"The B.R.A. Club, Living on Borrowed Time" Excerpt.
Soaking in the wine barrel tub became the highlight of Cari's days. After long hours spent scouring cliffs and hills for the fungi, her sore muscles were relieved from the heat.
Her father had been ingenious in his creation of indoor plumbing for the cottage. Taking care not to introduce anything modern to the late Middle Ages but still obviously wanting modern convenience, Al had cleverly designed an indoor well that shared a wall with the kitchen and bathroom. Next to the well hung a huge copper kettle with a wood rim that hung over the indoor brick oven. One could draw buckets of water up from the well, fill the kettle and simply wait until the water was heated to pour directly into the tub below on the bathroom side of the hearth.
The backside of the kitchen hearth was the bathroom wall, which also served to conveniently heat the bathroom, making it a very cozy, warm place to be, since the kitchen hearth burned continuously. It was much easier to feed the fire throughout the day than to try to relight it. Cari really hated lighting fires without the modern convenience of lighter fluid and a Bic.
The water was cooling, so she reached for a towel she hung on one of the hooks jutting from the hearth wall, sighing as she wrapped the warm cloth around her body. She snorted in amusement. Even back home in Colorado she hadn't had the convenience of a towel warmer. Dad really outdid himself on the cottage...
Cari was glad her father used a wine barrel with a spigot for the tub; opening the spigot made it very simple to empty it. She watched the water seeping through the wooden floorboards. Al had apparently built up the stone floor underneath so it slightly sloped from where the tub sat down to the outside wall, where a small notch was cut that allowed the water to flow outside. Such a clever daddy, she smiled to herself. Everything in the medieval bathroom--and the whole cottage, really--was surprisingly convenient and comfortable, from the "indoor plumbing" to the nearly transparent window coverings that bore a strong resemblance to plastic. After she first discovered the cottage, Cari had Googled "medieval windows" and was surprised to discover thin strips of heated and ironed antler were used. Her dad had gone to a lot of trouble to "live like the natives."
Autumn was in the air. She had been living in the cottage steadily for the past three weeks, having only made a few jumps back to the Colorado home, once just to retrieve some tampons. Knowing she shouldn't cheat with such a modern convenience, she just couldn't bring herself to use rags for her period. But it was a safe bet the tampons would disintegrate in the bowels of the latrine, never to be found by future excavations.
Cari shivered as a cool breeze wafted in the door. Unlike Colorado which didn't see autumn until late September, the warm seasons were much shorter in Scotland. The August days were growing noticeably shorter. She figured she would soon go back to Colorado for the winter, not really wanting to brave a Hebrides winter without central heating.
Since the isle had few trees, that meant one had to be resourceful for fireplace fuel. She had jumped back to Colorado to research what the ancients burned for fuel in the Hebrides, laughing at the fact that living "primitively" sure required a lot of thought and planning.
Peat. Dried peat. Go figure. Who knew dirt would burn? And apparently it was very effective, because they still used it in the twenty-first century. So she had cut bricks of the dark stuff from the side of a grassy cliff, allowing the sections to dry for burning. The peat fires were a bit smoky, but they actually gave the cooked meats a nice flavor.
In spite of all the extra work she had to do each day just to survive, Cari was thoroughly enjoying her stay. She was able to spend a few hours each day gathering Grey Tooth and the fermenting process was moving along quickly. Already she had four more flats of jars of salve, which amounted to three hundred jars. She was using modern-made glass jars that were medieval replicas. Cari had laughed again at the irony of the modern world trying to hang on to the ancient.
And that is what she thought she was doing herself--hanging on to the ancient world. It just seemed to "fit" her, or maybe she fit it. Surprisingly, there were very few technologies she missed, other than the internet, but lately she was only using that for researching the past. She logically assumed her enjoyment of the time period might be in part due to the novelty of it, and the fact that she could return to her own modern creature comforts at any time. It was sort of like being on a medieval camping trip. Still, it was nice to be in completely unpolluted air and free from any fear of unwanted intruders.
(c) 2011 by Vickie Jenkins writing as Ria MacAlister
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"Marry Go Round, Fool Me Once" excerpt.
"Late again." Kat sighed at the sight of the dried-up chicken tetrazzini on the counter. If her husband had come home when he said he would, or had at least called to say he'd be late, the culinary disaster could have been avoided.
What now? She wondered as her stomach roiled at the thought of him walking through the door with no dinner waiting.
While Tony had shown his volatile temper from the very beginning of their relationship with an occasional slap or shove, it wasn't until he left the private investigation firm he had worked for since college and struck out on his own that he had become truly violent. Kat assumed it was the stress of running his own business, dealing with employees, payroll, traveling, receivables arrearage and the day-to-day angst from unhappy clients that caused the escalation in his fury.
What was most difficult to deal with, however, was the unpredictability. He reacted differently to the same behavior from one time to the next. She was never sure if her efforts would be received with praise or punishment. It was nerve-wracking and Kat felt she was river-dancing amongst eggshells.
Sighing heavily and deciding the chicken wasn't salvageable, she dug around in the freezer for something quick. Thankfully, she had made a double batch of lasagne the week before, and she could defrost the dish in the microwave.
Humming "Scottish Soldier," one of her favorite songs she learned at the knee of her maternal grandmother Maddie, Kat cut cucumbers for a salad and mulled over the conversation with Heather earlier in the day. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew everything her friend said was true. Tony did suck as a husband and probably would as a father.
She knew she should have seen the signs. His controlling nature was apparent from the very start. He "suggested" what type of clothes she should wear, who she could associate with--which meant his family only, what music she could listen to, what types of food she could cook.
And the jealousy...Tony would become sullen and withdrawn if she so much as spoke to a waiter or a male salesclerk. Kat learned in a hurry to let him order for her or purchase items at the store, or else she'd have to suffer through days of his pouts. And I'd give a king's ransom if pouting was the worst of his behavior now.
The microwave dinged and she turned the lasagne dish and restarted the defrost cycle. She wondered if she should dare to call Tony's cell to see if he were on his way. A wifely phone call was one sure way to set him off, though. He would scream at her that she didn't "own him" and he'd be home when he damned well pleased. But the truth was, if she did call him, it was one sure way to get him home quickly. He would rush home to "set her straight."
And he was never sorry for it, not like her father, who was always contrite the morning after one of his drunken rampages, begging for forgiveness and swearing "never again," promises he would inevitably fail to keep when the next bottle was emptied.
But not Tony. Oh, no. Not only was he never sorry, not even the first time he bloodied her nose on their wedding night; he actually blamed Kat for each and every bruise he was "forced" to leave on her body. Sometimes he'd even go so far as to get angry with her if her blood splattered on his clothes, and the beating would start all over again--after the rape, of course.
So the glaring question remained unanswered…Would he be a good father? Kat was talking herself into serious doubts. Abusive alcoholics didn't make good parents, not even passable ones, a fact she knew all too well from first-hand experience.
Heather's words from earlier in the day haunted her: And what if he starts beating your child? Would you put up with that, too? Kat knew she could not, would not, ever allow him to beat her child. She could be the punching bag, but not her child. Never.
Kat was so caught up in her worries she didn't hear the door open that led to the laundry room from the garage. She literally jumped when she heard the angry growling baritone behind her.
"What the hell? You mean to tell me dinner's not ready?"
Heart pounding, she turned to stare at her husband with wide frightened eyes. Kat immediately took in the fact that his clothes were disheveled, his jet black never-a-one-out-of-place hair looked like it had been styled with a weed-whacker and his eyes were glazed as they struggled to focus on her while he swayed.
Oh, sweet Jesus, help me. He's drunk, she thought with pain gripping her stomach. Her heart hammered violently in her chest and her mouth went dry.
Modulating her voice from years of practice, she swallowed hard and quietly answered. "I'm so sorry, honey. The chicken tetrazzini I had made got ruined while I waited for you to come home." She hurried to the microwave and gestured. "Thankfully, I had lasagne--"
He exploded, veins in his high forehead bulging. "I don't want freakin' lasagne, you moron! I told you this morning I wanted chicken for dinner! You are such an idiot!"
Tony took a step toward her with his fists clenched at his sides and Kat backed up against the stove, holding her hand up in a feeble attempt to block him as he towered over her.
"Babe," she said as calmly as she could while her entire body was quivering, "I'm sorry about the chicken. If you had called to tell me you were going to be late, I would have taken it out…"
Uh oh. Her voice trailed off as she watched his face transform into such a ferocious scowl he scarcely looked human. It was like a gruesome Halloween mask had poured itself down his skull. As he slammed his hand against the microwave above the stove next to her head, Kat involuntarily flinched and ducked.
"Don't start bitching to me about calling you. I do NOT answer to you, you got that?" He poked his finger in between her breasts. Hard. "You, on the other hand, my dear wife, do answer to me."
Kat blinked to hold the tears back. Tears really set him off. Hell, everything sets him off. I live my life trying to walk in a field of eggshell land mines.
She found herself suddenly longing for the safe haven of fantasy land she had often retreated to in her mind as a child when her father raged about their house looking for a victim. But as an adult, she was forced to dwell in the real world, pain and fear be damned.
In a low, menacing growl, the monster she called husband continued his tirade. "And perhaps you would like to tell me just where you went today. Joe told me he saw you going into O'Brien's. Out whoring around, I assume? Spreading your legs for anyone who gives you the time of day while your husband slaves his life away trying to keep you in comfort?"
So angry he was snarling, bits of spittle hit her face with his hateful words. As she stared into his red-rimmed, soulless, ebony eyes, Kat wondered absently how she ever thought the man was good looking. With his face twisted and blotchy, chest heaving with rage, and teeth bared in a snarl, she felt like a small child cowering before the Big Bad Wolf.
Forcing her brain to function properly, she blurted her denial. "No, of course not! I just had lunch with Heather--"
"Heather!" He screeched and Kat involuntarily ducked, instantly regretting her mistake.
Taking a deep breath which Kat knew was not an attempt to calm himself but to restock his air supply, he screamed just an inch from her face, "Did I not tell you I don’t want you to have anything to do with that slut?"
Kat didn't think it was possible, but his horrid face scrunched up even further in rage. "Oh, but no-o-o, you don't listen to your husband, do you, you stupid whore?"
His finger was back to its painful stabbing of her breastbone. She wondered if he might actually penetrate right through to her heart. Then I'd die of a broken heart, she thought insanely, almost giggling in hysteria.
"You just think you can just do whatever you want, go wherever you want, do whoever you want. Well, I won't have it! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
The last was screamed against her face, nose to nose, his alcohol-laced spittle once again splattering across her cheeks and chin. Kat thought her heart was going to pound out of her chest as she nodded obediently at him as best she could with their faces touching.
He leaned back a bit and she flinched, slamming her eyes shut when his hand came up, trying desperately to brace for the pain she knew was coming. But Tony reached behind her and jerked the microwave door open. Grabbing the now thawed Pyrex dish of lasagne, he slung it across the room at the refrigerator, and she watched in horror as it shattered into a million pieces, the contents exploding in all directions.
Kat gazed in amazement at the red sauce and white lumps of ricotta and noodles and thought it looked like a gruesome crime scene. She shivered at the image, suddenly feeling it might be a harbinger for the next moments of her life.
The more insane part of her mind wondered absently how long it would take to clean the mess up. And she wondered if she could clean it up before the sight of the mess set him off once again about her lack of housekeeping abilities. A land of eggshells.
She jumped when Tony screamed again. "And you think you can just cook whatever you want? What are you, freakin' Emeril, or what?"
Kat blinked to focus on the wrathful demon before her. He might be expecting a response and Heaven help her if she didn't give one. The face that she had once considered to be model-perfect was contorted and purple.
"I'm sick of you trying to run the show in this family! I wear the pants…me, not you!"
His hand grabbed her blouse and yanked her to within an inch of his face while he panted like a rabid beast. The putrid smell of alcohol again accosted her nostrils and she fought not to grimace. That would set him off, too. Of course, he's already off and running, now isn't he? We’re steamrolling all over those shells. The inner voice running its inane dialog tsked at her.
The collar of her blouse tightened around her throat as his fist twisted the material. She fought to take a shallow breath as the edges of her vision blackened. But if I pass out, then I won't feel the beating, she reasoned.
His next words were spoken so low she almost had to strain to hear them. To her shame, she felt herself wet her panties when he spoke.
"I'm gonna teach you a lesson you will NEVER forget!"
(c) 2011 by Vickie Jenkins writing as Ria MacAlister
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"Betrayal of Legends, The Falls of Deorra"
"But my love, the Khaldans are barely humanoid. They're barbaric, treacherous killers. I cannot believe the Queen would demand this of you."
Aliana smiled at the vehemence of her father's words. Anger was a rare thing for him to unleash, something not tolerated from the males of her planet. She knew it was concern for his only offspring that prompted the outburst. And besides, Aliana never held with the dictates of society that males should be silent and submissive. They had feelings just like females, after all, and should be allowed to express them.
Moving to stand beside her father she placed a hand on his arm, hoping to soothe him with her loving touch, though her own heart was aching at the thought of leaving the only blood she loved, the only one who loved her in return. Her mother, the ruling queen of the twin planets of the Cha' Qo' Alliance, certainly couldn’t make that claim. Aliana was just another useful tool in the never-ending political games her mother played. To the Queen, love was an unknown and unnecessary entity.
Aliana forced her mood and words to be light, as it would only cause her father further pain and distress by showing her true fear, and that was something she would never allow to happen.
"Oh, Father, don't be silly! They differ little from us." Except, of course, for their warriors, with their immense height and thick build, their dark skin and eyes, and the rumors of their inability to mate…but she kept those disturbing thoughts to herself.
This very eve would herald the arrival of her future husband, the first time she would lay eyes upon him. And that fact was what prompted the current discussion with her father, the fears that had been simmering for the past several months surfacing and threatening to overwhelm them both.
Though she knew much about the Khaldan customs and culture, and garnered extensive knowledge of the planet itself in large part due to the archives in the Royal Library, she had learned very little about the man she was to marry. The archives were dated before the current king's birth, with only snippets of more contemporary information in the form of stories of opening ceremonies and balls he had attended. While reportedly a very handsome and fairly young man at only ten years older than herself, Aliana didn't even know what he looked like, as no pictures of the man could be found. Aliana wasn't concerned with the man's looks, however, as she had been taught by her beloved Father to not judge by the outward. His favorite saying echoed through her mind. You can put a robe and crown on swine, Aliana, and all you'll have is a well-dressed dinner. Aliana often wondered if Father might have been referring to his wife.
Brought up in a home--a palace, rather--where appearances meant everything and excesses were deemed a royal right and necessity, Aliana truly abhorred the grand fineries of the palace and most especially hated the personal embellishments the Queen was so intent on her daughter adorning. Aliana resisted at every turn, preferring stockings and simple tunics that were bare of decoration and keeping her jewelry to a minimum, only wearing a crystal ring her father had given her for her sixteenth year. In order to keep some semblance of peace with the Queen, Aliana would don her gaudy and painfully heavy royal robes whenever she had an audience with her mother. Of course, the Queen never knew her daughter was wearing her own favored clothing underneath.
No, King Rogg's looks certainly weren't an issue. It was his heart and moral code that most concerned her, two pieces of information she had no clue about. Was he kind and considerate? Did he care for those less fortunate, or did he rule from afar, never really coming into contact with his subjects? The only information she had to content herself with was the knowledge that at least King Rogg wasn't a Khaldan warrior.
Known as the Vika, the infamous warriors were rumored to be descended from an ancient race of fierce Khaldan giants. They were feared throughout the galaxy for their brutish war practices and single-minded determination to win at all costs, not to mention their fabled immense size. Aliana shivered, wondering if she would have to meet any Vika this eve. She hoped not, choosing to keep her fears centered on the task at hand…meeting her betrothed.
By all accounts the Royal House of Khalda was said to be similar to her own people, at least in appearance. Aliana was counting on that being a fact. Marriage and--she shuddered at the thought--subsequent mating to an overly large mate was not something she dared consider, being so slight of build herself. Even among her own diminutive people she was considered quite small, a fact she detested and one she feared would be used against her. Her one true fear was that of being dominated--stifled, commanded to silence and submission, put in a veritable prison. Knowing the culture of Khalda was male-oriented, unlike her own where women ruled, this was one of her deepest worries of the upcoming marriage.
Wrapping her arm around her sire's waist, Aliana ducked under his bowed head, forcing him to look at her. Brushing a lock of pale gold hair from his forehead, she gazed into his green-speckled amber eyes, so like her own. Aliana was eternally thankful she took after her adored parent, both in temperament and appearance. As far as she was concerned, she was nothing like the woman who had borne her, whose silvery cool looks mirrored her frosty demeanor, a fitting match for the twin planets' frozen landscape.
With a soft voice, she tried to ease her father's fears the best she could. She gently cupped his bearded cheek, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. "Father, surely you realize what this alliance can offer us, what it means." She smiled, hoping her expression was one of comfort, and not the painful grimace she feared it might be. "Besides, I've read that the Royal House of Khalda is nothing like their famed warriors. They are said to be of smaller stature and not nearly as fierce." She forced conviction into her voice.
Rahd waved his free hand as the other slipped around his daughter's waist, pulling her close. His voice was a pained groan. "I am aware of that, and am thankful for at least that small concession to this fiasco." He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. "I just question the timing of this betrothal. It does seem strange that it is occurring just before you are to assume the throne." His eyes narrowed. "With her only daughter married and half-way across the galaxy, the Queen will be allowed to continue her reign."
Aliana was a bit startled at what her father was implying. The Royal Rule of the Cha' Qo Alliance passed from mother to daughter upon the daughter's twenty-first year. She frowned as she considered his words, suddenly startled as she realized the twenty-first anniversary of her own birth was just four months away, yet no preparations had been ordered for the coronation, an event revered by the Cha' Qon as sacred, one that had always been celebrated by the entire planet for a full week. Such a colossal event would require at least a full year of planning, wouldn't it?
She shook her head in denial at what her father's words and the Queen's lack of action suggested. Aliana wondered if the rumors Renna shared with her were true--that the Royal coffers were soon to be depleted thanks to the Queen's excesses and lack of preparation for the ice cycle. If that were the case, perhaps the coronation was going to be a simple affair, one that would not be so costly as a planet-wide event.
And surely the timing of the marriage was just a coincidence. The betrothal was necessary for the alliance with Khalda, and the alliance was needed for the protection it would provide to Cha' Qo'. Such protection hadn't been necessary before, not until the recent event that had stirred such fear among her people. She forced herself to push aside any doubts her father's words stirred in her mind.
His voice was choked with emotion as he continued. "Lia, I am fearful for you. I don't wish you to be harmed." His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "And so far from me."
Aliana stifled her own sob as she buried her face into his side, breathing in his warm scent she had relished since she was a toddler. It would do no good to show her father how fearful she truly was of leaving him, her home and friends to travel clear across the galaxy in order to marry a man she would barely know after this eve.
Only her mother had met King Rogg when she had traveled to the Intergalactic Conference of Imperial Regents held at the neutral planet of Seder. It was at ICIR that her mother had presented her fears of the twin planets' vulnerability to attack. No longer having a military force for defense--the Queen had disbanded them a few years prior due to "lack of necessity and funding"--the recent encounter with a hostile scouting party from the barbarian planet Helthö had frightened the Cha' Qon into realizing their vulnerability.
When the Queen returned from the conference, she cooly informed Aliana she had secured her betrothal to King Rogg in order to guarantee an alliance with the Khaldans, a race known for its military might. The marriage would ensure the protection of Cha' Qo', while in exchange would hopefully provide an heir for the throne of Khalda, something they desperately needed and were forced to look outside their own to provide, due to a century of genetic manipulation by Khaldan scientists that had left the people nearly bereft of the ability to procreate. Even their warriors were reported to be completely impotent and incapable of mating, despite their seeming virility.
Aliana knew the marriage would be extremely advantageous for both sides, but that knowledge fell far short from helping her overcome her terror at the prospect, and the animosity of feeling like a bargaining chip in a trade agreement. The brave front she put on now was solely for her adoring father.
Clearing her throat, she turned her face slightly so her voice wouldn't be muffled in his side. "I was told Mother was quite adamant in securing assurances that I would be treated well." Not that she really cares what happens to me. As long as she has her alliance...
Shaking such thoughts aside, she looked up at him and continued in a stronger voice. "As I'm expected to provide an heir to their throne, the Khaldans assured Mother I would be well-cared for and protected." Of course, all her information was second-hand, coming from the Queen's counselor, who adored Aliana. Her mother hadn't yet bothered to explain anything to her. Nothing like waiting until the last minute.
Rahd slowly shook his golden head at his beloved daughter. He started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. Sighing heavily, he took her small hand, cradling it in gently between his own. "I believe I should ask our queen if I might go with you." Smiling sadly at her, he sniffed, "I don' think a First Husband serves any true purpose to Cha' Qo' once he's sired a daughter." His large hand covered hers as his eyes glistened. "And that duty has truly been the joy of my life, despite all your little…adventures."
Aliana laughed then, her voice a bit watery at her father's words as she wrapped both arms around him. He sighed heavily and rested his chin on the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. She could feel her father's tears sliding into her hair while her own heart cracked just a bit more.
(c) 2011 by Vickie Jenkins writing as Ria MacAlister
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