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Writing Projects: Fiction :: Nonfiction
Fiction Excerpt: THE DRACHEN TALISMAN
Time Travel Romance, WIP
"God, what I wouldn’t give for a bottle of sunscreen."
Meredith of Boston wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Rurik clenched his jaw tighter as she wiggled to find a more comfortable position in the saddle. Demoiselle Kenyon now sat in front of him, her slender back pressed close to his chest and her hips swaying with the horse's gait.
The lady's hair blew free in the breeze as he had ruined her scarf when he cut her bindings. Thick auburn curls fell past her shoulders, occasionally becoming caught in his armor or skirting past his nose. Meredith of Boston smelled of some sweet Rurik had yet to taste.
He felt a twinge of regret of his harsh treatment of her, but knew not at the time with whom or what he dealt. At the instant in the cave when she had appeared between him and the dragon, Rurik had thought her for sure the devil's bride. Now he knew she was just another annoying female.
"Demoiselle Kenyon, in the past quarter hour, you have thrice taken the Lord's name in vain. Does every lady speak as such in your Boston?"
Meredith twisted her lithe body around and speared him with narrowed moss green eyes.
"It's not my fault that I fell off this godforsaken horse and spent hours in the sun increasing my wrinkle count!"
Rurik raised one brow and made a slow inspection of Meredith's face.
"M'lady, I see no wrinkle, nay one sign of imperfection, upon your countenance nor even a gray hair upon your fair head. What say you your age?"
Meredith jerked around to face the road again while Rurik smiled at her back.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to ask a lady her age?" she asked sharply.
"Yea, my good mother oft reminded me of that fact, but I still wonder why a woman such as you are not yet married."
"How do you know I'm not married?"
"I know you have not a husband at present. No ring on your finger. Did your father not secure a situation for you before he passed on to his reward?"
Meredith pursed her lips. Rurik suddenly felt glad to have remained in his armor, effectively hiding his body's reaction.
"We do things a bit differently in Boston. Besides, you still think I'm some kind of faerie witch, right? Do they marry?"
Rurik leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She smelled of lavender. Mayhap she ought to ride with Cedric from now on.
"Yea, demoiselle, they are wed to the devil himself."
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