The Flyer
Authors: Marjorie Jones
REVIOUS ACCOLADES FOR THE
RT R
EVIEWERS
C
HOICE
N
OMINEE AUTHOR
, M
ARJORIE
J
ONES:
“THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD is a warm-hearted, tender tale of love and redemption that captures all the drama and romantic mystique of the middle ages. A delightful debut from Marjorie Jones, who brings a welcome new voice to medieval romance!”
—
Tina St. John, Bestselling Author of
Heart of the Hunter
THE ROAD TO ROMANCE REVIEWERS AWARD WINNER! “THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD has so much power as a story; it is difficult to sum it up into only a few paragraphs. For a new author, Marjorie Jones certainly shows the drive and conviction of her craft, makes it her own and shows that she is a star on the rise. For readers who love medieval romances, with sinister characters, intrigue, danger, love and excitement, as well as great writing, THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD offers it all to its audience”
—
The Road to Romance
“Marjorie Jones weaves a spell binding historical romance in her release THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD.”
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The Romance Zone
“This story by Ms. Jones is utterly captivating. Written at a time when England and Scotland were great adversaries, the history and the beauty of the land, are written in such a way that this story is truly compelling. THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD is a highly recommended read.”
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In The Library Reviews
“THE JEWEL AND THE SWORD provides readers with emotion, intrigue, and romance. It moves at a fast pace and fans of the medieval era will find it a pleasant way to pass a long afternoon…”
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Romance Reviews Today
1/2 STARS!
GOLD PHENOMENAL – IN A CLASS BY ITSELF…
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“The characters in this glorious saga (THE LIGHTHORSEMAN) are complex, fascinating and often reflect the desolate backdrop of the surrounding territory. Jones’ story of love, loyalty and honor is nicely sprinkled with humor. SENSUAL.”
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Romantic Times BOOKclub
“THE LIGHTHORSEMAN is a tale that pulls at the heartstrings and one I recommend.”
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Romance Reviews Today
“Ms. Jones has written characters that are multi-dimensional and engaging. The story is fast paced and fun while at times heart-wrenching … I would recommend THE LIGHTHORSEMAN to all fans of historical romances with great characters, a wonderful story and a truly interesting setting.”
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The Romance Readers Connection
“THE LIGHTHORSEMAN is a very moving story. With Dale’s and Emily’s emotions so vividly depicted, my heart went out to them. Emily is just darling. She is a true savior for Dale and Dale is an honorable passionate man. Their relationship grows beautifully and sensually throughout the story until it’s tender conclusion. I was very moved by THE LIGHTHORSEMAN. It is a dramatic story with two wonderful characters.”
—
Nannette, Joyfully Reviewed
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For my dad, the best flyer in the history of the world
.
Published 2007 by Medallion Press, Inc.
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2007 by Marjorie Jones
Cover Illustration by James Tampa
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset in StonePrint
Printed in the United States of America
10-digit ISBN: 1-9338362-2-9
13-digit ISBN: 978-1933836-22-5
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Every so often, one meets a friend who has the uncanny ability to know what you’re thinking, when you’re thinking it, and why you shouldn’t be thinking it at all. Thanks Carrie, for your generosity and the use of your map and your shovel.
1
I
can’t believe she has the nerve to walk about the streets dressed like that!”
“And her hair. What in the world would possess a woman to … to chop it all off like that?”
“You’re behind the times, aren’t you? You’ve seen those women who come off the ships. Americans and British, most likely, I should think from the way they speak. And each of them with hair as short as this one.”
“Who is she? Have you ever seen her before?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. But you can tell, can’t you? She’s a fast one, that. I know I’ll be watching my Robert more closely if she stays in town.”
Helen Stanwood tensed at the counter in Bully’s Dry Goods, her fingers cutting into the edge of her change purse. Not only was she completely uncertain as to which coins she should give to the man behind the counter, but she now had to pretend she couldn’t hear the remarks coming from behind her.
She bit back the threat of tears, ignoring the tight throb that formed in her throat. Did the three women behind her think she couldn’t hear them?
“Please, take what I owe you and I’ll be on my way,” she pleaded with the clerk, whose red nose and swollen features reminded her of Jack Dempsey after a prize fight.
With large, dirty fingers, he picked through the coins in her palm and turned to the register. Even the bells that rang out when he tendered her change mocked her.
In the back of her mind, her mother’s strained and pinched voice spoke the oft-repeated words.
You’ll amount to nothing. If you don’t mend your ways, everyone will know you for the whore you are
.
She squeezed her eyes closed, hoping the motion would somehow close her ears to the vindictive noises she’d grown so accustomed to in San Francisco. It didn’t work, and the echo of her mother’s scolding continued. Perhaps the words wouldn’t have hurt so much if they hadn’t turned out to be true.
Thankfully, the three women behind her moved out of earshot. Helen was left with only the remnants of their taunts while she collected her purchase—two pieces of candy she no longer wanted—and left the store.
The street outside offered some comfort, despite the broiling heat. She’d finally arrived in Australia. Not only a land of magic and mystery, Australia also signified her only hope of a new beginning. Wiping the back of her hand over her brow, she scanned the dusty street. Along the boarded walk, several automobiles reflected the bright sunlight, although most of the bustling port city still used horses and draft wagons. She settled onto a bench near the door to wait for Dr. Mallory, opened her clutch, and withdrew a compact of powder. Her reflection looked tired and unkempt, but she powdered her nose anyway, then returned the offensive image to her purse.
The women who’d made those hurtful comments appeared at her side. One of them looked upon Helen as though she carried some life-threatening disease, and then she sneered, pulling her companions in the opposite direction.
They were young, the eldest probably somewhere around her own age of twenty-four years. The youngest was still a child. Each of them wore a long dress of greenish linen, obviously cut from the same bolt. Sisters. The family resemblance was apparent in more than their clothes. It was evident in the reddish blonde hair and in the three sets of blue eyes.
Helen glanced down at her own attire. For her first meeting with the doctor, she had chosen a loose-fitting tea dress and a pair of plain, sensible black shoes that buckled at the ankle. She looked perfectly fine, in her opinion. Respectable. Although her skirt did end just below her knees while the sneering sisters’ dresses brushed the ground. And she couldn’t hide her hair. Self-consciously, she fingered the tiny curls by her chin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t control them. The straight bob looked better. Her cloche, the helmet-style hat that was all the rage in San Francisco, suddenly caused her forehead to itch. She pulled it off and slammed it to the bench at her side.
Two men on horseback rode slowly past. They looked much like all of the other men she’d seen in this wild, unruly landscape. Long, thick hair surrounded dirty faces covered with longer, thicker beards. The broader of the two men emitted a low whistle while he nodded at her. He said something to his companion she couldn’t hear, laughed, then stared pointedly at her ankles. Heat born of a self-conscious dread all-too-familiar to her over the last few months crept up the back of her neck and settled in her cheeks. What century was it? To look around Port Hedland, it could have been the latter part of the nineteenth century, rather than more than two decades into the twentieth. Well, except for those few cars.
