Sea of Christmas Miracles Read online

  “We’ll be fine, Mother.” Thomas lifted the reins to start the horses, then stopped. Handing them over to Margaret he jumped from the seat. He hugged his mother first, then his father. Merry was next and Andrew. Then he went down the line of nieces and nephews.

  Ten-year-old Ben preferred a handshake to a hug, but Thomas ruffled his blond hair anyway. “I’m sure the paints will be much appreciated.”

  “As will the doll.” Alice was more than happy to hug him.

  The twins, Janey and Jean, had given up the dollhouse built by their grandfather. Devon confided to Thomas that he was starting on another the following morning. Thomas was equally determined to replace all the toys given up by his sister’s children. But for now he allowed them to bask in the unselfish emotion of helping someone less fortunate than themselves.

  Five-year-old John jumped into his arms when Thomas approached him. “You’ll tell those children I’ll come and play with them, won’t you?”

  “I will,” Thomas assured. “Then they can thank you in person for the hoop.”

  “Some little girl will just love the rag doll, Nancy,” Thomas told his three-year-old niece.

  “Betsy... her name is Betsy.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell them.”

  The youngest child was in leading strings and hadn’t voluntarily given up anything, but Thomas lifted him up all the same. “Merry Christmas to you, Master Stephen,” he said, while breathing in his sweet baby smell.

  After handing the child to his mother, Thomas leaped onto the wagon and started the horses down the lane. “You will be back, won’t you,” his mother called after them.

  Thomas glanced at Margaret, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She was too busy thanking everyone. “I’ll come home,” Thomas yelled.

  It was well after dark when they reached the old King plantation. Even by the light of the moon, Thomas could tell the place had seen better days. Since the carpetbagger had taken the property over, he’d given it very little thought... that is until he decided it would do for his mill.

  He reined the horses to a stop in front of the door and shook Margaret gently. She fell asleep a mile or so back, and he’d draped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

  They hadn’t really had a chance to talk since he kissed her in the library, but Thomas had done his share of thinking... and planning. All he needed to do was share his ideas with Margaret.

  She looked up giving him a sleepy smile and Thomas couldn’t help pressing his lips to hers. He would have deepened the kiss if not for the Negro woman who opened the front door. She held a lantern in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Luckily she recognized Margaret, who jumped off the wagon seat before Thomas could help her down.

  “It’s all right, Grace. It’s only me. And this is Mister Blackstone.”

  “Mistah Thomas Blackstone?” The woman seemed very surprised.

  “Yes, and we have such lovely things for the children’s Christmas. Are they in bed?”

  “Each and every one ’a them. What happened to you? Iz been worried.”

  “I’ll explain later. For now will you bring the lantern so we can see?”

  “Don’t know what good the light’s gonna do you. You’re as blind as a bat without them spectacles. Now just how’d you go and lose them?”

  “It’s a long story.” Margaret looked toward Thomas and smiled. “But I assure you, I can see all I need to.”

  It was near midnight by the time the wagon was unloaded and the toys spread beneath a pine sapling Grace had cut and brought into the drafty parlor. Still, Margaret insisted on fixing Thomas something to eat.

  “I’m only a passable cook, but I can fry up ham.”

  Thomas leaned back in a kitchen chair, enjoying watching her move around the room. The smell of ham mingled with the citrusy scent of the oranges on the table. “Do you fix the meals for the children?”

  “I help, but that’s Grace’s job.” Margaret looked down at the ham curling up in the iron skillet. “I sent her to bed because she seemed tired.” Margaret shut her eyes when she felt his hands on her arms.

  “Here I hoped it was because you wanted to be alone with me!” Thomas brushed his lips across her hair.

  “Why are you doing this?” Margaret didn’t want him to stop the wonderful things he did to her with his hands and mouth, but she had to know.

  “It was more my family than me.”

  Margaret shot a look over her shoulder that told him exactly what she thought of that explanation.

  Thomas grinned. “Maybe I didn’t like you thinking I didn’t have a heart.”

  “I—” His fingers on her lips stopped her from refuting her earlier assumption.

  “Because then I couldn’t tell you how you’ve stolen it.”

  Margaret turned in his arms, the ham forgotten. “What?”

  “I’m trying to say...” Thomas took a deep breath. “I’m in love with you, Margaret Lewis.” He searched her face for some kind of reaction. “I realize this is sudden and you probably don’t feel the same, but—”

  “I do. I mean I love you, too, but I just don’t understand—”

  His lips cut off the rest of her words. When he had to break the contact or give up breathing, he trailed his mouth toward her ear. “This is very new to me, but I do know that love is something that you don’t have to understand. It just happens.”

  Behind her the ham sizzled, forgotten until the smell of burning meat was too obvious for even their eager kisses to cover up. After Thomas dragged the iron skillet from the stove, he and Margaret decided they weren’t hungry after all... at least not for food.

  Margaret took Thomas’s hand and led him upstairs to the room at the far end of the hall. It was cold, though neither noticed as they fell onto the bed together.

  “You will marry me, won’t you?” Thomas’s head was propped on his open palm. The fingers of his other hand traced an imaginary line between Margaret’s breasts. It was barely dawn and they’d made love and slept and awakened to make love again. He felt replete, wonderful, and thoroughly in love.

  “Are you sure you want me? I am a kidnapper.” Her smile was teasing, and matched his.

  “You may kidnap me anytime.” He leaned forward brushing his lips against hers, then straightened quickly. “Was that a yes?”

  Her sigh was long and heartfelt. Before he could see the tears glistening in her eyes she turned her head away. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She hurried on before he could voice the argument she knew he would have. “I’m not the kind of woman you deserve as a wife. The orphanage is very important to me.”

  “I don’t recall asking you to give it up.”

  She twisted her head to look at his expression.

  “If anything I planned to help you with it. All I ask is that you live with me, for I don’t want to be without you.”

  “But I have very strong beliefs... about women’s suffrage, and—”

  “I admire that about you.” Thomas splayed his hand to cover the tips of her breasts. “Among other things.” His grin faded. “Don’t you want to marry me, Maggie?”

  “Oh yes, more than anything, but—” His fingers covered her lips, silencing her.

  “Then we won’t worry about anything else. My father once told me that the Blackstone men were strong because of the women they marry. His grandmother told him that. I think it’s true. And I think you’ll make it true for me.”

  Thomas cuddled her close on the chilly Christmas morning. “We’ll work things out. We have love, Maggie. And that’s the greatest miracle of all.”

  “God’s blood, I couldn’t have handled that better myself.”

  “Jack?” When he heard the voice Thomas bolted to sitting in the bed, pulling his sleep-tousled bride-to-be with him.

  “Who’s Jack? What’s wrong, Thomas?” Margaret gently brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

/>   Thomas studied her concerned face in the grainy morning light. “You didn’t...? I mean... A pirate...?” With each word he uttered she appeared more bewildered. Thomas took a deep breath, then he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Together they settled back against the pillow. “I must have been dreaming,” he murmured. But in his heart he knew the truth.

  Dear Readers,

  Okay, I admit it. I had a really hard time leaving the Blackstone Men of the Sea of Charleston. After all, for nearly two years I’d worried about their perils, cheered their triumphs, and happily sighed as each and every one of the Blackstone men found love with the perfect woman for them. So when I was asked to write a short story, and was told, yes, it could be about the Blackstones, I jumped at the chance. Sea of Christmas Miracles to me was like the cherry on top of the sundae, (chocolate fudge, of course), it just made everything complete. I hope you feel the same way.

  So, what is the best way to move on from the Blackstone Trilogy? Why, to start reading books about the irresistible MacQuiad Brothers of course: My Savage Heart, My Seaswept Heart, and My Heavenly Heart are available now on e-book format.

  I love to hear from fellow readers. Please visit my website at www.christinedorsey.com. You can also visit my Facebook readers page and follow me on Twitter.

  To Happy Endings,

  Christine Dorsey

  Read on for an excerpt from My Savage Heart, Book 1 in the MacQuaid Brothers Trilogy.

  My Savage Heart

  Prologue

  “You sent for me.”

  The figure slumped in the winged chair by the fireplace straightened, his head jerking around. Fear sparked to life in light green eyes as they scanned the room’s shadows. When his gaze snagged on the man standing tall, filling the doorway, his frown deepened. His voice, rusty with sleep, nonetheless carried the sting of accusation. “Nearly a fortnight ago, aye. Where in the hell have you been?”

  Wolf stepped into the small pool of light radiating from the single candle sputtering in its brass holder. Shifting the long rifle he held to the crook of his arm, he regarded the older man with narrowed jet black eyes. “I was on the summer hunt... with my people.”

  Robert MacQuaid’s fingers clutched the checked cotton chair’s arms, but his attempt to rise was thwarted by the leg, splinted and tightly wrapped, stretched out on the bench in front of him. “Hell and damnation,” he cursed, fisting his hand and striking at his thigh before settling back, red-faced, among the cushions.

  Seeing such frustration might have moved Wa’ya, had it been any other who showed it. But Wolf’s expression remained unreadable; the chiseled features of his handsome, bronzed face, unsympathetic. He knew of his father’s leg. The injury was the only reason he’d come—that and the gnawing worry it was Mary who needed him. “You should be more careful,” was all he said.

  “A hell of a lot you care, coming here dressed like a savage!”

  “My clothes suit me.” Wa’ya watched as Robert’s contemptuous gaze traveled downward from the long black hair that hung past his shoulders. The belted hunting shirt was homespun, the leggings doeskin. “Besides,” Wolf continued before further disapproval could be voiced. “I never implied I cared.”

  “Why you ungrateful pup! I never should have—” Robert’s face raged purple with anger as Wolf’s large hand clamped over his shoulder, preventing him from standing more than the broken leg ever could.

  “I did not come to renew old conflicts.” Wolf turned, his moccasined feet silent on the rug as he headed for the door and the forest beyond.

  “Wait. Raff. There is something you must do for me.”

  At the sound of his English name, Wolf glanced over his shoulder. He raised a raven brow, and waited, annoyed with himself that he paused... even more annoyed that he’d even come to this place.

  “You must go to Charles Town for me.”

  The words were no sooner out than Wolf lifted the latch.

  “Hell and damnation Raff.” Robert heaved himself forward on the chair, reaching for the crude crutch one of his servants had fashioned. “You owe me. Christ a’mighty you’re my son.”

  “Your bastard son,” Wolf amended as the door swung open. But Robert seemed to ignore Wolf’s words as easily as he’d ignored Alkini, Wolf’s mother.

  “I can’t go myself or I wouldn’t ask.”

  Wolf’s snort was derisive. “I’ve no doubt of that.” No one ever accused Robert MacQuaid of not doing what needed done himself, whether it was working his plantation, cheating the Cherokee, or defiling innocent women. At the thought of his mother, Wolf took a deep breath of pine-scented air. He didn’t look back when he heard the clomp, clomp of the crutch coming toward him. “Send someone else to fetch your supplies.”

  “I would, but there is no one else.”

  That, too, Wolf believed. Since the day Wolf left this house, Robert had ignored his son’s presence in the Lower Towns of the Cherokee nation. If there was anyone else Robert could prevail upon, the message would never have reached Wolf that his father wanted him.

  “Logan is north fighting the damn heathens, and I can’t trust anyone else to bring her here.”

  “My brother should well consider his wife’s safety before he searches for other battles.”

  “Mary’s fine. And what in the hell are you talking about—her safety? The girl... hell, all of us are as safe here as we would be in Charles Town.” Robert’s light eyes narrowed. “I’ve dealt with those people for years. Not one of your so-called Cherokee brothers has the guts to cause any trouble in these parts.”

  It was a taunt, and in the past, Wolf might have responded. Trouble between the English settlers and the Cherokee was coming, faster and harder than Wolf seemed able to stop. But Robert was beyond enlightening, even if Wolf were inclined to try. And besides, Robert MacQuaid’s words no longer had the power to wound him. He didn’t care what the old man said... or did, either, as long as it didn’t affect the Cherokee or Mary.

  At least that’s what he thought till he heard his father’s next words.

  “You’re what?” Wolf turned on him so quickly that Robert, hunched over the crutch, flinched.

  “I said I’m marrying again.” Robert’s voice was booming, defiant. “It isn’t right that I should live without a woman. I’ve built this place.” Robert’s head jerked around to indicate what he considered his domain. “I need someone to share it with me. Someone refined.”

  Wolf’s burst of laughter woke the old dog sleeping on the porch. She lifted her head and sniffed the air before settling back on her paws. There had once been someone who loved Robert, though Wolf couldn’t understand why she had. Perhaps she hadn’t been refined by Robert’s definition, but she had been sweet, with a pure, loving heart. But Wolf’s mother was tossed aside by Robert with less thought than he’d give a weed he trod upon.

  Robert puffed out his chest. “Lady Caroline Simmons is coming from England to marry me.”

  “Lady Caroline?” Wolf arched a dark brow. “What would a titled Lady want with you?” Wolf knew what they’d wanted with him. During the years he’d spent in England, he’d seen the inside of more ladies’ boudoirs than he could recall. But he’d offered them youth, and a strong, powerful body. A body that would entice even without the added hint of savagery of which the English gentry seemed so in awe. He was amazed how many titled women wished to relieve the boredom of their lives with a half-blooded Cherokee. It was as if they sensed that no amount of silken waistcoats and lace cravats could ever tame him. As they peeled off each layer of civilization, they searched for some primitive passion to engulf them. Wolf had tried never to disappoint.

  But it hadn’t taken Wolf long to realize where he stood with the fine ladies of England. Whether maid or madam, the light of day sent them scurrying for the security of their stuffy convention. The tedium of which drove Wolf back to his native land.

  “You find it difficult to believe that the daughter of an earl would marry me?” Robert said. He straig
htened as much as he could while forced to lean on the crutch for support.

  Wolf didn’t trust himself to speak. He’d been told by his uncle, Tsesani, how anxious his mother had been to wed Robert. But she’d died nine years ago, while Wolf was in England. He hadn’t even known of her passing until he returned to his homeland the following year. But all the while he’d known this: Her only son, Robert’s son, carried the title of bastard.

  “Wealth!” Robert’s shallow face lit up. “Wealth will buy you anything, boy. The sooner you learn that, the better. ’Tis the only thing that matters.”

  “And how you get it is immaterial, I suppose?” Wolf was annoyed with himself for getting embroiled in this discussion. He knew very well how this man thought. What he was willing to do.

  “Do you think Lady Caroline cares how I obtained my wealth?” Robert’s expression was smug.

  “No.” Wolf stared at him, not bothering to conceal his contempt. “I suppose not.” Most of the women he met in England were vain and self-centered. If this Lady Caroline was willing to be bought, Robert was right. She probably wouldn’t give a thought to the Cherokee people who’d been cheated or the woman who lived with Robert for years only to be cast aside.

  “I’ll pay you to fetch her for me.” Robert’s shoulder bunched beneath his ear as he balanced himself between the birch sapling and his good leg. “Lady Caroline Simmons should reach Charles Town within a sennight. Hell, she might be there now.”

  Wolf opened his mouth to tell him what he could do with his money and his fine English wife, but a vision of his mother swam before his eyes. That day when he was ten summers. The day her son was taken from her. Though she later died of the fever, it was Robert MacQuaid who had killed her. He’d stripped away her spirit. And her death had gone unpunished and unavenged... until now.

  When Wolf looked up, his eyes, dark as the sky behind him, were hard. His father just handed him the perfect means of revenge and didn’t even realize it... yet. But he would. Wolf would see to that. His wide, sensual mouth curved in a parody of a smile.