Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(90)

Lieutenant Steele stepped aside and let his two soldiers pass by. They struggled under the weight of the crate, their boots sinking into the sand as they staggered toward a waiting rowboat. After they’d passed out of hearing distance, the lieutenant leaned toward to Angelique, close enough for her to get a whiff of the sourness of rum on his breath.

“You might as well stop looking for Pierre Durant,” the lieutenant said with a gleam in his eyes. “He’s dead.”

The blunt words slammed against Angelique, nearly sending her toppling again.

As if seeing that he was getting the reaction he’d hoped for, the lieutenant’s lips quirked into a half smile. “I got reports last week from the Menominee warriors that I sent after him. They found his body. All that remained was a heap of bones. And his paddle. A red-and-blue-striped paddle.”

Please, God, no. Desperation swelled inside her chest. A strangled cry rose in her throat. If they’d found his paddle and his bones, that meant he hadn’t made it to the Indian winter camp in time.

It was too painful to consider that Pierre was dead, even though she’d known it was a very real possibility. She’d tried to prepare herself for it. At the beginning of the winter, she’d attempted to forget about Pierre and focus her thoughts on Jean. But Red Fox’s words had haunted her until the truth of them had wrapped their cords around her and held her captive.

Her pledge to Jean was in her head and was one she could eventually set aside after she had the chance to honestly speak with Jean. For although she’d tried to resist Pierre’s charm, she’d fallen prey anyway. No matter how hard she’d tried that winter, she hadn’t been able to unravel his presence from deep inside. It was almost as if his essence had woven threads through her heart that she couldn’t pluck out without destroying herself in the process.

Through the long days of winter, while ice fishing with Yellow Beaver, during the hunting trips she’d taken with him, and in the evenings sitting beside the fire, she hadn’t once stopped thinking about Pierre.

While she’d been learning to sew on the pretty calico skirt Miriam had given her to make over, she’d thought about Pierre’s eyes full of laughter. When she’d been whittling with Yellow Beaver, she thought about Pierre’s disarming grin. When she’d curled up with Miriam and the kittens in the corner bed during the endless nights, she’d prayed for Pierre.

She should have been thinking about Jean and praying for him, but she hadn’t given him more than a passing thought.

She’d been consumed with missing Pierre and hadn’t left room for anyone else.

But now he was dead.

Her knees weakened, and her body trembled. Just then all she wanted was to fall down and die too.

The lieutenant continued in a low voice, “No captain, British or American, will let any man live to tell about escaping from the Black Hole. Such news would only encourage future prisoners to attempt the same thing.”

She pressed a hand against the pain radiating from her chest. Tears stung her eyes. She needed to run, to get far away from the crowds, where she could let herself grieve in private.

The lieutenant’s news made perfect sense. That was why Pierre hadn’t returned to the island two weeks ago with the first round of voyageurs and ships. That was why he hadn’t come any other day in between, and why he would never come back again.

He was gone. Forever.

“Go back home, lass,” the lieutenant said. “You won’t find Pierre Durant here today or any day.”

She didn’t wait to listen to anything else the lieutenant had to say. She didn’t care anymore who was coming ashore. All she could think about was getting away from the crowd, somewhere she could let the sobs and pain have release.

Heedless of where she was going, she raced away from the shore, tears blinding her. She ran until she couldn’t breathe, and then she crumpled to the forest floor, laying her head against the thick moss, burying her face in damp leaves.

She wept until there was nothing left inside. Nothing but a painful emptiness.

Pierre was gone.

After a winter of harboring hope, she had to let go. Finally.

She supposed she’d clung to the possibility that if he’d lived, he would return for her, even though he had absolutely no reason to do so. She’d told herself she would let go of her need to marry Jean and all the security he offered. She’d clung to the safety of a marriage with Jean rather than trusting that God would take care of her completely no matter where she was or who she was with.

It was the same lesson God had been teaching her when Red Fox had bought her from Ebenezer last summer, when she thought he was forcing her into marriage and away from the island.

She’d even resolved to speak honestly to Jean, to tell him that she couldn’t marry him, to give him back his comb. She’d wanted to do the right thing by ending her relationship with Jean first so that she could be free to accept Pierre and the life he offered her—if he ever offered it to her again.

It was why she’d returned to the island in the first place. She realized that now. To end her relationship with Jean.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, sat up, and took a deep breath. She peered past the tall tamaracks and pine that surrounded her to the sky overhead.

But now what did it matter?

With heavy steps she started down the rocky path that led back to the farm. She knew she should be filled with gratefulness for the life God had given her, for the freedom to come and go as she pleased, to dress any way she wished, to be within the folds of Miriam’s loving care. It had been so long since she’d had such love and freedom that it had taken weeks for her to lose her fear of Ebenezer’s control.