| To give you a taste of my particular style, here is the prologue to my novel, Rose's Kiss. I hope it will show that I can write a "romance" without being flowery or sickeningly sweet. If you are interesting in purchasing my novel, it is available at any online bookseller like Amazon or B&N, ect. Be sure to look for my name when ordering, Joy Ann Harber. There is another book with a similar title that is about gardening! Enjoy! |
| PROLOGUE : Rose's Kiss Avril 1309 Southern Border, Realm of Dundrennan, Britain Billows of acrid, black smoke drifted from the blood-soaked fields. The putrid smell of burnt hair and charred bodies hung heavily in the late afternoon air. Wild cries from over the hills were met with the ringing clang of steel. Blade against blade, the clash was spectacular. It was dangerously beautiful, like lighting on a summer's eve. Marauders from across the North Sea sought to take the land of Britain, specifically, Dundrennan. In defense, Ruffian and his men fought on. Those from Sedgemoor and all points beyond, moved together in fearsome unison. Like a grandly choreographed dance, they advanced together; ever forward, no retreat. His men died around him. Their horses screamed; eyes wild with fear at the melee that surrounded them. The smoke was stinging his eyes, as Ruffian looked to the hills. "Where are our damnable support troops? They were due here two days hence! Aye, 'tis easy enough for the Crown to involve us in such a fight, but where are the men he promised us? I daresay it costs Edward II little or nothing to send us out here to die. Do our lives mean so little, Ethan?" he spat out between blows. "Our spotters say two thousand dead," Ethan Bardougne called out. "Our men?" "Their's m'lord." How many had he killed himself that day alone? Brave young lads with as much sense of duty as he? He'd lost count. Ruffian had the ability to disassociate himself from the carnage of battle. Like a machine, he carried out the objectives without dwelling on the ramifications of the lives he was ending. At that moment, he instinctively whirled around and buried his broadsword into the chest of yet one more. "M'lord?" the young man yelped as he looked into Ruffian's eyes. He couldn't have been more than 18 summers old. His green eyes grew wide in shock before starring forevermore unseeing into the early evening sky. "God, what have I done?" Ruffian gasped. Ethan had seen what happened and rode quickly to Ruffian's side. "He's one of ours." "Nay! He can't be! He was coming at me!" Ruffian screamed. "'Tis getting dark; perhaps he didn't recognize you from behind. The boy was young, and unexperienced.," Ethan reasoned. "Do you know his name?" "Callum Lindsey. I think his family is from Breckonshire," Ethan called over his shoulder as he rushed to help another man from Sedgemoor. It was common to lose good men in battle. War was like that. But Ruffian held a different view. Especially when one died by his hand. Each life caused a ripple effect upon so many others. He knelt over the boy and withdrew his blade.A whisper of steam escaped the wound and drifted away into the night. He tenderly closed the green eyes with a shaking hand. "I am so sorry," he whispered. Before he could stand, he felt the moment of impact. Steel meeting bone, and bone yeilding to its adversary. Looking down, Ruffian saw the tip of a sword protruding from his left shoulder. He held his breath as the warrior savagely withdrew his blade, making a soft hissing sound. He felt a sickening vibration as the ragged edge of his broken shoulder blade grated across the retreating steel. A comrade from Sedgemoor ended the warrior's life immediately afterward. cont. >>> |
 |
 |
| FICTION cont. |
|
 |
 |