Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where you’ll find entertaining excerpts from a group of hard-working writers. Writing is our passion. You can enjoy stories and see works in progress unfold. The word prompt this week is mud. I continue here with the adventurous medieval romance featuring the knight Nicholas Wycliffe. Make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
He pointed. “Your mount crested the hill and is likely halfway to Roxburgh by now.”
She gasped at the array of tracks, the only remaining evidence of the buckskin. “The fiend—the…” She whirled and glowered at Nicholas, her cheeks flushed.
He stared at the feminine bundle of energy before him. Gold sparks shot from her tawny eyes, until his skin tingled as if seared by tiny embers. Still breathing raggedly, she crossed cradling arms over her abdomen. It seemed to him that she tried to subdue the physical and emotional exertion of the last few moments and quell any further outbursts.
Her gaze fell toward his side and then flicked up, wide and stricken. A gloved hand reached toward him and then, trembling, retreated.
He looked down at his tunic. Amid splotches of mud was a small red spot.
“You’re bleeding!”
“Merely an old wound too stubborn to heal. Don’t give it a moment’s thought.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I never meant to fall upon you. You must think me hedge-born.”
He blinked. Since she was a vision of unbridled beauty and energy, something he was unaccustomed to in these years of war and strife, “lowborn” as an epithet would never have crossed his mind. “Not at all. Tis of no consequence, milady.”
“But I have injured you!”
Her tone of voice made him want to reassure her. “Nay. Regrettably, tumbling down the hill may have reopened it, but the effort of resetting my traps could as well have done the same.” He indicated the satchel of coneys. “The injury has proven most obstinate. Tis no more inconvenient than these streaks of mud, and you have some as well.” He smiled to show his good humor.
She glanced down at her gown, also unbecomingly smudged, and mirrored his smile. “Tis but an old one.” After a moment, a hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! My bag! The horse has taken it to…Roxburgh.” Her dimples deepened.
I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the word prompt mud. Thanks for stopping by. Read the other remarkable excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2021 Flossie Benton Rogers
Ooh. I want to know how he got injured. Great snippet
Thank you, Cathy!
Lovely scene of old time gentility when people apologized instead of blamed. Looking forward to more.
Yes, there’s something to be appreciated about thinking of the other’s feelings. Thanks!
I love their dialogue, the use of old-fashioned language. I always did love a good medieval tale!
I love medieval, too. So glad you love the dialogue!
I loved the title “Writing Mud.” I’m curious…what’s in the bag? Hmmm?
She may have need of that bag! Thanks for dropping by and commenting, Loretta.
I love the banter between them and how the are opening up to each other. I also love his description of her. Great job!
I’m so glad you like his description of her. Thank you!
What a lovely exchange! So polite. I love how he doesn’t want to worry her. But a cut that keeps reopening worries me and I’m just the reader! Great job of bringing me right into the story.
Thanks so much! I’m glad the snippet brings you into the story.
Another great snippet. I love their dialogue and concern for each other. Well done. Jillian
I’m glad, Jillian. Thank you!