Flood Releases Today!

It's release day! My Wings ePress novel Flood releases today. I got the inspiration to write Flood after I watched TV coverage of a flood that created massive devastation. At the same time, I became aware of the horrific abuse some disgusting people put animals through. The two things combined, and I created a vet and a group of animal lovers who have to face a huge flood. To make things interesting, my hero is an ex-convict, and my vet is a woman from an uptown kind of family. To complicate things more, she's logical and systematic, not a woman who leads with her emotions.  And of course there are some people working behind the scenes to discredit Caleb and remove him from Aria's life.

Here's the official blurb for Flood.

Drawn together by their love of animals, Aria De Luca and Caleb Hawkins burn for each other. They never suspected that malignant forces around them were successfully plotting Caleb’s ruin from the moment he entered her life. When the flood of a century strikes Aria’s hometown, an alienated Caleb is all that stands between her and catastrophic loss.

And now for a short excerpt. For a chance to win a five dollar Amazon certificate, answer the following question after you read the excerpt: If Aria went inside Caleb's room, what's the first thing she imagined he would do?

Caleb’s eyes twinkled as a smile spread across his face. “I don’t see you at a loss for words too often.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “You’re a take-charge kind of gal. You’re decisive, confident, and very capable, but right now you can’t put two words together without stuttering. I think that’s a good sign.”

Aria felt hot blood rush to her face. “I think you should go, Caleb. It’s been a long day.”

His eyes, filled with heat and desire, met hers. “Are you sure you want me to go?”

She was sure she didn’t want him to go, but she had told him the truth. Things were moving too fast for her. “Not tonight, Caleb. Tonight you have to go.”

He let go of her hair and picked up his tee shirt. “Okay. I’ll go.” He grinned at her. “Do I have to walk back to the motel?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

Grabbing her purse, she drove him back to his rental house. For a moment neither of them spoke, then Caleb reached for her hand. “You can come in if you like.”

Aria bit her lip against the desire to take him up on his offer. Her body still burned in the places where his hands had rested, and if they could be alone together for five minutes, she’d burn all over. Had she ever wanted a man so badly? No. No, she hadn’t. The urge to give in was almost overwhelming.

              All she had to do was get out of the car. He’d unlock the house and let her go in before him. 

The minute the door closed, he’d take her in his arms. She broke out in goosebumps when she

 imagined his lips against her neck. 

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt, and I hope you'll join me tonight for a Facebook release party. I'm giving away some more gift certificates, and we'll have some games and lots of fun. Click here to go to the party. It's at 7:00 PM EST.

Beyond the Book: Flood

Welcome to Beyond the Book. Flood releases this Thursday on June 1. Do try to come back then. I'll share an excerpt from Flood and I'm also doing a contest with an Amazon gift certificate as a prize.

Also on June 1, I'm having a Facebook release party at

https://www.facebook.com/events/1350243365059771/?acontext=%7B%22ref%22%3A%2229%22%2C%22ref_notif_type%22%3A%22plan_user_invited%22%2C%22action_history%22%3A%22null%22%7D&notif_t=plan_user_invited&notif_id=1496104713129447

Click here to go to the party site.


We'll be having lots of fun and of course some prizes as well. The party starts at 7:00 PM EST which is 6:00 CST. See you then.

Release Party!!!!!!!! Blue 52

"First Lady Kills President Lovinggood"

December 29, 2018

 

Thirty years later Hank Lovinggood embarks on a quest to prove his mother's innocence and punish the killers who took his family from him.  Together Hank and lovely physicist Kathryn Sinclair confront an implacable, twisted, merciless enemy who'll do whatever it takes to hide the truth forever.

Welcome to the Blue 52 release party. I’m thrilled that you could come. There are a lot of important people who showed up to honor Hank and Kathryn, my hero and heroine. Look behind you-no, don’t stare!  Just peek. Did you see the tall man standing beside the woman with red hair in a gorgeous green dress? That’s Prince Alan and his wife Princess Morgane. (The Enchanted) Just to their right you can see a pretty dark-haired woman with a tall, lean guy. That’s Nikki and Tommy Price, Hank’s cousins. (The Best Selling Toy Of The Season)

I’m sorry. It’s getting loud in here. Do I know who? Oh, the man with the cane. That’s Matt McCallum. (A New Dream) He used to play for the Green Bay Packers, but he had an accident a few years ago that ended his career. His wife’s catering company is providing the food tonight.

Oh look! Senator Lovinggood and his wife are making their way to the front where Hank and Kathryn are standing. The senator invited a lot of Washington dignitaries to the party.

I’ve saved a special seat for you right up front beside me. Not to brag or anything, but I wrote Blue 52. Er, I guess you knew that since I was the one who invited you to the party. I’m giving away some prizes too. What’s a release party without prizes?  Subscribe to my newsletter or follow my blog for your chance to win, then leave a comment telling me that you did so. Prize winners will be drawn from those who leave comments. I’ll post the winners on Friday in the comments section of this post. Either leave me an email address where I can contact you if you win, or come back Friday to see if you won anything. You’ll have until Sunday evening at midnight to claim your prize. After that, I’ll draw another name.

Prize list:

Decorations for a themed Christmas tree. The theme is polka dots. At the end of the prize list you can see some of the ornaments.

One electronic copy of Return Engagement, the first book in the Lovinggood trilogy. Blue 52 is the second.

One electronic copy of The Enchanted, the story of Prince Alan and Princess Morgane

One electronic copy of The Best Selling Toy Of The Season (That book tells the story of Nikki Lane and Tommy Price. Nikki’s one of my December hostesses, and if I don’t offer you a copy of her book, she’ll throw a fit.)

 

 

 



Chapter 1

California, 2048


Senator Henry Lovinggood dozed in the warm sunshine streaming through the window of his study. A loud, rumbling snore woke him, and he saw his aide Tim Jarvis standing in the doorway.

"Taking a little snooze, Tim," he boomed as he scrubbed his hand across his face. "Why didn’t you wake me?"

Tim handed a phone to the senator. "You have a phone call, sir. It’s the attorney general. Of California, I mean."

Senator Lovinggood touched the flat screen, and a hologram of Morton Williams appeared before him. "What can I do for you, Morton?"

"Senator, I’m calling you about the Prescott Flash Train."

"What about the Flash Train?" Senator Lovinggood growled. "We’ve already had this conversation."

"Sir, the state has made its position very clear. We have

to have that land. Whether the public likes it or not, the bodies at Knollwood must be moved. Some of the Flash Train cables have to be buried, and…"
"I’ve heard it all before. I don’t believe that the engineers can’t find a way to route the train without disturbing a cemetery."

"Sir, they say they can’t."

The senator snorted. "I don’t believe it for—"

"Sir, it’s going to happen. President Lovinggood and his wife are scheduled to be disinterred on the twenty-third of November. You and your grandson should decide on a new resting place for them."

Piqued, Senator Lovinggood rudely turned off the phone and thrust it at Tim. "Damned petty flunky," he shouted. "Are the transportation people too wimpy to tell me themselves?"

Tim pursed his lips, reminding the senator of an overgrown guppy. "The state attorney general’s office has to approve all exhumations, Senator. Anyway, the president should have been in Arlington all along."

The senator skewered Tim with a fiery glare. "As you doubtless know, a sitting president is required to make his funeral arrangements so that his wishes are followed in the event of his death. President Lovinggood made his wishes very clear. He wanted to be buried here in California with his family."

Tim flushed as his lips thinned. The senator saw both apprehension and contempt in his eyes, but he had too much sense to back talk his boss. "Can I get anything for you, Senator?"

"Yes. Some coffee."

As Tim vanished, the senator gave a brief, inward sigh. He had recruited Tim ten years ago and had regretted it many times. Tim had expected an exciting life in Washington; instead, he had gotten a quiet life in California with a senator who seldom even went to Washington anymore, not unless there was a vote he didn’t want to miss. He made his displeasure known in countless little ways. I guess I should replace him, but why bother? I’m retiring in eighteen months.

The senator heaved himself to his feet and shuffled across the study. Damned arthritis; I move like an old man, and my snot-nosed kid of a doctor had the gall to lecture me about my attitude. "You should be glad you aren’t crippled," Grant had scolded. "Thirty years ago you wouldn’t be walking at all. You’d also be in severe pain."


What did Grant know? He’d complain if he wanted to.

He sat down behind his desk and stared at a conspicuously displayed photo of his son, Richard. The photo had been taken on inauguration day. Richard’s wife Elizabeth stood at his side, looking so beautiful that even now it made his heart ache to see her.

Her face glowed with pride and happiness. How could anyone believe that two years later she would kill Richard and take her own life? "They’re all wrong," he muttered as he made a gesture of repugnance. "I don’t care what anyone says; she did not shoot him."

He removed a well-worn scrapbook from its place in the bottom drawer, caressing its smooth, cool surface. When he opened the scrapbook, Richard’s face laughed up at him. The photo had been taken right after his grandson, Hank, was born. This was exactly the way he remembered Richard, laughing and happy, his eyes alight with life and promise.

The whole family had celebrated Hank’s birth. Richard and Elizabeth had tried for years to have a baby. They had seen a lot of fertility specialists, but they’d almost given up hope when Elizabeth found out she was pregnant with Hank. Oh, yeah, he’d never forget those days.
"The king of the world," he muttered. "I felt like the king of the world."
He turned the pages one by one as he had done so many times before. No matter how often he looked at the scrapbook, he never grew tired of it. Pausing on page five, he studied one of his favorite pictures. It had been taken on Richard and Elizabeth’s wedding day. I’m ninety-eight years old now, and I’ve never seen two people as much in love as they were.

The little half smile on his face faded as his old eyes glazed. It can’t be too much longer before I see Richard again; I can’t wait to find out what really happened that night. He supposed his faith required him to forgive whoever had murdered his son and daughter-in-law, but he daily prayed the perpetrator would burn in hell forever.

He flipped to the back of the scrapbook. God, I hate this part! He had thought of destroying the offensive newspaper articles, but without them, the record would be incomplete. "President Lovinggood Murdered!" the first headline screamed. "First Lady Kills the President" trumpeted another in huge, black letters.


Unwilling to read any more, he turned back to the front of the scrapbook. Look, there was a good picture of Richard and Joan taken in their Halloween costumes. Richard must have been five or six at the time. They looked so much alike some people had thought they were twins, but Richard was two years older than Joan. He remembered that Richard hadn’t wanted his little sister to—

"Put that damned thing away!" a strident, furious voice demanded from the door.

Elaine Lovinggood, the senator’s wife, had gone red-faced with anger. "Why are you torturing yourself, Henry? I told you not to look at it anymore."

"Elaine…"

"I don’t want to hear it."

"Elaine…"

"Be quiet, Henry!" She slapped the door with the flat of her hand and made the senator jump. "I loved Richard as much as you did, but he’s dead, and no amount of mourning in the world can bring him back. You’ve wasted the last thirty years grieving for our dead son, and I can’t take it anymore." Her voice rose again. "For the love of God, don’t ruin the last days of our lives!"

The senator tossed the scrapbook into the drawer and slammed it shut. Elaine’s high blood pressure constantly worried him, and her doctor described her heart as a ticking time bomb. It wouldn’t do to upset her.

"I didn’t mean to worry you," he apologized. "I started thinking about Richard after Morton Williams called."

"What did he want? He’s a slimy, slithery slug if you ask me."

Elaine had always loved words. She had a huge vocabulary and especially enjoyed using alliteration. In fact, she and Richard had had some kind of word game they used to play. The last time they all dined together, she and Richard had tried to play the game using the letter x, but both of them had to admit defeat.

"Williams was calling to tell me that Richard and Elizabeth will be disinterred on November twenty-third. We’ll have to make arrangements for them."

The fire died in Elaine’s eyes as she sank down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, her mouth a drooping, thin line in her wrinkled face. "Why couldn’t I have just died myself and gotten it over with? I’d rather die than see those coffins come out of the ground." She glared at the senator. "You’d better not get all worked up."

The senator flushed, feeling like a schoolboy caught in some kind of mischief. She always made him feel this way when she criticized him. "I…"

Elaine turned toward the hallway when she heard the front door slam. "Hank’s home."

Richard Henry Lovinggood III, Hank to his family and friends, entered the study and gave his grandmother a kiss. "Hey, Grandma. What’s wrong with you?"

The senator’s heart gave a little leap. He looked so much like Richard! Tall and well-built with blond hair and beautiful blue eyes, he turned feminine heads everywhere he went. The expression in his eyes was different, though. Richard had burned within, but Hank had a peaceful, calm center. Elaine always said it was probably a legacy from his cursed mother because he sure didn’t get it from Richard’s side of the family. She was undoubtedly right about that.

Senator Lovinggood joined them in front of the fire. His old bones liked the warmth. "She’s upset because Morton Williams called today."

"And?"

"Your parents will be disinterred on the twenty-third. We have to make arrangements."

"I see."

Senator Lovinggood blew his nose, the honking sound reverberating around the room. "Do you have any ideas about where you want to put them, Hank?"

"I do. I knew you couldn’t block the train forever, so I’ve been looking around. I visited a very nice cemetery this afternoon. Have you ever heard of Crystal Rivers?"

Elaine shook her head. "No. Where is it?"

"It’s about thirty minutes from here. It’s not a new cemetery, but it’s beautiful as far as cemeteries go."
Elaine shrugged. "One place is as good as another."

"If it isn’t a new cemetery, is there enough room for us to be buried there as well?" Senator Lovinggood worried.

"Yes, sir, there is. They’re willing to set aside an entire block of spaces for us."

Senator Lovinggood’s face smoothed out. "Good. If you like it, Hank, that’s what we’ll do. Do you want to call Williams, or do you want me to? I know you don’t know him, so I’ll be glad to take care of it for you."

"I’ll call him, Grandpa."

Elaine cocked her head and stared at Hank. "Why have you decided to call Williams? You always tell Henry to take care of things like this."

"Oh, no reason." His eyes rested on the photo on the desk. "It’s just something I can do for Mother and Dad."

Senator Lovinggood blew his nose again and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I know exactly how you feel. I’d give my right arm for the chance to help Richard one more time."

Hank kissed his grandmother’s cheek. "Don’t worry, Grandma. It’ll be over and done with before you know it. Just think how proud Dad would be. His administration laid the groundwork for the Flash Train."

"Yes, that’s true."

The senator’s chest swelled with pride. "I’m proud of it too. The Flash Train can travel over three hundred fifty miles per hour."

Hank rose to his feet. "I want to change clothes before dinner. I’ll see you guys in a minute."

He dropped a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek and dashed upstairs.

"Just like Richard used to do," Senator Lovinggood observed.

"Richard didn’t always change before dinner," Elaine disagreed.

"No. Run up the stairs. Richard used to do that too."

Elaine rolled her eyes. "I think I’ll change for dinner too."

"You look fine to me."

"No, I feel like changing."

The senator shrugged. "I’m fine as I am."

Elaine shot him a look he couldn’t define. "If you say so."

Really! Now what did she mean by that?

* * * *

Elaine slowly made her way up the stairs and went into her room, where she sat down in front of her dressing table. She loved Henry to distraction. So much so that at times she actually wished he had died with Richard. He’d have been happy then. As it was… At first she had assumed he’d eventually get over his hurt and be okay, but he never did. He grieved as much today as he had right after the murder took place and would go to his own grave mourning his dead son.

Sometimes she cursed the Renexin in the American water supply. Who wanted to live to one hundred fifteen? The sooner death came, the better. She’d had enough losses and pain in her life. Enough was enough.

* * * *

Hank shut his bedroom door behind him and threw himself down on the sofa that rested near the window. He had expected this news for some time. The Flash Train could transport both people and goods economically and quickly. Of course the state would move a cemetery to make room for the train.

The small picture of his mother and father that stood on the end table beside the sofa captured his attention and made him think of his grandfather’s study. Until a few months ago, pictures of his father filled every available inch of the study. It had reminded Hank of a shrine, a shrine his grandfather had created for his lost son.
 The senator had removed most of the pictures after his grandmother threw a tremendous tantrum that sent her to the emergency room, but he still looked at them when she wasn’t around. I didn’t like looking at the pictures. Why be constantly reminded of all I’ve lost?


He had been three years old when his parents died, so he didn’t remember much about them, but he still felt their loss with every breath he took. Why wouldn’t he? That dreadful tragedy cast a long shadow. His jaw clenched. It hurt like hell to know that in his grandfather’s eyes, he couldn’t measure up to his father.

The senator had never even hinted that he believed such a thing, but he’d have to be brain dead not to pick up on it.

On impulse, Hank wandered to the room next door and peered inside.

This room, which was decorated in an old-fashioned, traditional style, had belonged to his father. Naturally, his parents had had their own home, but the Lovinggoods had been a close family; his parents had often spent the night with his grandparents. They had always stayed in the room that his dad used before his marriage.

In spite of clichés and mental health issues, his grandfather refused to let anyone change the room. A hair brush filled with short, blond hair still lay on the bathroom vanity, and his father’s jacket still hung on the bedpost.
His grandmother had raised hell about it, but his grandfather had had his way.

I agree with Grandma. When the house comes to me, I’ll clear everything from the room.
Maybe.

Hank turned around to go back to his own room, but instead he removed the jacket from the bedpost. Funny, but he’d lived in this house all of his life and never thought to try it on.

The jacket, a charcoal gray sports coat that smelled musty and felt too soft, fit perfectly. Hank flinched when he saw himself in the mirror; it almost looked as if his father had returned to change his clothes for dinner. Everyone said he resembled his dad, but until he saw himself in the mirror he usually didn’t think much about it. Jerking the jacket off, he hung it on the bedpost. He hated this room, this tribute to the past!
Slamming the door behind him, Hank returned to his own room where he belonged and hunted for a clean shirt. Not that I exactly need a clean shirt, but going to the cemetery made me feel dirty.

Now why would he feel dirty? His parents should rest easy in the peaceful, quiet cemetery.
I wonder if it’s too late to call Williams. Probably not. He picked up his holophone, and almost immediately a hologram of Williams filled the room.

"Hello, Mr. Lovinggood. Did your grandfather tell you I called?"

"Yes, he did. That’s what I’m calling about. I’ve decided to place my parents at Crystal Rivers Cemetery."

Williams nodded. "I’m familiar with Crystal Rivers. It’s a good choice."

"My grandfather said they’ll be disinterred on November twenty-third."

Williams nodded again. "Yes, sir. We’ll do it at nine a.m. on November twenty-third. I assume you’ll want to have someone present."

"I intend to be present myself."

"Oh, well, that’s fine. We’ll have a military guard to escort the president’s remains to his new resting place, but we weren’t sure if you’d want any further ceremony or not."
Hank didn’t hesitate. The media would inevitably make a huge deal out of this thing anyway. If they had any kind of ceremony, it would be that much worse. I have no desire to hear the newscasters talk about Mother. "I may have a private service for family members, but that’s all."

"The state is responsible for the cost of opening and closing the graves, so I’ll arrange it with Crystal Rivers."

"Good," Hank said. "Tell them to prepare for burial on the twenty-fourth. I’ll let them know what time."

"The twenty-fourth?" He saw surprise on Williams’ face.

"That’s right. The bodies are to be taken from Knollwood directly to The Sinclair Mortuary."

"Yes, sir. We’ll arrange for them to be escorted on the twenty-fourth from the mortuary to Crystal Rivers."

After they finished their call, Hank had to wipe his hands on his pants because his palms were slick with sweat. He had been so young when his parents died that he barely remembered them. He craved to see their faces as much as any addict on the street craved his next fix. Now, thanks to the Flash Train, he would get his chance.

His plan would horrify his grandmother, who could never understand his need. Both of her parents had lived to a ripe old age; she had enjoyed their company for almost all of her life.

Of course, time might have ruined his one opportunity to look upon their faces. He had taken that into account when he made his plans. The director of the Sinclair Mortuary had agreed to open the coffins and look first. If

Mr. Sinclair thought best, he would close the lids, and that would be the end of it.
Hank wiped his hands again. Have I totally lost my mind? Won’t seeing them make their loss even harder to bear?

It didn’t matter. No power on earth could keep him from opening those coffins. God willing, the devouring curiosity that had tormented him for thirty long years would finally be satisfied.  


   

Beyond the Book: An invitation For You

The President and Mrs. Lovinggood

request the pleasure of your company

at an on-line book release party

honoring the release of Elaine Cantrell’s

Blue 52

on Wednesday, December 4, 2013

at http://www.elainepcantrell.blogspot.com

 

Prizes will be awarded.

 

 

 

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!! Jo Kessel-remember her-is bringing the price of WEAK AT THE KNEES down to 99 cents December 22-January 6 2014. Support your favorite authors by buying books for Christmas gifts.

 

 

"First Lady Kills President Lovinggood"

December 29, 2018

 Thirty years later Hank Lovinggood embarks on a quest to prove his mother's innocence and punish the killers who took his family from him.  Together Hank and lovely physicist Kathryn Sinclair confront an implacable, twisted, merciless enemy who'll do whatever it takes to hide the truth forever. 

buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Blue-52-Elaine-Cantrell-ebook/dp/B00H1MHC24/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1386037162&sr=8-1&keywords=blue+52+by+elaine+cantrell 

 

or at

 

 http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=1171

Beyond the Book: Winners!

Welcome to this edition of Beyond the Book. I am the Princess Morgane, daughter of King Maccus, wife to Prince Alan who is heir to his father King Bowdyn. Madame Cantrell has given me the honor of announcing the winners of her release party.  The grand prize winner who will receive the gift bag is CJz. CJz, your presence at the release party honors me and my husband.

I have persuaded Madame Cantrell to give away two copies of The Enchanted. Joanne and Particia, you are the lucky recipients of this splendid novel. I am sure you will enjoy it as did the royal family.

I would take a moment of your time to show you the gift I made for Prince Alan. I began this wall hanging when I first came into the kingdom, and now it is finally completed. I hope the prince will like it!

 

 

And now for the winners of the Rachel Got the Contract Blog Hop. Janice Houghland, you win a copy of A New Dream.  Debbi, you won Knight of the Dead. Jeff, you won a copy of Rachel's book! And last but not least, Liz R. you get a copy of The Enchanted. 

 

If you didn't leave your email for me, send it right away so I can get your book to you. Thanks so much for playing.

Release Day! The Enchanted

 When you finish reading chapter 1, click here to get back to the June Reading Trail.

 

Greetings! My name is Prince Alan, and I bid you welcome to the release party for Elaine Cantrell’s new novel The Enchanted. My father the king is most pleased with the author's description of recent events in his kingdom and has spared no expense to make a party worthy of her tale.  We will assemble in the castle’s great hall. Notice that part of the hall is roped off. This is the section where the royal family will sit along with the author and any guests with whom she chooses to share this honor.
 

 

My wife the Princess Morgane has overseen the fashioning of a suitable gown for Madame Cantrell. It is made of the costliest materials available.  The queen has selected a ring from the treasure chest to present to Madame Cantrell. It is beautiful, is it not?

Nor has the king spared any expense to obtain the finest delicacies from throughout the kingdom.  The fruit tray is quite impressive. Most of the fruits were imported from across the mountains.

 

The cooks have labored many hours to produce small cakes for the guests.  Are they not beautiful decorated in such delicate colors?

 

The king is fond of delicate fare, but he has also ordered roast beef, ham, and pie of chicken for Madame Cantrell’s guests.

 

The king’s warriors love roasted potatoes, so he has instructed the cook to prepare them for Madame’s guests as well.

 

 

 

The last item on the menu is something new. It is called chocolate. Traders brought it to the kingdom a year or so ago, and it has fast become a favorite. It is very dear, though. Even the king does not have an unlimited supply. The fact that he serves it at the party shows the esteem in which he holds Madame Cantrell, as do we all. These chocolates are a particular favorite of Princess Morgane. When you bite into them, your mouth is filled with liquid chocolate so tasty it is as if an angel made them.

 

 

And of course we will serve bread, ale, and wine with the meal.

At a party we are usually entertained by the jugglers or musicians, but at this party we can do better. Madame Cantrell has consented to read the first chapter of her book to the guests. I have persuaded her to post it for those not fortunate enough to receive an invitation to the party. To please Madame Cantrell, answer the following question, and if Princess Morgane draws your name from the hat, you will win the gift bag pictured below. Here is the question: Why did Prince Alan not train as a warrior when his brother did? You will find the answer a short way into chapter 1 which is below.

It is a curious prize to be sure. The bag itself is very lightweight but strong. Madame says is made that way so it will dry easily. She has also included a large, plush towel in bright colors, a sun visor, something called lip balm, and sunscreen. I have asked her for some of the sunscreen for Princess Morgane who cannot stay in the sun for long without blistering. Last but certainly not least, she is offering a large, pink glass with a straw that can be frozen so that one's drink will stay cold. This is certainly a wonder to me. Best of all, she will offer a PDF copy of one of her previous novels, Her Kind of Man. Princess Morgane teases me and asks if I posed for the cover. Be sure to leave an email address so that the king's steward can contact you if you should win. 

You may obtain your copy at most retail outlets and from the publisher at http://www.astraeapress.com. Princess Morgane and I thank you for your support of Madame's work. Madame has written a thrilling book filled with adventure and romance. I am sure you will not want to miss it.

Blurb
 

Forced by his father into a marriage he didn’t want, Prince Alan soon finds that his bride isn’t the sweet, submissive creature he expected.  Morgane has the heart of a dragon and beauty beyond compare, but she isn’t thrilled about the marriage either.  When black treachery threatens the kingdom, Morgane and Alan embark on a perilous journey that has an excellent chance of ending in failure and death for them and all of their people. 

Prologue

King Bowdyn sprang from his throne and paced around the room like a crazed tiger. "Perhaps you did not understand me, Alan," he snarled. His hands clenched into fists held rigidly to his sides. "This is not a request, but a command. You will marry Lady Maybina before the next full moon has passed."

Alan dared not raise his eyes from the floor. "Father, I do not…"

"Silence!" the king roared. "I have respected your wishes for three years now, but my patience is at an end. You will wed Lady Maybina as I have commanded."

"Father, having married once for love, I have no desire to marry a woman whom I have never met! Can you not understand? Think of the love you share with my mother. Is it so bad that I desire the same kind of relationship?"

The king's face turned purple, but he took a deep breath and returned to sit upon his huge jewel-encrusted throne. He wiped his face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "I have never understood you. You insisted on marrying a commoner — a nobody — and now that death has released you from your vows, you refuse to marry a woman of your own station."

Alan's heart thudded in his chest. How far could he push his father? With Bowdyn, one could never be sure. "I am sorry to disappoint you."

"The kingdom needs heirs. The wedding will proceed as I have planned."

"Father…"

"Enough!"
Bowdyn's eyes bulged with the force of his scream.

"But…"

"Guards!" Four men dressed in the family's red red-and-white livery rushed from their places against the rough stone wall. "Bind him!" the king cried.

The guards hauled Alan to his feet and fastened his hands behind his back with a silken cord — a privilege extended only to those of royal birth. "I have tolerated your disrespect and rebellious attitude long enough." The king's voice dripped with icicles now. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you are nothing like your brother. If Nealon had lived, I would have the option of letting you spend the rest of your life painting pictures or grieving for your dead wife. Unhappily for us both, your brother died defending the kingdom, and you are all that I have left.

"Therefore, for your disobedient and disrespectful ways, I sentence you to one year in the prison of Malville." A grim smile crossed the king's face. "Keeper Kynthelig has a way with men. When you return, I expect you will know your duty and see your way clear to do it."

He turned to the guards. "Confine him in his room for the moment. Tonight I will write a letter to Keeper Kynthelig, and tomorrow you shall cross the Leptan Desert and deliver my son to him."

****

Keeper Kynthelig's long, thin fingers tapped against the parchment the king had sent him. He laid it aside and looked his prisoner over. "How tall are you?" he asked.

"Six feet, three inches," Alan replied, his voice flat and even.

"You will address me as Keeper Kynthelig. For one so tall, you are not well muscled. Did you not train as a warrior with your brother?"

"No, Keeper Kynthelig, I did not."

"Why not?"

"My father had my brother. He had no use for me because I liked to paint."

Kynthelig stepped forward and struck the prince across the face. A black stone in his elaborate gold ring scratched a thin red line across Alan's cheek. "You were told to address me as Keeper Kynthelig."

The prince's eyes flashed. "Yes, Keeper Kynthelig."

"That is better." The keeper sat back in his soft leather chair and picked up a fine crystal glass from which the scent of a delicious wine emanated. "Your brother is dead, Prince Alan, and you are King Bowdyn's heir. As such, certain behaviors are required of you. It is my job to see to it that you learn them."

He gestured to a hulking guard in a stained leather jerkin who waited near the door. "Put Prince Alan in building seven. With his fair complexion, we will start him off working underground so that the desert sun will not blister him."

The prince gasped as the guard grabbed his arm and jerked him around. "I will see to him, Keeper Kynthelig. Do not worry about a thing."

Chapter One

Keeper Kynthelig's long, dangling necklaces clinked softly and tangled together as he bowed low to his visitor. "King Bowdyn, it is an honor to receive you. I had no idea that you would come to collect Prince Alan in person, or I would have made arrangements for a feast in your honor."

The king's nose flared slightly. The stench of the prison penetrated even these fine apartments. "That is quite all right, Kynthelig. I must collect Alan and leave right away, else we will be late for the wedding festivities."

"Yes, news of Alan's marriage has spread throughout the kingdom."

Bowdyn frowned. "I trust no one here has spoken to him of this matter."

"No, sir, they have not."

"Good." The king's face relaxed. "I wish to break this news to him myself."

"Of course. Would you like the guards to fetch the prince for you?"

"I would."

At the keeper's nod, one of the guards hurried from the reception room. "Please, sit and make yourself comfortable," Kynthelig begged the king. "I will send for wine and cake."

Bowdyn nodded and seated himself in a cushioned chair overlaid with rich, gold brocade fabric while servants ran to do Kynthelig's bidding. They soon returned with a silver tray loaded with myriad sweet delicacies. A second tray held several bottles of wine and three golden goblets.

A wine taster stepped forward and sampled both wines before Kynthelig or the king drank.

"This is excellent wine, Kynthelig," the king approved as he sampled the keeper's offering. "Now I do not feel so dry and parched from my trip across the desert." He drew a deep breath. "I no longer smell the stench of the prison either." Reaching for a small, bite-sized cake with pink frosting, he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "Are you pleased with my son's progress?"

Kynthelig almost smiled. "Indeed, I am. The prince's time here has made a new man of him. It is a pity that such steps had to be taken, but as always, you did not flinch from the duty set before you. Your subjects have much to be grateful for. Not all monarchs are so wise."

The king grunted. "I have little doubt that Alan feels quite differently, but in time I believe he will see that I did the right thing. I pray it will be so. Even though he has been disobedient to his father and king, he is my son."

The clanking of heavy chains announced Alan's arrival. The king set his silver cup down and beheld his son for the first time in a year. "I almost did not recognize him. He is filthy, and his hair is disgracefully short, but he has certainly put on a lot of muscle."

Kynthelig inclined his head. "Indeed."

The keeper's servant brandished a fan made of fluffy white feathers and fanned King Bowdyn as he looked Alan up and down. "He looks as if he has worked often in the sun. His skin is quite bronzed."

"That is so. After a few months of underground work we moved him to the surface. Staying underground too long is unhealthy."

"Turn around," King Bowdyn commanded. The prince did so with absolutely no animation. Bowdyn stared at his son's back. "You whipped him. He bears the scars from the flogging."

The keeper shifted uneasily as he clasped and unclasped his hands. "He is not stupid. One flogging was all that it took, so the scarring is minimal."

Bowdyn picked up his wine cup and drained it. "I am glad for the scars. Every time he looks at his back in the mirror he will be reminded of his duty. Did he make friends here?"

"Yes, sir." A pained look crossed the keeper's thin, sallow face. "He and another prisoner called Adair were friendly to each other. Naturally, I transferred Adair once I learned of this situation. Isolation is necessary to achieve certain ends."

The king stood up and walked over to Alan, whose head hung low. "You have not made eye contact with me since you walked into this room. You are not a prisoner anymore. Lift your head as befits the crown prince of the realm."

Alan's head came up, and he stared straight ahead. The king smiled. "You have taught him well, Keeper Kynthelig. He no longer speaks his mind without permission." The king snapped his fingers. One of his guards hastened to present a set of new, soft clothes to Alan. "Wash yourself and put on new garments. We will leave as soon as you are ready. I would cross the Leptan as quickly as possible."

Keeper Kynthelig motioned for one of the prison guards who stood in the doorway. "Escort Prince Alan to the pool and give him soap and a towel."

The man nodded and touched Alan's arm. Alan silently turned around and followed him.

The keeper watched with a face full of satisfaction. "I think you will be pleased with him. I am certain he now appreciates all the advantages of his position."

"I certainly hope so, Kynthelig. Now, if it is not too much trouble, I will drink another cup of your excellent wine."

"It is an honor to serve you, my king."

****

Alan stopped so abruptly that the guard behind him plowed into his back. How wondrous! A set of stone steps led down into a little pool of sparkling water. Bushy, dense trees surrounded the pool and provided privacy to bathers. His throat sucked dry as he caught the sweet scent of fresh water, so different from the warm, brackish liquid he had been forced to drink for the past year.

The guard prodded him in the back. "Wash yourself."

Alan stripped off his filthy, ragged loincloth and plunged into the water. He drank deeply as his dry skin soaked up the cool, refreshing moisture.

"Hurry up," the guard growled. "Do not keep the king waiting."

Alan soaped himself, rinsed, and left the pool with some reluctance. He dried on the rough towel the guard gave him and donned the traditional hooded white robe worn by most desert travelers.

Without a word, the guard escorted him back to the keeper's reception room where King Bowdyn was just finishing a cup of wine. His mouth watered as his eyes fell on the plate of cakes on the table. The guards had refused him food that morning, as they sometimes did when they wished to torment the prisoners.

The king nodded to him. "You look much better. Most of the prison dirt is washed away as is the stench. Come. We must ride as far as we can, and the hour grows late."

The king strode from Keeper Kynthelig's reception room. Alan followed several steps behind him. They reached the courtyard where one of the king's servants bowed and handed Alan the reins of a large, dappled gray stallion. "The horse is a gift for you," Bowdyn said. "I selected him myself. Gawen, who trained him, assures me that there is no finer animal in the kingdom."

They mounted up and exited the grounds. Alan drew a deep breath as the prison disappeared from view. He had feared that this was only some new torture, and at the last moment, his father would leave him behind.

He and the king rode in the middle of a large contingent of soldiers. They traveled for hours, stopping periodically to rest and water their horses at the small, infrequent pools of water scattered throughout the desert. By nightfall they had crossed about half of the Leptan. King Bowdyn called a halt for the night, and the servants set about making camp long before Alan wanted to stop. The more distance between him and the prison the better.

Knowing the king's appetite, the cook hastened to assemble and heat a savory meat stew from precooked ingredients he had brought with him. Alan's stomach growled. He felt almost lightheaded when he smelled the food. The cook served the king first and then offered Alan a tin plate heaping with meat.

He turned to the side, hoping his father would not watch him eat, but he could not stop himself from almost inhaling the food.

"You were hungry," Bowdyn observed. "Well, no wonder. I doubt you have eaten meat in a year now. Jacca, serve my son more food."

Jacca hurried to do so, and Alan gobbled that, too.

King Bowdyn finished his meal and laid his plate aside. "Let us get some rest. We still have a long way to go." He turned to Meryn, his chief servant. "Be certain to keep the fires burning all night. I have no desire to wake with a sand dragon beside me."

Alan agreed. Sand dragons were about the size of a housecat, but their bite spread noxious venom that destroyed flesh and usually killed. They feared fire, though, no matter how small.

Meryn approached Alan with shackles. "My lord, your father the king commands that we shackle you until you are accustomed to your freedom."

The muscles in Alan's arms knotted, but he allowed himself to be restrained with no fuss, looking neither right nor left and avoiding eye contact with either Meryn or his father.

The king's eyes perhaps held a hint of compassion. "That will not be necessary once we reach home. For now it is simply a precaution. You are undoubtedly another man now, and I do not know as yet whether you harbor ill will toward me or not."

Alan lay down on the blanket Meryn spread for him and watched the stars. It had been a year since he had seen the moon or the stars. He yawned. His eyelids drooped. After awhile, he turned over and let himself drift off to sleep.

The sharp crack of a whip behind him jerked him from slumber. "Did you really think to escape us so easily?" Kynthelig hissed. He gestured to the burly guards who had accompanied him. "Seize him."

This time Alan fought back, punching and kicking and cursing the blanket and shackles that hindered him .

A hand clamped down on his arm. "Alan! Enough!"

Gasping for breath, Alan wrenched his eyes open. His taut muscles relaxed. A dream. Only a dream.

King Bowdyn released Alan's arm. "Sleep. The morning will soon come."

****

Meryn awoke them early the next morning. By daybreak they were back on the trail. They rode until the sun was straight overhead before they paused to rest. Alan searched the landscape with eagerness. Things had begun to look familiar to him. In the distance he saw the Desvault Mountains where he and

Nealon had roamed as children. They had enjoyed playing in the many caves that honeycombed the mountain. No one knew who had made the caves or why, though everyone thought they were man-made.

Several hours later they reached the castle, a heavily fortified stone structure on top of a steep hill. A red flag bearing the image of a screaming eagle flew from the topmost spire, proclaiming Bowdyn's pride, glory, and power to the world. Alan heard a horn blow to signal the return of the king. By the time they reached the courtyard, it was crowded with servants, warriors, and advisors eager to greet Bowdyn. One of the grooms took the reins of Alan's stallion. He dismounted and followed the king into the castle. Queen Donella met them as they entered the high-ceilinged central hall whose mosaic floor was considered a wonder all throughout the kingdom. Castle Bowdyn was the only known structure with such an imposing, costly floor.

His mother stood tall and willowy, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a porcelain complexion. She approached Bowdyn with the grace of a gazelle and kissed his cheek. "So, he is back, Bowdyn."

"He is."

"Has he learned his lessons as he should?"

"I have seen no indication otherwise."

The queen's blue satin skirts rustled as she turned and held out her bejeweled hand to Alan. "Welcome home, Alan."

He bowed and kissed her hand. His mother smelled of cherries and almonds, a signature fragrance King Bowdyn had created for her many years ago.

"I have ordered a special dinner to celebrate your homecoming." She took Bowdyn's arm. "My king and my prince stink of horses' sweat. I will instruct the servants to prepare baths for you."

The king nodded. "You may go to your room, Alan. I will send a servant to tend you."

Alan felt his father's eyes boring into him as he moved toward the stairs. A large, fawn-colored dog darted toward him from behind a tall, heavy curtain. He had raised Amena from a pup, but he paid no attention to her, not even to pat her head. When he reached the landing Alan shot a look at his father, who had wandered over to the window to look out at the activity in the courtyard. The satisfied look on Bowdyn's face told him his father was pleased with him.

Alan's jaw tightened. Bowdyn probably thought he had done him a favor by toughening him up. As his father had said many times, they lived in a hard world where dreamers and artists had little place.

****

The minute the door closed behind him, Alan bent and hugged the dog. "I have missed you," he whispered as Amena furiously licked his face. As he patted her, he studied his room. Things looked different to him after an absence of a year. Brilliant light and clean, sweet air filled his spacious room. He pressed the bed with his hand. The golden coverlet felt as soft as a spring breeze, and the bed itself was surely made of spun clouds! And oh, he had never noticed how large the fireplace was. He shivered, remembering the coldness of the underground mine.

As he had expected, all traces of his wife had been removed in his absence. Her silver hairbrush no longer lay on the dresser, and her wardrobe held no gowns or shoes. The small painting of her that he had kept on a bedside table was also gone.

No matter.
The very day his brother had died, he had hollowed out a space under the floor stones. There he kept his greatest treasures, including a good portrait of his beloved Olwyn.

He heard a discreet knock on the door. "My lord, I bring your bath water. May I enter?"

"Come in."

Turi, Alan's personal servant, entered the room with two other men. Each carried two large buckets of water which they emptied into a small stone tub in a curtained alcove. Then Turi's helpers left the room. "It is good to see you, Prince Alan," Turi assured him. "I have worried about you for an entire year now. Are you ready for your bath?"

Alan brightened. "Yes, I am, Turi, and I have missed you too." He eagerly stripped and stepped into the tub. "Ah, this warm, clean water is a miracle. I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel clean again. It seems to me as if the foul stench of the prison has permeated my very skin. I only pray that with time the dreadful odor will finally leave my nostrils."

Behind him, Turi drew a sharp breath. "Prince Alan! The… the scars…"

"It is nothing, Turi. Let us not speak of it."

After Alan bathed, Turi finished his bath by pouring a bowl of water over his head and shoulders. "The king requests your company in thirty minutes, Prince Alan. May I help you to dress?"

Alan inclined his head. "I will be there, but I will dress myself." He needed a few moments' privacy to prepare for the coming meal. Under the circumstances, he wished his mother had not prepared a celebration for him.

After his servant left him, Alan donned a soft, rich tunic of red velvet and a pair of skin-tight breeches in dark gold. Both garments fit tightly after his stay in the prison, for as his father had said, he had put on quite a lot of muscle. His

lip curled with amusement. Frankly, except for the bath and the food he would just as soon be back in prison. At least there he had known where he stood.

****

One of Bowdyn's servants pulled out Alan's heavily carved chair as he came down the stairs. "Welcome home, Prince Alan. May I serve you?"

Alan nodded, and the man served him a heaping plate of pork, vegetables, and bread. He also brought wine of an excellent vintage. His mother and father had already been served, so the king called, "Let us eat."

Everyone started to eat with gusto. "This truly is a meal fit for a king," one of Bowdyn's courtiers called.

Another man answered, "Of course it is. King Bowdyn serves only the best food and drink."

As the nobles and military leaders ate their fill, Bowdyn turned to face Alan on his right. "I have news for you, Alan."

Alan said nothing. The hard, cold expression on his father's face told him he would not like what he was about to hear.

Bowdyn's eyes narrowed. "For two months now, you have been a married man."

Alan had resolved to say little or nothing to anyone, but surprise loosened his tongue. "I do not understand. Olwyn has been dead for four years."

"Indeed. But you and Princess Morgane, daughter of King Maccus, were married by proxy two months ago."

Alan frowned as he tried to understand his father. "I have never heard of this thing. What does it mean?"

"It means that as long as both fathers are present, two people can be married even if one of them is absent. This is a privilege extended only to those of royal birth. Due to your confinement, it seemed like the easiest thing to do. King Maccus will arrive with Princess Morgane tomorrow. We will celebrate your marriage with a feast and a ball. At the appropriate time, you and Morgane will consummate your marriage in order to produce heirs for the kingdom."

Alan's fists clenched under the ornate table. "I see."

Queen Donella tapped his arm. "I am told that Morgane is beautiful. I am also told that she is a spirited girl who likes to laugh and enjoy life. I think you will be very pleased with your father's choice."

"There is one thing." The king pursed his lips. "Maccus has told me of Morgane's beauty, but she has a scar which runs from the corner of her mouth almost back to her ear. It seems that she annoyed Maccus past all restraint one evening, and he punished her by cutting her face."

"That was foolish," Queen Donella huffed. "He lessened her value in the marriage market. Who would wed a scarred woman? Is he trying to pawn his defective daughter off on us?"

"To make this alliance, I would not care if she looked like a cow." The king turned to Alan. "Is this a problem for you?"

Alan swallowed hard and tried not to look his father in the eye lest Bowdyn see the anger and resentment burning there. "No, Father."

"Good. Then we will celebrate tomorrow."

After they had finished their dinners, most of the nobles and military men approached Alan to offer words of welcome. In some eyes he saw pity, in others scorn. A muscle in his jaw jerked. Pity! Scorn! Gah!

Once the meal concluded, Alan went to his room, where Amena waited for him. He had brought the dog a piece of meat, which she attacked as if she had not eaten in a long time. "What am I to do?" he muttered. "I would almost rather go back to prison than marry this woman."

Amena growled over her pork.

"I forgot for a moment, Amena. It is already done. I am a married man."

He lay down on his bed, reflecting as he did so that he hadn't had a clean bed to sleep in for an entire year. The backbreaking labor and cruelty of the guards had been no harder to tolerate than the filth in which he had lived. He imagined a strange princess beside him in this clean, soft bed. "No," he muttered. "I want no part of it."

A soft knock on the door interrupted his gloomy thoughts. "Come in."

Cademon, his old tutor, poked his white head around the door. His seamed face lit, his brown eyes sparkled with joy when he saw Alan. "Good evening, Alan."

Alan jumped up and threw his arms around the old man. "It is good to see you."

"And you as well."

Alan indicated two comfortable, deep chairs drawn around the oversized fireplace. "Please, sit down. Tell me all your news."

"Nothing changes with an old man. I would rather speak of your troubles."

Alan grimaced. "I had hoped my father would forget this marriage nonsense, but evidently it is not to be."

Cademon snorted. "Indeed not."

Alan frowned. "You sound as if you agree with my father. I expected your loyalty to lie with me."

"As it always does," the old man placated. "I love you as if you were my own son."

"Then why do you speak to me in such a fashion?"

Cademon shrugged. "Is it not obvious? Since Nealon's death, you are your father's heir. You must marry and produce offspring. I would not have chosen such a way as prison to bring you to your senses, but did you not know that eventually your father would require you to marry?"

Alan shrugged. "I gave it very little thought."

"I have heard good things about the Lady Morgane. Perhaps you will grow to love her."

"Doubtful."

Cademon tapped his knee. "Your father needs this marriage, Alan. It will cement the alliance between our people and King Maccus. We need this alliance. Since you went away, the Baronis to the north have grown bolder in their attempts to take your father's northernmost provinces."

"And Maccus lives on our northern border," Alan finished.

"Yes."

Alan's face hardened. "Did my father send you to me?"

Cademon nodded. "I will not lie. He did send me. He wants me to report on your willingness to obey."

"And what will you tell him?"

"That you are a loyal son who understands the necessity of the marriage and will do his part to produce heirs for the kingdom." Cademon smiled at him and rose from his chair. "Your father was wrong to send you to prison as he did, but all of that is now ended. Take your rightful place at his side."

Alan refused to tell Cademon what he wanted to hear. "Thank you for your visit."

Cademon bowed and let himself out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Amena crawled out from under the bed and snuggled against Alan, who absently stroked her head. "I have three choices, Amena. I can do as Cademon says, but if I do, I fear I may become as cold as my father. Of course I could run away, something I have vowed never to do, as it indicates a cowardly and weak nature. However if I do not run away, the Princess Morgane joins us tomorrow night."

He paused and poured a glass of water from the jug on the washstand. "I could also challenge my father. If I defeat him in battle, I become the king and can do as I please."

Amena whined and Alan exclaimed, "I do not like that one either! I do not feel kindly toward my father, but I cannot kill him."

So his course was clear. He would rather live as a wanderer than become like his father. Tomorrow he would leave the kingdom.