Rogue's Hostage

by Linda McLaughlin

Jacques took her hands in his. “No, I won’t allow that. There is another possibility, you know.”

  Hope flared in her heart, but she forced herself to remain calm. “And what would that be?”

  “You could come to France with me, to my father’s château.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I doubt that your father will welcome your mistress with open arms.”

  “True, but he can hardly turn away my wife. Marry me.”

  She hesitated. It was what she had wanted, but one thing was missing. “But you’ve never said that you love me.”

  He put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Mara, how can you even think that? Of course I love you. I have for nearly a year. Say you’ll marry me.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Jacques, I love you, too! Yes, yes, yes.”

  His head lowered toward hers, and her heart shuddered expectantly. His mouth moved over hers with exquisite tenderness. With a small whimper, she opened her lips to allow his demanding, searching tongue. The sensation started a warm tingle in the depths of her being. She pressed closer, needing to feel his strength, his need, his love.

  His mouth left hers to trail a path along her cheek to her ear. His breathing was ragged now, stirring the hair that had escaped her braid. She burrowed into his warmth, suffused with a wonderful sense of having come home at last.

  “I’m so glad you’re going to be with me. I need your help.”

  She drew back to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Etienne’s son. I know nothing about raising children.”

  Her hands slid down to rest on his chest. Now that it was time to tell him her good news, she suddenly felt hesitant. “I guess we will just have to learn together. There is something else you should know, Jacques.”

  “What is it, mon coeur?”

  She looked at him, wanting to observe his reaction. “Our love has created a miracle.” She swallowed hard, suddenly unsure. “I am carrying your child.”

  “Child?” He gaped at her. “You’re going to have a baby?”

  She nodded.

  “But you always said… Are you sure?” He touched her abdomen. “You don’t look like…”

  “It is early days, yet,” she said, knowing she’d soon be as big as a house. She watched him anxiously, still not certain if he was pleased at her news.

  Then an enormous smile creased his face. “Oh, God, Mara, you’re carrying my son,” he said in a voice filled with wonder.

  She smiled. “Will you be disappointed if it’s a girl?”

  “A girl,” he repeated. “A little girl who looks just like her mother.” He suddenly grabbed her and swung her in a circle. “I’m going to be a father!”

  “Put me down, Jacques, you’re making me dizzy.”

  He set her on her feet immediately. “Are you all right? You haven’t been sick, have you? Maybe you should sit down.”

  She smiled fondly at him and sank down on a wooden pew, Jacques kneeling beside her. “I am fine.”

  He squeezed her hand then rose to his feet. “Don’t move an inch. I’ll get Father Benoit right now.”

  “Wait, Jacques, I don’t want to be married without Gideon being here. He is my only family. I have to ask him.” She stood up and took his hand. “You said once before that one day I would have to choose between you and Gideon. And I chose you, the man I love, the father of my child. But I will not turn my back on my brother unless absolutely necessary.”

  Jacques raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Your loyalty is just one of the things I admire about you. Go, speak to your brother.”

  *

  Gideon’s eyes widened with astonishment. “You want to get married right now?”

  “Yes. There is a priest at the hospital who can perform the ceremony.”

  His brows shot up. “A priest? Grandfather will be turning in his grave!”

  Mara placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “When did you start to care about Grandfather’s beliefs? You with your devil’s cards?”

  “I can find an army chaplain to marry you.”

  “Jacques and I have to wed in the Catholic Church for the marriage to be recognized in France. Will you give me away?”

  His smile was resigned. “Yes, but I hate to lose you again. It seems our paths are always diverging. We’ve had so little time together.”

  She touched his arm. “I know, but my place is with my husband. Gideon, I have another favor to ask. Jacques promised his brother to return to France and raise his son. Can you help us with that?”

  “That won’t be difficult. The Navy is working on arrangements to send all the prisoners to the nearest French port. There should be room for one wife.”

  Jacques was waiting for them just inside the door. Gideon tensed, and Mara held her breath, afraid of what might happen between the two men.

  “Corbeau,” Gideon said in a curt tone. “So you want to do the right thing by my sister.”

  Jacques gave a tight nod.

  Mara’s stomach tightened into a knot. Was there any chance of reconciliation between them?

  “There is one other thing,” Jacques said hesitantly. “I’d like for my brother to have a proper burial.”

  Gideon nodded. “I’ll see what can be done about that. I know how you feel.”

  “You cannot possibly…”

  Gideon clenched his fists. “Emile was like a brother to me. How do you think I felt when I saw him lying in the dirt where he died? I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  Jacques thrust his chin forward and said, “You could have tried.”

  “Stop it! This is my wedding day. If you two can’t behave yourselves…” Mara’s voice trailed off as tears formed in her eyes. A part of her had feared Gideon’s reaction, but a more optimistic part had hoped he’d be happy for her.

  Jacques touched her right shoulder at the same time Gideon reached for her left hand. She stood between them, looking from one dear angry face to the other.

  “Please,” she said finally. “Have we not already suffered enough? Could you not at least pretend to get along, just for one day? One hour?”

  Jacques flinched, and Gideon flushed under his tan.

  After a moment, Jacques held out a hand. “Look, Harcourt, you and I may never like each other, but for Mara’s sake we have to try to get along. I’m willing if you are.”

  Gideon rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly torn with conflicting emotions.

  “Gideon,” she said. “You forgave me. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive Jacques, as well?”

  Uncertainty crept into his expression, and then he sighed in resignation. “Very well, Mara, but for your sake only.” He held out a hand to Jacques who solemnly shook it.

  With a glad cry, Mara embraced her brother. He returned the hug, then took her by the hand and led her to Jacques. With a ceremonious manner, he laid her hand on Jacques’s arm.

  But Gideon had to have the last word. “I accept your marriage to my sister, Corbeau, but if I ever hear that you’ve mistreated her…”

  “You need not worry about that.” Jacques looked down at her, and in a husky voice said, “She is more precious to me than life itself.”

  Mara smiled up at him through her tears. Taking her by the hand, Jacques led the way to the chapel, Gideon trailing behind.

  Father Benoit awaited them in front of the altar.

  Mara smile at the older man. “It is good of you to do this on such short notice, Father.”

  The priest beamed at her. “It seems I have done nothing but give last rites this week. It will be a pleasure to perform a marriage service instead.”

  Mara repeated her vows in a haze. She could hardly believe this was really happening. Her mother had been right all along. Lost in her own reverie, she was startled by the priest’s next words.

  “You may place the ring on her finger,” Father Benoit said.

  “Oh,” Mara said. “We do no
t have…”

  Gideon offered his Masonic ring, but the horrified look on Father Benoit’s face quickly put an end to that idea.

  Jacques reached into his pocket and placed Etienne’s signet ring on her finger. “I’m sure Etienne won’t mind if we borrow this. I will buy you one of your own when we get to France.”

  Mara clenched her fingers to keep the large man’s ring from falling off. She stared at the coat of arms engraved on it, and suddenly it all seemed real. It was the symbol of his family. Her new family. With one simple gesture, she had acquired not only a husband, but also a father-in-law and a nephew. And soon she’d have a babe of her very own. Her heart swelled with happiness.

  Jacques placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to look at him. “I believe this is where I kiss the bride.”

  His lips were warm and sweet on hers, his kiss tender but lingering. It was a pledge of faith in the future, the promise of a lifetime of happiness. Joy blossomed inside her, and she returned his kiss with the love and passion only he could evoke in her.

  “Are you happy, mon coeur?”

  Mara looked into his gray eyes, shining with love and tenderness. “Yes,” she said, filled with wonder. It was true. For the first time in her life she could face the future with hope and joy.

  Gideon’s voice startled them apart. “Here now, it’s my turn.”

  Mara laughed and moved into his embrace to accept a kiss on the cheek.

  Jacques slipped Father Benoit a coin, and they left the chapel, Mara arm in arm with the two men she loved most.

  Epilogue

  Château D’Archambault, May 28, 1760

  “What is taking so long?” Jacques paused in his pacing and turned to his father. “It’s been hours.”

  The count smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I suspect you will have a daughter. Women always make us wait, son. You’d best get used to it. Sit down before you wear a hole in my good carpet.”

  Jacques grinned and sank into a leather chair that faced the marble fireplace in his father’s library. He glanced at the older man, noting the gray hair and lined face. He still hadn’t grown accustomed to how much his father had aged in the years he’d been gone. Etienne’s death hadn’t helped, though his father had taken comfort in his grandson.

  Jacques was just glad that the past had finally been put to rest. He’d never thought to find contentment as his father’s steward, but that was exactly what had happened. Slowly and carefully over the last six months, he and his father had rebuilt a relationship based on mutual respect and trust.

  He couldn’t have made a place for himself here without Mara. She had charmed his father with her sweetness and modesty, and showered her new nephew with the love and concern his own mother had been incapable of giving.

  When Jacques heard footsteps overhead, he left the library and hurried to the stairway.

  His wife’s maid beamed down at him. “Come, monsieur, you have a new daughter.”

  “I do?” Jacques stared dumbly at her. “Is she all right? And Mara?”

  “She and the child are fine. Come, madame is calling for you.”

  Jacques bounded up the stairs, two and three at a time. He heard his father’s cane tapping behind him but was in too much of a hurry to slow down and wait for the older man.

  He burst into the room and rushed to Mara’s bedside. “Thank heaven you are all right.”

  She smiled at him, looking tired but radiant. “We have a daughter. She has your dark hair.”

  He looked down at the small bundle in her arms. The babe did indeed have a surprising amount of black hair. “I wanted her to look like you,” he said softly.

  “And I hoped she’d look like you,” Mara said with a smile. “Would you like to hold her?”

  Jacques swallowed. “But she’s so tiny. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “It will be all right,” Mara assured her. “Just support her head.”

  Jacques gingerly took his daughter and cradled her in his arms. “Bonjour, petite. You and I are going to get along famously.”

  Then his daughter opened her eyes, her blue eyes. “Oh, look, Mara, she has your eyes.”

  The midwife chuckled. “But monsieur, all babies have blue eyes. They may well change color.”

  “No,” he insisted. “Her eyes will be blue. She will be a perfect combination of her parents, my hair and your eyes.”

  Mara exchanged a glance with the midwife but said nothing. Her husband looked so adorable holding his daughter that she didn’t want to do anything to ruin the moment.

  “May I see my grandchild?” the count asked from the door. Didier peeked out from behind him. He was a small replica of his father and his uncle, with the same black hair and gray eyes.

  “Of course,” Jacques said. “You may even hold her.” He seemed relieved to hand his precious burden over to her grandfather.

  Didier peeked at the baby. “What is her name?”

  “Mara, of course,” Jacques said. “After her mother.”

  “No!” Mara said loudly. When they all turned to her with surprised expressions, she hastened to explain. “My name means bitter. I’ll not do that to her.”

  The count handed her the baby and asked in a gentle tone, “What name do you prefer?”

  Mara looked tenderly at the babe in her arms. “I want to call her Mireille, for she is a miracle.”

  “A lovely name,” Jacques said. “Mireille she shall be.”

  He walked to the bed and sat beside Mara. Reaching into his coat pocket, he drew out a box and handed it to her. Mara looked at him questioningly.

  “Open it,” he said. “I bought it for you when I went to Paris last month.”

  She opened the box to find a diamond bracelet. “Oh, Jacques, it’s beautiful,” she said, holding it up to the light and admiring the way it sparkled. “But you’ve given me so much already.”

  “You have found a treasure, my son,” the count said. “Most women are not so easily pleased.”

  “Indeed I have.” Jacques leaned over and fastened the bracelet on her wrist. “I wanted to give you something special.”

  She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here. A loving husband, a babe, and a family. Thanks to you, I have a new father and a nephew, too. My cup runneth over.”

  “Then you are happy?”

  Mara smiled at him through a veil of tears. “Oh, yes, Jacques. I have never been happier.”

  Author’s Note

  The captive story is an old one, with roots in the Greek myth of Persephone in the Underworld, and in reality. Among tribal societies, marriage by capture was not uncommon, a pre-scientific method of enlarging the gene pool. In our own time, the Stockholm Syndrome has been observed, in which hostages begin to identify with their captors. Though “marriage by capture” is no longer practiced, the story still resonates in the female unconscious.

  For the historical purists, I freely admit that there probably were no bastards in the French officer corps, that privilege being reserved for sons of the aristocracy or wealthy merchants. However, for purposes of the story, I decided Jacques should have a commission.

  Likewise, to the best of my knowledge, there were no British spies in Quebec prior to the epic battle on the Plains of Abraham. Again, for purposes of the story, it was convenient for Gideon and Ned to infiltrate the city to reconnoiter and to search for Mara.

  Otherwise, I have tried to depict the era as accurately as possible without dwelling on the brutality of the period. I do hope you have enjoyed the story.

  The cave where Mara and Jacques spent the night is based on Indian Caverns, Spruce Creek, Pennsylvania. The lights in the Star Chamber are caused by specks of radium.

  —Linda McLaughlin

  About the Author

  Linda McLaughlin grew up with a love of history fostered by her paternal grandmother, who loved to tell stories about their ancestors who settled in western Pennsylvania in the late 1700’s
, and by visits to the old family farm and log cabin. So, when Linda decided to write historical romance, it seemed natural to set a book in her home state.

  When she was fourteen, her family moved to southern California and she has lived there since, except for a year at the University of Texas at Austin, where she earned a Master’s degree in Library Science. Currently, she lives in Anaheim with her husband.

  Linda writes historical and Regency romance. She loves transporting her readers into the past where her characters learn that, in the journey of life, love is the sweetest reward.

  She also writes spicy and erotic romance under the name Lyndi Lamont.

  Connect online:

  Linda McLaughlin

  Lyndi Lamont

  Blog

  Twitter: @LyndiLamont

  Shelfari

  If you enjoyed Rogue’s Hostage, please consider posting a review online. Thank you.

  Bonus Material

  Excerpt from

  Where Eagles Cry

  By Dee Ann Palmer

  Western Historical Romance

  SHE

  Jilted by love in 1834, Cara Lindsay sails from Boston to Mexico’s rugged California to begin a new life with a favorite aunt. Heartbroken to learn her aunt has died, she takes a companionship position to the wife of Don Miguel Navarro, the tough and irresistible owner of a major inland rancho. Prior to her arrival, Miguel’s wife had suffered a permanent brain injury in a suspicious fall, and the lonely ranchero’s heart opens to Cara’s kindness and beauty like parched earth to rain. Yet love may break Cara’s heart again, for she would never be any man’s mistress. Until ships sail for Boston months away, she’s trapped in the midst of danger and an impossible love. When the bells ring again and an eagle cries, will she be the next to die?

  HE

  He has a major ranch to run and its people to provide for and protect. Hungry for companionship and love, Miguel Navarro hires a young woman to care for his wife and lighten the load on his aging aunt. Yet how can he keep her safe once his heart warms to her caring and fire?

  Where Eagles Cry

  A fire flamed orange in the grate on the far side of the room. Don Miguel Navarro, her new employer, stood near it, the light dancing off the dark surface of one boot as it rested on the hearth. He gazed into the fire, his thoughts apparently elsewhere for he was not aware of her presence.