Knightly Dreams by Veronica Towers

She saw the man clearly; he was stripped to the waist.  His long tanned sinewy arms reached for the wooden bucket and dumped its contents over his head.  She watched the droplets travel and flow over his sweat dampened chest. He reached for his soiled tunic to pat his face dry. Serena stepped back behind a bush to hide herself. She was afraid that she would be caught staring at the warrior. As a maidservant she was not supposed to be near the practice ring.  She fought the irresistible urge to look again…

***

  Bzz…Bzz…Bzz! Serena slowly opened her eyes and sighed.  She pushed the off button on her alarm clock and stretched her arms over her head. She slumped into the bathroom and stared at her blood shot eyes in the mirror. She’d had the dream again; she wanted to at least be able to clearly see the face of the man who had been disturbing her sleep on an almost nightly basis.  What is this about her being a maid? That was new.  She remembered dreaming of a castle.  On her break at the library she would look up castles in England on the internet. Maybe she could find something that looked like it and add it to her itinerary on her trip.

LEGEND OF LOVE   by C.H. Admirand

The bright rays of the early morning sun reflected off the piece of parchment Beth Daly held tightly in her hands.  A musty scent, a combination of dust and mold, clung to the paper.  Her hands started to tremble as she considered all of the exciting possibilities.

“What does it say?” she asked handing it back to the antique shop owner.

Gray-haired Cora Grayson adjusted her bifocals and sighed, "I'm afraid I don't know."  The older woman paused deep in thought. "But I think I know who will."

Beth ran the tip of her finger across an arched metal wing. “Hmmm.  Anyone I know?”

Cora smiled, "That nice young curator over at the Rathburn Museum.  Malcolm Leighton-Tate."

She had to smile, “I believe you’ve mentioned his name in passing.” Cora Grayson had   been a good friend these last years since Beth's love of antique glassware had first brought her to the door of Cora's Collectibles. It was her firm friendship with its owner kept her coming back. As always, whenever the kindly storeowner called Beth to see the latest piece of glassware she had found just for her, Beth experienced the feeling of being swept along in a whirlwind of activity.

“Have I, dear?”

Beth lifted her head and her gaze met Cora’s, “At least a half dozen times.”

My Dark Lord by Serena Knight

He was dressed all in black, from his clothes to his high top boots. Drake looked tall and powerful upon his large midnight colored stallion.  He raced across the forest toward his village dreading what he might find once he got there.

Fayre came back to the castle all upset with Reverend Estcott.  Ella was sitting in the tavern with Shaw in broad daylight. The reverend silently said that maybe it wasn’t a good idea.

Drake wrestled with his temper, struggling to understand what he was so upset about. Was it that Ella and Shaw were sitting in Leal’s tavern together or was it that they were at the tavern owned by the man he thought murdered his wife? Drake had waited until nightfall for Ella and Shaw to return to the castle which they never did.

The darkness of temptation and love could do wonders to ruin ones soul. The blood pumped through Drake’s veins as he slammed the tavern doors open. Riding his horse down to the village still hadn’t taken the edge off his anger. He shouldn’t even have to ask himself what upset him more. It should be who he thought murdered his wife and that was letting him take the blame for it! 

Ella stood up completely thunderstruck as Drake burst though the door. She wrenched her hand from Shaw’s. Anxious faces turned toward Ella, a score of expectant eyes asking the same question. “So this is what you have been doing!” Drake said as bitterness laced his voice. He ignored the whispers! He was accustomed to the all kinds of speculation he aroused everywhere he went.

The Duke, the Kiss and the Vow by C.H. Admirand

"Girls. Lights out!"     

"Come on Bobbi,” her sister Sandy begged. “Finish the chapter. Please?"      

Bobbi closed the borrowed book. She wanted to read more, too, but knew they’d be pushing their luck.

“Mom sounds mad. We'd better go to bed."  

"For Pete's sake, you can't leave us hanging,” Sandy grumbled. “I won't sleep a wink until I find out if the Duke marries Gizelle or not."

"Can't you please just finish the page?” Irene asked. “I want to find out if he kisses the breath out of her again. I really liked that part." Her youngest sister lay on her stomach with her chin propped up on her hands. Her brown eyes twinkling with delight.     

"Girls." Their mother's voice interrupted the discussion.

"'Night, mom," the three Beaudoine sisters chorused. 

"Get the flashlight,” Bobbi said, “Hurry up."      

"Hey,” Irene whined. “Wait for me."     

Bobbi held up the quilt while her youngest sister dove under. Sandy held the flashlight while Bobbi read…

                        ...The Duke pulled Gizelle into his arms and stole her

 breath with another mind-numbing kiss. When his bride's

 knees gave way, he smiled. 

                        "I love you," Gizelle whispered against his throat. 

                        "Then show me how much, love." Lifting her into

his arms the Duke of Athmore, raced up the steps to their

bedroom two at a time...  

Arianna's Leap by Cyan Bell

The smell of burnt ozone permeated the air, mixing with the dampness and the thick darkness choking the room.

Arianna shook herself, settling all of the atoms in her body in place, neutralizing the resonance enhancer strapped around her thigh.  Crouching in the darkness, she listened intently for any sounds of movement while scanning the room with her enhanced night vision.  The cold night bit through the thin fabric of her sinash, leaving tendrils of puckered flesh in its wake. She’d traveled back to 2008, over one thousand years and even with the advancement in technology she was still forced to transmit in silk.  It may be a completely natural material, but it hardly provided any real protection.  Arianna had expended the small percentage of processed raw material permitted for time travel on the wickedly sharp sword she kept in her leather sheath.  The weapon sat strapped over her shoulders to rest along her back. The weight was a reassuring line that ran between her shoulder blades.

Arianna thought about the map she’d committed to memory before she left.  Other than the resonance enhancer, she was allowed no notes, computers, or other technology from her time.  A committee of physicists had deemed the transmission of non-essential equipment an unacceptable risk.  They were worried that during the process of transmission an elemental transfer between metals and the time traveler’s organic material would occur.