Here's to a happy weekend of reading, !

It's time for fall colors, hot drinks, hand-made quilts, and a whole lot of books for you....

Thank you for helping to make launch week a success for The Knight & His Magical Armlet! We've gotten into Amazon's Top 10 New Releases in Fairy Tales.

I've got one this-weekend-only announcement, and then you can read.... and keep scrolling to see the Shelties give a demonstration about how to get cozy. Don't miss the brief appearance from The Dog Who Never Sleeps...

Cozy the Day Away.... so many books for you!!

My story-starter books are on sale for 99 cents/pence! I've put Horned Women on sale for October (because it's a witchy book for a witchy month!) but the other two are VERY brief offers, just because I'm so excited about this event!

There's going to be bajillions of books (that's the technical word). You can sort by 14 categories (from Steampunk to Mystery), 9 categories of representation (body positive, queer, etc), format (audiobook, etc), and cozy OR cozy-adjacent. I'm writing this email the day before the event, and I can't wait to see what's on offer!

Cozy the Day Away!

Chapter One

I come out at the edge of a field. In the rain. With my left foot in a puddle, and that’s the one they just patched up. I shake out with a grimace and try to figure out where I am before starting what promises to be a cold and dreary walk. I should be glad to be home again, but God’s wounds, I’m weary of this whole rigamarole.

The change is always disorienting. In 1971 we were having a bright and windy day, lots of coming and going in the hospital, tinny speakers playing American Christmas carols. Now my ears are pounding with silence as I scan the open meadow in front of me, wondering why I came out here. When I’m done with a job, the armlet doesn’t really care where it sends me, so I can make hints for the Veil to pull me back to where I want to land. This time, I needed to get home in time to see my son.

I brace my hand on the aspen, which shakes water down my neck. As I move to pull up my hood, I remember the tokens in my hand. Bare oak twigs and green holly. My breath catches as I check the signs around me—did I make it back in time? The trees are leafless, the barely visible slant of sun clings low to the hills, but I can’t tell if Solstice is passed…

Aha. The clatter of men and pack horses emerges from the trees below, one voice rising above the rest—King Fionn mac Cumhaill, my boss. I guess this is close enough to where I ought to be.

 I’m going to assume the oak and ivy did their job—like calls to like—so I kiss them to thank them for their service, then set off across the field, towards my fianna. Most of the men nod without a second thought, assuming that I’ve just come back from scouting or fetching or a hundred other normal assignments.

“Ho, Commander Rian.” One man peels away from the others—a spring in his step, hood fallen back from his curly hair and medium skin a shade lighter than my own. He flicks a salute, turned so only I can see the formal greeting.

Guaire would know how long I’ve been gone, but first I have to pause to help pull the cart around a tree-root, chatting with the cartier. This is the way it always works; people see what they expect to see, and the Veil blurs their memories to fit their expectations. When my armlet pulled me away, my fianna was on the way to pay a diplomatic visit to a couple of kings, and apparently we’re still on the road. When I’m in another time, I never know if I’m going to lose a few hours or a few days.

I let the packhorses pass and fall into step beside Guaire. I’m too tired to push myself.

“You’re limping.” Guaire pays attention.

“Didn’t mean to.” I adjust, taking my weight evenly.

“Let me try again.” Guaire’s easy smile flickers. “Rian of Kilkirk, honored leader, why are you limping?”

“Beam fell on it,” I answer. “Large-ish beam, if you want to be precise.”

“Hm.” Guaire pretends to be satisfied, but I know what he’s up to. Just planning his next attack. The little bugger isn’t going to leave me alone, so I give in.

“Uprisings in 1918,” I tell him. “Insurgents set fires in Kilkenny town. I was there about a week, and yes, I stopped by the hospital for antibiotics before I came home.”

“And pain meds?” He uses the English words, which he ferreted out of me half a dozen trips ago.

I grunt in agreement. “But I’ll need you to…”

He gives me a sharp look. “What?”

It doesn’t matter. He figured out about the armlet already. “There’s something hurting.” I pat my bicep, the armlet hidden under layers of clothes. “Not bad enough to bother the nurses about, but it’s on the back of my arm. I just can’t see it, so if you…” I shrug.

“You know I will. We’ll be home soon, and I’ll do it then.”

“Home?” I pause, searching the trees and shapes of the hills. How did I not see it? I flush with unaccustomed anger, but come on—if Fionn and the fianna were an hour from home, why didn’t the magic just put me down in the castle? It wants so much of me, can’t I ever get—

I shake my head, stopping the useless train of thought. I’m not a sorcerer, I just do what I’m supposed to do.

“It was children, wasn’t it?”

“Hm? What?” I stop, staring at Guaire. 

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Children. That you were sent to rescue this time.”

I grunt and keep walking. 

He keeps his hand in place. “You always have a haunted look to you, when you have to rescue children.”

I’m not answering that. “Speaking of children, is Liath Luacra here with the boys yet? Have I missed Solstice?”

“You haven’t missed Solstice. But…”

“But what?” Not that I care. This time of year, I don’t care about anything but my visit with my son, River.

Guaire shrugs, throwing out his hands with an extravagant gesture. “I’m not sure. We were visiting in Leinster, you know, and there were rumors.”

“There’s always rumors.”

“Something about the king of Uí Néill visiting in the area.”

“All the way down south? But I don’t care about—”

“If he’s visiting Liath Luacra, then it’ll make her late to come visit us, then she doesn’t bring River. So you do care.”

“Then I’ll go visit them.”

Guaire shrugs again. “Wait a few days. Let your foot heal, and—”

“I don’t care about my foot!”

Guaire raises his eyebrows. “And make sure the rumors are true, so you don’t miss them on the road.”

He’s right. I’m not usually impatient. “Fine,” I agree. “And this thing”—I pat my arm—“had better not want anything to do with me for a few weeks.”

Guaire glances me over again. “You need some rest,” he says, his teasing tone belying his tense expression. “Enjoy a good book, drink some fine wine. Take your pills and get some sleep.”

“Bossy,” I grumble, although he’s right. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I can tell my body’s on the edge.

He elbows me, grinning. “I learned from the best.”

“Ai-yi-yiii—” 

The cartier yells, and Guaire and I leap forward as the cart totters in a slow arc down the slope. The next hour is nothing but the familiar grunt-work of winter travel, but despite cargo falling in puddles and a downed tree, the men are in a good mood. We’re almost home, and they’ll be a feast, bards, Solstice merriment. Fionn got married a few months ago, and now the castle is full of women. 

Guaire catches my expression and raises an eyebrow.

“They need to win a few more battles before they go making plans like that,” I explain. “The ladies are here to make a good match. Y’all need some more rewards first.”

“So you’re the only one among us who’s ready to take a noble wife.”

I snort. “I don’t care about a wife.”

Guaire takes the other end of a thick branch, and on the count of three we heave together.

“More children?” He brushes off his gloves, chunks of bark sticking to the wet leather. “You’re a good father.”

I push the branch with my foot and turn back to the path. “River and I are enough.” 

Who am I fooling. My fianna might not care if I’m dragged off to emergencies on any side of time, but a wife would notice. A wife would want my attention. She wouldn’t want me doing work that I’m not paid for. 

Not that it matters. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve even had the energy for the casual, playful affairs that I used to enjoy. Flirtation is nothing more than another tool in my arsenal; another way to solve the problems that I’m assigned. I’m good at it, but I’m good at killing monsters, too. 

“Heave-ho!” I call, and brace my shoulder on the down-slope side of the cart as the cartier calls to the horses.

And getting cargo through a muddy road. I’m great at that. A man of many talents, that’s me. 

I rub my aching arm, trudging after my men. If I can’t see River today, that hot fire and good book sounds pretty tempting right now.

Chapter Two

By the time we get to the castle, my entire arm is burning and it takes all my energy not to limp. And I’m tired of being wet. And there’s bark dust down my sleeves, and it prickles, and that is just one thing too much.

And it’s getting harder to hold back my foul mood. When I thought I’d be seeing my son today, I could push aside my body’s complaints. Based on Guaire’s gossip, at the very least, he won’t be here today or tomorrow, and at the worst, I might have to wait for another self-important king to be done with his pompous visits. 

I’d like to go down to my library and do nothing but eat sweet biscuits and read in front of the fire for—oh, for days—but I need Guaire to look at my arm, and he’s got to finish in the stables first. So I head to my regular room, the one upstairs, that everyone knows about.

Good heavens. The Great Hall is full of activity, Queen Saba standing in the middle directing everything. I’m too tired for conversation, so I keep my head down, zigzagging through the tables to avoid getting in the servants’ way. Someone thumps a load, startling a dog—right under my feet, damn! I swing my arms, only managing to catch myself on—

More crashing. A feminine gasp.

The dog lays back its ears and flees. I grit my teeth, suck in my breath, and prepare to confront my mistakes.

A woman was sorting out fancy tableware, which I knocked all over the ground. Spoons with inlaid handles are scattered across the table and at my feet; gold-twisted candlesticks have fallen helter-skelter; the queen’s wedding goblets lay like a deer after the hunt. And if this is the settings for the high table, then this is no servant but…

Yup. The woman who emerges from beneath the table is dressed in fine linen, her dark hair tucked up into—

No.

No.

I have a sense that I know her, but my logical brain informs me that I’ve never seen her before in my life. That’s a sure sign of someone who just came through the Veil. I narrow my eyes, and indeed, her clothes might be an illusion, which means she just arrived, and—

“I’m sorry,” the woman says. 

She oughtn’t be. I’m the one who knocked everything over. 

“Nonsense.” My voice comes out gruff. I should have been the one to apologize. 

She’s holding two parts of something, looking dazed. 

“Here, let’s put that back.” I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to deal with a dazed, brand new lady-in-waiting from the wrong time. I start stacking things, fast and efficient. Upright, all in a row—

“No, not like that.” The woman, now apparently recovered from her shock, plonks her own items on the table, reaching for my nice stack, batting my hand.

Another goblet crashes to the ground.

The lady disappears under the table after it, and I need to get a grip on myself. I don’t know what she is here for or why the armlet brought her to me, but clearly this fool girl got herself tangled up with the Good People and some bargain she didn’t understand, and now I’m left to deal with it.

She reappears, rubbing the edge of the goblet with her flowing sleeve. Her face is lowered, and she at least she’s not screaming. Or sobbing.

“I didn’t mean to.” I sound defensive, and if River tried to apologize like that I’d give him another think. “I’m sure it’s fine. Here, let me help put them—”

“I think it would be better if you just leave.” She still doesn’t look at me, but her tone is surprisingly calm. Especially given that she just arrived in Heroic Ireland from heaven-knows-when.

“I made the mess, it’s the least I can do...”

She takes the candlestick out of my hand and finally meets my eyes. Her smile is tight and guarded. “You are going to get mud on the dishes I just polished. Please just go.”

I step back. “Fine.”

“Besides”—her eyes dart up and down me, as sharp as Guaire’s—“you’re limping, and it looks like you’ve hurt your left shoulder. You should go take a hot bath and then put your feet up until dinner.”

Bossy little thing. “I wasn’t limping.” 

She smiles, something sparkling behind her tense expression. “Not much, but you should still get it looked at.”

Is she laughing at me? I bow, my arm searing with the movement. “If you don’t desire my assistance, my lady, then I obey your command.”

She raises her eyebrows. 

“Take care of your shoulder, then. That’s my command.” Her mouth goes tight as she picks up a rag and starts polishing.

Guess that didn’t come out as courteous as I thought. I’m all too eager to step away. I’m tired of damsels in distress, and my arm hurts like hell.

But as I am scanning for the best escape route, I overhear something that sounds an awful lot like “I’ll clean up after you. Just like I always do.”

Given that I’ve never seen her before, she’s got to mean the general “you,” not specifically myself. But I prefer to think of myself as a different kind of man, not the one who is always leaving messes and ignoring the women who fix them. I am a fixer. 

I thought. I stride out of the Great Hall, not sure if I am more annoyed with the new lady or my own fool self.

Read the rest of The Knight and His Magical Armlet

The Shelties demonstrate proper technique for a cozy weekend

Savvy observers will notice that Malin does not feature in this collage. That is because he does not rest, ever. When he pretends to relax, if one so much as moves a fingertip (or camera), he pops up saying "me too! I'm ready! Let's go!" Malin is many wonderful things, but should not be taken as a model for relaxation.

The sable Sheltie is our previous sweet girl, Killala, who was absolutely top-notch at always finding the snuggliest, coziest, most comfortable spot. Oh, and there is one picture of Malin as a baby, back when he was capable of becoming worn out.

Cozy up and happy reading! That's what I'm going to be doing...

Bye for now—

-Christy