Rogue's Hostage (19 page)

Her last thought was that Grandfather had been right. Her day of reckoning had arrived. For her wickedness, she was being punished in fire and brimstone.

* * *

That was close,
Jacques thought.

A chill passed through him as a barrage of shells cascaded into Lower Town. Loud explosions were followed by billows of black smoke from the vicinity of the tavern.

"Mara!" he bellowed and broke into a run. Icy fear twisted around his heart. He should never have left her there. He should have sent her to stay with Etienne until the transfer could be arranged. That was what he must do, he told himself.

If it was not already too late.

Driven by panic, he stumbled over bricks and debris in the street, gasping the smoke-filled air into his lungs until pain gripped his chest.

Too late, too late, too late
were the words pounding in his head.

When he reached the tavern, his worst fears were realized. Smoke poured from windows that had blown open and from a gaping hole in the roof.

Mara had been in the kitchen when he’d left. He picked his way through the debris along the side of the tavern, working his way toward the back door only to find it blocked by debris from the chimney. He grabbed a brick and tossed it aside, then another and another, working feverishly.

Victor arrived with two of his gun crew to help out. As soon as they pried the door open a crack, Jacques squeezed through, followed by one of his men.

"Mara, are you here?"

No answer.

"Mara!"

The kitchen was filled with smoke. Jacques dropped to the floor and began to crawl, tossing aside plates and tankards in his way. A flash of white suddenly caught his eye. Mara’s cap. She was trapped underneath the sideboard. He reached for her hand but found no pulse.

"No!" The cry tore from his throat. He strained against the heavy wooden piece, trying to push it off her single-handedly. The gunner joined him, and with a great heave they shoved it aside.

Jacques gathered her into his arms and carried her outside. Slumped on the ground, he held her lifeless body in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

* * *

Mara was back in the cave, surrounded by blackness, except for a pinprick of light overhead. What had Jacques called it? The Star Chamber. Only she remembered a lot of twinkling lights, not just one. She must be having a dream, she decided, but a nice one. At least the shelling had stopped, and blessed silence surrounded her.

Then she heard a rushing sound, like a river at flood tide. She was propelled through the darkness, not walking but floating through space, toward a light that grew larger and brighter as she came closer until she emerged from the cave. How odd that such brilliant light did not hurt her eyes after the blackness.

A beautiful spirit appeared, like an angel, but with an enormous white halo. "Welcome, my child," the angel said, but not aloud. The words echoed inside Mara’s mind.

"Who are you?" Mara wondered, filled with awe.

"The one who has watched over you since your birth."

An image of her mother’s bedroom in Geneva floated into Mara’s vision. Her grandmother, looking younger than Mara remembered, stood holding a baby in her arms. The angel who had greeted her hovered over the bed in which her mother’s body lay. "Mama," she gasped, "is that you?"

"Yes, my child."

Mara was suddenly filled with a sense of love and joy and acceptance. "Oh, Mama, I never thought we would meet. Promise you’ll never leave me again."

Her mother smiled gently. "It is you who must leave soon. But first there is someone you must meet."

She led Mara to another angel whose halo was even larger and more radiant. Before Mara could speak, he replied, "I am a servant of him whose existence you doubt."

With that she expected to be cast into the bowels of hell, but nothing happened. Instead of disapproval, she sensed nothing but love and compassion, and a hint of humor.

"How have you lived your life, my child?" the angel asked. "How well have you learned to love?"

Mara’s whole life flashed through her mind, in vivid detail. Not only did she relive her memories, but also was acutely aware of every hurt, every disappointment she had caused others. Upon reflection, it was not a bad life, but a cowardly one, for she had failed to embrace fully the life God had given her.

"It does not take much to make you happy," the angel said, "just love and peace of mind. So far, your life has been difficult, filled with pain and sorrow. But you must stop living in the past. Concentrate on the present and the future, and you will find happiness."

Mara’s mind filled with questions that were instantly answered.

"Why are there so many churches? Which is the right one?"

"There are many religions because different people have different spiritual needs. Each one is necessary and right for those who believe."

"Why must men fight? How can it be stopped?"

"By learning to forgive your enemies, as you have done."

"But what I have done with Jacques is a sin," she insisted, bracing herself for disapproval.

"Most sins are more easily forgiven than you have been led to believe. You are on earth to learn, my child, and to help others. That is why you cannot stay here. Two men who love you await your return. One you will marry. The other needs your help learning to forgive."

"Jacques and Gideon."

"Yes," the angel confirmed.

"It is time."

The second angel disappeared. Mara turned to see her mother again. "Please, Mama, do not send me away. Not now that I have finally found you."

"It is not yet your time, my child. You must go back. There is work for you to do."

Mara was torn between her concern for Jacques and Gideon, and her desire to remain in the light. Going back meant pain and sorrow. "But I do not know how to get back."

"I will go part of the way with you. Would you like to see your brother?"

"Yes," she said, resigned now. Mara followed her mother back through the cave and into the sunlight until they hovered over the British encampment across the St. Lawrence. Soldiers scurried about their business, but no one noticed her or her mother. How odd it all was, Mara thought.

They found Gideon sitting in his tent, studying a set of brilliantly colored cards spread on a table before him. Looking down on him, it was as if he were surrounded by a dark cloud. Fear, anger and worry emanated from him, but through it a glimmer of something brighter flashed in her mind, then disappeared. She looked questioningly at her mother.

"Yes, there is someone special for him, if only he can see. That will not happen until he gives up this quest for vengeance."

They left Gideon behind, and soon Mara found herself hovering above the debris-strewn alley beside the tavern. She looked down and saw her body lying on the ground. Oddly, she felt no attachment to it, just concern for the man who knelt beside it, head bowed, shoulders shaking. Jacques was crying, she realized with amazement.

"He does not want you to leave him."

She was torn between her love for Jacques and her desire to remain with her mother. "If I go back to him, he will just send me away. I would rather stay with you."

"You must have faith, my child. Follow your heart, and you will have a good life together. And a beautiful child."

A child. "Oh, Mama, that would be the most wonderful of all. But will I ever see you again?"

"When the time is right, my child. Now go and be happy."

Mara focused on Jacques’s love and sadness until she sensed herself becoming denser. An instant later, she was lying on the cold ground. Pain engulfed her, pulsing through her body. Her head pounded, her shoulder throbbed. Her mouth was parched, her throat raw. She started to take a deep breath and stopped. It was as if an anvil sat on her chest.

Jacques still knelt beside her, eyes closed, tears staining his cheeks. She swallowed and tried to speak, wanting to tell him of her love. But she could only gasp.

Jacques’s eyes flew open. "Mara, thank God!"

With trembling hands, he smoothed the hair off her face, and bent to tenderly kiss her forehead. "Ah,
mon coeur,
I feared you had left me forever. I could not bear it."

His words gave her hope. Perhaps he would not send her away after all. When she opened her mouth, he put his finger over her lips. "Hush, do not try to talk. Let me get you some water."

He returned quickly with a canteen and slipped his arm under her shoulders to lift them. The movement brought sheer agony, intensifying the ache in her head and the stabbing pain in her shoulder, but the water soothed her parched mouth and throat. She slumped against Jacques, her head against his chest. Despite her injuries, she knew she’d come home.

Jacques commandeered a horse-drawn cart and drove Mara to the
Hôpitale Général.
Every jolt of the cart sent stabbing pains through her head and shoulder, but she grimly held on to the edge of the seat.

Fortunately for the injured of Quebec, the hospital was far enough from the cliffs to have escaped the bombing, and the noise lessened as they grew closer. Once inside the building, Jacques grabbed the first doctor he could find and demanded that he take care of Mara.

"You are a fortunate young woman," the doctor remarked after examining her. "If Lieutenant Corbeau had not found you when he did…"

Mara smiled weakly at the man, her throat too raw to speak.

"You have a concussion and a bruised shoulder." The doctor eased her left arm into a sling. "Not to mention breathing too much smoke. But you should heal easily enough. A few days of rest should do the trick. And don’t try to talk just yet."

Mara looked up at Jacques who stood beside the cot. When she held out a hand to him, he knelt and brought her fingers to his lips.

I love you,
she thought. If only she could speak the words out loud, but that would have to wait.

"Forgive me, Mara," he said, a stricken expression on his face.

She frowned at him. What in the name of heaven was he talking about?

"This is all my fault."

No!
She shook her head from side to side, but he went on.

"It is the truth. If I had let you go last fall, none of this would have happened. But I was stubborn and selfish, and now you have paid the price for my folly."

Tears sprang into her eyes. He must not blame himself for what happened. If only she could make him understand…

He brushed her tears away. "Do not cry,
mon coeur.
I promise to be more sensible and do the right thing from now on."

What did he mean by that? What wrong notion had gotten into his head? Mara tried to sit up, but a sudden pain in her shoulder forced her back onto the cot.

"Easy, now," Jacques soothed. "We’ll talk about it later. After I’ve spoken to Etienne about the exchange."

No, I don’t want to be exchanged. I came back from the dead to be with you. You can’t send me away now.

He stood and smiled sadly down at her. "I never meant to hurt you, Mara."

With that, he turned and walked out of the hospital. Mara watched him go, fearful of what he might do. Guilt was a powerful motivator, even when one had nothing to be guilty about.

* * *

"Are you leaving today, my dear?"

Mara turned from the hospital window to see Mother St. Ignace standing behind her. She had been in the hospital for a week since the accident, recovering her health. "Yes, Mother, I’m waiting for Jacques now. The doctor said I am well enough, and heaven knows you need the space."

Mother St. Ignace nodded sadly. "So much suffering. Go with God, my dear. And I hope never to see you again."

"
Adieu,
Mother," Mara whispered, as she watched the nun walk slowly away.

Though she was anxious to leave, her time in the hospital had not been unpleasant. While there were some wounded soldiers in the hospital, most of the patients were civilians like herself, injured in the bombardment of the city.

To make more space, Mara had been moved to a pallet in the nuns’ quarters, mercifully away from the noise of the busy wards. The staff had been augmented by the Ursuline Sisters who had been driven out of their convent by the shelling, so space was tight but not as bad as in the overcrowded hospital rooms.

During the day, Mara had spent hours in the small chapel, alternately worrying about Jacques and meditating on her strange dream.

She longed to tell someone about it, but was hesitant to do so. Not only was it the strangest dream she’d ever had, but it had seemed so real…If it did not seem so impossible, she might think she had actually died and gone to heaven before being sent back. Just like Lazarus in the Bible, she marveled.

Real or not, the experience had given her a new perspective. She no longer feared dying. In fact, if death was anything like her dream, it was more wonderful than life. No, life was what worried her.

The dream had also helped her accept her love for Jacques. Now that she could speak again, she could hardly wait to tell him, but she wanted to wait until they were alone together. He had been to see her every day, but only for a few minutes at a time, and he had looked gaunt and exhausted.

She knew he blamed himself for what had happened. How she longed to assure him that he was not at fault, that destiny had brought them together for a purpose. Of that she was certain. She yearned to tell him she loved him, and beg him to propose again so she could say yes.

How astonished he would be to hear her say that, she thought with a smile. It mattered not where the army sent him, for she no longer cared where they lived or what they did, as long as she was with him.

But she must not forget Gideon. The angel had said he needed help learning to forgive, a formidable task. He had been filled with bitterness for so long, she knew he would not let go of it easily. He was much like their grandfather in that. Stubborn to the end.

She stretched, feeling a pull in her shoulder, which was still a little stiff. According to the doctors, she was well enough to leave, but had nowhere to go since the tavern had been destroyed.

When Jacques walked through the door moments later, she ran into his arms. His face lit up with joy for a second before his expression turned solemn again.

"I have missed you, my love," she murmured.

As he lowered his head towards hers, something glittered in his eyes. Could it be tears? Then his lips touched hers, ever so lightly, ever so briefly. For a moment he held her close, her head nestled on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Mara said a prayer of thanksgiving to once again be in the arms of the man she loved.

His sigh was harsh as he let her go and stepped back. She reached for him, but he just took hold of her hand.

"I have a wagon outside."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you will be safe, at least for tonight."

He led her from the hospital without further explanation. After helping her into the wagon, he climbed in and picked up the reins, heading the wagon away from the city.

Mara’s mind was full of questions, but she did not press him. He seemed distant. Was he still blaming himself for what had happened? She hoped not, knowing that he would not forgive himself easily.

Deciding to wait until they arrived at their destination, she said no more, just tipped her face upward, enjoying her first taste of sunshine in a week. It was a lovely summer day, the sun warm on her face, while a light breeze teased tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. The sound of shelling faded into the distance, allowing her to concentrate on the pleasure of being alone with Jacques. She wanted to forget, if only for a little while, that they were caught in a siege.

Slipping her good arm through his, she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, pulling the wagon to a stop.

She snuggled closer. "I am fine. I just wanted to touch you."

He patted her awkwardly, then moved away from her. "We can talk later."

She sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she’d hoped. He seemed determined to keep her at a distance.

Deciding to bide her time, she sat quietly beside him until Jacques pulled up in front of a huge stone mansion surrounded by forest. Three chimneys rose from the tiled roof above a row of dormer windows. A soft breeze soughed through the trees, rustling the leaves and cooling the air. It was like another world.

"Where are we?" she asked in wonder.

"This is Bigot’s country house." Jacques climbed down and walked around the wagon. "Let me help you." He put his hands on her waist to lift her down, and the longing he’d tried to deny flooded through him. God help him, he still wanted her. He probably always would. Abruptly, he moved away from her.

"What a lovely spot," Mara said.

"Bigot calls it The Hermitage." Jacques refrained from remarking that any self-respecting hermit would be shocked at the gambling and debauchery practiced by the
Intendant
and his cronies. He led her inside to a wood-paneled entryway. A tapestry hung on one wall.

Mara stopped and looked around at her surroundings. "What a lovely room."

A murmur of voices could be heard to their left, punctuated by a shout of triumph, and she cocked her head in question.

"The gaming room," he said. "Rather like Nero fiddling while Rome burns, but Bigot does have his uses. He has offered us his hospitality for tonight, which means a soft bed and a decent meal. You are too thin."

"Have you been gambling again?" Mara asked with a smile. "You are always lucky."

Not if it means losing you.
Jacques stared in wonder at the woman beside him. How could she be so calm and serene after what she’d been through? Joy and guilt battled for control of his emotions. For a short while, yet what seemed like an eternity, he had thought he’d lost her forever and had nearly gone mad with the shock and grief.

He loved her. There was no denying it now. His heart soared at the knowledge, but the guilt that ate at his innards demanded attention. Because he loved her, he had to set her free once and for all.

For a moment, his resolve faltered, then he reminded himself that Mara’s well-being was more important than his own desires. Putting an arm around her waist, he led her upstairs to a lavishly appointed chamber.

Mara gaped at the canopied bed before sitting down. "Oh, feather ticking! I haven’t slept on such a fine mattress since leaving Europe."

He smiled fondly at her. "Then you would love my father’s château."

"Perhaps you can show it to me one day," she said softly.

He took a deep breath before speaking. That would not happen if his plan worked. "I requested a transfer out of Lower Town. Tomorrow I report for re-assignment at Montcalm’s headquarters on the Beauport shore. I am hoping that you can stay with me until Etienne can arrange the ransom exchange with your brother."

She reached out to him. "I do not want to leave you."

He knelt in front of her and took her hand in both of his. "It is for your safety. You must trust me in this."

A frown marred the perfection of her brow. "What do you think will happen? What is the situation in town?"

"It is well on the way to being destroyed, but the army’s position is secure. For now, we have a stalemate. If we can hold out until winter, the British will have to leave, go into winter quarters somewhere. Louisbourg, perhaps, or Halifax."

"And take me with them," she said in a flat tone. "How will we find each other afterwards? We need to come up with a plan."

He cupped her face in one hand. "Mara, when you leave here you must forget me. I am no good for you."

"Do not say that. You are the best thing I have ever found." She looked at him with misty eyes. "I missed you so much this last week."

His hands dropped to his sides. "You are making this very difficult,
mon coeur."

"I mean to make it impossible." Placing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

With a groan he wrenched away from her and stood up. "Everything I had was tied up in the tavern. I have nothing to offer you now. Not even an honorable name."

"I do not care about that. I know now that we are meant to be together. You are a gambler. Given our differences, what are the chances we would ever have met?"

He managed a smile. "About ten thousand to one, but I have always been a lucky bastard."

"That is what I mean," she said. "It was no accident. Our destinies are entwined."

"What are you saying, Mara? That we have no free will?"

She smiled serenely. "I am saying that we belong together. We can follow the drum if you like."

"The army is no life for a woman."

"I am not afraid. Not anymore. Wherever you go, I will go. Wherever you live, I will live. Your country will be my country."

Jacques swore under his breath. How in the world was he supposed to resist her when she said something like that? He had to get her out of Quebec to safety, he thought, even if it meant never seeing her again. "Mara, I am trying to do the right thing," he said through clenched teeth. "Will you please let me be noble for once in my misbegotten life?"

"Even if your nobility is misplaced?"

"Mara, you must understand how I feel. I am a soldier. It is my duty to take risks, but there is no reason why you should be in danger. Not if I can do something about it."

"Oh, Jacques, I know you mean well, but I cannot bear the thought of being parted from you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Your safety must come first. I am sorry, but my mind is made up."

She rose and held out a hand. "Then love me one last time."

He fought for control. There was nothing he wanted so much as to make love to her, but it would make their parting even more agonizing. He was unable to forget how close he’d come to losing her. How close he was to losing her again. After he sent her back to her brother, the odds were good that he’d never see her again. He could hardly stand the thought.

"I do not want to hurt you," he said finally.

"I am not so fragile as that."

He stared at her, struggling to resist her plea. She had always appeared fragile but seemed almost ethereal since the accident. How often lately had he seen a faraway look on her face, as if she were no longer of this earth?

Why not love her one more time?
a voice inside his mind taunted. Soon she would be little more than a memory.

Slowly, he moved across the room and, with trembling hands, drew her into his arms. He held her lightly, afraid of hurting her. She looked as if she could break as easily as a Dresden figurine.

But she was warm and yielding and alive. She pulled his jacket off his shoulders, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and tugged at his shirt.