Publication date: May 20th , 2013
Published by: AltWit Press
Genre: Sci-Fi, Fantasy
Edition: E-book
Purchase from: Amazon / B&N / Smashwords
Book Blurb
When a crippled young lord rescues a girl falling from a tree, it reveals a secret about himself and his mother's side of the family that could put him at the center of a war with beings he thought only existed in fariytales.
Tristan Gareth Smyth lived his entire life stuck at home at Waverly Park and left behind while his Grandfather makes trips to London, all because of his blasted wheelchair.
Then an American heiress falls in his lap, literally, and he must find a way to keep her at a distance to protect not only his secret, but everyone around him from an assassin sent to kill him.
Tristan Gareth Smyth lived his entire life stuck at home at Waverly Park and left behind while his Grandfather makes trips to London, all because of his blasted wheelchair.
Then an American heiress falls in his lap, literally, and he must find a way to keep her at a distance to protect not only his secret, but everyone around him from an assassin sent to kill him.
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Excerpt
Twelve-year-old
Tristan Gareth Smyth gripped the armrests of his wheelchair and said, “This
will do. I can make it the rest of the way on my own from here.”
His
eyes trained up the landmark tree and he had that feeling again. The vapor of a
memory, maybe a dream. He always had that feeling when he looked up at the
broad branches of this particular oak. Then he remembered who he was talking to
and his face hardened.
The
new maid, Sarah, with her strong Scottish burr, patted him on the shoulder.
Gareth refused to look at her. He stared down at his knee pants instead. “Are
ye sure ye will be alright? I do na mind walking with ye the rest of the way to
Mr. Strong’s house.”
Gareth
clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll be fine.”
“Too
bad he didn’t like coming out to the manor. Remember how green Mr. Strong got
when he choked on my spice cake that day and ran off.” She laughed but tried to
cover it with a cough. “I thought that would be the end of ’im but he worked it
out with yer grandfather to instruct ye in town. Funny, my spice didn’t bother
the rest of ye.”
She
bent down in front of Gareth, attempting to make eye contact. “There are lots
of children in this section of town. Ye might try making friends with ’em.”
Gareth
turned away and clenched his jaw. Children never wanted to make friends with
him. The chair made them uncomfortable. And what did he care anyway? He
attempted to give her as stern a look as his grandfather would. “I know the way
from here, and I won’t be late. You can go on to market, now.”
The
breeze picked up and blew wisps of red hair into the woman’s round face. She
smiled. Was she making fun of him? “Oh, it’s such a pretty day. This fresh air
will do ye good, for certain.”
Gareth
scowled.
She
patted her hands on her knees and stood straight again. “Well then, I’ll leave
ye to it. I’ve got to run off to the baker’s. Be sure to get to Mr. Strong’s in
a timely manner. Though I think yer old governess was doing a fine job. Not
sure why ye need Mr. Strong. But I guess it’s none of my concern.”
She
was a servant, in uniform, and he was a future lord. Following his instruction
was her duty. She and her husband, Thompton had been employed by his
grandfather only six months. They might find themselves out of work and heading
back to Scotland, if she kept voicing that sort of opinion.
No,
Gareth could never really get them fired. But he’d make her think he would. He
shook his head in the same disapproving manner he’d seen his grandfather use.
The
sunlight played in the golden highlights of the woman’s ruby hair. Although her
green eyes twinkled, she continued to voice her cutting opinion. She placed one
hand on his shoulder. “It’s not being stuck in this chair that keeps ye lonely.
It’s yer surly attitude.”
Gareth
couldn’t help but let his face scrunch a little. He crossed his arms and turned
his face from her.
Her
accent was thick and melodic, familiar in a way. His mother had been Scottish
though he hardly remembered her. Still, Gareth kept his pout in place. The
truth was, he didn’t know how to relate to others. Even people who could feel
at ease talking to perfect strangers stammered or spoke quickly to him and
walked away. The wheelchair did more than keep him from playing.
She
straightened the collar of his waistcoat. “Look, there’s a little girl coming
now. She looks to be about Tabitha’s age. Maybe a wee bit older.”
He
did glance then, but just under his lashes, not to give the impression that he
cared. Easier to act like he didn’t care than to show he truly did. He refused
to give anyone more reason to feel sorry for him. No one pities an angry
person.
He
missed Tabitha…Tabitha Fitzgerald, Lord Gerald Smyth’s bastard daughter. But
ward was her polite title. At five years old, she was the only person he
allowed to get close. Maybe it was the way she climbed up in his lap, never
caring about the wheelchair. She didn’t see it when she looked at him, she only
saw Gareth.
He
never spoke to Tabitha about who her parents really were, but she knew. For some
reason, servants believed children to be both deaf and dumb, and gossiped
openly around them. That’s how Gareth knew the truth about his own mother. He
was told she died, but he’d overheard the maids say she had run back home to
Scotland and how they didn’t blame her. It’s also how he’d learned the truth of
his own father’s death—shot by his mistress’s jealous husband.
“I’m
heading off. I’ll be sure to get ye a sweet roll for later.”
Gareth
only grunted in response.
When
the maid turned away, Gareth allowed himself to watch the little girl play. Her
hair was a darker blonde than Tabitha’s and had streaks of amber. She looked to
be a bit taller, too, as she ran around in a green day dress and stockings. She
pushed a hoop along until she reached the tree. Once there she looked both
ways. Her eyes met Gareth’s and, for a moment, he was tempted to turn away to
keep her from doing it first. Instead, she smiled broadly and beckoned him
closer.
Gareth
wheeled his chair to the tree trunk, his curiosity getting the better of him.
The girl dropped the hoop on the ground and took hold of the lowest branch. She
whispered in an accent he didn’t recognize, “Keep watch for me, and call out if
you see anyone coming.”
His
chin tucked in and his eyes grew wide. She took it as assent, and nodded,
starting her climb. She was spirited like Tabitha. The thought of being able to
climb a tree at all pricked at Gareth’s heart. He would never get to climb a
tree.
Again
he took on the expression of being bored. No one needed to know he was jealous
of the girl. Gareth made a habit of never owning his true feelings. It was his
protective covering. With his lids half closed, he tried not to watch the girl
or keep an eye out for anyone else’s approach. Without his permission, his gaze
returned to the girl’s powder white limbs as she climbed higher than most
children did.
Soon
she was too high up.
Gareth
adjusted himself in his seat, his eyes darting around. Instead of keeping
lookout, he hoped for some adult to show up and tell the girl to come down.
The
girl called down in a harsh whisper.“Look! Watch this.”
She
scooted out on a limb, making her way to a bird’s nest. The limb wobbled as she
got closer to the end.
He
was about to call out a warning to her when it was too late. The branch
snapped. The little girl was falling with barely a squeal.
All
Gareth could think was that he needed to do something. It was then he noticed
he was rushing towards her. He wasn’t sure how he was moving his wheelchair and
catching her but he did. Her giant brown eyes grew as he held her. Then she
looked about and her eyes became wider. He swallowed hard and stared at the
ground several feet away.
In
a rush, he placed the girl on the grass and flew back to his chair. His heart
still pounded in his ears as he sat. He tried to mask his confusion as he
masked all other uncomfortable emotions, but it wasn’t working. The girl stared
at him, but said nothing as a dark haired woman rushed toward her.
“Sweeting,
are you ok?” The woman swept the girl up into her arms. “I got here as fast as
I could. I can’t believe you did that. I thought I told you not to climb that
tree.”
She
put the girl back down and looked her over, grabbing her head and looking for a
sign of injury. “Aren’t you hurt at all? I saw you falling from the window
upstairs.”
The
girl shook her head too quickly, like she was still in shock.
“Come
on back to the house,” the pinch-faced woman snapped, ushering the little girl
away.
The
girl yanked her hand free of the woman’s grasp and rushed back to Gareth. She
placed an object in his hand and kissed his cheek.
“You
were amazing,” she whispered and turned back to the woman who called out her
name.
Gareth’s
cheeks burned. What did the woman say the girl’s name was? He didn’t hear with
the blood rushing to his ear drums. Jessie? Jenny?
The
woman scolded the girl as she returned to her. “What did you do? Where are your
manners? You don’t talk to cripples. Best to act like you don’t see them at
all.”
The
words struck Gareth like a bucket of cold water. But he let it slide off him as
he thought about the fact that he had flown. He watched after the girl as her
dark eyes stared back. His mind was muddled at what had happened. The muscles
in his face hardened and he glared at the woman’s back as they retreated.
Shaking
his head, he remembered he was supposed to be heading to Mr. Strong’s house.
He
pushed on the wheels of his chair down the road again. He’d forgotten he was
holding something, and nearly dropped it. The small, pale blue-green stone had
a few dark wrinkles, but almost looked like a robin’s egg. He put it to his
nose. Flowers. It smelled just like the girl.
Gareth
was so caught up in staring at how tiny the stone was in his palm, he’d
forgotten all about Mr. Strong until the man called, “Master Tristan, what are
you doing out here? You were to report to my house a quarter of an hour ago.”
“I
prefer Gareth.” He narrowed his eyes at the pale, feeble man.
Mr.
Strong ran a hand through his thin blond hair and smiled, his lips forming a
thin line.
“Yes, of course.”
Mr.
Strong placed himself behind Gareth’s chair and pushed down the lane. “I have
an excellent plan for your studies today. I see you’ve brought no supplies from
your home, but no matter, I have plenty of paper and pens to practice your
lettering…”
Gareth
rolled his eyes, knowing Mr. Strong couldn’t see. The man’s cheerful babble
continued as he pushed them towards the house past the inn. The stone rolled
between
Gareth’s fingers, and he remembered the feeling of the girl’s lips on
his cheek.
About the Authors
Melissa Turner Lee
Melissa Turner Lee holds a BA in Communications with a concentration in Journalism from the University of South Carolina. She has studied fiction writing since 2008, attending various writing conferences and workshops, along with guidance from professional writing coaches. She resides in Spartanburg, SC with her husband and 3 sons.
Blog: http://melissaturnerlee.blogspot.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/melissaturnerlee
Twitter: @MelissaTLee1975
Pauline Creeden
Pauline Creeden is a horse trainer from Virginia, but writing is her therapy. In her fiction, she creates worlds that are both familiar and strange, often pulling the veil between dimensions. She becomes the main character in each of her stories, and because she has ADD, she will get bored if she pretends to be one person for too long.
Website: http://paulinecreeden.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/paulinecreeden
Twitter: @P_Creeden
Website: http://paulinecreeden.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/paulinecreeden
Twitter: @P_Creeden
Get in Touch
Website:
Melissa: http://melissaturnerlee.blogspot.com
Pauline: http://paulinecreeden.com
Facebook:
Melissa: http://facebook.com/melissaturnerlee
