Rogue's Hostage

by Linda McLaughlin

  She could take his accusations no longer. All her life, she had tried so hard to do what was right. She pushed at his chest, struggling to free herself.

  “You want to know what he promised me?” she almost shrieked. “Freedom! He promised me freedom.”

  Abruptly, he let her go, and they stood, staring at each other, the only sound his harsh breathing.

  She held out a hand toward him. “I never betrayed you. Oh, Jacques, I would never leave you without saying good-bye.” Not even for Gideon, she added silently. “Please believe me.”

  “I want to, Mara, but it has been my experience that women are not to be trusted.” His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Especially beautiful women.”

  “Thank you, I think,” she shot back. “We are a pair. You do not trust women, and I have no faith in men. What must I do to make you believe me?”

  “Tell me the truth. Who was that man?” he asked tersely. “Why did you go to meet him in the first place?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “It was Gideon,” she whispered.

  “Gideon?” He stared at her, disbelief written on his face. “Are you telling me that was your brother?”

  She nodded. “Now you see why I could not say anything until he left the city. You would have been honor bound to turn him in to the authorities.”

  He sank down on the bed. “I should report it, even now. It is my duty to do so.”

  “I understand.”

  He shook his head, still appearing stunned by her news. “What did you argue about?”

  “He wanted me to go with him, but I refused.”

  Jacques felt his anger drain away. She had stayed with him. She had chosen him over her brother. A warm tide of relief and elation rose in him, but he tamped it down. He had often wondered what would happen if she ever had to choose between the two of them, but had never expected this outcome.

  “Why?” he asked, suddenly needing to know the answer.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly seeming unsure of herself. “Because I could not leave you without any explanation. And if I had left you a note, Gideon might have been caught and hanged as a spy.” She looked at him, silently pleading with him to understand.

  And he did. His joy was replaced with cold hard reality. Staying was the only way she could see to protect her brother. The final decision was still to come. What would she do next time?

  “Someday, Mara,” he said slowly, “you will have to choose between us.”

  No, she protested silently. There were only two people in the world she loved and who loved her in return. She did not want to have to choose between them. It wasn’t fair, but when had life ever treated her fairly?

  Still, deep down, she clung to a spark of hope that such a decision would not be required. No matter what she did, it would be like tearing out a piece of her heart.

  *

  “Thank God, I thought you weren’t coming!”

  Gideon joined Ned Barham in their stolen bateau. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where have you been?” Ned asked in a sharp tone. “What happened with your sister?”

  Gideon just shrugged. He had no desire to talk about it; his pain was so raw. Though part of him was glad she was safe and well, her refusal to leave Corbeau angered him. But that was nothing compared to the cold fury he’d felt at the proprietary way the man looked at her. It had taken every ounce of control Gideon possessed to keep from slamming his fist into the Frenchman’s sneering mouth.

  But Ned deserved an answer. His life was at stake here, too, and he wasn’t happy that Gideon had endangered their mission for personal reasons.

  This time, Ned’s voice was sharp and demanding. “Did she show up?”

  Gideon ran a hand over his eyes. Lord, but he was weary. “She came to say good-bye.”

  “Alone?”

  Gideon turned to glare at his companion. “Of course she was alone. She would never betray me.”

  But she had. Oh, she would keep his secret, but this other, deeper betrayal hurt worse than he could have imagined. Because he was not the only one she’d betrayed. No, Mara had turned her back on her family, her heritage. All for the pleasures of a man’s bed.

  As the bateau floated downstream, Gideon watched Quebec fade into the mist. He had come here with such hopes, only to see them dashed as waves against a rock.

  A stab of guilt hit him, knowing it was partly his fault. He had been too late. A rush of bitterness filled him as he recalled her words.

  I waited and waited for you, but you never came.

  He had failed her, as he failed the others he cared about. His grandparents who never got over their disappointment in him. Emile, his best friend, who might still be alive if Gideon had not assured him he was safe.

  And Mara, how many ways had he failed her? How many times was he absent when she needed him? He would not fail again, he vowed. He still had the ransom, and he would bet every penny of it that Corbeau would happily trade Mara for the money.

  Then she would finally know what kind of man he was.

  *

  Mara sighed and stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was eight o’clock in the evening and the sun was just starting to set. Her day’s work done, she had come upstairs to her lonely bedchamber. In the month since Gideon’s disruptive visit, she’d seen little of Jacques and missed him more than she’d thought possible.

  By his orders, Mara stayed close to the tavern, worrying about Jacques, about Gideon, and about the future.

  Gideon’s visit had changed everything. Instead of rejoicing in their reunion, she had been fearful for his safety, and he had been disappointed, both by her decision to stay and her admission that she and Jacques were lovers, something Gideon never would understand. She was not sure she understood herself, but there was no denying her feelings for Jacques.

  Gideon’s visit had changed their relationship, too. Jacques had not come to her bed since, and occasionally she caught him looking at her with an anxious frown. She wished there were something she could say to reassure him, but she was afraid to mention Gideon’s name.

  She unpinned her hair and began to brush it, wondering when Jacques would be home. As the June days grew longer, he had spent more time on duty, occupied with the building of a battery in Lower Town. When it grew too dark to work, he would come back to the tavern, gulp down some food, and then retire to his room, no doubt to fall into an exhausted sleep. And while she admired his attention to duty, she missed his kisses, his lovemaking.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Her heart began to pound as she turned to see Jacques standing in the doorway, dressed only in a cotton robe. “Are you finally finished working for the day?” she asked.

  He sighed wearily. “The days grow longer, and time grows shorter. I fear it will soon be very hot.”

  “It is summer,” she said, turning back toward the mirror.

  He walked up behind her and played with a lock of her hair. The touch of his hand on her neck sent shivers down her spine. It had been so long since he had touched her with tenderness.

  “That is not what I mean. One of Montcalm’s aides came by today to ask if I know how to heat shot. Apparently he can find no one in the colony who can.”

  She frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “If we could fire heated shot at the British ships, we could set them aflame. It is bad enough that they have reached the Ile d’Orleans, but if they manage to sail past the city…”

  Mara’s eyes grew wide. She had seen the English ships moored at the island only a few miles from the town where the river widened on its way to the sea. “Then there will be a battle soon.”

  He put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. His voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear, though his words were chilling. “If the British have their way, there will be a siege. We may be trapped here. I never would have brought you had I known.”

  She turned to face him. “You must not blame you
rself. I chose to stay with you, remember?”

  “A decision you may live to regret.” He hesitated, his expression unsure. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you.”

  She smiled, trying to reassure him. “What is that?”

  He stepped back and took her hand in both of his. “Will you marry me?”

  Mara sucked in a deep breath. For one brief, mad moment, she wanted to fling herself into his arms and shout Yes, I’ll marry you! But it was impossible. He had said that one day she would have to choose between him and Gideon, but she was not ready to do so. Still, the thought that he loved her enough to propose filled her heart with joy. Perhaps one day…

  “I do not know what to say,” she replied, slowly drawing her hand out of his. “You have taken me by surprise. I was not expecting —”

  “It was Etienne’s idea, actually,” he admitted, a sheepish look on his face.

  She frowned to hide her disappointment. It had been his brother’s idea. What a fool she was to even think he could love her. “Whatever gave Etienne the idea we should marry?”

  “I told him I felt responsible for you, because of all that has happened, and that I wished to provide for you.”

  She tapped her foot on the floor. This appeared to be worse than she’d originally thought. “What are you talking about now, Jacques?”

  “My will. I have named you as my only heir,” he explained, his expression earnest. “I do not have much, of course, but there is the tavern. And if we married, you would receive a widow’s pension if something happened to me.”

  A chill swept through her at the idea, and her voice sounded sharper than she’d intended. “Do not even think of such a thing! I have already lost one husband.” Dear Lord, she could not bear to think of losing Jacques, too.

  Jacques drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “Marry me,” he urged her. “I will take good care of you, I promise.”

  She froze, shocked by his words, as conflicting emotions warred within her heart. A part of her wanted, no, needed his strength, his safety. He was as big and strong as an oak, and she knew he would shelter her from whatever storm was to come. But she could not continue to cower from life, always afraid, ever fearful. Slowly she backed out of his embrace.

  “I do not want a widow’s pension.”

  Jacques drew in a deep breath. She was going to say no. His instincts had told him to go slowly, but he was so afraid of losing her, he had just blurted it out without thinking. Well, there was no going back now.

  “But marriage is the most logical thing to do. You are always sensible, are you not?”

  Her smile was rueful. “Perhaps I do not wish to be sensible. I married once out of necessity. I have no wish to do so again.”

  Necessity. Did that mean what he thought it did? “But Emile, was that not a love match?”

  “No.” She smiled sadly and, with a shaky hand, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Sit down.” He guided her to a chair and hunkered down before her. “Tell me about Emile.”

  “He was more Gideon’s friend than mine,” she began. “When Grandfather died, I had nowhere to go. Since the house we lived in was owned by the church, I had to leave when the new minister and his family arrived. Gideon was off somewhere, fighting, and we had no close relatives. So when Emile offered to marry me, I accepted.”

  “But you came to love each other, did you not?”

  “We were fond of each other,” she said, “but I did not wish to immigrate to America. Toward the end, we did nothing but argue. I was a disappointment to him.”

  Jacques took her cold hands in his. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It is true,” she insisted. “I am barren.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Jacques, you must marry a woman who can give you children. Not me.”

  “That is not important.”

  Her expression grew pensive as she looked away. “It was to Emile. I wanted to give him a child, but I was never able to conceive. I still feel guilty about that. And other things.”

  He let go of her hands to turn her face toward his. “He still stands between us, does he not? Yet you say you did not love him.”

  “He was a good man, and deserved a better fate.”

  “We cannot change the past,” he pointed out gently. Would the shade of her dead husband always come between them? And could she ever forgive him for not burying the man? If only he could wipe out her memory of that fateful day. “You are young and have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “Jacques, I found out later that Gideon had asked Emile to look after me. He only married me out of obligation. Now you have proposed for the same reasons.”

  “It is not the same at all.”

  “Yes, it is,” she insisted stubbornly. “You have already said that you feel responsible for me. Believe me when I say that is no basis for a marriage.”

  “There is one difference,” he pointed out. “You cannot deny the passion we feel for each other.”

  She hesitated and a blush crept up her face. “I should not tell you this, but no man has ever made me feel as you have.”

  Desire surged through Jacques at her confession. Heart pounding, he struggled to tame the urge to take her now, on the floor. Instead he stood and held out a hand to her. “Come to bed, chérie. Let me show you just how good you can feel.”

  He held his breath until she took his hand and let him guide her to the bed, relieved that she had not rejected him, just his proposal. He was not ready to concede defeat, though he knew it was not the time to push her. All he need do was try a different type of persuasion. Perhaps his touch could sway her where his words could not.

  He undressed her slowly, kissing and caressing every inch of skin that was laid bare until she stood in front of him naked and trembling. Gently he laid her down on the bed, her pale body warm and welcoming in the fading light. His weariness was gone, replaced by an excitement only she could ignite in him.

  Mara watched through lowered lids as he tore his robe off. The sight of his strong, aroused body made her heart beat more rapidly. It was wrong to want him so, and she would pay for it one day. But for now, all she wanted was to lose herself in the heat of their passion.

  Lying beside her, he teased her with his hands and mouth, searching out all her secret, sensitive places—the side of her neck, the tender skin on the inside of her arms, the tips of her breast, and the most private spot of all. When his finger entered her, she gasped at the intimacy of his touch.

  A flash of triumph flitted across his face before he lowered his head towards hers, his breath softly fanning her cheek. When she murmured his name, he responded with a kiss that was wet and deep and thorough.

  She opened her mouth with a small whimper, knowing that she would never want another man as she did him. She clung to him, glorying in the familiar touch and scent of this man who had awakened her senses as no other had done.

  Need turned into a white-hot passion. With clever hands and lips, he stoked the fire within her. Instinctively she arched toward him, seeking release for the urgent ache building between her thighs. He parted her bent legs and knelt between them, his fingertips skimming over the sensitive skin inside her knees.

  A slow warmth spread through her limbs, and she shifted on the bed. “Now, Jacques, I want you now.”

  With a muffled groan, Jacques did as she bade him. Using all the skill at his command, he brought her to the brink of fulfillment, determined to brand her as his. With each deepening thrust, he forged a new bond between them until a furnace of passion raged. Her legs suddenly tightened around him and she called his name. His arousal was beyond control. Blood pounded in his head, clouding his brain, and he climaxed inside her.

  Shaken to the core by the explosiveness of their lovemaking, he held her next to him, snug against his side, one arm over his chest.

  It was where she belonged. Almost reverently, he pressed his lips to her head, the soft silk of her hair caressing his face, hi
s nostrils filled with the sweet scent of their lovemaking. She smiled in her sleep, content for the moment, her body satiated, her heart no doubt as full of tenderness as his was. But for how long?

  Tonight, he held her precious soul in his keeping. But as long as her brother was nearby, there was no guarantee she’d stay. Not unless she were irrevocably his. Not unless they were married.

  He had to find a way to change her mind about that.

  Chapter 17

  Point Levis, July 1759

  Gideon paced back and forth behind the British batteries lobbing a last round of shot and shell across the St. Lawrence and into Quebec. He stopped and stared at their target, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare of the rising sun reflected off the river. With the boom of each cannon, one thought pounded in his brain.

  He had to get Mara out of the city.

  Since the placement of the battery on the south side of the river, he had watched with mixed feelings as the big guns pounded Quebec every night.

  A gunnery sergeant bawled, “Cease fire!”

  Ears still ringing in the sudden silence, Gideon lifted his telescope to inspect the damage that had been wrought. Every morning he walked out to the battery to look and to pray that Mara was still safe.

  Though their main target was supposed to be the defenses of Upper Town, no effort had been made to spare the docks and warehouses of Lower Town. Gideon trained his spyglass on that area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tavern, but the distance was too great for detail.

  Why did the French not fire back? Why did Montcalm allow the destruction of the Canadian capital? Perhaps they were short of powder. It was hard to believe that even the French could be so negligent.

  Gideon cursed under his breath. If only he had been more insistent that she leave, even if that meant throwing her over his shoulder and forcibly carrying her to the boat.

  He still had one card up his sleeve, however. It was time to send the ransom note.

  With that decision made, he walked back to his tent. Despite his woolen uniform, he shivered in the cool air blowing off the river. Back in Pennsylvania, his colleagues were probably sweating in the heat, but so far, and despite the long hours of daylight, the Canadian summer barely deserved the name.