#SciFiFantasySaturday #StarCrossed

Star Crossed

Christine Young

achristay@aol.com

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 2

Buy at Amazon: 

BLURB: Star crossed

Ireland in 1817, when tensions are high between Protestants and Catholics, faey people guide the fate of villagers. A lovely Catholic lass stumbles upon the weakly ritual fisticuffing between Irish lads. She falls into the lap of a handsome young Protestant. Family ties, grudges, and two conniving faeries threaten their budding love. But the faeries outsmart themselves when they hijack a time machine that has mysteriously appeared in their forest.

EXCERPT: Star Crossed

The heat from the afternoon sun felt wonderful--enchanting--dreamy. When she tried to sit up, the earth whirled around her again. She wanted to feel indignant but she'd brought this on herself. She didn't quite understand why she wanted to convince this arrogant oaf she wasn't a little girl.

"You mind telling me why you tackled me?" he asked.

Casey turned her head to look at the young man. He leaned on one elbow, nonchalantly plucking a blade of grass and sticking it in his mouth. His dark black hair appeared rakishly windblown and his grin was bordered by dimples on both sides. She had the craziest urge to reach up and trace the line of his lips with her finger.

"I don't believe in fighting," she said. "It's absolutely stupid for the bunch of you to come out here on the Sabbath and fight when the rest of the week you are all bosom buddies."

"Stupid, you say?" he queried. "You dare to call me stupid?" he laughed and extended his hand. "Let me help you up. I don't think I'm ready to meet your dah with pistols on the dueling field. So I think I'd best be seeing you home."

An inferno swept through Casey. She didn't know if she still reeled from the impact or if the dizziness was something else--something magical--something supernatural. When he looked at her, she trembled and her face heated. She touched her hands to her cheeks. They felt cold and clammy. Afraid if he touched her again she might melt, she stared at a puffy cloud floating whimsically overhead.

He bent closer to her. The scent of mint filled the tiny space between them.

"You all right? Did you hear what I said?" he asked, touching a finger to the pulse throbbing at her neck. She tried to bat his hand away even while her heartbeat pounded faster, and she couldn't inhale a decent breath of air.

"Stop it," he said, and paused for a moment in his assessment of her health. "I think you will live."

"Of course I will and I can find my own way home. I'm eighteen. I turned two months ago."

"That old?" He laughed and she wanted to escape. Yet some little demon inside told her he was the last person she wanted to hide from. She felt as if her body had been taken over by something unearthly, something mysterious or filled with enchantment.

"You're going to have a black eye," she said and touched the bruise forming around his eye. "Does it hurt?"

"Come on, lass," he said still holding out his hand and sidestepping her question.

"You're ignoring me," she told him, getting up without accepting his hand and dusting off hers on her skirt.

"My apologies," he laughed, bowing slightly laugh lines crinkling his brow. "It only hurts when you remind me of it."

"Then I won't be reminding you," she said quickly.

"Casey," her brother said as he rounded the top of the hill. "You coming or do you mean to dawdle here all day?"

She jumped and pressed her fingers along her skirts to smooth them all the while feeling not a wee bit guilty, but a whole lot guilty. And I have nothing to feel ashamed of. "What are you doing here? I thought you left me to fend for myself," Casey said feeling a moment of loss at the thought her brother would be walking her home and not Kelly.

EXCERPT

Casey pushed on the green grass, trying to unwind herself from the man beneath her, but fell again. All right, Casey lass, you're in a heap of trouble right now with no way out. You are seeing the earth whirl and tumble around and you're on top of a brute of a man--a Protestant.

"All right, lads, we'll meet here next Sunday, same place, same time," her brother's voice filtered through the air as if it floated in the fog that surrounded Casey.

Once again she pushed on the damp grass and didn't seem to make headway, her arms feeling as if they'd changed to soggy twine. Don't you abandon me, Patrick O'Connell. You know I have the Devil's own luck. If you leave me here, I'll never forgive you.

"What about Casey?" one of her brother's friend asked. "She looks a little worse for the encounter."

"Do you think we should leave her here--with Kelly?"

"He's a right stand-up guy. Of course you can leave her here. We'll see her home," a Shaunasey said.

"Well, Kelly is a fine bloke. He won't hurt her. In fact with my feisty lil' sister involved, I fear for him--not her," Patrick said laughing. "She'll do as she pleases. She always does. How can I control her when father cannot? She does not need a second father." He shrugged his shoulder and looked behind him at his little sister as he strolled down the hill.

"She's hurt," another friend called after Patrick. "What kind of brother are you?"

"One who is tired of looking after an accident prone little lass. She has to take responsibility for herself sometime, does she not?"

"She is that," one commented. "You rescue her night and day."

~ * ~

"You should have blessed her with a wee bit o'Irish coordination," Oran said dryly as he flew to a hovering position near the girl.

"And you should remember what our blessed mother told us, 'if you cannot say anythin' nice, don't say anything at all'." Moya rose above the flower petal, her wings buzzing with her anger toward her brother.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't the truth." Oran whistled out of tune for a moment. "We could kidnap them."

"And that is your solution to everything?" Moya pointed one finger at him and shook it. "Why, Oran, I believe you may fancy the lass for yourself. I will not have it. Go play your tricks on someone else's charge. She is mine to see to safety and long life. And don't be forgettin' the lad is yours to watch over."

"You best stem your anger, Moya. You're wings have turned golden," Oran said with a hearty chuckle.

~ * ~

"Let Kelly handle her," Casey's brother said with a light chuckle. "He lost and so he must deal with the object of that loss and assume the consequences. It's only fair."

"Hey!" Kelly said, "Don't leave me here with your sister. It will be hell to pay. She's a little girl. What will your father say?"

The others laughed. "Just don't take too long to decide what to do with her. Little girl or not, father will come after you with his pistol."

I just turned eighteen years old--little girl--how dare he…

"Bloody hell, Patrick. What are you thinking?" Kelly cried out.

"I'm thinking the Catholics won this fight. What are you thinking?" Patrick turned his back on the pair and whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled down the hill.

"Revenge will be sweet. Next Sunday…" Kelly shook his fist at the departing back of Casey's brother.

From what seemed like a great distance Casey heard the moan emanating from inside her battered and bruised body. She squished her eyes together, wishing her head didn't pound so fiercely, and the ground spin so wildly. "Who are you?" she whispered next to the man's chest while a soft spring breeze whispered against her heated face.

"Who am I?" the man chuckled. "Lass, you are the one who landed atop me. I should be inquiring into who you are? Only I know." His hands rested around her waist and squeezed as if he were testing--perhaps exploring--entirely inappropriate. Yet for some strange reason, Casey didn't mind the supposed to be unwanted attention."And I don't think your brother should have left you here with the likes of me. I'm afraid I've landed myself in a dangerous predicament. And I'm thinkin' one that will be very hard to explain."

"Shame on you," Casey said. "You take liberties." The words stole her breath and she had to lean on Kelly once more in order to minimize the pounding of her head and the strange feelings emanating from where his hands were.

"I only want to remove you from--my--ah--person. And if I were taking liberties with you, lass, you'd be near swooning with passion."

"Ah, it seems you are a wee bit arrogant," she opened her eyes and gazed into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. "The color of a summer sky," she whispered to him, still feeling woozy and not quite sure what he'd just told her--but thinking at the moment something besides the fall caused the earth to spin and the sky to tilt with a crazy, wild abandon.

"What is, lass?"

"Your eyes," she said, struggling against him and finally rolling to the side so she lay sprawled on the grass, staring into the sky she'd referred to a moment earlier and watching a white billowy cloud float past. "I'm not a little girl," she told him. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Then you want me to tell lies?" he asked with a lazy half-smile that stole Casey's heart and left her floundering. "I dinna think I can do that."

"It isn't a lie," she said, trying to sound indignant, yet frustrated beyond anything she'd ever felt before.

#Friday'sFeaturedTitle #JakBarleyThe Case of the DarkLord'sConspiracy #Fantasy

Title: Jak 

ISBN: 978-1-62420-094-6

Email: kdanehl@yahoo.com

Genre: fantasy

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble

REVIEW:

Jak Barley Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Dark Lords Conspiracy
Dan Ehl
Rogue Phoenix Presshttp://www.roguephoenixpress.com/

$4.99

kissabltsweet1, Have You Heard My Book Review

4 Stars out of 5

    Jak Barley has recently gained success as an Inquisitor and he's fully enjoying it.  He'd waited a long time to be recognized for his talents but he figured now he could lay low for awhile. It was not to be the case. Someone contacted his office and asked to meet him to discuss a new mission.  Jak, his half brother Olmsted and one other friend met with Wizard Beammond.  The newest mission involved the Dark Lords locating items to help them take over the world. Jak hated quests. Would he take this one?

     This book is full of imagery, magic and humor.  It is very well written and the characters are fun to read about.  I enjoyed the fact, not everyone was perfect and the way they sort of stumbled onto information.  It's an unlikely alliance between an Inquisitor, a witch, an Alchemist and many others. You wouldn't expect this and you can see why it may not work for them. I liked learning about the quirks of these people as well. Made them less scary.

     I found no issues.

     I gave this one a four out of 5 cheers because it's not something I would normally read.

TAGLINE

Private inquisitor Jak Barley hates adventures, but once again he is caught up in a tangle of intrigue that includes an ancient prophecy, assassin wizards, and a menagerie of monsters.     

BLURB

Private inquisitor Jak Barley is ready for some down time after battling Ghennison Viper Mages, being attacked by piss dragons, and fighting off priests of Dorga the Fished Headed God of Death. That is why Jak was not a bit amused to have a scruffy mage insist that he is to be one of a group of questers decreed in an ancient prophecy that must cross the icy Alf Mountains to foil the return of the Old Gods. To do so meant using a map all too heavily dotted with "Here Be…" warnings that read like an "Idiot's Guide to Monsters."

And why are Westian Lizard Wizards targeting young red-headed maidens and who is behind the numerous and bizarre attacks upon Jak? Once gain Jak finds himself saying, "I hate adventures."

EXCERPT

Its purplish tongue darting out to test the fetid air of the narrow alley, the four-inch long jackal lizard wove an intricate course through the garbage strewn about the damp cobblestone. Disappearing for a heartbeat beneath a shattered herring barrel, the small hunter emerged to fling itself to a moss-swathed brick wall and scamper with its tiny talons to a windowsill. Red pupils expanded briefly at the sight of its quarry. 

The slight, furtive figure was hastening down the shadowy back street, shoulders hunched while tightly grasping the hooded cape at her neck. She paused to look nervously over a shoulder. To her ears and jade green eyes, the lane was empty except for the scuttling of rats amidst the heaped garbage already picked over by street urchins and now awaiting the weekly patrol of rubbish trolls.

The lizard's quarry exited the alley onto a broader avenue lit by irregularly spaced gas lamps and the light seeping out from around the shades and curtains of the neighborhood's cramped warrens. She paused again to squint up and down the street as if trying to penetrate the shadows that clung to the myriad doorways and small courtyard gates.

Nervously licking her lips, the hooded figure rushed up a flight of worn stone steps to a narrow, thick door also partially hidden by the shadows. It appeared a sinister black, but on a sunny day the entrance was a festive red trimmed in green.

The jackal lizard had only two things in common with the door. By night the creature appeared black and if it ever ventured into the clean light of day, it would prove to be red. It wasn't a festive crimson, but more the scarlet of a seeping, broken blister. Its job completed, the tiny reptile turned to retrace its evening journey.

One hour later, another hooded figure emerged from the alley. Instead of the panicky air of the early walker, this cowled form strode with boldness through the gathering fog. A gas lamp momentarily illuminated the gaunt features of the stranger. An observer might be startled by the freezing grey eyes or arrogant, thin lips. But what would first draw any eyes was the black tattoo of a lizard across the shadowy figure's forehead. Or at least it first appeared a tattoo – until a closer look would reveal the image to actually be restlessly shifting and stirring.

Minutes later, there was a startled shriek from behind the red and green door – to be followed by a tormented, drawn-out cry that sent everyone in earshot scrambling to check the locks on their doors and windows. The hooded figure left as arrogantly as he had arrived. 

This scenario was to be replayed several times within the next three weeks in the city of Duburoake.

On the fourth venture, the jackal lizard was agilely darting among the feet of the unwary as it traversed a busy avenue in pursuit of a maiden barely out of childhood. The long cape failed to hide her slim figure and lustrous red hair spilling out from beneath her hood. The young woman muttered occasional apologies when she inadvertently collided with others in her anxious haste to get home.

The jackal lizard leaped a street curb and dashed beneath a cluster of outdoor tables, stools, and the thickly booted feet of the patrons of the King's Wart Inn. It paused to flick its purple tongue for traces of its prey's scent when a looming shadow descended to bring a blackness harsher than any gaslight shadow.

~ * ~

"By the dozen teats of the goddess Gendra, you almost spilled my ale," I yelped in admonishment as I grabbed for the teetering stein. Lorenzo Spasm had violently shoved the scuffed wooden table aside and brought his heel firmly down upon the ale garden's flagstone. Somewhere off in the crowd of celebrants for the St. Drubel's parade a strangled scream erupted above the din. I watched as Lorenzo lifted his boot to reveal the squished remnants of what appeared to be a small, red lizard.

"Nice going," I admonished my friend. "You just stomped some harmless creature seeking nothing more than to eat one of the numerous cockroaches that plague the King's Wart Inn." 

Lorenzo ignored my reproach to stare intently at the remains. I glanced to my half-brother, Olmsted Aunderthorn, to see that he was also closely observing the deceased lizard. 

I took another sip of the cellar-cooled ale. "I guess we could call Tem Rouster. He collects road kills, dries them, soaks them in cheap cologne, and sells them to cab drivers to hang in their coaches as air flavorer to ward off the scents of his more malodorous patrons. Now that I think of it, such a fragranced bauble would not be a bad thought in this establishment's water closet."

Both of my friends ignored my witty banter.

"What?" I asked in puzzlement.

"That be a jackal lizard, Jak," Olmsted answered.

Even in my slight ale buzz, his reply brought me up on my stool. "A jackal lizard, here?" 

Lorenzo stood and peered into the crowd of drunken revelers. The street was lit by numerous torches installed just for the evening festival. Olmsted and I followed suit. Where there was a jackal lizard, there was bound to be a Westian Lizard Wizard. My friend abruptly waded into the throng. 

The significance of the dead lizard and the earlier shriek finally sank in. Westian Lizard Wizards were notorious for blending their evil arts with those of assassins. Talk on the street was that one was in Duburoake plying his nefarious trade. A recent spate of mutilated corpses seemed to back up the conjecture. 

I hurried to catch up with my friend, though following him in the densely packed mob wasn't easy. Drubel was the patron saint of brewers, which not only made him one of the more popular holy figures, but his devotees a rather raucous bunch. I emerged into a gap in the crowd – it was created by the celebrants frantically backing away from a wildly swaying figure.

I had never seen a Westian Lizard Wizard in real life, but there was no mistaking the cowled figure for a black order of necromancers. Across the brow of the mage was the lizard shaped indentation, now missing its customary passenger. The Lizard Wizards were the only magicians to carry their familiars in such a novel manner.

Judging by the muffled screams and curses emanating from the warlock, the death of his cold-blooded companion was extremely excruciating. He was pressing the heels of his hands into his temples. Thin rivulets of blood seeped from where he had raked his long, dirty nails across his cheeks.

The deranged mage froze in his pose of anguish to glare intently at Lorenzo.

"You!" the wizard shrieked at my friend. "You are the one who killed my lizard."

While other observers of the mini-drama pressed even farther away from the crazed wizard, Lorenzo calmly stood his ground and responded, "We're going to make the little bastard into an air flavorer."

The wizard gritted his teeth and drew in a ragged breath. "What?" he asked in bewilderment, as if Lorenzo had just told him that wet birds do not fly at night.

"I'm afraid all those splintered little bones would make it unfit to eat, so we're going to dry it, soak the flattened carcass in cheap cologne, and hang it in the water closet at the King's Wart Inn to ward off the lingering odor of urine."

The mage's mouth spasmed several times before releasing another horrendous shriek.He pulled a hand from his head to thrust his arm toward my friend. This caused a further panic among the revelers. I similarly retreated. No one wanted to be around wizards when they were pointing fingers. It was not only impolite, but deadly.

#RebelHeart #FuturisticRomance

Rebel Heart

Christine Young

achristay@aol.com

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 

Buy atAmazon

REVIEW: Rebel Heart

Annie for Euro Reviews writes:

Rebel Heartis a well-written futuristic novel of a time that very possibly could come to pass, when viral plagues have laid the planet waste, and life is lived either in the sterile confines of domed habitats, or as pariahs in the outside wilderness. The world-building is excellent, vivid, and true-to-life. The characters will quickly catch and hold the reader's sympathies. The plot is quick, and takes time to examine many valid social, economic, class, and political issues as well. Christine Youngdelivers a winner which will capture the interest of futuristic/science fiction fans as well as the general reader.

Jasmina Vallombrosa for TCM Reviews writes:

Filled with drama and suspense, this book will draw you into the mysteries of science fiction. I was pleasantly surprised by Ms. Young’s storytelling talents as she wove not only a wonderful futuristic adventure, but also that of a passionate love story. I loved the main characters as they came to life on the pages. The plot was quite suspenseful and deliciously entertaining. As a result, I had no choice but to keep flipping the pages as I raced to the end. Bravo Ms.Young for such an extraordinary book from cover to cover!

BLURB:  Rebel Heart

HER REBEL SPIRIT DEFIED HIS OUTSIDERS SOUL...
She was velvet and silk, eyes the color of a summer storm. Victoria DeMontville, because of a promise and a codicil to her father's will, was forced to marry one man to protect her from another. She fought Cameron Savage with a fierce passion. But to hold on to her genetic research and find a cure for the deadly Signe virus, she must pretend to love the adversary at her door, who arrived with weapons of fire to melt her icy heart...

HIS OUTSIDERS TOUCH IGNITED RAGING PASSIONS...
He wore a mask, disguised as the Phantom, a true legend come to life. Even as war and debate over new genetic research engulfed them all, he would find his greatest adversary in the beauty who'd branded him an outsider and barbarian, the woman he was born to possess, his soul mate.

EXCERPT: Rebel Heart

Early summer, 2585

Victoria

She loved to come to the lake. Nowhere else on earth was so beautiful and cool. Sunlight shimmered on the water and played chase with the golden ripples that dipped behind the shadows cast by stately redwood trees, only to emerge a heartbeat later and begin its game once again. The trees surrounding the lake were ancient now, born before the two thousand year wars.

Perhaps it was her father who made this place seem special, who created the magic. He was wonderful and good. He cared deeply for his family and his friends. But more than that, he worked hard to uphold the laws of the cities and to bring understanding between the City Dwellers and the outsiders.

He had promised her, had obtained the passes needed to go outside the perimeter of the virus-free bubble that protected them. She had been so proud when he handed her the permit. 

"Victoria, I'm giving you this for safe keeping," he'd told her. "Now, don't lose the pass. Without this little piece of paper both you and Vanessa will have to stay home and I'll be forced to swim alone." 

But her father was a busy and important man. Minutes before they meant to depart for the lake, he was called away on something vital, matters of state that had to be taken care of immediately. 

She and Vanessa watched him leave. Yet they had the treasured passes in hand. There was no reason Tori could think of that she and her twin should stay home. They left the sterile confines of the City to swim and play, just as they had planned. 

Oh, and it was such a beautiful day. Vanessa's giggle slipped across the deep blue surface and seemed to dive beneath, as if following her twin in a careless display of frivolity. Nessa's dark blond curls broke the surface of the water. She shook her head. Droplets flew into the air then shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. They caught rainbows of light and melded with their source. Laughter rippled again. 

Tori dove then quickly emerged from the mysterious depths; with strokes synchronized perfectly, they swam to the farthest point of land. Reaching shallow water, they waded ashore, oblivious to everything except the beauty of the day.

"I wish father had been here." Nessa's small breathy voice lost itself in the towering trees and thick foliage. 

"He had important business." Something was about to happen. Tori sensed it--some sudden stillness in the air, something that warned her.

Nessa DeMontville cast an exasperated glance at her twin who moved past her toward a huge granite rock that loomed almost ten feet above the earth. Another boulder soared higher. 

"He promised us, and it has been so long."

"Sometimes he doesn't have a choice." To Tori, the forest had suddenly turned quiet--too quiet. 

"Are you sure it was alright for us to come without him?"

"We have the passes," Tori said, scarcely able to breathe.

Nessa shook her head. "Yes, but..." 

"I rest my case." She crossed her arms in front of her.

"But father..." 

Tori patted the rock next to her. "I promise as soon as we dry off, we'll go home. Come on, join me." 

Nessa looked from her clothes to the sun-warmed rock. After a few seconds, her gaze drifted back to her sister. Nessa trembled, and Tori knew her sister was afraid. 

"I suppose we'll have to sneak in through the tower window," Nessa said.

"Only because it's so much fun," Tori replied.

The tower she spoke of stood guard over Tower City, an ancient reminder of a time long past. It looked over a larger arm of the lake they now enjoyed. A small, hidden door located at the tower's base enabled the girls to escape the stifling confines of the City. 

No one had the freedom to come and go from the City, as they pleased; no one except physicians. Since the last outbreak of the deadly signe virus, most travel was forbidden and permits were given only to a chosen few.

Tori lifted her face to the sun, intent on the precious moments she had left.

"I'm sorry Nessa, truly I am. If I'd realized you didn't want to go, I wouldn't have asked. Now that you're here, you have two choices; go up the ladder or walk through the gates. But then Father will know within minutes."

"So he will be angry?" Nessa asked. 

"I don't know. Why did you agree to come with me?"

Nessa's head shot up. Her grey eyes clouded. "I couldn't let you go alone. What if something happened to you?" 

Tori smiled tenderly then just as suddenly sobered. "You worry too much. Remember, we have passes and Father did approve this outing."

"But that's because he planned to be here."

Out of the corner of one eye, Tori watched her sister slip out of her swimsuit and struggle into her clothes. Nessa pulled on the form-fitting black body suit, wriggling to get into it. After that, she tugged at the bodice until the material flattened all her newly blossomed curves. Her dark blue tunic slithered over her head and rested an inch above her knees. Nessa buckled the wide silver belt she always wore before she buttoned the two remaining buttons, fastening them securely below her chin. 

Nessa waited and tapped her foot impatiently. To Tori, it looked as if Nessa waited for her to climb from the rock and dress, but Tori didn't want to leave.

"Are you coming?" Nessa asked finally. 

"Another minute. The sun feels so warm and..."

"Tori." 

"What?" 

Thunder boomed in the mountains far to the east and instantly the sky sizzled, turning the air sultry. Clouds billowed over the mountains and formed huge dark figures. The noise from the burgeoning summer storm eclipsed all other sounds.

Something awful was about to happen. Suddenly anxious to be home, Tori rose.

She slid off her sunny perch and scrambled into her clothes. Loose fitting breeches and a lightweight cotton shirt slipped over clean fresh skin, a sharp contrast to her sister's attire. She quickly tugged on her boots, hobbling on one foot then the other. When she finished, she straightened, brushing dusty hands on her pants. 

"Race you to the cross roads." Tori started across the stream. One foot landed in the bubbling creek with a loud splash, the other landed squarely on the other side. The exhilaration left her breathless, and she gave no heed to the racket she caused, racing across the summer-dried forest.

A sharp cry pierced the woods. The scream was followed by the sharp report of a bullet. Both girls fell to the ground and froze. After several terrifying seconds passed without another shot, they raced for cover.

Lightning scorched across the sky. Rain threatened. Black clouds filled the horizon, blocking out the sun. 

Annie for Euro Reviews writes:

Rebel Heartis a well-written futuristic novel of a time that very possibly could come to pass, when viral plagues have laid the planet waste, and life is lived either in the sterile confines of domed habitats, or as pariahs in the outside wilderness. The world-building is excellent, vivid, and true-to-life. The characters will quickly catch and hold the reader's sympathies. The plot is quick, and takes time to examine many valid social, economic, class, and political issues as well. Christine Youngdelivers a winner which will capture the interest of futuristic/science fiction fans as well as the general reader.

Jasmina Vallombrosa for TCM Reviews writes:

Filled with drama and suspense, this book will draw you into the mysteries of science fiction. I was pleasantly surprised by Ms. Young’s storytelling talents as she wove not only a wonderful futuristic adventure, but also that of a passionate love story. I loved the main characters as they came to life on the pages. The plot was quite suspenseful and deliciously entertaining. As a result, I had no choice but to keep flipping the pages as I raced to the end. Bravo Ms.Young for such an extraordinary book from cover to cover!

#Ravyn'sMarriageOfInconvenience #HistoricalRomance

Title: Ravyn's Marriage of Inconvenience

Author: Christine Young

Email: achristay@aol.com

Genre: Historical Romance

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 4

Buy at Amazon: 

BLURB: Ravyn's Marriage of Inconvenience

A REGAL BEAUTY

When the duchess decides to wed her to a wastrel and a fop, Ravyn Grahm takes matters into her own hands and declares her engagement to another man. Instead of fessing up and telling her great aunt what she has done, she goes through with the pretense. Aric Lakeland is the bastard son of an earl and has a dangerous reputation. But Ravyn is willing to do most anything to keep the duchess from discovering the lie.

A DEVIL-MAY-CARE SMUGGLER

He'd bought land in America, looking to put down roots and end his life of adventure, but Aric Lakeland got more than he bargained for when he encountered a beautiful heiress who made a promise she didn't want to keep. But the promise could not be undone and standing between them were more obstacles than either ever dreamed. Aric had made plans to spend the rest of his life in America and that was at odds with Ravyn's plan of living in England and running her father's estate. Now, he'll have to choose between his dreams and the woman he loves more than life.

EXCERPT: Ravyn's Marriage of Inconvenience

Ravyn smiled, curtsied, and stepped into Ryder’s arms with a grace learned from the first tutors in her English castle.

At the sideboard, Aric watched with veiled eyes. He poured himself a stiff drink then another, cursing silently the whole time. He had wanted so much to have Ravyn in his arms, to feel her softness and warmth beneath his fingertips and against the hard angled planes of his body. He could smell her delicate perfume and see the intense clarity of her eyes.

And he had let another man do all those things.

The mug hit the sideboard with a muted thud that was lost in the music of the pipes. A few long strides brought him to the fireplace. He stood in the shadows, leaning against the mantle, gazing intensely at Ravyn with a hunger he could no longer hide. Her simple day dress of the palest lavender made her eyes a more vivid shade of violet. Her skin glowed like fragile porcelain lit from within. The simple chignon emphasized the delicate lines of her face. Tendrils of hair escaped to lie in soft curves at her temples, nape and ears.

Even as Aric felt anger sweeping through his body at the sight of his wife burning like a candle flame in another man’s arms, Aric reminded himself there was nothing improper about the dance. Though Ryder’s unusual size made an intense foil to Ravyn’s fragile femininity, Ryder was holding her properly, neither too close to his body nor too familiar in the placement of his hands. Nor was Ravyn clinging too much. They were just dancing and skimming gracefully around the parlor floor.

Then the darkly handsome Ryder grinned down at Ravyn and began singing in his fine voice about the rolling hills of Scotland and the brave lads and lassies. When a braw Scotsman spied a bonnie lass by a clear meadow stream. The Scotsman’s charms quickly seduced the pretty girl, who pleaded for his name in marriage.

Ryder’s dark eyes simmered with suppressed laughter as he watched Ravyn react to the wry lyrics. Her golden laugher bubbled up contagiously, bringing forth more laugher.

Aric was too furious to laugh. Seeing the change wrought by Ryder on Ravyn’s pallid appearance made Aric feel murderous. The only thing preventing him from retreating to another room was the thought of not being able to watch Ravyn. At the moment, he was simmering for a good fight, and Ryder was at the top of his list.

Ryder kept on, whirling her easily around the room until she was breathless with laughter.

Unnoticed, and unable to keep himself from watching, Aric leaned against the doorframe leading to his bedroom. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Ravyn with an impassive face and thoughts that promised Hell to anyone who ventured too close.

Aric couldn’t help noticing Ravyn, who appeared stunningly feminine next to the massive bulk of Ryder. Barely five feet one inches tall, she was eleven inches shorter than Ryder, yet there was nothing childlike in the proportions of her body. The curves of breast and hip, waist and ankle showed clearly against the soft folds of her dress as the cloth swirled fluidly with her movements.

Finally, the dance ended in a fast and furious pace, Ryder lifting Ravyn high over his head. After Ravyn landed gracefully on the floor and the music stopped, Ryder smiled and lifted one of Ravyn’s hands to his lips kissing the back of it. She curtsied deeply, graceful as a flower. Though he didn’t speak his thought aloud, it was clear from his expression he was thoroughly enchanted by his dance partner.

"Again, Damian," Amorica murmured. "That’s one of my favorite songs."

The melancholy strains of the pipes flowed through the room. A reminder of an ancient heritage they would not forget. Soon Ryder and Ravyn were whirling around the room again. Ryder held his partner lightly, gazing down at her with approving eyes, singing in his fine voice. No one could hear Ryder’s words but Ravyn blushed and laughed with transparent pleasure. Ryder spun quickly, taking Ravyn with him, making her skirt billow like wind-blown flame. He stopped and dipped deeply, forcing her to depend upon his strength for her balance. When she accepted his lead without protest, his smile flashed, transforming his face, making his handsome enough to stop a woman’s heart.

A burning fury swept Aric.

When I touch her, she berates me as a bastard. Yet when Ryder holds her, she stares at him as though she’s been struck by a lightening bolt.

I don’t know who is the greater fool--me for caring or Ryder for falling for a dream--for someone who can steal his heart but give nothing in return. 

With a predatory grace, Aric crossed the parlor. It was only a moment, but it gave warning to Damian what was about to happen. Ryder didn’t notice Aric’s approach. His attention was on Ravyn’s smiling face and the firelight dancing in her hair. The hard masculine tap on his shoulder made him jerk.

"Patience, my friend," Ryder said. "It will be your dance soon."

"All the dances are mine."

The icy fury in Aric’s words made Ryder’s head snap around. One look at Aric and he released Ravyn without an argument. Ravyn’s lips parted in a half smile directed toward Aric, but her smile vanished just as suddenly as it started to appear. She tripped as he whirled her away from Ryder and into his arms.

"Aric," she breathed, inhaling a deep breath, while her fingers dug into his arms as if to steady herself. "You surprised me."

Arid didn’t bother to politely pretend it had been his error in the cadence rather than Ravyn’s that had caused her to trip.

"I will do more than surprise you if you continue to seduce every man you see."

EXCERPT: A Marriage of Inconvenience

Aric Lakeland dodged foot-traffic along the boulevard in a crazy attempt to keep up with the bouncing erratic carriage he followed. The day was intolerably hot and his mood was no better. He resented this mission. He’d left a cool pub and a cold brew to sweat beneath the hot sun.

His idea of fun was not traipsing after a notorious gambler and womanizer. Nor did he want to baby sit a spoiled debutante.

Yet, he’d promised. A wave of guilt washed through him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his face. He swiped it with the back of his hand and sidestepped, nearly knocking packages from a lady just exiting a dressmaker’s shop. 

“You owe me, my friend. When this is done, I will collect,” he swore beneath his breath and began thinking of all the favors he might ask of his half brother.

The carriage he followed turned a corner and disappeared from sight. He plowed into a lamppost, swore again and raced through the crowds. Richy Richmond did not deserve this absurd protection. Richy could deal with his own affairs. The other part of his half brother’s request bothered Aric. He did not want anything to happen to the lady he followed. His half brother had reason to believe Richy might do something to compromise her. His gut instincts had never been wrong. Ravyn Grahm, cousin to his half brother’s wife, was in serious trouble.

Richy’s carriage came to an abrupt halt. Richy jumped from the vehicle. His cane in hand, he strode toward a dress shop Aric had reason to visit on occasion.

Aric watched, fascinated as the scene unfolded. He started forward but noticed Richy race to protect the women Aric followed.  

“You ruffians! Get your hands off me!”  The white-haried Duchess shrieked, her age-lined face mottled with rage, pushing at two little guttersnipes who seemed more intent on shoving the elderly woman around than stealing the packages she carried.

Ravyn swiped her parasol across a boy’s head and turned to the other, her eyes blazing, shooting violet blue sparks.

“Stop it!” she cried out, raising her parasol again and again. “Take that!  And that!” 

Amused, Aric leaned against a lamppost similar to the one he had run into earlier in his race to keep Richy’s carriage in view.

He crossed his arms over his chest, grinning as he watched Ravyn batter the boys who had had the audacity to try and harm the Duchess.

He chuckled, prepared to step in if needed but it appeared the two women had the situation under control. Ravyn, he mused, the regal, classy lady who seldom had a hair on her gorgeous head out of place was decidedly disheveled. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair flowed beautifully from its perfectly coiffed hairdo. Her jacket sleeve was torn and to his amazement, she grinned as if she were having the time of her life.

“Go on, get,” Richy stepped in, shooing the two boys away. He grabbed hold of one of the boy’s arms and shook him. “Patrol,” he yelled, looking around for help. The boy stomped on Richy’s foot. Surprised, Richy let go. “Bloody hell!  Come back here. Little brat,” he yelled as the boy ran off.

Aric cocked an eyebrow, watching and wondering what would happen next, knowing Richy had a card up his sleeve. He had not forgotten he was supposed to be watching Richy, nor had he forgotten the man had suffered innumerable losses at the gaming tables and the racetrack the last few days and he might do something to Ravyn.

Aric pushed away from the lamppost and strode toward the women and Richy. He watched Richy change demeanor. Suddenly instead of rescuer, he was attacker. Aric’s heart stopped for a moment then raced. 

Richy wrenched Ravyn against him, pulling her close, her arm behind her back, his mouth close to her ear as if he whispered something to Ravyn. 

“Let go,” Ravyn cried out, twisting and thrashing her arms. It seemed to be the opposite scenario as moments before. The crowds that had previously closed around the women had now dissipated. 

“Let go,” Ravyn cried again.  

“You’re mine, Ravyn,” Richy said in a low well-modulated voice. “You should have realized it months ago and I’d have won the wager. But instead, you ignored me. You taunted me and sometimes you pretended to care while other times you turned up your pert little nose when I walked by.”

“What do you think you are doing?  Let go of me!”  Ravyn cried out, hatred now in her stormy violet eyes.

To Aric, she sounded incredulous, perhaps confused. But strangely, not afraid.

“We--“he paused a moment--“are going to Gretna Green. We are getting married and I will inherit your estate. You will be mine.”