NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER
To arrive in your mailbox in October, 2018
Mist O’er the Voyageur
a Novel of Romance, Adventure, and the Lake Superior Fur Trade
ABOUT THE BOOK:
After her aunt’s death, Métis woman Brigitte Marchal finds herself alone in Montreal. Uninterested in the convent and desperate to flee a loathsome suitor, she disguises herself as a young man to travel west by voyageurs’ brigade in search of her long-absent, fur-trader father. But her inexperience and disguise don’t hide her for long.
René Dufour yields to the unwelcome position of shielding Brigitte, but he cannot hide her identity forever. Keeping her safe while meeting his North West Company obligations and honoring his family promises may prove to be more disquieting to his heart than he imagined.
As Brigitte adjusts to the voyageur life on Lake Superior, she struggles to justify the faith she grew up in with the mysticism around her, but greater still is the conflict her heart must settle over who to trust in this rugged, unfamiliar country.
READ AN EXCERPT:
René’s shadow fell over her. “Marchal, if I am not mistaken. Brigitte Marchal.” His voice barely more than a whisper, pinned her to the ground. She was a fish caught on a spear with no hope of wriggling free. She looked up. His sharp eyes impaled her.
She lowered the bowl. Swallowed. The food stuck somewhere in her chest as she nodded.
“Imbécile!”
Brigitte cringed and stared at his legs as he shifted his weight back and forth. Her gaze crawled slowly to the level of his hands on his hips, then slowly to his face. She quickly looked away.
“What were you thinking? Why have you followed me? You must return to your home, to the convent.”
She dashed a glance upward, but he wasn’t looking at her. His chest rose and fell. His gaze swept about them. Then he zeroed in on her again. A knot worked in his jaw. “I have no one to spare to take you back, but you willgo.”
“Non.” She shook her head. “I am going on. I am hired by the company.”
“You cannot.” He looked as though he wanted to shake her, but men did not shake one another. They wrestled. They slung their fists. Did he wish she was a man right now so he could beat her?
“I must.” She set the bowl aside and pushed to her feet. Courage—nay, determination—burrowed deep in her soul. “I will not go back. I cannot. I will find my father, and if I do not, I will perhaps search for my mother’s people or”—she shrugged—“or go wherever the river leads me. I will not be a burden.”
A sigh rushed out of him. “You are already a burden.”
“How? I have paddled as long as the rest. No one knows who I am except for you.”
“We have traveled one day on a journey of weeks!” He lifted his finger into the air and pointed it in her face. “One day!” His face reddened.
She stepped back, but her back stiffened. “One day or a hundred. It matters not. I will work as hard as the others.”
“Tomorrow we portage the Long Sault. You know what that means?”
She gave the slightest nod.
“You will have to carry a pack. A pack which I doubt you can even lift.”
There lay the crux of her problem.
“Show me. Show me how you will carry them.” He marched several yards to a stack of bundles piled beneath the trees.
She stared at him, but he did not budge. He waited. She trudged toward him, stopping near a bundle of goods. Closing her eyes, she held her breath and lifted. The weight of it barely cleared the ground before it plunged back to the soil. She gasped as her face burned.
“In less than a day, I have discovered you. How long before these voyageurs do as well? And then what will you do? How can I protect you?”
“Protect me?”
“Oui. Protect you. You are one woman among many men.” He needn’t say more.
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