author Amy Corwin talks about The Vital Principle

Writing The Vital Principle was an enormous challenge, so much so that I suspect if I’d known how difficult it would be to write a historical mystery, I might have been too intimidated to start it. Thankfully, I’d already spent five years researching the Regency period, so I thought I had at last a good start. And I had two characters who fascinated me, Knighton Gaunt and Prudence Barnard.


But as soon as I started writing, I was up against it. The first challenge was how to get thirteen distinct characters on stage without totally confusing the readers. I rewrote the first four chapters over twenty times to attempt to work this out, sending it to several folks to read and tell me what worked or didn’t work for them.


I had a blast writing the mystery plot, though because it let me delve in the medicine of the period, a subject about which I’ve grown increasingly fascinated. As I told my husband, if I had another couple of lifetimes, I’d have been interested in becoming a forensic pathologist. I’ve never wanted to be a doctor because I don’t want to go to bed at night obsessing over the possibility that a mistake or inaction on my part might have cost someone his or her life. But forensics…yes. And that’s one of the great things about writing. It introduces you to subjects you’ve never even thought about before. I adore learning new things.


Ironically, the thing I love most, learning, is also the source of my greatest woe. Because the more I learn about a subject I’m researching for a book, the more I realize I don’t know. How can I possibly hope to portray the Regency period with true accuracy? I have no direct experience of life in the 19th century. Everything we read is filtered through someone else’s perceptions and we all know how misleading that can be. History is largely a matter of comparing information from various sources to find the territory in the middle that has a whiff of truth.


Not only is the historical authenticity difficult, but my stories are set in England. Although I’ve visited the country several times and went to school for a year in Scotland, well, I sincerely doubt my experiences are directly applicable to a historical murder mystery. So although I work hard to be accurate, it can be frustrating as a writer, too, because you’re aware that your knowledge is limited.


Despite the frustrations, however, it is exhilarating and rewarding to help the characters wandering around the alleys of your mind find life on the pages of a story, and share their story with others. I love my characters and admire them, often wishing I were more like them. Pru is so calm and collected, even when under stress, and she generally manages to say the right things. In a great many ways, I wish I were more like her, even if she is a terrible charlatan and completely unable to contact the spirit realm as the other characters believe. So she’s a bit of a bad girl, too, though in the nicest possible way.

I only hope others enjoy reading my characters stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Blurb: The Vital Principle
An inquiry agent seeks to expose a spiritualist as a fraud only to uncover a murder.

In 1815, inquiry agent, Knighton Gaunt, is asked by Lord Crowley to attend a séance with the express purpose of revealing the spiritualist as a fraud. When the séance ends abruptly, an unseen killer poisons Lord Crowley, leaving Gaunt to investigate not fraud, but murder.

Suspicion turns first to the spiritualist, Miss Prudence Barnard. But as Gaunt digs deeper into the twisted history of the guests at Rosecrest, he discovers a series of deadly secrets. Long-time friends soon turn against one another as the tension mounts, and Gaunt is challenged to separate fact from fiction before another death at Rosecrest.

The Vital Principle is the first mystery in the Second Sons Inquiry Agency series and features coolly intellectual Mr. Knighton Gaunt, the agency’s founder. This witty, historical whodunit in the tradition of Bruce Alexander’s Blind Justice will keep you guessing until the unexpected end.

“Murder, mystery, and a dash of romance combined with witty dialogue and unforgettable characters make The Vital Principle a book that will definitely go on my keeper shelf!” —Lilly Gayle, author of Into the Darkness and Slightly Tarnished.

EXCERPT:
In this scene, inquiry agent Knight Gaunt is questioning Miss Prudence Barnard, a spiritualist he was hired to expose as a fraud. While he doesn’t quite believe she murdered their host, he’s not entirely sure she didn’t, either, and she’s not making it easy for him.

Her expression tightened. “Then you do remember. Although I'm sure you believe I was close enough to Lord Crowley to pour a few drops of Prussic acid into his brandy. That is what you’re insinuating, isn't it?”

While her accusation was true, he couldn't actually picture her doing that. He had closely observed her the previous evening, waiting for her to try some trick. If she had approached Crowley’s snifter that closely, he ought to remember it.

“If you wish to admit—”

“I do not.”

He nodded. It would have been extremely difficult for her to carry around a bottle of Prussic acid without either pockets or a reticule.

Of course, he intended to verify the lack of pockets or reticule with Miss Barnard’s maid and the other lady guests. One of them may have noticed.

“If you’d just ask the dowager—” She stopped and then added hastily, “But don’t bother her now. She’s not well. It’s been very difficult with first her husband dying and now her son….” She ended awkwardly and glanced away, turning to focus on the sewing basket and magazine. Then her gaze flashed to his. He could see a sudden memory leap into her mind as her expression changed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was wrong.” Her dark brows scrunched briefly. “I—”

“What?”

She shook her head.

“What did you remember? There’s no point in holding back. Ultimately, I’ll discover the truth.”

A Brief Bio:
Amy Corwin is a charter member of the Romance Writers of America and recently joined Mystery Writers of America. She has been writing for the last ten years. She writes romance, historical and cozy mysteries. To be truthful, most of her books include a bit of murder and mayhem since she discovered that killing off at least one character is a highly effective way to make the remaining ones toe the plot line.

Amy’s books include the three Regency romantic mysteries, I BID ONE AMERICAN, THE BRICKLAYER’S HELPER, and THE NECKLACE; Regency mysteries, THE VITAL PRINCIPLE, and A ROSE BEFORE DYING; and her first cozy mystery, WHACKED!, will come in in 2012 from Five Star.

Join her and discover that every good romance has a touch of mystery.

Website: http://www.amycorwin.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/amycorwin
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AmyCorwinAuthor
Blog: http://amycorwin.blogspot.com

Six Sentence Sunday 5th Feb

 Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week.
Today I am sharing more from of my Valentine Story, coming soon, about Henri Gasquet, hero in His Chosen Bride.

“Do you remember that year when, after we came in from the first balcony appearance, we ran off and hid? They turned the whole palace upside down and involved everyone in the search. Of course, at that time we were too young to know or appreciate anything about the security threats from the insurgents then. To us it was just a bid for freedom from the monotony of routine on a day when we knew from the television other people had a really joyful time.


“Our parents even called in the air force to join the search.”
Melanie almost laughed aloud when Henri slanted a rueful grin in her direction.

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

Saturday 4th Feb

How is it that my well ordered life (if you believe that you'll believe anything) can run off the rails without me noticing?
I knew what this week's commitments were, I knew how to approach and deal with them, so how come I've managed to miss yet another Sweet Saturday Sample?

Instead I hope to get round and read everyone elses' offerings shortly.

Tuesday Tales 31st Jan

Thank you for dropping in to read this week's TUESDAY TALES

The prompt is 'Save'

Sacha Mathieu Gasquet swore beneath his breath, hoping the carefully chosen music in the background covered his irritated expletive. Overhead lights strategically placed spotlighted many of the different groups playing a social tango as one or more joined and left groups to drift on to another. The scent of indoor trees and plants vied with expensive perfume. The rise and fall of conversation as businessmen worked the room, all reminding him of a pack of penguins huddled together in the arctic, while the women, eager to out-sparkle each other with their ropes of diamond wound round their necks and wrists, drifted at their sides. How come he’d never objected to the monotony of the routine until this evening? Not only the men, Sacha decided as he watched a couple of women, one in along midnight blue ankle length gown and the other in a rich brown that enhanced her hair and never crossed the line from professional business woman to professional companion.

If someone didn’t save him soon, he’d deck the next person who squeezed his hand when they shook it, he vowed beneath his breath, as the next man in the long queue waiting to be presented to him, approached.

Along with his brothers and members of the Jubilee Committee he’d approved the arrangements for his father’s silver jubilee, celebrating twenty-five years as King, but the last six months of receptions, tours parties and official appearances on his parents’ behalf was wearing thin. He was thankful he’d never have to step into his father’s shoes. That was his older brother’s destiny and failing Henri; Simeon, his twin, beat him into the world by six minutes.

The fumes of whiskey and Havana cigar reached Sacha before the portly, round-faced tub of a man. Bowing to the inevitable he still winced when the idiot nearly crushed his hand to a pulp.

"Archibald Clairmont."  The Master of Ceromonie's voice rang out seconds before the man grabbed his hand and shook it as though he were a terrier with a bone.

“Good to see you, my boy.”

When Sacha offered a blank, and he hoped, regal stare, the man laughed, slapped him on the arm and challenged his childhood memory.

“Shouldn’t expect you to remember your godfather, should I? After all I’ve been on the other side of the world for most of your life.”

A vague memory when he was about six years old, surfaced of a bubbly man who always surrounded himself with everything associated with a professional clown. He offered a tentative smile.

“Busted.” Sacha agreed, and searched the man’s suddenly anxious face.

“Don’t leave without talking to me.” The man waited long enough to obtain a nod of acknowledgement before allowing himself to be moved on.

For a moment, Sacha watched as he was surrounded by the mêlée of guests in the ball room.

“Mrs. Rosamond Hamilton.” The Master of Ceremonies ranf out about the general mixture of muted conversation and background music coming from the orchestra at the far end of the room.

The carefully presented official smile slipped right off his face when he stared into the startled sky-blue eyes of Rosie from his sister-in-law’s riding school for disabled children. Before the official could utter another word, Sacha grinned, and instead of offering the standard air kiss, aimed straight for her luscious red lips.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, and discovered he spoke no more than the truth, while remembering the dances he’d stolen during the Valentine Day’s bash they’d held at the riding school. And more, he recalled the sizzling electricity between them when he’d pulled her close enough to feel her heart racing in time with his own.

“Mrs. Hamilton is co-owner of a charity that offers riding facilities for disabled children.” The Master of Ceremonies voice cut through his memories.

“Mrs.?” Struggling to shove the shock and fury the image of Rosie in another man’s arms, another man’s bed aroused, he dropped her hand like a hot potato.

“Widowed.”

He saw the pain in her eyes, and fought for sympathy when relief warred for supremacy. “I’m sorry,” he lied, and understood why since his departure from the Scottish farm and riding school he’d left every woman he’d partnered over the last six months standing dumbstruck with wrath when he declined their invitations to share their bed.

Though what they had to be angry about he refused to acknowledge. Simply appearing at an event on his arm in the social calendar assured the woman of weeks of headline news in every major magazine and TV news channels for several months. And always they gained a sparkly trinket from Tiffany’s. He looked down at the wary eyes of the woman who’d haunted him for so long and let the first genuine smile reach his own.

“It’s good to see you, are you in London for long?”

“I leave in the morning.”

A rustle from the lengthening queue fueled his sudden anxiety. “Where are you staying?”

Rosie named her hotel, coloured when he squeezed her hand, and allowed herself to be escorted into the crush of people in the ballroom.

He didn’t stop to wonder why he couldn’t let Rosie leave before he’d spent some time with her. One look in his security guard’s direction brought the man to his side. A few words of instruction garnered a nod of acceptance and with a satisfied grin he turned to welcome the next guest.

By moving Rosie's things to a spare suite on the same floor of his floor of the hotel, she couldn't she leave for home before he saw her again.

Six Sentence Sunday ~ 29th Jan

Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week.

Today I am sharing more from of my Valentine Story about Henri Gasquet, hero in His Chosen Bride.



His father’s bald statement rocked Henri back on his heels. “You?”

“It is a year since my heart attack,” the king said again, “and for the most part I have accepted the dictates of my doctors and advisors, and am now taking a leaf out of my son’s book before my heir drops dead from physical and emotional exhaustion.”

With a snap the king closed Henri’s diary, leaned back in his chair. Instead of pushing it towards him, the king slipped the diary into one of the desk drawers his gaze still focussed on his son.

“So you, my son, are on leave until I say otherwise.”

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

Sweet Saturday Sample 28-1

I just want to thank everyone who visits me on Sweet Saturday Samples and to say how much I appreciate your comments.

This week I am sharing a sample from my Valentine story His Chosen Bride, to be released by Astraea Press.  When I wrote my current release, From Now Until Forever I didn't expect it to turn out to be the first of four stories about the Gasquet Princes, but then the characters 'insisted'!
His Chosen Bride is Prince Henri's story.

She lost track of time until the flames caught her attention once more. They flickered from orange to gold, to silver, to white.



A flurry of snowflakes masked the flames and for a second Monica watched the most beautiful, pristine snow-scene she’d ever seen. Her lips curved in longing. How she’d love to get a toboggan and slide down that slope. She knew where it was, and had done just that many times in her childhood, first with her parents and then, in clandestine manner, with her brother. Sneaking an old tin tray from the back of her mother’s walk-in pantry, she’d then grabbed Billy’s hand and they’d rushed out the back gate, heading for the lakeside track that led up into the hills.


Darkness, dense and thick with grief dropped over the scene. Startled and disconcerted by the strength of emotion emanating from the vision Monica shifted to her knees, ready to stand, when a voice, a deep male voice, sharp with fear called out her name.


“Monica!”


She knew she’d never heard the voice before, and yet—it was as familiar to her as the image she saw in her mirror each morning.


“Help me, Monica.”


Desperate for more clues, she searched the darkness within the flames until it sputtered and faded. With a curse she jumped up and ran for the phone. With her outstretched hand hovering over it she halted and let her hand drop to her side once more. What could she say? What would the police or rescue team think of her if she called them and told them she’d seen a vision of a man in distress?


They’d laugh in her face and classify her as a lunatic. Well, maybe not. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d contacted them with positive information but something—an instinctive gut reaction told her what she’d seen this time hadn’t happened yet.

Please welcome author Ann Montclair

So Many Opportunities: Only One Story
By Ann Montclair

So, you’ve written a book. It’s completed, polished, and ready to be shopped. You’re excited, right? After all, this is the moment you’ve been awaiting. You’ve composed your two page synopsis and one page query letter, and are ready to make the biggest decision of all—to whom do you send your inquiry?

Traditionally, you’d query a list of agents and hope one requested a chapter, but with the advent of electronic books, many publishers will accept direct inquiries from un-agented, first time authors. What do you do?

Figure out your intentions and form a plan.

Writers must decide if they want to pursue print or electronic publication—knowing one takes a long time and the other might nibble within weeks. Authors should decide if they want to work with a small or large press. And don’t forget to consider if your career might benefit from securing an agent. Once those decisions are made, writers must be prepared to wait accordingly. You have one story to sell, and you want to make sure it gets into the best position for that sale; that’s why planning is essential for a prudent business move.

I took an academic sabbatical from my position as a tenured college English professor to pursue my writing. I desired publication as quickly as possible, so I decided to query electronic publishers as well as traditional venues. Within a month, I had been offered a contract with Soul Mate Publishing.

A contract! My first novel, The Billionaire’s Bauble, sold! And fast…

I barely had time to utter a prayer of thanks before I received two more offers for my Bauble. Then an agent I’d queried wanted to read it, and months later, a giant in the romance industry expressed interest.

I am thrilled to have The Billionaire’s Bauble with Soul Mate Publishing; as I am equally pleased to have two more contemporary romance novels, One Wet Summer and Good Things Come in Tall Packages, forthcoming in May 2012 and August 2012 with Musa Publishing. My dreams have come true, and I hope to entertain readers for years to come with romance novels yet to be penned.

The lesson that I hope to share is this: as an author, you need a plan. You need to understand that there has never been more opportunity or access to publication, but if you want to press with the traditional publishers, like St. Martins or Harlequin, you need patience. Those large houses don’t have the turnaround small houses have. Agents take months to respond and big publishing houses can take up to a year. I don’t regret the decisions I made to get my stories to press. Soul Mate Publishing and Musa Publishing have proven wonderful venues for my novels—rich with learning opportunities, willing to help me grow as an author of contemporary romance. I trust I made the right decisions for my stories and for me.

And you need to make the right decision for you. When that first novel (or that next novel is ready to send), know this: writers have choices. Plan to succeed and you will!

***

Ann Montclair’s first contemporary romance novel, The Billionaire’s Bauble, is available as an electronic book at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Billionaires-Bauble-ebook/dp/B006QQWY42/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1326811080&sr=8-1

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-billionaires-bauble-ann-montclair/1108117604?ean=2940013699595&itm=1&usri=the+billionaire%27s+bauble

and Soul Mate Publishing http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/the-billionaires-bauble/

You can also visit her at http://annmontclair.com/

The Billionaire’s Bauble blurb:
Sloane Porter arrived at Grant Oil knowing if she didn’t land the executive assistant position, she would have to leave Fairbanks and return home to New York. To a life she’d thought she’d left far behind. She hadn’t spent years earning her degree and becoming her own woman just to move backwards. But when Sloane enters the CEO’s office and realizes he’s the same man she’d kissed in a Fairbanks bar two years earlier, a man she couldn’t forget, she discovers running away isn’t always the best option . . .

Excerpt from Chapter One:

"I'll be all yours in a moment, Ms. Porter," David said absentmindedly to the final interviewee entering his plush Fairbanks office. The walnut and steel door swooshed closed as the woman approached his desk. He didn't glance up from his paper pile, but he could smell a hint of Chanel perfume, and he already liked the confident click clack of the candidate's heels across his tiled office floor.

"Yes, sir. Take all the time you need," the applicant purred, and remained standing, waiting for David to ask her to be seated.

He enjoyed making his prospective employees squirm—just a bit—as they waited to find out if their futures would be linked with his Fortune 500 company. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie, but only one person would be hired to become the newest administrative assistant to the CEO and owner of the billion dollar enterprise.

David Grant required a team of personal aids to scurry after him and keep things running smoothly so he could wrangle the S & P and rough up those big city corporate honchos. He smiled to himself. The new figures looked strong, and Grant Oil was set to double up.

David slowly lifted his eyes to observe every detail of the young woman.

He started at her shoes, a serviceable pair of two-inch heels. Check. She wasn't wearing stilettos, a sure sign of self-indulgence if worn to the office. Good.

Her legs were lean but strong; he could see calf muscle but no knee. Check. Modesty was key to creating a productive workplace. He didn't want to see thighs at Grant Oil. He demanded a focused environment, and that meant no glimpses of distracting flesh.

As his inquisitive eyes moved to the woman's hips, he noted she was full figured despite her athletic legs. Her blue wool pencil skirt did little to hide her feminine curves. Wool was a smart choice because June could be quite cool in Fairbanks, despite the sun's bright glare.

Her arms were to her sides and her fingers hung loosely. Light pink paint adorned each small nail. No wedding ring decorated her slim pale fingers, though she had quite a nice ornament on her left pinky finger. A 2-carat diamond sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine coming through the giant paned window above his desk. Terrific. She didn't have a husband to keep her home. David needed assistants who moved as quickly as he did.

The woman's matching suit coat jacket was finely tailored, and the small leather covered buttons were undone so David could see the crisp white silk shirt that almost disguised a full bosom.

Her throat was long and he could see a pulse. Good. She was nervous, despite her calm demeanor. A few wisps of auburn hair had escaped from her chignon, but they curled artfully along her neck, just touching her suited shoulder. David appreciated the softness a few misplaced hairs could lend to a businesswoman. A woman should be soft—even in the rugged oil business. He wanted a woman to be a woman.

As he continued his deliberate perusal, he noted her dimpled chin, full pink lips, and pert nose. When he finally arrived at her eyes, he almost lost his composure.

"It's you," he managed as his throat clamped tight. If he had been kicked in the gut, he couldn't have been more affected.

A quick flash of recognition quickly became all business as her brilliant green eyes smiled at him, twinkled even. She extended her hand across his glass-topped desk and said, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grant. Thank you for the opportunity."

David felt her small hand go instantly hot. He stood then, and she stepped back, pulling her hand from his strong grip. He could see a flash of confusion and then determination well up in her remarkable eyes.

"I understand you are here for a position in my company," he assuaged. He read her name from the top of her resume again: Sloane Porter. "I apologize for my familiarity, Ms. Porter, but you are the woman I danced with a couple of years ago at Hal's. Right?"

Tuesday Tales 24th - Games

Thank you for dropping in to read this week's TUESDAY TALES
The prompt is 'Games'

“Com’on.” Brad led the group of fellow ten-year-olds across the park towards the trees. “It’ll be easy.”

He heard the muttering behind him and hefted his mini crossbow from one hand to the other. He patted the knotted tie that held his arrows against his back. Jeff was carrying a bag of apples, and Will and Harry had tagged along to watch.

“Hey!” Will called to his friend Logan, you coming to see Brad split an apple on top of Jeff’s head?” He’d never heard of William Tell but that didn’t matter.

“Don’t be daft, he can’t do that!” Logan loped across the grass to join the group and on spying another friend invited them along.

“Where we going?” Tyler, the tenth boy to join the group, demanded.

“Dun’ know.” Will admitted.

“There’s a clearing that’s big enough just along the path that leads to the tennis courts.” Brad called over his shoulder. “Not many people use it so we won’t be disturbed.”

Brad’s confidence plummeted with each addition to the small band of boys now crossing the park. Several adults, he noticed, were watching their progress towards the trees. Perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted Jeff’s challenge?

He looked across at his best buddy and noted the freckles standing out against the pallor of his skin. Was he regretting the challenge? And would he withdraw it? Anger joined his fear when he heard his silent prayers he wouldn’t have to follow through.

It all seemed such a lark last night when they’d been trolling the ‘net and come across the story of William Tell, who in an effort to avoid being imprisoned shot an apple off the top of his son’s head.

Now, as the group of boys increased, it turned into something more like a nightmare than a game.

From the corner of his eye Brad saw two men approaching. One was Jeff’s father. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he watching the game on TV?

“Nah! My Dad won’t notice,” Jeff assured him last night when they plotted this. “He always stays in and watches the game, and my Mom goes round to Aunt Bella, so no one will see us.”

“What you doing, boys?” Jeff’s dad asked with an easy smile.

Hadn’t he noticed the crossbow, Brad wondered and shifted it closer to the ground, and cringed at the glee in Will’s response.

“We’re gonna’ watch Brad shoot an apple off Jeff’s head.” he shouted.

As one the group halted.

Brad wasn’t sure who the second adult was, but vaguely thought he might be the deputy sheriff he’d seen in school a few weeks ago after a spate of thefts.

Shifting his gaze from the deputy Brad stared at Jeff’s Dad and waited for his wrath to descend upon them. The man’s rueful grin disconcerted him.

“Well now,” he said, letting his glance encompass all the boys. “That’s a mighty fine idea, but perhaps we can offer a little help here.” With a gesture towards his companion, Jeff’s dad laid a hand on Brad’s shoulder.

“You heading for the knoll clearing?”

Bemused, Brad nodded.

“Let’s get going then.”

With Jeff’s dad in the lead and the deputy bringing up the rear, the boys trouped further into the trees until the clearing opened up in front of them.

“Let me look at your bow.” Jeff’s dad held out his hand took the weapon and inspected it thoroughly. “Your Dad is an excellent craftsman,” he said, after turning it over in his hand for a few moments. He leaned behind and pulled the arrows out of Brad’s makeshift quiver and accorded them the same meticulous attention before nodding.

Jeff blanched when his father instructed him to stand against a tree and dragged his feet as he crossed the clearing and leaned his back against it.

“Deputy, perhaps you’d be good enough to mark the tree just above my son’s head.”

They all watched the deputy remove his camping knife and cut a nick in the tree bark. “That do?”

“Good enough.” Jeff’s dad nodded, and ordered his son to join the group again. “Did you bring an apple?”

Dumbstruck, Brad grabbed the bag from Will and handed it over.

“As we don’t have any means of pinning the apple to the tree, we’ll have to draw a circle instead.”

It didn’t take long, and before Brad knew what Jeff’s dad intended, the man once more stood beside him.

“Now then, Brad. Do you see the mark I’ve made?” He waited for Brad’s acknowledgement . “Very well, we’ll do this properly, come over to the tree.”

His panic rising with every second, Brad found himself moving forward.

Jeff’s dad took his arm and walked beside him as together they paced out fifty yards. The distance seemed enormous to Brad and the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.

The boys no longer shuffled or whispered and it seemed even the birds and the trees were holding their breath.

“William Tell was a grown man, so I think we can make allowances for your age and size.” With a grin Jeff’s dad sought affirmation from the sheriff.

Why were the adults grinning? When he’d seen them coming, he’d expected them both to put a stop to their game, expected to be able to back out with dignity and now both men were going to force him to go through with something terrifying. The trembling started in his knees and spread to his hands within seconds. His chest tightened making it hard to breathe.

“Now then, young Bradley,” Jeff’s dad paced out twenty steps closer to the target and instructed Brad to stand on the cross he’d dug into the ground with the heel of his shoe. “Stand here, steady yourself and make sure your breathing is even and your hand is steady. Take all the time you like and then fire your arrow at the round mark I’ve made on the tree.”

The next five minutes passed in a blur, broken only by a volley of clapping. As if coming out of a dream he looked up, and round, at the shining, excited faces.

“Well done, lad.” The sheriff’s voice cut through his stupor. “That was a fine piece of shooting.”

Before he could bask in the praise, the man’s tone changed and encompassed all the children.

“Luckily for all of you, someone informed us they’d seen you in the park. What you proposed today was both stupid and dangerous. What if you’d missed, Brad? You could have killed young Jeff here.”

The nearer they’d come to the trees the more vivid such an outcome had become to Brad.

The lecture was issued in firm but understanding words and left each boy in no doubt of the seriousness of the occasion.

The boys that trouped out from the trees bore little resemblance to the ones that entered them. Each child now knew that some games could so easily end in tragedy, and heaved a sigh of relief that this time they’d been lucky.

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week. 
Today I am sharing more from of my Valentine Story about Henri Gasquet, hero in His Chosen Bride.


He planted his knuckles on his father’s desk and leaned forward. “I can’t just take off and leave them all in the lurch.” He pushed away.  “It is ridiculous for you or anyone else to expect me to walk away from my duties. Who would take my place?” he challenged, knowing every project mentioned needed his influence and prestige to press the projects forward.

“I will.”

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

It's official :-)

Astraea Press has accepted my Valentine story, His Chosen Bride, the second in the Gasquet Princes series.

Unlike his youngest brother, Prince Liam, Henri Gasquet, heir to his father's throne, is prepared to marry a bride chosen by his parents, until he meets Monica Lattimer...

Liam's story, From Now Until Forever, is avaiable to buy at:
http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7105194


http://www.amazon.com/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322854797&sr=1-1-spell

http://www.amazon.co.uk/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322854884&sr=8-1-spell

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=book

nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=ebook