Amalia T is hosting a Dream Sequence Blogfest today. Lots of fun. So far, the only one I have read is from Creepy Query Girl (in the same blog that includes my 2nd place submission in the Query Spoof Contest). It is excellently creepy.
So, this has a tiny bit of a dream sequence in it. My memory said it was longer, but then when I pulled up the chapter, it was more a sad little nod to a dream sequence. BUT the rest had me laughing out loud and proud of my self, so I thought I'd post part of this scene from my WIP, Courtly Christmas.
The shutters rattled violently as the winter wind did its best to rip them from their rusted hinges. Sir Charles could hear the howling gusts as they buffeted the guard house. The tall, half-timbered structure sat a courtyard away from the palace proper, flanked on one side by stables and the other by a tilt yard. The wind’s attack was futile against the solid stone of the palace, but that seemed only to fuel its fury upon the poor guard house. So far this morning gave every promise of a miserable day. And he had to get up and venture outside for Mass – no one skipped mass on Christmas day.
Charles fought against waking up fully. He didn’t want to think about his duties for the day just yet. There were just too many things to do in the short hours of winter daylight before the nightly revelries began. Smiling to himself he remembered last night – Mary. He could still remember the taste of spiced wine on her tongue, the scent of lavender in her hair. The soft sighs of pleasure as she responded and returned his kisses. Who knew that kissing alone could be so wonderful? Charles had only even really considered kissing as a precursor to the main event… but kissing Mary had been so sweet.
(here is the dream sequence, such as it is) Charles drifted back into sleep as his memory led into a dream. It was so real: her back turned to him, her skin soft as he caressed her side. He could feel her heat as his fingers trailed up along her ribs toward her breast…
Crash! The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his back on the rough planks of the barracks.
“You lay a hand on me again and you’ll pull back a bloody stump!”
Charles blinked to clear his vision. Sir Christopher Hatton, the captain of Her Majesties Guard, his boss, stood over him in a rage. Charles’ cheek throbbed, but his head was clearing. What had happened?
He tried to rise, only to have Hatton place one booted foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground. “You hear me?”
Charles groaned and replied, “Yes, sir.” His eyes still shooting daggers, Hatton removed his foot from his chest and extended a hand to help him stand. “What did I do?”
Hatton ran a hand over the stubble of his growing beard and barked a laugh of surprise. “I woke up with you in my bed – and you were trying to fondle me!” Charles’ jaw dropped in disbelief, causing Kit Hatton to laugh harder.
“God’s teeth…” Charles muttered the curse beneath his breath, remembering the dream about Mary. “God’s teeth…”
By that point, Hatton was laughing so hard he had to sit down. “Oh, my head is throbbing. This is not the way I would have liked to wake up. In fact, I would rather not wake up.” Hatton pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes with a groan. “Now get out of my room.” With that, Hatton flopped backward onto the pallet with a thud. “God, my bed’s uncomfortable.”
Charles had recovered himself sufficiently enough to recognize his surrounds. “That is because,” though his face throbbed, he could not help cracking a broad grin, “that is not your bed.”
Hatton opened one eye and squinted at Charles, then sat up and looked around in a daze. “This is not my room.”
.... to be continued