Jillian Chantal

Today’s word for the writers of Tuesday Tales is chin. I am working –slowly– on my Regency-set novel.

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By the time Daniel arrived, he knew the ale house would be closed but he took the chance to ride by in case Brandy was still wiping down the tables. But it was dark inside the establishment.

He kept going, disappointed not to see her. It would have to wait. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the chain he’d bought her, still wondering if the gift was too intimate.

A few stragglers walked down the street and ogled his horse. He didn’t like the look of them. Ruffians for sure. Leaning over Lightning’s mane, he whispered, “One last run and to the stables with you.”

His mount whinnied his consent to getting home and having his hay and warm bed. Just at the moment one of the scalawags reached for the reins, Daniel spurred Lightning on. The man fell to the ground, screaming out invectives. His friends yelled curses as well. In between laughter.

“Well, Lightning, it seems the man’s allies aren’t above making sport of their friend’s fall into the muck of the streets.”

They rode on. Daniel still regretting not getting back to the waterfront on time.

He rubbed his chin. “I sure do miss having my beard shaved daily. Maybe I should call in at the barber’s. Brandy might appreciate a clean-shaven man. He laughed at himself. Clearly, she put no store in a man’s beauty. Otherwise, she would have never looked twice at his scarred, one-eyed visage.