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Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: Ruth Kyser
ISBN-10: 1478285370
Type: Fiction
Pages: 149
Copyright: Nov. 4, 2011
ISBN-13: 9781478285373
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A man wakes to discover he doesn't know who he is or anything about his past. Set during the American Revolutionary War, the story line is told through the eyes of the man, Samuel, who has not past, and Hannah Stewart.
He awoke to discover he didn’t know who he was – or anything about his past. “The Dove & The Raven” is set during the final years of America’s battle for freedom from the British Monarchy - the American Revolutionary War. The story line is told through the eyes of both Hannah Stewart and the young man, Samuel, who has no past. Interwoven between the pages are the supporting characters, and the story of the birth of a new nation.
Excerpt
At first the blackness appeared to be winning as he fought through the fog of his mind. Then the murkiness slowly abated and he felt himself coming awake, as if from a long sleep. For a brief moment he almost convinced himself that he was home, back in his own cozy and familiar feather tick bed, awakening at the dawn. Then he moved his head and a sharp pain shot behind his eyes, bouncing from one side of his head to the other. He groaned. It felt like someone was beating him with a club. As the pain subsided, he tried to move again. Movement of any type though, only brought more agony from what felt like every part of his body. Well, at least from the pain he was feeling he knew he was alive.
Be thankful.
He opened his right eye a slit, and then closed it quickly as the light from a candle on the table next to the bed almost blinded him. Where was he? He opened his eyes slowly and this time allowed them to adjust to the candlelight.
He looked around as much as he could without moving his head and attempted to get his bearings. He lay in a bed in a small room. Nothing around him looked familiar. He quickly closed his eyes as waves of pain ripped across his head again. He groaned again even as he tried to keep from doing so.
The rustle of skirts made him re-open his eyes, however, this time to look up into the face of a young woman. She was an angel surely, with her hair braided round about her head and topped off with a white cap – well it looked almost like a halo. Maybe he had died, but if this were heaven, why did he hurt so much?
“You’ve decided to join the living, I’m thinkin,’” the angel said, her voice like music to his ears. “We weren’t sure you would, for a time.”
Other footsteps came into the room, and a man’s voice spoke quietly. “Is he awake then, lassie?”
The man in the bed smiled a little at the sound of the familiar brogue and closed his eyes again as a heavy weariness overtook him. He couldn’t be in danger, not in a house where there was one who spoke with the soft, musical lilt of the Scots.
He slept.
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