Archive for August, 2012

Tom followed, frowning

Tom slammed down the mug and tore off a crusty bite of rye, then followed, frowning, as the boy carried the fire-warmed pitcher into the adjoining chamber.

“Thank you, Robin. See to the horses.” His voice was low and scratchy. Water splashed from the basin. He wet his cheeks, pulled his skin taut, scraped his chin smooth with the sharp-edged razor as he breathed in steam and heat. What did a man wear, when he might die before sunrise?

The Duel (selection #3)

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Tom lit a taper

Stomping in his boots, Thomas Caldwell lit a taper and huffed in the cold air.

God’s blood! His breath could set the room ablaze. He tripped on the hearthstone and stabbed and thrust at the embers with the fire iron as if he were preparing for a sword fight instead of – this.

At least practice was improving his confidence.

The Duel (selection #2)

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