Sea of Christmas Miracles (8 page)

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.

“Y
ou 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 straightened
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.

He would wreak his revenge, and no one could
do anything about it. Lady Caroline Simmons didn’t stand a chance
against him.

“I shall fetch your woman,” Wolf declared
before leaving the porch and melting into the surrounding
forest.

Late summer, 1759

Charles Town, South Carolina

S
he wasn’t what he
expected. But then women usually weren’t.

Wolf leaned against the dingy whitewashed
wall in the crowded taproom of Cooper’s Inn studying the woman who
had crossed the ocean to become his stepmother. If the notion
didn’t make him so angry, he’d laugh aloud at the thought. Robert
wanted a refined lady, and this woman was willing to sell herself
into the job. But it was all for naught. For this porcelain doll
wouldn’t last a fortnight on the frontier.