Rogue's Hostage

by Linda McLaughlin

  *

  Mara spent the afternoon in Gideon’s tent, waiting anxiously for him to return. She spotted her trunk tucked in one corner and rummaged through it to see what Gideon had managed to save from her cabin. Finding a spare shift and clean stockings, she made a quick change. The family Bible was inside and she was glad to know it had not been lost. But how she was to salvage her family given Gideon’s present attitude, she did not know. Resuming her pacing, she determined to try once more to talk some sense into him before putting her escape plan into action.

  She had told no one about her dream, not sure whom to trust, but she longed to confide in someone. Gideon had a university education, perhaps he could explain it to her. And she had to pass along their mother’s message to him, though she doubted it would do any good. Still, that was her only hope of turning him from his present path. She refused to sacrifice the man she loved to her brother’s sick need for vengeance.

  He returned in time for the evening meal. Over salt pork and cornbread, Mara put her worries aside and made an effort to be a pleasant dinner companion. Gideon seemed to sense what she was doing, as well, so they spoke of old times and tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

  Alienating her brother would not help the situation, and, in truth, she had no wish to quarrel with him. As children, they had been close, but now it seemed as if an immense gorge stood between them.

  After dinner, she gathered the courage to broach the subject of her dream. “Gideon, have you ever heard of anyone who died and then came back to life? Like Lazarus, in the Bible.”

  He looked surprised at her choice of topic. “Why do you ask?”

  “Something happened to me a week ago that I do not understand.”

  He settled back in his chair. “Tell me about it.”

  “The building I was in was shelled and caught fire. I was trapped on the ground floor.”

  He sat up straight, a horrified expression on his face. “My God, Mara, were you hurt?”

  She hastened to assure him. “Mostly bruises, though I had a concussion and injured my shoulder. The worst was the smoke that made it impossible to breathe. While I was unconscious, I had a very strange dream, only…” She hesitated, and then plunged ahead. “Only I am not sure it really was a dream.”

  He frowned. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  She took a deep breath, not expecting him to believe her, but knowing she had to try. “I think I died and went to heaven, only they said it was not my time to die and sent me back.”

  “They?”

  “There were two angels in my dream. One said she had been my mother.”

  His eyebrows shot upward. “Mother? You never even knew her.”

  Mara smiled at the memory of her mother’s loving presence. “Oh, Gideon, she was so beautiful. And so loving.”

  “That was quite a dream you had, Mara. Is there more?”

  “The other angel said he was a servant of him whose existence I doubt. Oh, Gideon, I learned so much,” she said fervently. She spoke quickly, hoping to say something that would convince him of the reality of her dream. “Do you know why there are so many different churches? Because not everyone has the same spiritual needs. That is why all churches are good and necessary.”

  He smiled indulgently. “Perhaps it is best if you do not tell this story to very many people. Imagine what Grandfather would have said.”

  He wasn’t taking her seriously. She could see it in his expression, and yet he was listening. “I know it sounds crazy, but I thought you would understand if anyone did.”

  He shifted in his chair. “Yes, well, when I was at university, I read accounts of the early Christians describing similar experiences. But I thought they were merely allegorical, meant to instruct the faithful.”

  “I see,” she said, unaccountably disappointed.

  His expression softened. “Dreams come in many guises, Mara. If this one has given you comfort, then surely that is a good thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right. I am less fearful now.”

  He studied her gravely, but there was a hint of excitement in his eyes. “Was there anything else?”

  Mara hesitated. Now they were getting to the difficult part. “The second angel told me that I had to come back because two men were waiting for me. One I would marry.”

  His lips tightened in disapproval. “I suppose you are referring to Corbeau. My God, how could you even think of such a thing? Did you make up this dream to convince me that you were meant for each other?”

  “I am not in the habit of making up stories,” she said, hurt by his accusation.

  “Just what is it you’re trying to tell me, Mara?”

  “The angel said the other man was someone I must help to forgive.” His gaze grew wary, but she pressed on. “Yes, you. Mother was quite worried about you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “All right, Mara. What do you want of me?”

  She leaned forward and spoke quietly. “I want you to quit trying to avenge Father’s death. It is not your place to do so. Mother said that when you learned to forgive, you would find someone special, too.”

  He barked a laugh, but his expression was not amused. “What is the message here, love conquers all? Is that not a bit trite?”

  Stung by his words, Mara clamped her mouth together. It was clear that he was not going to listen to her. When had her beloved brother turned into this cold, haughty officer? Her heart ached for the loss of her childhood companion.

  He stood up suddenly. “Is that all? I have work to do.”

  Anger suddenly forced her to her feet to face him across the table. “No, that is not all. I want you to stop blaming Jacques for what happened to me, and accept that I love him. Treat him as you would any other prisoner of war, not as a spy.”

  “It is too late for that. Moncton has ordered him transferred to Wolfe’s headquarters first thing tomorrow morning. There is a very good chance the general will want to make an example of him.”

  His words sent a chill through her. She had a vision of Jacques standing under a tree, a noose around his neck. No, she could not allow that to happen!

  Gathering her courage, she looked Gideon in the eye. “May I see him one more time? In private?”

  He sighed heavily. “If you must. Tell Sergeant Bigley I gave my permission for you to visit the prisoner.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mara picked up the pouch containing Jacques’s uniform and other personal belongings. The time to choose had arrived. She just hoped that her plan would work.

  *

  By the time Mara returned to Gideon’s tent, her choice had been made, her plan finalized.

  Sergeant Bigley had been a great help. The garrulous soldier had insisted on accompanying her and willingly answered all of her questions. Now she knew the layout of the camp and the time the prisoner’s guard was set to change.

  The hardest part had been convincing Jacques to go along with her plan. He hadn’t wanted her to take any risks, but finally agreed, sure that her brother would see she came to no harm. She had not voiced her own doubts on that subject.

  Walking back into the tent, she was dismayed to see Gideon sitting at the table in his shirtsleeves, writing some kind of report. Probably an account of the day’s events, she guessed. A mug and a porcelain teapot sat on the end of the table.

  Her heart rate accelerated. Her plan might be harder to carry out than she’d thought.

  “Aren’t you getting sleepy?” she asked.

  Gideon looked up at her and smiled. “I often work late at night. It is the only time I can count on not being interrupted.”

  “I see,” she replied in a faint tone. What was she to do now? It was imperative that Gideon sleep very soundly tonight. She reached into her pocket and touched the bottle of laudanum she had hidden there. She had intended only to use it on the sentry, but…

  She removed her hand. How could she contemplate drugging her own brother? He would never forgive her when he found out.
But what choice did she have? She had to save Jacques.

  “Would you like more tea?” she asked.

  “Please,” Gideon said in a distracted voice.

  With a shaking hand, she reached into her pocket for the bottle of laudanum. Keeping an eye on Gideon, she shook a few drops of the drug into his mug, and then added the tea.

  When he picked it up, she almost blurted out for him to stop, but as he drank, she sat pondering the wisdom of what she was about to do. Yet, surely Gideon had forced her into it, had he not? She couldn’t stand by and see Jacques wrongfully hanged as a spy.

  The visit with him had nearly broken her heart. It had been stifling in the small tent, and with his hands tied, he had been unable to even swat at the mosquitoes that buzzed around, nipping at will. The first thing she had done was to cut his bonds with Emile’s hunting knife. The irony of that was not lost on her.

  Gideon’s eyes soon grew heavy and his head began to nod.

  “Why don’t you lie down for a while?” Mara suggested. “Here, let me help you.” She guided him to his cot where he fell asleep immediately. Only then did she reach into his waistcoat pocket for their father’s watch, a necessary part of her plan.

  She stared at her brother, feeling a mixture of affection, guilt, and sadness. In his sleep, he appeared younger, more like the boy she remembered. How she had adored him—her hero, her champion, the only person who tried to protect her from their grandfather’s wrath. But those days were gone forever, and Gideon was now more stranger than brother. Though she still loved him, she was no longer sure that she liked him. Otherwise she never could have done such a deed.

  Love for another man filled her heart. Gideon represented her past, but Jacques was her future.

  Returning to the table she poured tea into another mug, added some laudanum, then left.

  She walked swiftly to the tent where Jacques was being held prisoner. The young sentry stood at attention when he saw her coming.

  “Mrs. Dupré,” he acknowledged.

  “Private Green. I thought you might be thirsty,” she said, handing him the mug.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The young man drained the mug in a few gulps, and then handed it back to her.

  “May I see the prisoner?”

  He scratched his head. “I suppose it’s all right. You being the major’s sister and all.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed him a grateful smile and ducked into the tent. It was nearly as hot inside as the last time she’d visited, but Jacques looked more comfortable now that he was no longer tied up.

  She crawled into his arms, and he kissed her with a hunger born of desperation. With a small whimper, she opened her mouth and her tongue met his in a final attempt to meld his soul with hers. When she could no longer breathe, she drew back and rested her head on his shoulder, knowing they would be separated soon, perhaps forever.

  After a few moments, she pulled away from him and took the watch from her pocket. Attempting a lighthearted smile despite the sorrow in her heart, she said, “Much as I love your kisses, we cannot afford to lose track of time.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Ever the practical Swiss.”

  She grinned back at him. “Part of me will always be Swiss, but I have become a daring American, now.” The European in her would never have helped a prisoner escape the British army.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I have always admired your courage, Mara.”

  “I wish I could go with you,” she said softly.

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “Yes, and I would slow you down.”

  When he opened his mouth to protest, she covered his lips with her fingers. “No, that much is true.” Earlier, they had discussed his escape route. Success was dependent on finding an unguarded canoe or rowboat. Failing that, he would have to swim the river, a feat she could not hope to match.

  Jacques dug his red waistcoat from the pouch she had brought earlier and put it on. “Mara, are you sure about this? It is not too late to change your mind.”

  Just then they heard a thud outside the tent. “That would be Private Green,” Mara remarked with a smile.

  The sentry was stretched out in front of the tent, snoring softly, his musket lying beside him on the ground. Jacques darted out, pulled the sentry inside, and divested him of his hat and coat, which he put on.

  Outside again, Jacques picked up the musket and stood at attention. Mara picked up the telltale mug and stuffed it into Jacques’s pouch, which she slung over her shoulder. They waited only a few minutes before Private Green’s replacement showed up. Just then, the moon went behind a cloud, aiding their deception. “Everything all right?” the man asked.

  Jacques coughed and nodded.

  “The prisoner is sleeping like a babe. Come along, Private Green,” Mara said, taking Jacques by the arm. “I’ll give you something for that cough.”

  Jacques followed her through the camp until they were on the outskirts. This was as far as she would go. She stopped in a wooded area to say good-bye to him. Only God knew how long it would be before she looked on his dear face again.

  “Please be careful, my love.”

  He drew her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. His mouth mated with hers in a bittersweet kiss that tasted equally of love and sadness. When he drew back, his gaze searched her face in the moonlight.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to memorize you for a lifetime.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t say that. When this is all over, I will find you,” she vowed.

  His expression grew troubled. “Mara, I am no good for you. Promise that you’ll forget about me. You are still young, you can marry again.”

  She gripped his coat by the lapels and shook him. “I will marry you or no one. Whatever happens, you must stay alive.”

  He took her hands and flashed a cocky grin that failed. “Do not worry, I’m a lucky bastard.” He kissed both of her palms, then dropped her hands and left without a backward glance.

  “Take care,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the tears that clogged her throat.

  Arms wrapped around herself for comfort, she watched him fade into the forest, leaving her life as swiftly and quietly as he had come into it.

  Chapter 20

  Jacques paddled the stolen canoe into the shallow water of the Anse au Foulon. His shoulders ached with the effort it had taken to navigate the wide St. Lawrence, but he was grateful he had not had to swim across as so many deserters had done. He climbed out and pulled the canoe onto the bank. Standing up, he stretched, flexing his arms and shoulders, and then turned to look across the river.

  The early morning sun spread its weak rays through a soft mist, casting a faint golden glow over everything. Behind him, in the trees, a squirrel chattered and a songbird greeted the dawn with a joyous trill. The sweet sound pierced the wall he’d tried to build around his senses to keep the pain locked inside.

  He stared at the wooded south shore where he had left Mara, and his heart with her. In its place sat a ball of icy regret. Regret for the peril he’d brought into her life. For the stubbornness that had kept her at his side when it would have been kinder to let her go. Most of all, regret for the rash, arrogant, and futile promises he’d made to protect her.

  The image of the first time he had seen her flashed into his mind’s eye—that glorious blond hair shining in the sunlight as she laughed with her brother. As long as they had been together, he’d never seen her as carefree as that first day. Right before the world came crashing down around her.

  He clenched his jaw until he heard his teeth grind together. If only… The words pounded incessantly in his brain. If only he could have talked Gray Wolf out of attacking the cabin. But then, they would never have met.

  If only he had let her go free back in the wilderness. No, he decided, she’d never have survived on her own.

  If only he had sent her away with Claude and Sophie. But then, he’d never have had the chanc
e to hold her soft, naked body next to his and make love to her until she whimpered with pleasure. And that he could never regret, though now it would be but a lovely memory to him.

  He sucked in a deep breath of cool, damp air. Dear God, he missed her already. But it was better this way, for her at least. He had brought her nothing but fear, pain, and exile, and she had repaid him with her love and loyalty.

  I’ll marry you or no one.

  He shook his head to dispel the memory of her words. In time she would forget him, find someone else. Someone worthy. And, he assured himself, until then, her brother would take care of her.

  Mara deserved something better than a dishonored bastard. With a sigh, Jacques turned his back to the river and began to climb the path to the Plains of Abraham. Thank God, this time he’d had the strength to walk away from her.

  It was not something he could ever do again.

  *

  Gideon awoke to a pounding headache and an uneasy stomach. He lay on his cot, shading his eyes against the light streaming through the open tent flap. What in the world was wrong with him? Good God, was he coming down with some dread disease? There was more than enough of that to go around in the camp.

  He lifted his head and groaned aloud. Had he not known better, he’d have thought he was hung over. But he’d been drinking tea last night, hadn’t he? His memory of the evening was hazy at best.

  He looked around for Mara, but she was nowhere in sight. Probably gone to see her Frenchman, he thought sourly. That was all she had seemed to care about.

  Slowly he pushed himself to a sitting position and realized he’d slept in his shoes. What the devil? He shook his head, a terrible mistake, as a sharp pain shot through it.

  Before he could stand, Sergeant Bigley burst into the tent, a frantic look on his face. “Major Harcourt, the prisoner has escaped!”

  Gideon jumped to his feet and almost passed out. He grabbed hold of Bigley’s arm until the blackness on the edge of his vision receded. The world slowly righted itself. When Bigley ceased looking like twins, Gideon released his arm, took a deep breath and said quietly, “What did you say, sergeant?”