As with most things in life, some writing days were better than others this week. I missed Tuesday entirely because I was gone all day and went to a lecture on Catherine the Great that night (loved it!), but I got all the other days in, in spite of a rapidly developing head cold. Here's a sampling of what I accomplished.
Monday: “I am not a slackwit, lady, whatever your father
came to think of me after that mischief-making churchman turned his mind against me.”
Tuesday:
Wednesday: She had racked her brains for hours for some way
to smuggle word to Northumberland, but every possibility seemed bolted fast
against her.
Thursday: Richard had been her father’s page and his lively,
cheerful mischief had proved a happier distraction from the dismayingly
ill-tempered man who called himself her father than had the pretty, soft-faced
mother who coddled her one moment, and the next left her with strange servants
to run eagerly off to attend Valette’s every whim.
Friday: He must have seen the defiance in her eyes, for his
own gleamed a challenge in return.
Saturday: Almost immediately his face sobered again and his
eyes darted away; his quick fingers did not drop not so much a beat on the
strings as he sang on as though nothing had passed between them.
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