Tuesday Tales 2021-10-26 Sweet

It’s time for Tuesday Tales, with authors writing excerpts based on word or picture prompts. The word prompt this week is sweet. My snippet is from a Highlander Romance. Visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

The gravelly voice echoed off the rock face and out into the open air. “The faery woman meant for you will appear, Tor. Forgo your mercenary plans and give her time.”

Bending a leg to secure a toehold, Torsten stretched his arm and clenched a rocky knob to pull up to the next ledge. Once standing, he reached down to assist the man climbing behind him. When they were both on the ledge, he repeated scornfully, “The faery woman meant for me, give her time. She’s had time, cousin, nigh on thirty winters. ‘Tis a tired old tale besides. Naught but blether.” He shaded his eyes against the sun. “I had hoped you’d be on my side in this. As older, shouldn’t you be wiser? There is no such beastie as you describe.”

“Wiser, aye, that’s a fact,” agreed Lew, grinning. “But the rest of what you say is off the mark. You have roamed the shoreline and cliffs all your life, lad, and still have no sense of the magic of such places. Besides, ‘tis no beastie of which I speak. A faery woman is fair of face, sweet of voice, light of foot, and has a sparkle in her eye for her true love.”

Torsten shook his head in disgust, speaking over his shoulder as they walked single file along the narrow ledge.  “I have no hopes of seeing a magical woman materialize from the infernal mist that most often shrouds these crags. If anything, it will be the bloodthirsty Keiths popping out at us like ticks on cattle.”

Lew growled. “Brigands like the Keiths don’t prowl during the day. They await the cover of nightfall. Anyway, a faery woman need not appear from the mist. She is not like the haints that come on the dark nights heralding winter. She is as real as you and me.”

They sat, having reached the recess. Torsten passed the waterskin and bit into an oatcake. “Then how is she faery, if also real?”

“Visit old Morag to understand the right of it. The way I recollect is that she departs the home of the Fair Folk and enters our world as a flesh and blood woman. She weds and beds a Gunn male, direct of Ottar, every seventh generation. Thus is the blood joined.”

I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the word prompt sweet. Thanks for stopping by. Check out the other authors at Tuesday Tales.

Cheers & Happy Reading!

Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories

All rights reserved, copyright @ 2021 Flossie Benton Rogers