As a writer of historical fiction, I feel as if I’m constantly hopping back through time to visit the settings of my books (lately I’ve been spending a lot of my time in Sherwood Forest).  So it seems natural that when I sat down to write a “Top Ten Tuesday” post, era-hopping came to mind.

Many of us have our favorite time periods.  Mine might surprise you.  Let’s journey back … back … back to …

London, England, during the blitz: sure, I know it was dangerous and noisy with those bombs crashing down all over the place.  But you have to admire the spirit of determined defiance.  And just think of the camaraderie found sitting in a bleak basement with the neighbors while the sky – and your life – falls around your ears, singing songs about Dover and longing for a cuppa …

Victorian England:  A time of plenty – for the privileged classes.  The rest of us keep company with the orphans and match-sellers starving in the streets.  Then again, these are the people who more or less invented our concept of Christmas festivities.  And it’s the birthplace of London Steampunk, no?  Can’t be all bad …

Concord, Massachusetts during the nineteenth century:  Oh, to breathe that rarified air and share a conversation with the likes of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Louisa May Alcott!  Perhaps I’ll be fortunate enough to cadge a walk in the woods at Walden Pond with Henry David Thoreau.  Sheer bliss, but it’s obvious I’ll need a moniker made up of three names before I can fit in.  Laura Rose Strickland, maybe …

St. John’s, Newfoundland during the eighteenth century:  A cold, rocky coast, an abundance of fish and the cleanest air in the world.  It may be a hard life, but it holds the priceless promise of starting anew. I have all I need in the strength of my back and the skill of my hands, with which to build a home.  Heck, my ancestors took root here and so can I …

Tudor, England:  No, I’m not attracted to the scandal or the treachery.  And it seems horribly easy to get tossed into the Tower of London or earn a date with the headsman.  As for Elizabeth the First with her white pancake makeup and her bald head – frankly the woman terrifies me.  But oh, the music!  I’ll go just for that …

Medieval Europe during the plague:  I know, I know, there were rats.  And fleas.  And that pesky Bubonic thing.  But just think: all of us who are descended from Europeans can take pride in the fact that our ancestors survived the dreaded epidemic.  If they hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here …

Sherwood Forest during the thirteenth/fourteenth century:  This is familiar ground for me.  I’ve already written three novels and a short story set here and I think I know the territory pretty well.  How can I resist actually setting foot on that blessed soil and walking for a while beneath those magical trees?  I just might meet the descendants of Robin Hood …

Ireland during the Viking age:  Not everyone knows the Vikings settled some of the great cities in Ireland including Dublin, Waterford and Wexford.  There, the fierce invaders elbowed aside the Celtic residents, intermarried and eventually settled peaceably enough to beget a strain of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Irishmen and women.  Hmm, I wonder what it would really be like to give those horned warriors a warm welcome …

Iron Age Britain:  I think my heart is here first and foremost.  Give me a round-house on the Scottish coast overlooking the wild, western sea.  People in this place weave enchantment into their music and magic is a fact of life.  The gods are alive in every tree and rock, and Christianity has not yet appeared over the eastern horizon …

Stonehenge:  Need I say more?  Just the name evokes a sacred atmosphere and a mystical way of life.  It’s sunrise on the summer solstice.  The world holds its breath as knowledge meets belief and light cleaves stone.  Here, I want to stand …

Well, we’ve journeyed our way back some distance to where the last remnants of the ice age breathe cold vapor over the land and the clean air makes it impossible to imagine pollution.  Hope the time machine works for us on the way back.  Then again, maybe not …

*~*

 | [amazon_link id=”B00HJEHOFE” target=”_blank” container=”” container_class=”” ]Amazon[/amazon_link] | The Wild Rose Press |

Champion of Sherwood – blurb:

When Gareth de Vavasour, nephew of the Sheriff of Nottingham, is captured by the outlaws of Sherwood Forest and held for ransom, he knows he will be fortunate to escape with his life.  Amid the magic and danger that surround him, he soon realizes his true peril lies in the beautiful dark eyes of Linnet, the Saxon healer sent to tend his wounds.

Granddaughter of Robin Hood, Linnet has always known she is destined to become a guardian of Sherwood Forest, along with her sister and a close childhood companion.  She believes her life well settled until the arrival of Gareth. Then all her loyalties are tested even as her heart is forced to choose between love and the ties of duty, while Sherwood declares its own champion.

Author web page: www.laurastricklandbooks.com

*~*

Champion of Sherwood excerpt:

“Champion.”

He spun once more. A man stood behind him, wreathed in white mist pure as the moonlight. Gareth reached for a weapon he no longer wore.

“Peace,” the man said.

“Who are you? How come you here?”

“I am the spirit of this place. Some call me the Green Man. Others call me Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood is long dead.” Gareth had heard the tales. Who had not?

“Aye, long dead,” the man agreed, “as are many who dwell here. This is our bastion, our refuge, a place of faith and strength.”

“What do you want with me?” Surely, and surely, he was back asleep on his tether, and dreaming.

“Nay, lad, you are not dreaming.”

“Can you hear my thoughts?” What madness was this?

“I ask of you, young man, only one thing, one boon, one favor if you would survive this night.”

“Of course I will survive. This is but darkness, and trees, and moonlight.”

The man waved one of his hands. A creature appeared beside him, a pure white wolf with its hackles raised. Another subtle movement and he stood flanked on the other side by a great, white hart, its sides streaming mist. The trees overhead tossed their branches and Gareth felt the power gather, sharp and vital, around this being who faced him. Fear such as he had never known — not even when awaiting the arrival of his father with the strap — engulfed him.

He said, “What do you seek of me? What boon, what bidding?”

“I ask of you but one promise, that you should follow what is in your heart.” The man smiled again. “Does not a true champion, always follow his heart?”

*~*