Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(69)
Part of him wanted to let Jean fend for himself. After all, he was the one who’d gotten himself into trouble. If Jean was gone, then he wouldn’t have to fight for Angelique’s affection anymore. He’d have her without any worry of Jean. But the other part of him knew he couldn’t abandon his brother, that his anger was irrational, and that he was only upset because of Angelique’s stubbornness.
Why did she have to feel so strongly about her commitment to Jean anyway. Why did it matter?
It wasn’t as if she’d married him yet. She had every right to change her mind about who she wanted to be with. And she clearly didn’t love Jean the way she loved him. Did she?
His muscles rippled in protest at the thought that she might harbor affection for Jean.
“Here. I’ve brought you fresh water.” Pierre held up Jean’s head and lifted the canteen to his lips.
Jean took a long sip before falling back with a groan.
Pierre skimmed his fingers across Jean’s wound, then trickled water over it. If only he had something from Dr. Henderson that would allow him to tend the wound. He’d contemplated finding the doctor and begging him for medicine—anything that could help ease Jean’s discomfort during the long wait ahead of them.
But he couldn’t risk being seen by anyone. Not until he’d gotten Jean safely off the island.
“She’s mine,” Jean said.
Pierre wanted to pretend he didn’t know what Jean was talking about. But what good would that do? Jean had obviously sensed the attraction between him and Angelique. “Angelique’s a grown woman and can make up her own mind about who she wants.”
“Not with you around whispering sweet nothings in her ear every time she comes around.” Jean’s pained voice held an unfamiliar bitterness.
“I don’t have to whisper sweet nothings for a woman to like me.”
“Stay away from her, Pierre.”
It’s too late! he wanted to shout. He then remembered how Angelique had begged him not to say anything to Jean about their plans. As much as he wanted to tell Jean that he was marrying Angelique, he knew he couldn’t break her trust. If he said anything to Jean now, he’d only push Angelique further away.
Non. He needed to let her share the news with Jean in her own time and in her own way. Maybe she could write him a letter to inform him that she wasn’t planning to marry him anymore.
“You wouldn’t make her happy anyway,” Jean said.
“And what makes you think you would?”
“Because I can give her everything she wants, a home and a family on the island. I’ll give her plenty of children, and someday I’ll even be able to build her a bigger house.”
“Who says I can’t give her that too?” Once he sold his equipment and his brigade, he’d have more than enough money to build Angelique a big house and give her everything she wanted.
Jean gave a short laugh. “You’d never be happy here on the island. You’d go crazy, just as crazy as you did that spring before you blew up at Dad and all of us.”
“I’ve changed.”
Jean didn’t say anything.
Was Jean right? Would he go crazy if he had to stay on the island? He thought back to the long hours he’d worked in the fields that summer, to the monotony of the plowing, the sowing, and the weeding. He was already tired of working the land day after day, and he still had the harvesting to do, the hardest work of all.
Even so, there were plenty of other things he loved doing on the island, and he’d be able to do them with Angelique. Maybe he could open his own business. Maybe together they could build a fishing business. After all, the fur trade in the Great Lakes region wouldn’t last forever, just like it hadn’t lasted out East. Eventually the islanders would have to find another means to survive out in the wilderness, without relying upon fur. Maybe he could forge the way into developing the fishing industry for the island.
He unfolded his stiff limbs and sat back against the cold dampness of the cave wall. The uneven rocks jutted into him, and he shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot for the long day of waiting. He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back. He was exhausted, but his mind spun with a thousand questions about Angelique and Jean and him and the future.
Jean’s labored breathing softened, and Pierre could only pray his brother would sleep or fall into unconsciousness so that he wouldn’t have to feel the burning agony from his wound. For all the frustration he felt about Jean and Angelique, he didn’t want to see his brother suffer.
“I used to be angry that you’d rejected us and run off.” Jean’s hoarse voice came out of the silence and startled Pierre. “I was angry that you thought you were too good for the island and for farming. I resented you for thinking you were better than me.”
“As I told you earlier, I’m sorry for all that. I was wrong—”
“Your pride was wrong,” Jean said with surprising strength. “But when I think back to that last argument you had with Papa before leaving the island, I can see now that Papa was wrong.”
Pierre’s mind flashed with images of Papa standing in the horse stall in the barn, his wide stance and his broad shoulders blocking his escape. His black eyes had been hot with anger, and he’d brandished a shovel in his hands. He shouted at Pierre, called him stubborn and foolish for wanting to join a brigade and for refusing his offer to pay for school in Detroit.