Linda is a frequent guest of mine. She also writes steamy to erotic romance under the name Lyndi Lamont, and is one half of the writing team of Lyn O'Farrell.
grew up with a love of books and history, so it's only natural she
prefers writing historical romance. She loves transporting her readers into the
past where her characters learn that, in the journey of life, love is the
Read about her favorite romantic spot, Quebec (it IS very romantic—my husband & I took a cruise that departed from there), and her historical romance Rogue’s Hostage.
one of the most romantic cities in North America, seeming more European than
NorthAmerican. It’s also one of the settings I used in my French & Indian
War-set historical romance, Rogue’s
Hostage. When I was writing the book, my husband and I took a vacation to
Quebec Province so I could do some research. We started in Montreal, where I
managed to figure out how to navigate the Metro using my college French.
After a few
days exploring Montreal, we took the train to Quebec, and I fell in love with
the charming old city, though I had to keep reminding myself that the setting in
my book was the previous city, the one that was destroyed by the British
shelling. I was particularly interested in visiting Notre Dame des Victoires,
the small church in Lower Town which was destroyed in the shelling, but
later rebuilt in the same style. In the book, Mara seeks comfort inside this
lovely little church.
wanted to stay in the old part of the city, I booked us a room at Chateau
Frontenac, the venerable Canadian Railway hotel. Picturesque setting, but we
were pretty sure they gave us the smallest room in the place! Instead of a view
looking out toward the river, our window looked down onto an alley. Ah, well,
we didn't spend much time in the room anyway. We were far more interested in
wandering the winding streets, taking pictures of the old houses and the fort
On the last
day we took a boat ride on the St. Lawrence for spectacular views of the city
and countryside. What a beautiful area! I'd love to go back some day.
took this trip back in the pre-digital photography days so any photos are from
my Art Explosion CD collection or DepositPhotos.com.)
In 1758 the
Pennsylvania frontier is wild, primitive and dangerous, where safety often lies
at the end of a gun. Mara Dupré's life crumbles when a French and Indian war
party attacks her cabin, kills her husband, and takes her captive. Marching
through the wilderness strengthens her resolve to flee, but she doesn't count
on her captor teaching her the meaning of courage and the tempting call of
lieutenant Jacques Corbeau's desire for his captive threatens what little honor
he has left. But when Mara desperately
offers herself to him in exchange for her freedom, he finds the strength to
refuse and reclaims his lost self-respect. As the shadows of his past catch up
to him, Jacques realizes that Mara, despite the odds, is the one true key to
reclaiming his soul and banishing his past misdeeds forever.
Quebec, Canada, April 1759
The journey was almost over.
Eyes narrowed against the glare off the water, Jacques stared
at the approaching skyline of Quebec as the bateau rushed downriver.
Perched on the north side of the Saint Lawrence River, the city’s walls and
fortifications guarded the way into the interior of New France. Though the
British had tried twice, the city had never fallen. But Jacques knew that
sooner or later they would try again.
He glanced at Mara, who sat beside him, huddled in her shawl,
shivering slightly. When he put an arm around her and pulled her closer, she
burrowed against him. Guilt and regret stirred inside him. She was the reason
he had requested a transfer back to Quebec. Since leaving Fort Duquesne, she
had been a different woman—quiet, submissive, and obedient.
To his surprise, he missed her sharp tongue and pointed
opinions. All through the long Canadian winter, he had watched and waited for
her to revert to her normal self, but it was as if she were a different woman.
On occasion, Jacques had been tempted to bait her, but his guilt kept him from
doing so. Her state of mind was his fault, after all.
In the last four months, she had followed him over a route
seen by few white men, much less a woman. Together they had traveled by bateau,
canoe, sled, and snowshoe. Mara had witnessed the mighty power of Niagara
Falls, traversed Lake Ontario, and braved the Lachine Rapids—all without
complaining. But also without any sense of wonder or enthusiasm for the places
she’d seen, just a wistful remark about how much Emile would have liked to see
It had been an arduous journey, and now she deserved some
A raw wind off the river threw pellets of rain in his face,
and he pulled up the woolen muffler Mara had knitted for him. That was all she
had done at Niagara, her needles clicking incessantly until he had thought he
would go mad. But something about the rhythmic nature of the task seemed to
comfort her, so he’d said nothing.
Another blast of wind reminded him of how long and severe
Canadian winters could be. In this northern country, rivers and lakes froze
over completely. There was a wild beauty in it that he used to find
exhilarating. Until an equally impervious chill took up residence around his
The bateau docked at the part of the city called Lower
Town, below the cliffs of Cap Diamant. Above them towered the ramparts guarding
the government and church buildings that comprised Upper Town. Jacques helped
Mara onto the dock and led her down a street lined with warehouses and taverns.
He stopped in front of a sign picturing a leering devil with a forked tail.
“Le Diable? What are we doing here?” she asked, a
surprised look on her face.
“This is home, madame. Welcome to my humble establishment.”
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