Before you enjoy this month’s excerpt, please allow me to thank Bria and Mel, once again.

I had originally planned on giving you a peek at my current contemporary. But at this last minute, I have decided to share with you another glimpse of Constance. The following is from the first draft. It, too, is a section that won’t make it to the final draft. In it, you’ll meet the girl, her father, and other characters. This is what happens when you do a second draft. Honestly, it too is NOT making the final cut. But, consider it an easter egg of sorts. Because it kinda did happen.

***

Easing the covers from her lanky frame, she slinked out of bed and padded over to the open window. Her cousin Benjamin’s cast-off clothes were a comfort on her skin. Her canvas sack was at the ready with biscuits and bacon stolen from breakfast and a lace handkerchief folded, coins within. She slung it across her back. The familiar tree welcomed her like a long lost friend. With no hesitation, she shimmied down and landed without much sound.

The excitement of beginning this adventure sent a thrill humming throughout her being and with hastening paces she made her way to retrieve her horse. She wanted to take her from the plantation. But when Constance got to the stables, she hesitated. The horse might be recognized, and while it was her mount, in reality, it belonged to her father. It will be longer, but I must go on foot.

The decision made, she walked. The moist earth saturated her shoes, but the chill that resulted went unnoticed. The marsh gave way to mud, and then to loamy sand roadways. As she walked along, she realized her gait was too smooth for a boy. Self-conscious, even though no one was looking, she widened her stance with each pace. I feel like I walk as if I rode all day. But she realized that unless she could pass as a boy, a young man, she might be discovered and, well, it would shame her father. Oh, what about my voice? She said aloud her name, and realized not only was the voice a problem, but she couldn’t tell anyone her name was Constance. Constance, Connie, Conner!

“I’m Conner Delaney,” echoed back from the rice fields, with a deeper timbre.

No, not Papa’s name…Oh! Mama was a Reid.

“Hello,” she cleared her throat, “Good day, I am Conner Reid. I hate the British.”

The British. That was all that was talked about lately. The stately dinners her father hosted had on more than one occasion erupted into raucous debate. But unlike her prim and proper sister, Abigail, Constance enjoyed these forays into the mind of men. Her father encouraged her presence, but discouraged her tongue. Although she had sharp wit, many would think her overstepping her bounds to offer an opinion, on anything, much less politics.

For the distance it took to get to the next trading post, she bantered with the air to an audience of owls and other nighttime vermin.

***

The rising sun never was much of an impetus to raise her charge from the depths of slumber, and so Nonny, the house slave, thought nothing of Constance’s absence during the morning. But as the noontime meal was being prepared, the lack of that tomboy’s presence became a niggling thought in her mind. Nonny left the kitchen and entered the main house. As she climbed the stairs and turned towards the girls’ quarters, her apprehension grew. She felt as if her heart was stopped in her chest, knowing something wasn’t right, but unable to name it. She thrust the heavy wood door open and ran to the window. The curtain was halfway in the room and the rest was flapping in the morning breeze, without. She clasped it, dragging it in and felt the dewy dampness of it. Turning toward the bed and seeing no cowling form, she let out a screech. “The gal is gone!”

She ran back into the hall, then down the stairs, clamoring for any help. “Massa Artha, Massa Artha! Miss Constance has done gone! She’s missin’!”

Arthur Delaney heard the commotion and bit into his cigar. Moving his portly form as fast as was possible, he joined the house slave in the hall. “Calm down, Nonny. What has got you all riled up?”

As Nonny repeated her pleas, Arthur’s normally jolly and flushed face blanched. He hastened up to his daughter’s room and saw what a second ago he didn’t believe. This doesn’t make any sense. Connie probably is wandering the grounds. A piece of parchment sat on her night table. With clammy hands, he reached for the missive, feeling ice-cold with dread at its contents. He read the words to himself. Papa, I love you. Do not worry. I am going to make you proud of me. I’ll send word. ‘Till then. C. He crumpled against the bed, clutching the letter.

He looked at Nonny, her eyes wide with fear. She seemed as anxious as he felt.

“What’s she done now? Where’s our baby?”

“She’s gone, Nonny. I know not where. She said she wants to make me proud.” His voice caught in his throat and the tone of voice was incredulous.

Everyday I see her face, I have pride. Not many girls have the fire to learn as she.

This strong man then placed his head in his hands and did what he’d not done since Dora’s death. He wept.

***

A boisterous sound from the hallway jostled Constance awake. She eyed the door, her heart in her throat. The chair lodged against the knob was meager protection, but she was taking no chances. The thin curtains barely contained the sunlight streaming in. Judging by the ruckus on the other side of the door, Constance surmised that breakfast was being served.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose slowly. Anxiety and fear were her companions through the night. She spied the washbasin and removed her clothes to bathe. Beneath the disguise, wrappings bound her breasts, her chest ached. I need a break just to breath. With that barrier removed, the air was cold to her exposed skin.

Connie quickly washed and redressed, not wanting to witness her gender. She didn’t care to know she was a woman, much more comfortable without the trappings of frills and skirts. As she combed out her chestnut hair, she realized tucking it into a high-crowned straw hat was going to be impractical. I cannot very well be seen in the hat all of the time. She looked around the room to find something make her more masculine. The table by the bed was bare. By the window a ribbon hung, meant to hold back a curtain. They won’t miss this, I’m sure. She tucked the black material into the pocket of her breeches. I’ll have to cut my hair. She frowned. It is too long to tie back, even if I doubled it. I doubt it would even hold. She twisted the hair up, as she was used to doing, and placed the straw hat on top, and headed downstairs.

When she arrived at the table, other patrons were finishing their meal of porridge, toast and butter. The room was full of men. Would they see through her?

Two others were at the table with her. Both appeared to be farmers or traders of a sort. One was a bigger man, with sagging jowls and a bulbous nose. His face was ruddy, from either sun or drink, Connie thought. The other man was rail thin and wearing a worn jacket. The cuffs were threadbare and careworn. He had a thinning pate. Other than simple morning greetings, conversation was lacking.

Connie spooned the bland mixture into her mouth and choked it down. The soggy oats were lightly scorched, but she had to take her meals where she could get them.

“I say, are either of you gentlemen going towards Market Street?” She looked hopefully from one to the other.

The larger one opened his greasy lips, “Aye. I have hogs to sell. It’s a good two, three days travelin’. Why do you ask, boy?”

The pasty one, “No need to be harsh with the lad, Rodney. He’s only making conversation. I am Reverend Michaels. I’ve only just been acquainted with Rodney Smith a day or so. We’ve decided, as our destination was the same, to share passage. Have you the need of the same?”

“Yes, thank you Mr. Michaels. I’m Cons–Connor Reid. Will there be room for me?”

“Reverend, I’d think you best let invitations wait. It’s not your wagon!” Crumbs gathered on Rodney’s chin and chest, spilling out of his mouth as he spoke.

“Beg pardon sir,” Connie replied, “I would be grateful for the help. I can pay.”

At this, the gleam came to Rodney’s eye. Constance realized she must be careful not to say too much.     Even though she had only a few coins, others would be likely to try to relieve her of them.

Rodney wiped his sleeve across his face, missing much of the mess. “Aye, lad, I can take you, but you have to ride in the wagon with the swine.” Connie paled. “Unless that doesn’t appeal to you.”

She knew she might not get another opportunity. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.” She swallowed. “I only have a piece of copper.”

“Aye, that’ll do. Rev…”

The slim man turned his head sharply at the disrespectful title.

“Looks like we have more baggage, eh.” Rodney’s wheezing laugh commenced.

A cold chill settled in her chest and she realized, that while the trip would be long, it was only a couple of days. Can I trust these men? She spied the knife on the table and considered taking it.

“Mr. Reid, we will leave in a quarter of an hour. Meet us in front.”

“Aye.” She watched as Reverend Michaels and Rodney rose and exited the room. Looking to her left and then the right, ensuring no one was watching, she reached down to the knife, wrapped it in the linen napkin and tucked it into her shirt. Looking around again, she verified she was alone. She returned to the rented room, gathered her sack and made way to the front. The odious duo sat on the bench of the wagon, reins in the meaty grip of Rodney. The Reverend had a solemn expression. Connie stepped up to the duo and gave Mr. Smith a copper piece.

“Just to Market Street, please.”

“Aye” He spat. Connie was already walking toward the back of the wagon, and so missed the vile spittle. She settled herself and braced for the rocking and bucking.

Thank you folks for playing. Please enjoy the other players as well!

AJ O’Donovan, Poetry (PG13)
Stephanie Draven, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Heather S.Ingemar, Dark Fantasy/Poetry (PG13)
Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG 13)
Cynthia Justlin, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13)
Julia Knight, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Ansha Kotyk, Middle Grade Adventure (PG13)
Adelle Laudan, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical Romance (PG 13)
RF Long, YA Paranormal (PG13)
Caitlynn Lowe, Epic Fantasy (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Crista McHugh, Contemporary Erotic Romance (PG 13)
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG)
Megan S., Paranormal (PG13)
Dara Sorensen, Historical Paranormal (PG 13)
Bethanne Strasser, Historical Romance (PG13)

Melissa Aires, Futuristic Romance (R)
Melissa Blue, Contemporary Romance (R)
Jax Cassidy, Contemporary (R)
Christina DeLorenzo, Furturistic Sci-Fi (R)
Maya Doyle, Parnormal Romance (R)
Ginny Glass, Paranormal (R)
Amber Green, Romantic Suspense (R)
Cate Hart, Paranormal YA (R)
Kinsey W. Holley, Erotic Romance (R)
Ali Katz, Erotic Paranormal Romance (R)
Aislinn Kerry, Fantasy (R)
Inez Kelly, Fantasy Romance (R)
Cherrie Lynn, Contemporary Erotic Romance (R)
Mel/Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)
Rebecca Savage, Romantic Suspense (R)
Fae Sutherland, Contemporary Erotic Romance (R)

Stephanie Adkins, Paranormal Erotic Romance (NC 17)
Evie Byrne, Erotic Historical Romance (NC17)
Ella Drake, Erotic Contemporary (NC17)
Dawn Montgomery, Erotic Paranormal Romance (NC17)
Lauren Murphy, Erotic Romance (NC 17)
Kim Knox, Erotic Paranormal Romance (NC17)
Emily Ryan-Davis, Historical Western Romance (NC17)
Kirsten Saell, Erotic Fantasy Romance (NC 17)
Jeanne St. James, Contemporary Romance (NC 17)

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