Rogue's Hostage Read Online Free PDF

different kind of terror struck his heart. If only he could order the Highlanders to go after her, but they were not under his command. He could not ask Shaw to disobey orders, even for Mara’s sake.
    Lifting the dress he discovered a book beneath it. His hands shook as he picked up their mother’s Bible. A ribbon marked the pages where the family history was recorded.
    Dear God, Mara had left him a message. In the midst of everything, she’d had the presence of mind…His finger traced the words. Fort Duquesne. The French fort was miles away. There was still time to find her.
    But first, he had one last thing to do for the man he had called friend and brother.
    They buried Emile at the eastern edge of the land he had cleared with his own hands. The soldiers took turns digging the grave while Gideon cleaned the body and fashioned a crude shroud from a sheet. As the body was lowered into the ground, the soldiers gathered around Gideon. He held the family Bible in his hands but had no need to open it. Raising his gaze toward the western horizon, he prayed for the soul of his best friend and for the safety of his little sister. She was out there somewhere, alone with the men who had killed her husband.
    "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." His voice shook as he recited the psalm that had always given him comfort.
    After the short service, Gideon stooped to pick up a handful of dirt and toss it into the grave. Silently he watched as the soldiers finished the job, spreading leaves over the site to conceal its location. Lieutenant Shaw ordered his men back to camp, leaving Gideon alone in his sorrow. After a few minutes, his heart heavy with grief, he turned his back on the clearing and followed them.
    I will find her, he vowed. No matter how long it takes.
    * * *
    Late in the day, Mara’s captors veered onto a side path that led to a clearing next to a stream. Water cascaded down a ladder of lichen-covered rocks, interspersed with small, clear pools.
    Mara sank gratefully to the ground beside the creek. Cupping her hands, she drank deeply. Her reflection in the water revealed flushed cheeks and shadowed eyes. She sighed, then splashed her face. She hurt everywhere, from her pounding head to her scratched arms and blistered toes. Pulling off her shoes and stockings she dunked her aching feet in the water, flinching at the cold but hoping to numb the pain.
    Dully she sat by the stream and watched the men make camp in the small clearing, which was bordered on the far side by a barrier of tall pine trees, silent sentinels guarding the spot. While Corbeau gathered wood for a fire, the Indians seemed intent on stripping bark from one of the trees. She watched warily, wondering what they were doing.
    The piece of bark measured about seven by three feet. When it was loose they cut four forked sticks, which they set in the ground, the taller ones close to the fire the Frenchman had started. Then they laid cross poles atop the sticks and stretched the bark over the top of the framework. Now Mara could see that they had fashioned a crude shelter.
    Suddenly Corbeau’s deep voice rumbled from above her head. "It’s going to rain. At least we’ll stay dry tonight."
    She looked up as he squatted down beside her. "Surely you don’t mean…" Panic welled inside her at the thought of sharing such a cramped space with her captors.
    "Would you rather sleep outside in the storm?"
    She averted her eyes. "You give me few choices. In any case, I’m not sure I could move another inch."
    "I am glad to hear that. My companions think I should tie you up."
    She looked up and stared at him. "What?"
    "They think you will try to escape."
    She shook her head. "Your friends have an exaggerated sense of my strength and stamina."
    He touched her hand lightly. "You were very brave today. It takes great courage to laugh in the face of death. You have earned the respect of my companions."
    She opened her mouth to explain why she’d