The Fur Trader Read Online Free

took Belinda’s hand and walked her out to the center of the clearing. The two of them began dancing a minuet that obviously had its origins in the larger cities. Garrin grinned as he saw the frustration on William Figg’s face. The widower had been out-foxed, and now Brent had Belinda all to himself.
    Garrin imagined what Brent’s face would look like if he were to get up and dance with Belinda. He had learned a couple of dances himself, though none of them quite as refined as what Brent and Belinda were doing now.
    Garrin’s training came not from any city college, but from a few of the villages and camps he had stayed in during his time in the Frontier Legion. He smiled faintly as he remembered a young, black haired woman who had first taught him to dance. The legion had camped with a nomadic tribe. They spent a week dancing and feasting by firelight. It was one of the few times Garrin had enjoyed his military service. He had hated everything else about the wars and the politics that sent him and the others into the teeth of death.
    The trapper wiped his mouth and took courage. If he had lived through ten years on the frontier, he could easily cut in and dance with Belinda. In his mind, he could hear the cheers and hollers that would erupt if he managed to steal Belinda away from Cherry Brook’s most eligible bachelor.
    He stood and moved toward the gathering crowd. He gently pushed his way through. His heart pounded in his chest. The music grew louder in his ears, filling him with confidence. He would dance with Belinda the way he had with the black-haired woman.
    Brent spun Belinda around and then dipped her slightly. Her eyes caught Garrin’s and the trapper froze. His confident smile vanished as she flashed a bright grin at him. He turned and quickly walked away, heart now beating faster than ever.
    Once again, the mighty veteran was defeated by the radiant Belinda Graye.
    “Maybe tomorrow,” Garrin whispered to himself. He opened the canister on his table and stuffed the bread inside. “Don’t eat this all at once,” he instructed the canister.
    The trappers at the table adjacent were all staring at him now. Garrin knew they likely were still confused by him talking to the cylinder, but now their judging eyes seemed to mock his bashfulness as well. He took another mouthful of stew and then gathered his heavy coat and began the journey home.



Chapter 2
     
     
    “Time to go,” William Stenton said authoritatively as he kicked the young teenager tucked into a bedroll next to the dying camp fire. “Come on, hurry it up.”
    “I’m tired,” the teenager said groggily.
    William arched a brow and reached down to rip the covers off.
    “Up! Now, Richard!”
    “I hate it when you call me that,” Richard said. He pushed up and rubbed his shoulders.
    “Mind your tongue,” William said. “I’ve already packed the camp, just get your bedding put away and let’s go.”
    “I’m hungry,” Richard complained.
    “You can eat on the road, now move.” William kicked dirt over the fire and used a long limb to push the remnants of last night’s logs apart. The fire wasn’t entirely out when he roughly helped Richard onto the second horse, but he doubted whether the fire would spread through a wintry forest anyway. Even if it would, the two of them needed to get moving.
    The bright sun was peaking over the mountains to the east and casting its golden rays down upon the frosty forest, but little warmth came with the light. William’s bones ached from the night spent in the open cold. He should have prepared better. Then again, he hoped to be able to find a guide in the next village. He hadn’t found anyone willing to help them in the last two towns, but Cherry Brook was a bit larger, and boasted more rugged folk.
    Surely he could find someone there who could help.
    “I’m out of food,” Richard announced from atop his horse.
    William eyed the small burlap sack in the teenager’s hands and nodded.