TT ~ Bells

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales   

Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Many thanks.

 

In this week's scene Amanda is spooked and gets herself lost.

“Come on lady,” the showman’s voice cut through her thoughts and she raised her second dart and threw. A cheer went up when it buried itself in the bulls-eye. “You’ve got yourself a great teddy bear. The showman reached up for it and grinned when he handed it to her. I thought you’d fallen into a day dream there, not that you were psyching yourself up for a winning throw.”

With a rueful grin Amanda found herself hugging the bear almost as psychedelic as the young mother’s papoose the day before. “Thanks,” she handed the third dart back to him. “One win is enough for me tonight. Thank you.”

“You look good together,” John-Henry laughed and handed three more darts to the man standing beside her. When she looked round the bear nearly slipped out of her arms.

Tall, dark and handsome stood so close she could smell the sharp tang of his cologne. As for the warmth from his body, how could he make her feel all hot and bothered, as her Gran would say. ‘Hot and bothered’ didn’t begin to describe the sensation. Prickly heat and that wretched tingling on the back of her neck. But why? The man never even glanced at her. And again, she asked herself, why would he? And why, she asked herself when she bumped into the other man, the one she’d watched approach the blond woman minutes before, were they both… What? So one of them stood to her right and the other to her left, but so what? Coincidence.

“Hey, John-Henry, you going to hold them there darts all night or are you going to pass ‘em over?”

She knew that voice. She’d heard it the night before, moaning about letting something go after so many years and then being shown up for his generosity. Since both men blocked her sideways movement Amanda stepped back, watched the two men close the gap between them, and exchange a swift glance before Tall dark and handsome also stepped back and bumped her arm hard enough for poor old teddy to go flying.

“I’m sorry.” He caught her arm as though to prevent her from falling and with his fingers still holding her still he reached down and picked up the purple bear.

“For your daughter?” His query should have been mundane so why did her natural instinct warn Amanda the question was deliberate?

“Thank you.” Once again she tucked the bear under her arm and stepped back.

“Let me buy you a drink” TD and H, as Amanda decided to tag the man, indicated the tea-tent. With a shake of her head she began walking away only to find the man at her side. The prickling sensation increased. Were these two men a threat to all blonds? Or just her? She stopped walking and sighed when her body fired up again when he bumped into her.

“Look, it was an accident. There’s no harm done, so please, leave me alone.” This time Amanda ditched her dignity and ran. And kept on running until the fair ground was far behind her and darkness surrounded her. She didn’t know where she was, or how to find her accommodation, but right now she didn’t care.

 

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell, no a church clock began to chime. In a big city the dark could be dangerous, but surely here in this small country village the darkness would be her friend. It was just a pity that she felt too rattled to enjoy it. Back home she often roamed the countryside in the evening. She enjoyed watching the sun give way to the moon and light to dark. Now the only way she’d find her way back to her bed and breakfast would be to return to the fairground. Well she wouldn’t do that until everything shut down for the night. Undoubtedly her hosts would be peeved when she turned up at some unearthly hour, but it couldn’t be helped.

Tuesday's Tales 16 July

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales

A place where books are born.

Thank you for stopping by. This week's word prompt is court, my snippet is from Consuela's story, my sequel to Vidal's Honor. This scene takes place in England in 1813 when my hero, Juan, learns his brother has Consuela in his sights.

 

While he’d rushed back to Spain, his brother, Diago, had made his way to London, and according to his friend Lord Vidal, was even now attempting to court Consuela.

 

The only available room left in the inn was tiny, with a window locked down tight against the night air, so the room smelled of stale ale and other unmentionable odours. He smote one fist in the other and strode from the edge of the bed where he’d sat to the window and peered out.

“You been and gone and missed it by five minutes.” The innkeeper told him when he’d rushed in to enquire when the next coach left for London.  “Won’t be another ‘afore tomorrow afternoon.”

His enquiries into hiring a coach hadn’t fared any better.  It seemed there was a prize cock fight in the village just five miles down the road and every available vehicle for hire was already spoken for. Assuming there’d be no spare horses for hire either he’d not even asked, but now as he watched the shadows shift across the ground below his window he wondered whether the plan forming in his mind would land him in prison if he was caught.

‘Another day won’t make a difference.’ A silent voice in his head urged, but instinct told Juan the voice lied.  If he didn’t know better he could almost swear he heard Consuela calling out to him for help.

 

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Tuesday Tales - 2nd July

Welcome to Tuesday's Tales

A place where books are born.

 

Thank you for stopping by. This week's word prompt is sun, my snippet continues on from last week's offering in Consuela's story, my sequel to Vidal's Honor.

Memories of the horrific scene they’d come across in the woods still haunted her dreams.  The women and children, their sightless eyes staring up at the brilliant sun-lit sky… Piled in a heap like broken dolls.  “Do not ask me to share it with you, my lady, for it is not…” The understanding in her hostess’s eyes slammed into her like a musket from one of the guerrilleros guns.

“You know?”

The duchess nodded, leaned across to the nearest bell-pull and summoned a servant.  “Tea, and cake,” she ordered when the butler entered after a brief knock.  “I heard Charles telling his father one day and had the whole story from him.  I am so sorry, my dear.  No one should see such depravation, let alone become victims of it.”

Consuela still could not remember how the duchess had persuaded her to reveal the circumstances of her own widowhood, and now as the other woman patted her hand Consuela swallowed the comment she intended to make when the door opened and a maid entered and crossed the room to place a laden tray on the table beside the duchess.

She looked at the ring on her finger. Not the one her husband had given her, that she’d thrown away as soon as Juan proposed and slipped the large sapphire ring in its place.  No amount of urging on her part would persuade Juan to make her his wife before he left.  Sometimes she hated him for that reluctance, even though she understood his concerns.

“If my brother finds out we are married he will make it his mission of eliminate you as he did my wife and daughter. No, my dear, you are safer if you remain single.  In all honesty I should have resisted the urge to declare myself, and as for this ring…” He’d paced round the room before coming to sit beside her, in this very room days after they’d celebrated the New Year.  “Perhaps it would be best if you did not wear it in public.”

 

Thank you for reading this week's offering, and please hop on over to read everyone's offering for this week's Tuesday's Tales prompt. 

Tuesday's Tales ~ Silver.

Tuesday's Tales has come round again, and I am begiing to wonder when time became jet-propelled.  I mean, where did January go to? *grin*  Yeah! yeah, so I'm showing my age...

This week's word prompt is Silver so in keeping with my new wip I went to my source for this project and have ended up with a 500word+ short story.
~~~

Sheila looked from the coin in her hand to her friend, Martha, sitting across the table from her. Their plates, smeared with the last evidence of the meal they’d shared, sat pushed to one side, waiting for collection.

“Did you know silver is used in medication?”

Wide-eyed, Martha shook her head. “No!” Her shudder was real enough, her eyes wide with a mix of revulsion and fascination as she too, stared at the coin in Sheila’s hand. “You’re joking. Tell me you are joking,” she pleaded.

“I kid you not.” Laugh lines crinkled at the edge of Sheila’s eyes now and her lips curved upward. With one finger she traced the edge of the coin. “I read somewhere that it was first used by the Anglo-Saxons who believed rubbing it on diseased skin was efficacious. Apparently the first record of using silver for medicinal purposes goes back to the eighth century when silver filings were used to purify the blood and ease what they call heart palpitations…”

“But it’s not used now? Is it?” In a subliminal act of comfort Martha reached for her tea cup, frowned when she found it empty, and held up her hand to stop Sheila’s commentary until she’d refilled it. “I mean, it’s barbaric. Silver is poisonous.”

“So are a lot of chemicals that are used medicinally,” Sheila verified. “And yes,” she continued, “it is still used in modern medicine.” She turned the coin over and looked up again. “There’s an anti-bacterial ion in silver which is currently used in wound dressings that is more successful than many antibiotics formerly used against MRSA.”

Martha sat back, both hands wrapped round her tea-cup and stared. Her eyes darkened, her mouth worked, but no words came out. She lifted her cup to her mouth, drank then replaced it on its saucer.

“Where do you get all this information?”

“Do you remember when Granny Blake was rushed to hospital a couple of years ago?”

Recalling the suddenness with which the woman had fallen ill, and been rushed to hospital Martha nodded. “Yes, but she’s at fit as a fiddle and active as ever. What does that have to do with the use of silver as a medication?”

“She was diagnosed as having MRSA.”

Sheila’s words coincided with a sudden silence in the café and Martha felt the eyes of all the other diners turned towards their table in shocked silence. Her embarrassment at being thrown into the centre of attention changed to triumph when she thought of Granny Blake today.

“But she’s as fit as she used to be! She still has more energy than the two of us put together. Are you saying they used silver in her medication?”

“All my research at the time indicates that the staff would use medication that included silver during Granny’s stay in hospital.”

“Wow!” 

Martha’s laugh brought grins to the faces of those at the surrounding tables.

“And here I thought silver, apart for paying for goods and pretty things, was all about whether it crossed the right or the left hand. Prosperity for one and poverty for the other. I’ll never look at silver in the same way again,” she said, while fingering the filigree chain round her neck.

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Tuesdays Tales - Silence

Here we are again :-) and I really don't know where the days are going to. This week's Tuesday's Tales promt is Silence.  And my oofering this week is a snippett for a new WIP.

Lilly never really thought about it before, but now, as she listened to the silence, the song title slid into her mind.  The Sound of Silence.  It described the atmosphere in the house to a ‘T’.

Only the sunlight, fighting its way through the dust-storm created by wrenching open the heavy double-panelled wooden door offered any relief from the oppressive feelings she picked up when she walked into the vast, high-ceilinged hall.

Not even the sound of bird song penetrated.

She dug in her pocket for a handkerchief to stifle her sneeze and wondered why the urge to muffle the sound even entered her mind.

A wide staircase ahead of her rose to a half-landing then split, left and right. When she shifted to her right and looked up the sound of her high-heels on the wooden floor cracked like pistols shots and bounced off the walls.

“We’ve been expecting you.” The reproachful note in the soft female voice coming from behind her, stung. It wasn’t her fault the solicitor hadn’t found the letter until now.  And against her better judgement, Lilly had allowed instinct to over-rule logic and driven to Hollow-End hall within twenty-four hours of reading  its contents.

“I came as soon as I could.”  Lilly swung round to face the woman. Where had she gone?

“We’ve been waiting for you for months.”

A man’s voice, full of accusations came from above her.  She looked towards the landing  but saw no one. Fear skittered down her spine. Perhaps she should have headed Eric when he’d told her to ignore the letter.

“Written by a crackpot,” he’d dismissed and slung the quality sheet of paper onto the solicitor’s desk. “Otherwise he’d have signed it.”

There were times when Eric’s manner set her teeth on edge. She’d fought the sudden spurt of temper. “He?”

Certainly the writing was heavy, and strong, and yes, she agreed silently, could be considered that of a male. But… something, and at the time Lilly put it down to her irritation with Eric’s attitude, she disagreed.

 

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Tuesdays Tales 09-10-12 ~ Knife

This week's Tuesday's Tale is unedited so please excuse any errors. It is a another scene from one of the Gasquet Princes stories I offered you last week. They seem to be running side by side and yet entwinning as they go along.
This is another scene in Simeon's story.

The thud of the knife as it buried itself in the wooden wall a hair’s width above her head didn’t bring the expected satisfaction. Nor did her single raised eyebrow as she turned her head to look in his direction without attempting to straighten up. And it simply jacked up his fury when the stupid act didn’t abate his fury one iota.

When a hand on his shoulder spun him round to face the head of palace security, Simeon fought for control and rammed his fists into his pockets.

“Don’t you ever let me find you venting your spleen on a member of my staff again.” Paxman’s fury equalled his own now, and from past experience Simeon knew a pissed off Paxman was not a phenomenon to be taken lightly but this time he didn’t give a hoot.

“You think I’m going to allow you to fob me off with some kind of glorified nursemaid, you’d better think again.”

“Nursemaid!”

The explosion when it came ripped the air as cleanly as the knife he’d thrown at the wall. “Nursemaid,” he repeated in a voice colder than an arctic wind, and watched in fascination as she stood up straight, flexed her shoulders, crossed the room and snatched a couple of foils of the wall and threw one at him.

Sunlight glinted on the blade in her hand and the deep red hair, almost auburn, he thought, and wondered why it reminded him of a halo.  If she was an angel she’d come straight from the fires of Hell.

“Afraid?”

One word and the sneering half-smile that tipped one corner of her mouth up just a tad was all it took for his temper to break free again.

If she wanted a fight, he’d give her one.

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Tuesday's Tales ~ Dog

This week's Tuesday's Tale is unedited so please excuse any errors.  It is another part of the gaquet Princes stories but possibly not part of the same story I offered you last week.  They seem to be running in parrall and yet entwinning as they go along.
Last week I gave you a clip from Sacha's story, this week it is his twin, Simeon's turn.

It was the not knowing the festered.  Not knowing where he was. Not know who’d snatched him from his car and not know if anyone had missed him

He didn’t even know how long he’d been here.

He’d woken to brilliant sunshine, the smell of fresh coffee, and the promise, from a stranger, that breakfast would be served in half an hour in the small dining room.  The clothes laid out on the chair under the window fitted perfectly but weren’t his, and the view from the window was as alien to him as the room he now stood in two hours later.

A study-cum-library, he surmised and crossed the room to study the book-covered shelves.  Could he glean any information about his abductors from them.  He didn’t even know if he’d been abducted.  Not in the strictest sense, at least.  No one had stopped his stroll round the flower laden garden earlier, nor had they stopped him from opening every door on the ground floor and searching each room for clues about the owner of the property. Whoever it was didn’t lack money if the number of first editions was anything to go by.

His father, the king, had an astounding collecting of originals in his book collection, but he doubted the royal collection matched this one.

“Good morning, sir.”

Simeon shot round and glared at the man standing in the doorway. His brother’s father-in-law was the last person he expected to encounter.

“What the h…” he tunnelled his fingers through his hair and tried again.  “Where did you come from?” Stupid question. “What are you doing here, and more to the point what am I doing here?”

Automatically, he scratched the ears of the golden retriever that entered the room with Paxman and now laid its head in his lap as though they’d been companions forever.

If his father’s head of security was part of this weird set-up abduction didn’t play a part in it.

Paxman closed the door behind him with deliberate precision, strode over to the window and drew the curtains before switching on the overhead light and desktop lamp.

“I apologise for all the cloak-and-dagger’ stuff.” He patted his pockets in a vain attempt to find a pack of cigarettes, huffed and dropped into the chair behind the desk.

“What is this place?”  A book still in his hand Simeon automatically took the chair in front of the desk.

“It is one of your father’s homes.”

“My father’s?”  How come none of the family have ever visited this place?”  A thought struck him and Simeon and he slammed the book down without a care. “Do you realise I don’t even know what country I’m in.”

“You are still in Scotland. I can tell you that much.” Paxman’s cool voice simply fuelled Simeon’s rising temper. “I can also tell you, his majesty bought this place a couple of months ago so he and your mother had somewhere secure to stay when they visited your brother and my daughter.”

Scotland.  Liam and Melanie. So he wasn’t too far away from their horse farm and riding school for physically challenged children.  But why?  And why couldn’t he remember how he got here and who’d brought him.

“Before waking this morning what is your last memory?”

Startled by Paxman’s question it took Simeon a moment to gather his thoughts. What was his last memory? He’d been so busy trying to work out the now, he’d failed to considered the how.

Unaware of the two deep grooves that furrowed his brow, Simeon tried to manoeuvre through the haze that replaced his memory of how he’d come here. With a shake of his head he leaned back in his chair wishing he’d got a good scotch in his hand.

“I was on my way to the farm.”  The words came slowly, “driving the Porsche.” An image of his brand new car floated in and out of his mind. “Wind in my hair.”  The man sitting opposite was forgotten, as were his surroundings as Simeon allowed his focus to turn inwards.

“A bridge!”  He shot upright.  “A road diversion at the bridge.” His attention snapped back to Paxman.  “You were at the bridge, at that road block. You explained that there’d been a land slide and I’d have to take a diversion, but because of flooding we’d have to spend the night at a hotel until the water receded.”

A guarded nod was the only response he received.

“Coffee.  You handed me a cup of coffee from a flask.”  Fury shot him to his feet.  “You drugged my coffee!”

As fast as the adrenalin swept through him it faded away.  “Why Man?”  He stumbled to the curtained window and looked back over his shoulder.  “Why?”

“At the moment I am not at liberty to answer that question.”  Paxman rose and joined him. “You will remain here for as long as it takes to secure a situation that has arisen.”

“Don’t be daft man; I have a business to run. I can’t just go awol.  If the City got wind of my disappearance the market would have a field day.”  He paused, grabbed his companion’s arm and restrained himself from shaking it.  “What situation?”

 

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Tuesday Tales - Prompt - Blue

:-) Another week, another Tuesday Tales promt.  This week it is BLUE.  I have skipped forward in my WIP from last week and now my hero and heroine are heading for the Pyrenees and the French border.

From the vast acres of deep green foliage of the woods several feet below them now, Honor took in the tranquil blue of the Mediterranean sky, the vast expanse of green slopes dropping away from them, criss-crossed with hard-packed tracks that would turn into muddy rivers after a downpour of rain. Shiny outcrops of rock spearing through the green shimmered in the sunlight. Bird song, not the cry of battle, filled the sky. Only the clip-clop of the mules’ hooves disturbed the humming insects as they passed.  And still the heaviness of intuition told Honor they were not alone.

"How can you be sure we have moved away from Phillipe's recommended routes?  Have you been here before?"

“Of course not. We alway took our leave in a town where we could relax and top up on our personal items of need.”

“A hard life.”

Honor barely heard the words he spoke so quietly.

“We knew how to play, make no mistake, we had good times. I can’t deny it, life could be tough, and yet the friendships are the sort that will last a lifetime.”

Her voice trailed off as the image of three men pulling her husband off his horse and dragging him out of the camp ambushed her.

Tuesdays Tales Picture Prompt - Chest

It's time for Tuesday's Tales again.  Would someone please slow down the clock, I can't belive how time is flying by!
It's Picture Prompt week this week and today's prompt is chest.  My story today is a stand-alone story.  I may expand it one day, but not right now.
Thank you for coming by.

A single beam of sunlight from the attic window shone on the chest.  She’d thought it was a legend. Not real, and yet there it sat right in front of her in the middle of the attic room.

Nut brown, and faded in places, where, she thought, the sun had caught it over the years. Its domed lid with the obligatory metal bands as did the base of the chest reminded her of something out of a child’s pirate’s story.

Every night her father—adoptive father—wove wonderful stories around a treasure chest.  “One day, you’ll find your own treasure chest,” he’d told her one night.  Something, a look in his eyes, seared the comments into her memory. And now, years later, she sat in front of a nut brown treasure chest.

Like a magnate it drew her across the room.  Of course it would be locked and she didn’t have a key. Still, she crossed the room and sat on the floor in front of the chest. 

She reached out and laid her hand on the lid.  It came alive under her touch, pulsed beneath her fingers. Shock forced her back.  A box didn’t pulse, not even when it looked like a treasure chest.  Tentatively, she reached out again.  Steady as a heartbeat, the pulse grew stronger.

Before she changed her mind she grasped the lid and lifted.

It opened, and mesmerised she gazed at a white-lace baby’s dress, and white knitted cap. Beneath it a birth certificate…  Letters, lots of them; and pictures.

The top one from her adoptive parents. The rest were a mixture from her birth, and adopted parents. She sifted through them.

Treasure indeed, and worth more, more than all the gold doubloons and secret maps in the world.  These were part of her—

Family.