Look, please don’t blame me. Blame the dug. I don’t want to ask Callm to take her in about any more than I want to rescue our banner. When it comes to carols, I am hoping to play a few at Christmas. Maybe even the 12 Days. To do that I need both hands. Already Dug’s eaten
a-and half a tre-eh-eh branch.
As for Callm…well, I can’t recall off the top of my head what the body count in His Judas Bride was, but I would like to see Christmas Day, although I am sure his skills with a knife might prove useful for cutting some of my baking….
Do you know I had to move last night’s special meal from India to Hawaii, after I mistook the ginger jar for the curry one? Mr Shey was, of course, very understanding about it, although it was not to say that he ate it.
A bit like Dug is trying to be. Which one of you said she was adorable? Stand up now so I can smack you senseless.
I mean we can imagine it, can’t we? The cover reveal?
So, the tenth day of Christmas…..
Well, I am very excited to be doing this one, not to mention surprised Anne let this slip past her. And I am excited for two reasons.
10 Lords a’Leaping… More of in a mo. As you can see here, some of them are even
not to mention waving this….(maybe Dug shouldn’t see this. She is minus a paw after all.)
With a moustache of course.
Well, to quote Lady Fury…’Not at all.’ She has Captain Flint after all, her bad boy privateer, who is so sumexy she makes rules to keep him at bay, knowing just what he’s capable of. Why, she won’t even let him take his clothes off. So pirates? Oh yes.
But lords…? Well, my new hero, Devorlane Hawley is a lord. (He’s… ahem… a lot of things actually.) And he’s very good at leaping in and out of lady’s beds. He would be better at actual proper leaping if he his thigh hadn’t been shattered at the battle of Corunna–something he lays at Sapphire’s door. SO, today’s tidbit? Here’s one card Dug is NOT getting to show.
Not a very good recital by the looks of it.
‘To manage through the first line with Devorlane Hawley’s openly contemptuous stare burning holes in her, and Belle’s vaulting soprano bawling in her ears was going to be a miracle that ranked with some of that same God’s finest. And she didn’t manage it. The opening bar…Lord, what was that twang? That screech too?
“I woulds’t but fly all day. Fl-ah-ah-ah-eye away.”
Belle’s screech soared to the rafters as if she were going to follow by sprouting wings, to the horror of the assembled multitude, and fly about the beams—lovely but worth sod all except for firewood
Devorlane Hawley’s twisted, furrowed brow suggested his agony. Whether it was due to Belle’s caterwauling, or her own appalling efforts at accompaniment, or the wound he’d suffered in the Peninsular, or the choice of this particular song for his home coming, or the fact he’d come home at all, or all five for that matter, was hard to divine. But she very much wanted to get up and run.’