It was one of the Avery-Smythe's soldiers, whom I had helped in battle when I had first arrived in 1687 England.All in all, it had been an interesting...and informative trip. The Avery-Smythe clan, in the time I chose to visit them, was in a small disagreement with another lord. Oh, nothing as big as the War of the Roses; but it was this sniping at one another that had killed off the "Avery", of the combined Avery-Smythe name.The other minor house of nobility that they were fighting with lost the. "I'd like that! Any sign of Sylvie?"Arlene was already busying herself over at the bar, fixing the dry martinis that she had been told Tim Cassidy drank. Her legs felt weak as she stood with her back to him, divining that his eyes were matter-of-factly taking in the swelling curves of her buttocks while she stirred the frosty liquid in a tall crystal pitcher."S... Sylvie?" she stammered. She wanted to blurt out the whole truth, to tell this decent dedicated man exactly what his wife had been up. More

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