I'm stuck - damnit

[christabelll]

I have been crazily writing Crusader these past weeks...
I was given a fabulous idea - for redoing the opening -
And though I can play it in my head - I cant seem to get past --------------------ARGH....

Would any one be interested in taking a quick gander? I would really appreciate it.
PLEASE?
Pretty Please?
Strawberries, chocolate and cream too????

 

[Vermilion]

I will, but I won;t be able to comment today. I've reached the 'so tired I'm on the verge of tears' stage of exhaustion right now... Feel free to pick someone else if you need a faster response.

x
V

 

[christabelll]

CRUSADER - Prologue -(paranormal/fantasy/romance)

I should wait until there is a taker before posting the stupid thing...

head hurts really bad now - must take meds and space for a while... please any one willing to read 10 pages for me???

 

[christabelll]

Thanks darling... you go rest.... take care of yourself... a nice cuppa might help too....

*****((((MILS))))*****

 

[Vermilion]

Thanks darling... you go rest.... take care of yourself... a nice cuppa might help too....

*****((((MILS))))*****

my teeth are hurting
no hot or cold drinks for me...

 

[christabelll]

not even body temperature??? So sorry about that.....


Any other takers?

 

[Vermilion]

not even body temperature??? So sorry about that.....


Any other takers?

yeah, tepid is fine, but who wants tepid tea? yeurk
oh well, bed soon
Hope someone volunteers Sweets
x
V

 

[christabelll]

any one?

please?


begging.http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x94/christabelll/3238592-md.jpg

 

[christabelll]

okay, I am asking other authors....

how do you write the antagonist of the story without cliches??? egads

My Marquis is a slimy toad indeed...and he was forced to give up his pursuit of the damsel by the fathers sticking to his word. He has however manipulated her father into letting him attend the wedding and has lingered like a burr in their sides for weeks........ but as soon as her husbands is for to leave for the crusade he is on her like a burr- Father in Law physically beats the man half to death and casts him out of the keep.... setting up the future tragedy as it unfolds in vision in the far distant future......

He is the son of a Duke ...hence Marquis (thank you Stella for that)... he is grasping, greedy, cunning, vengel, cold, aggressive etc.
Now the question is... how do you write it ?
thats where I am stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

 

[Belegon]

okay, I am asking other authors....

how do you write the antagonist of the story without cliches??? egads

My Marquis is a slimy toad indeed...and he was forced to give up his pursuit of the damsel by the fathers sticking to his word. He has however manipulated her father into letting him attend the wedding and has lingered like a burr in their sides for weeks........ but as soon as her husbands is for to leave for the crusade he is on her like a burr- Father in Law physically beats the man half to death and casts him out of the keep.... setting up the future tragedy as it unfolds in vision in the far distant future......

He is the son of a Duke ...hence Marquis (thank you Stella for that)... he is grasping, greedy, cunning, vengel, cold, aggressive etc.
Now the question is... how do you write it ?
thats where I am stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

The best way I know to write a villain and not make him cliche is find something really good about him and work it in.

The most interesting bad guys are the ones we can imagine being good guys if something different had happened at one point in their lives.

This might not work in this case, but even trying to think of a redeeming trait might help you get unblocked...

 

[Boxlicker101]

I have been crazily writing Crusader these past weeks...
I was given a fabulous idea - for redoing the opening -
And though I can play it in my head - I cant seem to get past --------------------ARGH....

Would any one be interested in taking a quick gander? I would really appreciate it.
PLEASE?
Pretty Please?
Strawberries, chocolate and cream too????

I will, but you won't need strawberies, chocolate and cream. Your AV is better than them.

 

[Jack_Windmere]

Silly question perhaps, but how do I access your story?

At least a reasonable chance I might offer some advice. Quite literate, just not technically savvy here.

 

[plesmone]

okay, I am asking other authors....

how do you write the antagonist of the story without cliches??? egads

My Marquis is a slimy toad indeed...and he was forced to give up his pursuit of the damsel by the fathers sticking to his word. He has however manipulated her father into letting him attend the wedding and has lingered like a burr in their sides for weeks........ but as soon as her husbands is for to leave for the crusade he is on her like a burr- Father in Law physically beats the man half to death and casts him out of the keep.... setting up the future tragedy as it unfolds in vision in the far distant future......

He is the son of a Duke ...hence Marquis (thank you Stella for that)... he is grasping, greedy, cunning, vengel, cold, aggressive etc.
Now the question is... how do you write it ?
thats where I am stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Perhaps I'm missing the point. You seem to have him down pretty well.
I would just imagine being in his presence. If he slithered up behind you, even as quietly as you would expect a villain like that to be, I would think the hairs on the back of your neck would stand up and your skin would craw if near enough to him. His looks and personality would seem interchangeable. The villain would, of course, see himself very differently - powerful in the secret deeds, unjustly distained, but triumpant in the end.
Or said another way, there is a difference between clichés and descriptive phrases.

 

[Boxlicker101]

okay, I am asking other authors....

how do you write the antagonist of the story without cliches??? egads

My Marquis is a slimy toad indeed...and he was forced to give up his pursuit of the damsel by the fathers sticking to his word. He has however manipulated her father into letting him attend the wedding and has lingered like a burr in their sides for weeks........ but as soon as her husbands is for to leave for the crusade he is on her like a burr- Father in Law physically beats the man half to death and casts him out of the keep.... setting up the future tragedy as it unfolds in vision in the far distant future......

He is the son of a Duke ...hence Marquis (thank you Stella for that)... he is grasping, greedy, cunning, vengel, cold, aggressive etc.
Now the question is... how do you write it ?
thats where I am stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

You said you wanted to give him some good qualities. Maybe make him a pretty good poet or musician - and vain about that. I don't know if that would have been in keeping with a member of the nobility.

 

[slyc_willie]

okay, I am asking other authors....

how do you write the antagonist of the story without cliches??? egads

My Marquis is a slimy toad indeed...and he was forced to give up his pursuit of the damsel by the fathers sticking to his word. He has however manipulated her father into letting him attend the wedding and has lingered like a burr in their sides for weeks........ but as soon as her husbands is for to leave for the crusade he is on her like a burr- Father in Law physically beats the man half to death and casts him out of the keep.... setting up the future tragedy as it unfolds in vision in the far distant future......

He is the son of a Duke ...hence Marquis (thank you Stella for that)... he is grasping, greedy, cunning, vengel, cold, aggressive etc.
Now the question is... how do you write it ?
thats where I am stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Sometime, cliched characters can't be avoided. In fact, many readers love them. They're characters they know well, but still want to see a new twist within. It's not cliche character you want to avoid, but the typical cliches that accompany them.

Your first description of him was as a toad. That's a cliche in and of itself. Stay away from toads, or snakes, or any other amphibians and reptiles.

"He was like a badger with clipped claws, dragging himself through mud and muck until it stuck to him and became like a jacket upon the shoulders of an expatriate soldier no one wanted coming home. But the jacket dried and took on a regality of its own, matching the stunted impotence of his bygone claws. He still maintained the basic, sinister quality of his heritage, yet with the basic weaponry gone, he had to compensate with verve and bluff, making new claws with which to assault his enemies."

Maybe something like that.

 

[christabelll]

Holy shit Slyc that was awesome...

Belegon - I hadn't considered giving him any redeeming qualities as he acts heinously against the woman and her husband and their future child and I am trying to write the scene that sets up the domino effect of disaster... (as seen through Visions and Dreams)

But you are right sometimes there is that false glimmer that will suck the unwary in.... besides physical beauty (toad characteristics aside, not to insult said toads).....

Boxy - and Jack I will go ahead and post what I have that introduces him... its actually the totally new introduction into my current mania driven story Crusader... its coming up on 90 pages long... but I wont subject you to it.....
Will just the first ten pages do?

still cant finger him just yet..... maybe listening to all your comments and letting them tumble about for a day or two will help.....

 

[christabelll]

paranormal/romance/fantasy fiction

Note: this is a straight draft - meaning I pretty much wrote it in one sitting - I have gone back and edited for now - but any opines would be appreciated. And help and developing the Marquis Ricardo de Costilla into more than a cardboard villain.


~CRUSADER~
By: Christabel Roseau 2008


Prologue




1199 ad


“You are mine.”

“And you, my love, are mine.”

He hugged her fiercely hands cupping the fullness of her buttocks. “I don’t like that mon yer father sent to escort you along with yer dowry for our wedding. It’s been a full month and he lingers like a flea.”

“The Marquis? You don’t like him either. “ Estella whispered as she nuzzled the crook of his neck, her hips rocking subtly into his upper thighs. “He’s always polite but he makes me feel uneasy, so I stay as far from him as possible. I thank god the man leaves a fortnight hence. The cockle burr will no longer be an issue, mon Coeur.”

“Aye, that be true, but I doona like the way he ogles ye. Like you were a wee bit he could snap up like a wolf eats a lamb.” Donal continued as his hands stroked the fullness of her breasts through her gown. “And I am forced to be leaving ye tomorrow. Well before him. I’ll be damned if I be liking it.”

A fine trembling was filling her belly as she felt his hardness pressed firmly there. Her fingers danced to the neck of his tunic, “Donal, mon cheri, I could have no other than you. Do you not know how much I love you? Can you not tell by how my body melts to your touch?”

“Och aye, I just be feeling – I am leaving you for a year my little star. I cannot beg off again. Once I have fulfilled my duty to my father and King William, I’ll return again. But I know men and you are beautiful beyond most men’s dreams. Its them I do not trust.”

She smiled up at him, her love shining in her eyes, “Then stop all this maundering and make love to me like there is no tomorrow. Fill me with your seed that I may have something to hold in my arms besides sorrow and loneliness.” Her courses had come and gone the week before and instinctually they knew it was now or never if she was to conceive his child. Estella rose up onto her toes, wrapping her arms about her husband’s neck and kissed him with all the passion she had within.

Donal obeyed her wishes, sucking her tongue avidly into his mouth, dancing deeply in turn. Backing her against the wall of their shared chamber, he plundered her mouth as he nudged her dress from her silky shoulders. His large yet nimble fingers sought out the ties of her chemise letting it fall from the fullness of her plump, full breasts. Her broken breath urged him to quicker movements and in a thrice had her bare to the hips, his mouth burning a path over her creamy white skin.

“By god you are so beautiful Estella,” he told her as he stroked the soft curves of her belly, tracing circles up her ribcage to cup the weight of her in his hands. “Every inch of you is perfection to my eyes. Since you have come into my life I am obsessed with you.” His mouth was working its torment on the slender column of her throat, “I canna eat, I canna sleep, for want of you.”

His words scorched her. They sent rivulets of fire burning through her veins where they pooled in deepening waves in the core of her body. It throbbed in time to his licking tongue and flicking fingers. His pinching, kneading, lifting fingers drove her half-mad with desire. Her gown was trapping her hands, the tight sleeves still laced tightly to her forearms. It left her at his mercy where he pinned her so passionately against the tapestry-lined wall.

“Mon Coeur, my heart, you make my very soul sing beloved.” She whispered softly, eyes drinking in his thick black curls, the strong muscular breadth of his shoulders where they strained the fabric of his tunic, “I would be lost with out you. My heart broken beyond repair. Swear to me that you will come back to me. Swear you will return Donal. Promise me that you will not abandon me for heaven leaving me here to live in hell.”

Lifting her skirts to her waist as she spoke, he stood, pulling her off her feet. Eagerly she wrapped slender lithe legs around his waist locking her ankles at the small of his back. One arm supporting her bottom, he stared into her pale blue eyes and declared, “Though hell may stand between us, I will return to your side. No matter how far, my burning star will guide me home.”

On those huskily groaned words, he slid into the slippery warm haven of her waiting body. Her gasping moan of pleasure was swallowed deep into his lungs as he sealed them together root and crown. Achingly slow, he lifted her up and slid her down, moving deeper with every desultory thrust. He sought out her breast with a hungry mouth, his tongue wrapping tightly around the tight bud at its peak.

Estella cried out at the sensation of lightning arcing from her breast to her womb. “Donal! Let me touch you.” This last a wispy plea that bled from her kiss swollen lips.

He hid his grin and sucked her sweet flesh deeper. Her back bowed against the stone as he finally found her depths. “Sweet Jesus.” He groaned, bare toes straining to lift him higher.

She was so wet and tight he could barely contain his pleasure. It burned in his belly like balefire, the need to drive her insensate with passion. Estella had amazed him at her responsive willingness to couple. A blushing virgin she may have been, but an eager, curious, passionate woman she truly was. In the month since their marriage vows, they had made love in more places than even he had tried as a young lad. They had been betrothed a full year before her father had finally given her away into his care. A year that had been murderous on his self control. However, in her peculiar, feminine way she had in her refusal to help him lose it, made him love her all the more.

“Estella, my star.”

“Let me touch you. Please Donal. I need to feel you beneath my hands.” Her voice was breathy, interspersed with tiny moans. She tugged futilely trying to release her arms from the tightly laced sleeves of her gown. Her legs, strong though they were, could not keep him from moving so deeply within her aching sheath.

Donal needed her touch every bit as much as she did, but for the moment refused her. To guide her so strongly independent of her expressed desire was thrilling to him. As was Estella’s response as he felt her suddenly squeezing down on him, in a spike of fire that made him struggle against spending himself too soon. “Nay, my love, not yet.”

He lifted her clutching body up, pulling her protesting legs free. Her gown caught on his engorged flesh before dropping to pool around her feet. She leaned against the wall watching him through widely dilated eyes. Impatiently he ripped his tunic off, tossing it behind him in a careless throw. In a teasing move, he stroked her down her arms where the sleeves hung and pulled them slowly down, encasing her hands from the wrists down. The inverted sleeves successfully kept her hands covered and lowered her gown and chemise to her knees.

He looked up at her a wicked glint in his eye as she gasped in mock outrage. “Donal! I asked you to help me get out of this thing, not make it worse.”

“Worse? For whom?” The growling timbre of his voice was muffled as he went to his knees and covered her mound with his seeking mouth.

Estella’s cry was high and piercing as he insinuated his tongue through the tight curls into her secret lips. Pressing her to the stones, his elbows trapped the material of her sleeves. His hands held her thighs still as her taste flood his mouth with musk and salt and pure sweetness. Her hips bucked under his palms when his touch found the wee nub at the apex of her supple thighs.

She danced and wriggled against his ravening mouth. The feel of his lips and tongue stroking those tender folds had her chest heaving. Every spearing jab sent her blood pulsing through her. She had never known that she could burn like this for a man. She had never dreamed that she could feel such shattering pleasure. Every time they made love, something powerful burned her to her bones. He had shown her so many ways to give and receive pleasure.

The church be damned, she though shamelessly, this cannot be wrong between a man and wife then lost all thought as his tongue stabbed between her pouty, slick lips and into her aching, rippling channel.

Her cry rebounded in his ears as he probed deeply into her hot, sweet body. She was like nectar on his tongue and he in no way was able to quench his thirst for her. His rigid length throbbed between his legs as he ate at her sweet flesh. Donal dragged his tongue back up to her rigid little bud, and smiled as her syrup coated his clean-shaven chin.

Sensing how her body heaved against his imprisoning weight he focused the tip of his tongue with precision on her sensitive nerves, and drove her over the edge. The sound of tearing fabric the high note of her groaning cry of release.

Estella bucked, her body curling over itself as her arms strained against their soft prison. Stitches gave way and her right hand came free. Long slender fingers clutched at his hair, the thick locks twining like ivy over the elegant bones. Helplessly she rode his hungry mouth; his strong, powerful arms the only thing keeping her upright.

As the peak subsided, she wrested her other hand loose and curled it around his neck.
Aftershocks still coursing, she slid down the length of his body, breasts sliding erotically over the scant hair on his chest. His lips met hers in a wild, savage kiss that bruised lips and set toes to curling. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it made her writhe.

Estella locked her fingers into his hair pushed him to the floor, sprawling over his hard body, where he had dropped his kilt. The soft wool kept the cold stone away as she dragged her mouth from his to suck and nibble at his throat.

Freeing a hand Estella pushed herself up, offering her breasts to his open, gasping mouth. He sucked one then the other fast and deep, before she moved beyond his reach. Kicking the last folds of the gown free she rose straddling his hips. He watcher her lift her long hair to the side, the heavy braid coiling on his belly and nearly erupted as his rigid length grazed her moist flesh.

“Do you want me, Donal?” she breathed, hands cupping her breasts as she perched above him.

He nearly swallowed his tongue at the vision of her golden red hair and creamy, flushed flesh arched so achingly beautiful over him. “Aye – you ken it.”

“Aye?” a wet tongue licked swollen lips, “Then prove it love. Prove you want me and only me.”

He growled his assent, grasping her hips in steely fists. Thrusting upwards, he brought her down over his pulsing, turgid length, wresting a purring groan from them both. Back arching, Estella, clutched at his forearms, the feel of him sliding deeper and deeper, poured like argent through her belly. Her lungs felt constricted, her breath coming in gasping torrents, in time to his piercing thrusts.

Donal watched her face shift in the remaining light from the fireplace and saw her passion rising with every lift of thigh. She captivated him, enthralled him body and soul, and had from the first moment he had seen her at a function nigh two years earlier. To see her so primal - stripped of societies masks left his heart bursting with consuming, abiding love. “Yes, my love, that’s it, ride me, feel me inside you. Never forget how we feel in this moment.” Passion choked as he was, it came out gravely and stark.

She dropped forward, resting her hands on his broad chest, her braid slipping over his sweat sheened skin. “I could never forget you. Though a thousand years may pass, I will never forget you. This moment. Never willingly would I lie with another should you pass on.” Her hips shifted so that her entire torso brushed his heaving chest, “Take what we have with you, hold it close, this fire. You hold my heart in your hands.” Her lips burned a path up his throat as she slowly slid back and forth. “You are my laird Donal Connor Douglas. I swear my fealty, my loyalty, my love.”

There words ceased as they sealed their vows in a kiss that melted bones and sinew.
He drove upwards, impaling her tightening sheath in rapid, deep strokes. Her breasts brushed his chest, the hard tips scraping erotically. Argent sluiced between them, as he rolled her swiftly beneath his large frame, where he could nestle hard against her welcoming body.

Donal ravaged her mouth, a hand slipping up to cup a sensitive breast, rolling the rosy nugget at its crest between thumb and forefinger. Estella’s feet slid over his hips, her ankles crossing over the pumping flesh. The changed angle made him growl, low and deep in his chest as her nails raked lightly down his spine.

His endurance, suddenly, was at an end.

Savagely he drove into her velvety, clasping depths, feeling his sac tighten almost painfully. “Star!” he cried gutturally, his driving body spasming hard.

The deep sensation of his shaft thickening brought her cresting right along with him. Every taut ripple that chased down his rigid body sent her spiraling out into rapture. His name burst from parted lips as her spine bowed beneath his plunging weight. Relentless, he plowed into her, over and over, seed erupting to fill her womb in life giving fire. Grimacing his culmination, he felt her clamp down so tightly he cried out incoherently.

Sweat slicked, heaving for breath they rocked in one another’s arms. Every small movement, every pulse beat sending electric shockwaves burning through stunned nerves. Hungrily he kissed her, tongue mating wildly with hers. She sucked at his lips, clinging to him helplessly as her body trembled and heaved under his.

Nearly undone, they lay tangled together, murmuring incoherently as their passion cooled but a few degrees. Donal, lunged to his feet, ignoring her protesting cry at the sudden separation. Taking her by the hands he pulled her up, and then swung her completely into his arms. Having earlier missed the bed entirely, he went there now and deposited her into it and followed her down.

He wrapped her tightly in his arms, spooning around her smaller form. Her butt cheeks nestled against the still wet length of semi-hard flesh. Donal cupped her breasts, and nuzzled her neck, her braid trapped beneath them. “I want to make love with you until dawn rears its shining head,” Donal whispered as he kissed the soft tender spot just beneath her ear.

She smiled and pushed her hips back into him. “What’s stopping you?” she reached to cover his wandering hand before dragging it down her belly to the apex of her thighs.

Needing little prompting he lifted her thigh and slid his growing length against her wet sex. “Nothing now my love,” he whispered as he teased her with the hot length of his flesh.

He slid a thigh beneath her knee, where she lay cupped against him, spreading her wider for his explorations. Bold fingers stroked her sleek lips, guiding the tip of hardness over her most sensitive spots.

“There’s a nice beginning, darling.” She breathed between sparking streaks of lightning that came from their joining heat.

“Indeed,” he almost laughed as the tip of him found her slippery, hot entrance. “Very good I’d wager,” and slid to the hilt into her welcoming channel once more.


They made love throughout the too short night, almost desperate to beat the sunlight. Time after time, whether rough or tender, they would rouse from blissful rapture and start the climb all over again. Their impending separation made it all the sweeter, even more poignant. They whispered promises and secrets, trying in these last moments to fill up enough memories to last until they were together again.

When the dreaded day broke over them, Estella climbed reluctantly from their nuptial bed. Rebuilding the fire in the hearth, he laid in splendid repose his nude body still clamoring for hers. She smiled then tugged at him, between kisses and petting from their nest of furs and blankets. The warmed pitcher of water emptied as they sponged one another clean, softly, tenderly using the lavender and rose scented soap she’d brought from her home.

Slowly Estella robed herself in her wedding gown of a deep sapphire blue silk embroidered by her own hand in gold and silver threads. It set her luminescent eyes to shimmering. Donal took up her hairbrush and stroked the gleaming copper and gold strands of her hair. It would be the last time he would for a very long time, and he relished how its silken texture rubbed over his smoothing hands. With careful gentle fingers, he twisted the length of it into a heavy braid tying the very ends with a silver ribbon.

Turning tenderly in his arms, she gazed up at her man with a sweet smile touching her plush lips. In ritual as old as time, she slowly finished drying his strong, muscular body as the morning sun traced his powerful limbs in golden light. She pulled the Egyptian cotton shirt she had made for him, embroidered with leaves of ivy, from the trunk at the foot of their bed, and slipped it over his broad shoulders. She lifted breeks out and tugged them slowly up his legs securing the codpiece with teasing, darting fingers.

Donal would not take the several ells of fabric his entire plaid comprised with him. Instead, he would take shorter stretch of the family tartan to drape over his shoulder and about his hips but twice. After slipping a silver studded, blue dyed jerkin over his massive shoulders, she secured the tartan with a cloak pin, family crest emblazoned on the haft.

Donal helped her with the weight of his belt and heft of his broadsword, settling them about his hips. He tucked several smaller knifes into various sheaths, his sgian dubh the last, slid into his boot. As he sat at the hearth, she combed his long hair, twisting a five-strand braid down one side of his face. Estella took the ribbon that had bound their hands together a year ago and threaded it through the twining strands. The deep blue of the ribbon shot with silver leaves shimmered against his coal black locks echoing the blue of his eyes.

“When you return to me, this ribbon will bind us once again.” She murmured as she secured the ends tightly. “But I have one more thing I would give you, before you go,” Estella continued, “Take this token of me, and carry it close to your heart.” In her hands, a long braided lock of her ells long hair lay coiled.

The devotion of her act nearly broke his resolve. Taking the gift, he slid it around his neck down into the neckline of his shirt. Donal cupped her face between his hands and kissed her deeply before stepping back.

“I too have a gift for you,” Donal whispered huskily, as he bent to pick up his plaid. With deft, sure hands he wrapped her in the colors of his people, securing it with a pin that matched his own. “Wear it with pride and wear it with knowledge. No other may wear the plaid lest they be blood or wife. Thee I have claimed and now all will acknowledge it.”

They clung to each other and then stepped apart.

“The Laird be waiting.” He murmured then lifted the latch on the door and stepped with his beloved into the hall.

Jasper, his seventeen year old brother greeted him at the hall entrance, dressed for the journey into Edinburough. His father and the others were waiting outside. Anna his Lady mother stood waiting at the door, a packet of hot pasties, and a skin of usquebagh in her hands. “Stay safe my son. Be victorious in your battles and return home soon laddy.”

Donal leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek, “I’ll do my best mama.” then stepped through to blink in the unfettered sun.

A dozen men stood with horses packed and ready for the road. If he had merely been visiting, he would have walked the distance to Edinburough, tarrying where he would, hunting as he went. Today, armor and shields hung from saddlebags, gleaming in the early morning sun.

For the next year he would rely on what he could bring, purchase or bargain for to survive. As part of the king’s vast army and a commissioned Officer, he would have the basics needs somewhat met. Even so, he had a few things he would not travel without. A precious second sword as comfortable and familiar as the one he usually carried. Full armor for his horse and extra bags of oats to ease the long journey to Jerusalem. He even carried a painted tent large enough for four men and their gear, a small brazier for heat in the stark desert nights. Other essentials were tucked into small portable trunks each specially designed for travel. Basic foodstuffs and medicines accompanied a full cooking kit as well.

Donal didn’t believe in doing without if he could avoid it, and every single item had more than one purpose. Tightening the girth of his chestnut stallion, he straightened and turned to face his father.

“Ye take yer families pride with ye laddy. Stay close to the king and send home to us if yer able.” Still handsome despite his propensity to drink and brawl frequently, Alan Douglas, stood proudly grasping his eldest son’s broad shoulder, his own shoulders only slightly bowed and beginning to be exceeded by his middle.

“Aye Father. I’ll do what’s right and best as you have taught me.” He demurred. Donal stepped closer as he lowered his voice, “Father, watch the Marquis. I do not trust him to not cause trouble in my absence. Keep him away from Estella, she loathes him and I to have seen the way he looks at her. The way he watches her when he thinks no one is looking. If I could stay to see his sorry countenance vacate our lands, I would. Damn King William! He would send his assistant to ensure my company joins up with Richard de Coeur Lion. Though we both know it is the fee that he wants to pay of Richard’s demands. I must go father, watch after my wife.”

Donal turned away, watching his wife walk to his side as he mounted. With due ceremony, Estella handed him up a handsomely tooled drinking horn filled with warmly mulled sweet mead.

He drank deep, and then leaned down to kiss her one last time. A murmuring cheer went up from the group. “Go with God.” He whispered as he slowly straightened.

“God speed my love.” Estella managed to get out before her throat closed completely and stepped back watching the drinking horn slide into its holder at the peak of his high saddle. Fighting back the urge to weep, she raised her hand to her lips to prevent herself from uttering a desperate plea to stay.

“That’s it lass, show him strength as he leaves.” Jasper whispered as he passed her to mount beside his brother. “I’ll be back to keep ye company with mama in two weeks.”

“C’es vrai, little Jasper, at least you can tell a good story…” she answered, never taking her eyes from the gilded planes of her beloveds face.

Lady Anna, came and took her by the arm, “Come my girl, stand up here with me. You will be able to see them all the way to the tor.” She said softly as the men began to move out.

Reluctantly Estella followed Lady Maman; as she was want to call her, to the top of the stairs. Saw for herself it was true, she could follow their receding forms several leagues down the road.

As they passed through the main gate, her tears broke through the dam of her will and slid down her chilled, pale cheeks. A frisson of dread and foreboding flashed through her bloodstream and a low moan broke from her constricted throat.

“Hush, now, come inside and have some bread and small beer.” Lady Maman wrapped a supporting arm around her trembling shoulders as her stomach heaved rebelliously.

The small sip of mead she had taken before filling the farewell cup made her belly churn and with a faint cry of distress, she turned desperately away. Swallowing convulsively, she lost the meager contents just as she reached the base of the stairs. Bile burned her mouth as she went cold and clammy. Weakly she leaned against the wall, dry heaves wracking her slender frame.

Before Lady Anna could reach her side, the Marquis de Castilla stepped in. Little caring of her vehement protests, he roughly lifted her in his arms.

“My Lord, put me down. This is unseemly. How dare you. Put me down I demand it.” Estella strained away from him, fighting not only her nausea but also the sudden spike of terror that burned through her lungs.

“Non, mademoiselle, oh do pardon me, Madame Douglas. You are ill; allow me the honor of helping you inside.” The Marquis, one Ricardo de Costilla of San Sebastian insisted in a tenor of voice that made her cringe with premonition. His hands held parts of her body that were strictly unnecessary, his grip painfully tight.

“I can walk perfectly well on my own,” She insisted only to have Lady Mamma mistakenly give him the excuse he needed.

“Oh but Estella, your so pale, and you did just get ill. Please My lord, follow me, I’ll show you to her chambers.”

No one saw the way the Laird’s eyebrows lowered and his eyes turned dark with suspicion. He did not trust either of them, Estella just for being raised French, albeit with Scottish forebears. But him, the Marquis he hadn’t liked from the moment he had laid eyes on him. Something was not right with the man and it set his bad teeth to aching his jaw clenched tighter. “Paugh!” He scoffed to himself, “Yer looking for a reason to beat him to the ground. Leave it be – for now.”

Helplessly Estella was carried into the great hall and then to the family quarters towards the rear. Stepping through an iron laced door, Lady Maman walked to the end of the narrow corridor and flung open the door to her wedding chamber. The farthest from any occupied space it was the last place she wanted the Marquis to enter.

Struggling to contain her revulsion, she hissed through stiff lips, “Put me down. I can walk just fine. It was a momentary weakness that is all.” She pushed uselessly against his the wall of chest that refused her any ground.

He ignored her though her struggles to get free kept him off balance. Lady Anna had disappeared into her room. Estella fought even harder. Suddenly the Marquis let out a bellow and practically dropped her.

 

[christabelll]

Perhaps I'm missing the point. You seem to have him down pretty well.
I would just imagine being in his presence. If he slithered up behind you, even as quietly as you would expect a villain like that to be, I would think the hairs on the back of your neck would stand up and your skin would craw if near enough to him. His looks and personality would seem interchangeable. The villain would, of course, see himself very differently - powerful in the secret deeds, unjustly distained, but triumpant in the end.
Or said another way, there is a difference between clichés and descriptive phrases.

True this - cliches - aka - atypical villains are what I am talking about.
On the other hand I dont want to go toooooo much into the whys and wherefores of his actions - and damnit - "I'magonnahafta" - because what he does to Donal Douglas - rather has done - and then to his Lady wife and child - is really a nasty bit of work as I see it in my head... Right now its just images... snapshots if you will of his crimes against the lovers. And you are right - he would see himself differently - but being thwarted - makes him cruel - and more cunning than before...
Because of the nature of the story I am writing - two different time lines -
I was pretty determined to keep the focus on the "present" time line. That said however, it seems that the understory - what drives the modern characters - together is gaining even more importance in the need to be told -
and I am hard pressed to pull the images into words and not make it cliched and atypical of a sexual predator - egads Yep that is what he is...in a very nasty way....

See just talking with other authors - creative minds - helps - it brings things into focus... most times that is...

I did post it lower in this thread.........

 

[christabelll]

a little more writing today -

“I can walk perfectly well on my own,” She insisted only to have Lady Maman mistakenly give him the excuse he needed.

“Oh but Estella, you’re ill, so pale. Please My lord, follow me, I’ll show you to her chambers.”

No one saw the way the Laird’s eyebrows lowered and his eyes turned dark with suspicion. He did not trust either of them, Estella just for being raised French, albeit with Scottish forebears. But him, the Marquis he hadn’t liked from the moment he had laid eyes on him. Something was not right with the man and it set his bad teeth to aching, made his jaw clench tighter. “Paugh!” He scoffed to himself, “Yer looking for a reason to beat him to the ground. Leave it be – for now.”

Helplessly Estella was carried into the great hall and then to the family quarters towards the rear. Stepping through an iron laced door, Lady Maman walked to the end of the narrow corridor and flung open the door to her wedding chamber. The farthest from any occupied space it was the last place she wanted the Marquis to enter.

Struggling to contain her revulsion, she hissed through stiff lips, “Put me down. I can walk just fine. It was a momentary weakness that is all.” She pushed uselessly against his the wall of chest that refused her any ground.

He ignored her though her struggles to get free kept him off balance. Lady Anna had disappeared into her room. Estella fought even harder arms straining, legs kicking. Suddenly the Marquis let out a bellow and practically dropped her.

She let out a startled cry as she scrambled to get away from him. The Marquis stood almost comically bent, cupping his groin and his shoulder in pain. Her foot had made errant contact with his pride, but it was her cloak pin that had drawn his blood. The point of it had pierced his jerkin, ripping through the flesh of his shoulder like butter. If she had not been so frightened of the look on his face Estella would have laughed in glee.

“You little bitch…” the Marquis whispered fiercely between clenched teeth. “You’ll rue the day you injured me. I will not be humiliated by one as needs a lesson in humility as you. You are far too proud for woman to be borne.

Not knowing what to say at his vituperance, Estella turn on her heel fleeing into her nuptial room closing the door with a thud behind her. She struggled to calm herself as she leaned against the door, dropping the latch into place.

“Oh Estella –“ Lady Maman cried softly, “Do not fash yer self so. ‘Tis the fate of all women, to bear the leaving of their men.”

“Lady Maman, I – I am all right.” The cold seem to dig itself into her bones. “The Marquis…” she paused, uncertain of what to say of the man even though her every instinct told her he was not as kind as he wanted people to believe. “It’s nothing. Too much wine on an empty stomach.”

‘Och, well then, I’ll have a remedy sent up if you be wanting to stay here. Otherwise we’ll see you in a candle mark or two.” Donal’s mother said as she briefly gave her daughter in law a hug. “You’ll be all right. Between Jasper and I – ye’ll nay want fer company.”

“Mais oui, I’ll be down in a little while. I’ll not want to be wearing this dress all day, could ye send wee Mary to come and help me?” Estella perched on the trunk and did her level best to look calm and serene for Lady Maman’s sake. Her nervously twining fingers gave proof to the lie.

“Don’t you go and pine away up here. Aye, I’ll send Mary to ye and a cuppa tea to settle yer stomach. But remember dear gel, you are family now. You belong with all of us in the hall.”

Lady Maman turned then, sweeping from the room on dainty feet and a drift of rose scent. Estella leaped for the door and lowered the latch once more before slumping to floor in front of it. Alone she gave in to herself desperate need to weep. They hadn’t had nearly enough time together and she feared with her entire soul she would never see him again.

~~~

The days passed in a blur of dull pain. The Marquis followed and watched her every moment. It became difficult for her to even cross the hall without him ghosting at her heels. Feeling small and hunted, she began avoiding joining everyone for their meals. She could barely be coaxed to the stillroom, where the air was redolent of healing herbs and was usually soothing to her. She was unaware that her father in law and Donal’s brother Jasper watched her from a distance. The spring equinox drew near and like all creatures of the earth called her from her self-imposed prison. Clad in her husbands’ plaid and a simple shift of Scottish design she eagerly took advantage of the morning fog, and snuck outside the high walls of Douglas Castle. Smiling she recalled calling it a mere keep and being corrected most sincerely.

As the fog burnt away, the sunlight warmed her shoulders. The fresh air filled her senses with a sense of peace as she wandered to the small burn that ran through the hills. Gradually she tired, stomach feeling tight and uneasy and found a place to rest beneath an old oak that hugged the banks of the swollen stream.

 

[christabelll]

A little more before dinner.......

Her heart ached fiercely, a physical pain that would not ease. Plucking listlessly at the detritus beneath her tucked up feet, she let her tears come again as she stared blankly at the sparkling rushing stream. She felt Donal’s absence deeply having spent near every moment together for weeks. No amount of coal seemed to warm her, no fur kept her limbs from feeling frozen.

It didn’t help matters in the slightest that the main reason she felt unsettled, so unsafe was because of the Marquis de Costilla. He had failed to leave these three days past for reasons he failed to disclose. Instead, he had stepped up his taunting stalk. He had accosted her on the stairs from the kitchens, smashing her against the wall, pretending not to have seen her for all of a second. Other times he had caught her in the narrow corridor behind the great hall.

The Marquis would roughly grasp a tender breast, squeezing cruelly, or would wrap his fist in her braids forcing her head back as he bit and licked at her exposed throat. Just as abruptly, he would fling her aside and slink back into the shadows. Half a dozen times, she’d been left shaking, almost fainting on the floor. Terrified and humiliated, impotent rage had suffused her making her stomach churn in revulsion.

She had even tried to engage him, to understand why he was tormenting her so cruelly.
“My lord, I beg of you. Explain why you are doing this. Why are you hurting me thus? I cannot understand how you would treat me this way after my father entrusted you to lead my escort here?”

“You do not understand?” he had sneered using his height and weight to force her into the corner of the closed doorway. “You should have been mine. Your Father could not stomach breaking the marriage contract out of some misplaced sense of honor. What can these brutish, ignorant Scots offer you besides living with the sheep in winter? I would have given you everything. Land, gold, rolls of silk and velvet from the holy land and beyond. Where think you came the fabrics you made your wedding gown with?”

She hadn’t known. He had asked her father for her hand? The knowledge did little to ease her fear, did not stop his humiliating depredations. “This doesn’t give you the right to accost me in such a manner!” Estella declared intensely. “Release me, cease this nonsense and go home. I did not know that you wanted me to wife! Why do you stay tormenting me when you could be counting your gold in Spain?”

Her startled cry fell on empty walls as the Marquis backhanded her. “Because you are mine and you will bow to my authority as you should. You should have said yes.”

“Said yes to what? I would rather an honest dog than a rabid wolf in sheep’s clothing as you are!” She had hissed between split and bruised lips. “You do not seem to grasp that I am married. I cannot believe you have forgotten the ceremony. These actions tell me, sir, that you have no honor. Stay away from me or I will tell my father of your deeds.”

“As if your father would believe a harlot like you.” Hs scorn ridden voice grated, “I saw how you spread lifted your skirts and your legs for that swine. How you let him take you like a common whore bent over a barrel. It is burned into my mind- you begged him to stain you. Begged him to taint your body with his beggar’s seed.” He’d ground his hips painfully against her, making her fearfully aware of his arousal.

“You were to be mine, and you will be, long before you set eyes on Douglas again.” He had flung those terrible revelations and vile threat at her in a voice harsh and dripping with venom. It had left her gasping for breath, cheeks burning in mortification.

Constantly he dogged her steps, finding any and no excuse to touch her. It made her spine tense and her hackles rise every time he came near her. No matter her much voiced protests he continued to harry Estella’s waking moments while she attended to her duties as the wife of a Douglas. Most assumed he was merely solicitous on her father’s behalf. But she knew it was a different thing entirely. He meant to have her, she was sure of it.

Accordingly, she had taken extra care in avoiding him to come here to this quiet copse near the rollicking burn. In spite of the comforts she had within walls, Estella had felt stifled and cornered. The need for fresh moving air and silence had driven her to plotting her temporary escape. She was desperate for the solitude she needed to gather her wits and prepare for the birth of her child.

This constant nausea, and now the nigh unbearable tenderness of her breasts made Estella certain she had conceived. She had not dared to share her belief with anyone yet fearing she might lose the babe too soon. She recalled in her minds eye the fire that had kindled between Donal and herself. How many times they had made love that last desperate night together. Her body reacted in kind, frissons of remembered ecstasy tightening things low in her belly.

Lifting the long tail of his plaid, she stretched out upon it, laying her cheek against its woolen softness. She could still catch the scent of him in the tight weave. Fresh tears streamed from her swollen eyes. “I cannot do this alone beloved. How I need you here. Be safe.” She thought to herself as the warm of the sun and the burble of running water schemed together and dragged her into sleep.

 

[Boxlicker101]

I have read to this point, and I do have some questions. I notice it is in dialect. At one time, the marquise called her a little bitch. Is this an epithet he would have used?

There are a few minor proofreading corrections that should be made, but nothng of any real importance. I do wonder about the marquise, though. He is certainly a rotter, and seems to have no good qualities. Since this is written in third person, would there be a way to get into his head and have him justify his actions to himself? He did so to her, but not to himself.

 

[christabelll]

I have read to this point, and I do have some questions. I notice it is in dialect. At one time, the marquise called her a little bitch. Is this an epithet he would have used?

There are a few minor proofreading corrections that should be made, but nothng of any real importance. I do wonder about the marquise, though. He is certainly a rotter, and seems to have no good qualities. Since this is written in third person, would there be a way to get into his head and have him justify his actions to himself? He did so to her, but not to himself.

I kept it (the dialect) mainly scots and english with a tiny bit of french... bitch was not a common epithet towards a woman at the time - but he is Spanish Nobility - (I'm pretty sure....)


And funny that you should mention that and I just realized a couple of things....
I am just now writing from his perspective - its going to be harder than I though - but he has decided (uh hunh) to tell what happens next from his perspective for a brief bit.........its not very nice and is in fact reprehensible... but I will not describe it as I described the lovers.....OOOOOOO he gives me the creeps... I think he is simply a spoiled,jaded, greedy, ambitious with expectations of every one groveling towards him, and prefers to dominate women in humiliating and sexually degrading ways... (not sure what his history is though I can well envision it).....

Later in the story line - The Lead Modern Character - is h[a]unted by a erotically aggressive "dream" man... and is dreaming of Estella too -

its all rather tangled at the moment... but slowly the skeins are weaving together....

I've been trying to catch the typos as I go... but screen blind is as screen blind does...

Thank you so much for reading and commenting..... over all - even though its "historical romance" sort of... did you like it?


It is my understanding from briefly over viewing the historical aspect - that Richard had fined /demanded an egregious amount of gold from King William of Scotland - and /or men and officers to be provided...
If the familys the king obviously turned too could not meet the amount demanded, the could send officers, general soldiers and goods instead...

His family can barely meet the demand of their king - which the oily Marquis exploits, by hiring bandits in advance of his arrival with Estella and her escort and maid to cattle and sheep steel, blight a field, poison a well... what have you... that amount cant be met... and honor bound Alan William Douglas (the leads father) Sends his son and the commissioning fee on the terms that he be released after a year of service. - Hence has the dastard manipulated it that can press his pursuit and psychological torment of Estella....
--- ahem.... I should go write that now...



It is absolutely incredible how reading the questions and posits given by others get the balls rolling and the gears to shifting... talking it out (okay typing and reading it out) helps enormously. THANK YOU THANK THANK YOU....