#joy writes things

[thebibliosphere]

Floating face down in a blank word document file, while not physically possible, is nevertheless a tangible authorial state.

[thebibliosphere]

intentandinvention

replied to your post

“I’ve decided I’m gonna write an historical Scottish romance.”

Gonna sympathise with your husband on this one, I'm afraid (but tbh doesn't every man look damn good in a kilt? I always consider myself fortunate that my husband's Scottish.) Wouldn't say no to a short extract though :D

He still thinks it’s not funny. I don’t know why I married him.

And I LITERALLY just thought of this idea this morning and I’ve been squirreling ides away in my notepad as I keep working on Vlad and Nathan bUT:

She tried not to let her gaze wander, but it was hard when there was so much bare flesh on view to the world. It would be indecent anywhere else, but here, out in the wilds, propriety like a shirt or even trousers seemed futile. But still...she ought to try...

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he lifted the axe up over his head and brought it down on the firewood. It split perfectly down the grain, his shoulders working to free the axe where it had gouged into the stump. He half turned, fixing her with a crooked smile that made her stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Not really, You?”

Elizabeth looked down, adjusting her shawl self-consciously. The hem of her skirt was ruined, a tattered mess caked in mud and  thistle burrs that prickled painfully when she tried to brush them off. She could only imagine what the rest of her looked like. Her cheeks felt chapped from the wind, her hands painfully red as they gripped the shawl tighter around her. She jerked back in surprise when large callused hands enveloped them, looking up to find Alasdair watching her intently, grey eyes luminous in the fading light. He felt impossibly warm beside her.

“Yer frozen, lass.” his eyes were kind, but his smile was so boyish and free it made her heart stutter. “Ye should have said something sooner.”

His cape fell around her, enveloping her in the thick wool that smelt like leather and horses and something earthy and sweet that could only be him. And then he was gone, back to the task of gathering enough wood to light a fire, and keep them warm through the night.

When he bent over to retrieve his axe, Elizabeth didn’t bother to avert her gaze from the swing of his kilt.