Denise Domning Quotes
“He says the witch was dressed as a man and wore her hair also like a man's. Not only that, but in the boy's fevered dream, she fought better than any soldier. As I said, beyond belief." The forester shrugged in apology for wasting his lord's time. The corners of Gilliam's mouth lifted in sudden respect, and he touched the pin at his shoulder. "She did it all alone," he said quietly. "My lord?" the forester asked. "Hobbe, this is no dream. The boy has indeed seen my bride." Hobbe blinked. "Condolences, my lord.”
“There were so many they packed the small field where the abbey held its yearly market, then spilled around the corner onto the coopers' lane, which followed the eastern edge of the holy house's walled compound. If some of the folk wore the ragged motley of the abbey's usual coterie of beggars, a far greater number dressed in the humble attire of the city's day laborers. Johanna,”
“the arm and pulled her along with him until she ran once more. That one so crude might manhandle her indicated that the woman was of no consequence. This startled Josce, for there was something of command in her bearing. He watched them round the corner onto a nearby lane and disappear behind a row of narrow two- and three-storey homes, regretting he could no longer see her. Beside him Lady Haydon’s mare stumbled a little on the rutted street. Josce’s stepmother made a quiet startled sound and clutched more tightly at her reins. No great rider was Beatrice of Haydon. He studied her. Afternoon light streamed through her hat brim’s open weave to reveal the dark rings beneath her eyes. Her flesh sagged from her cheekbones. Her linen riding attire,”
“Love is this feeling that you would give anything for another. You would climb to the moon and steal the stars from the sky if she asked it. You want to shelter her and protect her, yes. But it's more than that. When you walk into a room, she is the first one you look for. Her laughter brightens your day, and when she is hurt, you are, too. It's the warm feeling that fills your soul when she is near. A mere touch of her hand sends you to your knees with wanting.”
“Elianne du Hommet ran, her soldier-escort panting at her heels. Beneath awnings raised against the day’s unusual heat, Knabwell’s startled merchants left off their haggling to stare after the sheriff’s grown daughter. Tethered chickens squawked and flapped out of her way. Stubblefed geese, an autumn delicacy, hissed from their wicker carriers. Elianne’s companion collided with an unfortunate housewife, spilling the contents of the hapless woman’s basket. "The lord sheriff’s business," he shouted by way of apology to the townswoman as he sprinted to catch his charge. Together they flew out onto the higher of Knabwell’s two cobbled thoroughfares. The soldier shot a look toward the city’s southern gate. "Jesus save us! That’s Haydon’s party," he cried. "Hurry! He wants you at the priory before they arrive." Elianne threw a glance over her shoulder.”
“Nicola of Ashby gave an angry huff, her breath clouding in the chill air. She chided herself for doubting. She needed to believe her suckling sister had not failed to deliver the message, else there'd be naught for Nicola but forced marriage to the man who had murdered her father and destroyed her village and home. It”
“Turning in his saddle, Theobald looked at the servants behind them. "We ride on through. If any man reaches for you, kill him." Then without so much as a by-your-leave, he leaned over and snatched Johanna's reins from her grasp, and spurred his horse into motion. As her palfrey complacently followed where he led, Johanna turned her gaze downward to glare at the saddletree and indulged herself in hatred—for him, for his master, but mostly for this”
“Of course Devanney was still in his chamber. It wasn't yet noon and his cousin hadn't had the pleasure of being caressed awake just after dawn. Remembering this morning brought with it another reminder, one of how much it would hurt to lose Cassie, and how much more it would hurt if he somehow lost her to Bucksden's violence.”
“Does my brother's presence inconvenience you?" he asked the priest. "Not at all," the twitching man replied. Father Berold's face was still for an instant. This time the curve of his lips was natural, and filled with compassion. "I recognize a fellow sufferer. I have added him to my prayers." Faucon eyed the priest for a long moment. Of such mettle were saints forged.”
- Born: The United States.
- Description: What can I say? I’m single and over sixty, I write and I farm on eight acres of slowly improving red earth (it originally looked like Mars had exploded!) on Oak Creek in northern Arizona. I started with chickens, then there were turkeys and Jersey milk cows. But with livestock came the predators: coyotes, bald eagles, black hawks, mountain lions, and, worst of all, raccoons. Dang those nasty creatures! They kill just because they can; think dogs with opposable thumbs. (Five chickens in one night–they reached in through the chain link and killed the birds with no expectation of being able to eat them.) They are the reason I keep livestock guardian dogs. There's the massive Polar Bear, a 135 pound Hungarian Kuvasz, Radha, the svelte and sleek 90 pound Anatolian Shepherd and her new chew toy, Rupert who is some sort of terrier mix and small enough to walk under her belly.
As for what my dogs guard, it's my growing herd of Dorper Sheep, a South African breed that (supposedly) doesn’t need to be sheared and gains all their weight on grass alone. I've also fallen in love with pigs, which are just dogs with snouts. Oh, how those rapscallions make me laugh!
If you're interested in keeping up with my farm antics, you can visit my blog at denisedomning.com or thefarmonoakcreek.com