Zoe never thought she had any say in her relationship with Lucas. He was a cold, dominant man, who said he had feelings for nobody. 

But he sent roses for the anniversary of their first date, which intrigued her. Watching him carefully, she began to think he wasn’t as impervious as he appeared.

Her birthday. In a swanky restaurant. She could see he was on edge about something, but when he knelt on the restaurant carpet with a ring box in his hands it surprised her to note that those hands were unsteady.

Maybe the power was hers after all…

©️jj 2018

This is the second part of a Fortune's Fools two-part extract from Haruspex:Trust A Few. If you missed it, you can find the first part here.

“Let me get this right,” Charis said, incredulous. “You are telling me that because I took a break from the freight shunts to help a friend with their new business I am – ” It felt surreal and for a moment Charis had to close her eyes.
“No longer a citizen.” the official finished for her. “That is indeed so, Var Sweetling.”
She opened her eyes again and tried to deal with the situation in a calm and logical way.
“Look, if the Coalition needs me on the cargo runs so badly, I’ll go back to Rota tomorrow.
They will be happy to have me back. They told me they would.”
The official’s face wore an expression which might even have held some trace of regret.
“I am sure you would and I am sure they would. But, I am sorry to say there is an issue with your doing so. Those posts are only open to those who are citizens of the Coalition. And, as you have now confirmed all the details which underlie the ruling of the committee, the status of your non-citizenship has already been confirmed.”
Charis felt her mouth dry up as her throat became suddenly constricted and sore.
“I want a lawyer,” she said, snapping out the words and without even waiting for permission she sent a link out to her mother. It failed to connect and dropped away.
“You are welcome to seek legal representation if you wish to re-apply for asylum, appeal the decision or seek citizenship, but only once you have been deported. As a non-citizen, you have no right to residency in any of the CentralCentral or other Coalition worlds, so whatever legal steps you feel you need to take will have to be conducted from outside them.”
The full horror of her situation impacted then and left Charis feeling weak, as though her muscles could not support her body. She felt herself slump back into the chair.
“I need to go home if you are going to deport me, I need my things. I -”
“That is not going to be possible. You will leave here for a detention facility where you will be informed as to what options may be open to you. I do suggest you co-operate as it makes the process less unpleasant for everyone, but most of all for yourself.”
“But – you don’t understand. I am a citizen of Central – raised here, educated here, my parents live here, all my friends are here, I don’t know any other life. I couldn’t survive a day on half the Middle World protectorates I’ve shunted cargo to, let alone on some below low-tech Periphery hell hole. I won’t know the culture, the way of life, the people. Why take me in and teach me, nurture me, make this my home – then throw me out? What was the point? It’s beyond pointless – it’s – it’s cruel.”
Her voice broke a little on the last word and she had to stop talking or risk allowing the tears of anger and frustration, which pricked in her eyes, from showing.
The official looked a little weary as if he found himself dealing with this situation one time too often.
“The Coalition always takes the cases of displaced minors, children who need asylum, very seriously and the Protected Children Program has been long established as a humane and fair way of treating unaccompanied or orphaned children who come to us in need. Those, such as yourself, who are accepted under Amendment D are required to repay the community through military service, which you did. After which you may be accorded rights of citizenship if you are working in reserved employment – as you were for many years. There is nothing unfair, pointless or cruel about it.”
Charis heard the door open behind her and, still in denial when her arm was taken in an iron grip, she felt as if the end of her life had begun.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

The Little Bottomley versus Upper Crutchingham football match happened every Boxing Day, come rain, shine, hail sleet or snow. The bragging rights were priceless, and the battered cup took pride of place behind the bar of either the Drunken Duck or the Lamb and Fleece. 

Nothing changed until the the coming of the Great War when so many went to war that there was barely a dozen young men in both villages. 

What to do?

Boxing Day 1915. The muddy and bloodstained captain of Upper Crutchingham held the trophy aloft in both hands. 

She smiled a gap-toothed triumphant smile…

©️jj 2018

An extract from Prelude: The Expanding Seas of Earth by J.H. Tabbott

The research vessel Sally’s Pride. Plucked off the ocean by an alien expeditionary force planning an invasion, Dr. Maggie Kestler and her crew must find a way to warn Earth. 

Time is running out, and the best plans Maggie’s devised so far are probably suicidal. When an even more daring plan comes to light, she must choose. However, the final solution will test their strengths, beliefs, and personal hopes beyond all limits as they journey toward a strange new reality…

Maggie grabbed a short plastic tumbler from the counter and tugged at one of the chairs by the table. It was tethered to the mess deck by cable for rough seas, but there were no rough seas in space. Pouring the dark red wine into her glass, she toasted, “Here’s to surviving.”
The Coulets lifted their glasses in salute. Adele spoke. “Oh, I think we all survive. It is of Earth I am not so sure.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Maggie regarded them admiringly. They were obviously soul-mates. When Blaise spoke to Adele, you could hear the respect and warmth in his voice. And Adele’s trust and admiration toward him always shone through, even when she teased him, which she and – it seemed to Maggie – even he clearly enjoyed. Their passions for each other may have cooled, but not waned.
“You’ve spent more time on the teaching machines, and spoken to Khreseea more,” Maggie asked, “What do you think of their plans?”
“Well, do you mean will their plans succeed? Or do you wonder what their plans will mean to Earth?”
“Good point, but I guess both…”
Blaise nodded, and took a slow sip of his wine, then looked directly into Maggie’s eyes. “We have discussed this before, between ourselves,” Blaise glanced at Adele, “and the conclusion is always the same. Their plan will succeed. It is unstoppable. We have not seen their weapons, but we have seen a little more of their ship and have been allowed a small peek at their science…so far ahead of our own, so powerful. If their weaponry were only a fraction as advanced as their other technologies, Earth would have no defense. Earth may fight, but it will be a short fight. Non, Earth’s governments will cooperate.”
“And what about the people? You think this rosy picture they paint of cooperation – advanced medical technology, ending famine, humanity becoming part of the greater universe – is that realistic?”
“We all die,” Adele responded, “Certainmente they can help us live longer, but inevitably we all die. Our own technologies have already added many years to human life. Hunger? We can cure it ourselves even now. It is only a question of politics and transport that starves people. These things, I think they can fix, but so can we. But becoming part of a greater universe…I don’t think.”
Blaise spoke up. “Was the French peasant part of the greater universe under Louis the 16th? Did the American farmers feel part of the greater British empire before 1776? These are the pretenses people of power embrace to justify their ambitions. The only thing that is real is that they will be in power, and we–we will be powerless.”
Maggie digested the words first, uncertainly. “Do you think we have any chance? Can we change anything? Stop them?”
“We have wondered the same,” Blaise said quietly, “but we have come up with no answer.”
“We had thought maybe some way to warn Earth,” Adele added, “but, of course, even then what could Earth do?”
“Have you seen anything, any clue, how we could warn Earth?” Maggie asked.
“Aaahh, yes.” Adele smiled conspiratorially at Blaise. “My husband has thought of two such wonderful plans”
Blaise sighed dismissively, and turned to Maggie, “I would not myself call them plans. And only if we were very fortunate would one work. If we could get to their communications system–and had time to decipher it–we might send a warning to Earth before we were captured. But most likely we would not have time enough. The second has a better chance. If we could get to their engineering, I think we could much easier compromise this ship’s containment fields. They would not have time to react, and Earth would know we are here.”
“But their containment fields…for their power source?”
“Yes. They control great power. Unleashed, we could paint a bright spot on the night sky. I am sure we are still within our solar system. We would be seen. Questions asked. This close, it would be known this was not natural–a warning at least that something very dangerous was near.”
“But we’d be dead. We’d blow up the ship with ourselves on board. And it could take years before Earth found wreckage and really understood.”
“Well,” Blaise swirled the wine around in his glass, “it is not a perfect plan.”

A Bite of... J.H. Tabbott

Question one: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

I don’t know. But I suspect all authors imbue both their heroes and villains with at least some aspect of themselves. In Maggie Kestler, I see much uncertainty. She has a strong opinion of what must be done, but a built in resistance to stepping out of her comfort zone to make decisions for others. I can relate to that, including sometimes over-thinking decisions I must make. In Kreseea, I see someone operating completely in her comfort zone – confident and arrogant in her ability to control situations. In my particular area of expertise, I am confident. And honestly, within that domain, sometimes I will show a little arrogance – to a purpose, for getting things done. I think people who at least know what they’re doing are entitled to occasionally show a little arrogance – so long as they don’t lose sight of the real possibility they could still fall on their faces. Arrogance makes the fall all that harder, so it is rarely worth it. 

Question two: Would you rather live in this world or the one you create in your books?

Well, despite all its flaws, I like this world. I’d just like to change it in new and exciting ways–so I like exploring change. However, I believe there are limits to what we can change. What it means to be human is to be imperfect, but be capable of seeing perfection. Only not everyone’s vision or values are clear, so people develop different versions of perfection. I don’t believe people, individually, will change, but in the aggregate I do believe human society will always draw toward perfection – just never reaching that goal because humanity has built-in flaws.
So I enjoy writing about game-changers. In PRELUDE, I give my protagonists a chance to lead humanity onto a new path. Yet I have them respect everyone’s right to choose. What I’d like to see most in this world or any imagined future, is universal acceptance that everyone has a natural right to choose their own path, and make all their own personal decisions. 
And, of course, I’d love to live in a world where interstellar travel is a routine thing. 
If it is an integral part of your theme, or can help supporting your theme, then use it. 

Question three: Chips or pasta? 

It depends upon the occasion. Watching football? Chips! Dinner with my beautiful wife? Pasta, a nice salad, and a good Merlot.
What time of day do you write best? 
I don’t know, but usually I’m stuck writing evenings between nine and midnight. Day job done, a little quality time with my wife, then dive in. I would love to have mornings, to see what happens when I’m fresh.

J.H. Tabbott in his own words

I’m a native New Yorker, who grew up loving reading and aspired by age nine to become an author. New York City has so many diverse and rich real-life characters, I was inspired to write “the great American novel”  – which ambition was further out of my reach than expected. And my early disappointment led me to set writing aside too soon.
My other love is the water. I like telling people I was born on an island, with all the rich tropical images that conveys. Then I tell them it was Staten Island – in New York City. One of the five Boroughs. Entirely different images ensue.
But still I was surrounded by water and bought my first boat by the age of nineteen. Cruising New York harbor and the Atlantic Highlands inspired and fulfilled my need to explore new places. It later seemed fitting when I began work at a steamship company and learned about the waterfront from the bottom up. Working with ships and international trade became my career, and I still enjoy it. But writing was always my first love. I never forgot it.
I became most attracted to science fiction because every story was an exploration of new worlds and new ideas. My earliest favorite was Isaac Asimov. His wonderful cleverness and humor still inspires me.
I enjoy knocking about on boats and enjoy watching sunsets over the St. Johns River from my home. But now, after the sun sets I turn on my computer, and have the thrill of creating my own new worlds to share with others. It’s a soaring freedom hard to come by in other jobs.

 Prelude: The Expanding Seas of Earth is out now.

We wanted a puppy. But Maw said no. Said we wasn’t responsible enough. Said we neglected the animals we had got, so no puppy. 

We sulked a bit, but then Elmer said Maw had a point. So we knuckled down and helped her about the place, learning to care for the cow and the sheep, and the yard dogs, and the horses. 

We was so busy we near to forgot about the puppy. But Maw never forgets nothing.

We come in from the yard one time and there’s a box by the fire. Maw smiles as the puppy jumps out…

©️jj 2018

When seconds, and in some case thirds, had been consumed. Anna and Colin cleared the buffet, while Patsy collected plates and cutlery and loaded the dishwasher.
“It’s full, Anna,” she commented. “Will I set it going?”
“Please.”
Patsy grinned engagingly.
“Need any help?”
“Nah. You’re all right. We’ve got it.”
“Good. I’m going back to Mrs Jackson. She’s telling Jim the filthiest stories, and all in the most ladylike of tones. It’s fucking hilarious. Sufiq and Anjali are both pissing themselves.”
She sloped off and Ben came over to Anna with a face full of laughter.
“God. She’s fricking wonderful isn’t she? Got us all sitting up and begging.”
“She would. She actually trains dogs for a living.”
Ben laughed until he nearly fell over.
“Dressed like that?”
“Don’t be silly, though she does have her boiler suits tailored… Now go away, there’s a dear. Colin’s getting twitchy.”

He went and Anna and Colin replenished the buffet.
“Pudding,” Anna called, and people came over in ones and twos to help themselves.
“The Patsy effect,” Colin muttered into Anna’s ear. “I wonder if she’s available for wedding receptions and the like.”

Anna grinned and went to the table. She loaded a meringue shell with lemon curd ice cream, then topped it with clotted cream and a generous spoonful of crushed biscuit. Wandering over to the table where Gloria sat, she put the bowl down in front of her.
“Eat. I know what you like.”
Gloria grinned and took a spoonful.
“Oh my,” she groaned “Jim you have to taste this”.
He took the offered spoonful and made similar noises of appreciation.
“Oh my goodness. It’s lemon meringue pie. Only better. Mrs J, you have to try this.”
“Two more?'”Anna asked laughingly and went to fetch.
Anjali followed her smiling.
“It’s lovely to see Pats. And to see you so happy. I reckon she’ll even stop bullying you now. Seems to think you’ve grown up at last. Now. Did I hear mention of chocolate brownies?”
“You did.” Anna pointed, then made two more lemon meringue nests, which she delivered to Jim and Mrs Jackson.

A heavy hand fell in her shoulder and she turned to grin at her big brother.
“Where Paul?”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him over the the big table. Putting her finger to her lips she pointed underneath. Sure enough, Paul was still with the little ones. He had snaffled a floor cushion from somewhere and was leaning against the table leg absent-mindedly spooning food into his mouth between sentences as he wove a tale of treasure and daring do for his small audience. Danny grinned and stood up silently.
“I don’t always remember how much he loves kids. Maybe we should adopt some…”
Anna shrugged.
“Not something you need to discuss with me.”
He saw the hurt in her eyes and coloured.
“Sorry Anna. Is it still so raw?”
“No. I just look at Sam and think what a lovely Daddy he would be.”
Danny took her shoulders in his hands and gave her a little shake.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? Way I hear it, you aren’t the only reason that won’t happen.”
She winked away a tear and smiled crookedly.
“I know. It just seems sad.”
He swatted her backside.
“Don’t get greedy, love. Wasn’t too long ago you were Miss Marshall in the back office. Now look at yourself.”
This time her smile was genuine.
“Thanks Danny. I needed reminding how lucky I am.”
He flicked the top of her head.
“Totally undeserved, of course. Now what do you recommend I have for pudding?”

Anna did a circuit of the room, making sure that everybody was happy. Back at the buffet table Sam stood irresolute.
“It all looks so good. I don’t know where to start.”
“How about I make you a meringue nest. Not lemon as it’s not your favourite. Otherwise, let me surprise you.”

He grinned and turned his back. A couple of minutes later Anna put a plate in his hand. He looked at the contents and licked his lips.
“Meringue. Strawberry. Chocolate sauce. Ice cream. Yum. Extra hour at the gym this week.”
‘Maybe. Or perhaps lots of sex and a couple long walks with Bonnie.”
He grinned evilly.
“Talking of Bonnie. Where is she?”
“In her basket in the utility. Conked out. Entertaining is obviously very tiring. And Sam. Your Mrs Jackson is telling Jim stories that are so filthy his ears are going red.”
“I bet she is, and all in the most genteel of tones. She used to do the same to me. Give her one glass of wine and all discretion flies out of the window. For all the gentility she’s had a bit of a life.”
“I reckon.”
“Geordie came to see me just after I moved in here. Just to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage. When he decided I wasn’t he made it clear that any friend of Mrs J’s could walk down any street in Glasgow unmolested. I’ll admit I’ve never had the nerve to try it out. But…”
“But indeed.”

It was a very good party, and went on until quite late. One of the neighbours went home and got his guitar, which started a somewhat raucous sing-song. Almost everyone joined in, with the exception of Anna and Bonnie, neither of whom could hold a tune. The highlight of the evening, though, came when Jim took a harmonica out of his shirt pocket and played. Anna grabbed Sam’s arm.
“Oh,” she whispered in his ear, “Pats is going to sing. She has a wonderful voice.”
Then the room fell silent as Jim swung into Summer Time, joined after the intro by the most glorious contralto voice. When the song finished there was clapping and cheering, and more than one person had tears in their eyes.
“More. More please!” came from all around the room.
Patsy grinned and wiped her own eyes.
“What next?”
Jim put the harmonica to his lips and winked as he played the first chords of The Mountains of Mourne. Silence fell again.
When the last note had died away, the applause was thunderous once again.

Jane Jago

“When shall we eleven meet again?” Even to her own ears that sounded silly so she hunched her scrawny shoulders and tried again. “Next month? Same time? Same place?”

There was a generalised mutter of vague agreement, before the oldest and fattest of their number unearthed a battered Tupperware box from somewhere About her person.

“Fudge anybody?”

It always seemed easier when they got to the eating and drinking, and quite a lively party ensued.

As the last acolyte drifted drunkenly homeward, still singing, there came an aroma of decay. 

Two demons regarded each other in some disgust.

“Witches today…”

©️jj 2018

10
So did you get that project done, the one miss said was due?
I’ve finished mine on time and started something new.
You coming to Merry’s party? You have to be there so
I can tell my parents and then they will let me go.

20
So how’s the job coming along and did you get that raise,
The one you wanted for so long? Yeah, Uni’s a real daze.
I met someone the other day, we went out for a drink.
Did you get off with what’s their name? That one you liked, I think.

30
So how’s the house hunt going now your second’s on the way?
I saw you out in Supermart just the other day.
I was with my partner, we’ll marry in July,
No, I think we might still rent, not sure I want to buy.

40
I hear you son’s done well at school, my daughter starts this year,
We had to move to get her in, the local one was drear!
Well, yes it cost a bit to move but well worth it I’m sure,
You heard that Merry lost that job? Must be feeling poor.

50
Mine never call from college, I’m glad that yours still do.
Oh, the divorce? What can I say? These things happen too.
Life as a single-parent is not so bad as some
You know what being homeless made poor Merry become.

60
No, I’m never lonely, don’t mind the empty nest.
The way I think, it’s peace and quiet, get a good night’s rest.
You saw Merry on the news? It was such a shame,
I’m sure they got the details wrong and misplaced the blame.

70
The grand-children came by last night, they are such fun.
But I’m worn out when they’ve gone home, always on the run.
You have yours living with you now? That must be a bind,
So very tiring at your age, as I am sure you find.

80
I’m sorry for your loss and now we both are on our own,
The grandchildren are all grown up and moving out alone.
You know that you are getting old when your kids reach middle age.
Still, time to have a cup of tea and turn another page.

E.M. Swift-Hook

When your father fights on the losing side in a war, the only thing that is certain is uncertainty. Your home will probably be sequestered, your family assets seized, and your person may be open to abuse. Any young woman so beleaguered should be grateful if the man to whom the victorious leader gifts her family lands decides to marry her to further legitimise his claim. 
Mary Ashleigh reminded herself of this fact, while her reluctant feet trod the worn flagstones to where a fussy little priest with a streaming cold waited to marry her to a man she had never met. 
As she reached the altar rail where her bridegroom waited, she risked a glance before dropping her eyes in proper modesty. She got an impression of great height and very wide shoulders, but little more than that. As the priest stumbled his way through the short service Mary made her responses in her customarily placid manner, while the man spoke equally calmly, if in a voice as deep and unknowable as a thunderstorm in a far valley.
It seemed to take no time at all until the parson was proclaiming them man and wife. To her surprise, her new husband tucked her hand under his arm as he walked her from the building. This emboldened her to such an extent that she looked up.
The face that she beheld was square of jaw and sandy of hair and a little forbidding in its very strength, but withal he seemed to her to be a very proper man and to be looking at her with at least the semblance of friendliness. She smiled up at him and he patted the hand that lay in the crook of his arm.
“I am sorry that we could not meet before this day,” he said.
Mary’s surprise must have shown because he laughed, a deep and somehow comforting sound which emboldened her to speak. 
“It was more kindness than I expected when you chose to wed me.”
His voice when he replied was solemn. “You should not feel like that, although I can understand why you might. Do you know someone who has been misused?”
Mary looked at her feet for a moment before responding. “I do, sir. My cousin Catherine. She has a big belly now, but no husband.”
“Who did such a thing?”
“She don’t know sir. They shared her.”
He made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “And where is the lady now?”
“She is at the manor. Hoping to become your pensioner as she was my father’s.” Greatly daring she turned and faced her husband. “Catherine,” she said in a tiny voice, “is very beautiful.”
“And you are not?”
“No sir. I am a plain little dab of a thing. My father was at great pains to be sure I understood that.”
He looked down into her earnest features and she could have sworn that the expression that crossed his face was pity. Putting his hand under her chin he held her face still while he looked deeply into her eyes.
“Not so plain,” he said consideringly, “not so plain at all. You have skin like the petals of a rose and your eyes are as clear and clean as a moorland stream. I think we will walk well together if you will it so.”
Mary felt the greatest part of her worries slipping away. “I do so will it sir.”
He patted her hand. “Listen, my wife. When we are in company I must always be the cold, hard master of the house. But when we are alone you may look to see the kinder side of me.”
Mary dimpled. “Will it be wise if I am the colourless, obedient wife in company?”
“It will. And my name is William. It would please me to hear you use it.”
“Yes William. It is a fine name, I think.”
“You, I believe are Mary. A favourite name of mine.”
He smiled benignly down at her and actually caressed the hand that lay in the crook of his arm, before straightening and assuming an expression of cold superiority as they neared the open door of the manor house. 
Mary dropped her eyes to the floor and schooled her own features. They entered the flagstoned hallway to find every member of the small household neatly turned out and awaiting their new master. Mary introduced them, and her husband spoke to each in calm clipped tones. He left no doubt of who was master, and Mary had to admire his composure. Last to be introduced was Catherine. Beautiful raven-haired Catherine whose eyes were as green as grass and whose figure was lissom and graceful even with the slight bulge of her pregnant belly. Mary couldn’t help a little frisson of fear as she saw her husband’s eyes turn to the pretty member of the Ashleigh family. 
Catherine swept a magnificent curtesy, almost seeming to invite William’s attention to focus on the creamy slopes of her bosom. As she rose from her curtesy, with a matchless grace as yet undiminished by her pregnancy, she lifted her eyelids and looked him straight in the eye before dropping her long, white eyelids and wetting her lips with the tip of her pointed, pink tongue. 
William, however, had already stopped looking and was leading his wife into the parlour. Catherine made as if to follow them but the door was shut firmly in her face. She hissed.  
Inside the sunny room, Mary showed her husband a visage of stark misery before managing to pull herself together. He took her sad face in both hands.
“Why so sorrowful?”
Being unused to the arts of coquetry she answered him with the plain truth.
“I was thinking that now you have seen Catherine you must be regretting your marriage to me. She is an Ashleigh too, and so much more what you deserve.”
William laughed. “If I did not understand your way of thinking, my wife, I would be insulted.”
“Insulted? But she is a beauty, and so clever and bright. I can do naught but keep house and stitch…” 
He put a gentle hand over her lips.
“My dear wife. I have seen the like of your cousin before. She is what they would call a light skirt. But you have no idea what that means do you?”
Mary shook her head.
“It means that your cousin encourages men to take liberties with her person.”
“Oh.” Then Mary thought about what William was saying and many things made sense. “Oh, that is why she is so different with men than with women. Do you think her culpable in her situation?”
“I do not know, my wife. But I would not be surprised.”
There came a tap on the door.
“Enter.” William spoke in a cold severe voice.
The door opened to admit Catherine with her eyes carefully downcast. “Cousin, forgive my interruption, I believe I left my needlework in this room.” 
With that, she put a delicate hand to her forehead and crumpled gracefully into a heap of silken skirts. Somehow as she fell her cap came loose and a wealth of night black hair tumbled about her slender form. William looked down at her and smiled tautly. He bent and picked up the still form, throwing her over one great shoulder as if she was naught but a sack of grain. As he left the room, Catherine opened her eyes and shot Mary a look of barbed hatred mixed with scathing triumph. Mary sat down and awaited developments. She had not long to wait. 
William strode back into the room and shut the door behind him with what was suspiciously close to a slam. He came over to where Mary sat and dropped to his knees beside her chair.
“Mary,” he said with a tread of humour in his deep voice, “your cousin is little better than a wharfside whore.”
Having no idea what he meant, Mary kept her counsel, simply looking into his strong, somewhat harsh, features as calmly as she could. He gave a queer groan and pulled her into his arms, bending his mouth to hers. He kissed her lips, gently at first but then she could feel his mouth growing more urgent against hers. He used his tongue to part her lips and the feel of it invading her mouth sent queer little tingles through her body. He abandoned her mouth, and lifted her into his arms.
“I should wait for this,” he murmured, “but I am not made of stone.” 
  It was some goodly while later and Mary, having very little notion how she got from her parlour to the bedchamber, lay against her husband’s chest idly running her hands through the auburn hair that dusted its surface. She sighed.
“Why the sigh, my wife?”
She dared to lift herself onto her elbows and look down into his face. She thought he looked younger now, and somehow less formidable, but even so she arranged her thoughts carefully before she spoke.
“I am thinking that it was a happy sigh. But I am also worrying that I should not have enjoyed that which passed between us quite so much.”
His laugh was a sound of pure joy and he tumbled her from his chest, rolling to pin her between his hard body and the soft feather mattress. He bent his head and kissed her until she lay boneless in his embrace. Then he smiled. “I am only grateful that you are open to the pleasures of the flesh. It is a gift to us.” 
It was with no little regret that the newlyweds dressed themselves and left the sanctuary of their bed, but there was business to be seen to and neither was of that careless nature that can laugh at tasks undone. 

Jane Jago

Fear crept under her eyelids and into her dreams. She awoke sweating, crying and aware of a presence where there should be none. Groping for the light switch she felt an alien body. There was something in her bed.

She froze. Unable to speak or move, she simply lay where she was with the slow tears running down her face.

Whatever it was beside her made a sound that was very close to a laugh then a hand, or claw, or paw, touched her tear-wet cheek.

“Soft.”

Then that hand moved to her throat and she knew no more…

©️jj 2018