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Betty Bolte, Author
Mystic Owl Publishing
Author Website
Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: Mystic Owl Publishing
Type: Fiction
Pages: 290
Copyright: Oct 8, 2020
ISBN-13: 9781735466941
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
In 1782 Charles Town, South Carolina, the American War of Independence becomes personal...
Why did her suitor leave to fight without a word?
Amy Abernathy is a woman renowned for her storytelling prowess but even she cannot invent a sound reason for her suitor’s inexplicable actions. She picks up the shreds of her heart and endeavors to forget him, until he suddenly appears without any fanfare or explanation. She flees besieged Charles Town and him, escaping to a plantation to attend her sister in childbirth. Nursing her broken heart and her sister, she futilely prays he’ll leave her alone forever.
Benjamin Hanson returns to make amends with his captivating Amy. While he knows she’s upset with him, he also knows she’ll eventually forgive him and agree to marry him. But marriage has to wait until after he’s finished spying for the Americans against the British during the war. The governor tasked him with a mission to protect a precious gem from falling into the wrong hands. He chases after Amy to try to explain, to ask for her hand, only to find her unwilling to listen to him.
When he discovers her and a friend—along with the gem—missing from her sister’s home, he finds them in the hands of desperate renegade soldiers. Can he protect the women, the gem, and his heart before it’s too late?
Excerpt
Charles Town, South Carolina, 1782
Lightning rent the charcoal clouds boiling overhead, illuminating the river dock and churning water. Rain from the sudden storm pelted the surrounding landscape, shimmering in the eerie darkness.
“Hurry!” Benjamin Hanson grunted as he renewed his grip on the thick hemp bowline, glad for the leather gloves protecting his hands. The furled sail hugged the lurching mast. They’d been forced to row in lieu of using the sail due to the strong adverse winds and current. His shoulders ached from the unaccustomed activity. With feet braced on the dock, he grimly waited for Frank Thomson’s signal to tie off the rocking bateau, its steep plank sides scarred in testament to frequent trips to and from Captain Sullivan’s plantation. Joshua Sullivan owned a small fleet of bateaux for shipping exports such as rice and indigo to the northern states and to overseas markets in France and Barbados. Frank had borrowed the boat to make this unplanned visit to Captain Davis to resolve some mysterious issue regarding his wife and a precious gem. But what a day to be out on the river.
Rain stung his face while thunder rumbled above. His sodden greatcoat clung to him, hampering his movements with the cold weight of the drenched wool. Hauling with all his strength, he struggled to keep the bateau from drifting too far out from the wooden dock while Frank wrestled nearby with the long knotty rope needed to secure the boat to the safety of the pier. The rope groaned as it rubbed around the post, Benjamin’s grasp slipping bit by bit, the waves tugging and pushing the boat. Frank yanked ineffectually on the other soaked rope, grunting curses as he frantically tried to disentangle it so they could tie off the cargo boat. Of all the days to sail, this was the most idiotic and yet necessary. “Is it secure?”
“Nearly have it! I can’t believe anyone would leave the lines in such a mess. If I ever determine who did, they’ll be horsewhipped.” Frank worked to unknot the heavy hemp. With a loud curse, he tugged harder and the rope uncoiled. Quickly he made a long loop and tossed it expertly over the post, pulling the bateau into the dock and securing it. “Finally.”
Benjamin grunted again and tied off the rope to the pier using a sturdy seaman’s knot. “About time, too. The storm grows stronger by the second. You certainly had a time with that rope. Feeling a bit weak today?”
“Perhaps somewhat after my encounter with a bullet this morning.” Frank grinned at him. His Monmouth hat cascaded rain on all sides, adding to his soaked greatcoat. He pressed his right hand to his left shoulder then shrugged as if to relieve discomfort. “A mere graze, nothing to worry over. Come, we have work to do.”
“I’m relieved Major Bradley could not aim well, my friend.” Benjamin stretched his shoulders and nodded, water pouring from the corners of his beaver-felt tricorne hat. When Frank told him about his early morning clandestine duel with the loyalist officer over his treatment of Frank’s lady, he wanted to slap his friend back to his senses. A duel? Fortunately, he only suffered a graze by the bullet. Of course, if Frank had his way the lady in question would soon be his wife. “Dueling is not your best idea but I understand wishing to defend your lady’s reputation.”
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