Hi all, I have a chat Thursday night, June 18th at 9pm EST. I hope you will join me at The Romance Studio and find out about my new release and my other novels. Lots of fun and books to win
Jewel
http://theromancestudio.com/chat.php

Hey - Hey! Ice Maiden my new Time Travel Romance is now available I’m so excited, this is such a great love story and full of exciting adventures for our two lovers.

http://www.classactbooks.com/bkpgIceMaiden.html

ICE MAIDEN

by

Jewel Adams

One man’s greed sends Amy Bonner back in time and into the arms of a very determined 15^th century lord. If a kiss is heaven then Amy just found paradise. The moment of bliss suddenly feels crushed by the memory of the stalking beast with death’s talons. She can’t help but wonder how long it will take before someone discovers she is an imposter?

 “Such sweet, wicked hopes…my Ice Maiden.” He stirs the lady’s passion and lights a blaze that a man can burn in eternal ecstasy within. Bern wants what he holds more than any spoils from battles fought and nothing will kill his desire to make the Lady Amelia…His!

Together Bern and Amy fight time and man to keep the love they have discovered.

Time Travel Romance

ISBN 978-1-935048-06-0   1-935048-06-6

Word Count:  30,119

 

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

“How dare you claim this dig is yours? Peter, you barely lifted the sifter. Morgan castle is my find and I have every intention on letting the university know.” Amy grew furious the more she thought of what he did. She crushed the article about Peter Humbolt and his great find at the new site for Morgan castle and threw it at his gloating face.

“Now Amy, I mentioned you in the article.”

“As your assistant!”

“You know that they respect a man over a woman in this field. I was only trying to help you get recognition for the find.”

She stormed pass him, “I suppose you expect me to fall for that bullshit.”

“You really should, it will only be a huge stink if you muddy the waters.”

“I have every intention of muddying those waters, Peter.”

She pulled off her gloves to climb the perimeter wall. The last rain left the trench in a foot of water and mud. The sump pump must have stopped working again. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding him staring at her. “You might want to get your nails dirty before the press arrives.”

“You never did know when to quit, Amy.”

She just shook her head at him in disgust. When she started to walk away he called out to her.

“Can’t we talk this over?”

Stopping in her tracks she took a deep breath to steady her nerves before speaking to him. That was all the time she had before the blade of the shovel hit her head. Amy stumbled back and sank to her knees. “Why?”

“Glory and greed, Amy Bonner, why else?”

The next blow sent her falling back into the muddy water at the bottom of the dig.

Peter stepped to the edge and tossed the shovel in on top of her, watching as she sunk to the bottom and out of sight. “Such a shame.”

CHAPTER 1

            Ice maiden be damned!

            Bern pressed her back into the lush blanket of emerald grass. No woman could ignore a Randall’s advance once he chose to take it beyond polite dalliance. Bern suffered enough of the Lady’s righteous airs to crush all his good inten­tions.

            Staring down at the close-eyed beauty—lifeless wench, no wonder no man has laid siege to take the fair Amelia’s virtue. Deliberately, Bern raised his hand and let it settle possessively over the full lush breast, watching as the delicate lids fluttered as if the woman were awakening from a deep sleep.

            His dark eyes rolled at the truth that said little for his own charming appeal to arouse the lady. She practically threw the glove down by her indifference to his courting, daring him to pick up the challenge. Indeed, such an invitation she issued. He could not stop his eyes from traveling over the gentle features tinted by the heather’s own warmth. Night’s dark mys­tery against the white moon that is what her thick hair looked like framing her proud cheeks. Such love­liness must have life’s passion burning in its heart. I’ll wager that beneath that cold, bejeweled surface there lays a blaze that could blind a man.

            His brow creased, his conviction about her never cooled these last weeks, though heaven knew his thinking must be slightly off kilter. Lady Amelia did not play favorites in delivering her wintry blast to a man’s pride, if the rumors were true. More than a score of good knights and lords fled the crystal maiden’s hospitality.

            Drawn by what no man conquered, his lips found and tasted the delicate petals of her lips, devouring the nectar her lips guarded with an intensity that surprised even Bern. Her lack of response festered inside his pride like a thorn in his armor. Was he crazy or just pride­ful and stubborn, to believe this woman protected a cal­dron that could warm a lifetime of winters?

            “Such sweet, wicked hopes—my Ice Maiden.”

            The one question which Bern found no answers was why the lady deliberately hid her charms? And she did. Only a blind man would fail to notice the woman’s wiles. Was there more to the lady than anyone discovered? Had she fooled all away from her door?

            Bern knew his love of a challenge and adventure might be tinting his desire for this woman. Nay, he may be bored with his life, but he refused to believe he created a vision that didn’t exist.

            His thumb played over the hardening nipple beneath the silken covering. If the lady were acting, her body proved its own betrayer, for she swelled in his palm like a ripe plum. The tastes of her lips were spiced with the honeyed groan of submission for the man that could stroke her passionate nature. Bern deepened his discovery, reveling in the fires of victory in his arms where none before existed.

~*~

            If a kiss were heaven then Amy just found paradise.

            The sensual caress played over her scattered senses. The commanding call grew too volatile to ignore; bolder and more savage than the lethargic darkness she felt surrounding her. Its power refused to be vanquished and she rose to meet the demanding call, yearning to touch the promise filling her with life.

            But the storm of feelings she entered became a torrent. Amy felt the lash of unknown fears trying to pull her back into the darkness. The talons of a beast she dare not look back upon held horror in its hot breath.

            Caught between two flames of equal devastation, she fought against them with a fervor that left her breathless. Only one held the haven that spoke of protection and the strength. A force that could destroy the terror clawing at her soul and she pushed forward to reach the sunrise of its light.

            Bern lost his mind to the erotic dream that rose to surround him. If he wanted to stir the lady’s passion, he lit a blaze that a man could burn in eternal ecstasy within. Once awakened, the woman held out promises of untouched rapture to his male senses and Bern was shocked at the depth with which she could take hold of his life force.

            No gentle maiden did he now hold, but a vixen, a lass as wild as her hills and as boundless as the reflected beauty no man held claim to. The treasure he unearthed shined above all bounty of war. Bern wanted what he held more than any spoils of battles fought before and nothing would kill his desire to make the Lady Amelia…His!

            The air filled her starving lungs with the force of a gale. Ach…feeling, the bliss, yes, and the pain!

            The storm swirling inside Amy tossed her about in an assaulting maze of different sensations. One over­rode all others and she gloried in the torrent firing her body. The moment in ecstasy suddenly felt crushed by the memory of the beast that stalked her with death’s talons… “I can’t breathe! The weight, ach!”

            “What’s this? Does the Lady wish to deny me?” A fierce anger took hold of Bern over the woman’s sudden struggle to avoid his kiss. “There are no longer any lies between us, Lady Amelia!”

            Amy panicked under the lips crushing her own. Yes, the kiss and the man were no dream. The possessive hold he increased to restrain her proved real enough, but so was the fear taking hold of her. Scared beyond thought, passion’s fires cooled and fright’s heat engulfed her. Her only thought was to escape the oppressive hold and run!

            Without reflection, her fist started striking the solid wall of brawn surrounding her.          

            She became a wild thing in his arms. Bern recov­ered from his shock quick enough to capture her tiny fists and pin them beside her head. He stared down at her flushed face waiting for her to open her eyes. The feel of her breast rising against his chest, proved too pleasant to ignore because of his ire with the lady.

            Instinctively, Amy knew he was watching her. She tried to regain her control. God, what was she thinking to strike out at him like that? And yet, she couldn’t make herself meet his waiting gaze. Combating the very real man still holding her and the lingering fears wasn’t an easy accomplishment.

            Taking a deep breath she fought back her panic, telling herself there had to be a logical explanation for what just happened. Though nothing she told herself explained why she was in a stranger’s embrace and for a moment, she knew, returning his ardent ca­resses with her own equally feverish ones!

            There was the fear; she didn’t want to look any deeper, horrified at what she might find.

            “Who exactly are you angry with, Lady Amelia?”

            When she heard no one answer his question, she knew he was addressing her. She turned her head away to strive for a reason why he would call her, Lady Amelia? Lying beneath his virile form wasn’t helping her thinking. Stars, but every coiled muscle burned into her feminine softness. He was no small man! “Please, let me up?”

            “Nay Lady, not until I see what scheme now shines in your lovely eyes.”

            His coy declaration sparked Amy’s temper.

            The gold flashed in brilliant lights, overpowering the tawny blue depths. “So righteous, my Lady?”

            “Who the hell are you?”

            “Ah, denial is it?”

            “God, would you get off me!”

            “I prefer this position.”

            “You are crushing me.”

            “Am I now. A moment ago, you thought differently. Pray tell, what has changed your lovely mind?”

            She stared at him as if he were raving mad. If Amy thought he would care, he vexed her. Trying to gather her wits about her, she watched him through half closed lids. If the large masculine body she’d yet to see was making its impression, the total man would probably rendered a staggering blow.

            Rich, tiger gold hair flowed about his shoulders, heedless to any kind of order. His face was broad and worn, filled with adventurous lines. Behind the pro­ject­ed devil make care look, Amy saw where he could turn predatory in a wink. Rugged, he was that, but breath stopping and a charmer no doubt, when it suited him. Right now, that powerful square jaw was relaxed, as were the smooth planes of his brow. Tiny arrows shot like lights from the corner of his eyes. The once straight nose held crocked evidence of prior breaks. It was easy to imagine he would be the fighting type, it must be the eyes, their rather fierce darkness. But they weren’t black, rather a deep indigo blue with stunning ebony flakes about the iris.

            “I have never known you to be so quiet, nor to show so bold an interest in…me.”

            “I am not.” Heat flooded her cheeks at being caught.

            “I too find the view very pleasing.”

            She couldn’t escape the finger that traced the slight jut of her chin. “So soft.” Her lips parted of their own volition as his finger trailed over her teeth.

            She should bite him…

            When he jerked his finger away, she couldn’t stop the laughter overtaking her. She really needed to learn some control in his presence. “Sorry.”

            “Nay, ye are not, but then neither am I.”

            He moved faster than she did. Amy found herself drifting back into the flames of passion under his ruling kiss. She tried to tell her­self, she could break free of his power if she wanted to, he denied the lie. Every part of her body wanted to feel his exquisite form.

            When he finally pulled his lips back, his smile held male victory over her defeat. She couldn’t even escape his gloating snicker. “Like I said, dear Lady, no more lies.”

            Feeling him relax his guard over her, Amy grasped the opportunity. Shoving with all her might she succeeded in roll­ing him off her. Pushing herself in the opposite direction she glared at him as she lay on her stomach and he came to rest on his side. Before he could reach her she managed to struggle to her feet.

            Untangling her legs from the mass of unexpected material, “where in God’s name did all this come from?”

            “I have asked myself the same question many times.”

            “Ump!” He was lying on the ground, his massive arm pillowing his head as he stared up at her. The arro­gance of the man was appalling. Amy didn’t have time to waste on him, though she would have loved to wipe that confident smile off those full lips. Finally free of him, she held no intention of losing her advantage. “It’s been nice.”

            Turning she meant to leave him there, but the sudden grip he took of her skirts halted her in motion. “Damn you, release me at once!”

            Amy staggered back as he sprung to his feet. His full height made her head tip back. She would have fallen back if not for his hold, off-setting her sway. “Nay Lady Amelia, I have only just discovered the true woman beneath the facade, letting you out of my sight would be a grave mistake.”

            She only half heard what he said; her full atten­tion became focused on his—body. “My God….” He truly was marvelous!

            Clad in wool stockings and leather boots, beneath the blue velvet tunic, Amy never saw a finer example of a 15th century lord.

            The lady’s enlarging eyes moving over his frame filled Bern with a fierce drive to take her back in his arms. He marveled at the change in her now that she quit pretending indifference. So much spirit, by the saints how did she conceal it so long? Being a stubborn sort he stayed longer than any prior suitor. In three long weeks, she successfully shielded this vibrant woman from all male eyes. Everything about her looked new, changed somehow, she felt more alive.

            Her awareness of him left her open to discoveries. Amy’s hands moved slowly over the cloaked, damask bodice of the gown that she came to be wearing. Her gaze followed the length of material he still kept a firm hold upon. Only in muse­ums had she ever seen it’s equal. However, the gown she wore was not a relic, there were no frayed or faded edges to mar its rich elegance.

            “I…I must go.” She pulled on the gown, not liking the thoughts coming over her, but he wouldn’t let go. “What is your problem? Let go!”

            The yank he gave the dress pulled her into his waiting arms. “I think not, you and I are inseparable from now on.”

            Though his voice was low and calm in delivery, Amy shrank back from the hostility she confronted in those volatile dark pools. There was no mirth in his meaning, he was serious, and he possessed the physical dominance to insure she complied. The prospects of being on the receiving end of his force made her sway under a cold wave of nausea. Amy felt the beast at her back again and closed her eyes to keep him away.

            He may be a fool, but Bern found no ruse in the woman’s sudden paling. If his arm had not been about her waist, she would have fallen to the ground. “My Lady?”

            Amy sucked in her breath as he scooped her up in his massive arms with no more effort than he would pick up a child.

            “Rest your head on my shoulder. I promise to behave, for the moment.”

            Too tired to argue she obeyed his softly spoken order. Her arm went about his neck unconsciously judg­ing its width. He did feel good beneath her cheek, so strong, a protector, “…but a rogue.”

            “Aye, I will not change, even for you.”

            In spite of the strangeness surrounding her, Amy found herself smiling over his adamant conviction. “To do so would be a crime against nature.”

            Bern’s brow shot up over the woman’s whispered conviction. Looking down at her, she appeared asleep, or was it peace that appeared to come over her.

            He lowered his face to her crown. Taking a deep breath, he drank in the scent of crushed wildflowers in her hair. The sun-kissed locks whipped across his lips, hiding his smile. She wasn’t protesting its freedom now. Strange, after the fuss she made when he had pulled the combs free.

            “I am feeling better.”

            Bern agreed, she was, in so many ways. “Aye, stay where you are.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “The castle, unless ye have another destiny in mind, though I would say your Captain might send out the guards if we don’t return soon.” He felt her stiff­en. “You did not think he would forget to notice our absence?”

            Amy just shook her head and tried to bury herself further against him. Castle? Captain? Dear God, what was going on? Where was she? More importantly, who was she? Dare she open her eyes? Amy struggled with her dilemma in the silence that fell around them. Maybe it was best not to know where he was taking her.

            The strangest urge to run seized her. Then he would not allow her to get far; he made that clear enough. Moreover, who was he? She obviously could not ask him, again. There was no question as to who he thought her to be. Amy doubted he would see any humor in her ignorance over his identity, not after the way she reacted to his caresses.

            God, what a mess!

            Maybe he was the lady’s husband? Amy swallowed her groan over that possibility. Worse were the voices intruding on her confusing thoughts. She wished she could crawl into a hole.

            No! Not a hole! A wild terror filled her at the thought.

            “Amelia? What plagues thee?”

            Groaning, “Nothing, everything, please put me down.”

            “You cannot open your eyes, I doubt your ability to walk.”

            She couldn’t find the will to argue with his logic. Something was very wrong with her and Amy was out of answers.

            Not seeing the cause of the commotion they drew closer to, went beyond her. She told herself not to show him anything that she felt. He didn’t appear concerned over whatever made the uproar.

            In guarded caution, she forced her eyes open. It took all her willpower not to scream out in surprise. Hundreds of men were scattered out before them in some kind of encampment. In one area, she saw men paired off wielding broadswords against each other. In another, they were practicing with the crossbow, another group held lances.

            “They are a good fighting lot. Perhaps you would like a display.”

            She needed to say something. “I would like that.”

            “A tourney then, it will be grand sport and my men need a break from their boredom.”

            His men? Amy swallowed hard over the meanings settling in on her.

            “Laird Randall!”

            “Aye, Craig.”

            Amy’s hold tightened about his neck as an equally large man advanced.

            “Bern, ye are a hard man to find.”

            “If ye truly looked, the task was not diffi­cult.”

            Amy felt the other man’s eyes fall to her. “Aye.”

            “What is it Craig?”

            “The men found signs of a boar in the woods to the west.”

            “‘Tis a hunt then. At dawn, pass the word to the men.”

            “Aye Bern, with pleasure.”

            Amy relaxed as the man moved off.

            Bern. Such an unusual name, but then it did fit the man.

            “Ye do naught mind my men invading your forest?”

            Was he serious? Why did she feel as if her answer mattered little to—Laird Randall? “You did say your men were bored, by all means a hunt should help.”

            “Ye are very accommodating today, Amelia.”

            “Am I? If it troubles you so….”

            Bern’s laughter cut through the air. “Nay my Lady, I prefer the changes I am facing.”

            Amy kept her face impassive, but inside she was battling an earthquake of emotions. How long would it take before someone discovered she was an imposter? Something, an instinctive warning, kept Amy from expos­ing herself. She actually felt as if the noose was tightening about her throat.

            The sight that greeted her as they came out of the tree line was enough to condemn her to silence.

            The castle stood like a majestic giant atop the rise. Amy didn’t breathe over the beauty they neared. Of all the castles in Wales that she studied, Morgan Castle always held a special fascination for her. She wanted to pinch herself to be sure it was real. It can’t be, how? What her hungry gaze devoured was not a relic. These walls were intact, the perimeter whole, it was thriving and every bit as regal and forbidding a fortress as she always imagined it would have been in the 15th century.

            “Your captain looks impatient.”

            There was no mistaking what Bern implied. The man coming off the drawbridge looked furious. The guards following in his wake said he intended to back up his anger.

            “Put me down, Laird Randall.”

            “So, ye remember my name, all is not lost. But say, ‘tis too late for either of us to worry about proper behavior.”

            The tightening of his hold about her killed the protest on her lips.

            “Ah, Captain Lansing.”

            “Save your civilities, Randall. I want answers. Where have you been with Lady Amelia since first light?”

            As if the captain just noticed her, his great black brows shot up to a solid line across his forehead. “By the faeries, man! Are ye hurt my, Lady?”

            “The Lady is fine, Captain.”

            “Can she naught speak for herself?”

            They both looked at her. Bern’s lips spread wide in a confident smile, making Amy wonder if it were bravado or ingrained arrogance that made him taunt the man. She decided he liked flirting with danger.

            Remaining mute was impossible. “I am fine.”

            “Then explain yourself.”

            Before she could think of a feasible reply, Lord Randall took control.

            Walking past the fuming Captain, “We will be glad to favor ye, Captain, but inside—in more private quarters.”

            Against all her queasiness she found her own curiosity rising. There was a cunning light in those dark blue eyes of his. She decided he was up to some­thing and she wanted to moan over the awkward position she found herself in. Amy hated the fact she held no de­fense to stop him. A chill passed through her, knowing that whatever Laird Randall planned would most assur­edly affect her. There wasn’t time to dwell on where the fates landed her. When they passed through the massive gates, her entire concentration became captured by the surround­ing activities.

            An honest to goodness—Keep! Amy wasn’t sure if she should be frightened senseless or astounded by her marvelous fortune. To actually see the very history she studied felt worth the peril. If she was dreaming she honestly didn’t want to wake up—not just yet, there was so much to learn.

            “…isn’t that right, my Lady?”

            Bringing her attention back to Bern, her confusion must have been obvious by the increasing frown marring his brow.

            “I guess so….” It was a lame answer and his half smile said as much. She didn’t have time to think up a way to correct her error as he ducked into a doorway leading inside the castle. Amy scolded herself, she needed to keep her attention where it belonged. But it was so hard not to let her atten­tion wander with so much to see. Reminding herself that she may only be seeing the inside of the dungeon kept her mind alert to the man holding her.

            When he set her down in a chair by the roaring hearth, her hand gripped the massive chair arm to compensate for his missing support.

            Bern leaned over her, marveling at the control she exerted not to flinch away from his nearness. Though she tried to keep her eyes lowered, his hand forced her chin up to meet his gaze. “Stay put dear Lady or you may find out how far I will take my words concerning our continued company.”

            Amy thought she might shatter like a dust ball before his penetrating eyes. The lips that brushed her parted ones held their own silent threat.

            Throughout the scene the uptight Captain did not miss one tiny reaction on her part. “What goes on here?”

            “Ah, Captain Lansing.” Bern winked at her before pulling back. “In a moment sire, first the Lady needs refreshments as do I.”

            Her cautious gaze followed Bern as he strode forward into the great hall and shouted for a meal and wine.

            “Captain, you will join us of course.” The older man grumbled something ineligible as he pulled up another seat near the fire.

            Amy tried to relax her hold on the chair after following the Captain’s stern gaze to her whitened knuck­les. If she portrayed any outward calm, inside she became a mass of stormy emotions. Obviously, everyone believed her to be Lady Amelia. Even the Captain, for all his anger, didn’t question her identity. Amy carefully watched the servant’s reaction to her as they carried in the laden platters. Their shy smiles at her eased the tightness about her chest.

            Bern took his seat beside Lady Amelia. He’d been waiting for her to start denying his obvious authority over her home, when no protest came he decided she was still afflicted by whatever came over her in the meadow. The Lady appeared rattled without her defensive barriers. It was an advantage Bern hoped would last a while longer. Maybe what he planned on doing in the next few minutes would go smoother than he first believed.

            “Alright Randall, you have stalled long enough.”

            “Your Captain is an impatient man, Lady Amelia.”

            God, he really was awful aggravating the man like this, it wasn’t helping the Captain’s temper. Amy wished she knew her own status in all this, anything she said would probably be wrong, but she had little choice if she wanted to prevent these two from going for each other’s throat. “Captain Lansing is just con­cerned for my welfare.” She hoped she was right.

            “As I have every right to be. Haven’t I raised ye since a wee babe? And since that ill fated betrothed up and died, we have been overrun with upstart knights and cocky lairds all thinking they could step in and claim ye! Well I won’t have any no good, garter wearer coming in here and taking over!”

            Before Amy recovered from the Captain’s outburst Bern added his own say to the matter.

            “First off Captain, I don’t wear garters. Second­ly, the Lady seems to have run off her share of the upstarts.”

            His knowing gaze swept over her like a north wind. Amy managed to swallow her humor behind her hand and fake a cough. Stars, what a prickly mess she landed in. The Captain huffed a few more times at Randall who sat there scrutinizing them both as if they were the enemy camp.

            “She has done no such thing!” The Captain’s gallant protest for her benefit was lost on Randall.

            “Let us be serious, Captain. The ruse is up. I do naught know why the Lady chose to act as she has,” Bern took in both their expectant gazes before con­tinuing. “…but, my good Captain, the game is up.”

            A kind of numb shock settled over Amy for every­thing that happened since her aware­ness of this man came into focus. She tried to rise with the sick panic that took hold of her, but Randall must have sensed her intent. His grip on her arm held her in the chair and actually grew painful.

            “No more running and coy escapes, dear Lady.”

            Amy shivered under the threat his pronouncement held.

            “Make yourself clear, Laird Randall.”

            “I intend to, Captain Lansing.”

            Amy couldn’t avoid the commanding blue eyes that pinned her in silence. “My intentions are to wed Lady Amelia as soon as the banns are read and not a day later.”

            “What!”

            Amy felt herself sink back, all the strength she acquired deserted her under his declaration.

            “Be silent, Captain! Your protests are useless, the Lady has already agreed.” She again suffered his pene­trating gaze. “Besides, even should the Lady have second thoughts, our time together out on the hills, this morn, insures my claim will remain.”

            The Laird couldn’t have been more crudely blunt than if he came right out with graphic detail of their coupling. The Captain physically paled as he fell back into his seat in open mouth astonishment. “‘Tis this true, Lady Amelia?”

            The condemnation in the old man’s eyes made Amy look to Randall for support, a mistake she couldn’t take back, she played right into his hands.

            “As you can well see Captain, it is true.” Bern’s lips kissed the trembling fingers in his hold, a hold she would never again escape? The real Lady Amelia would probably kill Amy for what she just allowed to happen.

            “Lass, you had best go to your chambers while the Laird and I discuss the details of your wedding.” Amy’s apologetic eyes fell beneath the old man’s dismissal. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, but knew she couldn’t. She didn’t even know why she should be sorry, unless….

            Her tempered gaze jerked accusingly up at Bern. Had Lady Amelia succumb to the man’s charm before Amy arrived on the scene? Her own cheeks fired over the memory of what his kisses did to her. Staring at him, his smile deepened for what she knew he saw in her eyes. Rogue? Ack, he was so much more. And she was the fallen Lady of the castle.

            Rising on unsteady legs Amy called on all her remaining composure not to disgrace what pride Lady Amelia still might have left to her name.

            Laird Randall and the Captain rose beside her.

            “Lady Amelia, I will move my men within the keep walls by nightfall.”

            She felt the Captain stiffen over the Laird’s decree. Feeling she owed the old man something, “Is that really necessary?”

            “Aye my Lady, I will naught have my future bride stolen away by some prior suitor or any man that feels obliged to try the walls of your castle.”

            “I see.” What could she say? She had no idea if his arguments were legitimate.

            “Of course, they will be under your Captain’s authority for the time being.”

            Amy looked at the Captain for his reaction to what she felt was Randall’s concession. The resigned nod he gave her made her cringe inside. Amy felt she needed to say something. The Captain had obviously been the Lady’s guardian for years and cared for her more than just a servant might.

            “Laird Randall, I expect your men to understand their place while within the keep. Should the Captain have any problem with them you are not to interfere in any discipline he feels necessary.” She could tell the Laird didn’t like her interference. “And should they get out of hand, the Captain has my author­ity to send your men back to the woods.”

            The flash of anger in his eyes cooled before he bowed before her. “Of course, Lady Amelia, but should I feel your welfare is in jeopardy, I am sure the Captain will agree to whatever actions I feel are necessary to rid the area of danger.”

            His eyes challenged her to refute his authority, Amy knew she couldn’t. “I am sure neither of us would question your command, if the need arises.” Amy looked at the Captain and felt relieved to see his face more relaxed.

            “As you say, my Lady, we would not think of ques­tioning the Laird’s authority in such circumstances.” Amy felt she’d not mistaken the man’s sarcasm, deciding it was probably deserved where Laird Randall was concerned.

            “My Lady, I will fetch Mistress Wells to escort you to your chambers.”

            “Thank you, Captain.”

            She felt Bern come up behind her when the Captain left them. He was so close she could smell the woodsy scent from the glen still clinging to his hair. She tried desperately not to let him see how nervous he made her.

            “Your wiles will not work on me, Amelia. I warn you, do not try to foil me, you will be my wife.”

            Her pride came forward against the man’s obvious desire to dominate her will. “Do you always threaten your intended bride, Laird Randall?”

            Bern leaned down so his lips were but a breath from her ear. “As I have never had one before, I cannot honestly answer. But in your case it is a precaution I dare not proceed without.”

            The thick stone walls and straw strewn floors no longer held any interest for Amy, all her attention was captured by the man intent on becoming the husband of a woman she somehow became!

I love my new cover for ICE MAIDEN, this is a brand new Time Travel Romance that will be out in June. You can read the excerpt beneath the cover.

ICE MAIDEN

by

Jewel Adams

One man’s greed sends Amy Bonner back in time and into the arms of a very determined 15^th century lord. If a kiss is heaven then Amy just found paradise. The moment of bliss suddenly feels crushed by the memory of the stalking beast with death’s talons. She can’t help but wonder how long it will take before someone discovers she is an imposter?

 “Such sweet, wicked hopes…my Ice Maiden.” He stirs the lady’s passion and lights a blaze that a man can burn in eternal ecstasy within. Bern wants what he holds more than any spoils from battles fought and nothing will kill his desire to make the Lady Amelia…His!

Together Bern and Amy fight time and man to keep the love they discover.

 

 

THE WRITER’S QUEST

BY

Jewel Adams

© 2008

 

There must be a way to wear different hats.

Life’s demands pull us this way and that.

The characters scream, ‘write my scene not his!’

There’s always a conflict resolved in sweet bliss.

Words to write down before they are lost.

Only a writer would realize their cost.

 

Each little word tells us the tale,

of heroes so special, the ultimate male.

These words can’t be written in chaos or din.

The house must be quiet, the kids settled in.

Creating is never an easy affair.

It’s dreaming and grasping words from thin air.

 

No one has said this craft would be easy.

No guarantees the words would be steamy.

Writing must be the ultimate high.

Why else would we work until sunrise,

struggle with commas, colons and ellipses,

de-was and de-had, and fix all those tenses.

 

Until our lines all flow like the wind.

It’s amazing how well they all sound in the end.

When you’ve completed the polish and cutting,

you face the real truth of now submitting.

A stranger, not family, will see your pages.

The ones you’ve kept secret for ages and ages.

 

A book is a child, a babe new born.

It should never be handled roughly or torn.

Who is this person that says he can tell

that the words you created are ready to sell.

Such a decision must be very taxing.

It’s only a stranger’s opinion we’re asking.

 

For in the end you accomplished your goal.

You gave birth to a story, a tale to be told.

Its crimson and gold, shines like a star.

A possession no one can take or discard.

It’s yours my friend; your dream put in prose.

And nothing can tarnish the scent of that rose.

I’m getting ready to go over to my niece’s house for Thanksgiving Today, we celebrate early as a lot of my relatives work on Thanksgiving. Not to worry, we grew up in the service industry so are used to celebrating holidays on odds days

But what struck me is that I’m here to celebrate this year. You see, I just went through major surgery on my pancreas, tumors - non cancerous thank God, but it’s been a tough few months. I do have a lot to be thankful for, one being the exceptional doctor that could perform such a surgery. They call the proceedure a Whipple, I have two pancreas now instead of just one lol, hope they both keep working

Sadly, I lost a dear friend in the last couple weeks, Dianne Parkinson, she was also an author and a darn good one. Unfortunately, there were complications after her recent surgery. I don’t know the details so I won’t spectulate, but I do know I miss her a lot. One thing tells me she’s in a special place of her chosing and I pray she is happy. I miss you Di.

These last months and all that has happened makes me realize everything I have and there is so much to look forward to still seeing and living. I’m really grateful to be here and I do thank God for letting me stay a while longer.

Thanksgiving means a lot of different things to every person. I do hope you enjoy yours and take a moment to just be thankful for it all…

I know I am.

Jewel

MOONDOCK

By

Jewel Adams

 Chosen by the High Council to find the ancient Selams and save the Nemow race from destruction, Melane melds the inherited magical powers of her Syron birth mother and her training as Captain of the Lamar Grand Guard, to confront the men of childhood myths. Melane learns that neither magic nor her warrior skills can protect her from Wylan, King of Moondock, the man that now claims her as his own in a ritual as old as time.

 EXCERPT:  General Audience, Sensual Fantasy Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://www.classactbooks.com/bkpgmoondock.html

MOONDOCK 

Prologue

“Fools…” Icy air hissed past the wrinkled blue lips. She ambled up the torch lit caverns growling as her stilted form weaved in anger from wall to moss caked wall.

“Spawn of her male twin! Should have killed both of Sabrina’s monsters at birth.” The cold eyes darted about the lifeless caverns, Narmar’s traitorous lips pressed tight to silence the condemning truth. Murdering the mother and boy child had been necessary. If only she had thought further to the girl and what might come. Narmar cursed her failure. The fearful secret, which only she carried these last burdensome years, was seeking vengeance.

“Melane.” Her voice rattled over the dangerous presence. Denying the child’s birthright as a Syron and casting her as a Lamar failed. Narmar did not foresee Shemon’s influence on the girl as her foster mother. Though Melane never openly questioned the casting, Narmar’s spies told her of the inherent powers awakening in Melane.

Sabrina had been the strongest of the Syron’s. Her mystical powers surpassed all before her, even to bearing a male child! Now, Melane possessed her birth mother’s powers, but lacked the training to know their strengths and weakness. Narmar insured Sabrina never bore another child, male or female, to prevent the upheaval of their society. The old priestess bore this shameful burden. The false casting into service with the Lamar Guard only served to place Melane beyond Narmar’s influence. Shemon’s claim on the girl child made Melane untouchable and until now, only a minor threat. Narmar again cursed the girl and her success where failure should have ruled.

The old cinder eyes went cold as ash. Narmar still needed to complete the ugly deed before ruin reached out and crush Nemow’s society. “I will destroy the harlot’s spawn!”

 

MOONDOCK

By

Jewel Adams

 

CHAPTER One – The Knowledge

ome Melane, the council is about to convene.”

The aquamarine eyes couldn’t leave the old Weaver sitting among the children. The flowing yards of pastel silk billowing under the gentle breeze lent a mystical air to the common gathering. Cibrac—for the most part—was a magical city of beauty and peace. Like the children, Melane sat here many times to hear the legends cast out by the Weavers on the council square. Within the high white walled compound the young ones remained ignorant of the dangers lurking outside the fortress. As a captain in the Lamar sect, Melane knew only too well of the falsehoods surrounding the Nemow’s sheltered existence.

“You go on Lilli, I’ll catch up.” Drawn closer by the Weaver’s lyrical words, Melane never saw her comrade’s frown.

Many small eyes gazed up in awe at the warrior in their midst. The impressive leather amour captured their fantastical imagination away from the Weaver’s tale.

“…from this land the questors will follow their hearts, but only one will succeed in finding the truth and hope for her people. Treachery and deceit will block this Nemow’s path to her destiny. Evil will come in many forms. This Syron’s powers are vast and unknown among her peers, but they alone will not help the Nemow. Courage, skills and the unknown power of…love…will guide her quest.”

A small child spoke up. “Love for the Nemows?”

“That and more, my child.” The Weaver’s penetrating gaze lifted from her charges to the warrior standing outside their circle. “The ancient love…found only in the midst of the Selams.”

An expectant ‘ah’ escaped the small petal mouths as if they knew exactly what the Weaver spoke of.

Melane’s dark slender brows crimped above her bright blue eyes. Though she scoffed at the children’s story, something held her in place before the graying gaze of the storyteller. The elders of the Nemow sects were to be respected, but Melane felt troubled by the mystical tale that spoke of priestly visions, but held little historical basis.

Years of training, instilled by the fierce code of the Lamar Grand Guards, forbade her to ignore the Weaver’s prophetical teachings. And yet, the increasing presence of something unknown, deep mysteries in her heart prevented the call for reprimand.

Her sharp turn to leave the group sent her long, silken ponytail rising from her helmet, floating through the air in ebony waves.

“Doth the Grand Lamar Captain find fault with Amelia’s telling of the prophecy?” the Weaver asked.

Melane’s hand automatically encircled the silver sword hilt at her waist. The demonstration was unwarranted. The Weaver was hardly the enemy she faced outside Cibrac’s pristine walls. Trying to relax her defensive stance, Melane eased about to face the old woman. “Your teachings hold fantasies, not truth.”

“A Weaver strives to explore all aspects of the Nemow’s lives. Is not the future as dear to us as the past?”

Pressing her lips together, Melane held back the argument. She was taught never to dispute her elders. “Might the Weaver’s teachings of the present benefit these children more than fantasy?”

“The Lamar speaks from knowledge most are blind to.”

Raising her proud head, Melane’s eyes sparked in warning against the brutal truth. “Take care, Weaver.”

“Open your heart, brave Captain. Its truth is our salvation.”

The old woman’s words burned against the light armor on Melane’s retreating back, making it hard to dismiss what just transpired.

Already the council’s inner hall was crowded with the various ruling sects. Melane saw Lilli’s raised arm and maneuvered to join her comrade and the other Lamars in attendance. As with their fifteen, similar groups stood from each sect around the chambers. The distinctions of the many sect members were obvious, but they shared the ingrained belief all sects were equal in merit and deeds. Yet, all were aware of the differences that set them apart.

By choice the Weavers, on the whole, were a plain looking lot. They donned the plainest materials in their garments. Melane always wondered over the lack of finery. Did the absence of silks and damask enhance academic knowledge? It was a child’s question, the woman knew better. Teachings passed down from one Weaver to another gave knowledge.

The Begoné workers handed down their skills, traditions and expertise of each trade. Millers, merchants, smiths of weapons and tools, the Begonés held sects within their class as no others in the kindred of Cibrac.

Melane’s brilliant eyes left the colorful group of Begonés resting admiringly upon the group of Syrons. Ah, she felt her heart race over her mother’s sect, and yes, the pang of disappointment that came from seeing them always instilled. That strange awareness that would not be stilled rose inside her again. Sabrina was not even a memory to hold to, but Melane held instinctive feelings for her life bearer. All Nemow’s derived from the sacred sect of the Syrons. Every class born from the same beginnings. There should be no disappointment held in her heart for being cast as an honorable Lamar, protectors of the Nemows.

Melane rose through the ranks to Captain of the grand guard because of her abilities and deeds. At seventeen, her peers envied her for her accomplishments, which did not come as easy to her as to many of her friends. Lilli, at nineteen, was a head taller than Melane, as were most of the other officers. Their physical strengths had never been Melane’s, but even as a child the differences plagued the slender grace that enfolded Melane. Everything she did took twice the effort, but she conquered her inadequacies, earning her foster mother Shemon’s approval. It was because of this woman’s love and support that Melane strove to succeed against the odds.

Proudly, she found her foster mother at the center of the priestess council, a regal beauty unmatched by any other. Failure as the high priestess’ daughter had never been a choice for Melane. Their gazes locked for a moment in mutual understanding, the younger woman’s eyes lowering in respect before the proud beacons.

Shemon’s strength and power guided Melane to success. Shemon was first general of the Lamar sect, chosen above all others as the high priestess of the Nemow race. Sadly, Melane knew the same admiration she held for the woman was a silencing force against her young heart’s increasing questions.

Always a shameful weight, Melane learned early to hide the discoveries opening inside her. So many times she wanted to ask Shemon about the visions that left her weak and trembling at dawn. Telling dreams were only for the Syrons. A Lamar would be considered weak and useless to give in to such failings. In the Syrons, it was strength, but to Melane, it held hidden embarrassment that left her confused. There were not supposed to be error’s in the casting of sects! To believe her life as a Lamar was a mistake would be traitorous.

Even against the denials, there remained a difference in Melane beyond physical appearance and dreams. Nothing stopped the increasing feelings stirring to life inside her. Pain and anger reigned beside the strange sense of hidden powers outside her grasp. It was like a hunger she could never sate.

 The stillness settling through the crowd pulled Melane’s thoughts back to the council. Lilli leaned down towards her, in a whisper. “They say the council has been closeted for days over their coming announcement.”

Melane refused to give Lilli the acknowledgement she sought. Shemon’s doings were not for public disclosure, no matter how close the friend. The rumors were only half truths fueled by fearful debate. The priestess had been in heated meetings for nearly a month trying to decide how to combat the Kibra’s threat against their civilization.

Melane’s jaw clenched over the attacks launched this last week alone by the monsters. Animals! Beasts of the night maintained more morals than this enemy. It wasn’t only their masculine strength that made them so dangerous, but the savage cruelty in their acts against the Nemows. The continued, useless slaughter of hundreds took its toll on the populace. Nary a Begoné farm was left untouched by the killings and devastation. Lamar guards were held in force about the perimeters to protect the harvest. Hunger loomed as a large threat in the coming winter because of the Kibra’s bloody destruction.

 A hush followed Shemon’s rise before the amassed sect representatives.

“Good citizens of Cibrac, your council has come to a decision to destroy our enemy, the Kibra. Hear me well, all sects of Nemows, ‘tis a grave task we place before you.” Shemon let the words race through the crowd, many a frown marred the strong faces about the Lamar sect. Their own were held fast against succumbing to the panic.

“From among each sect, we will choose one of your group to go forth. This chosen Nemow will seek out the ancient Selams.”

The voices before the priestess raced in incredulous excitement. Shemon’s voice rose in strength. “The Selams, once a part of our ancestors’ lives, are again needed to insure our race survives the forces trying to destroy us!”

More than one voice cried out in frightened exclamation. “But they are males!”

Melane’s own face tightened against the unspoken fear of the Nemows. The Kibra were males! Did not the Selams carry the same brutal danger?

Kibras attacked for only one reason, to take Syrons to bear their vile offspring and insure their race line continues. They killed all others that stood in their way. Slavery to the beasts was a fate all captives faced–bear the unwanted spawns of a brutal race!

Unmoving, Melane struggled with the priestess’ decree. Selams were only a myth…a tale passed down by the Weavers…weren’t they? Could they be real? If so, why had none shown themselves? Thankfully, the Selams were never described as enemies like the dreaded Kibra.

Her own tension increased with the uneasiness in the crowd. In whispered communication, Melane moved the other Captains out across the front of the crowd to contain the unrest. Finding Shemon’s gaze following her, she gave a nod that all was in hand.

“Citizens of the sects! Are we weaklings to be ruled by the irrational fears of our ancestors? Do you not remember the Weaver’s teaching of how our forbearers lived in harmony with the Selams? Was not the greatest safety and peace in the Nemow’s lives when the Selams were our partners?”

A silence filtered through the mass, but Melane and the other captains kept their backs to the council, and their attention on their peers. Melane was actually relieved to have something of importance to do, to override the unlikable thoughts Shemon’s words invoked. Though she would never voice her own doubts as to the wisdom of the council, they screamed inside her head all too loudly.

“Do not the sects hold the wisdom to seek the very equal of our enemy to defeat them?”

A voice called out to Melane’s left making her move cautiously in that direction.

“And what if our saviors become the same, or even a greater threat in the process?”

“Joyimar, the spokeswoman for the Syron’s, has voiced the council’s own dilemma,” Shemon answered.

Joyimar stepped beside Melane to confront Shemon. Her fine satin and lace gown swept the floor, in sharp contrast to Melane’s leather breastplate and skirt that only touched her thighs. On the Syron’s wrist were bands of silver and gold, where Melane wore wide studded armbands that protected her forearms.

“And what answers has the council to combat the possibility? If the Selams even exist, how could we expect them to defend us? Would not they, like the Kibra beasts, want only to rule and kill the Nemows?”

“Joyimar’s words are an echo of the fears that have festered throughout the ages. Should not we ask ourselves to remember how it was with the Selams and trust our joining could again bring safety into our lives?”

The priestess waited for the representatives to talk among themselves. For the Lamars standing guard, the outcome of the debate mattered little, since protecting the Nemows wouldn’t end at the decision found here today.

When all quieted, Shemon motioned for the Weaver’s spokeswoman to step forward. “Yes, Carril, what say the Weavers?”

“We, the Weavers, know the odes and predictions…we say…seek the Selams in spite of the dangers.”

“And you, Winfred of the Begonés, what do you say?”

“We the Begonés want to know how the council plans to find the mythical Selams?”

“Always the practical of our civilization. Before I answer, the Syrons have not given their opinion. Joyimar?”

“One threat for another is unpalatable, but the chance that the Selams are unlike the Kibras is one that tips the weights. We too will listen.”

“The sect Lamar, has not conferred. Will you choose a spokeswoman?”

Jenna stepped forward. She was one of the older commanders, but she retained her strength and admirable fair beauty. Without her armor, the power in her tight limbs was evident and Melane envied her size.

“The Lamars will stand by the majority. To protect the kingdom from Kibra or Selam, it matters not. Should the Selams defeat the Kibra and remain friends to us, as to the ancients, the peace will be welcomed.”

All of the priestesses, except old Narmar, rose as one for Shemon’s next announcement. “It is decided. We will seek the Ancient Selams help. To do this we will choose one representative from each sect. As requested, fifteen of your peers are in attendance. One name will be drawn from their midst for the quest.”

Melane stepped back to Lilli, faltering over Shemon’s words that mirrored the Weaver’s in the courtyard. She felt a chill pass up her bare thighs, beneath the small skirt of her gown, under the leather apron.

“…each will follow their instincts to seek the Selams. Once found, they will present our plight to the Selam rulers and strive in every way to influence their decision to come to our aide. Each of the questors will carry the authority to speak for Nemows, this will include accepting any terms necessary for the rejoining of our civilizations.”

Four bowls were brought forth before the priestess. The spokeswoman for each sect was called forward.

“You will draw the name of your peer, sending her on the quest.”

Joyimar picked first for the Syrons, calling out the name from the folded parchment. “Karla!”

A small girl with short blonde curls in pink silks stepped forward. She looked barely old enough to take up her birthing rites. Melane wondered how Shemon expected the girl to survive outside these walls, doubting that Karla had ever stepped outside the guarded gates.

Next came the Weaver, Carril. The woman was a familiar face among the Lamar apprentice. She carried a serene gentleness in her nature that the young ones loved.

“Selana!” The tall, plain looking, older woman stepped forward, seeming confident in her acceptance of the task ahead. The Weavers were a guarded lot, always making people believe they knew more than they shared in their teachings. Melane felt their knowledge might help this one succeed.

The Begonés choice pleased Melane more than the others. Krista was one of the farmers from the north fields. They spoke many times when she rode guard over the land. The woman knew the territory and what dangers to expect. She was strong and never showed any weakness in her toiling labors. Krista was also very beautiful, holding a rare color of auburn in her hair. Most Nemows were blonde and brown-haired women. Unconsciously, Melane’s hand rose and touched her own striking black locks.

“Melane!” Jenna’s voice stiffened the girl in unspoken denial.

“Go up, Melane…always the lucky one!”

Lilli would never have believed how hateful Melane’s thoughts became towards her friend at that moment. Pulling on all her disciplined strength, she stepped unfaltering towards Shemon. Her inner scream Why me? never passed her tightly held lips.

“The chosen will go and prepare for their journey, meeting back here tomorrow at dawn.”

A strange feeling seeped over Melane, drawing her towards the cold set eyes driving into her own. Narmar! Ice set in her young bones over the woman’s openly hateful sneer. Many times she felt or saw the old priestess’ eyes upon her, but this was the most blatant.

“Melane?” Shemon followed her charge’s troubled attention; a dark curse marred the regal features over the reason for Melane’s distress. “Come Melane, we must talk…now!”

The unexpected sharpness cut the old priestess’ grim hold, reddening the girl’s face. Melane followed in the wake of Shemon’s tense steps. Throughout the years, she learned to recognize the emotional signs in her foster mother. The woman’s anger was unsettling, increasing her own dark emotions over what she had just been selected to accomplish.

“Wait for me inside, Melane.”

Obeying the woman came as easily to her as the defensive fighting skills always a part of her existence. Just as she heard, without thinking, Shemon’s orders to the Lamar guard to take their positions outside her chambers. The act was out of character for Shemon, but Melane only registered the thought, not the questions it posed. Her own concerns were too persistent.

“Do I detect disapproval in those enticing eyes, or is it Narmar’s hatred that worries you?” The door shut and locked behind her words. “Sit down Melane, shed the armor, we have much to discuss this last night before you leave.”

Doing as she requested, while working to unfasten the buckles at her shoulders, she spoke. “Only the Begoné’s, Krista, can survive the wilds.”

“Do you doubt your own abilities?”

Melane’s eyes blazed without thinking at the insult.

“No, I thought not. You are right of course, about the Syron and Weaver. They have not the stamina to meet the task.” Shemon held up her ringed hand, stopping the girl’s obvious question. “All the sects have to be involved in order to accept what the future could bring forth.”

Dropping the armor and weapons into the cushioned chair, Melane’s sleek body stretched out in freedom, raising the flimsy smock up to her bare curved buttock.

“Shall we speak freely and honestly this night, my daughter?”

“Have we not always?”

“No, my child.”

Melane’s eyes fell away from the ones that looked too deep.

“You have never really hid your troubles from me, Melane. Tonight I feel we should speak of these worries you carry.” The dark thick lashes raised slowly before the patient woman. “Melane?”

“Yes.”

“Then let us start with, Narmar.”

“She is a priestess.”

“She is an evil old witch! Her fears have stolen her heart and fouled her mind to what is good and decent. She is, and always has been, your enemy!”

Dropping into the chair under the force of Shemon’s unexpected vehemence, Melane struggled to hold her composure. “But why? I have never spoken a word to the woman—good or bad—yet, I know your words are true.”

“The truth may never be proven.” Shemon’s eyes dropped to the girl’s paling knuckles. Melane always possessed a sense of things and people. How many times had Shemon wished to speak like this to her…daughter. Yes, in all but one respect, she was that and more. Tonight all needed to be said. Shemon hoped it would be enough. “Your birth mother, Sabrina, died very shortly after your birth. The cause was never discovered.”

“Narmar?” The dark mass of hair shimmered in disgust. “Why?”

“It is a question I have asked myself many times. Fear, but of what, I have never learned. That Narmar killed Sabrina, I could not prove, only believe. I also believe she would have ended your life as well, but casting you as a Lamar gave you into my protection before she could carry out the rest of her evil.”

It was not so much Shemon’s shocking revelation that struck Melane, but the enormous implication concerning the casting. She needed to know. “Am I truly a Lamar?”

“Dear Melane, the answer has been known to both of us for sometime. For your safety I held my silence, your own was held in the pain I have seen. I am sorry for that, it was unavoidable.”

Pushing out of the chair the hurt became too great to keep smothered. “You never would have told me if not for the quest?”

“I could lie and say I would have stayed silent, but no Melane, it is I that has chosen the time to tell you.”

All the adrenaline left her. What she felt Shemon was admitting stunned Melane into silence.

“Yes my daughter, I made sure you were chosen tonight.”

She never expected this from Shemon. Seeing how her mother shook over the admission left Melane at a loss to refute the underhanded event.

“Melane, please try and understand; the ruse was necessary. You yourself know how futile the efforts from the Syrons and Weavers will be. The Begonés? It remains to be seen. Child, you are a Lamar, by error is true, but by training and thought you are all I could have wanted for a daughter to follow in my steps. There is no lie in the pride that I hold in my heart for you, Melane. Against all the odds your have proven how deserving you are to hold the rank of grand guard captain.”

Melane’s own pride rose in light of the just words. “I am a Lamar.”

“Yes.” The time had come. “And Melane, you are also Sabrina’s daughter…in all ways.” She waited for her breathless revelation to brighten those crystal blue pools. “You are a Syron, Melane, by birth and in gifts. The powers are surging inside you, screaming for release—not denials!”

“But…”

“No, do not speak of doubts, only truths. Tonight the truth, you are a child of two sects, two skills, two gifts. The combination can reach further than any known to exist in the Nemows. Lamar skills, together with Syron powers, are an untouchable force!”

“Shemon stop, this cannot be.”

“It can and is! Melane, listen to me, not all of the Nemows’ teachings and rules are infallible. Some are derived out of need or control, to benefit the mass, it does not make them right, just necessary.” Her hand smoothed back the soft bangs on her daughter’s beautiful face. “Oh child, open your mind and heart to what is inside you, let the powers come, stop fighting them. You will need all the strength they can give you. Let them help when your Lamar training fails. There will be times when it will Melane, then you will see I am right.”

“Sabrina had powers no other Syron ever possessed. She could see things in dreams. She had the power to stop or send objects at will. There were others she never spoke of…forces beyond comprehension. I think they frightened her with their strength. She told me once, not even the herbs could restore her own strength when she used certain ones, and once used they were gone forever. Some came naturally, without conscious thought or loss of strength.”

Could it be true? Melane pulled away from Shemon, needing to reflect on her own feelings.

“Tell me Melane? What have you felt?”

“Dreams…I have had the dreams that leave me weak and trembling. Mostly of battles to come. I tried to forget what my mind held, but during the fights my moves came without thoughts, already defending an unseen blow or delivering a killing slash before theirs ended my life.”

“The blending of skills…the two sects.”

Spinning on her, Melane screamed, “But it is wrong!”

“Is it wrong that I saved you from Narmar’s evil fate? Hmm? The woman still fears your strengths, the power that passed from mother to daughter. Oh yes, we have both given you all we possess. Sabrina’s guidance is all that is lacking in your knowledge. It is there—inside—waiting for your call. Never deny what she gave you, listen to Sabrina’s powers and let her help you fulfill the quest.”

“If I go and seek the Selams, do you honestly believe they are real?”

“All legends begin with fact.”

“They would be males?”

“The prospect frightens you?”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“You have faced the Kibra.”

“They are animals, beast before all else. The Selams may be the same.”

“Only finding them will tell you.”

“Should I succeed, can you really think to obtain mutual rule?”

“That decision will have to be faced. I do know, without them, we face annihilation at the hands of those beasts out there. We are losing Melane. The Syron’s numbers have dwindled nearly to half. Without them we will slowly die. Even worse is the suffering the raids are bringing upon us. So many others have been needlessly killed. The Begonés will eventually revolt, their death counts are climbing each day.” Shemon stared into the glaring denial shining in the girl’s gaze upon her. “And the Lamars, dear Melane, you know the losses we have suffered. Your own regiment is down by a third and they are our best warriors. So you see we have no options.”

“They could refuse.”

“Offer what ever it takes to win their agreement. I give you the authority to act and speak for me. What ever is asked, Melane.”

Did she really mean what Melane believed, “Shemon?”

“Yes Melane, even the Syrons. One sect for the whole civilization is a small price. The civilization will flourish, if we rejoin the Selams. We will just have to learn to tolerate the males.”

 

CREOLE BLUES

By

Jewel Adams

      Brittney Massey keeps her life as rising Jazz singer Kat Boutie and her true identity as a rancher’s daughter separated. That is until New Orleans’ mafia King Lucas Cortine sets his sights on her. Brit’s surrender under Lucas’ spell is a night filled with erotic passion and memories that haunt the woman Lucas claims.

    She may sing the evocative Cajun lyrics as if she were born in the Louisiana bayou country, but Brittney refuses to be Lucas’ woman. The danger that comes with the man won’t stop her. Determined to break free of Cortine, Brittney charges headlong into witnessing her lover murder a DEA agent!

     Brittney faces enemies at each turn and Cortine’s bounty hunter Mark Maitland brings them right to her door. Her failure to escape Lucas could cost Brit’s life, but will her heart survive the man she gave her virginity to!

 

EXCERPT: General Audience, Erotic Contemporary Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://classactbooks.com/bkpgCreoleBlues.html

CREOLE BLUES

By

Jewel Adams

 

CHAPTER 1–Discovery

“How do you want your eggs?”

“Over medium, no runny stuff.”

Giving the gruff driver a shot at an attempted smile. “Right, got it.”

Ignoring the crude calls from the other table, Brits’ gaze drifted past the dust covered glass window panes to the early morning sky. So much for wide open spaces…

“Order Joe, and tie them down.” Biting her lip to stop from voicing her displeased thoughts, Brittney wondered what could be worse in the morning than facing a grumpy cook and tables full of bleary eyed truck drivers and drifters. They probably chewed rusty nails for lunch.

I want my life back. The words screamed through her mind.

“Hey, how about some coffee?”

Closing her hand about the pot handle, she took a second to hide her emotions and gather her mask. “Sure…want a menu?”

“Coffee will do.”

Brittney nodded, never raising her eyes from the counter to the unusually soft spoken and rather sexy low voice.

“A smile would help brighten the morning.”

She knew better than to return his request. One polite jester made these creeps think they owned you.

Maitland’s frosty brown eyes followed the trim aloof figure that issued its snub, confirming his impression that this delicate creature didn’t belong in this excuse for a truck stop.

Nursing his coffee, he wondered if maybe this lead had been all wrong. After days of searching the area for any clue that this woman was Kat Boutie, he failed to expose her identity.

Shielding his curiosity, Maitland’s scrutiny shifted from the woman’s beautiful features. She did a good job of deliberately camouflaging the natural grace in her facial features. She was about the right height, 5’ 4” maybe 5” and she had those brilliant blue eyes. She wasn’t blonde. In fact, that rich healthy tan and sun streaked auburn hair forbade picturing her as a sultry platinum type. But it was her, Kat Boutie.

Mentally shaking himself, Maitland found it hard to place the icy waitress in silk gowns and flashy stage costumes. She looked more like the jean and tee shirt type, yet he didn’t have any problem picturing her in those sexy baby doll nighties.

No, those long shapely legs and luscious thighs would be a pleasurable sight in any man’s bed. Maitland blinked, cursing the large shadow of reality that intruded on the vision. Looking at her more openly he could see her with Lucas Cortine.

Two-thousand miles from New Orleans, his whore didn’t run far enough to escape that man. Maitland refused to acknowledge or question his part in finding her for the crime boss, remembering their last meeting…

“Misunderstandings happen all the time between…”

The word left unspoken said it all. Cortine’s latest whore fled the posh coop.

“She’s very important to me Maitland.”

“She obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

Maitland watched the controlled anger vibrate through Cortine’s powerful build emphasized by the sharp cut of his expensive suit. The heavy Cajun accent grew thick under the force Cortine used to control his rage. Yeah, the man hated that the flower of New Orleans dumped him.

“Kat is an emotionally vibrant woman and she has let her jealousy rule.”

Maitland didn’t like Cortine’s slick excuse. “Most womEn cool off sooner or later.”

When the angry snap of Cortine’s dark eyes refocused on him, Maitland could understand why the woman ran.

“My Kat is also stubborn. So much so, Mr. Maitland, that I fear she will never let me explain our unfortunate misunderstanding. The reason I need your services is that Kat also knows my associates too well to let them get close to her.”

“And if she refuses to come back?”

“I’ve heard that you can be very persuasive…if the price is right.”

So he didn’t care how Maitland got her back. Most the time Maitland didn’t either. Being a bounty hunter, most of his prey ran from him not to him. But Kat Boutie wasn’t a fugitive. Except maybe in Cortine’s eyes.

“Fifty thousand upon delivery.” Cortine haplessly tossed an envelope on the desk.

Maitland clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from falling open and peered directly into the man’s eyes.

“There’s ten thousand for expenses, over and above your fee.”

Maitland never hesitated to take a job. He didn’t have to like Cortine, that wasn’t part of the contract. Hell, no one could like the man. The king of the New Orleans’ darker side of life, his mob connections weren’t something new, every city had what the man represented. Even the police looked the other way to avoid this man. The general consensus being he was better than what might take his place.

So where did Kat Boutie fit in with the crime boss?

“If you doubt my sincerity Maitland, believe me when I say my enemies don’t need any incentive to find Miss Boutie.”

Truth from the master of deceit? Maitland couldn’t find any argument in what the man allowed him to see.

“Kat is special. She is not what you think or what anyone believes.” The dark suit strained under the pressure Cortine maintained on his emotions. The silence seemed to go on forever as the man stood looking out the window causing Maitland to wonder if the man forgot his presence in the room.

“She’s not my woman. Not like the others. Kat unknowingly set the rules.” Turning, Cortine looked at Maitland, as if studying him. “Have you ever touched enchantment, pure beauty, Mr. Maitland?”

Without thought, Maitland answered the intense question. “No, never.”

“Kat’s both. She can make a man question things in himself that he never should find.”

Feeling uncomfortable by Cortine’s unexpected revelation, Maitland shifted, breaking the spell that the man fell into.

Cortine turned and faced Maitland, again cold confidence glared back at him. “I want you to find her so I can stop her from getting hurt.”

The man’s announcement came too hard to toss off.

“Maitland, I heard two things about you. You are the best hunter out there, I need you for that. I also heard that you are a nut case around women,” he looked directly into Mark’s eyes before going on, “if you lay one finger on her I will kill you, Maitland.”

“Fifty thousand covers a lot of reasons,” he muttered aloud.

“More coffee?”

Raising his gaze, he captured the waitress’ misty blue stare. For a second her wall fell and Maitland dwelled in the illuminating crystal pools.

“Yeah.”

When he felt her pull back from his invasion, his fingers gripped the cup to stop himself from reaching out to make her stay.

Brittney nodded, berating herself for breaking her own rules, the first being, never make eye contact!

Damn, she needed to quit this job. If only…regrets were a waste of time. Surviving is what counted.

He figured staying any longer might be too obvious. Maitland left a dollar on the counter, deciding that she’d find it. He’d come back at lunch, maybe if she saw him again she’d unfreeze a bit. Somehow, he held little faith in that prospect. He needed to decide on how to take her back to New Orleans. She sure wouldn’t jump in his car.

Brit watched the confident strides of the tall stranger going out the door. She continued writing the order the two guys rattled off. He didn’t move like the rest of them, no swagger, more like a circle…of danger surrounded him. The image brought with it the familiar prick of warning.

CATCHING SHADOWS

By

Jewel Adams

   CHARITY BECKER’S lover kisses her lips with searing passion and melts away as the morning light strikes her bedroom window. She steps through the fine line that separates the present from the past.

   Waiting for her on the other side is JACOB KINGSMAN, a man claiming her as his wife. Can Charity’s passion to discover the truth regarding the real Mrs. Kingsman free Jacob of his guilt?

Together they scorch time with a hot, erotic passion in CATCHING SHADOWS.

 

EXCERPT: General Audience, Gothic Erotic Romance - Time Travel

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://classactbooks.com/bkpgcatchingshadows.html

 

CATCHING SHADOWS

By

Jewel Adams

 

 

CHAPTER 1 - Sand Castles

 

here it was again, another glimmer of a figure near the window. Charity thought she might be going mad. She waited for another glimpse, but none came, they never did when she looked for them. It took a minute to release the breath she held. The rush of fresh air felt light in her lungs, but it couldn’t take the apprehension away.

“I wish it would leave.”

But no, her head shook to defy the declaration. She wanted to know what it was…more who it could be and if the feelings touching her were real. Even now the sensation lingered, as if she were being caressed. Like in her dreams, ones that left her breathless in unfulfilled passion, before slipping back into the night when the sun began to wake the day.

“What a silly idea.” She actually stamped her foot for emphasis. Or did she expect to scare it out of hiding?

“What’s silly Charity?

She gave her nephew a quick glance, then a smile to ease the serious look he maintained on her. “Nothing, nothing at all Pauly.”

“Can we go to the beach?”

“Sure, when should we go?”

“Now, oh please?”

Right now any excuse she could find to get out of the house sounded good to her. Why her sister insisted on staying in this relic for the summer still bothered her. Of course, Lynda’s boyfriend did own the place. She should be here, not Charity!

“Okay, run and get your suit on, I’ll get the towels.”

“Can I bring my bucket?”

“Yes, and the shovel, don’t forget the shovel.” His whoop of excitement acknowledged he heard her.

Charity lost her thoughts to getting everything ready for the beach and to pack some treats and drinks for the two of them. “It is a beautiful day for the beach.”

The prospect of the beach couldn’t steal her thoughts away from the problem. She sighed and wondered why this was happening. “I swear I need a vacation!”

Ah, but wasn’t she suppose to be on one? Of course she still minded the house and chores, as well as watching Pauly. If given a choice she would have preferred to stay behind while everyone came here. “That certainly wouldn’t have worked for anyone but me.”

Charity really hated feeling sorry for herself, it wasn’t a very positive attitude. Then things haven’t been in the best of light for her. “And YOU, whoever you might be, aren’t helping any!”

Her little tirade didn’t even stir the dust balls, let alone earn her an answer. Yet she almost wished someone would retaliate, yell back, “…be real?”

Were shadows real? “Now that is the million dollar question. And no, I don’t expect anyone to step forward and give a valid answer.”

Yet ever since arriving here the question became extremely important to her. They, the encounters, started that first week and kept getting stronger with each passing day.

Charity saw shadows!

Not just any shadow, no she couldn’t be lucky enough to see a shadow of a chair or the sun coming through the lace curtains at the window. What seemed to plague her were shadows of one particular…man!

“Yes, it is a man. I can feel his presence…even now, in the daylight.”

But was he real? Was she just imagining all this?

Pauly’s sliding entrance into the kitchen ended the questions she kept asking herself.

“I’m ready!”

“I can see you are and so am I. Our lunch is packed and I think I’ve got everything.”

“I have my bucket and the shovel!”

It would be nice to be a child once again, no worries beyond the day. Charity pushed her troubled thoughts away and ruffled Pauly’s hair. “Good, you can build me a giant sand castle.”

It didn’t take them long to start down the path to the shore. For a second she hesitated and fought the need to look back at the house. The pull on her senses became too strong and she turned…there, at her bedroom window. She felt her stomach drop. The figure of a man stood there…watching her.

“Come on Charity!”

Pauly’s call shook her out of the stunned trance she’d fallen into. “You’re not real.”

She turned away, almost daring him to refute her declaration!

* * * *

Charity carried the sleepy Pauly up to his bed. Poor boy nearly fell asleep eating his dinner. She shouldn’t have kept them at the beach as long as she did, but she couldn’t make herself come back here. To hope it would be gone on their return turned into a useless wish on her part.

Even now, as she tucked Pauly in, she felt as if someone watched her. She tried not to let the feelings invade her, but every day it grew stronger and she could no longer ignore the presence. Her skin actually tingled whenever it came near her. She swore she could feel the heat from his body, the whisper touch of his fingers as they brushed over her cheek.

As she left her nephew’s room she tried to concentrate on the problem and not the presence following her. She hesitated by her bedroom door then walked past it, knowing she didn’t want to chance what might happen, again, if she went to bed. The heat flooded her cheeks over the memory of last night’s visit. Just thinking about the memory made the lazy warmth move through her. Strange as this all appeared to be, she never in her life felt so alive as when he made love to her. But, they hadn’t really finished the act and the emptiness left in his wake felt like a deep well, one she could drown in should he not return.

Her hands clasped the banister over the heaviness in her legs. “No…I won’t let you control me this way!”

The air near her grew chilly as if she’d slapped him. Maybe she could control this, what ever it might be. She made sure her footsteps were secure before taking the next step. The sensual weakness lessened, but remained too near the surface for her to relax. Charity didn’t relax until she stepped off the last step.

Would he really hurt her? She wished she hadn’t thought to ask such a question. But once it came, she couldn’t help but shiver over the possible answers. Charity knew all she ever felt from him was passion, strong, vibrant and yes…dangerous passion. The blush sweeping up her throat didn’t stop her from remembering what he made her feel. She closed her eyes for just a second to savor the desire, before forcing it back into the darkness. “If only…”

* * * *

“Damn you!” Jacob’s fist hit the door. As he rolled his back against the heavy wood, he searched the room to see if her image remained. The anger vibrated through his body, tensing the breadth of his powerful frame.

He let his head fall back, needing to feel the solid presence of the house, wondering how he would ever survive her treachery; for Jacob feared his own sanity at this moment. “I held you in my very hands, and yet you vanish before my eyes. Where do you hide?” The question made his eyes close as he groaned over the absurdity. “I talk to air and expect answers!”

There, a quick glimpse by the stairs. Jacob pushed off the door to follow what he feared would be another dead end. His steps slowed as he neared the stairwell, she stood at the top of the stairs. He wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her to him, but something kept him from acting on his desire.

He followed her down the stairs, she looked worried tonight. The darkness under her eyes made him wonder if she too lost a night’s sleep. It would be her own fault for the games she played with him… “In my own house!”

Nary a length of her beautiful hair moved from his outburst. He did so love to touch her hair, she would put the finest fur to shame, for its softness was like none he’d ever felt. The memory made him think on their night together, just the thought made him instantly hard in desire. He possessed a ravenous hunger for this woman. The way her breast rested in his palm before he would wrap his fingers about the ample globe. His tongue came out as if to taste the ripe, swollen nipple that he brought to life. Ahh, the sweetness of a woman in heat…

She moved too quickly off the last step! Jacob cursed his musing for he knew she wouldn’t be there. As he feared she escaped from his sight once again. Nearly two weeks hath passed since they started playing this cat and mouse game of hers.

“I know not where you go Charity, but by all that is holy you will not leave us! If I need to take this house apart, board and stone, I will find your hiding place and we shall end this foolish game of yours!”

“You are mine Charity. My wife, forever!”

RIVERBOATS & RAINBOWS

By

Jewel Adams

 Historical Erotic Romance Time Travel

  The renovated riverboat appears to be the perfect solution for her aunt’s annual fundraiser. Angela La Cross’ busy agenda didn’t include falling into the boat’s hold. When she comes to and finds she is the only woman on a boat full of men, she begins to think this wasn’t such a good idea.

  James McFarlain wanted his last trip up the Mississippi to be uneventful. The last thing he expected to see on the Silver Queen was a woman. Telling himself she was nothing but a mess of trouble didn’t stop him from looking into her emerald eyes. When she silently sought his help, James knew he was done for.

  Her trip back in time to 1875 became only a minor set back for Angie when compared to a good looking cowboy, cattle rustlers and one very determined Sioux warrior.

  Angela might survive her tumble through time, but can her heart decide between the love of two men? Can she find the answers before time runs out? Her journey is not an easy one when love keeps changing the rules. Join Angie in the adventure of a lifetime, one that will capture your heart!

 

EXCERPT: General Audience, Sensual Erotic Time Travel Romance

Available in Print and Ebook:  http://classactbooks.com/bkpgRiverboatsRainbows.html

 

RIVERBOATS & RAINBOWS

By 

Jewel Adams

 

CHAPTER 1 – The Ante

aise you a hundred Jamey.” The man’s enthusiasm flowed over the table to the unaffected player.

The strong, tanned fingers slowly unfolded the cards, fanning them out for his private scrutiny. A full house, which meant Duncan was probably acting. James played him many times on the circuit. Duncan could never hide his eagerness when he thought he had James beat. Tonight certainly wasn’t going James’ way. A full two rounds of the deal and he’d only taken one small hand.

     Looking around at the other two players, he figured this pot was too rich for their blood. They’d fold on the raise leaving only Duncan and himself to bluff it out. Maybe he should call it a night? Damn, it was too early for that, but James knew when the luck wasn’t with him. “I’ll see your hundred Duncan, and raise you fifty.”

     He watched Duncan’s face blotch in anger. As he expected the others threw their hands down in disgust. James waited for Duncan to get over what his cards told his tight-eyed stare.

“You’re a lucky ass hole, Jamey.” Duncan tossed the cards into the pot.

James pulled the money and cards over to him, showing little over the defamation thrown his way. Separating out the cards, he gathered the small winnings and pushed away from the table. “It’s been nice.”

     “You calling it a night?”

     James didn’t bother to answer. Duncan would relish starting a fight. Going over to the bar, James angled himself so he could see the entire room.

     “What will it be Mr. McFarlain?”

     “Scotch, Willie.”

     “Yes sir.”

     James saw the captain in the bar mirror as he entered the casino. Captain Welsh wasn’t to be taken lightly. The river was his domain and heaven help the bastard stupid enough to cross him. Welsh looked more disagreeable than usual. James cursed the fact this boat had been the only one available for the ride up river. If he wasn’t in such a hurry he would never have stepped foot on the Silver Queen.

     “You still work’n the river, McFarlain?”

     “Now where else would I be, Captain?”

     “Thought you might have smartened up and gotten off by now.”

     Off the river James’ business was his own. Gambling wouldn’t have entered his past life. But that was before the war and everything he’d known had been destroyed or taken away. “The river feels slow tonight.”

     “You should be captaining the Silver Queen, you always did know more than most men working the tables. Heard once you had a big plantation, down by New Orleans.”

     “Times change.” Sipping his drink, he didn’t mind the man’s probing. It was common knowledge who he used to be. What he would be was no one’s concern but his own.

     “Out of luck tonight or are the tables too cheap for your liking?”

     “Like I said, Captain, the river is slow.”

     “Duncan seems to be having a good night.”

     James’ blue eyes watched the players’ reflections in the mirror. He didn’t like the way Duncan’s group looked, but kept it to himself. It was his last trip up river and he didn’t need any trouble.

     One of the crew called the Captain away. James motioned Willie to set up another drink. Anxious to be off the river James thought about the future, something he hadn’t done for some time.

     Mike would be waiting for him in St. Louis. They would start the drive from there to take the cattle to Montana. His crystal blue eyes went deep in concentration over the ranch, Twin Creeks. He didn’t like admitting how much he counted on that unknown place.

     When he won it off that man last year, he’d been madder than a rattler and ready to throw the deed away in the next hand just to be free of it. Why he’d pocketed the deed he couldn’t recall.

     That night in his cabin, it fell out of his coat. Picking it up James took his first look at the document. It was all there, all legally his, because of one man’s foolish pride in a card game. James thought long and hard over the land he now held title to. Remorse or conscience made him seek out the man that next morning. Mr. Burr must have been on a road of self-destruction. He learned the man got into another card game after James left. In the process Burr picked a fight with the wrong man and got himself killed over a five-dollar pot.

     Finding he couldn’t give the land back, James decided to investigate what he owned. Wiring a banker associate of his, he learned just about all he could without actually seeing the property. The reports said everything was in order with the deed and that Mr. Burr had no living relatives. The land and ranch were said to be in good shape, though neglected.

     Locating his brother Michael proved more of an effort than finding out about Twin Creeks. Mike, like James, left New Orleans after the war and discovering their uncle sold their home to carpetbaggers. It was a blow neither brother took lightly. James turned to gambling because it was there and he proved to be good at it.  Being cautious over his playing partners kept him alive. He hated his present life and Twin Creeks looked like the answer he’d been searching for. There were enough funds from his gambling takes to buy a large herd of cattle and the stores needed to start the ranch. Hopefully, what was left would keep them going until she started holding her own.

      He learned all he could about the territory and James decided to take one last gamble. The cattle would be their staple stock, but there were herds of wild horses free for the taking. He planned to do just that. The government was hungry for horses, good riding stock, and James intended on getting in on the contracts they were issuing. Purchasing the stallion cost a large chunk of their funds, but he needed a good bloodline to start the horse ranch Twin Creeks would someday become.

     Mike hadn’t been idle since he’d seen him two years ago. Working as trail boss for various outfits he willingly joined James in the venture. Between them, they would rebuild what took their family generations to accomplish and loose overnight.

     “Another, Mr. McFarlain?”

     “One more, Willie.”

     Home? It felt strange to call it that. Neither of them had seen it yet, but James felt anxious to get there.

* * * *

     In the thick darkness she wasn’t sure if her eyes were open. But when she moved, the pain in her head sent them squeezing shut.

     Holding the back of her head she gingerly made it to her feet. Finding the wall as she reached out in the darkness, Angie bumped into the ladder. Leaning against it, she waited until the throbbing ebbed before trying to climb the slippery rungs.

     Angie feared falling again and stopped repeatedly to fight off the dizziness. It felt like it took forever to reach the doorway. After several tries to open the hatch, Angie put her full weight against it before finally dislodging the hatch door. She collapsed on the deck, exhausted by the effort.

     Moaning, she struggled to sit up and face the night. A cool breeze came off the river helping to clear away the fog inside her head. Angela cringed over the mishap of falling, deciding she more than missed her dinner appointment.

     She managed to standup, leaning against the boat for support, a strange steady vibration moved up her legs. For a second it confused her, but then she realized it was coming from the riverboat. Listening, she heard the swishing sound of the large wheel turning through the water. The movement of the boat was slight and sluggish, but unmistakable. “We’re moving! Oh no…”

     How long had she been out?

     Looking around her she failed to locate her purse, positive she left it beside the hatch. She tried to catch some light to see the time at her wrist, but strangely there wasn’t any light coming from the shoreline. Stumbling to the rail she scanned the dark line of trees along the riverbank. Wherever they were on the river was certainly a ways from New Orleans. Stars, she hoped this wasn’t an all night cruise.

     She was dirty and bruised all over. The knot on the back of her head felt so tender it hurt when she walked. Looking around the deck she couldn’t think past the throbbing to figure out what bothered her about it.

     She tried to push her hair back and she realized she’d lost the clip holding her bangs. She’d be damned if she would go back down there and look for it. “One fall a night is enough, thank you.”

     With the rail’s support Angela decided she better find the captain or manager, someone that could help her. She didn’t think they would turn back just for her, but maybe they could radio shore so her Aunt Belle and Sally wouldn’t worry. “Damn! I didn’t even tell them where I was going.”

     She could see it all now. Auntie would call the police within an hour of her missed dinner appointment. They would find her car on the docks, of all places. Auntie would go into vapors. Well, she couldn’t do anything about it until she found someone.

     The music and muffled voices drew her forward. It sounded familiar; she remembered feeling this way when she entered the room this afternoon. It seemed the Silver Queen was all she’d imagined it would be.

     His blue eyes seemed to find her of their own accord. Framed in the doorway was something he never saw aboard Captain Welsh’s boat. Funny, but even after his initial shock over seeing the woman’s reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

     Wild dark locks of ebony hair floated around the woman like a protective cloak. They did little to hide the lovely creature behind the veil. Looking closer, James also saw the dirt smudged across her cheek and forehead. Sucking in his breath over what his scrutiny uncovered, anger and concern flared in unwanted quantities for the pain and confusion marring her lovely face. James tried to pull his eyes away, but she seemed to hold him in the most peculiar way.

     Maybe it was the outlandish attire she wore? It wasn’t everyday you saw a woman dressed like a man; an Indian one at that if those boots were any indication. Eyes the color of emeralds, they weren’t Indian and neither was that ivory complexion.

     James felt the strangest chill move over him. She was undoubtedly beautiful, statuesque, and yet too vulnerable as her brilliant eyes searched the room. For just a second they seemed to latch onto his, making him feel like she physically touched him or something more. But they pulled away too quickly to discover the answer.

     Angie wondered what it was about the room that made her uneasy. Things came too slowly past the pain assaulting her head. Just as lethargic were the eyes turning in her direction. Even the murmurs ended as an uncomfortable silence fell over everyone. No, that wasn’t right…every man, there were no women, anywhere!

     Angie swallowed hard over the ill feeling this gave her as she unconsciously raised her chin against their probing gazes. She tried to think past the foreboding she felt, but it became increasingly difficult. She wanted to tell them how rude their observations were, yet thought better of it.

     Seeing no one standing about that looked in charge, her gaze finally went to the bar. Having so many men in one room must have addled her, because she could swear the room looked different. Taking a deep breath she forced her unsteady legs to walk towards the bar. She could feel their eyes following her. It took all her control not to turn and glare back at them.

     She came hard against the bar and held it to fight the dizziness plaguing her. Afraid to look at any of the men leaning there, she tried to concentrate on only the young bartender and forming her words. “Excuse me? I need to see the captain or manager, please.”

     What was wrong with them? The buzz immediately following her announcement made her knuckles whiten in apprehension.

     “Can I help you?”

     The effort to turn and see the man who owned the deep decisive voice nearly defeated her. When she faced him his eyes stole the last of her breath.

     How long she looked at him she didn’t know or care. Shaking away the volatile feelings she brought her thoughts back to the here and now. But stars how he seemed to fill her mind.

     He was so…devastatingly handsome!

     Stars, but that hit on her head must have rattled her common sense. What was the matter with her? She never let any man affect her like this and certainly not a stranger. “Are you the captain?”

     His smile could melt ice, but it was the questioning in his cool gaze that captured her attention, making it hard to concentrate on his answer.

     “No, but are you sure it is the captain you want to see?”

     “Well yes, I think so, unless there is a manager around.”

     Why had he approached her? Knowing every man in the room was glaring bug eyed at them James sure wasn’t paying any attention to the warnings. She was trouble he didn’t need. “Willie, go fetch Captain Welsh.”

     “You sure about that Mr. McFarlain? You know he ain’t going to like this none.”

     She listened to the conversation that concerned her yet seemed to be ignoring her presence. Angie hurt too much to care what these men thought. “Look, I need to get to shore or radio the authorities.”

     One of the men snickered. James watched the lady’s pride spark over the insulting remarks bouncing about the room. He couldn’t control his admiration when she refused to don the insults with even a reproachful glance.

     “Miss?”

     “Miss La Cross.”

     “Well Miss La Cross, I think the captain will be more than happy to oblige your request.”

     “Good.”

     She watched the man give a silent signal to the young man behind the bar, sending him out from under it to do as she requested.

     “Thank you…McFarlain, isn’t it?”

     “Yes.”

     Angie felt better knowing the captain was coming. She couldn’t shake the growing nervousness over these men and their apt attention on her. Chancing a look about the room, not a one of them resumed their game seeming to think she was more interesting. She actually thought a few of the glaring eyes held expectancy in them. “Hey, what’s wrong with them?”

     “Wrong, Miss La Cross?”

     Moving closer to him, she whispered. “Why are they watching me? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. If it’s a stag party or something like that, I am sorry.”

     James couldn’t stop looking at her. She made less sense than he felt his actions did. He didn’t like the men’s gazes anymore than she did. Something compelled him to try and ease her concerns.

     “You are a rarity on Captain Welsh’s boat.”

     “A rarity? In what way?”

     Was that innocent look in those green eyes as real as it appeared?

     “You are a woman.”

     Her laughter died beneath the unwavering look of concern he held her in. He was serious and Angie felt herself become cold over the implied danger. She would have left, right then, if the dizziness hadn’t returned when she tried to move.

     The strength in the hands holding her up became all too clear, tearing through her muddled thoughts.

     “Miss La Cross are you alright?”

     “My head, I fell.”

     When his fingers glanced over the bump at the back of her head, she groaned and fell against him. Righting herself wasn’t possible. Finding the will to leave what she found in his hold defeated her efforts. Closing her eyes she told herself it would only be for a minute, just a minute. There was so much strength…and safety.

     James’ hands seemed to move on their own, retaining the embrace she didn’t end and he couldn’t. God, she was so soft, so very nice. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her and allowing the wild hunger loose that holding her drove to the surface.

     Shaking himself, his eyes registered the tight lipped anger and wanting his present stance brought out in his staring companions. Swallowing his groan of awareness, James needed to get a hold of himself. What the hell was he trying to do? Commit suicide? Before he could disengage her he heard the gruff astonishment of the Captain coming up behind him.

     “What the hell do you think you are doing, McFarlain? Damn, you know my rules and the consequences!”

     He lost his concentration to her fingers digging into his sleeve. Her silent fear was unmistakable. The distraction proved to be his downfall.

     He felt the hands relieving him of his gun, just before two pairs enclosed about his arms. She remained in his hold. It was the Captain’s fingers that came around in front of them to dislodge her.

     “Release the harlot this instant McFarlain!”

     James’ dislike for the man seemed to fuel his irrational behavior towards the woman. Mike and the two thousand head of cattle were forgotten. “I’d love to, but she is hurt.”

     The scoffs came from the room and James felt the dread close over him. A few well placed calls from the men reddened the Captain’s enraged face.

     “Look Welsh, I don’t….”

     “Save it McFarlain, your gentlemanly charms won’t get you out of this.”

     Angie couldn’t stop her shiver. Every spoken word made them worse. She should move away from the man whose arms supported her. Why were they mad at them? At him? She could understand the captain being upset over having an unwanted passenger. But why take it out on Mr. McFarlain?

     Calling on her remaining strength she pushed away from him and looked into the angry glare of his eyes. Was it her or the captain that lit that fire? His face was like stone, showing nothing of the turmoil she felt in the hands still holding her arms. His eyes held the graying of the storm she sensed, making her shake her head in denial, only to realize her mistake too late.

     His hold tightened over her renewed weakness, refusing to obey the Captain’s ravings. Pulling her back against his chest was the worse thing James could do. No one wanted to believe he didn’t know her. James saw this too often; they were now the night’s entertainment. An example for the Captain, not to be dismissed until tried and convicted.

     Rage engulfed him over what he knew was coming. Thoughts of fighting his way out ended as quickly as they surfaced. It would mean leaving Miss La Cross to face these men, alone. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to her. Neither would he release her to the furious man reaching out to pull her away.

     “Keep your hands off her, Welsh!”

     It was a foolish threat considering he was unarmed and held by two oversized goons. But the captain took the danger glaring at him at face value and stopped his advance.

     Cautiously eyeing James, “Then you admit it?”

     What was he saying? Admit what? Angie must have missed something. This had gone far enough she needed to get a hold of herself. She managed to push herself away from McFarlain to face the captain.

     James watched the girl that disengaged his hold. She swayed, but he forced himself not to reach for her. Her eyes stayed him from helping. A daring mix of pride and stubbornness held her up. James felt something swell inside him for this woman, something he couldn’t define, but had to accept.

     “Captain, I believe?”

     “You know damn well I am!”

     “There is no need to get excited.”

     James’ humor nearly broke free. Her indignation was sending Welsh into a huffing fit.

     “You insolent….”

     “Welsh, I wouldn’t.” James’ voice was low and controlled, but it was a warning that silenced the room.

     Angie didn’t dare look at the man standing close enough behind her that she could feel his heat. Whatever they all saw in McFarlain she cared only for the relief she felt that it kept this bull of a captain away from her.

     “Look Captain, I think you have misunderstood. I’m sorry if you find my presence on your boat upsetting, but I can assure you it wasn’t intentional.” She didn’t like the way he was gloating at her. When he crossed his arms over his bloated stomach, straining the brass buttons of his uniform, she bit the inside of her cheek not to groan.

     “So your presence wasn’t meant to be found out, hey?”

     “No…I meant, I didn’t plan to be here at all. I fell down your ladder, and I guess I knocked myself out. Could you please contact the authorities, my aunt…?”

     “The only authority around here is me and believe me, missy, you’ve made contact.”

     Why didn’t that make her feel any better? He certainly wasn’t what she expected and he’d not get any booking for the party with this kind of insolent attitude. If his eyes raked over her breasts one more time, she…she’d slap him, that’s what she’d do!

     “The name is Miss La Cross. Now, would you please radio the authorities and let them know where I can be picked up.”

     James hadn’t heard a Creole accent like that since leaving New Orleans. The lyrical tones almost made him miss Welsh’s reply.

     “Now, Miss La Cross, I’d be obliged to accommodate you if I had such a thing…what was it? A raydee-oh?”

     She ignored his sarcastic use of her name. “Then just let me off at the next port.”

     James tensed over what he felt was coming, which caused the brutes holding him to secure their hold more.

     “I’d be glad to, only we’ve some unfinished business to attend to first.”

     She wanted to ask what, but the whooping and hollering rushing through the room drowned out her voice. Clamping her mouth shut, she couldn’t stop herself from turning to Mr. McFarlain for answers.

     “Oh my stars!” Angie felt what little color she possessed drain away. Her anger surged over what she stared open mouthed upon.

     “Miss La Cross, I think it would be best if you didn’t say anything else.” James didn’t think the woman would listen to his request.

     Spinning back to confront the captain, she gripped the bar in order not to fall. Ignoring McFarlain’s warning her angry words were forced past clenched teeth. “What is the meaning of this? Release Mr. McFarlain!”

     She was shaking under the shock of seeing him held by those men and a knife pressed to his throat! How dare they do that to him!

     “Missy, I have every intention of doing just that, but first.” She wanted to disappear from the sneer he gave her. “Men gather round.”

     Looking from him, back to McFarlain and the stern uneasy look he gave her did indeed shut her up. McFarlain’s eyes conveyed the message that she only made it worse. The knife pressing close to his jugular vein wasn’t a joke. Angie tasted the bitterness of true fear.

     “Now you all know my rules about women on board my vessel.” Looking directly at her, “They are not allowed and the punishment is severe.”

     His speech was hilarious, Angie felt like she was in some corny movie. Opening her mouth, she snapped it shut when McFarlain’s strained curse reached her ears.

     Glaring at him under the circumstances would be silly, but she was getting angrier by the second. Instead, she directed her tempered glare at the captain. Ugh, but she wanted to smack that satisfied grin off his pug face. Who did he think he was, anyway? She’d sue him for falling on his unattended vessel! Physical trauma, yeah, she probably suffered a concussion. Mental anguish was a certainty.

     Building up her nerve to verbally attack the man, the tirade froze in her throat over his next announcement.

     “Men, we have a wedding to perform.”

     “Wedding?” Her outburst drew everyone’s humorous glances.

     “Why yes, Miss La Cross…your wedding.”

     The men’s laughter echoed through her head like a bad dream. He grabbed her arm and made her follow the men leading McFarlain outside.

To his credit McFarlain put up a valiant struggle. To her dismay, he received a vicious blow to his jaw for his effort. If he got loose the rage burning inside that man wouldn’t have stopped until these men were desecrated. Abhorring violence she couldn’t believe she was actually wishing he would break free.

     Angie swallowed back her cry over what his hard blue eyes told her. This wasn’t a joke. These men were serious. They all had to be nuts!

     All kinds of crazy thoughts careened through the intense pain that each dragged step sent off in her head.

     James never took his eyes off her. When she stumbled he’d gone wild. The anger over seeing her in pain took over. The ache in his jaw snapped him back into some resemblance of sanity, but the fury inside him was near uncontrollable.

     If only she’d keep quiet. He feared what they might do to her if she continued. It was obvious she had no idea of the dangerous extent of her situation. Welsh could be a vicious man. He relished the attention he was getting and it made him unpredictable. James wasn’t in any position to help either of them. Getting her away from these men was imperative. James didn’t like the ugly way the crowd was turning or the looks in their eyes for her. She didn’t realize what he was seeing and he hoped she wouldn’t, fearing what she might do.

     When they placed her beside him he took the chance to whisper to her. “Just do what he wants and agree with whatever I say.”

     Angie’s eyes enlarged over McFarlain’s request. Was he crazy too? Didn’t he hear what the captain was up to?

     She wanted to ask him, but the captain didn’t give her a chance.

     “Now, I have here the bible and as captain I have legal authority to wed these two. It’s legal, you will be husband and wife. What better match, right boys?”

     The cheers sent chills up her spine.

     “Now, James McFarlain do you take Miss…what’s your first name?”

     Glaring at him she had a good mind not to answer. Scanning the sea of expectant faces her pride stiffened. “Angela.”

     “James McFarlain, do you take Angela La Cross as your lawful wedded wife?”

     Not looking at him she held her breath with the expectancy she felt over his answer. Why should she care?

     “I do.”

     The captain chuckled over the angry outburst everyone knew McFarlain wanted to lash out with.

     “And you, Angela La Cross, do you take this man as your husband?”

     “What? No love, honor and obey?” Her indignation made her antagonize the man.

     “Throw in obey would you Welsh, I think I’ll need that one.”

     Glaring up at McFarlain she didn’t know with whom she was angrier. The captain repeated the vow, tossing in obey at McFarlain’s request.

     “Well, we’re waiting, get to it Missy.”

     Angel didn’t need the obnoxious captain to tell her what he expected. “You can wait till….”

     “Angela come on, it’s not like we’re strangers.”

     Her mouth dropped open over James’ remark. She closed it when his hard gaze didn’t reflect anything close to what his words implied. Was he only saying this for their benefit?

     Instinctively, she knew, he was the only one here she could trust. He didn’t want this any more than she did. Why should he? Remembering his warning she gave the only sensible answer. “I do.”

     “Good, a wise decision Missy. I pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss your bride, James.”

     Before she could object McFarlain pulled her into his arms and captured her lips, smothering her protest in a kiss that did more than just silence her outrage. Too stunned to hide her response, she could only stare at him when he released her.

     The cheers ended her short lived trance, but the shouts coming at them quickly made her seek the very man that just left her totally rattled. Moving to McFarlain’s side she released her breath when his arm came about her waist.   “Alright Welsh, you’ve had your fun.”

     “Not quite James. You never should have crossed me. Your marriage papers will be filed in St. Louis. You can pick your gear up there.”

     James had been afraid Welsh would do this. Right now, seeing the eager men surrounding them, it was probably the best way out for her.

     “Now James.”

     “Can I have my gun?”

     “Sure. Boys, give the man his gun.”

     She watched, too confused to do anything else, as the man passed the captain McFarlain’s gun. The captain emptied the filled chambers of the bullets. Staring, she watched the bullets hit and roll across the deck before he passed the gun over to McFarlain.

     Starting to move away, James stopped and came back to her. Taking her arm, “Come on Angela.”

     Pulling her arm out of his grip, she stared at him in disbelief finally understanding what they all expected.

     “No…you are all crazy.” The shaking of her head wasn’t anything compared to what her knees were doing. “No, I am not going into that River!”