Question for You!

I'm afraid I'm feeling lazy today, so I'm going to do two easy bloggy things: a question for y'all, and a snippet.

But wait, first I'm going to go get a donut.

There, back with donut in hand. Lazy AND unhealthy...but happy. Mmmmmmmmmm.

Question first. I'm interested in finding out how many of y'all read (or did read) historical fiction...and what you liked. This is both occupational research and a little scrounging for more to add to the (already toppling, am I insane?) TBR pile. So please, even those of you who don't normally post comments, post with 3 historical fiction titles you really enjoyed. Doesn't matter how long ago you read them, either.

Hmmm, and now a snippet. It's getting harder to find something small that I haven't posted before, that's not a spoiler. I'm at least pretty sure I haven't posted this one here:

From The Murderess's Tale, Copyright Susan Adrian, 2006

I was dreaming of dragons. A golden dragon, with red eyes and breath of deadly fire, was chasing me through the countryside, laying waste to all we passed. I ran through a hollow, gasping for breath, searching for a place to hide. But he could see everywhere, everything. I was trapped.

I bolted upright, my hands clenching the silken sheets. It was night; the crackling fire was the only light, except for the cold silver of stars I could just glimpse through the window slits.

He had not come.

I was still alone, still safe. I wrapped the coverlet tighter around me. Still safe, for now.

I rubbed my eyes, wondering what had woken me. It seemed there had been a noise…it came again. Heavy footsteps on the floor above. A bang. Shouts. What was passing up there?

Well, if it kept the Duke from my chamber I was glad of it, whatever it might be. I slipped from the bed, pulled a shawl over my shift, and padded to the little fire. The room was cool, the white stones chill against my bare feet. I knelt next to the fire, breathing in the fragrant wood-smoke and stretching my hands out to the flames.

Fire. It was always the same, no matter my own fortunes. In Eva's kitchen, St. Mary's abbey, Godwina's house, here…fire was ever-present, giving warmth, cooking food. It mattered not to the fire if I was child or woman, captive or wife. I wondered suddenly if God was the same. Constant, unchanging. But was He uncaring too? Or did He really watch over us, care for us, if we lived well? Was Juliana right, that God had already abandoned us? Even the question was heresy. I could add heresy to my list of crimes.

Medieval Word of the Day: hetefast: Firmly, securely, fast.