Those few heartfelt words from the uncle he’d never felt close to eased the pain in Parker’s leg.
Chapter Fifteen
Badge of Honor
Barred by the authorities from taking the ferry into the waters of the Severn, Samantha’s father had been out and about for most of the morning. He returned home for lunch, chest thrust out and beaming. Samantha suspected he’d enjoyed the congratulations of more than a few he’d encountered.
“The Reverend Pilsbury has organized a memorial service for the victims of the disaster,” he reported. “Given the numbers expected to attend, it’s going to be held in the community hall at four o’clock.”
“People will come from miles around,” Mrs. Hindley said.
As the conversation continued over lunch, Samantha grew impatient. “Did you bump into Sergeant Cullen?”
“No. I expect he’s gone home to sleep. Apparently, they were at the police station all night interrogating the suspects.”
Samantha wished she knew where he lived. Perhaps…
She dismissed the idea of visiting him. It was unladylike to even consider it. He wouldn’t welcome her if he was exhausted and, in any case, he’d probably forgotten all about her in the excitement of the arrest.
“They say the man who organized the whole thing is an Irish American,” her father said. “I cringe to think it may have been the chap who took the ferry the other day.”
Grace snorted. “I doubt there are a lot of Irish Americans in an out-of-the-way place like Aust, Daddy.”
He grimaced. “No. He did stand out. So close to evil and I didn’t even realize it.”
“Because you always see the good in people,” Samantha replied in an effort to lighten the suddenly somber atmosphere.
When the meal was finished and the dishes washed and dried, Samantha retrieved her engagement ring from the trinket box in her bedroom, donned her cape and went out into the back garden. The house backed on to the river and the view was normally very inspiring but, now, the twisted metal of the bridge’s remains scarred the vista. Her breath hung in the frigid air as she exhaled, her throat tightening when she recalled how Brock had died. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, clutching the ring. “I wasn’t the right woman for you. Rest in peace.”
Blinking away tears, she flung the sapphire as hard as she could, wailing in frustration when it failed to reach the water far below.
“You throw like a girl,” a deep voice said.
She whirled to see Parker behind her. “How long have you been there?”
“Only a minute,” he replied, taking her into his embrace. “It’s all right to cry. You must have loved him at one point.”
She rested her head on the solid wall of his chest. “I think I was more in love with the idea of being married,” she confessed.
He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away. “It would be an honor if you’d consider marrying me,” he said.
She ought to refuse him. They barely knew each other. And yet, she did know him. There was an alchemy between them. Her body and heart had recognized him as her soul-mate the moment they’d met. “Yes, I will be your wife,” she said. “I’m in love with you.”
Their breath mingled as he lowered his mouth to kiss her. Their last kiss had presaged disaster, but Samantha clung to him as he lifted her to his hard body, knowing this mating of tongues promised a future full of love. Despite the chill in the air, her body heated. Her nipples cried out for his touch. Moisture pooled in a very private place.
“I can’t wait to make you mine,” he rasped when they broke apart. “I’ve never craved a woman the way I crave you. However, I need to sit.”
She looked into his eyes, warmed by the glint she saw there. “I’m so thoughtless,” she said, leading him by the hand to sit on her father’s favorite bench under the leafless apple tree. “You must be exhausted.”
He put an arm around her and drew her close. “I am a little tired, but knowing you’ll be my wife has renewed my energy.”
She snuggled into him, wishing she could close her eyes and the twisted carnage upriver would be gone when she opened them again. “Thank you for catching those men.”
“It had to be done,” he replied modestly.
“You said you had a hunch. How did you know it was them?”
Parker assumed someday he’d tell Samantha about the strange voices he’d heard, but this wasn’t the time. She might worry she’d agreed to marry a lunatic. His heart skipped a beat when she put both cold hands on his injured thigh. “This happened when you saved the queen, didn’t it?”
Her hands anywhere on his body would have aroused him, but no woman had ever wanted to mention his deficiency, never mind touch it. The proximity of her delicate fingers to his manhood compounded the effect. His cock saluted her compassion. She truly did love him. “Oh, you heard about that.”
“You got a medal.”
“Yes.”
“But your limp is more of a badge of honor.”
A weight lifted from Parker’s shoulders. Long-held resentments fled. “I suppose it is,” he replied.
They rose from the bench when a loud cough heralded the arrival of her father. He might think Samantha had been compromised by being alone with Parker. “Sir,” he said. “I should have asked your permission first, but I’ve proposed to your daughter.”
“And?”
“I’ve accepted, Daddy,” Samantha announced gleefully.
Hindley clapped a hand on Parker’s shoulder and extended his hand. “Welcome to the family, Son.”
Chapter Sixteen
Peace on Earth
The family set off in plenty of time for the memorial service, but the hall was full when they arrived.
Pride surged through Samantha when Parker was directed to reserved seats at the front of the assembly, though his blush indicated he seemed embarrassed by the attention. “Only if there’s room for my fiancée and her family,” he told the usher, who promptly hurried off to make it so.
Summoned after a few minutes of activity at the front, she nodded to several people she’d known all her life as she walked up the center aisle arm in arm with her true love. “By this time tomorrow,” she whispered, “the whole village will know we’re an item.”
“You think it will take that long?” he quipped in reply as they took their seats.
Several men came one at a time to shake Parker’s hand; the noise level gradually rose as people waited for the service to begin. A hush fell when Rev. Pilsbury appeared through a side door, though a few muffled sobs could already be heard.
“I forgot to bring a hanky,” Samantha said, thankful when Parker fished in the pocket of his coat and handed her a clean linen square.
“Thank you,” she whispered, confident the man she loved would always see to her needs.
As Pilsbury began the service, the deep sorrow and indignation felt by the people in the hall was almost palpable. Samantha couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have been if the culprits hadn’t been tracked down.
Pilsbury wasn’t known for his inspiring sermons, but he had trouble hiding his sorrow. The disaster had clearly affected him deeply.
“And yet,” he declared after a long lament about the evils of the world, “we must never allow ourselves to fall victim to anger and despair. In his Sermon on the Mount, Our Lord promised that those who mourn shall be comforted.”
Tears welled in Samantha’s eyes when Parker tightened his grip on her hand.
“However…” Pilsbury paused for effect as he scanned the crowd. “In the same sermon, Jesus also blessed those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
His eyes came to rest on Parker. “And we have a man in our midst who did just that today.”
Parker acknowledged his remark with a nod. “Let’s hope nobody applauds,” he whispered.
“But Our Lord also blessed those who are merciful, and we must find mercy in our hearts, though, today, it may seem impossible.”
&n
bsp; “Above all,” Pilsbury shouted, “in this Christmas season, we must listen to Our Lord when He exhorts us to be peacemakers. This heinous crime came about because of conflict right here in our United Kingdom. Peace on earth cannot be achieved without the goodwill of all mankind.”
Utter silence ensued, until Pilsbury cleared his throat and quietly asked everyone to join in singing O Holy Night.
The reverend’s wife played the introductory bars on the piano then voices were raised. Samantha had sung the carol every Christmas since childhood but, as she joined her voice to others, the words held new meaning.
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels’ voices
O night divine
O night when Christ was born
O night divine o night
O night divine.
Tears of happiness flowed when Parker leaned close to her ear. “That’s exactly what I felt when I met you. A thrill of hope.”
Epilogue
Four weeks later, on the morning after the ceremony binding her in marriage to Parker Cullen, Samantha awoke and stretched like a contented cat, relishing the feel of crisp sheets on her naked skin. She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings, gradually remembering she was in her own little cottage in Bristol—hers and Parker’s. Excitement filled her. In a few days, her husband would take up his new duties as a detective inspector with the Bristol police force. A new and glorious morn had dawned.
But she was alone. Where was Parker?
She sat up and clutched the linens to her breasts, her body quivering with delight at the memory of her wedding night. She could scarcely wait to feel Parker’s manhood inside her again, though the first glimpse of his magnificent maleness had sent a pang of apprehension scurrying across her nape.
She needn’t have worried. He had patiently introduced her to unimagined sexual pleasures, and her screams of delight seemed to please him. But then he’d done a fair amount of growling and hollering himself.
She startled when a flushed Parker burst through the bedroom door, clad only in pajama bottoms. She licked her lips, welcoming the craving that spiraled into her womb at the sight of his broad chest.
“They got him,” he exclaimed. “At the docks in Southampton.”
“The American?”
“His name’s Darren Rorke,” he replied, climbing back into bed. “Moore telephoned from the station to tell me.”
She was relieved for him. He’d said nothing but she knew he thirsted for the man’s capture.
He took her into his arms. “Ready for breakfast? Or would you prefer to linger in bed?”
The evidence of his arousal pressed against her left little doubt which answer he was hoping for. “Spending the day in bed sounds wonderful.”
“A whole day,” he exclaimed, coaxing the linens away from her breasts. “I’ve wed a woman with an insatiable sexual appetite.”
“Hah,” she laughed just before his kiss reignited the flames of desire.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Anna Markland
Clash of the Tartans Series
Kilty Secrets
Kilted at the Altar
Kilty Pleasures
Kilty Party
Kilts in the Wind
Kilts Ahoy!
The Viking’s Gift (A Novella)
About the Author
Anna has authored more than sixty bestselling, award-winning and much-loved Medieval, Viking and Highlander historical romance novels and novellas. No matter the setting, many of her series recount the adventures of successive generations of one family, with emphasis on the importance of ancestry and honor. A comprehensive list with more complete descriptions can be found at annamarkland.com.
She would love you to visit her Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.
Tweet her @annamarkland, join her on Pinterest, or sign up for her newsletter.
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Anna was born in England but has lived most of her life in Canada. Education, business and disaster relief provided three interesting and rewarding careers before she became a writer. She has a keen interest in genealogy. This hobby (aka addiction) has had a tremendous influence on her stories. Her historical romances are tales of family honor, ancestry, and roots.
For Anna, novels are an escape into another world and time where she loses herself in the characters’ lives, confident they will triumph in the end and find love. She loves ferreting out bits of historical trivia in order to provide the reader with an authentic experience.
Escape with Anna to where romance began and get intimate with history.
A Gift for Agatha
A Scrooge’s Tale
Anna St. Claire
Chapter One
December 1816
Kent, England
The late afternoon storm sent wet December weather slamming into the house. Gusts of wind howled, forcing unsecured shutters to crash against the side of the house. Lady Agatha Wendt pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and adjusted her glasses as she leaned in to read the newspaper. A long-haired grey cat with white feet and a white tip on her tail sat next to her, tucked into her skirts.
Suddenly, she slapped her leg in a fit of pique, sending the cat leaping into the air hissing. “This beats all! The chit found someone willing to marry her and never bothered to send me an invitation! How rude. Figures, considering the mother she had. A lack of manners. I tried to tell my departed brother he had made a mistake,” she ranted out loud. The woman pushed her spectacles higher onto the bridge of her nose and peered closer. “Looks like she married an earl.” She strained to read. “Lady Charlotte Chrisham became the Countess of Clarendon when she married the fifth Earl of Clarendon.” She threw the paper down on the chair next to her. “Ungrateful little chit!” she declared, grabbing the brass bell sitting on the table beside her chair and ringing it.
“Yes, my lady.” A tall, blond man with slightly graying temples and warm, brown eyes answered her demand.
“Bentley. The fire needs to be stoked, and I need some hot tea. Can you see to it for me?” She snapped up the paper and pointed at it with a long-nailed finger. “Do you recall my niece?” she huffed.
“I think I recall her. Lady Charlotte Grisham. She visited last year with your brother’s family. I found her to be a lovely young woman.”
“Pish!” she sniffed. “A brat! She spent most of the time here, curled up on the settee with a book like she owned the place. So did my sister-in-law, for that matter.”
The man sighed. “Yes, my lady.” He walked to the fireplace and picked up the poker, moving the logs around on the fire until it built to a roar. “There, that already feels better. It should be warmer in here.”
“You could have ordered a footman to do that. It is not your job, you know,” she chided gently.
“I never mind doing these little things,” he responded.
“Hmm. Yes, well. Thank you,” she murmured, before once more jerking the paper up to the offending page. “You do not know my niece as I do. No matter. She is married now. Snared herself an earl. Most likely she set her cap for him, same as her mother did to my brother.”
He cleared his throat. “I should check on your tea, my lady.” The retainer bowed and started to leave the room.
“Bentley…”
He turned back. “Yes, my lady?”
“Could you ask them to bring Pretty a bowl of milk, as well?
“I will do that, my lady.” He bowed and left the room.
“He does not know those women as I do,” she grunted and threw the newspaper at the closed door. “Of all the snubs!
I cannot believe I had to find out about her marriage in the paper. I had been ever kind to my brother and his family. Why, I fed them and gave them a place to stay without complaint when they came last Advent. Showing up as they did, it was lucky I am such a charitable soul.” She grew silent as she thought about her niece. “Gel takes after her mother. She was a peculiar one, as well.” She fought back the feeling of guilt that threatened. The family had suffered a terrible loss right after that Christmas when her brother had died.
Her brother had been very successful with his investments, yet she was sure she had heard that Lady Charlotte Romney’s guardian was overseeing their finances and was not very generous. “Serves her mother right,” she admonished, disparaging her sister-in-law to no one in particular.
The door opened, and a young woman walked in with a silver tray. “Your tea, my lady.”
“You are new. I have never seen you before,” Agatha pulled down her spectacles and glared at the petite young woman.
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Bentley hired me with the new housekeeper just yesterday,” she answered tentatively.
“I hope you are better than the last one,” Agatha muttered, placing two cubes of sugar in her cup. Before pouring the hot water into her teacup, she felt the pot. “Nice and warm, just the way I like it.” Smiling, she lifted a rounded pewter cover. “Ah, Pretty, here is your milk, my little darling.”
“Meow,” the cat answered, standing and stretching before sauntering over to the bowl of milk.
She watched her cat lap the milk for a moment. “Well done, gel. You will do.” Agatha waved her hand, gesturing for her to leave.
As the servant left, Bentley stepped into the room. “My lady, Mr. Hanson is here to see you. He represents the Society Home for Orphans.”
“Probably here to beg. Send him away. We should not encourage his begging. Please inform the man we do not give to charities,” she said before sipping her tea.
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 37
