Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(13)

“Of course I forgive you.”

“Oh, Maman . . .” He hated that his voice wavered.

A squeak in a floorboard near the door made him jump. He let go of Maman and turned, taking a breath to compose himself. He hoped a tear or two of his own hadn’t escaped. His brigade would tease him mercilessly if they ever found out he’d been near to crying in his maman’s arms.

Maman let the tears run freely down her cheeks, rising with a smile at the newcomer. “Look who’s here.”

A young woman stood in the doorway holding a rag-covered bundle. She was frozen in her spot and was staring at him with wide eyes.

Pierre stared back, taking in the mobcap that covered her hair, the pretty face smudged with dirt, the high collar above her bodice, and the ugly gray of her skirt. Where had he seen her?

Accusation flashed through her doe-like brown eyes.

Then he knew. Yesterday. In the woods.

The unspoken words hung between them and propelled him to his feet.

She was the same woman he’d come upon during his spying mission on the island, the woman he’d rescued from the hands of the British soldier. And she apparently recognized him even after his shave and bath.

He narrowed his eyes. She wouldn’t reveal his secret, would she? With a curt shake of his head he warned her from saying anything.

But she looked away from him, clearly ignoring his admonition, and started across the room toward the table.



Angelique’s heart pounded in her chest like the Indians’ drums thumping out their rhythm back at the camps along the lakeshore.

Pierre had come.

And he was standing only a few feet away from her.

Now that he’d shaven and cleaned himself, he was more handsome than she’d remembered. From his dark wavy hair to the strength in his features to the ability of his dark brown eyes to melt even the coldest of hearts—everything about his appearance was striking. She stopped in front of the table and leaned against it, trying to calm herself before facing him again.

She flattened her hand against her heart, willing it to slow its crazy banging that she was sure both Pierre and Miriam could hear.

“It’s Pierre.” Miriam’s voice held such joy.

“Yes, I see that,” Angelique replied, frustrated at her breathlessness.

She glanced over her shoulder and found him glaring at her. He remembered her from their brief meeting yesterday. And from furrowed brows above his stormy eyes, it was also clear he didn’t want her to say anything about their encounter.

But didn’t he know that she was Angelique MacKenzie and that she wouldn’t purposefully put him in any danger?

She turned away again and placed her bundle on the table. Whatever his trouble, he should have made time to visit Miriam. And even though she’d overheard his plea asking for Miriam’s forgiveness, she couldn’t stop the bitterness of the past five years from surfacing.

Maybe he’d asked for forgiveness, but that didn’t change what had happened, the fact that he’d deserted them and had been gone all these years without sending them a single word. And now that he was back, he didn’t remember who she was.

“I’ve brought you some food from the feast,” she said to Miriam, opening the rag to reveal the breast of roasted pigeon and several wedges of potato she’d managed to set aside. The tantalizing smoky aroma of the fowl caused her stomach to quiver.

Although she’d returned to the beach during the feasting, she hadn’t wanted to draw any attention to herself again, and had only stayed long enough to gather what she could for Miriam.

“Describe Pierre to me,” Miriam said, her voice wistful.

Angelique couldn’t resist taking another peek at Pierre. He’d always been strong and sun-browned. But now, after his years of living out of a canoe and hefting the heavy bundles he transported, he had turned into the kind of man who would turn the head of any woman.

He quirked his brow at her, which only made him more irresistible.

Her stomach did a funny flip. If only he didn’t have the same effect on her after all these years apart.

She gave herself a shake. He wasn’t irresistible to her. She could keep from falling prey to his charm if she worked hard enough. “If he put on his capote and hood and hid in the woods,” she said, “you might mistake him for a loup-garou.”

He scowled at her. She ignored it, reached for one of the wooden trenchers on Miriam’s table, and placed the pigeon and potatoes on it.

After his insensitivity to Miriam, he deserved to squirm for just a few minutes. “I’m guessing—just guessing, mind you—that he’d look even more like a loup-garou, especially with a dark beard and mustache covering his face.”

Miriam’s smile began to fade, and a flicker of confusion stole over her gentle features.

“But of course now that he’s cleaned up,” Angelique went on, “I probably wouldn’t mistake him for a monster.”

“Probably?” he asked.

She paused and gave him a false perusal. “You’re right. It still would be a difficult choice.”

“Angelique,” Miriam said, “you shouldn’t tease Pierre today, not on his first day home.”

Whatever she knew about teasing, she’d learned from Pierre. Jean was always so much more serious and sensitive, which was something she appreciated about him. He would be a good provider and give her the kind of life she’d always craved.