Medieval Monday, autumn-style
WEEK 7
Another week of Medieval Monday!
Check out Medieval Romance Lovers as we share in the fall theme of "Nature" in our excerpts from our medieval stories. You’ll see weekly snippets each Monday on our blogs. And since I live in New England, home to memorable fall foliage, I will continue to try to post some photos! This week, though, is a map from my book. The trilogy spans across northern England, the Highlands, and west to the isles.
Read last week’s scene snippet here.
I encourage you to follow along with all the other Medieval Monday authors on the Facebook page here. You will find the links to their blogs where they are sharing their snippets. There may be even be some giveaways on the page…
Catch Medieval Monday this fall on Twitter with the hashtag #MedMonFall20
You can also find us on Twitter at #MedMonFall20
This week’s snippet…
Set-up:
Domhnall is a Seer who descends from powerful Ancients with mystical abilities. He suffers from terrible visions of the Sight, an affliction that comes with each touch, except with Rosalie. He is taking Rosalie on a stroll through the village. They come upon the loch shore and he suggests they collect pebbles for her necklace-making. Rosalie is a crafter and fortune-teller, scrimping to make ends meet and support her uncle and aunt, but she is also on the run from a vengeful noblewoman not pleased with her readings. She tells lies for a living. Domhnall believes her to be a true seer.
This week’s snippet…
He should stop. It had been too bloody long. By his Holy Father, he wanted to do so much more. They both drew back simultaneously. A smile tipped her lips. “I—” he breathed.
She blinked over a frown.
Her look crushed him. Had he overstepped? He helped her upright. She fluffed her layers of skirts, huffed like a frazzled hen. “Domhnall, I must tell you something.”
She didn’t reciprocate the feelings. Shame flushed his cheeks. He’d been too forward, too eager. “Aye?”
She swallowed, licked her lips, busied herself with gathering the pebble pile, dropping stones into a linen sack. She spoke in a flurry. “In England, there was a lady of a castle. She—”
She whimpered, the crease digging deeper in her forehead. Dammit, he wanted to kiss it again.
“I tried to tell her what would happen if her husband went to war. The Despensers’ dispute. I tried.”
Stay Tuned….
