Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt lazy. I am working on my Regency era tale.

Check out the other tales here.

Captain Jones rode hard into the night. He was much later than he planned. The storm off the coast knocked his ship off course and it took all his crew had in them to fight against the angry waves and keep the ship upright through the gales.

Once the winds abated a little, they could see the shore, but they were miles off course from Plymouth. It was all he could do not to grit his teeth in frustration. There was a time in his life he would have welcomed the challenge of the weather, but this time, he wanted nothing more than to see Brandy. He had been gone from her for too long and he missed her shiny, dark hair and brown eyes looking at him as if he could do no wrong—even though he knew he was wrong to lead her on with no intention of making her his wife. How she could still want to be around him and spend time walking and talking when she knew his situation always amazed him. He knew it was not fair, but he could not resist the pull of seeing her.

When they finally made it to Plymouth, it was all he could do not to rush to the stables to retrieve his horse. He made himself wait while the cargo was unloaded before he made his way there. After all, his livelihood was that cargo, not a bar maid he spent his free time with. His men were not lazy at all, but it seemed as if they were taking more time than usual to remove the crates from the hold.

Darkness was quickly approaching by the time they were done. Jeremiah tried to convince him to wait until daylight to set out, but Daniel knew he would never be able to sleep anyway, so he decided to start out even though it was dangerous and highwaymen were most likely operating in the dark forests. He was a good shot and even better rider so he set aside any worries there and went to retrieve his horse. The one thing he kept when he left home was his steed from his army days. He and Lightning had been through a lot on the continent and he would never leave the animal behind. The creature was getting old, but he still had a lot of energy and loved to gallop like the wind.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to a picture prompt. I am still working on my regency era story.

These prompts are limited to 300 words each so they are quick reads. Check them out here.

She finally made it home via the circuitous route she adopted once she was able to remove herself from John’s presence.

Glancing around at the area surrounding her and seeing no one, she made her way to the front door of the rooming house where she resided. She opened the door and entered.

Her landlady was passing by the foyer with a load of ratty old white towels in her hands. “You’re later today than normal. Everything all right this morning?”

“I had a little spot of bother with a customer.”

“I hope he didn’t follow you home. We don’t need that kind of behavior here. As I told you when you moved in, no gentleman callers allowed.”

“You need not worry. I have no interest in that man.”

“Good.” The landlady looked her over. “There’s some bread and small ale on the table if you fancy a bite before you go up to sleep.”

Jane had not realized she was hungry until the landlady made her the offer. Her stomach rumbled as if in response to the question. “Why, yes, I think I would like that. Thank you.”

The landlady nodded and went on about her business. Jane made her way down the dim hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.

The bread looked divine and Jane cut a hunk of it off one end and sat back to enjoy the bliss of having something hearty in her belly. She closed her eyes at the first bite and thought again about the man she loved. The man she knew would never marry her, but she could not get out of her heart.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt careful. I am in my new regency-era book.

Check out the other tales here.

Jane slammed her foot down on the top of the foot of the man who grabbed her. As she did, she half-turned, swinging her arm upward. Stopping her hand at his throat. The hand with the knife. “If you want to live, I suggest you let go. Right now.” She poked him a bit, drawing some blood.

Johnny, the man from the bar released her and held his hand up in surrender. “All right. All right. Settle yourself. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

She did not believe him. Not for one moment. He had seemed harmless and flirty enough when she saw him at work, but following her down a dark street and not identifying himself spoke of illicit and illegal acts. 

For good measure, she lunged toward him again with the knife, hoping it would discourage him from following her any farther since she wanted nothing more than to get to her room and close out the world.

“Careful there, missy. You could slit my throat with that thing. Where did a little lass like you get such a thing anyway?”

“None of your business. Just remember, I know how to use it and I will if you ever get within a few feet of me again.”

“How will you serve me grog if I can’t get near ye?”

Her stomach fell. He was right. She had no doubt it would be she who would be punished if she did not serve him. As a customer—and a man—he was always going to have an advantage over her.

“It seems that shut your mouth, girl.” He laughed in her face, the smell of beer rank and rancid on his breath.

She recoiled and thought for a second. Then it came to her. “Bessie is now your waitress.”

“That old cow? I think not.” John reached toward Jane again. “You are my waitress. Best you remember it, Brandy. Don’t think I won’t make trouble for you if you think you can push me off on that sow.”

Brandy wished he would leave. She glanced around, hoping someone else was in the street by now. Streaks of dawn were at the edge of the sky. Surely some baker or workman would soon be on his or her way to their job. When had the streets of London ever been this deserted?

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt nail. I am working on a new historical.

Check out the other tales here.

The sky lightened enough that the men began to stir and appear from below deck. Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets, putting the necklace back in the left one. He’d have to think longer on whether to give it to Brandy or not. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea or get her hopes set on marriage. Perhaps jewelry was not the right gift to have brought her from Spain. He regretted not choosing the carved wooden box he’d seen before the necklace caught his eye.

As he let go of the necklace, the nail of his left index finger caught on a thread. Removing his hand from the pocket, he took his knife and trimmed the rough edge of the fingernail. Grooming his hands was still one of his vanities left from his days in the aristocracy. He couldn’t help it. Perhaps his crew thought he was a bit of a dandy for it, but he could at least keep himself tidy in that way even though he’d long given up proper neck cloths and fancy breeches. In fact, he quite liked the long frock coat and rough fabric of his trousers. Much more comfortable than court heels and fancy togs.

Several of them men were on deck now and the morning became livelier. Jeremiah glanced up at the sails. “Best get the men to trim those a bit. The storm will be here soon. I’d like to make Plymouth before it gets too bad.”

“I trust you to make sure you get them back down if the winds get so bad that it could damage them. Even though you’re an army man, you’ve adapted well to sea life.”

“As have you, Captain. Who would have thought we would end up where we are?”

“Certainly not me. I thought I would serve my time in the army and return home to the estate to help my brother run it. I never saw myself as an outcast with no real home besides the seas and this ship.” Daniel stared off at the horizon, tamping down the feelings of despair that sometimes threatened to overtake him.

This week, we have a picture prompt for Tuesday Tales. I have started a new story as the one I’ve been sharing is ready to get a second –or is it third?– round of edits and work toward a release day. This week, this is the opening scene of my new WIP- which is nameless at the moment.

Check out the other tales here. Each post is limited to 300 words this week.

Despite the noise in the ale house, Jane Millbrook found herself in a trance as she watched the bar man pour the golden liquid into several steins. She pictures bubbles, not a head of beer. Her mind took her back to the days before. Before her brothers went to war. Before her mother died. When they used to drink champagne before dinner when there was something to celebrate. Before she ran away into the night. Before her life changed irrevocably due to that man. When her name was still Jane.

“Hey, Brandy, you going to bring us that round tonight or what?” A customer yelled across the packed room.

The bar man shoved the tray at her. “Wake up. Dream on your own time or you will have plenty of time to do so as you won’t be working here. We don’t have time for lazy wenches. Get moving.”

Jane plastered a false smile on her face and picked up the tray. She turned with a swish of her skirts and pretended she was happy and gay. The stench of spilled beer and the vomit still drying on the floor near the table of drunken young men from the posh set—the set she used to belong to but had no idea those kinds of boys existed—caused her stomach to roil. Will I ever get used to it?

Taking the tray to the corner table with several regulars, she set a stein in front of each of the men. The one who called across the room earlier said, “Tell me mate here how you got such an odd name. I mean, really, who in the year of our Lord 1814 names their daughter Brandy?”

One of the men at the table she had not seen before said, “A drinking man?”