Jillian Chantal

This week is picture prompt week for Tuesday Tales. I am still in my Regency set story. Snippets are limited to 300 words this week.

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Jane did not sleep well. She was dream- chased by Johnny throughout the night and kept waking up startled when he grabbed her. She finally decided to get out of bed and sit in the chair. She pulled it over to the window, wrapped herself in the old patchwork quilt she had taken from her parents’ home and stared out at the still dark sky.

As she fretted over what to do about Johnny since it was clear he was not going to ever leave her alone until he got what he wanted, she made the second hardest decision of her life. In order to protect herself, she would leave London.

Tears rolled down her face. She had already fled one terrible situation and made this new life here—such as it was. She did not believe it was a great life, but it was hers and she had been free of danger for a while. Almost getting used to being able to sleep at night with no fear other than the fears of living alone, she hated to think about leaving yet again.

Where to go? She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the quilt. This was not something she planned to do and it broke her heart to think of making her way to another town with a harbor. She could not risk taking a job as a governess which was all she was really qualified to do. It was why she ended up being a barmaid in the first place. It would not do to be found and returned to her rightful place in the world.

When her mind went to all she had lost, she sobbed and the tears flowed harder.

This week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word angry. I am still dragging with this Regency story. I’ve written two short stories recently that got me side-tracked so I am still working on this tale.

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Ashamed that this woman he cared about had been subjected to such indignities in the street, he stared into her eyes. “Do you know him or is he a stranger?”

“Are you accusing me of leading him on?

The hurt in her eyes was a knife to his soul. “Of course not. He is a brute and clearly has no respect for the ladies. I certainly did not mean to infer any fault on your part. Please forgive me if it sounded thus.”

“I am sorry as well. It is just that I am tired from working and tried of that man continuing to try to impose his will on me.”

“Has he violated you in any way?” Daniel’s rage rose higher in his chest at the very thought of such a thing happening to her.

“No.” She shook her head. “At least not yet. I fear he might have had you not come to my aid. He frequents the tavern and has been bothering me more and more in the last weeks.”

He held his arm out to her. “Let me walk you the rest of the way home. Once you have a chance to rest, I would like to meet again and have a meal as we discuss how to deal with this man.”

She smiled up at him. A tremulous smile that he feared would dissolve into tears. He could not stand it if she cried.

Although he knew her tears would be real, whenever he saw a woman cry, it made him think of his treacherous sister-in-law who specialized in fake tears to get her way.

Anger again raised its head in his breast. He shoved thoughts of Teresa to the back of his mind, determined to keep her there where she belonged. Out of sight and out of his life.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Brandy said as they neared the boarding house where she lived. She sounded nervous like she thought he was angry with her.

“Sorry. I was merely thinking about the best punishment for that man.” He smiled down at her. “If he was under my command, I would either have him flogged with twenty lashes or keel-hauled.”

“I do not know what keel-hauled is, but if it is anything like lashes with a whip, I do not think I want to know.”

“Depending on who you talk to, it is much worse.

She held her hand up as they arrived at her door. “Do not tell me. I would rather live in ignorance.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “I assure you that is true.”

This week, the word prompt for the writers of Tuesday Tales is easy. I’m still in the Regency story I’m working on. When we left our heroine, she was in the clutches of a scoundrel. Enjoy this week’s snippet.

Check out the other tales here.

“There is nothing you can since I won’t let go of her. You may as well let me be on my way, Captain. If you harm me, she falls and gets hurt. I’m sure that is not what you want. Go on back to your ship and sail away, pirate.” The man waved his free hand at Daniel.

Daniel took advantage of that wave and grabbed the hand in his fist and squeezed as tight as he could, twisting the arm as he did.

With the man writhing in pain and attempting to free himself from Daniel’s grip, Brandy was able to extricate herself from his grasp.

As soon as she was free, she ran to take shelter under the closest awning while Daniel dealt with Johnny by twisting his arm until Johnny was on his knees.

“Will you leave her alone from now on?”

Johnny spat on the ground, and through clenched teeth, said, “I will.”

Daniel pulled on Johnny’s arm again. “You will?”

Johnny nodded with tears in his eyes from the pain and Daniel let go of his hand. “Now go on. Be lost.”

As soon as he returned to his feet, Johnny spat at Daniel again. “I will leave her alone until you return to sea, you scoundrel. Once that happens, she will be mine.”

Before Daniel could react, Johnny pun around and ran down the street, almost stepping into a puddle of excrement someone had thrown out their window moments earlier.

Brandy ran toward him and hugged him. “Thank goodness you were here. He has been trying to capture me for days. I fear what he wants to do to me.”

Daniel held her. Her whole body was atremble. She reminded him of the stallion he used to own who was skittish and afraid of everyone but him. He soothed her as if she were that horse. Patting her back, he clucked his tongue. “Easy, easy. Everything is fine. He did not get you.”

She pulled away partially and gazed up at him. “This time. Tonight. But not forever.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt . I am still working on my Regency set story and I bet you thought I’d use rake as a noun with a reference to a dissolute person and I did use one of the definitions of rake (libertine) in my tale, but I used the past tense verb of raked as it fit better where I am in the story. In my mind, a Regency is a wealthy reprobate. The man in this snippet is a sailor.

Anyway, check out the other tales here.

Distracted by the events that just occurred, Jane didn’t pay as much attention to her surroundings as she walked on toward her rooms. She was more focused on where the man actually lived and why she had not seen him before than on the road ahead of her or behind her.

When her arm was grabbed, her heart leapt in her chest in terror and she whirled around. Her glance raked over the man, taking in his face, and realizing it was Johnny from the alehouse, she dropped the flowers and stomped on his foot. “Let me go, you libertine.” She shook her arm to try to free it from his grasp.

“Not until I get what I want. You’ve been teasing me for months, flouncing around the pub and swishing yer skirts, all the time sayin’ ye be spoken fer and yet, the man you claim is your man is never around now, is he? Just give in and let me make you happy.”

Jane attempted to tug herself away from the man, trampling on the wilted flowers as she did so, almost losing her balance in the process. “Even if the captain never comes back to England, I will never be the woman for you. I do not like you and you need to let me loose right now.”

Johnny leered in her face, his rancid breath of stale beer and dirty teeth overwhelming her. “You seem to think ye have a choice her, missy. I’m a fine seaman who can climb a mast with the best of them.” He flexed his free arm. “See my muscles? I could squeeze the life out of you.”

She gasped. An ice cold dread flowed over her. Was dying better than having him force himself on her? Yes. I will never let anyone do that to me again. Never.

Jane redoubled her efforts to get away from him and decided to make some noise. Even if no one came to her aid, maybe he would run away. She resisted his embrace and opened her mouth the scream but he clamped his hand over her mouth. His nasty, clammy, disgustingly dirty hand. She gagged against its stench.

“You need to calm yerself. You’re going to be mine. Here in the street or at your home. It’s up to you, but you have no choice here.”

Footsteps rang out on the cobblestones. Running footsteps. A savior?