by Betty Bolte
Her heart stuttered, then resumed its frantic beating. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't stop staring at the sparkle in his eyes, their depths drawing her into him. She could become lost in those eyes as he smiled at her, rubbing his thumbs across her hands, igniting a familiar longing in her core. He fingered the fine gold chain still hanging around her neck. He'd asked her to keep it until he could deliver the gem to its official home.
"Are you bleeding again? I can change the bandage." She made to open his coat to check his wound, but he caught her hands and squeezed them.
"No, not that. I've sent for Dr. Trent to tend to it. He should arrive shortly."
"Here? Does Samantha know?"
"Yes, I told her."
"And she had no problem with him coming to her home?"
Ben shrugged lightly. "She didn't raise a fuss when I spoke to her about it, so I presume she is agreeable to the idea."
She'd have to ask Samantha later to confirm such for herself. Dr. Trent and Samantha did not agree on the correct approach to healing, but perhaps she elected to take the more adult way of handling the situation. Ignore it. Though how she managed to strike sparks with the handsome doctor every time they met alluded her.
Amy searched his eyes. "Then what did you need?"
"This." He kissed her, lingering on her mouth for a moment. His smile broadened, his teeth fairly glowing in the dusky light. Teasingly he fingered the gold chain, working it free from her golden gown. He lifted the smoky gem from where it had settled between her breasts. "This little treasure represents the bond South Carolina shares with Scotland."
"It must be very valuable."
He held the stone between two fingers so that the candlelight reflected off its smoky surface. "Yes, my dear, but its value lies in both its meaning and its legendary power."
At his touch of the gem, a fine buzz tingled throughout her entire being. "I thought you didn't believe in myths and legends, that they are superstitious stories made up for weak minds, I believe is what you once told me." She held her breath, hoping his next words would speak to her heart, her soul.
"You've taught me to trust my instincts, sweetheart." Tenderly he kissed her, sending more electric sparks sizzling through her veins. "My favorite stories used to be the fairy tales my mother told me when I was young. And yes, sometimes stories have a place in our lives. Yours and mine."
She searched his eyes and saw only his desire for her, his acceptance of her. Ben's expression revealed that he felt the same tingling making her feel as though light shone from within her. She took the walnut-sized gem from him, inspecting its various colors mingled together into a captivating vision. "It's beautiful."
"It's smoky quartz from the mines of Scotland." Benjamin searched her eyes for a moment. "Legend has it when two people who care for each other both touch it simultaneously, like this, it has the power to make clear your destiny by removing doubts and thus emotional obstacles. It has the power to unite, thus the bond between South Carolina and Scotland when the two leaders made a pact of friendship decades ago."
Her head started bobbing before he finished his explanation. The moment Ben had touched it, the night at the cave when he discovered it, her uncertainty and her fear had dissipated into the night sky. She gazed at his hand, so strong and sure, surrounding her slender fingers, and she knew. Without any doubt in her heart and soul she knew they belonged together forever.
Smiling, she searched his eyes again, finding his love shining as strong as his hand on hers. "I love you, Ben."
"I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean, or trees in the forest, or stars in the sky. But it's time for this to be handed over to the governor." He unfastened the chain from around her neck and puddled it onto one palm. He carefully slipped it into his pocket. "Please tell me you'll have me as your husband, your friend, and most of all someone to share your stories with for the rest of our lives."
This wonderful, beautiful man wanted her for his wife and friend. That meant more to her now than she had ever dared to wish for. "Yes, Ben, of course I will."
He drew her to him, bringing her hands to his chest before kissing them. "I crave you, Amy." He kissed her, his lips warm and firm on hers, then eased his tongue between her lips to explore their sweet depths. A familiar rush of warmth gathered inside, bringing with it the anticipation of many more magical moments throughout their lives together.
He broke the kiss on a chuckle. "I'll replace the gem with a more beautiful jewel that will show you how much I love you."
She grinned and briefly pressed her lips to his. "I suppose I can accept that. As long as you come with it."
"Amy? Where are you?" Light footsteps on the shelled path announced Samantha's arrival at the gazebo. Her long midnight-blue dress and silver shawl contrasted against the moonlit sky. "There you are. Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt." She didn't look one bit sorry, but Amy would forgive her.
Amy stepped back from Ben, holding on to his hand. "Guess what?"
"You're getting married." Samantha smiled, patting back into place unseen stray hairs.
Amy grinned. "How'd you know?"
"I've been waiting for Benjamin to ask properly." She crossed her arms and smiled. "It's finally happened."
Ben pulled Amy back into his embrace. "I agree."
"Amy? Is Samantha with you?" Emily emerged from the winding garden path, her russet gown complementing the dark bushes and plants edging the pathway. "Dr. Trent has arrived."
Samantha's happy grin evaporated as Emily stepped up to the gazebo floor.
"You didn't know he was coming?" Amy studied the consternation evident on her friend's features.
"I hadn't expected him so soon." Samantha shrugged. "It makes no difference."
"He said he's looking for Benjamin and you, both." Emily glanced at each of them in turn, finally permitting her gaze to settle on Amy and Benjamin.
"He can wait for a few minutes." Amy snuggled against Ben, glad to finally feel at home and at peace. "Guess what?"
Emily clapped her hands and smiled. "You're getting married."
"Will I be able to share my news with anyone?" Amy feigned affront, but she grinned at Emily. She couldn't help it.
"I realize this is the woman's choice, but I was wondering." Benjamin drew Amy's gaze to his. "Would you want to be married on Twelfth Night with Emily and Frank?"
"That's a wonderful idea." Amy smiled and hugged him. She turned to Emily, grasping both her hands. "If that is all right with you?"
"Of course!" Emily made an unladylike hop, her skirts flouncing. "I'd love to share our special day with you and Benjamin. I'm sure Frank will be honored as well."
"Perfect." Amy hugged Emily. "We have some planning to do. There's not much time."
"We should start right away," Emily said.
"Perhaps tomorrow, Em. Right now I have other ideas in mind." Amy smiled at Ben. "I never thought I could be so happy."
"My little flower has blossomed into a lovely young woman as well as a beautiful friend." Ben placed a finger beneath her chin, raising her mouth to his. "You're my fairy tale woman."
She kissed him lightly on the lips, her smile rivaling the brightness of the moonlight. "And you're my storybook man."
The End
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Want more from Betty Bolté?
Here's an excerpt from
SAMANTHA'S SECRET
A More Perfect Union
Book Three
~
Charles Town, South Carolina
– 1782
As night fell upon Samantha McAlester's herb garden, she cringed as barks of laughter interspersed the hum of her party guests' conversation, increasing in volume along with the flow of wine. The harvest celebration seemed at odds with the tension permeating the town. Standing on the steps of the white-washed gazebo, draped in dormant climbing rose vines, she hesitated to follow two of her closest friends, Amy Abernathy and Benjamin Hanson, as they strolled away from her, arm in arm down the crushed seashell and pea gravel path toward the tables laden with a variety of foods. So much had happened over the past year, month, even day, she couldn't imagine what more awaited in the near future as the fight for America's independence ended in victory.
The gazebo nestled at the back of the garden, the site of numerous tea parties with her dear friends, Amy and Emily. Benjamin escorted Amy down the path, newly engaged to each other as of mere minutes ago, his hand possessing hers where it lay on his crooked arm. His skirmish with renegade loyalists earlier in the morning resulted in his left arm in a sling from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, his slightly bowed carriage revealing pain plagued him. She'd mix up some pain relief simples for him to take home after the feast. And definitely keep a close watch on his condition. Her reputation as a healer was at stake, especially now that young Dr. Cunningham had arrived in town.
"They're so perfect for each other." Emily Sullivan smoothed a wrinkle from one elbow-length white glove. "Who could have guessed she and I would be betrothed so soon after our clandestine tea and joint vow."
"Who indeed." Samantha tossed her head, her ebony locks settling between her shoulders.
So much had changed in such a short period of time. Last month the three friends had made a vow to remain unmarried. Now both Amy and Emily were making wedding plans for the end of the holiday season, a joint affair on Twelfth Night.
"At least you have managed to stay faithful to your promise." Emily's teeth shone in the light from the many hanging lamps decorating the edges of the gazebo. "And if Frank hadn't protected my reputation in that duel, I'd never have let him convince me of his affection."
"He could have died for your honor, too." Samantha scanned the crowd mingling in the open space between the bushes and plants and strolling the many winding paths through the garden. "Speaking of whom, someone appears to be seeking you out."
Emily's smile widened. "It's about time for your speech, so I'll just go with Frank and…"
"Right. You two should find a good place to watch. Go on." Samantha shooed her friend toward the tall blond man striding purposefully toward where the ladies conversed.
Frank Thomson appeared at Emily's side, taking her hand in his with a smile and a nod of greeting to Benjamin and Amy. Emily had once vehemently declared she would never marry. Samantha permitted her lips to curve into a smile, having anticipated that the two cousins would succumb to the desires of the men accompanying them.
Her guests included all of her family and her friends as well as the new lawyer and a few merchants she'd not been introduced to yet. The invitation list had not changed much over the years. Her parents had held a harvest feast each November for the past ten years, war or no war. This garden, replete with medicinal herbs and flowers, soothed her chaotic thoughts and turmoil of emotion. Mingled scents of jasmine and rosemary tickled the noses of the throng of guests. Her father had bowed to her midwife mother's demands to forego the typical small decorative garden most people in town had added to surround their two-story piazzas. Instead, they created an extravagant oasis of flowers, bushes, and trees. She pulled her silver shawl around her shoulders, her midnight blue skirts swishing against the wooden floor of the gazebo when she pivoted to peruse the happy group milling amongst the plants she could identify by name and medicinal purpose.
Samantha remained to carry on alone in this vow of remaining unmarried. A sigh wiggled from her before she could suppress it. The past must remain so even as she faced an uncertain future.
Despite being late November, the evening air remained soft and welcoming after the tragic events of the day. Her gaze drifted to the stars emerging to surround the crescent moon hanging in the sky. The heavenly stars beckoned, guiding her healing endeavors as much as her day to day activities. She glanced to the dark bedroom window, imagining Amy's sister Evelyn and her infant sequestered and tearful over the death of the little boy's father earlier in the morning. Tomorrow would be soon enough to discuss the widow's plans.
Tonight, in this candlelit garden, Samantha intended to enjoy a respite from the tension and horror of the occupied town and the rampant violence across the countryside. Her neighbors, her friends, fellow patriots all, had gathered to celebrate as they did every year, even though the repast proved less than what they enjoyed before the war and the British occupation of Charles Town. She shook off the feeling of sadness, determined to focus on the approaching evacuation by the Britons, once the unusually active hurricane season ended and they could safely navigate out of the harbor.
Tonight bespoke the times. The strange blend of horror and hope pervading the days and nights. This morning the three friends barely escaped with their lives when renegade loyalists attacked Evelyn's home. Tonight a celebration. She would not lie and say she'd miss Walter, not after his abuse and, she suspected, attempted poisoning of Evelyn. The stomach cramps and pangs Evelyn agonized through completely vanished after Emily assumed responsibility for the cooking at the country home. Walter only reluctantly admitted the three ladies to invade his dwelling to care for his wife during her travails and lying in. He said he would die protecting his wife and property. And so he did. His death had not been for nothing.
She eased down the steps, bracing herself on the hand rail to prevent her injured leg from failing her. Despite her best efforts, the limb was not as strong as she'd like. No falling down among her guests and embarrassing herself. The puncture wound where the thorny stick had pierced through her thigh days ago would eventually heal, no thanks to the tumble she took followed by the forced march by the renegades. If not for Amy standing up to the loyalists, she may well have had to fend for herself, drag herself up the steep bank bathed in pine needles and back to Evelyn and Walter's home. All before a mountain lion or other wild animal happened upon her. Thank goodness they'd all made it safely back to town. She forced her thoughts to the present, ignoring all the pain and anguish of the previous forty-eight hours.
"Samantha, we're ready for the toast," Amy called to her from across the open garden.
"Coming." Samantha sped up her pace, rehearsing her little speech as she limped along the seashell path reflecting the moonlight.
From a side path, her parents strolled toward her, arm in arm. They carried flutes of wine like candlesticks against a dark night. Aaron's burly frame dwarfed his petite wife, Cynthia. They each sported gray in their otherwise dark heads of hair, brought on no doubt from the tension in town. With the Britons preparing to leave, they had become more and more withdrawn from her. She wondered at the change but had yet to discover the cause.
"My darling, you look beautiful this evening." Her father stopped before her and glanced at her mother. "Don't you agree?"
"Yes, of course." Cynthia sipped her wine, cutting off any further comment she may have made.
"Thank you. I'm so pleased the weather cooperated so we could enjoy the garden tonight." Samantha skimmed the mingling crowd. "Another week and it will be too chilly to entertain out of doors."
"Indeed, indeed." Aaron's smile faded as he scanned the area, finally focusing on the two-story home. "This house has served us well for many years. It would be hard to find another as fine."
Samantha darted a look at her father, then noted her mother's harsh glance and quick squeeze of his arm. "It is a good thing, then, that won't be necessary. The British will pull out ere long and the town can return to normal."
"You speak the truth." Aaron patted his wife's hand where it still gripped his arm.
Yet something in his tone—a quaver
, a hesitation—suggested something amiss. She peered at his face. Worry lines carved valleys between his brows, surrounded his lips. Her mother's face held no expression other than a bland look bordering on boredom. That hinted at her agitation beneath when she schooled her features into such a rigid mask.
"How is Evelyn?" Cynthia asked, abruptly changing the subject. "Pray tell me she is not still crying over that man."
"It is to be expected she'd grieve the death of the father of her child," Samantha said, shaking her head, "even if he did treat her abysmally in the end. At one time, she must have felt something for him."
"I'll take her some soothing tea after everyone has eaten. Which reminds me, did she have a plate taken to her?"
"Amy carried a small plate up a while ago," Samantha said. "Whether the poor woman eats it or not is up to her."
"She still must provide for her infant," Cynthia said on a sigh. "Evelyn's life has certainly been filled with sorrows and challenges."
"Hopefully, that will change for the better while she resides in town," Samantha said. "Tomorrow I'll talk with her about her plans for the future."
"Ah, you're being sought out." Aaron motioned for her to precede him down the path. "Time for the annual salute. Are you ready?"
She nodded, aware of a sense of relief emanating from her parents, and made her way down the path, her shoes crunching the shells with each step. She drew in a breath, savoring the sweet aroma emanating from the massive rosemary bush huddled in the corner. Eager faces, alight with smiles and sparkling eyes, surrounded her. The quartet played Haydn in the background.
Benjamin handed her a flute of sparkling wine when she reached the group of people gathered by the banquet table. She frowned, worry blooming inside. His lips pinched together as though he fought pain. His face appeared ashen in the flickering shadows of the lamplight. Still, the touch of his hand when she took the flute from him, left moisture on her fingers. She peered closer.
"Benjamin, are you feeling well?" Samantha studied his expression.
