Welcome to Week Three of Medieval Monday! Be sure to check out the Medieval Romance Lovers page on FB to discover some great authors. You can also find us on twitter, #MedMonFall20.
As for my snippet this week, Lachlann and Deidre are getting closer to the Christmas tree farm. A lake sparkles in the distance. Lachlann is torn between his feelings for her and what he has to tell her.
Lachlann thought he’d been terrified when the earth opened and swallowed him up. He’d been afraid when he’d awoken broken and lost in a strange time and place. But those feelings were nothing compared to the terror that seized him now. What if, when he told her, she rejected him outright? Be it a day or a lifetime, he was going to ruin whatever time they had left together. But he knew that he owed her the truth, especially if he was going to ask for her help.
“I have a few questions before I tell you everything.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Before?”
“Okay.” He glanced out of his window. A lake shimmered in the distance. “I have a lot to tell you.”
He could never lose her. In the infinite vastness of time – past, present, future, past – he wouldn’t lose her.
Love was eternal.
Lachlann had lost his entire family to the plague. He’d lost himself by falling through time. He had to go back, to return to the fourteenth century and try to save his family, save his son. But how could he leave Deidre? He needed her like he needed air. And she needed him.
Would she want him if he told her the truth about himself? Would she even believe him?
Deidre had never known a man could be as beautiful and tender as Lachlann. She wanted to erase the haunted look in his eyes, to make him as happy as he made her. She wished he would confide in her. But was she ready to confide in him? To explain how she’d lost everything – her life, her family, her self-respect – because of her own poor choices?
Why did she have the feeling she could lose it all again?
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Keep me away from the wisdom that does not cry, the philosophy that does not laugh, and the greatness which does not bow before children. – Gibran Khalil Gibran
From me to you with a smile.
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