Rogue's Hostage (6 page)

"I thought we had already established that I do not."

She went on the offensive. "Have you found me another place to stay? I demand…"

Annoyance flashed across his features. "I’m working on it. I’ll ask at the trading post."

With a relieved sigh, she walked over and sat by the fire to dry her hair.

Corbeau grabbed her clothing, along with his dirty shirt, then stooped to pick up her tattered stockings. "Let me see your feet."

She tucked them under the chair, but he dropped the clothing and knelt in front of her. "Your feet, madame."

Reluctantly she stuck her legs out for his inspection. He gently ran his hands over her feet. They were callused, with evidence of recent blisters.

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"Would it have done any good?"

He rubbed his neck. "I have repeatedly said I never meant to hurt you," he answered in a gruff tone. "What must I do to convince you of that?"

"My grandmother always said actions speak louder than words."

Corbeau took her hand in his. "Does your wrist still hurt?"

"No," she whispered.

"Then it is all healed?"

"Yes."

"I am glad." He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her palm. When he trailed his tongue over the sensitive skin of her wrist, she bit down on her lower lip, unable to resist the tender gesture.

Just then the door banged open.

"What the devil…" Corbeau cursed and spun around to face the intruders.

Gray Wolf stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. "I have come for my bounty money," he announced.

Crazy Badger peered around his shoulder, a huge grin on his face. "I see Raven has already claimed his prize."

Mara gasped, but Corbeau laid a finger across her lips. "Later," he murmured. "When we’re alone, you can consign me to Hades."

She glared at him, but said nothing, knowing it was better not to argue before this particular audience.

Jacques turned to the two men and scowled at them. "Wait outside."

The two Indians exchanged amused glances before leaving.

"Find somewhere else for me to stay."

"We’ll talk about that when I return." With that, he turned, picked up the laundry, and stalked from the room.

* * *

Mara clenched her hands to stop their shaking. Thank heavens the Indians had come when they did, to remind her of what she was. A captive. "Corbeau’s prize."

How dare he think he had the right to keep her like a pet dog, or a…The word mistress leapt into her mind. Dear Lord, she thought, that was what he wanted.

Shame filled her. She should never have let him touch her. But he had done so with such gentleness. Such sincerity, or so she had thought. Real or not, his tenderness had destroyed her defenses faster than any show of force ever could. But it must not happen again.

She jumped up and began to pace around the small cabin, becoming angrier with every step. She dared not let herself give in to this temptation of the flesh. Somehow she had to find the means to resist him. Recalling how he’d backed off when she called him a savage, she realized that his pride was his only vulnerable spot. And the sharp edge of her tongue her only weapon.

He’d spoken of his "honor" on more than one occasion. Perhaps she could make use of that. He was capable of behaving like a gentleman. He’d proven it during the last week. Of course, he’d only been waiting to get her here and lock her up, like a sultan with a new addition to his harem.

Belatedly she remembered to bolt the door. With a smile, she locked herself in. Lieutenant Corbeau was in for a surprise.

* * *

When Corbeau returned, Mara refused to unlatch the door. "Go away," she yelled.

"Dammit, woman, these are my quarters," he bellowed. "Let me in."

She refused to answer. After a moment, he lowered his voice. "Please, Madame Dupré, we need to talk. I’ve brought dinner."

Her stomach rumbled, and she realized it had been hours since she’d had anything to eat. With a sigh, she released the bolt and opened the door. She hadn’t really expected to keep him out forever, just to make a point.

"What was that all about?" he asked, walking toward her.

At his approach, she retreated behind the table. "I’ve decided I don’t like this arrangement." With a wave of her hand she indicated the interior of the cabin.

"I see." He set the wooden trenchers of salt pork and cornbread on the table. Reaching a hand into each coat pocket, he pulled out a pair of moccasins and offered them to her. "I bought these for you at the trading post."

She refused to take them. "I don’t want any gifts from you."

"Why not?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

"I won’t be bought."

"What are you talking about?" he yelled.

She flinched but refused to back down. "I’m not a whore to be won with presents."

He held out the moccasins again. "I’m not trying to buy your favors, madame. Since you are my captive, it is my responsibility to see that you are cared for, and that includes decent footwear. Take them," he said. "No obligation."

Mara accepted the moccasins, though she was still not sure it was the right thing to do. Fashioned of soft buckskin and decorated with colored beads, they were lovely. "Thank you."

He watched as she put them on. "Do they fit?"

"Yes." They felt wonderful on her sore and callused feet, much better than her worn-out shoes, but she did not say so.

"Good. Now sit down and eat," he ordered.

He was still angry with her. It was apparent in the gruff tone of his voice and the stiff set of his shoulders. But she refused to apologize. It was he who had insulted her, not the other way around. Righteously she held on to her anger.

He rummaged in a trunk, pulled out a jug of wine, poured it into two wooden mugs and handed her one. Mara took a taste and grimaced.

"Not to your liking?" he asked, then downed his portion in one swallow.

"If you must know, I am not in the habit of imbibing strong drink. My grandfather abhorred drunkenness," she informed him. "He said it was an invitation to devilry. I hope you are not planning to overindulge."

He leaned forward, a forbidding expression engraved on his features. "Get one thing straight, little Puritan. In my own quarters, no one tells me what to do. I’ll drink as much as I like."

Warily Mara watched him refill his mug and begin to eat. What should she do now? The man was hard enough to handle when sober. She had best state her position now.

"I won’t lie with you," she said.

He choked on a bite of cornbread. When he had finished coughing, he took a gulp of wine. "I don’t recall asking you."

Her cheeks grew warm. "Very well, monsieur," she replied stiffly. "If I was mistaken in your intention earlier today, then I apologize, but your words and actions led me to believe…"

He raked his fingers through his hair. "You are right, madame," he said to Mara’s surprise. Then he looked at her, with that look in his eyes. Soft. Warm. Sensual.

Her breath quickened under the glow of his regard.

When he spoke again, his deep voice simmered with barely checked passion. "Yes, I wanted you earlier, I still do. Is that so wrong?"

Mara gripped the edge of the table. "Yes. Adultery is always wrong."

"How can it be adultery when your husband is no longer alive?"

Tears sprang into her eyes. "My husband has been gone but two weeks. I am still in mourning. How can you possibly think I could want another man so soon after his death? Do you think I will ever forget…?"

What she would never forget was that she had been angry at Emile right before he died. She pressed a hand to her lips. Oh God, if only she could relive that awful day.

Corbeau handed her his handkerchief. "Forgive me. You must have loved him a great deal."

She just nodded and wiped her face with the fine linen. Her feelings for Emile were none of his concern.

"Shall we make a truce?" Corbeau asked, his voice resigned. "I won’t seduce you, if you will be more obedient. Do we have a bargain?"

"All right." She nodded in agreement but wondered how long this bargain would last. If she had learned one thing about Jacques Corbeau in the last two weeks, it was that he was a man who was used to getting whatever he desired. And he had admitted to wanting her.

After dinner Mara climbed into the bunk furthest from the door, faced the wall, and tried to sleep, but her mind spun in confusion. Though she had not loved Emile, not as Corbeau thought she had, not as a wife should love a husband, now that he was gone, she missed him. Emile had always been a part of her life—first as Gideon’s best friend, then later her husband. Though kind and well-meaning, he hadn’t been an affectionate husband. Certainly he had never made her feel as alive, as desirable, as she had today when her captor’s lips kissed her palm, her wrist…

Her skin tingled just at the memory of his touch. She knew not to trust him, and yet had seemed incapable of stopping his sensual assault. Her response to him had had nothing to do with reason.

Dear Lord, was she weak and wicked? How could she be so easily tempted by that devil Corbeau? She was not a vain woman, but it was flattering to be wanted so ardently.

She’d already lost her husband, her home and her freedom. She had to get away from Corbeau before she lost her self-respect, too.

Jacques awoke early, shrugged into his uniform, and left the cabin to pick up their laundry. When he returned to his quarters, Mara was awake and sitting up on her bunk. Her braid had come partially undone during the night, and blond tendrils framed her face. He suppressed the urge to undo the rest of the braid and run his fingers through her silky hair.

Instead, he gave her clothing back to her with an apology. "I’m afraid your stockings did not survive."

"Then I shall have to go without, like a proper farm wife." She smiled ruefully. "I have not always dressed like a peasant, you know."

Her poignant comment surprised him, and he realized that he knew very little about her. Sitting down on his bunk, he said, "Were you not raised on a farm?"

She seemed surprised by his question. "No, I grew up in Geneva."

"Oh?" He should have inquired into her background before this. Perhaps she was not what he had thought—a country girl ripe for the taking. He should not have kept her overnight in his quarters, should have shown more regard for her reputation. His own was of no consequence. All his life, people had expected the worst of him, and he’d found some perverse satisfaction in giving the gossips something to talk about. "What kind of work did your father do?"

"He was…an itinerant preacher." Her gaze dropped to the floor.

"Did you and your mother travel with him?"

She stared at him suspiciously, as if wondering why he was suddenly so interested in her background. "My mother died giving birth to me. Since Father was gone most of the time, I was raised by my grandparents. Grandfather also was a minister. I grew up in the manse next to his church."

"At least you had someone to care for you."

"Yes, though they were very strict. I was never docile and obedient enough to please them." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction.

He grinned. "That I can well believe. I begin to have some sympathy for your grandparents. Are they still in Geneva?"

"No," she replied. "They are both dead." She sighed and brushed a strand of hair off her face. "I had nowhere to go after Grandfather died, until Emile proposed. I had no idea I would end up in the wilderness, much less here." She waved an arm to encompass the rude military quarters.

"Are you so very unhappy?" he asked softly.

"We are not put on this earth to be happy." She bit her lip and peered at him through her lashes, as if she had said something naughty.

"You may be right about that, madame," Jacques said. "That is why we must grab every chance at happiness, no matter how fleeting it may be."

By the surprised look on her face, she had not expected him to agree with her. Of course, his conclusion was probably one she had never before considered.

He stood and walked toward her, looking at her intently. When he spoke again, his voice sounded husky. "Give me a chance, madame, and I will make you very happy, indeed."

She held out a hand to ward him off. "No," she whispered, then more emphatically, "No. How can you even suggest such a thing after what you have done to me?"

Jacques sighed and sat on the edge of her bunk, taking her hands in his and gently stroking her palms. "Ah, Mara, I never intended to hurt you. On the contrary, I most ardently wish to hold you and caress you until…"

She pulled her hands out of his grasp and drew as far away from him as she could get. "Please, you must not say such things. We made an agreement last night, if you recall."

"So we did, but it is one I am beginning to regret." He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his hands off her.

"You cannot go back on your word," she cried. "Not if you are an officer and a gentleman."

His lips twisted in a grimace. "Very well, madame. I will keep my word as long as you keep yours."

She looked relieved. "I am glad you agree. Still, any undue familiarity between us would be wrong."

"By whose dictates?"

"By the dictates of your church as well as mine."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you know of my church?"

"You are Catholic, are you not?"

"So I was raised."

She leaned forward, her expression earnest. "Then you know that adultery is wrong."

"But neither of us is married," Jacques pointed out.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "That does not justify carnal lust."

Jacques threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, little Puritan, what do you know of carnal lust?"

Stains of scarlet appeared on her cheeks, but she refused to back down. "Your church preaches against the sin of lust. It is one of the…one of the seven deadly sins."

He chuckled. Her quick mind was one of the many things about her that he admired. "You are well versed in theology, madame. If only you were as well versed in love."

"There can be no love between us."

Jacques read the unshakable conviction on her face and got up from her bunk. This was one argument he would never win. "I will leave you now. I have work to do."

Turning on his heel, he grabbed his telescope, shoved it in the large pocket of his uniform coat, and strode out of the cabin. He had work, indeed. He had to find another place for her to stay. Now.

What an enigma she was, with her angelic body and Puritanical mind. She could drive a saint mad, and God knew Jacques Corbeau was no saint.

Just the sight of her tempted him. Despite his promise, he still wanted her, though it was not just her beauty that drew him. He’d known many lovely women, intimately. But Mara was also strong and spirited, able to withstand hardship without complaint, and possessed of a sense of honor and integrity that stunned him. He found himself envying the dead husband who still commanded her devotion.

But what of the man called Gideon? Could her relationship with him be as innocent as she claimed? Jacques had been sure they were lovers, but now that he knew her better, he doubted it. She was too prim, too strait-laced to take a lover. But why had she called out in her sleep for Gideon and not for her husband? That still puzzled him.

What a coil! He could not have her, nor would he let her go. He almost regretted their bargain. He felt his loins stir and cursed under his breath. He was not a patient man, but Mara was worth the wait.

On the other hand, obedience was not her strong suit, as he well knew. He’d wager a hundred
sous
that he could remain celibate longer than she could stay obedient. And once the truce was broken…

Jacques smiled. Yes, she’d be well worth the wait.

* * *

Jacques stood on the ramparts, one hand resting on the barrel of a cannon. He stared to the southeast, knowing that any attack would come from that direction. A fresh breeze blew off the rivers that gave this fort its strategic importance. One bloody battle, not to mention numerous raids and skirmishes, had already been fought to determine who would control the forks of the Ohio. It was only a matter of time until the next confrontation continued the violent pattern.

Yes, it was a valuable location, but to his military eye Fort Duquesne had one major flaw—it was not on high ground. In fact, the site was commanded on two sides by hills from which it could be bombarded by artillery. If the English ever fortified the heights, defeat would be inevitable.

A flash of movement caught his eye. He pulled the telescope out of his pocket and scanned the meadow east of the fort. A group of men came into focus, a raiding party including several Frenchmen. As they grew closer, Jacques recognized his friend, Alain Gauthier.

Jacques lowered the glass, put it back into his pocket, and left the ramparts. Now that Alain had returned, it was more imperative than ever that Jacques find other quarters for Mara. In Paris, the ladies of the court had flocked around Alain, charmed by his easy manner and fulsome compliments. Jacques would trust Alain with his life, but not with a woman, especially one he wanted for himself.

Jacques greeted his friend at the gate. "What news?"

The other man’s expression was grim as they shook hands. He looked tired and disheveled, with pronounced lines around his eyes and several days worth of light brown stubble on his jaw.

"The British are building an advance camp not four days’ march from here," Gauthier said. "Captain de Ligneris will not be pleased."

Jacques cursed under his breath. "The English are moving faster than we expected."

"We must stop them before they get much closer." Alain clapped Jacques on the shoulder. "Come, my friend, I will tell you everything I saw while I change into uniform."

"Wait, there is something I must tell you."

Alain frowned. "What is so important it cannot wait a few minutes?"

"There is a woman in our quarters, a captive."

Alain let out a whoop. "Corbeau, you amaze me. Who else could find us a woman in this wilderness? Is she pretty? Well, no matter, one cannot be too choosy."

Jacques grabbed his friend’s arm. "Listen to me, Gauthier. Madame Dupré is a widow, of a respectable background, not a…a courtesan."

Alain cocked his head, then amusement flared in his brown eyes. "Ah, my friend, I think you have been struck by lightning. I cannot wait to meet this ‘captive’ of yours."

Jaw clenched, Jacques led the way to their quarters. Alain would charm her, as he did everyone he met. But Jacques would bet his last
sous
that the little Puritan would lead even an accomplished rogue like Alain Gauthier on a merry chase.

When Jacques rapped on the door, Mara unbolted and opened it. She had braided her hair, but as usual, a few tendrils had escaped to curl around her face. Her blue eyes were wide and apprehensive when she looked at Alain.

His friend showed no hesitation. Gauthier stepped into the room and bowed deeply. "Madame Dupré, I presume."

She looked to Jacques as if for reassurance.

"This is Lieutenant Alain Gauthier," Jacques explained. "He shares these quarters with me."

"Oh, then it is your bunk I slept in last night," Mara exclaimed. "I hope you do not mind."

Alain shot Jacques another amused glance as he walked closer to her. Lifting her hand, he brought it to his lips. "On the contrary, I am honored to be of assistance to such a lovely lady."

To Jacques’s surprise, the little Puritan blushed at Gauthier’s compliments. Jacques ground his teeth together. He might as well not even be present. Resentment ate at his insides, but it was not a new feeling. He’d spent a good part of his life standing in the shadows, never quite belonging. He should be used to it but, strangely, Mara’s rejection stung more than most. Even his captive would not have him.

Most of his life he’d lacked what other men took for granted—the love of a family. The love of a special woman. He reminded himself that, though he’d claimed Mara Dupré as his captive, that did not make her
his.

A peremptory knock interrupted their tête-à-tête. Glad of the diversion, Jacques flung open the door to find the fort’s chaplain, Brother Denys. The normally placid little man wore a stern look on his face. What now?

"Corbeau, I understand that you are keeping a woman captive here. I must protest. Such behavior does not set a good example for the troops."

"Come in and meet her," Jacques said with resignation.

"Brother Denys," Alain called. "May I introduce Madame Dupré? Corbeau assures me she is a respectable widow."

The chaplain frowned. "Then what were you thinking of to bring her here?"

"I was thinking to protect her." Jacques kept his voice polite. He hadn’t been called on the carpet in years and resented being made to feel like a naughty schoolboy. He grimaced at Alain who was watching with an expression of unholy glee on his face. "And she had no wish to join the other captives at the Indian encampment," he added, knowing she would not have wanted that.

"But it simply will not do," Brother Denys insisted.

"That is what I have been saying," Mara spoke up. "Please, monsieur," she appealed to the friar. "Perhaps you can help me. I only wish to find some respectable employment. I have no aversion to hard work. I can cook or scrub or do laundry, or perhaps help in the hospital."

The chaplain looked at her, and his expression softened. She had won him over, Jacques thought, and why not? She looked as innocent as any convent girl.

Only he, Jacques, had seen her clad only in his dressing gown, with her wet hair tangling around her shoulders. Only he had felt the softness of her skin, kissed those full lips. He clenched his fists and willed himself to stop remembering. His time alone with her was over. He had to let her go.

"Perhaps Monsieur Bernard and his wife could use some help at the trading post," Brother Denys said. "I shall go ask. In any case, you cannot stay here. Pack your things, my child. I shall return shortly."

After the friar left, Mara turned to face Jacques. "I would like my knife, please."

He raised his brows. "So you can try to kill me again?"

A muffled laugh came from Alain’s direction. "You didn’t tell me about that, Jacques. Did she really try to kill you?"

"Stay out of this, Alain."

She looked down at the floor. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted to be free. Can you not understand that?" She raised her gaze to his. "I will not try to stab you again, I promise. But the knife was my husband’s. I would like it as a remembrance."