A Scotsman's Promise

Chapter 21

Calen whistled as he strode about the campsite. In a few hours they would reach his parents' house. He had been beaming since he'd awoken, his attitude as bright as the morning sunshine.

Micara, silently dreading the whole ordeal, was trying her hardest to keep his chipper behaviour from grating on her nerves. His cheeriness was out of character and was starting to annoy her. She couldn't help but feel trepidatious. The image of a lone soldier, unarmed and facing a horde of savages, flashed through her mind. Even Will offered no solace, turning traitor in excitement over being so close to home. 

Micara knew she was wildly exaggerating the situation, but even after many self chastisements, she could not seem to calm herself.

Calen was not particularly attentive to her, and it was reassuring to know that he did not suspect she was anything but excited to meet his family. 

Calen brushed by her cheerily, whistling while he carried the last of the camp gear down to the canoes. Cara followed him down slowly, not bothering to keep up with his bouncing gait. He assisted her into the canoe with a grin on his face. She covered her anxiety with a false smile, settling facing forward, away from his possible scrutiny.

She worried silently for the next couple hours, her mind blocking out anything Calen might have said. Will had assured her that she would not be facing the Donellys alone, that he would be there as well. She tried to focus on this shred of comfort.

"Micara."

Calen shook her shoulder slightly, waking her from her anxious trance. "Look ahead there, lass."

Judging by Calen's face, Cara knew what they were coming upon. As nervous as she was, she was still curious about what Calen's home looked like. She looked forward.

At first there was nothing but the undisturbed line of the forest, and then the trees parted on the riverbank further ahead. A clearing appeared with a cabin nestled in its protected womb. A thin tendril of smoke wafted from the stone and clay chimney that peeked over the ridge of the cabin's slanted roof. The eaves extended past the door a few feet, sheltering a pair of hand-carved rocking chairs and a pile of neatly stacked firewood. The yard was open, unmarred by any fences, extending into the trees on three sides and down to the river in the front. A well worn dirt path trailed from the cabin to the river and a clothesline sat between the two places, clothing, hung drying from it, fluttered in the breeze.

As quaint as the cabin seemed in comparison the Micara's own home, she could see its appeal. The cabin, made of unpeeled logs, looked snug and welcoming. The surrounding trees seemed to hold the quiet peacefulness of the forest around the cabin, enveloping it into its embrace. The house did not look as if it had been hewn from the wilderness like the buildings at the Trois Riviéres settlement and Montréal had, instead it sat there as if it had been there forever, as if it were part of the forest itself. It looked as though it belonged there.

Calen steered his canoe towards the bank, the final direction that would lead him home. Will did not. Will waved and called good bye before going back to their original direction, continuing on without them.

"Where is Will going?" Micara asked in a slight panic.

"He'll be back by nightfall," Calen assured, "His family will sup with us."

Micara would have said something but at that moment a woman's voice came from somewhere in the trees, cutting her off. "Calen?!"

Micara scanned the forest, searching for her. The owner of the voice appeared suddenly, like a wood nymph, seeming to leap from the tree itself..

"Calen!" she cried excitedly, running down the path. She was dressed like a coeur de bois, in buckskins and fur cap, even carrying a musket with her. "Mum, Da, it's Calen!"