Rogue's Hostage by Linda McLaughlin

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