This is an unedited WIP so please be kind. It is (I think) another excerpt from Simeon's story, but it true TT fashion. none of the scenes are going down in sequence, so Ihave some stitching to do later. :-)
She cursed when her opponent’s foil whipped past
her face, and pushed her thoughts away.
But along with the next clash of blades they came right back again...
But along with the next clash of blades they came right back again...
Before she knew his intentions, the stranger had
whipped the marriage certificate out of her hand and marched down chapel's the weather-smooth
steps to the street.
“What are you doing? I need that!”
She made a grab for the paper and found his fingers clamped round her
arm. One peek up at his face, lips sealed in a thin line, eyes narrowed, she
hoped against the glare of the sun, but accepted it was probably because of
her. And his brows, beetled together in a frown, reminded her of a glass of
fine sherry in sunlight. The glass of soft
golden-brown glow of wine she bought from the nearby bar seconds before she’d
crossed the street to the chapel only minutes before. Was it only minutes, in some way it seemed like hours ago.
She’d expected her ‘groom’ to be waiting for
her. She offered the man enough money,
but he hadn’t showed. Instead she’d
expected the authorities to catch up with her before the deed was done and cart
her off to jail to wait an escort to see her onto a plane out of the country.
“If you think you can wed me one minute and run
off with the evidence the next, you mistook your mark.” Even his voice reminded her of warm Christmas
punch.
Well, she thought now, that was a long time ago, when her parents were still alive and before her cousin had conned her out of her home and stolen her inheritance.
She parried the stranger's thrust, measured his footwork and shifted to her right before his blade slashed past her face for a second time.
And still the memories intruded.
Well, she thought now, that was a long time ago, when her parents were still alive and before her cousin had conned her out of her home and stolen her inheritance.
She parried the stranger's thrust, measured his footwork and shifted to her right before his blade slashed past her face for a second time.
And still the memories intruded.
“Only one sip,” her father’s smile shimmered in
front of her eyes and disappeared. “When
you are older you can have a full glass of punch.”
“Why not now?” she’d asked. An old game, that sprang up between them years
ago. “Because you’re too young to drink wine,” he told her and laughed.
“But there’s only a little drop in there, I could
have some couldn’t I?”
Even while her mother tried to turn her smile into
a frown, her father had tipped his glass to her lips and let her sample the fruity
warmth of the punch.
She’d been five the last time she’d tasted her
father’s famous Christmas punch.
There's plenty more wonderful reads at Tuesday's Tales