Jillian Chantal

Sorry I missed last week- the word was picky and it was not in use until 1867, so 1788 was not a good year for that word. 🙂 I am still in the time travel story. This week, the word is orange.

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“Let’s look around and see which fabrics you’d like,” the woman said. “With your beautiful white hair, I believe a blue would be lovely on you.”

“Whatever you think,” Rowena said, relieved the woman wanted to make the decisions.

“If ye do not mind, could my wife and I be left alone for a bit so she can take her time choosing what she would like? She’s not used to having freedom to make her own decisions on her gowns.”

“An overbearing mother then?” The woman nodded sagely. “I’ve seen that too many times, so I understand completely. Take your time and I’ll be available when you’re ready.”

When she had wandered off, Rowena said, “How will I choose?”

“We will walk around and look. Ye can touch them all and whatever appeals to ye, we will purchase.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

He stopped and placed a hand on either side of her face. “There are no mistakes. It is not a matter of someone dying if you wear green as opposed to orange. Ye need to trust yourself. If ye hate anything we have made, ye can always get rid of it.”

“That would waste funds.”

“It matters not. I want ye happy.” He took her by the hand. “Come and run your fingers over this silk here. See if you like how it will caress yer skin. Like your husband likes to do.”

Rowena’s face heated. “Stop talking like that here.”

“Never.” He winked. “Now let us find ye some lovely things.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt glass. I am still in the time travel book. the heroine is being hidden away from a visiting relative.

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No grand plan came to her but in a while, Rowena realized she had been sitting in the same place for hours. The room had darkened, and she was hungry. Where was Abigail with her meal? This was decidedly odd. The woman had never forgotten her before. What exactly was Lavinia doing down there to keep Abigail from her duties?

Rowena stood, intending to attempt to sneak to the kitchens to steal something to eat from the larder. A bitter bark of a laugh escaped her lips. “Stealing from my own home. What have I come to?”

She moved to the door and opened it. When she arrived at the door of the stone stairs, she was stunned to find she could not open the heavy outer door. Had Abigail shot the wooden board that held the door shut? Rowena shook her head. “I truly am a prisoner now. How long before they actually starve me to death?”

Holding back the tears, Rowena returned to the upper room. Poking desultory through the embers of her fire, she also wondered if Archelus would let her freeze up here. She supposed he would if her father told him to.

Thinking over any options available to her short of death by starvation or freezing, she determined before she allowed that to happen she would drag the chair from the desk over to the window and, standing on it, bust out the glass that had been added in the modern days. Then she would fling herself to the ground. Let Archelus and Abigail explain that. A dead girl at the bottom of the keep. It would be a scandal for sure. Her family would be mortified. Their secret and treatment of their own child would be out for the whole village to know. The news might even make it to London.

Thinking of that possibility, she was almost tempted to go ahead and jump now.

Happy Tuesday. This week is a picture prompt week. This is in my soon to be released new story.

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“I am taking a walk with my friend and we thought we might call in at the village,” Rowena said, glad her voice did not waver.

“Just thought you’d take a stroll? What would your parents say?” Abigail asked.

“I would not have any idea since I have neither seen nor spoken to them since they sent me here as a small child.” Rowena shook her head. “I hardly think what they would have to say would have any effect on me.” She waved her arm around. “In fact, if they stood here before me on this fine day, I daresay I could not tell you if they were my parents or some strangers come along to rob me.”

Abigail shook Rowena’s arm. “I don’t ken what this young man has done to you or what kind of potion he’s made you swallow but you’re coming back to the castle right now.”

“I will not. I shall do as I please from this moment on.” Rowena jerked away from her caretaker. She was a bit surprised Pembroke had not said anything. Perhaps he understood this was something she needed to do on her own.

Abigail pulled a sheet of paper from her cloak. “This came today. I was going to tell you this evening by the fire, but now you have forced me to say it here on the path where anyone passing by can hear.”

Curious about the letter but not wanting to let her know, Rowena waved her arm again. “Does anyone traverse this path besides you and Archelus on the way to the village or perhaps someone bringing supplies to the castle?”

“No but this is something I wanted to share when you were in a good frame of mind and now here I am forced to tell you here. Archelus will most likely have to carry you back to the keep. I am sure with the way you’re already acting, this will only serve to upset you more.”

Rowena could not stand it any longer. What was Abigail speaking about? What would cause her distress?

Snatching the paper from Abigail’s hand, Rowena moved behind the wall that was Pembroke as the older woman let out a cry. “Give me that.”

Abigail lunged toward Rowena but stopped when Pembroke held his hand up. “Let her read it, old woman. You were needlessly causing her distress. It is almost as if you take joy in treating this fair lass as some kind of imbecile.” He sneered at her. “Is that what you and your esteemed husband over there have done to her for the entirety of her life?”

This week’s word for the writers of Tuesday Tales is blue. I am still working on my soon to be released book.

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The rest of the morning passed quickly as Rowena spent some time sitting on the deck enjoying the warmth of the day. It was one of the prettiest days she had ever seen. The sky was a vivid blue and the wind was not too gusty. Perfection.

The sun on her face, she closed her eyes and thought back over the morning with Pembroke. This marriage thing was turning out to be interesting and intriguing. She wondered about what he had said on their way to break their fast. What else was he going to teach her? Wanting to know but fearful of the unknown, she let her mind wander and found herself reliving the moment she had almost let her hand stray to the edge of his breeches. That was when he grabbed her up and took her to the bunk. What did he not want her to see or touch in that area of his body?

Then her mind went back to the conversation when Pembroke asked if she had ever seen any of the farm animals mate. As soon as she recalled that, her eyes flew open and she said, “Oh.”

A passing crewmember stopped beside her chair. “Are you all right, Mrs?”

“Yes. Yes. I am fine. Thank you, sir. Please go on with your tasks. I was merely startled by a thought I had. Nothing to be concerned over.”

He bowed. “As you say.” And he walked away.

Now that she was alone again, she thought about the stallion and mare she had seen in the barn one day. Was what he did not want her to touch this morning the same kind of body part the male horse had? The more she mulled that over, she was sure. She had also seen a couple of dogs do the same. That had to be it.

Would it hurt? That stallion was large. Very large.

This week’s authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt scout. I’ve been AWOL as some things in my life are taking precedence over writing at the moment. I am trying to get a groove back, but be patient with me. This is from a new release (time travel) coming soon – I have the edits back but still working on polishing.

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Following behind her, he realized after about an hour that he recognized a copse of tall bushes in the distance.

Reaching out to touch her arm, he said, “Wait.”

She stopped and pivoted to face him. “What?”

“I recognize some of this terrain.” He pointed ahead. “Specifically, that one group of bushes over there.”

“Then let us make haste to it and see what we can discover.” Rowena strode toward the area with purpose.

Pembroke held back his laughter. A woman walking like a man but in a gown and cloak made for some amusement. He would never let her know he thought it was humorous though. He sensed she might be easy to offend when it came to his opinion. After all, he may have been the only other person she had ever had a conversation with besides her caretakers who he preferred to think of as her gaolers. He needed to tread lightly on her sensibilities.

Glancing over her shoulder, she called out into the wind which threatened to waft her words away, “Hurry. Are you not curious?”

He was more than curious and maybe more than a little frightened. What power had brought him here and would it take him back? And to what?

There was nothing to do but go forward toward the future. Or was it the past?

Increasing his pace, he soon caught up to her and they arrived at the bushes. There was a bit of scrub brush and some bare sticks coming up from the ground. He presumed they were really weeds that would come back in the spring.

“Which one did you wake under?” Rowena was on her hands and knees, feeling around on the ground. “Was it a soft space? I have found a couple of spots that have a thick layer of moss. That would have been a lot more comfortable than some of the areas with a lot of roots.”

“I cannot rightly say. I remember waking up. I do not really recall how the sleep was. If I was on a root, you would think I would remember that.” Pembroke bent down to her level. “Let me scout around. Maybe I will be able to recognize my make-shift bed.”

He moved around the copse, lying down here and there and trying to place where he might have been when he woke.

This week’s word for the writers of Tuesday Tales is anxious. I am still in my paranormal tale.

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Craig cleared his throat. “The box has been opened a few times by cold case detectives, but he’s optimistic it could still be there.”

“Will you get the current people to take a look?”

“When I get a chance to talk to them. Today’s the last day I’m riding with Parker and it’s been pretty busy. It seems the bad players in town are revving up for the holiday.”

“Be careful out there.” Sophronia couldn’t bear the thought of losing him after just finding him again.

“I am. Having to be on my toes as Parker is on the warpath for some reason.”

“Didn’t I tell you she has a thing for you? She’s probably angry you’re not going to be her partner any longer.”

“Na, she always knew this was temporary.” He laughed it off.

“Did you tell her we’re back together?” Sophronia knew he had and, in her gut, she knew the woman would not be happy about it. Parker had made it clear that night of the attack that she didn’t like Sophronia and thought Craig was making a mistake being so helpful when he insisted on taking her to the hospital.  

“You know, you may be right after all. Now that you mention it, she started being in a foul mood within minutes of me telling her about you.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. We won’t be partners and will rarely cross paths. It’s not a big deal.” He coughed. “But speaking of crossing paths, I ran across your pal Matthew today.”

“You did? How so? Did you go looking for him?” Anxious that Craig may have done something to get himself in trouble at work, she sighed deeply. “I hope you didn’t do anything rash.”

“No way. I merely asked him to give me the key Haydn found.”

Her stomach dropped. “Did you get it?”

“Not yet. He said he accidently pocketed it that day and he’d get it back to you soon.”