by: Genni Stanfer

Description:
Emerald is a young girl who escapes capture from King Darius, a heartless ruler who is terrorizing the people of his land. She goes to King Robert for help, but gets more than she bargains for when she is struck by his good looks and beautiful voice.

Soon both their lives hang in the balance in a race against time, when it all comes down to good versus evil.
Continue the story

by Elfmae

Evelyn woke with a pain in her head. It radiated from her right temple and as she put her hand to her skin and gingerly touched the wound she audibly winced and decided not to poke around. Her eyes crept open. Light filtered into the room through bars in the door. ‘Where the hell am I’ she said. It all started to come together in her mind. ‘ Oh Shit’ then Evelyn slipped back into unconsciousness. Continue the story

by Cheri Henderson

London society, hearing of Emily Chadwick’s engagement and subsequent marriage to Lord Paul Ambrose Bradford, felt she had done very well by her family. Emily herself, being of a more sentimental nature, felt herself the luckiest of women. Paul, with his dark, poetic looks and exquisite manners, fit all her notions of manly perfection. Her closest friends all agreed that Lord Bradford made an ideal bridegroom and husband. Continue the story

by Cheri Henderson

Dear Daughter Aurelia;

I remember being in the field outside our villa near Abona – I can close my eyes and see the corner with the side entrance – two steps lead up to the rough timber door. The two storied walls glow amber in the sun, under the red tile roof. We couldn’t replace those tiles easily, which caused my grandmother Morfudd to constantly complain about Roman architecture. Continue the story

by Raven

When the wind howling thru the tavern doors ceased it’s cacaphony, he stood there. A tall figure of a man, draped in a flowing woolen cloak, the hood pulled low, so none could see his face. Some went back to their drinking, but most watched as he slowly pulled off his black leather gloves, placing each in a pocket, and then, with a smooth graceful motion, he swept the hood from his head and surveyed the barroom with piercing blue grey eyes. His long blonde hair tumbled wild over his shoulders, and his tanned high planed face shone with the light of the very thin sheen of ice upon it. He reached for his throat, undoing the clasp that held the cloak in place and arching his shoulders slightly he let it fall from his broad shoulders. His silk shirt, opened to mid chest was wet with melting ice, but he showed no signs of discomfort. His tight fitting black jodphurs were tucked into his knee high black boots and all could see the sword scabbard that hung at his side. And the dagger tucked into his belt. He shook out his long blonde curls once and then he strode into the tavern and commanded, “Bring me ale, barkeep!” Continue the story

by Raven

He had no idea how long he had waited, but it was longer than a “short time”, much longer. He judged it must have been at least 3 days. The special room for the “honored” guests was little more than a small cell. Robert Thorncraft was shackled to the dank wall, his arms suspended and spread above his head, his feet barely touching the floor. He had tried to work one of his wrists free, but discovered an unpleasant surprise. The inside of each cuff was studded with tiny metal slivers and they had bitten into his flesh, causing the blood to run down his arms. His chest was slick with sweat and he was tired, bone tired, but when he let his posture relax, the pain in his wrists became almost unbearable. When he heard the creak of the door, he raised his head slowly and saw her come in. Continue the story

by Raven

The day’s ride was longer than any Dove could remember, but she marked the fact that they always rode north. She wondered where he was taking her, and then decided it really didn’t matter. Despite his claims that he intended to release her, Dove was of the opinion he would kill her sooner or later. It just didn’t make sense to do anything else. Continue the story

by Raven

Morning dawned cold and snowy. When the last of the embers had died away, the room Robert and Dove shared had become bitterly cold. They were up before the sun and on the road. Dove was content to sit as close to Robert as she could, each sharing their cloaks for warmth. At midday, Robert stopped the horse and shielded his eyes from the blowing snow, looking for something which should be just up ahead. And it was, a gate. Continue the story

by Raven

They had left the manor shortly thereafter, and reached Robert Thorncraft’s stronghold just before true dark. Once again Dove was frozen with the cold, but she comforted herself that soon she would be inside and beside a warming fire. When Robert had bid the gatekeeper open the gates and ridden thru them, he called, “Trask, come, take this animal to the stables. Make sure it’s cooled down and blanketed. We need strong horses.” Continue the story

by Raven

Dove had been apprenticed to Robert Thorncraft for two weeks. To her, it had seemed like two years. She was up before dawn and never allowed to sleep before all the work was done. She found out quickly why mercenaries under the leadership of Robert Thorncraft were so hard. He drilled them mercilessly and he gave no favor to any. Continue the story

by Raven

The coldness of winter had melted into a gentle warm spring, and Robert and his compatriots were often out, campaiging on behalf of some nobel or the other. They always demanded payment first, and gave everything they said they would. Robert Thorncraft was fast making a reputation for himself as an “honest mercenary” and his services were in high demand. Continue the story

by Raven

Summer had hastened into Autumn. Robert had sent a messenger to his stronghold with the word he would be returning in three days time. The manor had run smoothly in his absence. Dove, Lissa Savage, and Belso had confered and agreed on everything concerning the running of a huge manor and the caring for over 100 individuals. And so it was that on the nite the messenger had come, the 3 were the great hall, enjoying a jug of wine and talking amiably. Continue the story

by Raven

Lissa Savage paced the room she was in. She was dying to get to Robert, only now it seemed he had gone off with that fool of a priest. And Justin, that foolish little boy. If he knew what was good for his health he would never return here. Lissa was sure Dove was dead, she could not possibly have survived the beating. And Lissa had inflicted several cuts that she knew would bleed until there was no blood left in her body. But why had Justin taken the body so early? And WHERE had he taken it? Lissa and Belso had scoured the chasm, using two days to make sure they missed nothing. There was no sign that a body had ever been there. Lissa supposed the wolves could have torn it to bits and taken it off, but there should have been bones at least. She shook her head in frustration, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Well, she couldn’t worry about that now. She knew Robert was beside himself with grief for the little slut. She intended to comfort him very well, and then she intended to take Dove’s place. As Lissa paced, she heard the door open and Andrew came in, taking a seat and pouring himself some ale. He watched Lissa and then he said, “You seem agitated, Lady Savage. Is there something wrong?” Continue the story

by Raven

Dove heaved herself off the chair she was sitting on. She found pregnancy in the latter stages to be very confining. And they had not even been married a year! Dove went to the window and looked down on the courtyard. She watched as the men filed thru the open gates, coming home from the lates campaign. Robert was there, dirty and tired looking, but she was extremely grateful he had no wounds. He had not been as lucky in the previous campaign. Continue the story

by Raven

Dove’s punishment was brutal. The middle of the courtyard provided no shade, and the unusually hot sun beat down on her all day. The only time she was given shade was when her son was brought to her and held to her breast for feeding. The flies were savage, biting her all over. She had no choice but to relieve herself where she hung and that drew more flies. By the end of the third day, Dove thought she might go mad. Continue the story

by Raven

Her father came to her in late afternoon. The winds had turned cold and Dove shivered. It was going to be a long cold winter, as it had been a short, but very hot summer. When he entered her chambers he said, “Your husband should be here before sundown.” Continue the story

The foregoing chronicle, one of the many written as an early history of the two semi-mythical knights-errant, had initially been attributed to the monks of St. Botolph of the Bent Nail but is now generally felt to be the work of a certain Sister Ciel, who was deemed unruly herself and duly ordered to do penance for the writing of her Chronicle, also said to have contained portions dealing with their later adventures on Crusade in the Holy Land which are fortunately lost in the mists of time due to their purported Rabelaisesque scurrility and frequent mention of dysentery and other unseemly subjects. (excerpt from “Early Chronicles of the English”, compiled and edited by Sir Edward Crowe Leigh, Bt., etc., etc.). Continue the story

King Henry met his end and was succeeded by his son Richard*, whose appetite for deeds of arms was of great repute. Ere long an opportunity arose to wreak havoc on inhabitants of a foreign place, so he perforce took it and assembled an army to support a siege of the Holy Land**. James and Robert, though having attained their knightly spurs, did not share his avidity for the cracking of heads and sundry bloodletting. Nonetheless, they found themselves eager both to travel in strange places and to partake in the conquest of a land reputed to be a rich source of plunder. Continue the story

In a fortress not far from the Holy City itself, there dwelt a greedy individual known to all in that region as the Old Man of the Mountain. He had acquired a wealth of enemies and as it was his deepest desire to be rid of them, he sought followers to carry out his will. He found the most willing of them among those who spent their days sitting along the waysides of the city, calling loudly and persistantly after the women passing by and even grabbing at their skirts to signal their interest. These activities having the effect of hastening away all but the most ill-favored of the half-shekel harlots, they were always discontented. ‘Tis said that the Old Man would invite such men to his fortress, ply them with quantities of hashish and evoke visions of a paradise with fountains everflowing with wine and beautiful willing women that would surely follow upon their removal of his enemies.* Continue the story

Ere many days had passed, the crusading army came upon the walls of the Holy City itself, making encampment and preparation for the long-anticipated seige. As was the practice, the herald announced their presence, though ’tis sure ‘twould not have escaped the interested notice of those within. But thereupon an event of considerable perplexedness occurred, wherein emissaries of the city advised the gates would be opened to them in welcome without the expected struggle. This was not the first crusade by any means and the inhabitants had found previous invading foreigners had a great fondness for places of entertainment, were easily bilked for such delights, and thuswise would be a ready source of income. Continue the story