Here's the start of a little romantic story for you, set somewhere in medieval England:
THE BRIDAL HOUSE
"Our fathers approve the match." He skimmed a pebble across the fish pond.
Alis watched the stone skipping across the water. Her heat-beat skipped like the stone and she prayed she was not blushing. "And you?"
She could not recall his name, but how could she not be distracted? She had woken and risen a maid, a spinster intent on learning. Now she was betrothed to this stranger.
"I am not displeased, Alis." He offered her his arm to assist her across the ditch - the parents had sent them off to admire the lord's new rabbit warren, to see the baby coneys, as her father had said. Could any symbol be more obvious? In a burst of resentment she ignored her betrothed's hand and jumped the ditch in a swirl of skirts.
The rest is free here at AuthorsDen. The picture was taken at Stokesay Castle in Shropshire.