Where Fate May Lead

Last week I shared the first chapter of a western historical romance I've written, so this week I'll switch gears and post a prologue from a medieval romance. It is with more than a little trepidation that I do this, as this excerpt is from the first manuscript I ever completed. This is the story I ground my teeth on (and honestly, I know it could use a little more grinding). Many blessings on my poor critique group for hanging in there with me three long years while I read this in our meetings. They were patient beyond belief when I'm sure they all dreaded the moment I pulled my paper-clipped pages out each week.

This story begins in the early 12th century in northern England. It's a swashbuckling tale complete with sword fights, castles, and damsels in distress. If you're not used to reading this type of novel, the language alone may have you rolling on the floor in hysterics. And for those readers of this blog who have professed numerous times that they really don't like reading romances (hi, Karlene :D), feel free to roll your eyes as much as you'd like. But Please do continue sharing your opinions on prologues vs. first chapters.

And for another, completely opposite, opinion on this subject, be sure to hop over to the Frog Blog and read Jeff Savage's latest post.

My purpose in writing this particular prologue was to let the reader see firsthand a significant event in the heroine's young life. This scene also gives readers a chance to see a lot of Rebekah's personality---especially her spunk and adventuresome spirit---and to understand why she is this way as an adult later in the story.


Prologue
Moorleigh Estates, England, 1108

This time they were not going to find her.

With that thought spurring her on, Rebekah flung open the stable door, plunging into the bright glare of the afternoon sun. She raced down the hill, away from the manor and toward the shelter of the thick trees, counting in her head as she ran, knowing she had only precious minutes until they came after her.

At the forest edge she dared a look back and saw no one. The gentle sloping field between the bosk and her home lay deceptively quiet and peaceful. In the far distance she could see the stable door still ajar. Where are they? Are they not going to come after me? Twould be just like them to send me out to hide and then decide not to play. What a beastly trick. Why can't I ever think of anything like that?

Fuming, Rebekah clenched her hands into fists and began marching back up the hill, her mind racing with all the terrible things she was going to say to her brothers.

Their sudden, collective whoop stopped her. She looked up to see all five jumping from the hay loft. She watched them land, wishing broken legs on all of them for their cheating. Of course, they'd waited—waited and peeked to see which direction she was going, and now they were all up, racing toward her. Drat. Why couldn't I have inherited at least a little of mother's talent for sorcery?

"Cheaters," Rebekah yelled, bolting back toward the trees. She was still going to win.

She reached the forest and kept running, scarcely noticing where she was going. A low branch scraped against her cheek, and the next second she nearly twisted her ankle jumping over a felled tree. Pulling away from the log, she heard a rip but dared not stop to see what damage was done to her gown. Instead, she gathered her skirts higher and pushed deeper into the forest.

If they caught her, she seethed, it would be the fault of this dreadful gown. As if her age and size were not disadvantage enough, she was forced to wear gowns and mantles, overskirts and restricting sleeves all of which were over-adorned and cumbersome, keeping most girls from engaging in any sort of play. Tis a good thing I'm not easily discouraged, she thought.

Tearing the wimple from her head she tossed it aside, leaving it purposely as a clue to her whereabouts. If she was going to win today, she would do it boldly.

Panting heavily, Rebekah stopped a moment, looking in each direction. She'd run so fast that she'd not paid attention to where she was but knew her tree had to be close. She looked up, studying the scattered patches of sky that were visible this deep in the forest. They formed pictures for her, and she'd memorized them as one might a map. Now it took but a moment for her to read their familiar shapes, and then she was off, a confident smile in place.

She turned west, plunging on with little care over the brittle leaves and twigs. Her brothers were nearby. They were thrashing about somewhere behind her, loud enough—hopefully—to drown out any noise she made. She used up her wish for any future falling star she might see, wishing that her legs would go faster. When she felt the boys gaining on her, she even promised God that she would leave the Brimhall's dog alone, and not call anyone names, and even try to obey Anna for a whole month if only she could win just this once.

It would be worth all that and more to have bested her brothers.

Perhaps, if God were concerned with a little sparrow, as their priest told her, then he was also mindful of a ten-year-old girl and the sore trials she endured having five older brothers. She hoped so. A moment later, she knew he was.

Her blue ribbon fluttered on the branch where she'd tied it earlier to mark her newest and best-ever hiding spot. Reaching up, she ripped it away then ducked through the low opening, crawling into the hollow of the old oak. Inside the tree, the ground sloped upward, widening at the back enough for her to partially stretch her legs. She could rest there later. But for now, she wedged herself closer to the front, positioning her face before a knothole that was at the perfect height to see out.

Quickly, she raked leaves over her boots, covering the tips that poked out from under the rotting roots. Shoving the folds of her dress behind her, she tucked them between her legs and lowered her weight onto her heels. She clasped one hand over her mouth to quiet her heavy breathing. Smiling behind her hand, she settled down for a long wait.

It had been terribly foolish to bet all five of her brothers on a game of hide-and-seek. Quite often she was able to elude one or two of them, but she'd never outfoxed all of them at the same time. But with this hiding place—Rebekah looked around contentedly at her miniature cave—with this hiding place they'd never find her.

But twas wicked fun thinking of the consequences if they did. She shuddered, imagining one of their faces peering into her lookout, scaring her. Mostly, she liked being scared, but she wouldn't like what came after. First, they would tickle her until she begged mercy. Then they'd each take a turn throwing her in the icy lake—or would it be the mud bath this time? Rebekah wriggled her toes inside her boots, remembering the squishy feel of the mud from her last encounter. Finally, the boys would probably twist her in the swing until she was dizzy enough to retch. Well, maybe they wouldn't do that since she had gotten sick on Nathaniel last time. Of course none of that mattered, because they were not going to find her. She need only be patient and wait as her brothers combed the trees for her. But patience was not her best virtue, and she soon began to fidget.

Her shoes pinched. What a bother they were. The laces were done up too tight again, and she couldn't reach over her layers of skirts to loosen them. Rebekah shifted her weight and leaned back into the oak, only to have her hair catch in a snag of the tree. She jerked her head forward impatiently and was rewarded with a sharp pain to her scalp. She scratched at it, then found that her back itched where she could not reach. Her throat began to tickle too—all that running had made her terribly thirsty—and she just knew she was going to sneeze for all the dirt she was sitting in.

She pinched her nose just in time. From her hiding place, she saw Gareth standing only a few paces away. He turned a full circle, and even looked straight toward her tree but did not see her. After he left, Rebekah rolled her eyes instead of letting go a relieved sigh. Knowing her brothers, they searched together, and no doubt another one was nearby. She smiled smugly at her intuition when Kaleb appeared in front of her tree not a moment later. He poked around, then left, and after nigh an hour Rebekah remained safely hidden. Tired of waiting and just plain tired, she shifted to a more comfortable position and fell asleep.

* * *

Darien's voice woke her. Rebekah sat upright, scooting forward to peek out of the tree, and was surprised to see that the gloom of evening had come to the forest. The boys were defeated. She could hardly contain her giggles at this thought. What good things she would get for winning today—David's pudding, the use of Nathaniel's fishing pole, and maybe even a pair of Gareth's old breeks.

"Bec–ky." Her eldest brother's deep voice echoed through the nearby trees.

"You'll not get her to come out, Darien," Gareth said. "She'll think we're tricking her."

"Rebekah, you win," Darien called. "But you've got to come out now. Hurry, please."

Rebekah unlatched her toes from beneath the root, pushed her body up, and started forward, her wrinkled dress unfolding behind her as she ran gleefully out into the open.

"You admitted it. I heard you. I heard you." She threw her arms wide and began twirling.

Darien grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Quiet," he whispered in her ear. "Listen to me, Becky. We're not playing the game anymore."

"There's trouble," Gareth interrupted. "Let her go, Darien. But keep quiet—all right, Becky?"

Rebekah nodded. Darien released her slowly, unsure if she would keep her word.

"If this is a trick. If you're cheating . . . " she whispered.

Darien shook his head. "We're not fooling. Men—lots of them—just came."

"Whose?" Rebekah asked.

"Don't know. I've not seen their coat of arms before, but they have loads of weapons, and they don't look friendly." Darien glanced over his shoulder as if he expected to see the men he spoke of emerging from the trees.

"Mama sent you to find me," Rebekah concluded, chewing her lip, glancing at her dirty gown, wondering how much trouble she was in.

"Mama came to tell us to stay away. That the men came to–that they were–she knows—she saw," Gareth blurted.

Rebekah's eyes grew wide, and she pulled against Darien's hold. "She saw something bad is going to happen?" She turned to Gareth, her eyes imploring him to tell her.

"Yes," Darien answered.

Rebekah whirled to face him again. "But she cannot change things or she'll—she'll die."

"She's not dead, but the telling—it made her weak—so David, Nathaniel, and Kaleb took her back to the manor, and we came to find you."

"Oh Mama," Rebekah cried. Tears sprang to her eyes. "She shouldn't have tried to change things."

"She wanted us safe. Which is why we must hide, now," Darien said. "Back in your tree, Becky."

Rebekah clung to his hand. "I want to stay with you. Can't we all hide together?"

"There's not any place big enough, and we've got to get you safe first. Mama would—"

"You hide here," Rebekah interrupted, swiping at her tears. She tugged Darien toward the tree. "It's big enough for you."

"Aw, Becky." Darien pulled her close once more. "I've got to see you safe. I promised Mama."

"I will be safe. I know lots of places." She wiggled out of his grasp.

"There isn't time," Darien argued, steering her again toward the tree.

"Where will you go?"

"Don't worry about me. Just get in there and stay quiet." He placed a hand on her head, gently pushing her down to the opening.

Rebekah reluctantly obeyed, crawling again into the hollow. Once inside she turned and stuck her head out. "Can Gareth hide with me?"

"Is there room?" Darien asked. Squatting down, he poked his head into the tree.

"There is if I squish and hold my breath—see." Rebekah puffed up her cheeks with air and flattened herself against the back of the tree.

Darien turned to Gareth. "You too," he said, motioning to the opening.

"No."

"Do it." Darien lowered his voice to a whisper. "Can't you feel them?" He placed his hand on the ground.

I feel it, Rebekah wanted to say. The ground fairly hummed with vibration.

"Horses," Gareth said after a moment. He closed his eyes. "Lots of them—with heavy riders. I see a man—"

"Enough." Darien said. "Get in there and keep her quiet."

"What about you?"

"Stay with Becky. No matter what, stay with Becky. Promise me, Gareth."

They locked eyes—brothers—eldest and youngest.

"I promise," Gareth said. He glanced at Darien for a final second, then scrambled through the opening.

Darien stood and ran away, disappearing from their view.

Inside the hollow Rebekah felt as if she could barely breath with Gareth practically on top of her. Maybe she shouldn't have invited him in. But she was worried about Mama, and she was frightened. Really frightened. She wished she was in front so she could see outside.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

"Sshhh." Gareth put a finger to his lips, then shifted his arm to wrap it around Rebekah, pulling her closer than she already was. "I can't see. I'm too tall for the hole."

"We could trade."

"No. Hush now. Someone's coming."

"Someone?" It was more than a someone. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could see them too.



Darien had not put twenty paces between himself and the tree where Rebekah and Gareth hid when the legion came upon him. They were dressed in armor such as he'd never before seen, and they seemed to come from every direction at once, surrounding him.

He stood still, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the men could hear it. A lone rider came forward and lifted his sword, pointing it at him. Darien recognized Rebekah's discarded wimple dangling from the point. He looked up at the man, willing his eyes away from the bright blue fabric.

"Where is the girl this belongs to? Your sister, perhaps?" The man's cold, gray eyes met Darien's.

Darien did not speak. He could barely breathe.

"You will not tell me?" the man asked, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

Darien clenched his teeth. He would not tell.

"She might have been at the manor," another man suggested, riding forward to join the first.

"Unfortunate we do not know, isn't it?" the first man asked, turning on the second with such anger that Darien stepped backwards. "Fools! To set it afire without first making sure she was not inside."

Fire. His mother had spoken of fire. Had Kaleb and David gotten her safely away? Had Nathaniel found Father? Darien looked up, taking a deep breath at the same time. The faint scent of smoke filled his nostrils, and he focused his thoughts away from this spot, past the trees to their home. Towers of billowing smoke rose from the manor. His brothers cries echoed through his mind. There had not been time.

The first man looked at him again. Pulling his sword back, he slowly drew Rebekah's wimple along the edge until it was split in two. He lifted the torn fabric from the blade and tucked it in his belt. Looking at Darien, he promised, "I will attend to her later."

Darien kept his eyes locked with the man's and struggled to remain motionless. Please God, he begged. Let Rebekah stay quiet. Let her and Gareth live.

At last the man looked away, turning again to the soldier beside him. "He will not tell us anything. Kill him."

The soldier nodded, withdrew his sword and started toward Darien but then hesitated. "He is only a boy, Gilbert."

Gilbert looked at the man with hatred.

"He is man enough to know when to speak. As you should be man enough to know when to keep silent." Gilbert reined his horse around to the men behind him.

"Kill them both."




Excerpt from Where Fate May Lead
by Michele Paige Holmes