Humor/Memoir
Date Published: March 16, 2018
Publisher: The Noise Beneath the Apple®
My Headdress Is On Fire...stories from a White Girl growing up on & off Indian Land...is a series of deliciously skewed essays, that travel the world from Indian Land to the Australian Outback; single parenting to the Empty Nest. Unearthing stories about an Indian Chief and Bozo the Clown or Kupa Piti and David the Camel, with heart and candor; Jacks' "full powers of smart wit are engaged".... (And, it's a perfect size for the plane or train.)
About the Author
I was raised on Indian Land in southeastern Oregon, until age fifteen, when I went to Australia as an ‘experimental exchange student’, for a year. When I returned, I attended college, and received my FCC license, followed by a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Studies & Journalism from CSU Sacramento and a Masters Degree in Rhetoric & Communication from UC Davis.
I have traveled extensively, worked in the music industry; radio, production, A&R, booking, concert production and glorified babysitter. All of this, as a single mother.
I worked as a music journalist for musicians, a major independent record label and several online publications. My last book, The Noise Beneath the Apple®; A Celebration of Busking in New York City, won several awards. My current book, My Headdress Is On Fire...stories from a White girl growing up on & off Indian land, is a series of essays that has been described as 'humor with heart' and a 'rock your mind, snapshot of life.'
I have been working with Starbucks Coffee Company opening stores, building teams and creating inspired moments, (on and off), for the past 20 years.
I was Sainted by The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence as Saint Gregarious Dionysus, and continue to work and serve with this group of Drag Nuns or Sacred Clowns or whatever they are to you; but, they are fabulous.
An avid TV Junkie, Disco Loving Wine Ninja, die-hard SF Giants fiend and unapologetic Twitter practitioner, I currently hang my hat in San Francisco.
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An (Off The Rails) Ice Era Chronicle 2:15 AM
Dystopian / Sci-Fi / Post-Apocalyptic Romance
Date Published: 4/10/2018
Publisher: Troll River Publications
In the harsh reality of the post-apocalyptic frozen tundra, Raiden fights his growing attraction for Ashley Winsor and her handsome shadow, Stone.
Moving closer to separation the threesome navigate a world filled with angry harvesters, subterranean trains, and hungry polar bears. Through this steamy dystopian trek, Raiden discovers that these two people may be the only thing he loves on this ice bound Earth.
Once they arrive at headquarters a decision will be made… Is Raiden the man who will destroy their fragile relationship, or is he the harvester Ash and Stone need to love?
About the Author
C.M. Moore is a retired soldier, and a romantic at heart. After being blown up in Afghanistan and receiving a purple heart, he began writing with his wife. Connor’s first book 1:05 am is a mixture of love, sex, and action. Today if you are looking for Connor, you can find him volunteering with veteran organizations, and harassing his military buddies. You can also find him attempting to “hunt” in the woods and ponds of Minnesota. In the event you find him in the woods, don’t be scared, he can’t hit anything. If you want to contact him message him at [email protected]
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Military Sci Fi
Published Date: 5/10/2018
A republic under attack. A reluctant soldier. An all-out fight for the galaxy’s soul.
David Cohen prays he’ll live to see the other side of his first deployment. His people thought they had left war behind when they fled Earth centuries ago. Time, though, has not dulled the hatred and intolerance of their erstwhile oppressors. To defend his homeland’s freedom, David abandons his dream of becoming a rabbi for the battlefield… and discovers a side of himself he is not sure he can live with.
David's focus is clear when the bullets are flying. In the long hours after, he must reckon with the toll that blood and blame bring upon his mind. Can he square the tenets of his faith against his responsibility to crew and country? Nothing has prepared him to make decisions that could cause ruin or an end to generations of conflict... except for trust in God, himself, and those who serve under him.
If David Cohen survives it all, who will he be?
About the Author
Ever since watching Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back at the age of five, with his father, Daniel has loved science fiction. Reading hundreds of sci-fi novels, during his teenage years, Daniel came up with the EOTP (Echoes of the Past) universe. Twenty years later, its finally becoming a reality!
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Fading
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- GUEST POST BY CINDY CIPRIANO Thanks for hosting me today. I’m thrilled to be here to talk about my new paranormal romance, Fading, and pass on some tips I’ve learned in my journey as an author. First, a little about Fading, which is the first book in The Fading Series. Fading Seventeen-year-old, Leath Elliott lives with her mother in the microscopic town of Woodvine, North Carolina. Leath’s father was killed in a tragic accident when she was fourteen, and her friend Victor Santana has been there for her every step of the way since. But the friendship starts to change when Victor develops deeper feelings for Leath. If that wasn’t complicated enough, newcomer James Turner, an emancipated minor with a dark past, wanders into her sights. Leath is captivated by him and wonders if he might be the boy of her dreams—literally. Fading – Insider Info (or as much as I can tell you) I often think of Fading as the VLJ story. As in Victor-Leath-James. Being in love is wonderful, heartwarming, and can leave you breathless. But, sometimes, it is so confusing! If you have ever loved two people at the same time, you can relate to what Leath is going through in Fading. Although some readers have expressed their choice (Victor or James), many feel the way the same way Leath does; she loves them both. As Leath soon learns, decisions of the heart are not always clear or easy to make. Thank goodness, she has best-friend, Anamae, to help her navigate the waters. On second thought, the word, “help,” might be a bit of a stretch Feeling Extra? Readers are often surprised to learn that one of the settings in Fading is a real place. Judaculla Rock is a 2,000-3,000 year-old petroglyph located in western North Carolina. Several legends surround the origin of the rock as well as the images that are carved into its surface. I’ve had the opportunity to visit Judaculla Rock a few times and have really enjoyed incorporating this setting into Fading. Which brings me to writing. I’m often asked if I have any tips for new writers. The best suggestion I have is to join a critique group. Now. No, wait. Join one yesterday. Learning how to give and receive thoughtful criticism will make your writing stronger. Writing is often an isolated endeavor. Being a part of a critique group helps foster a sense of community. It’s great having someone to turn to when you need to bounce ideas around. And, having a group discussion about your writing will help you see your story from a different perspective. I’m also asked about the editing process. I’ll leave you with my best tip for editing. Read your entire manuscript aloud. That really helps you notice mistakes and helps you smooth out the rough spots. If necessary, I suggest you record yourself as you read aloud the more difficult sections. –Cindy Cipriano
GIVEAWAY! How You Can Save the World and Enter to Win a $175 Prize Pack!
“If you like action-packed adventure books that will keep you reading well into the wee hours, I would recommend The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh.”
–Jennly Reads
To celebrate the release of my second action adventure The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh, I’m offering up my largest prize pack to date! But, first let me tell you about the book…
When it came to writing The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh, I wanted to create a story in the same vein as City of Gold, maintaining what reviewers described as “a fast-paced action adventure” that is “akin to an Indiana Jones story set in modern times.” So in this second installment, archaeologist and adventurer Matthew Connor and his two closest friends set off for Egypt to save the world. I even splashed in a bit of the police action my readers know and love.
“Why does the world need saving?” you may ask, possibly skeptical. Well, an old friend and colleague of Matthew’s has discovered ancient hieroglyphics that hint at the whereabouts of an ancient Egyptian tomb and a mysterious treasure that is said to contain the knowledge of the universe. Beyond that, it can grant humans the ability to traverse Heaven and Earth, and it bestows whoever possesses it with great wealth and wisdom. Now, imagine something like that falling into the hands of terrorists or world powers set on domination… Needless to say, it could lead to global annihilation!
My hope is that The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh will provide readers with a thrill ride that digs into the depths of human nature when one is tempted by power. But if you’re looking for a slow build, this isn’t the book for you. Readers are immediately thrown into the heat of Egypt’s Western Desert, where Matthew’s friend Alexandria Leonard is about to make a life-altering discovery.
Here’s a snippet from the prologue of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh (Matthew Connor Adventure series):
The sun had barely broken the horizon, but Alex was wide-awake and strapped into her safety harness. She had dreamed of this moment her entire life, and now that it was becoming reality, she could hardly believe it. Here she was at the age of forty and leading her first archaeological dig in Egypt’s Western Desert. Even more incredible was the fact that she and her team were on the brink of a monumental discovery.
They had detected a manmade tunnel that ran thirty-five feet beneath the ground and over 3,600 feet to the east. Where the tunnel ended, there was in a large open space that the ground-penetrating radar couldn’t identify.
Alex stood at the opening of the hole with her site foreman, Jeff Webb; a hieroglyphics expert named Jasper Blair; and two of four laborers, Seth and Timal. They would be responsible for lowering her down.
She took a deep breath, preparing her mind for the descent and the cramped space. Her team had only dug out a well of about four feet in diameter. The position she was in when she went down would be the way she’d stay, as there would be no room to flip over.
She wiped the back of her arm across her forehead to wick away the sweat that kept dripping down her face. She pinched her eyes shut, wishing she had her favorite blue sweatband from high school, when wearing one had been all the rage—back around the time when belonging to a Tape of the Month Club was the thing to do.
She let her long, blond hair down from the ponytail she’d had it in and redid it, tighter this time, pulling it into a messy bun. Back home in northern Michigan, she rarely put her hair up, reserving that for times when she was focused on her work or studies, but in this part of the world, she often wore it up. Even a warm breeze on the back of her neck was better than none at all.
“Good thing you skipped the second course last night,” Jeff teased her.
Not that size was an issue for either of them. She was lean and athletic, and while Jeff had a solid build, he was trim with narrow shoulders.
“Same goes for you,” she tossed back with a smile. She’d known him for years and worked on several digs with him. He’d been the one who had removed two of the stone bricks from the tunnel’s ceiling to create the small opening through which they could descend. He’d been down there to set up a radio module and transmitting antenna that enabled communication between whoever was underground and whoever was on the surface.
Jeff moved behind her and tightened her harness. “Ah!” She sucked air in through gritted teeth. “Maybe just leave enough room for me to breathe.”
He loosened the restraints slightly. “Good?”
She managed to slip her fingers between the straps and her rib cage. “It’ll do.”
He turned to face her again. “Here’s your radio.” Jeff handed her an earpiece that worked with the radio he’d put in place.
“Talk into it for me,” he told her.
She tapped a button on the earpiece and said, “Hello, hello, hello.” She smirked at her mock echo.
Jeff laughed. “I heard you loud and clear. In surround sound, actually. All right, one more thing.” He popped a miner hat on her head, and she fastened the chin strap. “I think it’s best if we lower you feetfirst so that you can be positioned upright in the tunnel.” Jeff’s demeanor became serious.
Alex nodded and looked down again. It was a good thing that she wasn’t claustrophobic or afraid of being suspended by a rope and lowered helplessly into the ground. And while she might not battle with many fears, part of her was as terrified as she was excited about the prospect of setting foot where no one—besides Jeff briefly—had likely been in thousands of years. But this was just meant to be a brief look-see, and she’d be going solo. When she set out in earnest to explore the tunnel, she’d take members of her team with her.
She reached for the gold chain around her neck and pinched the tiny pendant that dangled from it. The Eye of Horus, also known as the Eye of Ra, was an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection. Out here in the desert, she needed all the help she could get. She kissed it and tucked it back beneath her shirt.
“Are you ready?” Jeff asked.
She met Jeff’s eyes and flicked on the headlamp. “I’m ready.”
Jeff pulled an LED flare from his back pocket, turned it on, and tossed it into the hole. Watching the light descend emphasized just how far down it was to the tunnel.
Once it hit the ground, Jeff rolled his hand toward Seth and Timal. “You heard her. Down she goes.”
More sweat dripped from her brow, and she wiped her forehead again. And things were just heating up out here—if you could call already being a hundred degrees “just heating up.” As it was, waves of heat were cutting through the air like ribbons on the horizon, and it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
She looked around at her crew, steadying her thoughts and locking on to her resolve to make history. Great men and women made a habit of stepping outside their comfort zones, living on the edge, and testing out unchartered waters. And she wanted to be among them, to make a difference in the world by unearthing what remained of long gone great empires. Sometimes that required delving into the unknown.
She shook her fanciful musings aside. After all, they may not have discovered anything more than an empty tunnel.
She sat on the ledge, dangling her legs inside the hole. She tugged on the rope secured to her harness, which was connected to a rigging system that Seth and Timal would use to lower her. She glanced at Seth and Timal, confident in their abilities to guide her safely down and back up again. And with one more look at Jeff, she pushed off, letting herself become suspended.
Her heart thumped against her rib cage as she was lowered. She reached out and touched the makeshift walls that her men had put in place to prevent a cave-in. Her fingertips brushed against some sand, and it was slightly cool to the touch, but the air around her was still hot. A few of the granules sprinkled down the shaft.
About six feet beneath the ground, she felt incredibly alone. Although, it was also quiet and peaceful.
As Jeff’s form continued to become smaller above her and the space she was in became more shadowed, brief apprehension lanced through her. But the allure of what lie ahead silenced her anxiety.
If you can take the heat, grab your hat and sunscreen and strap yourself in for an unforgettable adventure. Order your copy of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh today.
Save-the-World Contest DetailsWhat’s at stake?
$175 USD prize pack!
The winner will save the world by:
They’ll also receive:
Contest Deadline:
Sunday, April 22nd.
How to Enter:
The winner will be selected randomly on April 23rd and notified by Hibbert & Stiles Publishing via email by May 1st and contacted for their shipping information.
Share the release and contest with others by supporting Carolyn’s ThunderClap campaign found here.
Follow The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh Facebook event to keep current on the latest news, excerpts, and given more opportunities to win!
About the Matthew Connor Adventure series:
Action-adventure books for the mystery lover. Does treasure hunting excite you? What about the thought of traveling the globe and exploring remote regions to uncover legends that the world has all but forgotten? If so, strap yourself in for an adventure with modern-day archaeologist Matthew Connor and his two closest friends. Indiana Jones meets the twenty-first century.
This is the perfect book series for fans of Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, National Treasure, and The Relic Hunter.
Other Books in the Series:
Carolyn Arnold is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series and has written nearly thirty books. Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark, POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.
Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online:
And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at CarolynArnold.net/Newsletters.
March in Atlantis
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- TEASERS: Lucas prided himself on his ability to be calm in all situations, but he’d never been—literally–stabbed in the back by a rogue shifter before. Rhiannon: I’ve never trusted anyone who didn’t betray me…I don’t know how to open my heart. Lucas: My past means nothing if you are my future. My heart, my body, and my soul are yours.
GIVEAWAY!
About the Book:
');
"Transit Lounge" is a contemporary book consisting of short incidents, observations and reflections while travelling to 30 countries across six different continents during the last 15 years. The book is a personal account of travels to places in Africa, South America, Asia, Europe, USA, Australia and New Zealand. It was interesting to observe all these different cultures and people from an Indian perspective. The book is a compilation of small incidents and events during such travels; it includes losing an air ticket, dealing with difficult custom officials or getting mugged in a prime location in a foreign country. Book Links: Goodreads * Amazon Snippets from Sunil's travel: I remember visiting Croatia some time in 2005. It is a small but very beautiful country in Eastern Europe. It could be a must see place for people who enjoy the nature’s beauty. Plitvice lake that I visited consists of multiple lakes surrounded by mountain and a good amount of plantation. It covers a large trekking area covering the lakes, mountains and the trees. The lakes are interspersed with numerous waterfalls that make it a great natural sight. The color of the lakes change based on the sunlight, amount of minerals and vegetation around it. Some of these sights are picture perfect in true sense.
Invader in one country is a hero in another.This statue of Henry Havelock at Trafalgar Square, London reads :-
To Major General Sir Henry Havelock KCB and his brave companions in arms during the campaign in India 1857. "Soldiers! Your labours, your privations, your sufferings and your valour, will not be forgotten by a grateful country." H. Havelock
Sunil is a software professional with over two decades of experience in the field of banking technology. Currently he is working with Infosys and has earlier worked with McKinsey, Accenture and I-flex solutions. As part of work he travelled to more than 30 countries across six continents. This constituted the basis of his current book. Sunil is an MBA from IIM-Lucknow and holds a B.Tech from IIT(ISM), Dhanbad. He completed his schooling in Bokaro Steel City. Contact the Author: Facebook * Twitter * LinkedIn * Instagram
On Tour with Prism Book Tours
Book Tour Grand Finale for
Bad Boy Rancher
By Karen Rock
We hope you enjoyed the tour! If you missed any of the stops
you can see snippets, as well as the link to each full post, below:
Launch - Note from the Author
The Cade and Loveland family drama continues with the third book in my Rocky Mountain Cowboys series! The Cade and Loveland ranching families, neighbors who’ve been feuding for over a hundred years, are full of such interesting and complicated characters who face, and overcome, personal challenges in unique and inspiring ways to find true love and happiness...
Katie's Clean Book Collection - Review
"From the toe-tingling romance to the larger-than-life characters, Karen Rock does a fabulous job of delivering this story! I was completely captivated from the very first chapter... This is a book that is full of hope and connections and I loved every minute spent in this small Rocky Mountain town."
The Power of Words - Review
"I fell in love with this series with the first book, Christmas at Cade Ranch, and the stories just keep getting better, maybe because I’m crazy about this family and look forward to each return visit. The issues this story touches on are relevant and real - addiction, PTSD, survivor guilt... Bad Boy Rancher is a moving and highly entertaining story in every way."
I Am A Reader - Excerpt
“Surprise!” Justin’s family shouted. Javi ran around him chanting, “Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” Justin backed up a step. “No.” His mother, Joy, strode through the doorway. She shoved silver strands behind her ear and peered at him anxiously from behind frameless glasses. “It’s been a long time since we…we wanted to do something nice, honey… Wanted to celebrate…” His boots dropped down one tread. “No.” He would not, couldn’t celebrate his life. Not when his twin brother lay six feet under, buried along with Justin’s broken promises, the ones they’d whispered to each other in the womb: fidelity, unity, brotherhood.
Reading Is My SuperPower - Review
"Bad Boy Rancher by Karen Rock is another excellent book in the Rocky Mountain Cowboys series! It doesn’t shy away from gritty issues like PTSD, survivor guilt, addiction, etc. But it also provides plenty of humor and sweet, tender moments. And of course toe-curling swoonliciousness. This is truly a heartwarming story as well as a stellar romance with great character growth. I’m looking forward to more books in this series!"
Hearts & Scribbles - Excerpt
Brielle’s cell phone buzzed on the seat beside her. She risked a glance down at the number, recognized it as her new employer’s, then reached for it, slowing as she approached an intersection. Her fingers closed on the metallic rectangle just as the dark shape of a biker raced into view, barreling straight at her. Her pulse slammed in her veins. Was he crazy?
A Slice of Life - Review
"When it comes to realistic behavior and human emotions, KarenRock doesn’t disappoint, and the third book in her Rocky Mountain Cowboys series, Bad Boy Rancher, is no exception... The author delves deep into the human psyche in order to express the emotions Justin, Brielle, and others feel throughout this Rocky Mountain Cowboy journey, providing a compelling and informative read."
Two Points of Interest - Review
"I found the main characters to be enjoyable and realistic. Both Justin and Brielle are flawed and want each other but try to overcome the obstacles in their "relationship"... A very enjoyable read for anyone who loves romance novels or a fan of this series."
Deal Sharing Aunt - Review
"Cowboys are not my favorite genre, but Justin is not your ordinary cowboy. He is full of guilt and tries to cheat death. He can not get over the loss of his brother. During a chance encounter, when he is tempting death, he meets Brielle. She is a strong woman. What a great heroine.... This was a really fun read, and I can not wait to read more about these characters."
Faithfully Bookish - Review & Excerpt
"I’m so thankful for stories that tackle tough issues to stretch and grow our compassion and understanding. I definitely recommend this story to readers who enjoy a little more heat in their sweet romance and everyone who loves a good underdog or cowboy or adventurist hero and thoughtful storyline." “What are you afraid of, Justin?” That snapped his spine straight. “Nothing.” “Then prove it. I dare you to spend the next ten weeks here, at the clinic.” “Dare?” Was she joking? This wasn’t kid stuff… To him, it was life-and-death. And the way Brielle got under his skin, opened him up, was downright dangerous. If he accepted, he’d need to keep his distance. “I’m not going to any group talks.” She pondered that a moment then sighed. “Fine. Go only if you want to, which I’m betting will be plenty.”
Rockin' Book Reviews - Reviews
"I really loved this book from start to finish. I have loved this Cade clan from the start and their's something about this family that just makes you rally around them. I can't wait for Jewel's book." - LAWonder10 "You did it again, Karen Rock! I love the Cades and the Lovelands. This series of books is so good... I highly recommend this book to other readers. It's a great read."- Vickie "This book has all the feels in it. I've known from the start of these Cade family member's that I have wanted to get to Justin's book. And Mrs. Rock does not disappoint with this one... I really loved this book from start to finish. I have loved this Cade clan from the start and their's something about this family that just makes you rally around them. I can't wait for Jewel's book."
Remembrancy - Review
"In Bad Boy Rancher, Karen Rock tackles topics that are difficult: addiction, depression, and PTSD to name a few. Each of the members of Second Chance is unique in their circumstances yet the same in that they are on their way to healing. Rock’s ability to humanize these disorders is top-notch."
Janice's Book Reviews - Review
"I enjoyed visiting the Cade family again and loved the addition of the pug in the story. Also really enjoyed Javi in the book, the little boy in the first book. This is really a good series."
E-Romance News - Excerpt
“You don’t want to lose anyone else.” This close, Brielle could smell Justin’s minty, warm breath. “No,” she admitted. “Then get to know them. Come to my ranching workshop tomorrow.” “I don’t know if I can,” she confessed. “It’s not easy for me…like it is for you.” His short laugh rushed across her cheek. Their eyelashes tangled. “You think it’s easy for me? I hate talking to people.”
Harlie's Books - Review & Excerpt
"Yall this series. I’m telling you, READ IT!!! Ms. Rock nailed Justin to a tee. Okay, so I may be partial to Ms. Rock because I’ve read her since she started but every one of her books in this series is heartfelt, at times funny, the men are sexy as heck and the heroines are perfect for them. Every couple has baggage and it’s quite a ride to see them work it out separately and then together for the all-important HEA." Are you ready to go?” There was a brief catch in Brielle’s voice as Justin tucked her loose scarf into her coat collar. “There’s something I want to show you first.” “Maybe another time.” She twisted a cross pinned to the lapel of her jacket. “I’ve still got work to finish and—” Her words cut off as he laced his fingers in hers. “Work will be there in the morning. This won’t.”
Nicole's Book Musings - Review
"I really love this series because it just pulls all the emotions and feels out of me. This book is intense with the emotion... I couldn't have been rooting any more for these two to find a HEA. It's definitely a book you don't want to pass up. "
Mello & June, It's a Book Thang! - Excerpt
Justin pressed a finger beneath Brielle’s chin, tipping it up until their gazes tangled. “Stop hiding from me,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with the strain of keeping himself in check. “I’m right here,” she whispered. The enticing scent of raspberries emanated from her, and he nearly groaned with the torment. He traced the outline of her lips with one finger. She started to pull away, but he halted her by sliding his fingertips over the smooth flesh of her upper arms. Her answering shiver was both rousing and scary. It amazed him that he kept her captive with no more than his touch.
Getting Your Read On - Review
"This book is like the perfect storm. It has all the elements coming together to make it so enticing to me... I loved that both these main characters were strong yet not. They both had broken bits that needed fixing and healing yet they were still fighting the good fight. The attraction was zingy and instant and it just kept building. The kissing was yummy. This is such a great series. I'm loving it. Each book can stand alone but I would highly recommend reading them in order because you will be happier and more satisfied if you do."
underneath the covers - Excerpt
Justin traced her jaw with the callused pad of his index finger. “Do you still believe in God?” The moon disappeared behind clouds, and the light coming through the stained-glass windows dimmed. “I do, but I don’t hear Him anymore. He stopped answering me after my breakdown, stopped talking through me—like He blames me, too. Bill wasn’t the only suicide. Another member of his squad killed himself on leave, with his personal handgun. A couple months later, a third member of his company overdosed. A year later, Stan Dobbins, one of the only survivors of the group ambushed before Easter, redeployed for the third time and shot himself in the head.” She leveraged herself up to face Justin. “That’s why I’m not stronger.” “You haven’t healed yet. Didn’t you tell me therapy’s hard work?"
Don't forget to enter the giveaway below, if you haven't already...
(Rocky Mountain Cowboys #3) Paperback & ebook, 368 pagesby Karen Rock Contemporary Romance April 1st 2018 by Harlequin Heartwarming He’s not the only one who needs saving… But maybe they can save each other? Dark, brooding, dangerous…and possibly suicidal. Renegade rancher Justin Cade was exactly the kind of man former army chaplain Brielle Thompson needed to avoid after escaping the horrors of Afghanistan with an honorable discharge—and PTSD. The whole point of moving to the remote Rocky Mountains of Colorado was to leave the darkness behind, not fall back into it. But falling she is…
(Rocky Mountain Cowboys #1)
by Karen Rock
November 7th 2017 by Harlequin Heartwarming The Christmas they never had. James Cade has one priority: keep the family ranch running smoothly in the wake of his younger brother's death. With Jesse's ex, Sofia Gallardo, and her young son, Javi, stranded at Cade Ranch over Christmas, this task just got a lot harder. The longer Sofia and Javi stay, the harder it is to imagine the ranch without them. James couldn't save his brother from his inner demons, but he can give his nephew a secure future. Maybe more—if he can figure out how to trust Sofia, and stop feeling like he's betraying Jesse. Because trying to stop thinking about beautiful, determined Sofia is impossible.
(Rocky Mountain Cowboys #2) Paperback & ebook, 368 pagesby Karen Rock Contemporary Romance January 1st 2018 by Harlequin Heartwarming Doesn’t he get that she’s blind? Barrel racer Amberley James wants to join the premier rodeo circuit more than anything, but she faces the ultimate hurdle when she loses her eyesight to a rare genetic condition. All she’d ever wanted seems out of reach. Giving up is the only option…until her best friend and local hero Jared Cade steps in. The last thing she wants is Jared’s help. But his persistence at encouraging her to get back in the saddle is ridiculously annoying. And undeniably inspiring…
About the Author
Award-winning author Karen Rock is both sweet and spicy—at least when it comes to her writing! The author of both YA and adult contemporary books writes sexy suspense novels and small-town romances for Harlequin and Kensington publishing. A strong believer in Happily-Ever-After, Karen loves creating unforgettable stories that leave her readers with a smile. When she’s not writing, Karen is an avid reader who also loves cooking her grandmother’s Italian recipes, baking and having the Adirondack Park wilderness as her backyard, where she lives with her husband, daughter, dog and cat who keep her life interesting and complete. Learn more about her at http://www.karenrock.com or follow her on twitter at http://www.twitter.com/karenrock5.
Tour Giveaway
- 1 winner will receive print copies of CHRISTMAS AT CADE RANCH and FALLING FOR A COWBOY by Karen Rock, WISHES AT FIRST LIGHT by Joanne Rock, A SKY FULL OF STARS by Samantha Chase, WHAT IT TAKES by Shanon Stacey, and FAMILY TREE by Susan Wiggs (US only) - 1 winner will receive a $50 Amazon Gift Card (open internationally)
- Ends April 11th
Historical Time Travel Romance
Date Published: March 2018
Marianne's Memory is the third novel in Winona Kent's accidental time travel / historical romance series, featuring Charlie Duran and her 19th century companion Shaun Deeley.
A Beatles badge from 1965 accidentally sends Charlie and Shaun back to London at the height of the Swinging Sixties, where they're mistaken for KGB spies and subjected to a terrifying interrogation.
Rescued by top-ranking MI5 agent Tony Quinn, they soon uncover the details of a child born out of wedlock to Charlie's mum and the uncomfortable truth about Charlie's dad's planned marriage to selfish socialite Arabella Jessop.
Further complicating their journey into the past is Magnus Swales, an 18th century highwayman turned time-travelling assassin, and the timely arrival of William Deeley, Shaun's father, who's been persuaded to leap forward from 1790 in order to save Tony from Swales's deadly mission.
Excerpt
CHAPTER 22
Friday August 13, 1965
Stoneford
Charlie couldn’t find Mr. Deeley.
She’d gone back downstairs with Justin and had walked with
him to the drawing room, where the party was now in full-swing.
Arabella, in her blue silk pyjamas, flitted between little gatherings of
people, some standing, some having made themselves at home on
the antique sofa or on similarly-upholstered armchairs.
“Buffet in the dining room!” she announced. “Two chefs,
darlings! All the way from London! And we’ve got a lovely
marquee tent set up outside for dancing…Giles’s band’s come to
play for us!”
Giles himself was lounging in a deep armchair beside the
fireplace, wearing a black velvet suit, with a navy blue shirt and a
purple brocade tie, surrounded by admirers: three impossibly-thin
girls with lavish makeup and long, straight hair who might have
been models; a bearded gentleman in a pink fur coat who was
describing his latest project—an art installation involving a square
block of concrete on top of which he’d placed a bent fork; and a
young man with a pudding-bowl mop of hair who looked
uncannily like Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones.
The air in the drawing room was filled with the smell and haze
of marijuana and hash. In another corner sat a large woman in a
flowing kaftan and sandals, strumming an autoharp which she held
WINONA KENT
170
to her shoulder like a child needing to be freed of wind. She
seemed to be entertaining no one in particular, and yet an audience
was beginning to gather in front of her as they were introduced to
one another.
Arabella was in full hostess mode, dragging Justin into their
midst.
“Darling,” she said, to a distinguished-looking gentleman who
appeared to be someone who did something important at the BBC,
“do meet my lovely Justin…and of course Portia—Lord Wintle’s
daughter—”
Lord Wintle, Charlie recalled, was a British ambassador who
was posted somewhere that was in the thick of a coup. His
daughter had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and
was wearing knee boots and a see-through knitted dress that clung
to her lithe body like plastic wrap.
“Charmed,” said Portia, introducing, in turn, her friends Binky
and Pierre—Binky being the daughter of an existential poet serving
a sentence in prison for setting fires, and Pierre the son of an
American actor who’d been blacklisted for being a Communist and
had fled to England, where he’d found work as a talking milk bottle
on a children’s radio program.
And still, no sign of Mr. Deeley. Or Charlie's mum. Or Tony
and William and Astrid.
Charlie turned away in frustration and negotiated her way
through the pop stars and the adult children from titled families
who were chummy with the Boswell-Thorpes, the glammy
socialites dripping in diamonds, the boutique owners and the
clothing designers and the actors and actresses and a fellow dressed
all in black who was taking candid photographs of everyone
without their permission because they all secretly longed to be
featured in one of his fabulous avant-garde exhibitions.
She found the servants’ stairs behind the breakfast room and
went down into the cellar, thinking she might find them there. But
the cellar seemed to be mostly abandoned, with all of its doors
locked. Even the big 19th century kitchen, which in 1825 had been
bustling with a cook and her assistant and assorted serving staff,
was inaccessible and dark, the Boswell-Thorpes having installed a
much more convenient—and functional—kitchen upstairs, beside
the breakfast room.
Annoyed, and still frustrated, Charlie made her way back to the
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
171
main floor and outside, to see if Mr. Deeley was in the big marquee
tent that had been erected next to the manor’s west wing.
* * *
Shaun had, in fact, located both his father and Tony Quinn. His
father had been lingering in a hallway in the west wing of the
manor, between the dining room with the sitting room. It was not
so much a connecting passage as a room of its own, with a lavish
oriental Axminster carpet of blue, red and gold, and ceiling-to-floor
leaded windows embedded with patterns of stained glass and,
occupying pride of place, several full sets of armour, assembled and
erected as if ready to do battle.
“But this is marvellous,” William said, spying Shaun as he
entered from the dining room. “This is beyond anything I have
ever beheld…if only Lord and Lady Ellington could be here to
share my wonder.”
“I suspect,” Shaun observed, “that if Lord and Lady Ellington
were here, they might be confounded by your mingling with the
master and mistress and their numerous guests.”
“As am I,” William confessed. “I find I am awkward in their
presence. I would feel far more at home below stairs with the
servants.”
“However, there are no servants,” Shaun provided, “other than
Mr. Brindlesworth, the butler, who is on loan from the Boswell-
Thorpes’s house in London.”
“This is by far the most discomforting of my experiences,” said
William, shaking his head. “No staff and no household routine. No
servants to look after the daily needs of the family. A complete
absence of structure. I have met people tonight who, in my time,
would be considered beneath contempt. And yet they are treated
with reverence by ladies and gentlemen of good breeding, with
titles, education and property.”
“These are all things which I have, myself, also observed,”
Shaun replied. “And my reactions, at first, were very much the
same as yours. But I have grown accustomed to the discrepancies.
It is refreshing once again to be reminded of the time I originally
came from—and for this, I owe you many thanks.”
“You are most welcome,” William said, surprised.
“Do you know where Mr. Quinn is?”
WINONA KENT
172
“I do, in fact. Would you like me to take you to him?”
* * *
Tony Quinn was outside.
William led Shaun up the grand staircase to the manor’s second
floor, and then back into the building’s west wing. Here, there was
a narrow hallway which Shaun vaguely recalled, led to several of
the manor’s grand bedrooms. He could see one of these through
its open door, its walls and ceiling painted white, its fireplace
surrounded by exquisite white stone.
Halfway along the narrow hallway was another door, which,
upon investigation, opened onto a little set of stone steps leading
up to the roof.
Tony was sitting near its furthest edge, well concealed, with a
view overlooking the top of the marquee tent and the roofless,
brick-walled enclosure Shaun recognized as the kitchen garden,
where Monsieur Duran the Lesser had often taken great delight in
shooting at hedgehogs.
Tony put his finger to his lips as William and Shaun
approached, cautioning them into silence and, furthermore, into
lowered visibility.
Shaun crouched down—as did William—and, after ensuring
that he was nowhere near any point that might precipitate his
falling, peered carefully over the edge.
“Surveillance,” Tony provided, in a whisper. “I’m pleased
you’ve arrived safely. Now do me a favour and go away.”
* * *
Shaun had done as he was told.
He had gone back downstairs—in the company of William--
with the thought that he might try to locate Jackie Lewis and
perhaps prevent her from making the gravest mistake of her life.
She was not, however, anywhere to be found.
With William, he wandered again into the drawing room, whose
population had been diminished somewhat by an announcement
that the concert promised by Arabella’s brother was about to begin
in the tent outside. Indeed, Shaun could hear noises which
indicated that the band was preparing to play—portions of tunes, a
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
173
crashing of drums and cymbals, a testing of microphones and the
boxes which amplified the sounds made by the guitars.
Those few left behind in the drawing room seemed to be
imbued with a sort of lethargy—perhaps caused by an
overindulgence in the special tobacco Mrs. Collins had described
earlier. The music on the record player had ceased.
“Not interested in the goings on outside?” a woman inquired,
causing Shaun to turn around in order to attach a face to the voice.
It was not an English voice. In fact, it sounded quite American.
The American voice belonged to a woman with an abundance
of flax-coloured hair which seemed to have been artificially built up
over the crown of her head. She was wearing a bright red silk cape,
beneath which was a black satin floor-length gown.
“Layla,” she said. “Layla Hancock.”
“I am…John Drake. And this is my colleague…”
“Phinneas Phelps,” William provided. “We are honoured to
make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. Drake and Mr. Phelps. So pleased to meet you as well. I’ve
been hired by Miss Jessop to provide…amusements…to the more
discerning of her gentlemen guests. Might my services be of
interest to either of you…?”
Shaun looked at his father.
“I think not,” he decided, “but we are very grateful for your
kind attention nonetheless.”
Miss Hancock seemed disappointed.
But then she brightened.
“Perhaps then you’d like a little nibble of my confectionary?”
She produced a square of cake, dark brown in colour, and
finished with a layer of what appeared to be chocolate icing.
“Many thanks,” William said, “but, alas, cake tends to be a
disagreeable companion to the fluctuating state of my digestion.”
“It’s not cake,” Miss Hancock whispered, conspiratorially. “It’s
called a brownie. Nobody’s heard of it over here but it’s one of my
specialties. And it’s a very special brownie.” She lifted the square to
Shaun’s lips. “Go on. Give it a try.”
Shaun did. And found it altogether delightful, although it left a
slightly peculiar aftertaste which reminded him, unaccountably, of
freshly mown hay.
“Good, isn’t it?”
“Very good,” he agreed. “Unusual.”
WINONA KENT
174
“Have the rest of it. I’ve got lots more.”
Shaun accepted the offer and sat down on the sofa so as to
avoid dropping crumbs on the expensive carpet.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the beginnings of
Giles Jessop’s pop band’s concert. He listened, finding the tune
pleasing to his ears.
“I shall return to the armoury,” his father decided, “if you have
no objections.”
“None whatsoever,” Shaun replied, amused, applying himself
again to the baked chocolate square.
William’s place on the sofa was taken by Miss Hancock, who
seemed also to be very taken by the music of Brighton Peer.
There passed a period of time, perhaps thirty minutes, during
which Shaun engaged Miss Hancock in polite and trivial
conversation, although none of it was particularly enlightening or,
in truth, of much interest to him.
And then, Shaun saw Jackie. She was wearing a plain black dress
with a white collar and long sleeves with white cuffs. Her legs were
encased in black stockings and in her hair she wore black ribbons.
She walked into the drawing room and lingered for a moment,
observing who was there. And then, obviously seeing no one she
recognized, she turned, and left.
Shaun got to his feet.
“Hey lover, where you going?” Miss Hancock reached out to
take his hand.
“I must excuse myself. Please forgive me.”
He tried to pull free, but Miss Hancock would not let go.
“Stay awhile, lover. I’m all on my own here.”
Shaun managed to release himself and made for the door. But
he was too late. Jackie had disappeared. He looked to the right and
to the left. She was gone.
And something else was happening. He felt most peculiar.
Things were slowing down, as if he was mired in jelly. It seemed as
if his mind was occupying one particular place, while his body—his
hands and feet, his legs, his arms—were most definitely elsewhere,
and not connected in any logical way whatsoever.
“How are you feeling, lover?”
It was Miss Hancock again, her voice dancing around his head.
It took Shaun a few moments to process what she had said.
“I am…content,” he said.
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
175
“That’s the secret of my special brownies. They make you very
very very content. And I do like to make my gentleman
acquaintances happy. Why don’t you come with me?”
Shaun wanted to object. He knew he ought to. He was acutely
aware that Miss Hancock’s suggestion would not be condoned by
Mrs. Collins, and that he needed to be here and alert and most of
all, locating Jackie Lewis…and not being led by the hand to the
servants’ staircase, and most certainly not allowing himself to be
taken down into the cellar.
Where Miss Hancock was leading him was familiar. She
produced a key and unlocked the door. It was the door to his old
bedroom, the one where he had slept every night while in the
employ of Monsieur Duran as his head groom.
“Have you never tried hash before, Mr. Drake?” she inquired.
“I have not,” said Shaun. His voice was somewhere else as well,
and most definitely had not come from anywhere within his body.
“Mmmm,” said Miss Hancock. “A virgin. My favourite.
Welcome to my dungeon, Mr. Virgin.”
The room was unmistakably his, but unrecognizable. Gone
were his upright wooden wardrobe, his books and his framed
paintings of horses and the brass harness decorations he had used
as paperweights. There was a bed. It was not his simple bed, but an
elaborately large one, with four brass posts, laid with a black satin
sheet and a similarly encased pillow. And it appeared to be the only
article of furniture there aside from a small round table and a
candelabrum, its five branches fitted with white wax candles.
Miss Hancock switched off the electric light—an embellishment
that had been added in his absence—and lit the candelabrum, then
closed and secured the door. And then she kissed him, quite
forwardly, and loosened the tie that Mrs. Collins had expertly
knotted for him earlier in the evening, and slid it over his head.
“Would you like to be flogged, my lovely virgin?” she
whispered, into his ear.
“No, I would not,” Shaun replied.
Miss Hancock removed her red satin cape and stepped out of
her gown and revealed what she was wearing underneath—a black
corset and stockings and suspenders, very similar to the stockings
and suspenders and corset Mrs. Collins had donned in Mr.
Tavistock's gentlemen's club, which were now causing some
familiar stirrings within him. “Are you absolutely sure about
WINONA KENT
176
that…?”
“I have been flogged in the past and I am not overly anxious to
suffer the punishment again,” he objected, finding it increasingly
more difficult to put into words what was drifting through his
mind. “Especially as I have done nothing to deserve it.”
Miss Hancock bestowed another kiss upon him and undid the
buttons of his shirt.
“But you and I both know you’ve been a very, very naughty
boy,” she whispered, slipping his shirt down and removing it,
expertly. “And you know what happens to naughty boys.”
She turned him around.
“Oh!” she said, surprised. “You really have been flogged!
You’ve got scars.”
“I would not tell you an untruth.”
“How many lashes?” She began to count them, touching each
faint mark with a curious finger.
“A dozen,” Shaun supplied, “and one for good measure.
However, the instrument of punishment was a cat, so you may
multiply that figure by nine.”
“You have no idea how much this turns me on,” Miss Hancock
whispered, kissing each mark on his back. “I’m going to strip you
naked and tie you to that bed and have my wicked wicked way with
you.”
She turned him around again and pushed him onto the bed,
face up, and had fastened his wrists to each of the brass posts
before he could object. Now she was undoing his trousers…they
were off…and what he was wearing beneath…and his boots and
his socks…and his ankles were tied to the posts at the foot of the
bed…and it had all happened in an instant, a completely irrationally
slow instant.
“And now,” said Miss Hancock, reaching for the candelabrum,
“I’m going to visit every inch of your exquisite body, top to
bottom, and…perhaps…drop a tiny splash of candle wax along the
way…to heighten your senses…to explore the pain…”
As she tipped the candles, there was a knock upon the door, an
urgent-sounding rat-a-tat.
“What?” Miss Hancock shouted in an annoyed voice, replacing
the candelabrum upon the little table.
Shaun recognized the gentleman’s voice instantly. “Might I
inquire as to whether you are entertaining Mr. Drake within?”
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177
“We’re busy!”
But William would not be dissuaded.
“I must insist. Mr. Drake’s presence is urgently required
upstairs.”
“By who?”
“By his good wife, Mrs. Drake, who is the mother of his four
children, the youngest of which suffers from an ailment which has
worsened this past hour. She has come from the village. He must
hasten to his home immediately.”
Miss Hancock clambered off the bed and opened the door.
“For real?” she said.
William shielded his eyes, both from the sight of Miss Hancock
in her revealing costume, and the sight of Shaun, completely
unclothed and bound to the bed.
“The child is feverish and the physician has been summoned.
Mrs. Drake has collapsed from the strain but has been brought
back to consciousness with a judicious dose of sal volatile.”
“OK,” said Miss Hancock. “You win. This is too weird.”
She shut the door and quickly unfastened Shaun’s wrists and
ankles.
“Just my luck,” she said, handing him his clothes. “Maybe next
time, hey?”
* * *
William was waiting for Shaun beside the servants’ staircase.
“I apologise for the interruption however I observed your
departure with Miss Hancock and thought it wise to intervene.”
“I am indebted to you,” Shaun replied, heavily. “Have you seen
Mrs. Collins…?”
“I have not. But I promise I shall safeguard your secret, Mr.
Patrick. Shall we rejoin the party?”
About the Author
Winona Kent was born in London, England. She immigrated to Canada with her parents at age 3, and grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan, where she received her BA in English from the University of Regina. After settling in Vancouver, she graduated from UBC with an MFA in Creative Writing. More recently, she received her diploma in Writing for Screen and TV from Vancouver Film School.
Winona has been a temporary secretary, a travel agent and the Managing Editor of a literary magazine. Her writing breakthrough came many years ago when she won First Prize in the Flare Magazine Fiction Contest with her short story about an all-night radio newsman, Tower of Power. More short stories followed, and then novels: Skywatcher, The Cilla Rose Affair, Cold Play, Persistence of Memory and In Loving Memory. Marianne’s Memory is Winona’s sixth novel.
Winona currently lives in Vancouver and works as a Graduate Programs Assistant at the University of British Columbia.
Contact Links
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Historical Time Travel Romance
Date Published: March 2018
Marianne's Memory is the third novel in Winona Kent's accidental time travel / historical romance series, featuring Charlie Duran and her 19th century companion Shaun Deeley.
A Beatles badge from 1965 accidentally sends Charlie and Shaun back to London at the height of the Swinging Sixties, where they're mistaken for KGB spies and subjected to a terrifying interrogation.
Rescued by top-ranking MI5 agent Tony Quinn, they soon uncover the details of a child born out of wedlock to Charlie's mum and the uncomfortable truth about Charlie's dad's planned marriage to selfish socialite Arabella Jessop.
Further complicating their journey into the past is Magnus Swales, an 18th century highwayman turned time-travelling assassin, and the timely arrival of William Deeley, Shaun's father, who's been persuaded to leap forward from 1790 in order to save Tony from Swales's deadly mission.
Excerpt
CHAPTER 22
Friday August 13, 1965
Stoneford
Charlie couldn’t find Mr. Deeley.
She’d gone back downstairs with Justin and had walked with
him to the drawing room, where the party was now in full-swing.
Arabella, in her blue silk pyjamas, flitted between little gatherings of
people, some standing, some having made themselves at home on
the antique sofa or on similarly-upholstered armchairs.
“Buffet in the dining room!” she announced. “Two chefs,
darlings! All the way from London! And we’ve got a lovely
marquee tent set up outside for dancing…Giles’s band’s come to
play for us!”
Giles himself was lounging in a deep armchair beside the
fireplace, wearing a black velvet suit, with a navy blue shirt and a
purple brocade tie, surrounded by admirers: three impossibly-thin
girls with lavish makeup and long, straight hair who might have
been models; a bearded gentleman in a pink fur coat who was
describing his latest project—an art installation involving a square
block of concrete on top of which he’d placed a bent fork; and a
young man with a pudding-bowl mop of hair who looked
uncannily like Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones.
The air in the drawing room was filled with the smell and haze
of marijuana and hash. In another corner sat a large woman in a
flowing kaftan and sandals, strumming an autoharp which she held
WINONA KENT
170
to her shoulder like a child needing to be freed of wind. She
seemed to be entertaining no one in particular, and yet an audience
was beginning to gather in front of her as they were introduced to
one another.
Arabella was in full hostess mode, dragging Justin into their
midst.
“Darling,” she said, to a distinguished-looking gentleman who
appeared to be someone who did something important at the BBC,
“do meet my lovely Justin…and of course Portia—Lord Wintle’s
daughter—”
Lord Wintle, Charlie recalled, was a British ambassador who
was posted somewhere that was in the thick of a coup. His
daughter had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and
was wearing knee boots and a see-through knitted dress that clung
to her lithe body like plastic wrap.
“Charmed,” said Portia, introducing, in turn, her friends Binky
and Pierre—Binky being the daughter of an existential poet serving
a sentence in prison for setting fires, and Pierre the son of an
American actor who’d been blacklisted for being a Communist and
had fled to England, where he’d found work as a talking milk bottle
on a children’s radio program.
And still, no sign of Mr. Deeley. Or Charlie's mum. Or Tony
and William and Astrid.
Charlie turned away in frustration and negotiated her way
through the pop stars and the adult children from titled families
who were chummy with the Boswell-Thorpes, the glammy
socialites dripping in diamonds, the boutique owners and the
clothing designers and the actors and actresses and a fellow dressed
all in black who was taking candid photographs of everyone
without their permission because they all secretly longed to be
featured in one of his fabulous avant-garde exhibitions.
She found the servants’ stairs behind the breakfast room and
went down into the cellar, thinking she might find them there. But
the cellar seemed to be mostly abandoned, with all of its doors
locked. Even the big 19th century kitchen, which in 1825 had been
bustling with a cook and her assistant and assorted serving staff,
was inaccessible and dark, the Boswell-Thorpes having installed a
much more convenient—and functional—kitchen upstairs, beside
the breakfast room.
Annoyed, and still frustrated, Charlie made her way back to the
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
171
main floor and outside, to see if Mr. Deeley was in the big marquee
tent that had been erected next to the manor’s west wing.
* * *
Shaun had, in fact, located both his father and Tony Quinn. His
father had been lingering in a hallway in the west wing of the
manor, between the dining room with the sitting room. It was not
so much a connecting passage as a room of its own, with a lavish
oriental Axminster carpet of blue, red and gold, and ceiling-to-floor
leaded windows embedded with patterns of stained glass and,
occupying pride of place, several full sets of armour, assembled and
erected as if ready to do battle.
“But this is marvellous,” William said, spying Shaun as he
entered from the dining room. “This is beyond anything I have
ever beheld…if only Lord and Lady Ellington could be here to
share my wonder.”
“I suspect,” Shaun observed, “that if Lord and Lady Ellington
were here, they might be confounded by your mingling with the
master and mistress and their numerous guests.”
“As am I,” William confessed. “I find I am awkward in their
presence. I would feel far more at home below stairs with the
servants.”
“However, there are no servants,” Shaun provided, “other than
Mr. Brindlesworth, the butler, who is on loan from the Boswell-
Thorpes’s house in London.”
“This is by far the most discomforting of my experiences,” said
William, shaking his head. “No staff and no household routine. No
servants to look after the daily needs of the family. A complete
absence of structure. I have met people tonight who, in my time,
would be considered beneath contempt. And yet they are treated
with reverence by ladies and gentlemen of good breeding, with
titles, education and property.”
“These are all things which I have, myself, also observed,”
Shaun replied. “And my reactions, at first, were very much the
same as yours. But I have grown accustomed to the discrepancies.
It is refreshing once again to be reminded of the time I originally
came from—and for this, I owe you many thanks.”
“You are most welcome,” William said, surprised.
“Do you know where Mr. Quinn is?”
WINONA KENT
172
“I do, in fact. Would you like me to take you to him?”
* * *
Tony Quinn was outside.
William led Shaun up the grand staircase to the manor’s second
floor, and then back into the building’s west wing. Here, there was
a narrow hallway which Shaun vaguely recalled, led to several of
the manor’s grand bedrooms. He could see one of these through
its open door, its walls and ceiling painted white, its fireplace
surrounded by exquisite white stone.
Halfway along the narrow hallway was another door, which,
upon investigation, opened onto a little set of stone steps leading
up to the roof.
Tony was sitting near its furthest edge, well concealed, with a
view overlooking the top of the marquee tent and the roofless,
brick-walled enclosure Shaun recognized as the kitchen garden,
where Monsieur Duran the Lesser had often taken great delight in
shooting at hedgehogs.
Tony put his finger to his lips as William and Shaun
approached, cautioning them into silence and, furthermore, into
lowered visibility.
Shaun crouched down—as did William—and, after ensuring
that he was nowhere near any point that might precipitate his
falling, peered carefully over the edge.
“Surveillance,” Tony provided, in a whisper. “I’m pleased
you’ve arrived safely. Now do me a favour and go away.”
* * *
Shaun had done as he was told.
He had gone back downstairs—in the company of William--
with the thought that he might try to locate Jackie Lewis and
perhaps prevent her from making the gravest mistake of her life.
She was not, however, anywhere to be found.
With William, he wandered again into the drawing room, whose
population had been diminished somewhat by an announcement
that the concert promised by Arabella’s brother was about to begin
in the tent outside. Indeed, Shaun could hear noises which
indicated that the band was preparing to play—portions of tunes, a
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
173
crashing of drums and cymbals, a testing of microphones and the
boxes which amplified the sounds made by the guitars.
Those few left behind in the drawing room seemed to be
imbued with a sort of lethargy—perhaps caused by an
overindulgence in the special tobacco Mrs. Collins had described
earlier. The music on the record player had ceased.
“Not interested in the goings on outside?” a woman inquired,
causing Shaun to turn around in order to attach a face to the voice.
It was not an English voice. In fact, it sounded quite American.
The American voice belonged to a woman with an abundance
of flax-coloured hair which seemed to have been artificially built up
over the crown of her head. She was wearing a bright red silk cape,
beneath which was a black satin floor-length gown.
“Layla,” she said. “Layla Hancock.”
“I am…John Drake. And this is my colleague…”
“Phinneas Phelps,” William provided. “We are honoured to
make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. Drake and Mr. Phelps. So pleased to meet you as well. I’ve
been hired by Miss Jessop to provide…amusements…to the more
discerning of her gentlemen guests. Might my services be of
interest to either of you…?”
Shaun looked at his father.
“I think not,” he decided, “but we are very grateful for your
kind attention nonetheless.”
Miss Hancock seemed disappointed.
But then she brightened.
“Perhaps then you’d like a little nibble of my confectionary?”
She produced a square of cake, dark brown in colour, and
finished with a layer of what appeared to be chocolate icing.
“Many thanks,” William said, “but, alas, cake tends to be a
disagreeable companion to the fluctuating state of my digestion.”
“It’s not cake,” Miss Hancock whispered, conspiratorially. “It’s
called a brownie. Nobody’s heard of it over here but it’s one of my
specialties. And it’s a very special brownie.” She lifted the square to
Shaun’s lips. “Go on. Give it a try.”
Shaun did. And found it altogether delightful, although it left a
slightly peculiar aftertaste which reminded him, unaccountably, of
freshly mown hay.
“Good, isn’t it?”
“Very good,” he agreed. “Unusual.”
WINONA KENT
174
“Have the rest of it. I’ve got lots more.”
Shaun accepted the offer and sat down on the sofa so as to
avoid dropping crumbs on the expensive carpet.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the beginnings of
Giles Jessop’s pop band’s concert. He listened, finding the tune
pleasing to his ears.
“I shall return to the armoury,” his father decided, “if you have
no objections.”
“None whatsoever,” Shaun replied, amused, applying himself
again to the baked chocolate square.
William’s place on the sofa was taken by Miss Hancock, who
seemed also to be very taken by the music of Brighton Peer.
There passed a period of time, perhaps thirty minutes, during
which Shaun engaged Miss Hancock in polite and trivial
conversation, although none of it was particularly enlightening or,
in truth, of much interest to him.
And then, Shaun saw Jackie. She was wearing a plain black dress
with a white collar and long sleeves with white cuffs. Her legs were
encased in black stockings and in her hair she wore black ribbons.
She walked into the drawing room and lingered for a moment,
observing who was there. And then, obviously seeing no one she
recognized, she turned, and left.
Shaun got to his feet.
“Hey lover, where you going?” Miss Hancock reached out to
take his hand.
“I must excuse myself. Please forgive me.”
He tried to pull free, but Miss Hancock would not let go.
“Stay awhile, lover. I’m all on my own here.”
Shaun managed to release himself and made for the door. But
he was too late. Jackie had disappeared. He looked to the right and
to the left. She was gone.
And something else was happening. He felt most peculiar.
Things were slowing down, as if he was mired in jelly. It seemed as
if his mind was occupying one particular place, while his body—his
hands and feet, his legs, his arms—were most definitely elsewhere,
and not connected in any logical way whatsoever.
“How are you feeling, lover?”
It was Miss Hancock again, her voice dancing around his head.
It took Shaun a few moments to process what she had said.
“I am…content,” he said.
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
175
“That’s the secret of my special brownies. They make you very
very very content. And I do like to make my gentleman
acquaintances happy. Why don’t you come with me?”
Shaun wanted to object. He knew he ought to. He was acutely
aware that Miss Hancock’s suggestion would not be condoned by
Mrs. Collins, and that he needed to be here and alert and most of
all, locating Jackie Lewis…and not being led by the hand to the
servants’ staircase, and most certainly not allowing himself to be
taken down into the cellar.
Where Miss Hancock was leading him was familiar. She
produced a key and unlocked the door. It was the door to his old
bedroom, the one where he had slept every night while in the
employ of Monsieur Duran as his head groom.
“Have you never tried hash before, Mr. Drake?” she inquired.
“I have not,” said Shaun. His voice was somewhere else as well,
and most definitely had not come from anywhere within his body.
“Mmmm,” said Miss Hancock. “A virgin. My favourite.
Welcome to my dungeon, Mr. Virgin.”
The room was unmistakably his, but unrecognizable. Gone
were his upright wooden wardrobe, his books and his framed
paintings of horses and the brass harness decorations he had used
as paperweights. There was a bed. It was not his simple bed, but an
elaborately large one, with four brass posts, laid with a black satin
sheet and a similarly encased pillow. And it appeared to be the only
article of furniture there aside from a small round table and a
candelabrum, its five branches fitted with white wax candles.
Miss Hancock switched off the electric light—an embellishment
that had been added in his absence—and lit the candelabrum, then
closed and secured the door. And then she kissed him, quite
forwardly, and loosened the tie that Mrs. Collins had expertly
knotted for him earlier in the evening, and slid it over his head.
“Would you like to be flogged, my lovely virgin?” she
whispered, into his ear.
“No, I would not,” Shaun replied.
Miss Hancock removed her red satin cape and stepped out of
her gown and revealed what she was wearing underneath—a black
corset and stockings and suspenders, very similar to the stockings
and suspenders and corset Mrs. Collins had donned in Mr.
Tavistock's gentlemen's club, which were now causing some
familiar stirrings within him. “Are you absolutely sure about
WINONA KENT
176
that…?”
“I have been flogged in the past and I am not overly anxious to
suffer the punishment again,” he objected, finding it increasingly
more difficult to put into words what was drifting through his
mind. “Especially as I have done nothing to deserve it.”
Miss Hancock bestowed another kiss upon him and undid the
buttons of his shirt.
“But you and I both know you’ve been a very, very naughty
boy,” she whispered, slipping his shirt down and removing it,
expertly. “And you know what happens to naughty boys.”
She turned him around.
“Oh!” she said, surprised. “You really have been flogged!
You’ve got scars.”
“I would not tell you an untruth.”
“How many lashes?” She began to count them, touching each
faint mark with a curious finger.
“A dozen,” Shaun supplied, “and one for good measure.
However, the instrument of punishment was a cat, so you may
multiply that figure by nine.”
“You have no idea how much this turns me on,” Miss Hancock
whispered, kissing each mark on his back. “I’m going to strip you
naked and tie you to that bed and have my wicked wicked way with
you.”
She turned him around again and pushed him onto the bed,
face up, and had fastened his wrists to each of the brass posts
before he could object. Now she was undoing his trousers…they
were off…and what he was wearing beneath…and his boots and
his socks…and his ankles were tied to the posts at the foot of the
bed…and it had all happened in an instant, a completely irrationally
slow instant.
“And now,” said Miss Hancock, reaching for the candelabrum,
“I’m going to visit every inch of your exquisite body, top to
bottom, and…perhaps…drop a tiny splash of candle wax along the
way…to heighten your senses…to explore the pain…”
As she tipped the candles, there was a knock upon the door, an
urgent-sounding rat-a-tat.
“What?” Miss Hancock shouted in an annoyed voice, replacing
the candelabrum upon the little table.
Shaun recognized the gentleman’s voice instantly. “Might I
inquire as to whether you are entertaining Mr. Drake within?”
MARIANNE’S MEMORY
177
“We’re busy!”
But William would not be dissuaded.
“I must insist. Mr. Drake’s presence is urgently required
upstairs.”
“By who?”
“By his good wife, Mrs. Drake, who is the mother of his four
children, the youngest of which suffers from an ailment which has
worsened this past hour. She has come from the village. He must
hasten to his home immediately.”
Miss Hancock clambered off the bed and opened the door.
“For real?” she said.
William shielded his eyes, both from the sight of Miss Hancock
in her revealing costume, and the sight of Shaun, completely
unclothed and bound to the bed.
“The child is feverish and the physician has been summoned.
Mrs. Drake has collapsed from the strain but has been brought
back to consciousness with a judicious dose of sal volatile.”
“OK,” said Miss Hancock. “You win. This is too weird.”
She shut the door and quickly unfastened Shaun’s wrists and
ankles.
“Just my luck,” she said, handing him his clothes. “Maybe next
time, hey?”
* * *
William was waiting for Shaun beside the servants’ staircase.
“I apologise for the interruption however I observed your
departure with Miss Hancock and thought it wise to intervene.”
“I am indebted to you,” Shaun replied, heavily. “Have you seen
Mrs. Collins…?”
“I have not. But I promise I shall safeguard your secret, Mr.
Patrick. Shall we rejoin the party?”
About the Author
Winona Kent was born in London, England. She immigrated to Canada with her parents at age 3, and grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan, where she received her BA in English from the University of Regina. After settling in Vancouver, she graduated from UBC with an MFA in Creative Writing. More recently, she received her diploma in Writing for Screen and TV from Vancouver Film School.
Winona has been a temporary secretary, a travel agent and the Managing Editor of a literary magazine. Her writing breakthrough came many years ago when she won First Prize in the Flare Magazine Fiction Contest with her short story about an all-night radio newsman, Tower of Power. More short stories followed, and then novels: Skywatcher, The Cilla Rose Affair, Cold Play, Persistence of Memory and In Loving Memory. Marianne’s Memory is Winona’s sixth novel.
Winona currently lives in Vancouver and works as a Graduate Programs Assistant at the University of British Columbia.
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