Naomi Rawlings - The Soldier's Secrets

Divided Loyalties

Brigitte Dubois will do anything to keep her family safe. When she is blackmailed by her father-in-law, his quest for revenge leaves her no choice. To protect her children, she must spy on the man who may have killed her husband. But Jean Paul Belanger is nothing like she expected. The dark, imposing farmer offers food to all who need it, and insists on helping Brigitte and her children.

Everything Jean Paul did was in the name of liberty. Even so, he can never forgive himself for his actions during France’s revolution. Now a proud auburn-haired woman has come to his home seeking work and has found her way into his reclusive heart. But when she uncovers the truth, his past could drive them apart.…

She needed to convince him to hire her, and she needed to do so now. So she walked inside.

The most obvious place to start cleaning was the table, but since Citizen Belanger was there, she started with the bench beside the door.

“What are you doing?”

Brigitte jumped at the stern sound of his voice but straightened her shoulders. “It appears you do need a housekeeper. Look at the dust I wiped from this bench.”

She turned to face him, then gulped. He clenched and unclenched his jaw as he stared down at her. Perhaps she’d been a little too hasty in coming inside.

But no. She couldn’t let him frighten her. She had to protect her children first, and that meant gleaning information from the irate man before her. “You stand rather straight, Citizen Belanger. Tell me—have you ever been in the army?”

“My past is hardly your concern.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Did he see the way her hands trembled? Did her face look as cold as it felt?

And why could he not answer this one question?

NAOMI RAWLINGS

A mother of two young boys, Naomi Rawlings spends her days picking up, cleaning, playing and, of course, writing. Her husband pastors a small church in Michigan’s rugged Upper Peninsula, where her family shares its ten wooded acres with black bears, wolves, coyotes, deer and bald eagles. Naomi and her family live only three miles from Lake Superior, and while the scenery is beautiful, the area averages two hundred inches of snow per winter. Naomi writes bold, dramatic stories containing passionate words and powerful journeys. If you enjoyed the novel, she would love to hear from you. You can write Naomi at P.O. Box 134, Ontonagon, MI 49953, or contact her via her website and blog, at www.naomirawlings.com.

The Soldier’s Secrets

Naomi Rawlings

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The integrity of the upright shall guide them: but the perverseness of transgressors shall destroy them.

—Proverbs 11:3

Pure religion and undefiled before God

and the Father is this,

To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, [and] to keep himself unspotted from the world.

—James 1:27

To my parents, Marvin and Carolyn Montpetit.

Thank you for your love, guidance, and wisdom.

And thank you for the sacrifices you made to raise me in a manner that honored God.

Acknowledgements

No book could ever make its way from my head to the story in front of you without help from some amazing people.

First and foremost, I’d like to thank my husband, Brian. What would I do without someone to cook dinner, watch the kids, and love and encourage me through each and every book I write? Second, I’d like to thank my critique partner, Melissa Jagears. The longer I work with you, the more I come to value your support for my stories as well as for everyday life. My writing would suffer greatly without your brilliant mind, and my heart would suffer greatly without your friendship. Thank you for all the hours of critiquing you poured into this story.

I’d also want to thank my agent, Natasha Kern, for teaching me about writing and supporting me both professionally and personally. Your love for writers and good stories shines through all the hours you pour into Natasha Kern Literary Agency. I deeply value your guidance and advice, as well as your friendship. Thank you to my editor, Elizabeth Mazer, for your helpful suggestions and enthusiasm about my stories—and especially for your love of all things French.

Special thanks to Scott and Andrea Corpolongo Smith, owners of Ontonagon, Michigan’s Wintergreen Farms. Andrea read over the farming portions of my novel to make sure I had all the nettlesome details about blights, pests, and vegetables correct. For more information about Wintergreen Farms, community supported agriculture, organic vegetables, and yummy recipes, visit their fabulous blog, wintergreen-farm.blogspot.com.

Beyond these people, numerous others have given me support in one way or another—Sally Chambers, Glenn Haggerty, Roseanna White, and Laurie Alice Eakes, to name a few. Thank you all for your time and effort and helping me to write the best books I possibly can.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Prologue

Calais, France, June 1795

Brigitte Dubois wrapped her arms about herself and trudged down the deserted street, darkness swallowing her every step. Night air toyed with the strands of hair hanging from beneath her mobcap, while mist from the sea nipped relentlessly at her ankles and a chill slithered up her spine.

It mattered not that it was summer, warm enough to sleep without a fire in the hearth, warm enough to draw beads of perspiration on her forehead, warm enough to attend her rendezvous with a shawl rather than a cloak. The cold came from inside, deep and frigid, a fear so terrifying she could hardly stay ahead of it. So her feet stumbled forward, over the cracked and chipping cobblestones, past the rows of houses shuttered tight against the darkness.

One night. One meeting. Then she could go home, gather her children and leave this wretched city.

Or so she hoped.

The breeze from the Channel swirled around her, ripe with the salty tang of sea and fish, while the clack of her wooden shoes against the street created the only sound in the deserted city besides the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore. The warehouse loomed before her at the end of the road, dark and menacing and ominously larger with each step she took toward its rusty iron doors.

Another shudder raced through her. Would this place become her tomb on this muggy summer night?

No, she’d not think such things. She had a house to return to, children to feed and a babe to tend. Alphonse wasn’t going to kill her, not tonight. Her children were too important.

Which was why she had to get them away.

She slowed as she neared the warehouse, raising her hand to knock upon the small side door. But just as her knuckles would have met the cold iron, it swung inward.

“You’re here.” A guard hulked in the doorway, his voice loud against the empty street and tall stone houses.

“As I was told to be.” She straightened her back, but not because she wanted to. No. Her shoulders ached to slump and her feet longed to slink into the shadows hovering beside the building, to creep back to her children and her house and the safety those four square walls offered.