Capt. Sterling

Strange how mounting the stairs was so much more difficult... When he reached his room the first thing he did was not to dress, but, in a temper launch the clothing he carried against the far wall. He turned and sat on the foot of the bed. He could not remember feeling this low. He sat trying to fathom why he had done the things he had, said the words he had so thoughtlessly chosen. He rose finally, the linen slipping from his shoulders and falling to his waist. What was the point of wondering where he had made his mistakes, it was all too late now. He reached for his boots as he heard someone climbing the stairs, following him... and realized he should go close the door.....

deepest desires..

"I have caused you enough grief Lady. I should take my leave of you and yours. I am not deserving of your investment nor your further kindness." He dared not look at her. Had his masters not taught him well enough to look away from them that were his betters? He cleared his throat. "I have just thrown away the welfare of my crew and worse, offended someone with no more thoughts of guile nor greed than the angels themselves." He rose to his feet, bowed slightly then turned and made his way back to the house. As he past his clothing, still afixed to its line to dry, he jerked his breeches and shirt from it before he disappeared back inside the cottage.

mouth watering

Her words stole his breath away completely. He opened his jaw to speak, but it wavered, useless, hopeless. And suddenly it was she who towered over him in her character. He took her by her shoulders and tried to make her look at him. Christophe took a step forward in alarm but then held his place. "Lady," he said once he found his voice and yet it was not full when he spoke. "Tis all? Just to help... help.....me and mine?" He already knew her answer, did she not already put her life on hold as well as at risk just to care for him in his sickness? He let go of her and dropped to his knees before her. He had never felt so utterly...."Forgive me Lady," he whispered. "I am the very worst of men."

Watered down apple juice...

Shame you can't postpone till Aug. 19th... Cheeky, Rateye and several others of the Archangel crew, I believe, will be attending then

Bananas Foster

He came to a halt beside her, almost abruptly, his shock at finding her so tiny. And though, he would not be considered tall, he towered over her and he could see she was not comfortable at his approach. "Since thee has been so evasive with me in our brief past, answer me just one question Lady," his voice softening as he spoke. He looked down into her eyes and almost lost himself there for the moment. He felt himself grind his teeth together, his jaw tense to the point of discomfort. He felt himself take a deep breath and discovered a sudden wish that she would be straight forward with him just this once. My God, he wanted so just to touch her cheek... he shook his head as if to clear it of such distraction. Instead he pulled the linen closer about himself. All too aware of them that watched in hush tones, he whispered, "Why?"

17th Light Horse Dragoons

"No," Sterling said shaking his head. "I would not think you would. Damn yer eyes," he snapped. Climbing from the great bed, he snatched off the linen sheet and wrapped it about himself and made his way to the stairs. His sudden efforts left him light headed for a moment as he tottered at the top of the steps. Then, just as suddenly, he was down them, making his way to the door and out into the morning and its inhabitants. To say those he past were astonished at his appearance would be an injustice to them. He spied her standing a few yards off, alone and made his way toward her. "Mistress I wish a word with you!" he called.

Simple solution... if he's a friend, just ask him to share his source with you and then you can check out whether his source is truly valid or not..

legion

“Pardon monsieur? And what would you know of my social standings?” came a quick retort. “I was born to the lowest of classes, the dregs of London, and left there by a father who never cared enough to inquire as to whether my mother, myself or my sibling lived or died. Until, that is, I was required to serve his purposes. Then I was forced to leave the only family that would truly ever care for me, and placed into a sphere in which I was repeatedly told I had no right to be, and then, since I was the 'most fortunate of sons', that I should be forever grateful and kiss the arses of my now so called equals. And for what, sir? To be rejected and welcomed in neither realm! The only place I dare to call home is The Archangel. The only few I know who love me are a daughter and Mistress Grey and perhaps, God willing, my crew! I know my mistress does not care for me the way I care for her… For God‘s sakes!!! She‘s denied me my own son!!” He stopped to catch his breath, his heart racing in his anger. He fixed his gaze on the Frenchman who sat besides him. “I have already buried three other sons, or do you think that not enough?” For a moment, he paused. Did he really expect a response from this man? “And do not insult me as to making judgments of others and their character, I have been three years in slavery and know, first hand, all too well how wicked the treatment of man can be towards his fellow man. IF I judge your Mistress, it is not her but her actions. How dare she find her amusements where my life is concerned! What gives her such a right? What class does she hail from to try and manipulate others in such a fashion?” He suddenly looked away, his features screwing up as in pain. How could someone he did not even know have caused him such pain? Why was he so …. Disappointed? He could not help but hang his head. “I know not your Mistress, monsieur, but I would hope to God I would not play her so foully. Merci. I am ….grateful for your consent to help me from this place.”

centuries

You need to get out more! sticky

Okay here's where I had the brain freeze... Drummer's coat, Gardes Francoises... unfortunately there is no other info posted with the photo...I don't even know if this one is an original or a repro since the unit is reenacted...

Justacorps made in France for the Scandinavian armies, c.1690, ©Stockholm Army Museum Here we go another picture even better... NOT for the french army but Made by the french...

You could be correct, it was posted on the early 18th century wars chat list... I'll go back and double check... like I stated... I believe meaning "not written in stone"....

& Two originals from the GAoP period... the top I believe is c. 1690 french made uniform for Scandinavian armies (as per correction of Blackjohn...thanks Blackjohn) ... the bottom civilian circa 1690

"Have thee Modyford's ear then?" Sterling continued, no longer caring about the brute that had come to his mistress's defence. Let him murder me in my bed, he thought angrily. Better than to sit here and be used so vilely. "Or mayhaps it is his bed thee often graces in order to mold him as thee would prefer? A woman indeed, meddling in affairs of state. As to matters of trust and loyalty, I am sorry that thou has suffered but do not then take thy revenge on me! Do thee have any notion as to how important such letters of Margue are to the welfare of my family and to the safety of my crew? I have not the desire to have my neck stretched either!" He fixed his gaze on her and realized how deeply her previous care had touched him. He was not only furious at being made the butt of some strange joke, but he was actually hurt as well. He cast a glance at the Frenchman. "If I needs crawl from this place, I think it best I take my leave. See to my things... my deepest desire is to return to town now."

entangle

For a moment he struggled for his breath. "YOU?! You sent this?" he finally asked, his tone bitter. "Surely you jest?" He looked at her, absent mindedly crumbing the paper in his hand. He did not know what to think as she turned to face him. He tried to calm himself, tried to remember his place...."Tis a game then? My deepest desire? Why would I tell a complete stranger what my heart craves? Have thee never loved another? Cared for others? That thee would not know there are many things a man desires in order to provide for them that are willing to lay down their lives to trust and rely on him? By God, bring me mine clothes...NOW!"

He took the lense and thanked her as she placed the paper in his hand. He was confused at first, then remembered he had already asked her to contact Symms the previous day. And yet, as he moved the lense over the parchment, his confusion only increased. Forced to reread the letter, he realized suddenly, from Lilly's hand affixed below that this was the very letter that had caused him to escape the confines of his room at the tavern. He straightened, raising from the support of the pillows. "How?" he stammered. He looked at her. "Where did you find this? How..." he brought the lense to use again, turning the paper over and over yet again. "Morgan's seal is not attached... what is the meaning of this?"

"Perhaps..." he mused, and could not help but imagine the Empress boxing his ears for his carelessness. "Well since thee are as allusive regarding mine clothing as thee were regarding thy name," he countered. "I think it safe to say, I will needs be confined to this bed a few more days. A task I could bare more easily if thee would be inclined to be so kind as to read to me, provide me with a volume or two, there is a quizing lense in my coat pocket, or would thee mayhaps be amused to continue on with our little head to head? But first Lady," he added, struggling a bit to sit himself upright. "I need to send word into my steward. I can no longer delay business regarding some necessary letters."