pulled away and grabbed her rifle. “Stay inside. Don’t go near the windows.”
“If there’s trouble, I’ll handle it.” He rose to his feet but at least had enough presence of mind to keep the blanket at his waist.
“This is my cabin, my homestead,” she gritted. “It’s mine to protect. And if we can stave off trouble by keeping you hidden, then we’ll do it. Understand?”
He wanted to argue with her, but the attorney part of him recognized her logic. Scowling, he nodded, and crouched down so that he could not be seen from the outside. She could have sworn she saw his hackles rising. Satisfied that he was in place, Astrid headed for the door.
“Be careful,” Lesperance said. “I’ll watch your back.”
She stopped at the door but didn’t turn. It had been so long since anyone had said that to her, when she had been so used to it before. She didn’t want someone watching her back. No words came from her mouth. Instead, she stiffly left the cabin, securing the door behind her.
Afternoon sunlight filled the lea, briefly dazzling her. She stood on the porch and watched a rider approach through the one pass that led to her meadow. That was one of the primary reasons Astrid had chosen this spot for her homestead. Only one way in and one path out, both passes she could easily monitor. There was a second way out of the valley, but she alone knew about it. No one could enter or leave without her knowing.
She slightly relaxed when she recognized the horse and rider. The man waved his fur cap and smiled as he neared. “Mrs. Bramfield!”
Lowering the rifle, she called back, “Hello, Edwin.”
The trapper stopped his horse several yards from where she stood on the porch. Hanging from his saddle and on the back of his mule were the accoutrements of his trade—beaver traps and pelts, black fox skins, snowshoes, and grappettes for navigating ice. She was relieved to see his rifle was in its scabbard on his saddle.
“How are you, Mrs. Bramfield?”
“Very well, thank you.” As she exchanged pleasantries with Edwin, Astrid never forgot that a nude, somewhat wounded, and extremely angry man was crouched beside her bed inside. A man who was hunted.
“Summer’s just about over.”
“Looks like it.”
Astrid first met Edwin Mayne shortly after she came to the Northwest Territory. He had been one of the men she’d had to hire to help her build the cabin. Surprisingly, men out in the Territory were among the most respectful of women she had ever met. Even though she lived alone, and Edwin knew it, not once did he or any of his fellow trappers attempt liberties with her person. He might stop by for a moment on his way to set and check traps, but he never stayed long, knowing that she wanted solitude rather than company.
“Mind if I come in?” Edwin asked.
“Oh,” she said, “I don’t think so. I just did some washing and I have some…feminine things hanging up.”
Edwin blushed underneath his bushy beard. “A’ course! Can’t stay long, anyway. I just came to warn you.”
“Warn me?” she repeated. “About what?”
The trapper looked grim. “Wolf.”
“I haven’t any livestock in pasture,” she noted. “And wolves don’t attack people.” The fairy-tale legends and popular lore often painted wolves as cruel man-killers, but Astrid’s time out in the wilderness had taught her that wolves wanted nothing to do with people and stayed well away from them.
“This one did. Gave one of ’em a good bite, got a few more with his paws. Maybe it was sick or wounded. You ought to keep a sharp eye out. I’m trying to track it now. Might be able to get a good price for the pelt.”
“Who did the wolf attack? One of the settlers by the lake?”
“No, ma’am. Some English fellers. Between here and the post.”
Astrid did her best to keep her voice steady, her face betraying nothing, but growing horror crept through her, numbing her at the same time she felt acutely aware of herself and her surroundings. All the instincts she had spent years honing came blazing back to life. She felt again that rift in magic, that encroaching sense of doom.
“I’ll be vigilant,” she said. “Thank you for letting me know. I should get back to my washing.”
Edwin looked reluctant to leave, but he didn’t press the point. Instead, he touched his hand to his cap in a gesture of farewell. The trapper set his heels to his horse, clicking his tongue, and man and animals started away from the cabin.
Astrid let out a breath and turned to go back inside. The sound of a rifle going off had her whirling around, her own rifle cocked and ready. She heard Lesperance inside, leaping for the door. She only just managed to hold it shut as his body connected with the wood, and was actually grateful for his slightly weakened condition. If he’d had his full strength, there would have been no way she could have kept him back.
“Wait,” she hissed through the door. “It wasn’t aimed for me or the cabin.” Lesperance cursed but did as she said.
Edwin, a few dozen yards off, held his rifle across his lap and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Mrs. Bramfield. Thought I saw that wolf and took a shot at it. But it was only a shadow.”
Her only response was a nod. This time, she waited until Edwin had ridden far off before she went into the cabin.
Lesperance stood just on the other side of the door. His breath came shallowly, in angry surges, as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Less than two feet separated them, and she felt the heat of him, the size and masculinity of him, to the point where she was nearly overwhelmed.
“You could’ve been killed.” Fury shadowed his arrow-sharp features. “I should have been out there, protecting you.”
“I don’t need or want protection,” she answered. “Not by you or anyone. If anybody needs looking out for right now, it’s you.”
He scowled at her reminder of his current vulnerability.
“You said at the trading post you were Cowichan.” She edged around him, needing to put distance between them, and set her rifle on the table. “Do you have any other tribal background?”
Her abrupt change of topic puzzled him, but he said, “Another Siwash tribe from around Vancouver Island.”
“Anything from these parts?”
“My great-grandmother, on my mother’s side. Stoney tribe. Somewhere in these mountains. Why?”
Astrid swallowed hard as her heart slammed in her chest and a net of old memories ensnared her. Lesperance had no idea. He would never believe her. But he had to. Because it was the truth, and the truth wouldn’t allow itself to be hidden away for the sake of convenience or peace.
“There are Stoney legends,” she said at last, “of people who can change their form, change into animals. Perhaps you’ve heard them.”
He nodded guardedly, unsure where she
