root buried beneath soggy leaves. The canoe wobbled, and he tightened his grip to steady it.

Gratefulness for Angelique’s kindness was quickly replaced by remorse. He hadn’t exactly been polite to her since his return to the island.

“It was her fault,” he muttered. “Oui. She should have identified herself earlier. The first time she saw me.”

It would have saved him the worry about his mission being discovered. His abdomen tensed at the thought of what might have happened to her had he not rescued her from her attacker. The Lord only knew what other trouble she’d experienced during the past two years in her efforts to take care of Maman.

He snagged his boot again, this time on a rock. He stumbled forward, losing hold of the canoe. It slipped from his head and began to fall. With a lunge he caught the canoe and gently lowered it to the ground. He’d found it in the rafters of the barn, dusty but still solid, the same canoe he’d hewn with Papa’s help when he’d been younger—except that Papa had embarked on one of his trips before they could finish.

Pierre had worked on the canoe all winter, attempting to line it with small splits of cedarwood. But he’d only gotten angrier and more frustrated at his ineptness and lack of knowledge, until finally he’d stopped working on the canoe altogether.

He supposed that was when he’d first realized how much he resented Papa having to be gone half the year. When he became a voyageur, he decided he wouldn’t have a wife or children. That way he wouldn’t have to leave behind a family.

With his sleeve Pierre wiped the perspiration from his forehead. After the hard work of the past couple of hours, he was not only ready to eat but ready to cool off in the pond in the secluded cove where he’d always gone when he was a boy, where he could swim without being disturbed.

He started to heft the canoe again, but then stopped and peered through the newly leafed foliage. A flash of white was followed by the distinct sound of splashing.

Someone was already there. In his spot.

Granted, he hadn’t been here in over five years. Still, he’d been the one to discover it. His muscles flexed. He once again lowered the canoe to the ground, then crept forward soundlessly. He neared the pond and crouched behind a jagged boulder.

A ball of clothing rested on a fallen log near the swimming hole. He peeked around the boulder.

There in the calm water floated a young woman on her back, the white of her petticoats swirling in the water around her legs, her bare arms paddling. Her long, thick curls fanned around a pretty face, forming a beautiful dark red against the green-blue of the water.

His heart began to race.

Angelique?

He stepped out of his hiding spot, allowing himself a clear view. Her eyes were closed and her expression serene, as if she were relishing every stroke and lap of the water.

He smiled. Yes, it was Angelique. Silently he tugged his shirt out of his breeches and shrugged out of his suspenders. Then he slipped his shirt over his head and shed the boots.

Sunlight bathed her face, kissing the faint freckles sprinkled across her nose. She sighed and kicked her legs, keeping herself afloat.

His grin widened. Before she had time to open her eyes and catch sight of him, he jumped in, letting his entire body hit the water near her, so that his splash crashed over her.

She yelped and flailed her arms and legs.

His body submerged into the pond, and the shock of the cold water took his breath away. When he broke the surface, his teeth were already chattering.

She was sputtering water and wiping tangles of curls out of her eyes, eyes that were wide with fright.

At the sight of him, the fear evaporated into anger.

“Good morning.” He grinned, tossing his head and shaking the water from his hair and treading water to keep afloat.

“You scared me.” She glared at him, the darks of her eyes wide in contrast to the paleness of her face. Her arms swished back and forth in the water with her own effort to keep from sinking.