The Reading Garden - Historical5
Important notice: All excerpts have been submitted by the author.
Author: Alice Duncan
Stars spattered the black night sky, as if a mischievous god
had tossed a handful of twinkling diamonds onto the velvet carpet
of the heavens. A full moon nestled among them like a luminescent
pearl, mysterious, deep; keeping its secrets locked tight, much as
might a beautiful woman or a dark and dangerous stranger.
It seemed to Princess Adelaide, as she rested her chin in her
cupped hands and peered at the magnificent firmament outside her
turret window, that if ever a night was crafted for rescue, this was
it. If only such a thrilling miracle might occur. She sighed deeply
as she stared at the enigmatic moon and listened to a couple of
coyotes singing to one another in the distance.
Adelaide herself, trapped in this tawdry castle, alone and
forlorn, fairly ached for life. Unfortunately, life itself seemed
determined to elude her. Longing for deliverance, love and
adventure, it almost seemed as though tonight she might unlock the
moon's secrets if only--if only--
Suddenly, the thunder of horses' hooves jolted Addie Blewitt out
of her nightly moondream.
"My goodness," she murmured. "Who on earth would be riding hell
for leather in the pitch dark out here in the middle of nowhere?
You don't suppose old man Stevenson's pigs got into the green alfalfa
and went demented again, do you?"
Since Addie was alone in her room, no answer was forthcoming.
Abandoning her role as tortured princess, she jumped down from her
window seat and shoved her feet into her old, tattered slippers.
Pausing only to grab her robe and a candle, she ran for the kitchen.
There she snatched up a kerosene lamp, lit it with her stub of
candle, darted down the hallway, through the front door and out onto
the porch.
"I wonder if I should wake Aunt Ivy," she mused as she stared
in the direction of the noise. Almost immediately, she answered
herself. "No. It's probably nothing." A little bitterly, she
added, "It's always nothing."
She set the lamp on a porch newel and waited. One hand rested
on the pot of freshly planted geraniums squatting next to the lamp,
the other shaded her eyes as she squinted into the night. As the
night was black as pitch the gesture, however dramatic, was wasted.
Although it had been a warm spring so far, the nights here in
southeastern New Mexico Territory were cold, and Addie found herself
hugging her robe tightly to her body as she peered at the blackness.
Somehow, waiting on the porch in the dark enabled her to resuscitate
a semblance of her pleasant whimsy.
Addie had been alone so much of her life, living as she did on
the edge of the vast American frontier, that she greeted her dreams
the way another young girl in a more civilized part of the country
might greet old and well-loved friends. In the space of a heartbeat,
she found herself fancying it was her hero thundering towards her
through the inky gloom.
He was a knight just returned from the Holy Land, where he'd
slain a hundred infidels. Of course, every minute he was away, he
longed to be at his beloved Princess Adelaide's side. It was only
her evil guardian's fiendish designs upon her that had parted them
in the first place.
No.
What it was, was, her hero had been at sea for years. He'd
been pressed into Her Majesty's service and spirited away a scant
day or two before their wedding was to have taken place. Now he
carried treasure in his saddlebags, claimed in some deathless
adventure undoubtedly involving pirates. As soon as his gallant
steed galloped him into the farmyard, he'd throw the bags at Addie's
feet and kneel before her, begging her to be his.
No. Addie smiled dreamily and tossed aside her last fantasy
like so much fluff.
Better than anything. Best, in fact, of all: He was a gallant
southern gentleman. Oh, mercy, yes. Addie's fertile brain whirled
with old images implanted during the endless romantic tales her aunt
Ivy had fed her. Even though Addie knew that Ivy'd related the
stories merely to keep the both of them from losing their minds in
this infinite nothingness they called home, still Addie loved them.
She also now knew exactly who this person galloping toward her
had to be.
A brave and magnificent Confederate soldier, he'd been daring
in battle, wounded in action--undoubtedly saving General Lee
himself--then nearly starved to death in a vile Yankee prison camp.
Being the hero he was, he'd made a bold escape. Of course he'd
rescued his fellow prisoners as he did it. Probably he'd been
wounded. Yes. Definitely, he'd been wounded. Some lovely Yankee
maiden, fearing for her honor but unwilling to let such a noble,
handsome, fearless soldier die, had nursed him back to health.
No. No, no, no. Addie scowled. She hated it when her dreams
got jumbled up. Forget the wound.
Anyway, he'd escaped and taken his fellow prisoners with him.
Now here he was, riding back to her, pounding over the ground, unable
to bear being parted from her a single instant longer.
One thing for sure, Addie thought as her dreams crashed into a
heap at her feet, whoever he was he'd whip past her perch on the
porch sooner or later. Since there was nothing around for miles in
any direction except low scrub, the Blewitt apple orchard, and the
occasional prairie dog hole, he couldn't miss it even in the dark.
The only semblance of a road anywhere nearby was the half-hearted
stretch of beaten earth ambling right past the Blewitt farmhouse.
Sure enough, the hoofbeats got louder and louder as Addie waited.
It wasn't long before she was able to discern voices, too, although
she couldn't make out any words.
There's more than one, then. Excitement bubbled in her breast.
Those voices clearly emanated from male members of the species.
Her eyes opened wide when the black night sky suddenly turned
blue as vile curses sped to her across the Cimmerian desert.
Mercy sakes. She wondered if her gallant knight had taken to
cursing from having been separated from her so long.
"Son of a bitch!" she heard. "Damnation."
"You gonna make it, Charley?"
"Damned if I know. I think they only winged my upper arm.
Hurts like a bastard, though."
He was injured! Addie knew it was her knight who was the
wounded party because his was the voice she liked: baritone, rich,
deep and handsome. The other one sounded too high-pitched and
squeaky to be heroic. Thrusting aside her distaste for her prince's
inelegant language, Addie raised her lantern high above her head
and swung it, hoping to attract the poor wandering, wounded soul's
attention.
When she heard, "Damn! Look at that light! You don't suppose
it's the law do you?" she almost dropped the lamp. Since, however,
it was the deep, resonant voice who'd uttered the worry, she didn't.
Instead she called, "Over here!" then frowned when she heard
herself. When she hollered like that, her voice sounded not at all
musical.
She heard the horses draw to a stop. They must have been
ridden hard for quite a while, because they blew and panted once
they were still.
The voice she liked said, "Who's there?" It sounded
mistrustful.
She cleared her throat and strove for a finer timbre when she
sang back, "My name is Miss Adelaide Blewitt, sir, and I will help
you in your hour of distress."
The twangy voice whispered, "Wha'd she say?"
Addie heard no answer. Instead, she held her breath in
anticipation when she heard a horse whicker and begin to walk towards
her. Her heart almost stopped when, out of the ebon depths and into
the circle of yellow lamplight, a horseman gradually emerged. She
directed her lamp to guide his path.
With a gasp, Addie pressed her palm to her galloping heart.
The ring of amber light shuddered with the trembling of her hand.
She couldn't believe the sight she beheld.
The stranger's hat had been blown from his head in his wild
ride and his hair, dark and curling, fell in poetic waves over his
aristocratic forehead. His eyes looked dark--oh, so dark--and were
framed by the thickest lashes Addie'd ever seen. Light and shadow
etched his face and revealed a chin sculpted and regal, and a nose
hawklike and perfect. With a quick glance at his limbs, encased in
worn, clinging buckskin, Addie decided with a soaring heart that he
was tall and well-muscled, too.
Sweet Lord have mercy.
If the man had been crafted to her specifications, he couldn't
be more right. He was absolutely perfect. Addie knew it in her
heart: Her knight had come at last.©1997
***
*About the author: I absolutely love writing romance novels. The genres satisfies all my requirements for a good read: entertaining yarns, fulfilling relationships and happy endings. These books make life better than it is, and there are a whole lot of us who, overdosed on reality, long to escape to a better place. Recently, my herd of wild dauchshunds and I have hightailed it to Roswell, New Mexico. For those of you who don't know about Roswell, New Mexico, it's where the aliens are said to have crashed in 1947. We fit right in. If you'd like to communicate with me about any of my books, under any of my names (Alice Duncan, Emma Craig, Rachel Wilson), I'd love to hear from you (and would appreciate it if you'd enclose a SASE). My address is P.O. Box 2507 Roswell, NM 88202-2507. Email Alice Duncan
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