Read Rogue's Hostage for Free Online Page A

on his good will. Honor demanded that he stay as far away from her as possible, but still close enough to protect her.
    Conflicting emotions surged through him—desire mixed with compassion for her, guilt at his failure to save her husband’s life, and anger at her for questioning his honor.
    What does a Frenchman know of honor? she’d asked.
    In truth, he knew a great deal about honor. How easy it was to lose. And how difficult to regain.
    He glanced down at the woman in his arms who opened her eyes and tried to pull away. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice sounding husky even to his ears.
    "Let me up." She pushed against his chest and he chuckled.
    "Did you sleep well in my arms, madame?"
    "It was you?"
    "Who did you think?" he asked, smoothing a strand of hair from her face. "I’m glad you were able to sleep after your nightmare."
    "Nightmare," she repeated with trembling lips. "You and your friends are my nightmare. Let me up."
    This time he let her go, helping her to stand. She was pale, with violet shadows under her blue eyes. But when she met his gaze with a defiant tilt to her chin, he grinned. "Now, that is the Madame Dupré I know."
    Her face flooded with color. Stepping away from him, she gathered her things and fled across the small clearing to the stream where she bathed her face with cold water.
    From a distance, Jacques watched her tying her bodice, lacing it tightly as if donning body armor. Of course she’d feel the need to protect herself from him.
    And why not? Though he’d only meant to spare her life, it hadn’t taken long for his good intentions to become more…personal. He wanted her, and she knew it.
    He took a deep breath of cool, clean air and forced himself to look away. The early morning light slanted across the clearing, catching the sparkle of dewdrops on the grass. There was a special beauty to the dawn. The world seemed born anew, as if nature were trying to wipe clean the violence wrought by man in her peaceful domain. But he could not forget the events of the previous day.
    The farmer’s death still haunted him. He should have been able to control the situation.
    Gray Wolf joined him. "Be careful, my brother. The woman weakens you."
    In no mood for criticism, Jacques glared at the older man. "That is nonsense."
    "No, my young friend," Gray Wolf replied, his expression troubled. "Taking the woman was a mistake. Already your mind is on her, not on our mission."
    Jacques clenched his fists. "Are you saying we should have killed her, too? You know my people do not believe in waging war on civilians."
    "It is the way we have always fought," Gray Wolf replied. "And if we do not rid our land of the English now, what will happen to us? We fight for our survival in the only way we know."
    "But, it is not my way," Jacques insisted. "In Europe, the armies battle only each other."
    Gray Wolf looked vaguely amused. "If that is so, why do the white fathers encourage our warriors to take scalps and make prisoners of the English settlers?"
    "Because there are not enough of us to meet the redcoats man to man. So when it is expedient to make war on women and children, we turn our heads and pretend it is none of our doing." Jacques spat out the words, hating the fact that they were true. In this untamed land, terror had become state policy.
    "My brother is cross as a bear this morning," Gray Wolf observed drily. "Perhaps he did not sleep well last night."
    Jacques rubbed his forehead. "The woman had a nightmare."
    The Delaware nodded. "I heard you speaking love words to her afterward. Be forewarned, she will make a fool of you."
    Jacques looked at her where she sat by the stream, brushing her hair, a golden mane gleaming in the rays of the morning sun. He longed to run his hands through the silky strands and taste the sweetness of her kisses.
    But Gray Wolf was right. Only trouble could come of it.
    * * *
    Mara found her chance to escape late in the morning.
    They stopped at a fork in the path while Jacques