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hate this man, too, but he had promised to protect her. Was that only because he wanted her? What would she do if he demanded her body as the price of his protection?
    He covered her with the second blanket then put his arm around her. When he pulled her closer, she flinched.
    "Go to sleep, madame. I promise, on my personal honor, that you will be safe."
    "What does a Frenchman know of honor?" she asked, unable to keep the scorn from her voice.
    He stiffened and turned away from her.
    Mara shivered in the cold night air. So Lieutenant Corbeau had a weak spot after all. Despite the anguish churning inside her, she smiled. He should never have let her know his weakness.
    She would not forget.
----

Chapter 3
     
    Her ghosts came to life in a nightmare.
    White mists swirled around the trees in a darkened forest. Mara caught a glimpse of her mother, a golden-haired vision in the billowing haze, before she vanished.
    Then her father appeared before her, his face sad.
    Papa, Mara cried. She tried to reach out to him, but the figure eluded her grasp. No, Papa, don’t leave me, not again.
    He faded into the fog, saying, Fear not, little one. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.
    Another voice thundered out, The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children unto the fourth generation…
    It was her grandfather, dressed in his black preacher’s robe, her grandmother standing silently beside him.
    Grand-père, Mara screamed. Help me.
    He stared at her, stern disapproval etched on his lined face. Be strong and of good courage.
    But I am afraid, Mara pleaded. Grand-mère.
    Her grandmother gazed sorrowfully at her. The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.
    A rush of painful memories poured through Mara as they turned their backs on her and disappeared. Someone help me, she cried.
    Emile appeared out of the swirling mist. She ran toward him but seemed barely able to move, as if some unseen force were holding her back. Before she could reach him, shots rang out and he fell to the ground.
    No! Mara screamed, but it was too late. Blood welled from his chest and his sightless eyes stared at her.
    "Gideon," she moaned. Only Gideon could save her.
    A pair of strong arms encircled her. Warm hands caressed her back and hair, and a low voice murmured in her ear. "It’s all right, madame, just a bad dream."
    Desperately Mara clung to her rescuer, trembling as she fought her way out of the nightmare. It was cold, so cold. "There were shots," she said, tasting her own panic.
    "Just thunder. A storm is coming," the voice soothed.
    "No," she insisted. "It was gunfire." Her breath caught in her throat, and tears streamed from her eyes. She was sobbing so hard, she could barely speak. "Gideon. Help me…"
    "Hush, it’s all right now. You had a nightmare, but it’s over."
    He held her close as her tears soaked the front of his shirt. Warmth spread through her at his tenderness, and she started to relax, her sobs easing.
    "Pauvre petite," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Go ahead and cry. You’ve earned the right."
    * * *
    Jacques woke to find the woman still cradled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. He had held her until she fell asleep, wondering who the devil Gideon was. Did she have a lover? He suddenly remembered the tall English officer who’d embraced her so warmly before leaving the clearing. Had she been flirting with her lover while her husband played host to the others?
    No. He dismissed the thought as nonsensical. He’d spent too much time at Versailles. The officer was probably a close family friend or a relative. Though beautiful, she was a farm woman, not a titled harlot. Still, niggling doubts plagued him. If she was such a virtuous wife, why had she not called out her husband’s name? Not that it was any of his business, but— par dieu! —when he held a woman in his arms he wanted to hear his name on her lips, not some other man’s.
    Was he losing his mind? He reminded himself that she was his captive, dependent