Page 1 of Tara's Warriors

Chapter 1

Tara

Sliding the gleaming rapier with its elaborate hilt into the scabbard at her waist, Tara smiled with anticipation. The sun rose over the vast forest behind the tent-filled field. For eleven months out of the year, the ten acres of fields—including a barn, a twelve-horse stable, and a paddock on the far rise—appeared to be nothing special in this part of Georgia. Just another working farm run by the same family for generations.

But for four glorious weekends, this place transformed into something else.

Something magical.

Spring had sprung, and the smell of the new leaves seemed to sweeten the warm morning breeze. Tara’s deep brown leather pants creaked as she shifted her weight, turning her face toward the rising sun. Normally, she wasn’t a leather pants kind of woman. She also didn’t usually walk around with a rapier—one she knew how to use—strapped to her side. And back home, she’d never wear a matching leather corset over a kickass white silk poet’s shirt, with her sleeves billowing in the wind.

But here, at the magical place known as the South Georgia Renaissance Festival, she fit right in, weaponry and all.

In fact, she coordinated nicely with her bonny crew of lady pirates, known as the Sirens.

Their annual pirate weekend tradition started close to twenty years ago on a whim. She’d been going through a dark time and needed an escape from her stress. Her husband, Nathan, had passed away the year before, leaving her widowed with a young daughter at the ripe old age of twenty-four. To make matters worse, her mom and dad passed away from different illnesses a not long after Nathan’s death. For a long time, she’d dipped in and out of a deep depression, but her close group of friends and family had fought to help her find her way back to happiness.

In an effort to lift Tara out of her funk, her cousins and friends had taken her to the Renaissance Festival. At first she’d been skeptical, especially when her cousin Mildred had convinced her to dress up for it in a corset that showed a generous amount of cleavage and a flowy blue dress. She’d felt silly at first, walking up to the Renaissance Festival dressed up like a ye’olde wench, but soon she’d fallen for the quirky charm of the event. There was a tangible air of happiness at the Festival, fun and laughter, life and joy. They’d had an amazing time, ending the night in one of the pubs for the traditional singalong. Things had been going fine until a group of assholes arrived and spoiled the atmosphere.

The group of guys—the so-called Pirate Kings—lorded over the pub. They considered themselves hilarious, but they were really just a bunch of misogynistic pigs. The kind of guys that would catcall women, try to grab their asses, and just be jerks in general. A few of the supposed Pirate Kings had tried to flirt with Tara and her friends during the big pub singalong in the middle of the festival, but they became insulting in a ‘ye olde’ way when they’d been blown off. At first, their insults could be laughed off, but when they got personal, Tara got mad. She’d marched up to the stage where the Pirate Kings were doing their bit, snatched the microphone out of the Captain’s hand, and proceeded to rip him up one side and down the other—in a charming southern way, of course.

She’d let loose and chewed his ass so well that, by the time she finished, the crowd lost their shit and applauded so loudly the floors shook. The owners of the pub talked with her afterward and convinced her to come back the next weekend with her friends, thus starting a tradition that gave birth to the Sirens. Not only was the once a year festival good for Tara, her daughter Lacey fell in love with the idea of knights. She’d acted as a squire to more than a few over the years, following the jousters around and sparring with some of the local weaponsmiths. Seeing how much her daughter became enamored with the idea of knighthood, it shouldn’t have surprised Tara that Lacey eventually joined the armed forces.

A pang of longing wrenched through Tara’s heart, and she clutched her daughter’s dog tags on the gold chain around her neck. Lacey left a few days ago, headed overseas to help with some out of control European forest fires. Her daughter was part of the military police and incredibly good at her job, so she was always in demand. Tara felt extremely proud Lacey chose to serve in the Army, just like Nathan once did, even if she missed her daughter fiercely when she was away.

After Tara’s late husband found out she was pregnant, he’d enlisted in the Army…as soon as he’d turned eighteen. When Lacey found out she was pregnant during her senior year of high school, she did the same thing her father had done after she had her baby—serving her country and getting the training she would need to have a good job once she got out. It wasn’t like Lacey got any money from Greg, the asshole/sperm donor who’d knocked her up. That little weasel had really pulled a number on Lacey, and if he hadn’t left town, Tara would have shot him on sight years ago.

But as much as Tara loathed Greg, she was glad he was gone and that he left the best part of himself behind. God had blessed Tara and Lacey when He sent Jillian into their lives. The little girl embodied pure happiness and love. Smiling from the moment she woke up until she went to sleep, Jillian was a courageous little girl with a heart as big as the world. Familiar giggles came from the big, blue sleeping pavilion tent behind Tara, so she people watched while she waited for Jillian to come flying out of the tent. At close to five years old, Jillibean, as they liked to call her, remained fearless in the way only a well-loved child could be.

And Jillianwasloved, even if her father wasn’t part of her life.

Thank God.

Greg was such an asshole. Jillian’s father, Greg—not that he deserved the title of dad, the piece of shit—denied Jillian was even his. Swore up and down he’d never had sex with Lacey. His rejection of his child was fine with Tara, even though it hurt Lacey deeply. Tara considered it a blessing not to have to share the child with her unworthy sperm donor. Greg’s name wasn’t on Jilly’s birth certificate, and he’d given up any and all parental rights, which meant Jillian was all theirs.

Tara took a deep breath of the woodsmoke tinted air while the camp come to life around her and the bright sunlight gave the world a golden glow.

Lacey deserved someone who loved her, but her poor daughter seemed to only date the biggest jerks. After the asshole Greg, Lacey’s self-esteem had gone down the toilet. She was beautiful—she really was—but nothing Tara said convinced her daughter she was gorgeous in an unconventional way. There were different kinds of beauty, as she’d told her time and again, and not every guy wanted a delicate, petite girlfriend. Lacey took after Nathan, tall and strong, with a cut jaw and solid bones. Striking like a Valkyrie, but her daughter thought she was ugly, and nothing Tara did or said could change her mind. Being unable to fix Lacey’s confidence killed Tara, and she prayed every night that Lacey would find a man worthy of her generous heart.

That she’d find someone to help her heal.

Just past the stand of trees, the workers would be busy getting the gates of the Renaissance Festival opened. The village was a permanent installation, built over the last thirty years by hundreds of different people. Everything was handcrafted, and the mature trees provided plenty of shade from the hot southern sun for visitors and workers alike. When Tara stepped through the big wooden front gates, her real world fell away. She wasn’t a grandmother of an almost five-year-old at forty-four. She wasn’t a woman who worked her ass off at a truck stop restaurant her family had owned for over sixty years. And she certainly wasn’t the woman who spent far too many nights worrying about the future.

She wasn’t even a woman who hadn’t been on a good date in far too long—though the thought did burn her biscuits a bit, now that she’d thought of it.

Living in a small town, pickings were already slim. Considering she’d been born and raised in Tupelo Creek, she knew who the local good guys were and they were all taken. Sure, she had other options. Plenty of men hit on her at the truck stop diner. She took care of herself, ate right, and enjoyed looking pretty. Her mama had always taught her that every day started off right with the perfect red lipstick.

And this day was no different. She wore a deep, almost wine shade on her full lips which brought out the hints of red in the leather corset binding her waist. The color also made her blue eyes pop and was waterproof and wear resistant—perfect for what promised to be a long day in the sun.

“Grammy!” Jillian tumbled out of the tent, waving her fake, bejeweled sword in the sun. “Auntie Jasmin braided my hair!”

Turning around, Tara smiled as pure loved filled her as the sight of her granddaughter filled her heart with joy.

Dressed like a little pirate, with her long light brown hair pulled back in a French twist with flowers in it, Jillian assumed the fencing stance Tara had taught her. Her fierce scowl revealed two missing front teeth. “Dread Pirate SkullCrusher, reporting for duty!”

Adopting a solemn look, Tara strolled past the remains of last night’s fire before giving her granddaughter a narrow-eyed look. “Did you polish your sword this morning, Dread Pirate SkullCrusher?”

“Aye!” Jillian roared. More of their all-female pirate crew came out of their tents and circled around the ash-filled fire pit. “With the tears of my enemies.”

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