Christmas Romance

While the entire story of Sapphire and Gold isn't centered around Christmas, there are several scenes that take place during the Christmas season in Colonial Williamsburg. Here's an excerpt of one:

Alexandra stood at the staircase landing’s large multi-paned window, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. She waited and worried. Waited for Derek’s schooner to appear at the plantation’s wharf. Worried about his reaction to her confession.

She placed her hand on her abdomen and wondered if she would look different to him. Within weeks her condition would be apparent to all. Would he turn away from her in disgust? She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“Alexandra?”

She leaned over the balustrade looped with spruce garlands. “Yes, Mother?”

Laurel stood at the foot of the stairs. “Our guests are arriving.”

“I’ll join you in the ballroom in a few minutes.” With a heavy sigh, she cast one more longing glance out the window then gathered the folds of her burgundy velvet skirt and descended the stairs in slow, unhurried steps. Her brow knitted in concern. Derek had said he would be there. Something terrible must have happened.

“Why, wherever could your husband be, sister dear?”

Alexandra turned to see Jillian emerge from the shadows of the hall. The jubilant expression in the younger woman’s dark gaze put her on guard.

“Do you suppose he has tired of you already?” Jillian shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I can see why. You look a bit dreadful. I fear that color doesn’t suit you. Did you do your own hair? Your secret’s safe with me. I shan’t tell anyone.”

Alexandra resisted the urge to smooth her hair. The slight movement would only serve to reward her sister’s desire for revenge. Instead, she stood confident. Derek had often remarked he liked her hair unbound and he had chosen her dress himself. “I won’t fight with you. Nothing you can say will spoil this day for me.” With quiet dignity, she walked past the younger woman.
“I do believe the purpose of this ball is to celebrate your marriage. Won’t that be a trifle difficult without your roving husband?”

Alexandra’s footsteps faltered for but a moment at the venom in her sister’s voice. Then she squared her shoulders and continued on her way, struggling to shut out the echo of Jillian’s mocking laughter.

“Derek has not left me,” she whispered. “He will come back. He must.” She lifted her chin a notch and entered the ballroom.

Festive splendor greeted her. Christmas finery decked the large room and brought a hint of a smile to her troubled heart. The fragrance of pine and bayberry mingled in the air. Garlands of box and bay added touches of gaiety. Sprigs of holly had been tucked behind the mirrors. In one corner, fiddlers played a romantic ballad that tugged at her already fragile emotions.

She forced back the sudden onslaught of weepiness and moved forward to greet her guests. Many of the prominent planters of the area accompanied their wives in wishing Alexandra well with her marriage and asking after Derek. After each congratulatory offer, the scorching heat of Jillian’s triumphant gaze bored through her back.

Where are you, Derek? Behind her she heard the doors open. The curtains fluttered, then a hush fell over the room.

She turned. There stood Derek.

Dizzying joy swept through her Her husband caught her up against his lean, muscled form. “I claim the right of kissing the fair maiden standing beneath the kissing ball.” He lowered his mouth to hers and stole her breath.

Alexandra entwined her arms around his neck and reveled in the sweet sensations. “I thought you’d never arrive.”

He pressed a final kiss to the tip of her nose. “I always keep my promises. Don’t you know that by now?”

A lump in her throat thickened her speech. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” A frown gathered on her forehead and she gave his chest a sharp poke. “Where have you been?”

His eyes alight with a merry twinkle, Derek turned and signaled to a house servant. Within seconds, Polly Taylor and the children swarmed around her, talking and hugging all at once.

The children had come. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she pulled them close, touching each and every one of them to assure herself they were really there. She looked up. Derek stood outside the circle of children, his grin wide. “Is this the pressing matter you had to attend to?”

He nodded. “You are pleased with your Christmas gift?”

“Pleased? I’m more than pleased. It was more than I dared to dream for.” No wonder she loved him so.

Excerpt From My Story In An American Rose Christmas



A Warrior For Christmas ~ by Beth Trissel
 
Reclaimed by his wealthy uncle, former Shawnee captive Corwin Whitfield finds life with his adopted people at an end and reluctantly enters the social world of 1764. His one aim is to run back to the colonial frontier at his first opportunity––until he meets Uncle Randolph’s ward, Dimity Scott.

Excerpt:

December 1764
An estate outside Philadelphia

Blinking against wind-driven sleet, Corwin Whitfield followed the stout man through the front door of the massive stone house, far larger than he’d imagined. A dozen cabins or Indian lodges put together could fit inside and still leave ample room. With winter lashing at their heels, Uncle Randolph had pressed both man and beast hard to reach Whitfield Place before nightfall.

Icy pellets hit the door as his uncle shut the solid wooden barrier. Better than a skin flap, Corwin supposed. He was well accustomed to the wet and cold, but a fire would feel good. His gloved fingers were numb from riding over snowy roads all day, not to mention all the previous days. Puddles spread at his boots on the flagstone floor in the entryway.

“Welcome home, Mister Whitfield.”


By the light of the small glass lamp on the stand inside the door, he saw a woman in an apron, severe skirts and gray shawl. The cap engulfed her pinched face. Inclining her head and curtsying, she said, “How was your journey, sir?”

“Wretched, Mistress Stokes.” Uncle Randolph waved a gloved hand at Corwin. “My nephew.” He swiped a paw at her. “My housekeeper,” he added by way of introduction. “Fifth cousin of my late wife’s, or some such connection.”

“Indeed.” Mistress Stokes curtsied to Corwin. “Welcome to Whitfield Place.”

He considered the etiquette drilled into him by his uncle and offered a brief nod. A bow didn’t seem required.
Uncle Randolph scowled. “Foul weather.”

She seemed unperturbed by his gruff manner. “Yes sir.”

“Bound to worsen. See to it the fires are built up.” Unbuttoning his brown caped coat, Uncle Randolph flung it onto the high-backed bench along one wall. He peeled off his gloves, tossing them and his tricorn onto the sodden heap.

Corwin did the same with his newly acquired garments. He couldn’t fault his uncle’s generosity, but the man had the temperament of an old he-bear.

Uncle Randolph ran thickened fingers over gray hair pulled back at his neck and tied with a black ribbon. “Where’s Miss Dimity keeping herself? Is she well?”
Corwin detected a trace of anxiety in his tone.

The dour woman gave a nod. “Quite well, sir. She’s in the drawing room just after having her tea.”
“Good,” his uncle grunted. “Tell cook we’ll have our supper in there. Stew, pastries, and ale will serve. Don’t neglect the Madeira.”

Another curtsy and the housekeeper turned away to pad down a hall partly lit by sconces wrought of iron. His uncle frowned after her. “She’s a good body and keeps this place tidy but tends to be lax on the fires. We mustn’t risk Dimity taking ill. Delicate girl. Cold as a tomb in here.”


Corwin found Whitfield Place equally as welcoming as a grave. The chill was pervasive. A furlined wican would be warmer. He followed his uncle across the frigid entryway and through a wide double door. His relation paused just inside the spacious room and Corwin halted beside him.

“There she is,” Uncle Randolph said with the hint of a smile in his normally reluctant features.  “My ward, Miss Dimity Scott. The little Quaker as I call her.”

Corwin thought it highly doubtful this staunch Anglican had taken in an actual Quaker. Looking past assorted tables, gilt-covered chairs and a gold couch, he spotted the feminine figure seated before the glowing hearth. A padded armchair the color of ripe berries hid much of her slender form. His first impression was of fair curls, like corn silk, piled on her head beneath a circle of lace; his second, that the young woman bent over her embroidery seemed oblivious of all else. One this unaware would never survive in the frontier. He’d been taught to move with the silence of a winged owl while observing all around him. “Why does she not look up at our coming?”

“Ah, well, that’s a matter I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” The hesitancy in his uncle’s tone was unlike this man who knew his own mind and was swift to instruct others. He squinted at Corwin with his good eye; the other perpetually squinted from an injury he’d received in a duel. “I trust you’ll not hold it against the poor girl as a sign of weakness, my boy. Warriors sometimes do and you’ve kept company with those savages far too long.”


It wasn’t like his uncle to ramble, and Corwin shifted impatiently upon hearing his adopted people disparaged again. “What are you saying, Uncle?”

He rubbed his fingers over a chin grizzled with whiskers. “Dimity cannot hear us.”
****

Christmas anthology an early bird special!

My latest release, The Christmas Ball, part of the anthology, An American Rose Christmas, is already available in print as an early bird special at The Wild Rose Press!

Includes novellas by Beth Trissel, Carol A. Spradling, Donna Dalton, Lauri Robinson, Tori Anne and myself, Susan Macatee.

Reclaimed by his wealthy uncle, former Shawnee captive Corwin Whitfield finds life with his adopted people at an end and reluctantly enters the social world of 1764. His one aim is to run back to the colonial frontier at his first opportunity–until he meets Uncle Randolph’s ward, Dimity Scott.

Tory captain Dr. Nicolas Clayton discovers stolen military secrets on a severely injured female spy. When her wounds heal, Holly Masters must decide if she can kill the man who saved her life.

While pretending to be a male soldier, farm girl Sara Brewster falls for a handsome Union army surgeon. When her secret is revealed, will a lavish Christmas Eve ball work in her favor–or will her heart be broken?

Southern belle Marybeth Dawson discovers Santa Claus can’t cross the Mason Dixon line–but handsome Union soldier, Trevor Sulton can.When a strong willed upper class New York girl falls for a dashing, compassionate stable boy, it will take a Christmas miracle to bring them together. Thankfully, true love is on their side.

All reformed prostitute Eva Baird wants for Christmas is to have her daughter back in her arms. But gun-toting outlaws, spiteful in-laws, and a sweet-talking stranger with arresting gray eyes threaten to turn her dream into a lump of coal.

Excerpt from my story, The Christmas Ball

She rose, rubbing her hands over her arms. “You won’t tell on me, will you? My parents depend on the money I send home.”

He sighed. “Not if you don’t want me to, but I don’t think this is a wise idea. You could serve just as well as a civilian nurse.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t make near enough money, and I like being a soldier.”
He rose and settled his hand on her shoulder. “I won’t betray your trust, Sara…er, Miss Brewster. I promise.”

Her sharp intake of breath sent his gaze to her face. Her full lips parted and a blush colored her cheeks. He ran his hand down her arm and took her hand. It was work-roughened, the nails broken, but small, making her seem vulnerable and frail. She’d had a hard life by her reckoning. He wanted to do something for her, to help lighten her workload.

To his surprise, she lifted his hand to her face and kissed the back of it. The softness of her lips on his knuckles sent a shiver through him."Miss Brewster,” he said. “This isn’t a good idea.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Doc Ellison, I’ve longed to do this ever since I first set eyes on you.”
For more info, visit my website.

Christmas came early

The Christmas anthology, An American Rose Christmas, is available NOW at Amazon.com. Filled with stories set during the Revolutionary and Civil War, Redcoats and Sleigh Bells is one of several stories that will fill your holiday with just the right amount of spice.

Blurb from Redcoats and Sleigh Bells

It took more than a bullet wound to stop Holly Masters from completing her intelligence mission. Generals, patrols, and experienced scouts had been her sport, until she met Dr. Nicholas Clayton. Severely injured and now his patient, in order to complete her assignment, she must decide if she can kill the man who saved her life.

Nicholas has healed wounded men for both the Patriots and the Crown, but he never expected to find a wounded woman, dressed in a British military uniform, on the edge of his property. Tucked into her coat sleeve, she holds many secrets that will change the course of the war. As an officer, he has a duty to prevent her from leaving his custody. As a doctor, he has the means to prevent her from revealing what she knows. Trained for every action, nothing has prepared him for what he knows he must do.


Excerpt

The sleigh bells jingled as he bridled the horse. “There isn't time to remove the strap. Grab that cloth over there and wrap them. We can at least muffle the noise. With the information destroyed, there's no proof that you know anything. Promise me, you will keep your mouth closed.”

She didn't know if she should be insulted or proud. “Nicholas, why do you want me to leave now?”

He continued without a proper answer. “Even if you get to the General in time, which you won't, it will be too late.”

“Nicholas, answer me.”

He stopped and looked across the horse's back. “Surely you realize that a soldier will never give accurate information in front of a civilian, even when ordered to do so by his superior. The information the sergeant gave in the barn was incorrect.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.” He bent over to tighten the girth. “When he returned, the paper he gave me had the correct information.”

Holly's stomach dropped to her knees and her hands shook. “Nicholas, what did you write in response?”

He refused to acknowledge her and strapped an extra blanket to the back of her saddle.

“Nicholas!”

He didn't need words. His expression spoke for him. Holly held a fist to her stomach and backed away. Her throat closed preventing her from swallowing. She had to sit soon or fall over.

He rushed to her side but she held up her hand, staying him. “Why?” The word, barely audible, was all she could manage.

New review for Civil War anthology

We just received a new review for the Civil War anthology, Northern Roses and Southern Belles. TwoLips Reviews gave it a 4.5 lip review.

Here's what reviewer, Sal, said about my story:
"Ms. Macatee's tale was a bittersweet morsel of a dream and a hope that Kyle and Josie will find one another in time. Angel of My Dreams stole my heart and Ms. Macatee made this story all the more real by using her knowledge of history and creating characters with deep emotions that break your heart."

Read the full review and those for the other stories at TwoLips Reviews. http://www.twolipsreviews.com/content/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=4490&Itemid=36
 
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