Rogue's Hostage (23 page)

Jacques grinned at him. "In hell, if nowhere else. Take care of yourself."

"But of course. I always do." Alain turned and rushed out of the hospital.

A doctor appeared, his white apron stained with blood. Jacques watched anxiously as he examined Etienne and bandaged the wound. Since the bullet had gone clean through, there was a chance he would recover. If there was no internal damage, if infection didn’t set in. Still, Jacques sat with his brother, concerned by his pallor and his labored breathing.

"Don’t die on me, little brother," he murmured.

Jacques ran a hand through his hair. He’d lost everything that mattered to him. The tavern, his livelihood, Mara. Hell, if he weren’t captured, he’d probably be court-marshaled for leaving his post. But in the general rout, who would have noticed?

The hospital was soon filled with wounded men, their moans and screams echoing off the high ceiling. Jacques wanted to run away from the suffering and death. How he hated this cursed place.

The last time he’d been here was with Mara. He shuddered at the memory of that awful night. She’d come so close to death, and it was all his fault. At least she was safe now, but he’d probably lost her for good.

He couldn’t bear to lose Etienne, too.

* * *

"Stop!" Gideon waved his pistol at the men looting the dead of the battlefield. "Get your thieving arses back to your units, now, or I’ll have you flogged." The redcoats scurried away before he could demand their names.

Gideon pulled out his watch. Noon, and the battle was all but over, though snipers still fired from the woods on the flanks, and two French cannons continued to spew death from their iron barrels.

The British had won the battle, but failed to capture either the French army, or the town. Wolfe had been killed, and Moncton badly wounded, leaving Townshend in charge. Now the general’s first priority was gaining control of the field.

The pounding of horse’s hooves caught Gideon’s attention, and he spun around. Coming down the road was a troop of French cavalry. Reinforcements.

One British battalion wheeled around to face the new threat. The horsemen halted, and after a few minutes, turned and rode off.

Gideon breathed a sigh of relief. After the night on the river, the climb up the cliffs and the morning’s battle, he was exhausted, as was the entire army.

General Townshend had ordered the men to dig entrenchments on the plains while the navy brought up additional cannon for the siege. He sent Gideon with a detachment of troops to guard the hospital.

Gideon pounded on the hospital door and asked for the Mother Superior. His breath caught when he saw who accompanied her. Corbeau. Despite bloodstains on his blue jacket, the damn rogue appeared healthy enough. Apparently, the bastard hadn’t a scratch on him. Gideon struggled to keep from reaching for the man’s throat.

"I am Mother St. Ignace. What can I do for you?" the nun asked him in a quavering voice.

Gideon sought to reassure her. "General Townshend sent me to advise you that no one here will be harmed. A detachment of troops has been stationed around the hospital to ensure the safety of the sisters and the wounded."

The older woman seemed relieved by his words. "Give your general my thanks. But if you will excuse me, there is much to be done."

Gideon watched her walk off, threading her way through the wounded, who covered nearly every inch of floor space in the hospital. Then he turned to Corbeau. "Why are you here? You appear uninjured."

A pained expression crossed the Frenchman’s face. "My brother is badly hurt."

Despite his anger at the man, Gideon fought against a wave of sympathy. "Will he live?"

Corbeau just shrugged. "How is Mara?"

Gideon’s temper flared. He grabbed Corbeau by the lapels and slammed him up against a wall. "I should kill you for dishonoring my sister."

"Stop it," cried a female voice. It was Mother St. Ignace. "This is a hospital, not a battlefield. And there has already been enough killing today."

Gideon stepped back, fists clenched. It was all he could do to keep from leaping on Corbeau and thrashing him as he deserved. The man had ruined his sister’s life, and should be made to pay for it. "Do you have a message for Mara?"

"Tell her," Corbeau began. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a moment. "Tell her I am unhurt."

Gideon raised his eyebrows. "Is that all? No protestation of undying love?"

Corbeau glared at him. "Would you tell her if I did?"

"Look Corbeau, you ruined my sister’s reputation. Are you willing to do right by her?"

The other man gaped at him. "Of course. I proposed to her several times, but she always said no. Are you saying you want me to marry your sister?"

"What I want is unimportant. The question is what is best for Mara."

Corbeau looked worried. "Is something wrong? Tell me she is safe and well."

Gideon hesitated. Should he tell the bastard about Mara’s condition? No, it was not his news to tell. Forcing himself to relax, Gideon said in a calm voice, "Mara is well enough…under the circumstances."

"What circumstances? What do you mean?"

"You will find out. For now, consider yourself a prisoner. I expect to see you here when I return."

"I will not leave as long as my brother needs me."

"You will not leave until I say you can." With that Gideon turned and left the hospital.

* * *

Etienne was dying.

For a week, Jacques had nursed him, alternating between hope and despair. But there was no hope left, for infection had set in. A harried, overworked priest had already given him extreme unction. Now there was nothing to do but wait for death.

"Jacques," Etienne whispered.

"Hush." Jacques wiped his brother’s brow with a damp cloth. "Don’t try to speak."

"Have to," Etienne said with a gasp. "Have to ask you—"

"What? I’ll do whatever you want."

"Go home…"

"Yes, of course. I’ll tell Father…"

"And my son." Etienne struggled to sit up.

Jacques supported him with an arm behind his back. "Shhh. I promise to tell Didier how bravely his father fought. That he died a hero’s death."

"No, no," Etienne said, shaking his head from side to side. He struggled to pull the signet ring off his finger. "Give him…" He slumped back on the cot when Jacques took the ring. "Please, take care of him."

Jacques tightened his fist around the ring. "But can’t Father take care of him?"

"Not well," Etienne mumbled.

Jacques tensed. "What about his mother? Yvette won’t countenance any interference from me."

Etienne’s face contorted with distaste. "Worthless whore. Need you…raise my son."

"If that is what you want, of course," Jacques said in a soothing voice. "But why me? Why would you want your son raised by the family bastard?"

Etienne rallied briefly. "You’re the most honorable man I know."

Tears welled in Jacques’s eyes. What cruel whim of fate had brought them together only to separate them again? This time forever.

"Promise me…"

Jacques swallowed a sob. "I promise."

Etienne’s face relaxed, and his eyes drifted shut. He appeared at peace with the world, but his breathing remained labored. Jacques sat beside him, staring at the ring, still warm from his brother’s hand. Jacques slipped the ring, engraved with the family coat of arms, on his finger, remembering the day their father had given it to Etienne. Jacques had been eaten up by jealousy. How badly he had wanted it to be his, but not this way.

Now it lay heavily on his finger, but not as heavy as the promise he’d just made. He hadn’t planned to return to France. Until the tavern was destroyed, he’d thought to find his future in America, away from the stigma of his birth and disgrace.

He sighed, knowing that he had no choice but to honor Etienne’s dying wish. Still, he was uncomfortable with the responsibility he’d taken on. What did he know about raising a child? A future count, no less. One thing was certain—Didier had best do as his Uncle Jacques said, not as he had done. One scapegrace in the family was enough.

Uncle Jacques. He tested the name in his mind. It sounded strange, yet wonderful. At least he’d no longer be alone. He’d have his father again, and his nephew. If only he had Mara by his side…

Harcourt’s comment that she was "well enough under the circumstances" worried him. What circumstances? He had to find out.

It would not be easy, however. The British had guards surrounding the hospital, ostensibly to protect it but, in reality, to keep any wounded French soldiers capable of escaping from doing so. Jacques was not sure if he could steal past them into the city. In any case, he could not leave as long as Etienne still lived.

A loud gasp from Etienne caught his attention. His brother lay still now. Jacques leaned over to listen to his breathing, but heard nothing. He laid a hand on Etienne’s chest, and felt no heartbeat.

Dead. One second he was alive and in the next, gone. And for what? For France? Bah, France cared little for its colony. For glory then? Or honor? They were fairy tales told to schoolboys.

Jacques pulled the blanket over his brother’s head and let his grief wash over him. Loud sobs shook his body and tears streamed down his face. He mourned for everything he’d lost– his brother, his dreams for the future, and the woman he loved but might never see again.

September 19, 1759

Mara sat in the ship’s boat and stared at what was left of Quebec.

As the boat reached the docks of Lower Town, her stomach turned at the bleak panorama that met her eyes. Most of the buildings bore the scars of war. Sprung doors hung open, tilting on their hinges. Broken windows gaped like the sightless eyes of the dead. Roofs had been burned off, leaving the interiors open to the elements—rain and the snow soon to come.

In contrast, the distant hills were cloaked in shades of red and orange and gold, nature’s reminder that life goes on despite man’s best efforts to destroy.

"Good God, it didn’t look like this when Gideon and I were here in May." Her brother’s friend, Ned Barham, held out a hand to help her climb out of the boat that had brought her across the river. She hurried past him, headed for the tavern, her steps stirring up the gray patina of dirt and soot that covered the street.

"Ma’am, it’s this way," Ned said, pointing the other direction.

Mara turned to face him. "There is something I need to do first, Lieutenant Barham."

"As you wish." The young man offered his arm. "Come, then."

Grateful for his assistance, Mara picked her way over fallen beams and around piles of broken masonry. The siege had finally ended when the city surrendered the day before. After nearly three months of constant shelling, an eerie silence prevailed.

She stopped to stare at the bare walls of
Notre Dame des Victoires,
the brave little church that had meant so much to the people of Quebec, symbol of the city’s impregnability, now the symbol of its defeat. The windows had all shattered, showering the dirt road with tiny shards of stained glass, red and blue and yellow, glinting in the weak September sunlight. The broken dreams and unanswered prayers of a beleaguered city.

A few blocks away she found the remains of the tavern, now a pile of charred wood and rubble. "This is where I lived," she said softly. And loved. And nearly died.

A cold shiver spread through her as she recalled that last day. She relived being trapped in the kitchen as it filled with smoke, screaming for help until she passed out. Then came the dream that had transformed her life, giving her new hope and courage to face the future.

Most of all Mara remembered waking up to find Jacques on his knees beside her, and the joy on his face when he realized she was alive. She knew he loved her, but after all that had happened, what were the chances of them finding each other? Was it too late for them?

Her mother’s words came back to her.
You must have faith, my child. Follow your heart.

Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. If only she could find him, she vowed that nothing would keep them apart, not his pride or Gideon’s anger.

Ned shoved a handkerchief into her hand. "You really do love him, don’t you?" he said in a gruff voice.

Mara didn’t have to ask whom he meant. "Yes," she said, as she wiped her eyes. "That is why I must find him. My future, and that of my child, depends on it. What shall I do, Lieutenant?"

The young man hesitated, seeming torn by indecision. "Please, call me Ned. I feel as if I know you."

"How much has Gideon told you?"

"Most of it, I believe. There is one thing I’ve always wondered about, though. Why did you not leave with us last May when you had the chance?"

"Jacques followed me that morning. If I’d gone with Gideon, there is a good chance both of you would have been caught and hanged as spies. I couldn’t risk my brother’s life."

"Then I owe you my thanks, Mrs. Dupré. You may rely on my help, whatever happens."

Ned led her to Gideon’s new quarters on the first floor of a partially destroyed building. Mara ran into his arms. "Thank God you weren’t injured."

Gideon embraced her, then pulled back. "Mara, we need to make plans. You cannot stay here."

Her relief altered instantly into concern. She chose her words carefully. "Why not? Are you leaving?"

Gideon began to pace back and forth. "No, but the situation here is desperate. When the French left, the Indians looted their camp of all supplies. It promises to be a long, hungry winter in Quebec." He turned to Mara, worry written on his face. "You need to eat well, for the baby."

Mara sighed. He was right of course, but her mind screamed, no, not yet, not until I find Jacques. "Not until I know what happened to Jacques."

Gideon’s lips thinned in disapproval. "Ah, yes, the man who ruined your life…"

She met his accusing gaze without flinching. "He did not ruin my life. And he has given me what I have always longed for—a child. That is the most precious gift anyone could ever give me."

Mara placed a hand on his arm. "Gideon, please tell me, when the city surrendered, did you see him?"

The muscles of his forearm hardened beneath her hand. "Come with me," he said, gesturing to the door.

Puzzled but hopeful, Mara followed him through Upper Town and out the Saint John Gate toward the hospital. Her heart began to pound in fear of what she might find there. "Why didn’t you tell me he was wounded?"

Gideon stopped and turned to her. "He wasn’t injured, Mara."

"Thank God!" Relief flooded through her, quickly followed by puzzlement. "Then why was he at the hospital?"

Gideon began walking again. "Apparently his brother was hurt. After the battle, I went to the hospital to assure the nuns that they would be protected. Corbeau was there then, though there’s no guarantee he stayed."

Please,
Mara prayed.
Please let him still be there.

When they arrived at the hospital, Gideon refused to go inside with her, but promised to wait.

Mara stepped through the door and stopped. The hospital had been crowded when she’d been there in July, but nothing compared to what it was now. She stepped around wounded men lying on the floor, anxiously searching for a familiar face.

In the next room she recognized the mother superior. "Mother St. Ignace," she called.

The older woman turned to greet her. "Mara, what are you doing here? You haven’t been injured again, have you?"

"No, I am fine. Mother, do you remember Lieutenant Corbeau, the officer who brought me here?"

"Yes, of course. He has been here since the battle. With his brother."

"How is Etienne?" Mara whispered.

The nun’s expression turned sorrowful. "Alas, he died about an hour ago. Poor Lieutenant Corbeau. He took it very badly. I believe he is in the chapel. Go to him, child. I think he needs you."

Mara hurried to the small chapel. It was dark inside, but the few candles burning at the altar allowed her to see a familiar figure sitting slumped in a front pew. She rushed up the aisle, her footsteps ringing on the stone floor, but he paid no attention.

She stopped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jacques?"

He started at her touch, a shocked expression on his face. "Oh, my God, Mara." He jumped up, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her to him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tightly. "Oh, Jacques, I was so afraid I wouldn’t find you again."

"I can’t believe it," he murmured. "One of my prayers has been answered. You came to me when I needed you." He paused and drew in a shaky breath. "This has been the worst day of my life."

She held him as sobs shook his body. "I know. Mother St. Ignace told me about Etienne. Oh, Jacques, I am so sorry." Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back. She needed to be strong for him. So she held him and stroked his back and murmured reassuringly.

"I still can’t believe he’s gone. The doctors did everything they could, but…"

"I know," she soothed, hugging him closer.

"There was nothing I could do. I felt so helpless."

"You stayed with him," she said. "I know that meant a lot to him. At least you had a chance to say good-bye."

"Yes, good-bye. Etienne said…" He drew in a deep breath. "He said I was honorable."

"Of course you are," she replied fiercely. "I could have told him that."

Jacques pulled back to look at her. "I never expected to see you again."

She took his face between her hands and wiped his tears with her thumbs. "I had to find you."

Jacques turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. "The important thing is that we have found each other again."

Her fingers traced the lines in his forehead. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a month. His uniform was stained and torn, and his face had a week’s growth on it. "What will you do now?"

"Go back to France." He sighed. "I have family obligations now. I promised Etienne to look after his son. What about you?"

Mara looked away. "Gideon wants me to leave Quebec. I could go back to the cabin, but…"

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’ll 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 two more."

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."