July Is Upon Us

It’s nearly July and that’s an odd month for me. My anniversary is July 12. I’ve spent many, many anniversaries alone, so that isn’t a big deal, but with the divorce looming large it seems particularly sad this year. I’ve been separated for nearly a year, but it still takes some getting used to. My daughter’s birthday is the 18th. The anniversary of her death is the 19th. I am always in a foul mood this time of year and this year is no different. Will returns July 2nd or 3rd. He will be home until the 28th and then they ship to Georgia and will deploy to Iraq from there. And, I have started packing for the move. It will be good in some ways, but I dread moving and putting most of my possessions in storage.

When the dust settles I am going to Garland to buy a new hat and maybe a new pair of boots.

For those of you who haven’t checked out the Surrey conference, click on it in the sidebar. Luscious is the only word to describe it.

Excerpt from Paladin. Lucine is trying to gather the remainder of the poisoned herb she had sent to the alchemist for the prince’s wetnurse.

“What is it used for?” she asked, still stroking the bottle with a finger.

“Some people believe it helps a man . . .” he tugged at his shirt collar and blushed profusely, “well, become more interested. If you know what I mean.”

The young woman giggled and winked at the man who waited for her at the door. He stood almost at attention, watching the passing people and the shopkeeper. Clearly a bodyguard who was not interested in a lady’s shopping and less interested in anything to help something else stand at attention.

“I think I’ll take it. I’ve just given birth to our first child and I fear my husband, Lord Girtram Arelawe, might lose interest in me.” She placed her hands on her tiny waist, accentuating the curve of her hip under the brocade gown and tossed her hair over her shoulder. It fell in lush blonde waves like a silken mantle across her shoulders as she leaned forward. Her lowcut bodice shelved milky white breasts, lightly veined with blue, leading the shopkeeper’s gaze to the lace barely covering her. “I’m afraid I’m getting fat,” she pouted.

“Oh, no, madam. You’re not fat at all. I would venture a guess you are quite perfect.” He brushed his brow with his handkerchief and smiled nervously.

“Lord Arelawe is also concerned the wetnurse isn’t producing enough milk for our son. I heard the prince’s nurse buys some formula here, which helps her.” She straightened, running her delicate hands across the top of her gown. “I don’t want saggy, baggy breasts like some old milk cow,” she whimpered. “If the nurse doesn’t produce enough milk he’ll make me nurse the next child myself. I’m sure you can see what a disaster that would be?”

“Oh, yes,” Thomland stammered. “Not that I can imagine you with saggy—”

His wife strode through the curtains into the back part of the shop. A pack of stair-step children tagged along behind her, tugging at her skirt and apron. She stooped to pick up the toddler who was now holding up his hands and threatening to break out in a wail at being ignored. “Some men like saggy and baggy, don’t they?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” he agreed almost too quickly. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and ran his tongue over his lips, glancing nervously at his wife much like a child caught with his hand in the sweets might. “Not that you are saggy and baggy, of course, dear.”

“Of course.” She handed the toddler to her husband. “Why don’t you take the children to the back and finish feeding them and I will help Lady Arlow.”