https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/get-official-poster
Did you know that April is National Poetry Month?
Having written many poems during my lifetime, I appreciate how much poorer the world would be without poetry. Of course, there’s not a hard line between poetry and prose. The music of language works to elevate both.
For today’s Book Hooks, I’m sharing a bit from my historical lesbian romance story By Moonlight. This book was inspired by the classic poem The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. I don’t recall when I first read this poem, but I’m sure it was during my elementary school years. The imagery, the drama and the tragic romanticism all spoke to me.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
In
my version of this tale, the highwayman is in fact a woman in man’s
garb. And because this is romance, I’ve spun the a happy ending for
my lovers. I haven't skimped on the drama, though!
Here’s a bit from the middle of the story.
And I do hope, if you’re not familiar with the poem, that you’ll go check it out after reading my excerpt.
The Hook
Bess strained at her restraints, even though she knew her struggling was futile. Terror and fury mingled in her breast. How dare he touch her? She belonged to Kit, body and soul.
As he fiddled with his trousers, she realized that her current position offered some protection. Though her would-be assailant did not as yet seem to understand this, it would be close to impossible for him to penetrate her cunny while she was seated and bound. At very least he’d have to untie her ankles in order to lift her hips off the chair. If he did, she’d be ready to deliver a solid kick to the bollocks.
He reached for her. She shrank away. A knock froze them both in place. In its wake came silence. The raucous commotion from the common room had died away.
A second knock set her attacker back in motion. He whirled in the direction of the sound. “Who’s there?” he growled. “Go away!”
“Excuse me, sir.” Bess was astonished to hear a woman’s voice, with a thick Devon accent. “Your friend sent me up with some ale for you.”
“Oh, well! That’s a different story.” He flipped Bess’s dress down to cover her thighs, then turned her back toward the window before opening the door.
Bess craned her neck so that she could see the entrance. A stranger stood on the threshold, a maid of perhaps two and twenty. She wore an apron over her brown homespun gown, which was cut less modestly than the one Bess wore. The woman’s plaits were coiled above her ears. In one hand, she carried a lighted taper, in the other, one of the inn’s earthenware tankards. The candle cast a cone of light on the woman’s bosom, but left her face mostly in shadow. Bess had a brief impression of prominent cheekbones and a sharp chin, before the newcomer set both her burdens on top of the cupboard.
“I’d heard you were thirsty, sir,” she said, her respectful tone not quite consistent with her jaunty posture. “And that you had need of light.”
“True on both counts.” The soldier grinned, reached for the flagon and took a generous swallow. “I’d expected Jack,” he said evenly, setting the ale down. “But you’re a welcome substitute, wench.”
Grasping her by the wrist, he drew the mysterious barmaid into the room then used his foot to nudge the door closed. Bess felt some surprise that the girl didn’t resist, especially when the redcoat wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her to his chest.
“Now that you’re here,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. “I hope you’ll stay for a bit.”
The next events unfolded so quickly that Bess could scarcely follow what was happening. As he tried to kiss the woman in his arms, his murmur of satisfaction transformed to a cry of pain. The man crumpled to the floor, a dagger embedded in his chest. “Damned harlot!” he gasped. He writhed at the stranger’s feet for a moment, then lay still.
“Ignorant brute,” she responded, her voice dripping with scorn. She poked him with her boot. When he did not stir, she crouched by his side, pulled the knife from his chest, and wiped it on the soldier’s scarlet coat. The gem-studded grip of her weapon glittered in the flickering candlelight.
“At least the blood won’t show,” she said lightly. Her rural accent had vanished, to be replaced by familiar Gallic-tinged tones.
“Kit! How in the world—?”
“Later, my sweet.” Her savior was already kneeling at Bess’s feet, sawing at the ankle ropes. “We must be away before the King’s dogs awaken and come after us.” She cast a wry glance over her shoulder, at the body on the floor. “Though there’s at least one who won’t be joining the chase.” Her well-honed blade made short work of the soldiers’ bonds.
Finally free, Bess rose on wobbly legs and flowed into the outlaw’s arms. Kit’s familiar warmth engulfed her. Bess leaned against the slender, road-toughened body she knew so well, breathing in Kit’s scent of earth and spice and reveling in the sense of rightness. Yet at the same time it felt strange to embrace her bandit beloved, dressed as Kit was in the layers and skirts of a woman.
Their lips met in a fiery kiss. The terror and anxiety of the past hours evaporated like dew in the sun. The outlaw’s bold tongue claimed her mouth. Meanwhile Kit’s clever hands swept along Bess’s back then down to her buttocks. Even through her coarse clothing, Bess felt supple fingers kneading her flesh and the firm pressure of Kit’s pubis against her own.
She sighed, sagging against her lover’s breasts. “Take me, I beg you. Wash away that wretch’s foul taint.” Her own fingers struggled to untie Kit’s apron and pull her bodice out from her waist.
“Nay, my sweet. There’s no time.” With a last brush of her lips across Bess’s forehead, Kit disentangled herself and set Bess aside. “We must be away before the redcoats come to their senses.”
“What do you mean?” Bewildered and bereft, Bess sank back into the chair.
“You’ll see. Have you things you can’t bear to leave behind? If so, gather them now. And your warmest cloak as well. ’Tis chilly upon the moors.” Kit grabbed Bess by the wrists and pulled her to her feet. “Quickly, girl! Just things that can’t be replaced. I’ve plenty of coin for anything else.”
Bess surveyed her humble quarters. There was little enough of value. As always, she wore her mother’s locket, with its miniature likeness and the curl of jet-black hair. She slipped her woolen cape off its peg and swung it around her shoulders. “I don’t need anything,” she said finally. “As long as I have you.”
You can find the buy links for By Moonlight here: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/bymoonlightbook.html
Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!
